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Letting out a low groan, Selene rubbed her temples as she finished off the end of the chapter she had been working on. The author had a tedious, rambling style and if she hadn’t committed herself so thoroughly to her task, this book might have broken her. As things were, she desperately needed a break.

Standing and giving he back a long popping stretch, Selene tried to relax. She ran her hands through her long raven colored locks and gave one a tug as she tried to clear her head. There had been so many threads to pull at and research had never been her forte. The more that she learned about the fallen city of Miletus, the more she was sure there was something being covered up.

I haven’t found a single mention of the city having a dwarven population, not one. Not even a record of any dwarven clans associated with the Chimera’s Mane territory. It could be pride, or some ancient feud. But call me winged dwarf if it isn’t suspicious.

There are hardly any contemporary sources. Constantine’s Diary had more information in it than any other single source I have found. Not that I could ask any of the other families for access to their libraries without arousing their suspicious. Going to the academy was risky enough.

Selene knew that she could always ask her mother, Daphne, but the act of asking questions alone would likely give her mother more information than Selene got in return. That wouldn’t have necessarily been a bad result. But the last thing Selene wanted was for her mother to start mucking around with things in the Mane.

The mountains were where she had found her escape from the jaded politics and vanity pervasive to this place. That’s what she told herself at least. Selene had most certainly not been running away.

Pacing around the table in the middle of the Silverstar’s library and study, Selene gave her muscles a chance to warm up. Feeling started to return to her numbed limbs. Feeling a rumble from her stomach, she admitted to herself that she needed more of a break than she had been about to allow herself.

In reflex, as if to remind herself where she was, Selene smoothed out the silken gown she was wearing and adjusted her hair pin. Once she had prepared her appearance to combat the whispers and gossip, Selene exited the library and descended the many flights of stairs to the kitchens.

The late nights crisp chill hung heavier the lower in the tower she went. She could hear laughing and muffled voices drift through the curtained doorway with flutters of yellow light as she neared. Selene hadn’t expected there to be anyone in the cooking area this late, but she was thankful there would be a warm fire.

Pushing the curtain aside with a smile, it was banished with the cold. Long, gorgeous silver hair spilled out in an unruly mess perched upon a soft dimpled face similar to, but more youthful than, their mothers. A twinge coursed through Selene as her muscles tensed. It had been a pitiful hope to think she would manage a visit home without running into her siblings.

“Good evening elder sister,” Selene managed through the scowl she was actively trying to push from her lips. “What a wonderful surprise.”

Mischievous intent sparkled in Penelope’s light blue eyes as they went comically wide. She dramatically clasped her hands over her chest, dropping the pastry she had been eating onto the butchers block. Penelope’s voice was high and lilting as she addressed Selene.

“Oh my! Dear sister, it is indeed a wonder to see you. It’s been so long since your last visit I was beginning to think you’d gone feral. Instead you brought a wilding to us, a wicked beast from the tales I hear.”

Penelope’s mouth alighted in a “O” shape as she pretended to notice her fallen dessert. With a conductors precision she twirled her fingers and spoke a short incantation. The half-eaten fruit tart rose slowly from the table, twirled a few times, and then hovered to her mouth as she took a bite.

Seething, Selene almost took the bait. It had always been easier to channel her doubt, frustration, pain, and shame into anger. Fundamentally, Selene’s position had shifted, her family didn’t know it though. This had brought about a change in mindset, one that she had yet to fully realize herself. Her actions were now tethered to so much more than before Cire had gone and made her an heir.

A twitching smile pressed its way onto Selene’s mouth. She stepped forward and awkwardly embraced her sister in a hug. With a parting squeeze, Selene stepped back with a true grin at the bewildered expression on Penelope’s face.

“Truly it is a miracle I have returned with my wits intact.”

Petulant, Penelope took another bite at her tart when she failed to illicit her desired reaction from Selene. The girl had always been so easy, especially given her unfortunate, but predictable circumstances. Selene’s father had only been a fling for little more than a decade, Penelope and Alexander’s sire had been house consort for over a century now.

“Will you be departing once your pet returns? Mother has requested my assistance with some delicate ritual work. I suspect she will be quite busy for the next month.”

Clang! An empty pan struck the floor in the back of the kitchen. Elias, hastily picked it up and put it back into the washtub he had been quietly working on. He ducked his head obsequiously and resumed washing with over exaggerated enthusiasm.

