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In The Mist Of The Erie Isles

By Mantrid Brizon

Episode Forty-One: Three Days

The vision is blurred by the shimmering waves, as they sink deeper and deeper into the depths of the sea. Nearing the bottom, a pair of boots strike the sand, kicking up a greyish-brown cloud of sediment. The seaweed coils around arms as they scramble to remove the weights that hold the body beneath the surface of the crystalline water. Lungs burn and the desire to breathe is becoming overwhelming. Still, there might be time left. Struggling to hold what little air remains, panic swiftly sets in. Looking upward and gazing at the beams of light, which shines so brightly above the surface, a life flashes before their eyes.

How did it come to this? What occurred in the past three days to allow this to happen? Perhaps they stayed too long, or perhaps they should’ve fought harder. In the end, though, does it even truly matter? The warmth of the water and the gentle current massages the cheeks, tempting them to open wide. That would only bring about a quick death. With the prospect of hope dwindling, a mind races, contemplating their time on this world. Soon, though, the thoughts are of the recent past. So much occurred these past three days...

“Woah, hold on a minute... King Euralian had a son?!” Steingar gasps.

Gathered around a fireplace in the Grand Athenaeum's rear quarters, Irzain sits in a humble chair. Surrounding him are the rest of the crew, starring in shock at the Scribe’s revelation. The large, red leather tome rests atop his lap, it’s decorated cover open as he reads the same page again and again. On the small, oak table beside him sits a miniscule inkwell, capped with a cork. A singular scroll, which he’d collected from a cubby shortly after finding the book of royal birth records, sits partially unrolled beside the little, black glass jar.

“Yes, that’s what I just said. About thirty years ago, he fathered a son.” He answers.

“Then why isn’t he on the throne, instead of Vashalak? Who is Vashalak to Euralian, anyway?!” Naemen asks, poking at the fire.

“Vashalak was Euralian’s nephew, born to his only sibling, his sister, Ankala. Ankala died of a fever when Vashalak was young, and his father died in a hunting accident when he was about twenty. He was taken in by Euralian and raised at the palace for the past ten years.”

“Taken in at twenty?!” A shocked Kirsta chuckles.

“The Vizhek live far longer lives than any of us.” Mairlynn remarks.

“Yes. They have a period of time called ‘adolescence’, when a Vizhek has reached puberty but isn’t yet considered an adult.” Irzain explains.

“There’s no such thing. Puberty is adulthood.” Kirsta retorts.

“It is to everyone else, but not the Vizhek. They have ‘adolescence’, which lasts from about fifteen-years-old until their mid or late thirties.”

“That means Vashalak isn’t even an adult yet, not by their standards.” Lutala adds.

“You still didn’t answer my first question.” Naemen remarks.

“Well, Euralian had the child illegitimately.” Irzain begins.

“What a surprise...” Steingar smirks.

“You can say that’s been known to happen.” Salman remarks.

“Yes, but Euralian did it on purpose. He believed that the current system is inherently corrupt, that raising a child among nobles would only breed a self-entitled megalomaniac. He fathered this child with the daughter of a lesser noble, chosen for her family’s good health and her father’s relative obscurity. He wished for the child to be raised as close to the peasants as possible, so that when he reached adulthood, he’d understand them better and be more apt to rule in their favor.”

“That sounds like an excuse to bed a noble’s young daughter.” Salasha remarks.

“I was just thinking that!” Mairlynn chirps.

“I don’t know. I’ve heard of people sending their kids away, but usually it’s to increase their standing.” Naemen chimes in.

“I knew a carpenter who sent his son away to a guild so he’d learn a better, more lucrative trade.” Steingar adds.

“What’s that got to do with anything?!” Salasha barks.

“Maybe Euralian was sincere?” Naemen shrugs.

“Yeah, right...” Mairlynn rolls her ruby eyes.

“Whatever his reasons, he followed through with his plan. His son was born and then given to the priests of the Seraph’s temples, who found him a foster family and were not told who he was. The noble family and the woman who spawned him were... Dealt with... The foster family was then sent to a minor island. All of this was carried out in secret, and everyone who knows the truth has died, everyone except me... The true heir likely has no idea how important he is.” Irzain continues.

“I wonder what he’s doing now. Maybe hammering out a horseshoe for somebody?” Valan remarks.

“And all of that is in your book?” Lutala asks.

“No. The book only has the basics. The date of his birth, his mother and father, and a name... Elarus. The rest is what I remember. I was informed of Euralian’s secret son a few years before he died; Euralian told me of Elarus himself, hoping I could be trusted to safeguard the secret. As the Overseer of the Grand Athenaeum, it makes sense that he’d confide in me.”

“I don’t understand... King Euralian also had a daughter, right?” Salasha raises a brow.

“Princess Lapira.” Salman murmurs, a little smile gracing his lips.

“Yes, that’s right.” Irzain nods.

“So, why can’t she rule?” The half breed Lahnyt asks.

“That’s a good question.” Kirsta nods.

“Is Lapira a friend of yours?” Valan turns to his twin, a sly smile on his face.

“We’ve met. She made an impression...” Salman softly replies.

“I bet she did.” A smirking Valan chuckles.

“Aren’t you full of surprises.” Lutala grins, glancing toward the human.

“Does that mean you’ve been to the royal palace?!” Salasha scoots closer to him.

“A few times.”

“Wow!” The half breed woman stares in awe. “I’d have loved to see that place!”

“I’d have loved to loot it.” Jarae remarks.

“Hey, back to the real question! Why can’t the Princess rule?” Kirsta interjects.

“Well, the Vizhek are a very traditional race. They don’t allow their women to rule, not after Vasar’s mother proved unstable in her stewardship. They consider women to be too emotional and unwilling to make harsh decisions, the kind that could cost peasant’s lives, as she had when the great famine was cutting a swath through the Isles. Her inability to cut off food supplies to the outlying islands and horde them only made the peasants of Vaspania starve. The ensuing riots nearly destroyed the empire before Vasar could finish building it.” Irzain answers her.

“The Unification Wars didn’t help any. Personally, I don’t think she had a fair chance.” Steingar remarks.

“In any case, Lapira cannot be Queen, not unless she were to marry to the current King...”

“Bu that’s her cousin!” Jarae exclaims.

“So, she’ll only ever be a Princess, then.” Kirsta remarks.

A long and eerie pause envelopes the room. Kirsta and the others of her crew look toward Irzain. The Scribe glances between Salman and Steingar, both of whom share his perplexing expression.

“... What?”

“She can still be useful to Vashalak...” Irzain continues.

“Oh no...” Salasha lets out a somber sigh.

“Lapira may be Vashalak’s cousin, but traditionally, marrying your cousin isn’t illegal.” Salman chimes in.

“It’s somewhat unusual, but it happens often enough.” Steingar adds.

“Ew!” Jarae contorts her lips in disgust.

“Gross... And they think they’re superior?!” Kirsta snickers.

“The Helngar would never allow something so foul.” An amused Steingar chuckles.

“How does that help Vashalak, though?” Mairlynn asks.

“As a Princess, she’s a noble, and cannot be forced into any legal arrangements, including marriage. If she could be ‘convinced’ to take Vashalak as a husband, however, and they were to have a child together, his lineage would be legitimized.” Salman answers her, his expression becoming gloomy.

“Exactly! It wouldn’t matter if he found Elarus or not, but if she never agrees, and Elarus is revealed to the world, Vashalak would lose his throne by default.”

“And so Vashalak needs to find him and quietly ‘purge’ him.” Steingar shakes his head, realizing the Crown’s sinister intentions.

“So that’s what all this is about?! A chair?!” Salasha snickers.

“It’s about his power, idiot.” Naemen rolls his eyes.

“I know that! I’m not stupid! I just don’t understand why the nobles are always so desperate to hold onto power, like it’s the only thing that matters in life.”

“Well, imagine being in Vashalak’s position. Would you relinquish a chance to be Queen of a nation as rich and powerful as the Erie Isles? To have servants waiting on your every need and Kings bowing at your feet? To bathe in gold and be surrounded by the most attractive men in the Kingdom, each of them ready to please you in every conceivable way?” Jarae poses.

