Hui Long:

  I stare at the merchant across the table. My fingers rap the hardwood. My eyes narrow. He stares back, seemingly unaffected—despite the fact that he just asked to do something impossible.

  “Listen: I appreciate your help over the past few weeks. I really do. And I know Gareth and the others like you, but…” I sigh and smack the paper he handed me. “I can’t do this.”

  Durest frowns, something dark casting over him for a moment. A familiar darkness that only I have seemed to notice. But then comes that easy smile and he’s back to normal. He scribbles in his ledger before ripping the page out and handing it to me.

  I understand. No worries.

  I sigh. “Thank you. Well then… I suppose this is goodbye—”

  The door slams open. Gareth and Cozo come running in, almost falling over each other.

  I stand up, hand going to my hilt. “What is it?”

  Both of them pant heavily. They share a worried glance for a moment before Gareth speaks: “You should hear about it yourself.”

  …

  We arrive in the tavern to muted whispers. Not the usual fanfare. Most of the people are engrossed in the flamboyant man who waltzes upon a round table, hands gesticulating wildly with his tale.

  “Then the two warriors of lightning clashed in the sky: one the boy shogun, Souta Matahashi. The other an unknown devil—a scarlet wraith whose very presence emanated violence. They warred in the sky as the spirits fought Sorayvlad’s army below in a savage battle. And then a great beast came from the West—an Elk with wings and talons and—”

  I push past everyone and stand on the table.

  The man looks at me, taking in my appearance. He sneers. He’s about to speak before he notices my sword, then re-evaluates who I am. His eyes linger on my hair.

  His face drops.

  “Dragon Slayer,” he mutters. The name travels around to the thirty bar patrons, all murmuring now.

  “Where did you hear this tale?”

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  He clears his throat. “I was there—”

  “No lies. Where did you hear it?”

  A bead of sweat rolls down his neck. I spot Durest watching me from the corner of my eye. As if judging me—assessing what I’ll do next.

  “I heard from a soldier’s relative, in a tavern a few towns away.”

  I nod. Then, after a moment of silence, I gesture by rolling my hands. “Well what are you waiting for? Continue.”

  …

  When the man’s story is done, we exit the tavern. Cozo and Nimra speak behind us while Gareth and the merchant speed-walk to catch up to me. My shoulders hunch forward, eyes downcast and thinking. A great wind rustles the trees along the pitted road.

  “So…” Gareth begins. “What are we going to do?”

  I look at the horizon. The Boar Ranges are closer than Adachi at this point. And yet…

  I sigh. “Alright Durest. Looks like you might get your wish after all.” I turn to the North, towards Catolica, Sorayvlad, Adachi, and the Free Villages—the lands I had left behind to chase a snake.

  Only for his witch to wreak havoc in my absence.

  But I’ve had enough.

  “Let’s go burn a witch.”

  …

  Raiten:

  I walk back through briars, along much of the same path we took as a Mancer Troop. It's dead now. Quiet. No plagued assail us.

  Us.

  Umbrahorn travels behind, usually a good distance away. We haven’t spoken since that night.

  I feel like one of the plagued. Although my will to live persists, everything else is… overwhelmingly depressing. I am just moving, action to action. Meal to meal.

  A twig snaps ahead.

  I stop. Umbrahorn pops out of the ground from behind me.

  Maybe not as dead as I thought…

  I instinctively reach for Meteorfang, but it's not at my belt. Instead, I make a small dagger of Aether—something I learned to do over the past few days—and keep my amulets at the ready.

  From the brush, comes forth a figure. Limping. Eyes downcast. Hair dirty. And yet… I recognize her.

  Sorina looks up at me, covering her right stump with her left hand. She takes me in, squinting.

  I have no words.

  “Oh. It's you,” she says, dismissively. Then, she falls over, eyes rolling up to her head—fainting. Too much blood loss.

  My shock is replaced by panic and I move faster than I have in the past few days—a purpose to strive for, finally. I slide to catch her in my arms. Her breath is ragged and she coughs dryly. Yet, when Umbrahorn heals her and I wrap her wound desperately in a line of Aether…

  I can't help but smile weakly for the first time in days.