Herah smiled while stepping back into the Donneur de Frêne’s meadow. Afternoon painted the grey tree and the glowing flowers around it in soft yellows, warm oranges, and harsh reds. The sweet aroma of flowers intermingled with ash pleased her nose and allowed the artist to ignore the rot following to her left.

Beautiful.

Herah, Owen, and their prisoner arrived back two hours after the artist defeated the small band of Oni. In that time, the binder lulled the surviving Oni to sleep with his science, and neither of the two Gifted said a word to each other. Not in an awkward, uncomfortable silence, but a relaxed and peaceful one. Herah knew thoughts of what to do next and their prisoner’s fate consumed Owen’s mind, but her words from earlier appeared to keep the binder calm.

Good, now just the other two. Alex will probably be fine, but I don’t know about Max. A grunt slipped her lips. Are you closer to your brother or Owen?

Speaking of Max, the liar laid against the Donneur de Frêne, twirling a white flower between her fingers with its black roots spinning in the air. Max placed the petals against her nose, and took a deep whiff before smiling.

“I wonder what it takes to cultivate these?”

How’d you get that from the ground without it exploding? The artist thought before shrugging.

“Ash is seeds, let it settle for six days on dirt, and flowers bloom.”

Surprise shook the liar’s scent. Max snapped her eyes to Herah then Owen.

“Herah? Owen?” The liar blinked twice at the Oni before rising, the black and white flowers her butt crushed springing back up as if untouched. “Who’s that?”

“Noire.” The artist answered, not even glancing at the black robed Oni or the binder as all three stopped short of the tree’s base.

“Huh?” Max and Owen asked together.

“I call them Noire. Just thought it up.”

“What’s their actual name?” the liar asked, stepping up to Noire and recoiling as their smell hit.

“Don’t know,” Herah answered, shrugging. “Can’t understand them.”

Surprise colored Max’s scent, then morphed into understanding as the liar nodded to herself.

“Fair, English isn’t universal. Odd that we all speak it though.”

“The fuck is English?” the artist asked, huffing smoke while raising a brow.

“Oh,” Max blinked then nodded to herself again, “Yeah we probably have different names for our shared language.”

“That wouldn’t make sense.”

Herah and the liar turned to the binder, his lips pursed and head shaking.

“What?” Max asked.

“Us sharing a language wouldn’t make sense.” Owen looked at the liar, frowned, then tilted his head to the side. “Unless the basis of your language is also, you call it French?”

“No,” Max shook her head. “English is Germanic, French is a Romance language.”

“Sorry,” the binder bowed his head, a whiff of his embarrassment brushing the artist’s nose. “I don’t know what a Germanic or Romance language is, but it sounds like they’re disconnected.”

“Essentially.” The liar said, nodding.

The artist’s nose twitched as Alex’s scent suddenly appeared atop one of the Donneur de Frêne’s branches.

Where’d you come from?

“So,” Owen lifted his head and looked between Herah and Max. “It’s unlikely that we’re sharing the same language.”

“We’re not.”

The artist looked up and saw the soothsayer, one leg draped over a branch with an orange book in hand. Several odd, slanted symbols covered the cover, which Herah did not recognize but somehow understood.

Languages of Norwe’s aE. What’s an aE? The odd word felt vast and immense. So large that the artist felt less than nothing next to it, but somehow a part of it. Smaller than an atom, smaller than protons, smaller than quarks, smaller than preons. But still a part of it. Why does it feel so big? Why does Norwe and La Flamme feel so much bigger?

“Norwe is translating for all of us.” Alex said, knocking Herah from her thoughts, before dropping to the flower-covered ground and landing next to his sister. “Ashbrain speaks Ahcend, and Owen speaks Script.”

“How?” the artist asked, frowning at both the insult and new info.

“Why should I tell you?”

“Brother.” Max warned, a frown on her face and the spice of annoyance in her smell.

The soothsayer frowned at his sister then rolled his eyes and looked back to Herah.

“How do I know or how does Norwe translate?”

“Former.” The artist said, giving the liar an appreciative nod.

“Simple.” Alex responded with a shrug. “I figured we weren’t speaking the same language since the whole French problem. Natural to assume that Norwe was the reason why we could understand each other regardless.”

The soothsayer raised his book.