“... I rescind my previous statement.”

“Which part?” Naemen smirks.

“Alright, already! So, what’s the plan then?” Valan turns to Irzain.

“Plan?”

“Yeah. Now that we have all of this information, what’re we going to do with it?”

“...”

Irzain remains silent, staring blankly at the rest of the group. It’s clear to everyone that he hadn’t considered any actions beyond uncovering his past. They’ve lifted the veil from his mind, only to shroud it with an entirely new concern. He scratches his bearded cheek, pondering the situation.

“We’ll put a nail in that, then...” Kirsta remarks.

Roak approaches the table, looking at the scroll. He reaches out and rubs a palm against the rolled portion of paper, flattening it.

“No words!” He chirps.

Valan and Naemen step closer, looking at the parchment.

“He’s right!” The human exclaims.

“What’s the deal with this scroll?” Naemen asks.

Irzain softly chuckles, carefully extending a hand and collecting the small inkwell from the table. He holds the black bottle between his thumb and index finger, showing it off for his companions.

“When Euralian told me the secret, I wrote it down with this... It’s enchanted ink; you can only read it by the light of a full moon. To anyone else, this looks like any empty scroll, ready for writing, but it’s not.”

“Clever!” Jarae nods.

“Full moon, huh? ... So, we’ve got about three weeks before we can see what’s on it.” Kirsta lets out a frustrated sigh.

“At least we have it!”

“What’s on it, anyway?” Lutala asks.

“Information about Elarus’ foster family. Their names, where they were sent away, things like that. I can’t quite remember, even before my injury; that’s what ink is for.” The Scribe smirks.

Roak lifts the scroll, an innocent smile on his face as he looks over the parchment.

“Can Roak draw on it?!”

“No!” Irzain snatches the scroll away from him.

“Rrr!” The dreadlocked human growls like a beast.

“I mean... There’s better paper in the spire!”

“Hm?!” Roak’s eyes light up.

Lutala softly pets Roak’s back, distracting him from Irzain’s slight. Rolling the scroll and tying it with a red ribbon, the Scribe pockets the enchanted ink, while guarding the tome and the roll of parchment.

“We still need a plan.” Valan remarks.

“Agreed. We can’t run around like headless chickens forever.” Steingar adds.

“Well, while we work something out, we should collect everything relating to this ‘Elarus’ and load it in the ship, just in case.” Naemen suggests.

“It’s just this. The Tome of Royal Births, and the scroll.” Irzain remarks.

“Then we’d better guard that with our lives.” Kirsta chimes in.

“We could hide it on Arona, in the secret compartment where Trellan hid the soul shard!” Valan chirps.

“Good idea.” Jarae smiles at him.

“I’ve been thinking about moving Arona into the cove, too. Keep her out of sight from any short, human Captains who might be following us.” Steingar adds.

“We arrived here quickly enough, all things considered. Since we don’t have much work to do, maybe we can relax for a bit?” Salasha innocently remarks.

“Sister...”

“What?! ... Don’t tell me you didn’t see that beach and not think the same thing!”

“I know I did.” Mairlynn chirps.

“It would be good to rest on dry land.” Lutala interjects.

“Sandy sand is sandy! Roak enjoyed it before being taken to the dark place! It’s just like Roak’s home!” Roak chirps.

“What do you think?” Steingar turns toward Kirsta.

“Well... I think we can stay for a day or two...”

“Yay!” Roak exclaims, literally jumping for joy.

“I’ll organize our camp, as usual. We’ll stay here, inside the Grand Athenaeum. Try not to get distracted by that beautiful cove, okay? The fate of the Empire is in our hands, so let’s take care of the important things first.” She instructs.

“Okay. You can count on us! ... Who wants to go for a swim?!” Salasha exuberantly asks.

Kirsta covers her sapphire eyes with a hand, the blond-haired, buxom warrior shaking her head as Salasha, Mairlynn and Roak dart away. Lutala is quick to chase after Roak, as the only other person besides Kirsta capable of properly guiding him without incurring his wrath.

“Well, who wants to help gather up some supplies? We’ll need food, our bedrolls, and maybe more gunpowder.” Steingar looks among the others.

“I’ll go with you. I’d like to pick out some stuff for tonight’s dinner.” Naemen chirps.

“Please don’t.” Salman remarks.

“You’ll eat it and like it.” Naemen smirks.

“I’ll go, too. You’ll need extra hands, and I’d like to keep Trellan in the loop.”

“Good idea. Let’s go.” Jarae approaches Valan.

Irzain passes the tome and scroll to Valan, entrusting him to hide the documents aboard the ship. They quickly disperse, moving about the nameless isle in their quest for supplies. Irzain returns to the spire to search for any documents he’d like to save, leaving Kirsta and Salman alone. The busty warrior turns her head, her sapphire eyes glancing toward him. The Lord takes notice, blushing rather bashfully as she scans him slowly, eying him from head to toe, a strange look in her eyes.

“We’d, uh... We’d better make sure the others don’t get themselves lost on that beach.” She speaks softly.

As the sun reaches its zenith, Steingar, Naemen, Valan and Jarae hike back to the ship, carrying a single pack containing the tome and scroll. Valan glances toward Jarae, whom he routinely catches in the act of staring at him. Every time their eyes meet, her expression changes, a little smile curling around her short snout as she turns her head and averts her eyes.

“Yes?” He finally breaks the silence.

“Hm?” Her brow furls, as if confused. “... Oh! Uhm! ... I-I was just wondering, uh, about my lessons...”

She stammers through her words, drawing the attention of Steingar and Naemen. Both warriors glance over their shoulders as Jarae struggles to answer the human.

“I’m sorry. I know I promised Draeolynn that I’d teach you; I’ve been trying but things have been so hectic lately.”

“That’s an understatement...” Steingar murmurs.

“If you want, while we’re here, we can pick up from our last lesson.” Valan finishes, smiling warmly at the Jaliscan.

“Okay!” She chirps, flashing him a toothy grin.

Collecting the thick, hemp ropes and saving them, they cross the gangplank and board the Arona-Dahl. After retracting the gangplank and raising the anchor, they pull another lever and mechanically unfurl the sails, prepping the ship. Valan and Jarae take the opportunity to inform Trellan of their findings, while assisting Naemen in gathering supplies. With Trellan’s spirit preoccupied by shock and awe, Steingar steers the magnificent ship for him; it lumbers into the cove. Once they drop the anchor, the ship bobbing in the center of the watery peninsula, they disconnect the skiff and pack their gear.

“Hm... I’ll be right back!”

Valan suddenly darts off, leaving the others as they pack the craft. A few moments later, the Helngar and Jaliscan can hear the clanking of metal, their ears twitching and shifting as the sound approaches. Jarae peeks into the hallway, her eyes widening as Valan dashes down the stairs, his suit of armor bundled in his arms.

“What’re you planning on doing with that?!”

“I’m bringing it with us. Just in case!” He replies.

“That’s a good idea... I’ll be right back!” Steingar remarks.

Eventually, the quartet finish packing their gear, and an armored Steingar pilots the craft to the shore. By now, Mairlynn and Salasha have tired of swimming. Salman sits with his back against a large rock, Kirsta and Lutala on either side of him. Lutala watches Roak, who grumbles and growls to himself as he tries to build a sand castle without the aid of water. Beaching the skiff, they hop out and collect their gear, calling over any who’ll aid them. They hike along a trail that leads up the rocky ridge, winds through the jungle and returns them to the back door of the Grand Athenaeum. Once there, they organize the food, gunpowder and other essentials, claiming two back rooms as their base camp.

“Well, that about does it!” Naemen chirps, stretching out his back, his long, tapering tail swaying from side to side.

“Yeah. We should probably have shifts to keep watch. You never know, after all.” Kirsta remarks.

“Good idea. Want to take the first shift, Naemen? I can rest now and take over for you.” Steingar suggests. “Sleeping on command is a skill I’ve perfected.”

“No can do. I’ve got dinner to cook!”

“Naemen!” Salasha whines.

“What?!”

“Uh, why don’t you let someone else handle that, and keep watch? It’s harder to stay up at night when you haven’t slept, you know.” Valan suggests.

