Imp returned to consciousness with a startle. The descended blade was all that her mind could see. She rolled to the side and rose to her feet immediately. Instinct aided by years of experience surviving traps and weapons alike helped Imp move before she even processed where she was.
The chapel slowly came into view around her. Candles flickered solemnly and provided a glow that pushed back the darkness—the worn wood of the pews, the broken altar, and the shattered windows. The moon hung in the distance, barely visible through heavy clouds. Motes of silver light hung in the air just out of reach. Imp took a slow breath and tried to pull herself into this moment.
Dmitri’s panic, his pain, and his death stung at her heart. She had not just seen the blade falling through the arborist’s eyes, she had felt it bite into flesh and get caught halfway through. She had felt the hopelessness as the bandit reared back to strike again. When the blade flashed downward and killed Dmitri, Imp felt that death just as strongly.
Tapping her fingers against her side, Imp grounded herself as best she could. Something arcane and mystical had happened when she touched the mote of light, the remainder of Dmitri’s soul, but it was over now. She was back in her body, back in the chapel, and she needed to decide what to do next.
Just as her thoughts came together to form a plan, the wood behind her creaked. Imp turned to see the priest shutting the door to the back room. His clothes were rumpled and even though it looked clear that he had just woken up, he looked more tired than before.
Instead of moving to Imp directly, the priest shuffled around the chapel heading for one of the corners where a set of cabinets waited. Imp watched as the priest opened and closed cabinets, clearly looking for something. When he failed to find it, he finally turned to Imp and said, “Unfortunately, there is no coffee or tea left. If you need something, you’ll want to check what is left of the provisioner’s place before you go.”
“Before I go?” Imp asked, unsteady.
The priest nodded and gestured to the state of the chapel. “There is not much left here… Delden Town is not somewhere that can sustain someone like you anymore. You’ll want to move on before…”
When the priest’s voice trailed off, Imp realized that his eyes had glistened while catching sight of a fading mote of light. Imp asked, “Are you going to stay?”
“Until my duty is done.” The priest nodded grimly.
Imp frowned at the answer. It took her a moment to reply but when she did, she realized where she needed to go next. “I have some business to finish as well. I cannot leave yet.”
“Oh?” The priest said as he finally looked back to Imp from the fading motes. “If you’re going to stay for a while, I can offer services. Are there any worries that grip your soul or any stories of life that hold you back?”
Imp shook her head and moved for the door, “I have no need for your services. I need to pay respect.”
“Ah, respect.” The priest nodded.
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Just before Imp left the chapel, the priest added, “If you should change your mind or if the burden of your heart swells, these doors will remain open to you. Remember, you are not alone here.”
Imp cast a glance backward, not at the priest but at the souls that floated in silver near the chapel’s rafters. With a nod, she closed the door behind her and headed back toward the hill. Some respects needed to be paid, of that she was certain, but Imp had no intention of returning to the hilltop house.
The arborist, Dmitri, had been attacked twice. First, he tried and failed to fight off bandits to protect the wood spirits. Then, after his death, he was targeted by a malevolent force. Imp walked the path out of Delden Town, toward the graveyard. With her mind cluttered with grief and pain that was only partly her own, the ground moved under Imp’s feet faster than she realized.
As she arrived at the edge of the graveyard, a silver silhouette caught her eye. Near the hedges that Dmitri had meticulously cared for in life, his ghostly figure sheared away to trim stray sprigs that threatened to ruin the perfect shape. As silvery shear passed through, the sprigs faded into nothingness. Their energy evaporated to the wind and returned to nature.
A soft green light swirled around Dmitri’s feet as he worked, a pair of caterpillar fairies danced alongside his steps. Imp presumed these were the wood spirits that Dmitri had befriended in life. Unlike the ghostly arborist, these spirits were living and as soon as they noticed Imp approaching, they vanished in a puff of green.
At their departure, Dmitri’s soul looked up to see Imp. A smile grew over his face, and he started to wave a greeting. Yet with each motion, his figure grew fainter. Imp was about to call out to him and tell him that he had protected the wood spirits as intended, but the last trace of the arborist vanished before she could find the words to say. At least he had been smiling, Imp told herself as she turned from the hedges toward the graves.
Rooted in her memory, she knew exactly where the sapling was planted. It had been Dmitri’s last wish, to get to that sapling, to protect it and the wood spirits from harm. Imp needed to know that his sacrifice was honored. Yet, as she reached the gravestone and looked for the sapling, all she found was ruined dirt.
The sapling was gone. A few shallow roots were stuck in the grave dirt, but they were only traces of the tree that the arborist had died for. Decayed leaves trailed from the ruined dirt to the east. Imp followed them slowly until she found the sapling.
A few yards away, planted roughly in the dirt, was the sapling. It was not dead, but it was dying. She wondered if the priest had been the one to replant it. A scene in her mind seized her thoughts: Dmitri was bleeding out and curled around the sapling at its original spot while the bandit laughed and tore the roots free from the ground.
As it hit the ground, a tiny green hand reached out to pull it from view. Moving quickly around the bandit’s field of vision, the caterpillar fairies darted from tombstone to tombstone taking turns carrying the sapling that was twice their size. Just as the bandit turned to see them, they vanished.
The sapling remained behind, stuck roughly into the dirt, just where Imp found it. The bandit took a step toward the sapling with a curious look. Then something else caught his attention and he ran off toward the chaos of Delden Town.
Imp knelt at the sapling, mirroring the motions that Dmitri had offered just before his death. She set her fingers into the soil and let out a silent prayer for the wood spirits to care for the sapling. She tried to let them know that the arborist was gone, that everyone was gone. Her intentions pulsed into the grave dirt, leaving behind a message that it was up to the wood spirits to care for and nurture the sapling into a tree. They were all that was left of the arborist’s will.
A soft feeling brushed against her fingertips—a warmth from within the soil. Yet, the peaceful action was shattered by a distant flash of light. A familiar dread filled Imp’s core as she stood up and looked toward the light. A scream filled the night sky. It was just like what Imp heard from the hilltop house before she saw Dmitri’s ghost. However, this time it had come from the center of Delden Town.