Selene slowly blinked at the interruption, she was well past jumping at sudden noises. She hadn’t even registered Elias’ presence more than a piece of furniture or cooking implement. Suddenly Cire’s naive words bubbled up in her mind, ‘Selene, the servants, are they slaves?’. Shaking her head, Selene turned and walked away, leaving her sister more confused than cross.

I had never really given it much thought before Cire asked. There are not any slaves in Sunset. I had always thought that it was because no one could afford them. But that’s not the case, I know Maisy and Stout both have plenty squirreled away.

Could freedom be that the reason I like Sunset? Maybe it isn’t the lack of the things I don’t like here. Perhaps it is the liberty Maisy encourages?

Full of thoughts, a distracted Selene wandered back to the study, all ideas of food abandoned. The half moon elf, half wood elf had unexpected things to ruminate on. It wouldn’t be until Elias covered her sleeping form on the study’s desk with a blanket that her mind truly eased.

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Entering his dream state, Cire found himself, at least his own actions within the twisting reality, more lucid than before. Often he had been tossed about of crashing waves of realization playing out as images before him. On this occasion, Cire was standing in same meadow he had fought in the day before, only it was pristine and untouched by battle.

Striding in his direction through the knee high grass was an elf, one that looked nothing like any of the ones he had seen. The elf was wearing loose fitting dark robes, but his fingernails were pure black and he had small black horns poking through blonde hair. His eyes were serpent like and the color of pumpkins. It was all together foreign.

Cire knew he was in a dream, could see wisps of evaporating colors and blurry edges beyond the meadow. Even though, he took a step back from the approaching figure. Why would he be picturing a stranger he had never met in a dream?

An unexpected throaty chuckle was the elf’s response. Instantly Cire knew, he knew from his toes to the tips of his ears that this was Dimitra. Or at least a representation of Dimitra.

“I don’t blame you for being taken back, Fell Elves can have disconcerting appearances.” The male elf had Dimitra’s female voice and occasional his features would morph to match.

“Fell elves?” Cire lapsed into casual conversation without thinking about it.

“Yeah,” Dimitra gestured with their hands indicating their whole body and then started playing with one of their horns. “Fell elves. Still not very quick on the uptake when introduced to new concepts are you fangy.”

Off kilter, Cire shrugged and decided to go with the flow.

“Seems like I am. What’s a fell elf? I mean, I get that you’re one now and apparently male, but have any details to share?”

Dimitra ran her hand through her long blonde hair and then held her hand out palm up between them. A small ring of rune script appeared above it and filled in with a void of darkness. Two small purple skinned hands grasped the edge. Then a tiny imp pulled itself into the dream and flapped to perch on Dimitra’s shoulder.

“Fell elves are primarily connected to the infernal base element. They, we, are the most adept at conversing with and summoning beings from the planes. Didn’t you learn this when you were young?”

Cire watched the purple skinned tiny humanoid with wings with fascination and then his cheeks burned at his ignorance. Before he could answer, Dimitra cut off his potential reply with a snap of her fingers.

“That’s right, you’re not from our world. Never mattered much to me so I didn’t think too hard on it. Most of the elven types are pretty intuitive. River and ocean elves are linked with water. Wood elves are bound to earth, whereas sky elves the air. Desert elves have intrinsic fire elements. Moon elves are tied to darkness and sun elves light. Lastly, swamp, or shadow elves, are the only type with two affinities, life and death.”

Raising an eyebrow, Cire tilted his head.

“I think that’s more words than I have ever heard you speak, about anything, even sex.”

“Well, I’m not really here now am I. Not that there is really a ‘here,’ anyways.” Dimitra grinned and reached down to grab his hand. Then she was tugging him into the meadow. Taking flight, the imp chittered disapproval at the sudden movement.

“I am an independent projection of your subconscious connected to the mana of the world. So this is more a representation of what you know and can guess at, than what will actually happen, but there are, how should I put this, influences.”

Dimitra made a motion like jazz hands to signify influences, then they winked.

“You must have gleaned all of that information, but not committed it to active memory. I wonder why you think I will be reborn as a fell elf next. I had always hoped it would be as a fire elf, that would be hot.”