“I’ve got this!” The half breed insists.

“How about I help you?” Salasha steps forward.

“What for?!” He growls.

“We can work as a team, like we used to when we were little. Wouldn’t that be nice? It’d be just like old times, brother!”

“Well, alright... But don’t mess up my system!”

“I won’t.” Salasha flashes an innocent grin.

Reaching out a clawed hand, Jarae gently grabs Valan’s forearm, tugging at him and gaining his attention. Without saying a word, he smiles, nods and heads for the hallway. The others follow their lead, leaving Naemen and Salasha in the kitchen, where they’ve stashed much of their gear. Steingar volunteers himself for the first watch, taking a set of custom-built telescopes, fused together with special brackets. Salman follows his twin brother at a distance, as though he isn’t sure what else to do with himself. A hungry looking Mairlynn is only a few meters behind him, a lustful grin on her face as she eyes his body like a wolf gazing upon a choice cut of meat.

Before she can catch him, however, and shortly after crossing under the archway, the dainty Falmun is grabbed by an unseen hand. It shoves her against the wall before she can see who the hand belongs to. Kirsta emerges from the room and stands before the little elf, glaring down at her; the woman’s narrowed eyes burn like an icy fire.

“What’re you doing, Kirsta?”

“I know what you did to him, you little whore...”

“Huh?!”

“Sal... You hurt him; you treated him like property.”

“... Did he tell you what I said?”

Kirsta slowly nods her head, her angry scowl unchanging.

“Look, he’s just mad, okay? He’ll get over it, right about the time I wrap his meat with my-”

“Oh, he’s over it, and he’s over you, too.” Kirsta interrupts her, pointing her finger in the elf’s face.

“... Did he say that?” Mairlynn cocks her head and raises a brow.

“Just stay away from him, alright? Whatever you two had, you ruined it. He was never your toy to own and play with, and he won’t be treated like it. He was good to you; he deserved respect.”

“He’s a man, and all men are toys. I only wanted what he had to give me, and enjoyed him while I could. Let me tell you, he’s very enjoyable... I damn near lost my voice from all the squealing!”

Kirsta’s eyebrows raise in shock and she takes a step back from the little elf.

“I’ll admit, I might’ve been a little zealous with my protectiveness. He seemed loyal enough, but he’s naïve, even gullible. I just didn’t want another hole swallowing up my enjoyment, if you know what I mean. With a guy like him, that’s always a possibility. It’s not that he’s a man-whore, like Valan; Sal would fall for the simplest of tricks.” Mairlynn continues, flashing a callous smile.

“You’re depraved... I knew you were lustful, but I didn’t know you were cruel!”

“Don’t you ever judge me, you tribal skank. I know how you clan types work. How many men have you fought into submission, huh? If you were in my place, you’d have done the same thing, and don’t even pretend that you wouldn’t... You know how pretty he is, and endowed! Let me tell you, when a man’s phallus is longer than Jarae’s ears and thicker than her tail, well... Heh... You just can’t help but want to feel his manhood driving into you, until those two chicken eggs press against the crack of your-”

“Shut up! You’ve done enough damage! Be glad you enjoyed him while you had the chance, because from now on, you’re going to leave him alone... Don’t make me use more than my words...”

“Pfft... Fine. I’ll just get a new toy. I mean, ‘man’...” Mairlynn angrily retorts.

Crossing her arms before her small bust, Mairlynn scowls right back at the human, glaring up at her with the most defiant of stares. Kirsta is stunned by the typically lighthearted Mairlynn’s sudden and cold behavior. She was never like this with women, but yet she can treat Salman, the kindest man Kirsta has ever met, like he was lower than a dog. It makes her stomach churn, and the warrior slowly backs away. Mairlynn bows her head, looking down at her feet, all while Kirsta walks backward through the corridor, watching her intently. After a moment, Mairlynn turns around and returns to the kitchen.

“So, what’s cooking, stud?” She coos to Naemen.

Shocked and disgusted, Kirsta wanders the Grand Athenaeum, searching for Salman. It isn’t long before she finds him, standing outside and near the back door, Valan and Jarae by his side.

“I can’t believe you climbed that.” Valan comments, looking up at a balcony on the second level.

“How else was I supposed to get in? The front door was too heavy to open, and this one was locked. I wasn’t about to spend a night in the jungle. Besides, I didn’t think any doors or windows on the upper floors would be locked.” Salman replies.

“Spoken like a seasoned thief.” Jarae remarks.

“Hardly.”

“But that’s a pillar! How’d you climb it?!” Valan gasps.

“Determination. I just told myself that there was a monster in the forest, and the irrational fear pushed me right up the pillar.” Salman flashes an innocent smile.

“That’s impressive, brother.”

“Val.” Jarae rests a hand on his shoulder, gaining his attention. “My lesson?”

“Oh, right. We’ll be back, okay?”

“I’ll watch him for you.” Kirsta speaks up.

Salman swiftly turns around, startled by the voice coming from behind him. He flashes a smile, however, as soon as he sees who it is. Valan and Jarae walk the path, heading toward the cove at her request, where he’ll continue teaching the Jaliscan how to read and write. Kirsta leans against the building, watching Salman who watches his twin brother and the Jaliscan woman. Though they don’t touch each other, they’re exceptionally close, and both trade smiles as they leave him behind. Salman sighs, crossing his arms before his chest and bowing his head for a moment.

“She likes him, doesn’t she?” He suddenly asks.

“Yeah. It’s a terribly kept secret.” Kirsta chuckles. “I’m fairly certain he feels the same way for her, though I don’t know if he’s told her yet.”

“They’re lucky... I envy him for that.”

Her brow raises, her eyes widening. She cocks her head, scanning him for a moment. Suddenly, she can see a sorrow within him, enveloping him like a light fog. He shifts, turning his head and looking back at her. His blue-green eyes gleam in the daylight, his brow softened and a humble smile worn on his face. It’s a dejected look, glossed over with acceptance. Still, it’s somehow endearing. For a moment Kirsta fears that his prettiness has caused a nosebleed. It’s not just his looks that affect her, however...

Aside from Salman’s neatly trimmed goatee and longer hair, there’s a particularly striking difference. His aura, his very essence, is wholly unlike his brother’s. It’s optimistic and innocent, yet also disheartened. It instils in her a bizarre and wicked desire; why is she so eager to conquer him? Feeling flustered, Kirsta takes a deep breath and tries to quell the burning desire within her.

“Er, come on...” She remarks, rubbing beneath her nose and clandestinely checking for blood. “Why don’t we find Irzain and keep him company?”

“Alright.”

Returning inside, they walk the halls of the Grand Athenaeum. For some time, they traverse the long corridors, hearing only the sounds of their own footfalls. Kirsta looks toward him several times, noting his distant stare. He never seems to realize how often she glances at him.

“Do you really envy Valan and Jarae?” She asks, breaking the silence.

“I wasn’t raised to lie, except to other nobles.” He flashes a little smile.

“They’re not together, you know...”

“Well, they should be. They enjoy each other’s company, and she seems very loyal to him.”

“Have you ever...”

“Hm?” He glances at her.

“Have you felt that close to someone before?”

“You mean, have I ever been in love?” He raises a brow.

“Well, you said you envy them. I just wondered if you’ve ever felt it, to know what you’re missing.”

“I thought I did, once. That was a long, long time ago...” He sighs.

“Oh... What was she like? ... It was a she, right?” She teases him.

“Yes.” He silently chuckles. “She’s strong and fierce, but she doesn’t look the part at all. She was always so feminine, so pretty... She’s a lot like you, in many ways.”

Kirsta’s cheeks flush as he speaks, his eyes staring off into space as he reminisces.

“She sounds nice... So, uhm... What happened? ... Did she die?”

“Oh, no!” He laughs. “It just wasn’t meant to be, I suppose.”

“Oh!”

Reaching the spire’s double doors, they push them open and find Irzain on the ground floor. Seated in a chair and with a book in-hand, he quietly reads with the aid of the sphere’s glow. Nearby, Lutala sits in another chair, while Roak uses blank scrolls taken from a barrel and a chunk of sharpened graphite to scribble frantically across the parchment. The duo approach the dark-skinned, dreadlocked human, who rambles to himself as he draws, his hands tremoring as he squeezes the graphite, dragging it across the page.