“And this book contains all the languages spoken throughout Norwe’s multiverse. I found the names there.”

In a blink, Herah realized a connection between the recognized word multiverse and the foreign aE.

They’re the same. aE is older though, it came first… the artist frowned to herself. How do I know this?

Herah’s nose wrinkled as Alex’s book disintegrated into dust, and the soothsayer walked over to the rest. The rank smell of disgust took shape in his scent as Alex got near Noire with a blank expression, but the soothsayer didn’t recoil like his sister. Instead, Alex poked their mask a few times.

“Similar to the ones back home. Wonder how they differ?”

Max walked behind the artist and binder, reaching up to pat Herah’s shoulder and down to pat Owen’s.

“I’m sure these two can answer part of that.”

“Where’d you get that book?” The artist asked, mind still on the soothsayer’s sudden appearance.

“Doesn’t matter.” Alex responded, eyes not moving from Noire.

“His super secret library,” Max answered, hopping a few times behind Herah before sliding around and next to her brother. “Uu’s Library was the name I think.”

The soothsayer turned a glare onto his sister, lips drawn tight.

“You know there’s a reason I don’t answer her questions, right?”

“Of course,” the liar flicked her brother’s nose.” I just think your reason is stupid.”

“Library?” Herah questioned.

“Don’t got those where you come from?” Alex responded offhandedly, his prize an elbow to the rib via his sister.

“Don’t be an ass.” Max looked at the other two Gifted present. “It’s apparently where all the information that ever was, is, or will be sits.”

“Sounds useful.” The binder chimed in, his scent filled with the sharp and oily smell of amazement intermingled with the sweet, smokey, and savory scent of fascination.

The soothsayer let out a sigh, the artist’s nose twitching at the spice of his annoyance. The liar got another glare from her brother before Alex shook his head and looked to Herah and Owen.

“In theory, in practice most of it’s indecipherable nonsense. And without the Librarian its near impossible to find anything.”

“Because?” the artist asked.

“There’s infinite amounts of gibberish,” the soothsayer responded, his eyes now flicking about. Watching out for something. “And even with a week inside it’s hard to find anything readable.”

“A week!?” Herah asked.

“How?” the binder added.

“You only got a week? Weird.” The liar said, tilting her head and looking at her brother.

The smell of his annoyance grew thicker as Alex looked between everyone else.

“Time flows different in the Library. Seems I can only get a week in there now, probably Norwe’s influence.” The soothsayer’s eyes went back to Noire. “But enough about that, what’s the story here?”

The artist frowned.

There’s so much more to all of that, but the Oni are more pressing.

Herah waved towards Noire.

“A small band of Oni attacked us, only survivor.”

Alex focused on the artist, for once with no scorn or annoyance. Now, his eyebrows slanted up and his eyes narrowed slightly in mild interest and a little curiosity.

“The rest?”

“Killed them.”

The soothsayer nodded as Owen flinched.

Alex turned back to Noire.

“And since you don’t speak Ognohin, you’ve brought them here so Max or I might interrogate?”

Ognohin must be the language of the Oni.

“Yup.”

The soothsayer raised a hand to Noire, pausing just an inch before making contact. Alex glanced back to the artist.

“Safe to touch?”

Herah nodded.

“No rot, so yes.”

“Rot?” The soothsayer shook his head then walked back over to the Donneur de Frêne. “Float em over.”

With a mental push from the artist, Noire floated over to Alex who took them to the other side of the tree and disappeared from sight. But not smell or sound.

Herah listened as a soft ching rung from behind the grey tree followed by—

“You’re hearing me.”

Each word came out soft, angelic, and distinctly feminine, throwing the artist off.

That’s not Alex’s voice. Wait, Herah thought, frowning before recalling their fight back in the weird room. It is. How does it do that? Why?

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A second later, the artist smelled Noire’s scent shift, the grease of confusion present for but a moment before the spice of anger overtook it. Then grunts followed, and the sound of struggling joined in. Alex answered with a grunt of his own, before Noire responded in kind. That same angelic voice from before followed.

“I’m speaking Ognohin.”

More grunts emerged, though the weak greasy smell of surprise from Noire and the back and forth between the soothsayer and Oni told Herah the grunts revealed a conversation.