Cire couldn’t help but follow. Dimitra had always been a force of personality, in the dream she was impossible to resist. While they moved, the landscaped began to shift under their feat. Trees were replaced by towering buildings in the Tempest Treetops style, then jagged peaks, before settling into long stretches of ocean.

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“Where are you taking me?”

Dimitra laughed and ran into the surf, not caring one iota about their robes getting wet. “To what you need to see. To what you know, but do not admit.”

Cire’s brow furrowed as he looked around the open beach. Up the coastline a ways from them were structures grouped together forming an obvious settlement. They were both already moving towards it, Dimitra letting the waves lap at her feet.

“Are you going to tell me or is this one of those times where seeing it conveys more than words?”

Dimitra’s face shifted to a dower expression as they ran back to him and took his hand once more. Cire had never been this familiar with Dimitra in person, nor she him, but it felt in line with their personality. It was hard to remember that he was dreaming and that this wasn’t real, no matter how strange and unrealistic.

Sighing, Cire kept walking while holding Dimitra’s hand. The next wave was larger than the last, and when it receded it left terrible debris in it’s wake. Bodies, all along the coastline littered the beach. The ocean washed back in with a wave of blood. Cire jumped back from the water. With their hands entangled Dimitra was practically jerked from her feet.

Dimitra yelped, and they were standing on the edge of a peak high in the mountains. Below them an avalanche of rocks, broken trees, and snow rushed towards a marching army and swallowed it whole in an instant. Flames, screams, battle cries, and smoke filled the air all around them, choking out thought.

When the chaos cleared they were back in the meadow. The discordant information assaulting his senses was too much. Cire would have been sick if Dimitra hadn’t seized his shoulders and forced him to stare into their alien orange eyes. After a moment of focus, Dimitra stepped away and revealed a whole crowd of people lined up at a festival feast behind her.

Sumptuous dishes of meats, fruit, and food of all sorts filled every spare piece of tabletop that wasn’t some sort of game of chance. Dice, a wheel of fortune, a board game Cire had seen in the Silverstar tower, and more were all being played by the attendees. At the far end of the table Cire could see Eugene and Stacy drinking and laughing.

Dimitra gave him a hearty slap on the back and grinned.

“You need to remember that I chose this life Cire. I always knew the risks, so did my family. You’ve made your choice, you need to live it like I lived mine, to the fullest.”

Cire nodded, he knew that battle was capricious. A friendly wave from Eugene reminded him of that easily. Dimitra didn’t say anything else, they turned and walked down to the far end of the table and took a mug right out of Stace’s hand. A small child with a shock of white hair was sitting to Stace’s side, Calix.

For whatever reason, Calix didn’t look all that different, simply much younger than when he had died. Cire was a bit puzzled as he examined the boy. Calix displayed none of the bitterness that Cire had experienced at the moon elf’s hands.Feeling no hate or residual distaste for Calix, Cire looked over the others at the table.

It was an odd assortment of celebrants to be sure. Naga sat side by side with elves, dwarves, gnomes, and even chipmunkin. There were other species, Cire was certain, but whenever he looked straight at someone with disparate traits they blurred and were replaced. A round of applause broke out as everyone looked to the head of the table.

Following the crowds gaze, Cire’s mouth hung agape. Raising a chalice, a ridiculously ostentatious version of himself toasted the gathered people. His talons grasped the gaudy cup awkwardly, but in full view. Kalani, in an equally resplendent gown, stood on noticeably long legs at his side. Durg and Selene flanked him, then came Maisy with Stout and many others.

The scene seemed to wink out, everything turning and spinning into a black hole at the center of the table. Cire was sucked into the vortex with everything and everyone else. Landing on his feet, he was standing at the center of the Valley of Sunset, near the large bore. Empty cobblestone streets stretched out in all directions separating various buildings into distinct districts. Before him, one of the largest buildings loomed with massive columns and broad steps leading to a heavy set of metal doors.

In his hands, Cire held a trowel covered with some sort of white paste. The unfinished wall had several workers attending it besides himself. Cire placed the next marble brick in place and smeared the paste over the top mechanically. Time warped and Cire spent years placing stone after stone.

On one of his upswings the trowel morphed into a sword. When Cire brought the blade down it cut deeply into a fungus beast. The redcapped mushroom monster split in two and leaked dark red juice over the ground. Then he was walking, hiking, and running.