“It’s mine. Mine! MINE! Couldn’t take it away, not from Roak. Roak is too strong. Look at the fire! See it dancing on purity?!”

Standing nearby, Kirsta and Salman look upon an image that seems to depict the ocean’s waves and a ball of fire riding along the surface.

“Well, that’s odd...” Salman remarks.

“Yeah. He’s usually not so erratic this late in the day... You didn’t give Roak his treatment yet, did you?” Kirsta turns to Lutala.

“Uhm... No...”

“Why not?”

“Well...”

Lutala hesitates to speak, looking nervously between Kirsta and an increasingly curious Irzain. He sets his book aside and sits up, looking suspiciously at the Lahnyt priestess.

“What’s wrong?” Salman speaks softly as he approaches her.

“I’m sorry, Irzain... Your fits... They were my fault.” Lutala begins.

“What?!” The Scribe gasps, bolting out of his chair.

“I knew it!” Kirsta growls.

Roak ceases his work, looking back at the others with increasing anxiety.

“My Halcyon magic fused the damaged parts of your mind, but it wasn’t precise. Portions of your brain were... Mishandled... Please believe me when I say that I didn’t know it would do that!” Lutala pleads.

“Are you serious?! Do you know how much those hurt?! The pain is indescribable!” Irzain growls, glaring at her.

“Figures...” Kirsta angrily sighs.

“I trusted you!” Irzain continues.

“I’m sorry! I think if you finish healing on your own, and take supplements to aid you, you’ll be normal. I can mix the potions for you!”

“You want me to trust one of your potions, now?!” He scoffs.

“...”

“Well, you’re some healer... Is that why you were in that wretched swamp?!” Kirsta snickers.

Lutala bows her head, her orange brow softening with visible melancholy.

“I was trying to help...” She murmurs.

“Hey, leave her alone. She did her best.” Salman steps before the Lahnyt, blocking their view of her.

“You stay out of this!” Irzain points a finger at Salman.

“Don’t fault her for not being perfect. If I recall, you asked her to do what she did, and I remember hearing her refusing to give you extra treatments out of fear of hurting you. If she thought for a second that her healing powers would cause your fits, you and I both know she’d have denied you the help you were begging her for.”

Salman’s swift defense of Lutala stuns Irzain and Kirsta. The blond warrior raises her brow in surprise and Irzain backs away, shaking his head. The Lahnyt looks toward him with gratitude, a single, guilty tear running down her cheek. The Scribe runs his fingers through his shaggy brown hair.

“Yeah, well... That may be true, but it wasn’t your brain she was scrambling. If it were, you’d be angry, too, regardless of the circumstances.” He grumbles.

“You did it to yourself. She was the one who saved your life when your fits nearly killed you. Let me tell you, it wasn’t a pleasant experience for her either... If she could fix them, she would. Isn’t that right?” Salman looks back at her.

“Yes... Yes, that’s right.” Lutala nods her head.

With the atmosphere in the room turning sour, Salman holds out a hand to the Lahnyt. Grabbing hold of him, she rises from her seat and allows the Lord to escort her away from the others, leaving Irzain to his book, and Roak in Kirsta’s care. The blond-haired human watches him as he walks, his hand in Lutala’s as he speaks softly and sweetly, comforting her to the best of his ability. They soon disappear into the hallway.

“Kirsty? Hey, Kirsty! ... KIRSTY!” Roak shouts.

“Huh?” She awakens from her trance. “What is it, Roak?”

“I drew you a picture!” He says with a smile.

Holding out the parchment, Kirsta grabs the scroll, looking at the crude figures of people and a boat, all wearing what appear to be hats made of flames.

“Well, that’s... Something!” She remarks.

The hours pass by, and the crew carry on as they would if they were aboard the Arona-Dahl. Soon, it’s time for dinner, and both Salasha and Mairlynn walk the halls of the Grand Athenaeum, calling everyone to eat in the kitchen. The group are surprised to find that Naemen had cooked an edible meal, guided by Salasha’s careful manipulation. They endure an awkward dinner, made worse by Mairlynn’s constant and over-the-top flirtations with every man except for the Donogew brothers, and the simple-minded Roak. Darkness looms on the horizon.

They lie down to sleep in their bedrolls, occupying the safest of the rooms, a windowless lecture room near the center of the building. The night rolls in, blanketing the small island and the Grand Athenaeum. An ornate brazier holds a modest fire in the room’s center, the crew’s bedrolls surrounding it. Though it was originally agreed upon that someone would keep watch over the harbor, none had the energy to stay awake. Even Steingar, the bloodforge warrior, wasn’t in the mood to fight his exhaustion and sit up all night; he’d rather sleep than stare at the shimmering waves that gleam through the blackness. Everyone sleeps soundly, save for a few poor souls.

Tossing and turning, the sweat beads on the skin. Breathing is labored, and the body jolts. Startled awake, Kirsta’s eyes shoot open. She sits up, panting for air and tossing the bedroll from her bare legs. They glisten in the fire light from her own sweat. Looking around the room, her eyes slowly adjust. She looks upon the others. Valan, Steingar and Irzain seem troubled, or at very least are quite uncomfortable, all of them tossing and turning. Everyone else, however, sleeps rather peacefully. She hangs her head and runs her dainty fingers through her damp hair.

“I’m sorry, Luvel. You’ve been gone a long time, and I can’t help it anymore...” She speaks quietly to herself.

Turning her head, Kirsta takes another tally of the room, her eyes now fully adjusted. Scanning the bedrolls once again, she notices something. Salman’s bedroll is empty! Her hair flies through the air as she swiftly looks around the room. He’s nowhere to be found. Rising to her feet, Kirsta’s body is covered only in her thin, turquoise top. Beside her bedroll are her matching trousers, which are thin and flowing, much like Salman’s. She pulls them up, covering herself. As she ties her sash around the waist, holding up her trousers, she continues to scan the room for Salman. A door is cracked open, leading to a now familiar hallway.

She walks across the cold floor, heading for her boots and armor. She stops, however, fearing that the noise might wake the others. Leaving everything behind, she creeps into the hallway and traverses the corridor, climbs the stairs and looks for the study that she’d first found Salman in. As the woman approaches the door, she finds it ajar. With a little grin on her face, she shakes her head and pushes it open. It swings silently. She closes the door behind her, carefully latching it. Salman stands beside a padded bench, looking through a collection of small books from a bookshelf built into the wall. He turns as soon as he hears the clicking of the latch.

“Oh, hello!”

“What’re you doing up?”

“I couldn’t sleep.” He replies, a melancholy look on his face.

“I see...”

She steps toward him on bare feet, her sapphire eyes slowly scanning his form.

“I have bad dreams sometimes, too. If you want, you could always talk to someone.”

“Like who?” He asks, taking a seat on the bench.

“I’m here...”

“That’s very sweet of you.” He chuckles.

“You sound surprised.” Kirsta smiles, sitting beside him.

“You’re just such a strong woman. I wasn’t expecting more than a stern talking to.”

Kirsta’s cheeks flush and she bows her head.

“I can be sweet, too.” She says, turning her eyes toward him.

“Strong and sweet. A lethal combination.”

“Mhm...”

Looking him over, she can see his gaze. For a man so polite and genteel, he’s still a man, and he cannot help but examine her body in her humble and somewhat form-fitting clothes. She thinks back on his words, and sees this as an invitation. Her body burns with desire and she bites her bottom lip. A thought returns to her, the image of holding him down and enjoying his body. She’d had it several times before, but unlike Mairlynn, she’d never use a man who wasn’t at least interested in her. With her eyes looking into his, Salman doesn’t flinch or turn away. It’s all the confirmation she needs.

She leans in, planting a firm kiss upon his lips. Startled, Salman backs away, staying seated on the bench. Kirsta advances, pushing herself against him and resting her hands upon his shoulders. Her large breasts push into his chest and she nuzzles and kisses his neck.

“Kirsta?!”

