The serpent’s head rolled on the fine sand, still aflame. Blood spilled on the ground, wetting the sands. Crimson flames danced on the blood and flesh of the creature, slowly consuming what was left of it.

Like a puppet whose strings had been cut, Midhir collapsed on his knees as the immense power that filled his veins left him. The raven let go of his shoulders, and flew away with a few strong beats of its wings. It landed some distance away from them, and started grooming itself, seemingly without a care in the world.

“Midhir!” Willow’s voice echoed in the charged silence. She ran across the melted sand, stumbling on the slippery glass surface, and finally reached him. “Are you ok?” She could barely suppress her panic. “Are you wounded?”

Midhir took a deep, shaky breath as he shook his head. “No wounds,” he muttered, glancing at he others gathering around him. “Just some scratches and bruises. I’ll be fine. Lonan-“

“I’m fine!” The historian cut him off with a smirk. “That was quite the spectacle there – you’re stronger than I expected…” He paused, shooting meaningful glances at the others. “Than any of us expected, I daresay. But that aside, while you rest, I’d like to try and preserve as much of this creature as we can. Young Lord Orlein, Miss Willow, please help me.”

“Of course,” Alistair nodded. Willow let out a sigh. “Fine,” she dusted off her uniform, and sheathed her rapier before heading off to help Lonan.

Finally given some breathing room, Midhir picked up the sword-spear off the ground, and carefully wiped it with a handkerchief.

“Come with me,”

Arwen’s voice startled him. When had she even snuck up without him noticing?

She glared at him with a hint of impatience in her eyes. Her right hand was clenched around the shaft of her three-pronged staff, while her left was clutching something in the inner pocket of her cloak. “Please, come with me.” She repeated with a somewhat kinder tone.

Midhir nodded, and forced himself to get up. With shaky steps, he followed her away from the burning body of the serpent. They only walked a short distance before she pointed at the ground. “Sit – the fumes of the burning serpent wouldn’t do you any good, and you need rest before we proceed.”

Midhir raised an eyebrow. Despite the crimson flames slowly consuming the serpent, there were no fumes – no smoke rising from the flames, and no smell of burning flesh. The ‘fumes’ as she called it weren’t why she asked him to step away from the others.

He sat down, placing the sword-spear to the ground next to him.

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Arwen also sat down. “May I see you hands?” She asked, her gaze focused on something far away behind him for a split second before she lowered it to his hands.

Midhir bit his tongue, and showed her his palms. She was acting odd. Her worry was genuine – that much he could tell – but there was something beneath the surface of it all that she was clearly hiding.

She ran her fingers along his left palm, then over the bandages on his right hand. “Has the wound healed yet?” She absentmindedly asked.

“The wound is gone, but it will take a while before I can use my hand as I did before. Why?” he could only hope he managed to hide his impatience.

Arwen bit her lower lip for a moment before raising her gaze. “I worry.” She simply replied.

“I’ve noticed.” Midhir sighed. “Arwen, what exactly are you worried about?”

She pursed her lips, and fiddled with her hair. She looked like she was trying to decide. A few moments passed in silence before she finally spoke.

“We’ve gone on two field missions so far. In Lohssa, you nearly died – you got lost in the mist, you fought that possessed girl, defended her against wolves later on, and during all that, you were but a few steps away from a tear in the Veil.” She raised her chin. “Here, your blood was used as a sacrifice in a ritual that was supposed to awaken the Old Gods. You fell down here and fought that serpentine creature, you found that altar-like structure and the flower,” she gestured at the flower still hanging from his pocket. “I worry.” She repeated, looking at him with an intense gaze.

Midhir shrugged. What was there to say? She was right – in hindsight, he had been extremely unlucky. “Better me than one of you three.” He replied only to earn an angry huff.

“It’s not a joke, Midhir!” She folded her arms.

“I’m aware!” he snapped, shooting her a sharp glance before averting his gaze. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to raise my voice.” He quickly apologised. “I know it’s not a joke. It’s just my way of dealing with it all…” He rubbed his left eye. “I don’t really know what else I can do, to be honest.”

A faint, understanding smile appeared on her lips. “You’re afraid.”

“How can I not be?” He shrugged before scowling. “But you didn’t ask me to step away for this. What’s wrong, Arwen?”

The others were almost done with putting out the flames on the serpent’s body. They didn’t have much time left for private conversations.

“How… did it feel?” She hesitantly asked. “You used more power than you normally could. The Raven – it fed you power, I saw it. How did it feel?”

“Sweet,” he replied. While his memory of the final moments of the serpent was somewhat hazy, the sensation of sheer power was crystal clear in his mind. “It felt like I was… complete.” He pursed his lips. “It was terrifying.”

Arwen nodded. “I see. And… were you in control?”

Her question gave him pause. “No.” He curtly replied. “No, I don’t think I was.”

He recalled the voice he heard. It was a woman’s voice, sharp and carrying authority. It reminded him of his mother – the voice of someone to be respected, or perhaps even feared. He couldn’t help but wonder, was it real, or was it just a hallucination caused by that immense power he held for a short moment?

She leaned back, away from the basin. Her crimson hair cascaded on her back like a waterfall of blood.

A voice echoed in her mind.

“She’s fine, thanks to you.”

She chuckled. “Thanks to us both.” She knew her voice would reach him – it always did.

“…Right. I’m more worried about the boy.”

She raised her eyebrows. “Why? He shouldn’t remember any of it. It’ll be fine, she’ll find some way to explain it.”

“He remembers, Witch.” The voice replied from afar. “He is not fine.”