The rest of Cire’s dream was spent traveling through dark forests and jungles. Delving into the depths of moaning caverns or swiftly across the ocean on the open deck of a ship. The adventurer explored places of wonder and terror. Each monster slain rewarded him with another brick of white marble. Exhausted, yet fulfilled, he always returned to the mountains.

Drawing him from the trance, the twin rousing forces of sunlight and the scent of cooking food were too much for Cire to resist. He stretched as he sat up on the cold stone of the keep and surveyed the rooftop. Several other students were in the process of rousing, but some were still deep in sleep. He didn’t feel lighter, but he had perspective.

A set of alert eyes fell onto Cire. Eliana approached and tapped him on the shoulder before he could stand. When he looked up she gestured for him to follow. Walking down through the keep, Cire was tempted to nick something from the kitchen as they passed through. He was still busy rubbing sleep out of his eyes and jumbled thoughts out of his head as they stepped outside.

Leading him into the forest, Eliana had stayed silent to this point. That wasn’t abnormal for the taciturn elder elf. She seldom spoke frivolously, at least in Cire’s experience. When they reached a private grove, with plenty of cover, Eliana immediately addressed the issue at hand.

“Obelius told me that you summoned the defensive structure. How long will it last? Is it going to discorporate while everyone is inside?”

Stifling a yawn, without truly thinking things over, Cire responded dutifully to the instructor with accurate information. Only afterwards did he realize that he may have said too much.

“Should last a week. It won’t dissipate until I release it. Then I can’t summon it again for a month.”

Eliana’s eyes widened slightly at his response, then she nodded curtly.

“Yes, well, good. Do not go around sharing that. Release the structure once we have left and as privately as possible. Obelius and I will keep conversation regarding it limited,” She hesitated uncharacteristically. “I saw you during the battle, charging their mages. I will not tell you how reckless that was, you know. It showed good instincts though.”

Knowing better than to verbalize his gratitude, Cire dipped his head in a slight bow. Eliana turned and waved her hand to follow as she began heading back. Cire had processed so much during his dream that the day before felt like months ago. He knew that few of the other students had been in heated combat previously, while Cire was growing accustomed to it.

Cire’s path wouldn’t be one of obscurity. By necessity in this world he would either be drawn to danger or it to him, better to be prepared. Cire needed to keep constructing his foundation, one brick at a time. Snapping his wandering thoughts, the teacher wasn’t quite done with her lessons.

“What happened to your weapon?”

Wincing, Cire instinctively looked down to his hip, now absent a sword or sheath.

“After I engaged the casters I was attempting to get away and I got hit in the shoulder by an arrow. I couldn’t keep hold and dropped it. There wasn’t time for me to retrieve the sword.”

“So, since you returned yesterday you have not armed yourself? Even though we are holding almost as many captives as guards? While we are deep in the forest and close to our borders?”

Sheepishly, Cire countered with a piece of information he was sure he needed to admit, but felt like it wasn’t the answer she was looking for.

“Yes, and no, teacher. I have not looked for my sword yet, or taken another primary weapon. I am still armed though, I have my claws.” Cire looked down at his hand and flexed it. “I am not sure if they are limited to when I am using my rage ability or not, I will find out soon. Obviously, I still need a weapon with reach.”

Having successfully redirected Cire’s line of thinking and presented him with a problem, Eliana steered him towards the cache of weapons they had recovered from the battle. A few choice items had been spread out on a blanket, others were grouped by like kind and stored in piles.

“See if your sword has been collected. Nothing has been distributed yet, if we found the blade it will be here. If it was not recovered take a partner and search the area you lost it. Return to me if it is truly missing.”

Sifting through the various weapons that had been taken from the fallen and captured gnolls confirmed Cire’s suspicions. Clearly absent, Cire’s gleaming steel sword was no where to be found. It was not on the blanket, and Cire had little hope that it had been missed in the low quality items. The majority of the weapons were poor, that being even more evident up close. He would bet that the pile of spears, pikes, and makeshift polearms would be destroyed instead of saved.

Cire still did his best to sort through the piles without cutting himself. While the wound would likely heal rapidly, he didn’t want to catch a long term illness. Eliana and Obelius had warned them all to be careful of magical and mundane diseases in the wake of the battle. Cire didn’t know what magical dysentery would be like, but he had no desire to find out what so ever.