Her body pushes harder into his as she moves her hands away from his shoulders, grabbing onto her sash and swiftly removing it. She tosses it aside as Salman slides back. He drops the book, nearly lying against the armrest of the padded bench. Kirsta opens her top, exposing her feminine mounds. Her D-cup orbs smoosh into his chest as her hands hungrily grasp at his cordage belt. Pushing her away, Salman rises to his feet. It’s exactly as she imagined it would be; this is the struggle before her inevitable victory. Springing to her feet, she lets her turquoise top fall to the ground, and without the aid of her sash, her trousers fall with gravity.

Salman finds himself looking upon the nude splendor of the woman’s form. Clearly taken by her beauty, he freezes. She pushes herself against him, her hands removing his belt and dropping his trousers to the floor, just as his back strikes the bookshelf. She gasps as she grabs his manhood, looking down in shock. Mairlynn was not exaggerating in the least. Lifting her head, Kirsta plants a firm kiss on his lips, silencing the feeble protests of her new lover. Her hand strokes his flesh, which awakens with startling speed, while the other unbuttons his top. She kisses him deeply, their tongues entwined, though hers wins every battle.

“Kirsta, wait.” He squeaks as soon their lips part ways.

“By the Seraphs, I want you so badly!” She growls before necking him.

Salman’s protests cease. He rests his hands upon her broad hips, though he doesn’t act further. It’s as if he’s unsure of what to do. This only adds fuel to the fire. Pushing his top away, Kirsta frees his body of clothes, gazing lustfully upon his flesh for a moment. He leans in, but before he can do anything, she shoves him down to the floor.

“Ahh!”

Leaping upon him, she straddles the man, grabbing his wrists and pinning them to the rug covered floor, just above his head. She purrs as she grinds her flesh against his, her womanhood pressing into his peninsula of masculinity. A sinister grin spreads across her lips, a wild gleam in her eyes. She’s like a tigress, looking down with desire at her prey, a feast of raw, carnal pleasure.

“Mmm-this’ll be a night to remember, Sal.”

A nervous Salman merely gulps, gazing up at the vixen of a woman. The sun rises on the Grand Athenaeum, and Steingar is first to open his eyes. Yawning and stretching his sleek but powerful muscles, he scratches his furry chest with his claws. Looking about the room, his brow furls. Two bedrolls are empty! He scans the others with his glowing, golden eyes, immediately recognizing who’s missing.

“Huh... Where are Kirsta and Salman?”

Lying on the floor of the sitting room, where they’ve been since the previous night, Salman stares at the ceiling. He’d awoken some time ago, but Kirsta lies partially over him; he dares not move. He shifts his eyes, looking upon her beautiful face. She looks so peaceful, a stark contrast to her earlier ferocity and voracious appetite. Turning his head very slowly, his nose brushes her forehead. Kirsta softly groans as she shifts. Her eyelids rise, her sapphire orbs instantly focused on his features. A little smile crosses her lips, and the woman wriggles closer, pressing her naked body hard against his.

“Mmm-good morning.”

“Good morning, Kirsta.”

“I haven’t had it like that in... Well, forever!” She sighs with relief. “You are positively the most talented and endowed lover I’ve ever experienced.”

“I see...” He speaks softly, brushing strands of blond hair away from her face.

“So, Sal...” Kirsta lifts her head and leans closer. “How was I? Did you enjoy how your warrior claimed her prize?” She giggles, swirling her fingernails over the bare flesh of his chest.

“It was... Something.”

“Something good? I’m sorry if I felt so tight on you. I’ve never had anyone quite like you before, but I did my best!” She swiftly and defensively replies.

“You did just fine...”

“Oh, good!” She flashes a wide grin and rests her head on his chest. “In case you wondered, I loved it. It was a struggle, at first, but once I adapted, it was... Incredible! So, Sal, when do you plan to ‘read’ again?”

Salman doesn’t respond. He lies there in silence, staring at her for a moment before looking toward the ceiling. This disturbs her and Kirsta lifts her head, her brow furling as she focuses her sapphire eyes on the Lord’s strange expression. He appears distressed, perhaps even a little afraid. This isn’t the look of a man who’s been thoroughly satisfied, though she knows that he was. She straddled and rode him like a true warrior, enjoying no less than three orgasms. When he could stand it no more, his impressive manhood filled her loins with his emissions, leaving her wracked with a pleasure unlike anything she’s experienced before. He panted and gasped, and she knew that he was fulfilled, so why then doesn’t he appear to be? She slowly sits up, a horrifying thought creeping into her mind.

“Didn’t you want this?! You did, didn’t you?!”

Salman again remains silent, but diverts his eyes and subtly shrugs his shoulders. Kirsta closes her eyes and hangs her head, her blond hair cascading over her shoulders.

“By the Seraphs... I thought! ... I thought that whole ‘strong woman’ thing was an invitation, and when you stopped pushing me away, I was certain this was what you wanted!”

“I’m sorry.” He murmurs.

“Rrrrr! ... If you didn’t want to bed me, then you should’ve stopped me! You should’ve fought harder!” She growls in frustration.

“You were pretty aggressive, and the old code of honor is that an unclaimed man cannot deny an unclaimed woman of her fleshly desires; if she asks, you must give her what she craves, and you told me what you wanted, right after you shoved me into the bookcase. That’s why I stopped fighting you.”

“What? ... Seriously?!”

Salman nods, his expression as serious as can be.

“That’s how my father said it worked on Ogrodin, back when he was a Lord there... Also, I don’t ever want to strike a woman. It doesn’t feel right.”

“Huh... So, what if the woman is hideous?” She smirks.

“It’s a good thing you’re not; you’re anything but.” He flashes a little smile.

“Aww!” She flushes. “But what about Mair? I know she was demanding sex from you, yet you didn’t give in; you came here.”

“Mair hurt my feelings. In that moment, I wasn’t thinking about the code.”

“Understandable. Still, if you weren’t ready for this, you shouldn’t have let me claim you so easily. Fight back harder, or at least say something!”

“I did say something.” He chuckles as he sits up, beside her.

“Oh... Well, I’m a warrior, not a little girl! If you want me to stop, you need to be stronger than me and tell me how it is; you weren’t ready, and no means no, or at least it should.” She instructs.

“Well, I was never that good at denying women.” He softly replies, glancing down at his lap.

“Seems like that runs in the family...” She murmurs.

“What’s that?”

“I said, I’ll have to teach you how to be more assertive. It’s the least I can do after what you did for me.”

Kirsta can’t help but smile, still overwhelmed by the unbridled pleasure of his body and his unexpected level of skill. She leans in and kisses his lips with a surprising tenderness. She even surprises herself.

“That was a very nice kiss.”

He flushes, his cheeks taking on a rosy hue. It amuses Kirsta, who could never imagine Valan in a similar position. His twin brother, Salman, is so sweet and sensitive, almost like a young boy or a teenage girl. As she scans his face, she reaches out a hand and rests it upon his cheek, softly stroking him with her thumb.

“You’re too soft, and while I’m quickly learning to appreciate that, this isn’t a world for soft people...”

“Oh...” His smile swiftly fades. “I know that the world can be harsh, Kirsta. I’ve dealt with other Lords, hardened soldiers, and the arrogance and entitlement of Princes and Princesses. The world of politics is just as dirty.”

“And how much blood do you have on your hands? How many men have you killed? What about women and children?”

Salman falls silent. Kirsta leans in, giving him a final kiss.

“That’s what I thought. Politics may be a filthy and underhanded world, but it’s all talk; a Lord talks, and someone else does the real work for them. You’re not in the world of politics anymore. You’re down here, with the fallen. This is our world, where people suffer and die. You may have to kill to survive, if the situation calls for it... Just keep this in mind; when I train you, I want you to become stronger, but try not to lose who you are on the inside. Just because you’re stronger and better able to survive doesn’t mean that you need to change.”

“Okay.” He whispers, his trusting gaze fixated on her vibrant, sapphire eyes.

“Alright... We’d better get dressed and head out or you just may find yourself fighting me off again.” She softly giggles and winks at him.