Probably your gift, but is it as simple as being able to understand any language? No, there’s more to it. Something about your words. Can you make what you say come true? You erased me, Noire woke up, and you’re speaking their language now, all after speaking with that holy voice of yours. So that must be it, but that’s still too simple. There’s a theme here, all Gifts have a theme.What is yours?

“What’s up Owen, you seem a little down?”

Herah snapped out of her thoughts, blinking before bringing her attention back to the two others now out from under the Donneur de Frêne’s shade. The artist found Max smiling softly and kneeling before Owen who frowned back.

“I’m just, upset, about what happened with the Oni Herah fought.” The binder said, before grabbing his hat and crinkling it atop his head.

“Their deaths?” the liar asked.

“Yes. Feels wrong.”

“For folks like me and you, it always will.”

Owen blinked then looked up to Max.

“You and me?”

“Killing is a waste of good lives.” The liar answered. “Y’all tried to talk?”

“Yes.”

“But you couldn’t.” Max glanced over to Herah then back to the binder. “And if I had to guess, they attacked before anything else could be done.”

“Yes.” Owen answered, causing the liar to nod then give the binder a light tap to his chest.

“You seem like someone who respects life. Am I right?”

“I do.”

“Then you should already know part of respecting life is respecting the decisions the living choose to make.”

Owen’s frown deepened, the artist smelling the soft whiffs of his dissatisfaction.

“Do we really know if they chose that fight though? We know nothing about the Oni.”

Herah’s nose twitched, as Max’s scent shifted and the liar took one of the binder’s hands into hers before meeting his eyes. Something filled hers, but they faced from the artist so what exactly was a mystery.

“Part of respecting life is also honoring it. So, since we can’t give those taken lives back, why not honor them to show the respect they deserve? Wouldn’t that be nice?”

A moment passed, where the two Gifted held each other’s gaze. The artist smelled Owen’s scent shift again and again, from guilt to anger to hate to sadness and then finally, a solemn joy.

The binder smiled at Max.

“Yes, that does sound nice.”

You didn’t answer his question. Herah thought as the liar let go of Owen’s hand, and the binder dropped his other one from his hat. Probably the right response though. You’re good with words, Max.

Owen sat down and took his hat off before holding it out over his lap with the tip pointed up. The binder lifted up the white puff at his hat’s end and squeezed it once. Ingots of metal, silver by their smell, dropped out of the opening.

Before the artist could comment, the liar looked over. Max’s scent turned curious as her eyes ran up and down Herah’s form.

“Didn’t say this earlier, but nice fit. And how you feeling, didn’t get too badly hurt I hope?”

“No.” The artist shook her head before walking over to the pair. “Weapons were shit.”

“One of their swords broke against her head.” Owen added, eyes on the ingots his hands bent and molded, alight with a green glow and surrounded by floating squares the same color.

“Good thing," The liar’s smile sharpened into a grin, “Hate to see your pretty face hurt.”

Max punctuated her compliment with a wink, and pieces finally clicked in Herah’s mind.

Oh, you’re flirting with me. Flashes of the liar’s earlier compliments and winks surged up from the artist’s flame. You’ve been flirting with me for a while. Fuck, how do I respond?

“I like my face unhurt.”

That wasn’t what I meant to say!

Herah flushed as Max laughed and the binder looked up from the vague, silver figures shaped from his ingots. Owen studied the pair for a moment, his scent greased with confusion as his brows rose.

“You okay, Herah?”

“Yes.” The artist responded, far too quickly.

The liar laughed even harder, bending over while the binder frowned. Herah growled at the pair, huffing smoke and crossing her arms.

“Stop laughing.”

Max caught herself immediately, her scent shifting sharply as the liar gave the artist a small smile.

“Sorry, I’m not mocking you. It’s just, the redder your face, the more your passion shows. And that’s nice.” Max glanced to Owen. “Aren’t I right?”

“Uh,” The binder studied Herah for a moment then nodded, “Yes, I see what you mean.”

The artist blushed even deeper as her anger faded and a sigh slipped from her lips.

“Ok—”

SPLOTCH!

What was that?

Herah whipped towards Alex, the soothsayer stepping out from behind the Donneur de Frêne in that moment, shadows drenching the annoyed look on his face.

The heavy scent of iron filled the air.

“I got us some good info.”

You fucking didn’t!

“Oh, what?” The liar asked, grinning at her brother.