Set on his task, Cire found a member of the guard milling about and asked her to accompany him across the field in search of his missing sword. In the rush of his escape it was impossible for Cire to pin point the area he had dropped the blade. Even with elven eyes and attention for detail they couldn’t spot it. There was a good chance that one of the gnolls had snagged it during their retreat, it was bound to be better than what most of them had been carrying. Cire felt bad losing the sword, it had been an early gift from Stacy, but he knew prioritizing escape was the right move.

Eliana was waiting at the blanket of items with an odd looking weapon in hand as Cire came back to her. She was obviously testing the balance of the staff with a curved sword blade on the end with several spins and strikes to the air. It didn’t look clumsy in her hands, however it was ill-fitting. The length of the item needed to be trimmed down for an elf to properly wield.

It was Cire’s turn to raise an eyebrow as he took in the display. Eliana had demonstrated skill with numerous weapons during class, but she rarely showed them anything exotic. Her movements and forms were entirely dissimilar from what he had seen with a sword or a spear.

Smoothly, Eliana spun the staff and pulled her hands together, she finished the motion by presenting the butt end of the weapon to Cire.

“Take this. A glaive is suited to all of the movement you constantly use, and the enemies you challenge.”

Cire grasped the shaft of the weapon and held it between both hands. He turned it around a bit and tested the feeling of the weight. The wooden haft was slightly taller than he was and the blade was longer than his arm. Testing out several vertical and horizontal slashes, Cire could tell that the balance was perfect, even if the size was off for him.

“I don’t mean to be contrary instructor, but I have never shown any proficiency for two handed weapons. Do you really think this is the best option?”

Eliana resisted rolling her eyes, Cire’s education was piecemeal at best, and while he showed surprising aptitude for some things it often took a while for his understanding to catch up.

“What do you think a glaive is?”

Leading questions were a clear sign that Cire had missed something, so he thought about it a bit before responding. It was a shame, because he didn’t come up with any better answer than his initial impulse.

“A polearm?”

Grinding her teeth a little that he couldn’t put it together, Eliana began looking through the pile of weapons again.

“What type of polearm?”

Cire looked at the shaft, decorated with carvings down the length of it, and topped with a well honed blade. It was obviously in good condition and it felt deadly in his hands. Going on the information that it had been set aside, he hazarded a guess.

“Its enchanted?”

Finding a sword good enough for her needs, Eliana deftly picked it out of the pile and struck it against Cire’s blade.

“Most likely, it has not been truly identified yet. That is not what I was asking.”

Cire stepped back and put the glaive into a defensive position between him and the instructor.

“Obviously,” he shot back, getting irritated.

That wasn’t the correct response either. Eliana’s attacks came at Cire in a torrent. Short thrusts, feints, and slashes from every angle. Cire was forced to adapt with the large weapon. No longer able to use the blade alone to defend, lacking the speed or maneuverability necessary, he blocked with the haft of the weapon and the end.

Pushing Cire back, Eliana kept up the barrage until she was sure it had clicked. Cire wasn’t adept at using the weapon, but he wasn’t hapless with it either. Once he started to mix in attacks she could see him working to incorporate some of his more familiar sword movements. He even managed to catch her off guard when he struck with the end of the staff as a quick jab. She hadn’t expected him to try something like that so quick, it was foolhardy.

A punch caught Cire square in the gut as Eliana ducked under his attack. She stepped back and lowered her sword in a signal that the sparring match was finished. Needed to wrap this up, Eliana was questioning him before he had caught his breath. They were already starting to draw more attention than she wanted.

“Have a better response now?”

Running his fingers down the length of the staff, Cire nodded.

“Yes instructor, it’s a bladed polearm, it counts as some type of sword. I can tell now that I have used it. It doesn’t feel unwieldy to me like a great sword or hand and a half sword.”

“It is a swordstaff. It is an uncommon weapon and it is doubtful that before now you have been tested for such an aptitude.” Eliana paused, debating internally, before giving in to herself. “I saw you adapt some of the exotic weapon techniques you have been working on in class. Treat this similarly. It will do for our return trip.”

Cire gave a half bow with his chest and head as Eliana turned and walked away. A sense of awkwardness hung in the air with the delectable scent of cooking bacon. All other thoughts left aside, Cire made his way back to the keep for a sorely needed breakfast, new weapon in hand. It was only now that he was realizing he hadn’t eaten since lunch the day before, and he was famished.