Tossing off Kirsta’s top, which they’d used as a blanket, and collecting their clothes from the floor, the pair take their time getting dressed. Afterward, they accompany each other back to the lecture room, where they find that everyone else has since awoken. Their absence and subsequent return raised more than a few eyebrows, not to mention the scent of their passion, easily detectable to Steingar and Jarae. However, no one dared comment or question where Salman and Kirsta were throughout the night, nor why they returned together. Only Mairlynn persisted in glaring at Kirsta, seething with envy.

Their second day was very much like the first. Naemen and Salasha worked together, and with her skillful manipulations, she clandestinely coached Naemen into cooking a rather delicious breakfast. After eating, the crew made their way to the cove. There they washed in the sea, sat on the beach, and otherwise relaxed and entertained themselves. Everyone noted Kirsta’s newfound calm, but again, no one spoke of it. As the day wore on, they busied themselves with other things.

Irzain scoured the spire for useful and interesting books, helping Lutala find medical tomes. The Lahnyt priestess mixed a series of potions with supplies taken from the Arona-Dahl, making supplements for Irzain and a healing potion for Roak. She no longer trusted her Halcyon magic to fix the dreadlocked human’s mind, though she was still determined to do so. The women roamed about, resting and gossiping, while the Donogew brothers brainstormed potential inventions. Steingar and Naemen sparred and wrestled, though not lightheartedly; Naemen insists time and again that he can find a way to best the Helngar.

The notable difference was Mairlynn, and how the other women have begun treating her. Word spread quickly of how she mistreated Salman. Neither Kirsta nor Mairlynn had quieted their voices when speaking in the hallway, just beyond the kitchen, and Salasha was never very good at keeping secrets. Against Naemen’s suggestion of discretion, she spread the word. It doesn’t help that Salasha harbors a strong attraction to Salman, and Mairlynn’s unkind behavior felt akin to a personal insult. They now routinely taunt the Falmun, to her growing frustration.

Walking along the trail and heading down the sloping ridge, Valan and Jarae make their way toward the cove. They’re off to have another lesson, but they focus their attention on something peculiar. With Kirsta, Lutala and Roak nearby, Salasha stands before Mairlynn and points toward the jungle, She’s clearly hurling insults at the little elf. Mairlynn looks surprisingly affected by this, her head bowed as she stands in silence. After a moment, Roak dances around the Falmun in wide circles, chanting something, as he often does.

This only further upsets Mairlynn, who turns and snaps at the man. He ceases his gleeful skipping and Kirsta swiftly chimes in. She pokes Mairlynn’s chest, then also points toward the jungle, before pointing at the ridge, all the while speaking to the elf. Valan turns to Jarae, but she can only shrug her shoulders. They’re too far away for her ears to hear whatever it is that they’re saying. Continuing on, they walk down the sloping trail, just as Mairlynn turns and hastily marches away from the others, walking up the ridge She draws near, visibly upset by whatever’s just transpired.

“Hi, Mair.” Jarae and Valan both wave to her.

“Stupid wenches should mind their own business... What’s he got to do with any of this? Calling me an animal... They’re the ones who’re animals! Ganging up on me like a pack of damn wolves... And that stupid Roak, the half a retard that he is. He doesn’t even know that he’s judging me! Rrrrr!” Mairlynn grumbles and growls to herself as she passes them, never once acknowledging them.

“Huh... That was odd.” Valan thinks aloud, looking back at the elf.

“I wonder what’s wrong with her.”

“I think it’s pretty obvious, don’t you?”

The pair share a silent gaze before Jarae finally shifts her eyes toward the cove. They press on, nearly at the bottom of the ridge. The others seem to have already forgotten that Mairlynn was even there, sitting on the beach and enjoying their time without her. Glancing toward Jarae, Valan clears his throat.

“Ahem... So, uhm... I was wondering...”

“Yes?”

“Why do we have to go so far to do these lessons? I mean, there’s sand right there.” He points to where Kirsta and the others reside.

“Oh... W-well, I, uhm... I’d rather have more privacy.” Jarae sheepishly replies.

“I doubt they’d make fun of you, if that’s what you’re worried about.”

“I never said it was.” She speaks softly, looking toward him and flashing a little smile.

“Oh! ... Okay.” He smiles back.

On and on they walk. They pass by the others, greeting them and waving before carrying on. None of them bat an eye as the pair head for the far end of the cove, walking nearly half a mile, until their friends appear as small as they are when they stand atop the ridge.

“This seems far enough.”

“Agreed.”

“So, are you ready for your lesson?” He asks, plopping his butt atop the sandy beach.

“Of course! I enjoy them, very much.” She replies with a smile, sitting beside him.

“Then let’s begin...” He says, reaching back and collecting a stray twig. “I’ll write some simple sentences and you read them aloud for me.”

“Alright.”

He begins simply enough, writing in the sand with the small stick.

“The wah-ter is blue.” She slowly reads a sentence.

“Good! Now, try this one.”

“The ship is veh-ree big.”

“Right, again! And this one?”

“I do not know the dog.”

He watches her closely as she reads through every sentence. His eyes scan her feminine curves and routinely focus on the smile that curls around her short, felinesque snout. Her cat-like tail sways behind her, showing her delight in her success. Her tall, tapering ears twitch with every congratulatory remark that he makes. The gentle breeze ruffles her wild, pink hair, which is pulled back and tied in a high, poufy ponytail. Shorter strands of hair caress her brow like bangs, the escaping strands swaying just above her shimmering, pink eyes. She’s so beautiful, smiling at him with a radiant glow; it’s a wonderful warmth.

“Alright. Let’s try a new word. Are you ready?”

Jarae nods her head, then turns her shimmering, pink eyes toward the ground. She watches him draw as he scribbles the word in the soft, yellow sand, his heart beating a little faster.

“There! Tell me what it says.”

Jarae cocks her head as she examines the script.

“You are buh... Boo... Uhm...” She turns her eyes toward him.

“You can do it. Take it slow and sound it out. Remember the letters.”

“Okay... You are bee-yew-tee-full.” She reads slowly. “Oh...”

Her expression swiftly changes, her grin fading away and her eyes turning slowly toward him once more. He smiles so warmly, his cheeks flushing. That was clearly not a mere test sentence. Turning her eyes away, she looks toward his hand. His fingers sink into the sand as he leans a little closer, his face inching toward hers. She returns the gaze, scanning his face very slowly and carefully. Their faces inch closer and closer.

“I mean that, Jarae. I’ve never meant it more.”

She gulps, her pulse quickening. The Jaliscan bites her bottom lip and scoots closer. Her eyes narrow and she cocks her head, leaning in and meeting Valan halfway. Their lips press together, and the human gives the Jaliscan woman the most passionate of kisses. She trembles at his touch. Why is this feeling so powerful? As their lips pull away, Valan’s grin is pleasant and gentle. He reaches out and strokes the soft, rich brown fur of her cheek, petting her so tenderly. Her shimmering, pink eyes remain narrowed, her gaze of longing focused on the human. Her body burns and her loins become moist.

“You learn fast, beautiful. Now I think I can start leaving you notes abouts how I fee-ahh!”

Jarae pounces, leaping upon him and pushing him backward. She straddles him as they fall into the nearby jungle foliage, their legs emerging from the ferns. Kiss after passionate kiss and the fire within her only burns hotter. Valan’s gleeful reciprocation doesn’t make it any easier for her to stop. She cannot help herself, and swiftly removes her top before yanking his simple, burgundy shirt over his head. She lies over him, her perky, fur-covered breasts smooshing into his flesh as their bodies press together. Over and over they kiss, their tongues entwined as their wriggling bodies inch deeper into the forest, eventually disappearing into the privacy of the greenery; it hides their firestorm of passion.

“Oh! They’re at it again!” Salasha remarks.

She points a finger toward the place where Valan and Jarae were once sitting, but now no longer. Only a single garment, recognizable as Jarae’s blouse, but only because of the color, sits on the sand near the jungle foliage.

“Huh... Looks like you’re right.” Lutala casually remarks.

“You think they’ve been at it this whole time?” Kirsta turns to her.

“I don’t know. Maybe... Don’t you?” Salasha asks.

“If they were, I’m sure Steingar would’ve given them a much harder time. He loves to tease people.” Lutala answers.

“I suppose you’re right... Still, I think it’s cute. They go well together.” Salasha coos.

“It doesn’t bother you?” Kirsta turns to the half breed woman.

“No. Why would it?”

“Sal’s mirror is playing with the furry woman!” Roak chirps.

Kirsta, Salasha and Lutala all freeze. They glance awkwardly at one another, all of them sharing an interest in Valan’s sweeter and more innocent twin. Lutala turns her head down and averts her eyes as her cheeks flush, while Kirsta clears her throat and Salashe hums, taking a bare foot and moving her dark green flesh through the warm sand.

“Well...”

“Hm...”

“Look at the sun? It’ll be dinner time in a few hours. I’d better go and, uh... Help Naemen... Or something.” Salasha murmurs.

“Right. I should study that medical journal Irzain found for me.” Lutala adds.

With that, the three women and the simple-minded Roak leave the beach, retreating in awkward silence to the Grand Athenaeum. Only Roak persists in his usual, nonsensical ramblings. Well over an hour later, Jarae arches her back, groaning as she stretches. Lying on her side and with an arm over his chest, her plump, C-cup breasts are smooshed against him. She nuzzles his cheek and kisses him softly, even lovingly. They’d spent much of her lesson making passionate love to each other, enjoying the seclusion of the lush jungle. Valan strokes her cheek, the tip of her long, cat-like tail flicking in response.

“Mmm... That was wonderful, Val. You’re so good.” She coos, almost purring.

“So were you, my sweet.”

Jarae’s eyes open, her shimmering orbs turning toward him. He stares into her pink eyes, his gaze as serious as can be.

“I really love our time together.”

“Y-you do?!” She sheepishly asks.

“Mhm!” He subtly nods. “You know, those past nine days on Arona together... We spent so much time together, growing closer and closer. I’ve enjoyed every moment of it. It was like our time on that little island!”

“Yeah.” She murmurs, a little smile gracing her face.

“I always enjoy spending time with you, even if all we’re doing is sitting in my workshop, taking a walk, or teaching you how to read.”

“Aww, Val!”

He suddenly rolls over, pulling her into his chest as his arms wrap around her slender waist. Their legs entwine and their cheeks rub, her flat, cat-like nose tickling his earlobe. Their two bodies fit together as if they were designed for one another, crafted by the Seraphs so that only they would be a match for the other. He kisses her cheek and nuzzles her, his thin, pointy nose rubbing the base of one of her rabbitesque ears.

“As nice as this was, I just... I like your soothing presence; I often feel like I need it, just to... I mean...”

Her heart beats faster and faster as he appears to struggle with his own words. She pulls her head back and stares into his eyes. He looks unnerved, even afraid, and that awakens the fear within her.

“What I’m trying to say is that... That I... I really-”

Jarae suddenly pulls away and springs to her feet. She grabs her clothes from the pile as a confused Valan slowly sits up.

“What’re you doing?” He asks as she pulls up her undergarment.

“Nothing...” She grumbles, yanking up her trousers.

“Then what’s wrong?!”

“We should get back, before the others start to worry.”

“The others don’t care. They probably assume we’ve been doing this for a while! ... Jarae, please! I just-”

“Regardless, we should get back. Come on.”

With her arms wrapped tightly around her body, she covers her breasts as she darts out of the jungle. She doesn’t wait for him, racing back onto the sandy beach only a few meters away. There, she finds her top and swiftly pulls it over her body. Just inside of the foliage are her boots. She hastily collects them.

“Wait! I want to tell you something!” He calls out to her.

The shaking Jaliscan bolts barefoot along the yellow sand for a moment, leaving the disrobed human in the jungle. She pauses to look back, seeing that he’s not behind her. Her entire body tremors with fear, afraid of the very words he was about to speak. Valan stumbles out of the jungle, struggling to dress himself. He leans against a tree as he rushes to put on his clothes. She takes the opportunity to brush the sand from her human-like, plantigrade feet, slip on her boots and begin jogging back to the ridge. In the distance, Steingar checks the skiff, a routine born from his justified paranoia.

She moves quickly to reach him, ensuring that Valan won’t have the privacy to confront her. Why is it so hard for her to accept? She knows that she isn’t the only woman who separates the act of carnal pleasure from emotion, but Valan has a strange way of fusing the two. She feels a connection between them that moves beyond sex, a confusing and frightening maze of thoughts and feelings that she’s terrified to maneuver through. Her heart aches and her eyes well with tears. She knows in her very bones that this isn’t what she wants, but her feet keep moving; she’s simply too afraid to stop and face him.

Somehow, she evades Valan. Perhaps upon seeing her fleeing so quickly he became disheartened and stopped chasing her, or perhaps she merely outran him. She never looked back, and therefore couldn’t be sure which it was. In any case, with Steingar tagging along, the three of them trickled into the Grand Athenaeum, where the others already were. As the sun began to set, they sat down for dinner. Jarae avoided contact with Valan, placing herself strategically between Salasha and Kirsta. After a quiet and uneventful dinner, Steingar and Kirsta made their rounds, checking for ships on the horizon.

There were none to be found. Returning to the central lecture room, they all lay down in their bedrolls. Nothing had changed, with the exception of the tension between the group, and Kirsta’s bedroll, which had inexplicably skipped over Irzain’s and now lay a space away from Salman’s. On the morning of the third day, the crew awoke and sat around the brazier, letting it burn out. They discussed what should be done, but all they could agree upon is that when the full moon came, they needed to read the scroll’s message, scrawled in Irzain’s enchanted ink.

The grumbling of their stomachs was all that was required to make them forget their quest. Naemen and Salasha cooked a quick and simple meal of canned meat and fresh caught fish. About the only thing Naemen has definitively proven is that he’s a far better fisherman than Steingar. Sitting down to eat their breakfast, Steingar makes a sudden request.

“Oh! I forgot to look at the harbor!” He speaks with his mouth full. “Could you go check?”

“Why me?! I just sat down!” Naemen retorts.

“Come on. You’ve got good eyes, and you know what to look for.”

“It’ll be quick.” Kirsta assures him.

“If that’s the case, why don’t you go do it?”

“Want me to do it?” A frustrated Valan rises to his feet.

“Naemen’s got this, don’t you Naemen?”

Steingar turns to the half breed, a little smirk on his face. Glancing around the room, the rest of the crew either look to him expectantly, or ignore their dialogue altogether.

“Ugh! Fine!” He growls, rising from his chair and tossing a handkerchief down. “Ungrateful...” He points at Steingar. “You remember that.”

“I will. Bye-bye now!” Steingar teases him.

Grabbing his plate, a scowling Naemen eats as he walks down the hall, up the stairs and toward their lookout post. Collecting a set of telescopes, hand-crafted by one of the Donogew brothers, he brings the lenses to his yellow eyes.

“By the Seraphs!” He chokes on what’s left of his food.

To his horror, a ship is being tied down in the harbor. The Sloop Of War is being watched over by a familiar looking human male with short, blond hair. He wears the distinctive armor of a Captain of the Crown’s navy. Without any time to lose, he races down the hall, only to stop and turn back, collecting the small satchel of gunpowder they’d left there, just in case. Bursting into the kitchen, the others turn toward him.

“Start packing!” Naemen shouts.

“Someone’s coming?!” Irzain gasps.

“No...” Naemen shakes his head. “They’re already here.”

Leaving their dishes and food behind, they race to pack only the essentials. They collect their weapons and armor first, while Salasha, Mairlynn, Lutala and Irzain pack their bedrolls, important tomes and scrolls, and other assorted gear. Valan races toward Salman, who’s being given a set of loaded wheellock pistols by Kirsta.

“Here! Put this on!” Valan demands.

“Armor?! I can’t wear armor! I’ve never bothered before!” Salman retorts.

“Don’t argue with me, brother. You’re a Lord, and you’re far too important to die from a bullet in the back, now put it on! I’ll help you!” Valan insists.

“He’s right. You’re going to need it; we can’t lose you.” Steingar adds.

With the help of the Helngar warrior and his own brother, they strap the armor to his body within minutes. Naemen returns from the second floor, bringing about the troubling news that men were only minutes away, marching along the trail. Before he can finish speaking, they can hear the echo of the large doors opening at the front of the building.

“Well, we know they’ve been here, the way that path was cleared away.” A soldier comments.

“The question is, are they still here, or have they already left?” Another remarks.

“Shut it!” Captain Mayweather growls. “I want a thorough search of this place. Let’s make sure they’re gone, and until then, no snap judgements, am I understood?”

“Yes, sir!”

Walking through the large foyer, they come upon the junction of halls, finding themselves looking upon dozens of faces painted in oil, and on stone and metal busts. Kristoff Mayweather approaches the bust of Irzain, looking over the plaque.

“Well, well... ‘Hebron’ is it? ... Now it’s beginning to make sense... Split up into teams of threes and search each hall. I want a runner to head back to the ship and bring everyone who can fight.”

“Yes, sir!” The soldiers chirp.

“And don’t be so loud.” Mayweather rests a hand over his brow.

“Yes, sir...” The soldiers murmur.

Splitting up as ordered and making their way through the eerily quiet corridors, Mayweather waits with a handful of bodyguards. He looks through the opened front doors, tapping an armored boot impatiently and waiting for his runner to return with the rest of his men. Bang, bang, crash!

“Argh!” Several soldiers scream from a hallway.

“They’re here!” Mayweather draws his sword.

More bangs are heard, along with the familiar clanking of metal on metal, and accompanied by the screams of his men. These sounds came from an entirely different hall.

“Sir?!” A panicked soldier looks to Mayweather.

Kristoff narrows his eyes and growls. He can’t risk chasing after the sounds and getting killed himself. In this moment, he regrets leaving so many of his crew behind on Vaspania to chase the bizarre ship onto an uncharted island.

“What’re we going to do, sir?!”

“Argh! Ahh!” Men’s screams echo throughout the halls.

“... We wait.” Mayweather snarls.

Racing through the Grand Athenaeum, the crew regroup. Kirsta, Steingar, Valan and Naemen all reload their weapons. Jarae checks for more crossbow bolts, having fire her last two into the faces of Crown soldiers as they turned a corner. She digs through her pack, collecting a quiver of bolts.

“We need to go. Is everything packed?” Kirsta asks.

“Yeah! We’re all set to go!” Irzain replies.

“This stuff is heavy!” Mairlynn whines.

“It’ll be heavier when you’re dead.” Steingar retorts.

“What about the obvious problem?” Salman suddenly asks.

“What’s that?”

“That boat won’t hold us all!”

“It’s a skiff, actually.” Steingar remarks.

“Whatever! What’s the plan?!”

After a brief moment of glancing around, they come to the only logical conclusion. Mairlynn, Salasha, Lutala, Irzain and Roak will carry the gear and leave first. They’re all the skiff can hold, along with all of their equipment. The others will have to hold back the soldiers. As badly as he wanted him to leave with the first group, Valan was confronted by the fact that the skiff wouldn’t hold Salman as well, and certainly not when he’s weighed down with so much armor. Retreating to the kitchen, the first group makes their way outside and down the ridge, their escape covered by those who’re left behind.

The others watch, their stomachs churning as they wait. The relentless Captain is readying for an attack, and they all know it. The question is, how long do they have? Mayweather paces back and forth, his bodyguards holding their matchlock arquebus rifles to their shoulders. Time appears to be slowing to a crawl as they wait. None of their men return, only increasing the agony of delay. Eventually, however, the runner returns, along with thirty armed and armored soldiers, ready and aching for battle.

“Alright. Let’s go. If they haven’t escaped yet, they’re likely trying to. Take a handful of men and circle around. The rest of us will spread out. Stick to main corridors along the walls. I have a feeling they’re slipping outside.” Mayweather instructs.

“Yes, sir!”

Standing at the back door, Naemen holds a wheellock pistol in one hand and a set of fused telescopes with the other.

“Alright. They’re pushing it into the water. Should we go?”

“I don’t want to get trapped on the beach and leave the enemy with the high ground.” Steingar retorts.

“Agreed. We should wait until they’ve reached Arona first, then we can go.” Kirsta adds.

“Are you sure, because-”

“Do you want to go off alone?!” Steingar growls.

Naemen narrows his eyes but falls silent. Salman grows increasingly anxious. He’s never been in combat before, and though he’s shot firearms often and is exceedingly accurate, he’s never even taken the life of an animal. His hand shakes at the mere thought of pointing a weapon at another man.

“Alright. They’re almost halfway there.” Naemen says as he looks through the telescopes.

“That’s good enough. We’re not waiting any longer!” Valan growls.

Grabbing onto Salman’s gauntlet, he drags his brother away from the Grand Athenaeum. Jarae stays by his side, as does Naemen, who is more than eager to leave. Kirsta and Steingar both grumble to themselves as they’re briefly left behind, but their tune swiftly changes.

“There they are! Get them!”

Bang, bang, bang, bang, bang! Round after round flies past them as the crew are stunned to find several dozen soldiers swarming the building. Men shoot down from opened windows on the second floor, while more men emerge from around the building and more still from the doorway they were just standing in. Kirsta and Steingar can feel the rush of embarrassment and fear; had they waited any longer, they’d have been completely surrounded. They spin around and fire, emptying most of their single-shot weapons in moments. Valan, however, keeps his harmonica pistol handy. He doesn’t want to use it until he absolutely has to.

“Look! There’s two of them!” A soldier shouts, pointing at Salman and Valan.

“Twins... I should’ve known.” Mayweather growls. “Kill them! Gun them down, already!”

Another volley of fire begins, just as the crew near the slope of the ridge. A soldier pops out from nearby bushes and takes aim. He pulls the trigger, the red-hot match slipping into the port. Salman sees the unarmored Naemen barely ten meters from the soldier, and rushes between them. Bang! A cloud of smoke precedes a loud ding. Naemen turns back and catches Salman, who blocks the bullet with the backplate of his brother’s armor.

“Ahh, that hurts!” Salman exclaims.

Naemen takes aim and fires, shooting the soldier in the face with his only round. Salman struggles to stabilize himself, still unused to the cumbersome feel of the armor. A grateful Naemen holds him up.

“You saved my life, Sal! I can’t thank you en-LOOK OUT!”

Turning around, Salman stares down the barrel of an arquebus, just before catching a round to the breastplate. As it dings off of his armor, he stumbles backward. In a moment of fear and reaction, he watches his arm rising unusually slowly. It’s as if time has slowed to a near standstill. Without thinking, he takes aim and fires. The round strikes the face of the man, blasting a chunk of his jaw from his head and ripping bits of flesh from his skull. He slowly falls back, his scream of agony deepened in pitch. Time begins to return to normal as Salman realizes what he’s just done.

“Move, damnit!” Valan roars.

Naemen grabs the shocked Salman by the armor, dragging him for a moment before he moves on his own. Valan kneels down and takes aim, shooting round after round from his harmonica pistol. With a crossbow pistol in each hand, Jarae joins him, shooting her bolts and tearing into the unarmored side of one soldier and the throat of another. Steingar takes a bullet to his breastplate, and another to his greaves, growling in a rage. They retreat down the ridge as Mayweather’s soldiers fall back to reload and regroup.

“Come on! While we still can!” Kirsta shouts.

“She’s leaving the ship! She’ll be back by the time we get down there!” Naemen exclaims, watching as his sister, Salasha, pilots the unloaded skiff by herself.

Sloppily reloading as they stomp and hop down the ridge, they’re forced to turn around when Mayweather’s men reemerge.

“Don’t let them get away!” Mayweather snarls.

Bang, bang, bang, bang! Round after round whizzes by as the soldiers unleash their volley. Valan and Jarae drop down to the ground, while Kirsta and Steingar duck near foliage to conceal themselves. Salman and Naemen hop along, heading for a thin tree near the edge of the ridge. A round strikes Salman’s back, and another zooms so close to his head that he can feel the air. He turns around, disoriented as he takes aim and fires with his second wheellock pistol. Just as the charge ignites, two more rounds hit his breastplate. He stumbles backward and falls over the ridge. Valan’s eyes nearly explode from his head and Kirsta drops her firearms, covering her gaping maw as she screams.

“Ahhhh-!” Salman yells as he falls, landing with a loud splash in the vivid blue water below.

“SAL!”