Alex walked over to the other three Gifted, squinting as the afternoon starlight hit his face.

“They were a scout party, sent to get a handle on us. Apparently weren’t supposed to engage. Idiots did to get a handle on your capabilities.” The soothsayer pointed at the two Gifted to bring the Oni in. “And, if you were weak enough, they’d be able to eliminate two potential threats.”

Owen stepped past the artist and towards Alex, hope permeating his scent.

“Do you know why they’re trying to destroy the tree?”

The soothsayer shrugged.

“Didn’t care to ask.”

“Well, could you?”

“No, she’s dead.”

Fucking knew it!

The binder froze. A heavier and softer smell than sadness, one similar to that of waterlogged fur hit Herah’s nose.

Despair.

So, the artist stepped forward with a snarl.

“What!?”

Alex raised his brow, glanced to his sister then frowned at the other two Gifted. Spice crept up in his scent, annoyance mounting.

“She’s dead, I killed her.”

“Why!?” the artist screamed, green flames flaring from her lips.

“What are we going to do with a prisoner?” the soothsayer asked with an exasperated scoff.

“They weren’t a threat!”

“Neither were they an asset. And you killed three of them!”

“Fought, that’s different.”

“That wasn’t a fight, ashbrain. It’s called slaughter.”

“You know what I mean.” Herah said, sneering at Alex.

“And I don’t care.” The soothsayer sneered back, closing some of the distance between himself and the artist. “Killing is killing, no matter the pretense. I fail to see the problem with getting rid of someone who serves no purpose.”

“Alex.”

Both Alex and Herah paused, then looked at Max. The liar stood to their left, her back to the edge of the meadow. Max frowned at her brother, arms crossed and reeking of the too soft smell of disappointment.

“Don’t look at me like that.” The soothsayer said, his lips curled. “This isn’t new.”

“Our allies are,” the liar gestured towards Herah and Owen. “We can’t just do what we used to.”

The artist knit her brows and glanced at the liar.

“We” used to?

“I appreciate the insinuation we do this together sis, but you just mean me.” Alex said, “And ignoring her being useless, she was still our enemy and could’ve posed a threat. While Ashbrain and I might be fine with a slip up, you and Owen would not. It’s better to have her dead and gone.”

The shift of Owen’s scent from shock to a smell rank and rotten assaulted the artist’s nose.

Horror. Herah thought to herself, her anger rising. The artist growled, green flames spilling from her mouth.

“Fuck that.”

Frustration and annoyance wafted from the soothsayer, who glared back and up at Herah.

“Of course you’d say that, Ashbrain.”

More flames spilled from the artist’s mouth and nose.

One of us does have to give. It’s been put off long enough.

“Let’s go.”

Alex glanced to his sister, his mouth turning from a frown to a knowing smirk.

“Feelings really died down, huh?”

“Wai—”.

The soothsayer raised a hand towards the liar.

“No no no, sis. We’re just kicking the can down the road otherwise, let us fight.”

“Agreed.” Herah insisted.

A hand patting her leg sent the artist’s eyes down to the binder, who looked back up with a frown and shake of his head.

“What’s even the point? Violence for the sake of violence solves nothing for us. Only more anger and fights will come of this.”

Herah studied her ward for a second, thinking over his words. There was truth to them, a truth the artist couldn’t ignore.

It’s not enough to just fight.

Herah nodded, causing Owen’s scent to turn hopeful and his eyes to light up. The artist looked up from the binder, and jabbed a finger at the soothsayer stopping short of his forehead.

“Alex, pour tes insultes et tes crimes, je te défie à une Rencontre de Feux. Ce sera ici et maintenant.”

The soothsayer glanced to his sister, who, judging by her smell, winced at Herah’s words.

“Herah challenged you to something called a Meeting of Fires.”

Alex glanced back to the artist, a brow raised.

“It’s a fight of consequence.” Herah said. “The winner gets something of the loser.”

The soothsayer raised his other brow, his scent fluctuating as his eyes studied the artist. After a moment, Alex nodded.

“So if you win, Ashbrain?”

Herah snarled, but took a moment to think over her desire.

You insist on insulting me. The artist looked down at the binder, who looked up with a pained grimace and shook his head. Fear and worry stunk up his scent, though the hot and spicy smell of his conviction rose above. And you’ve hurt Owen.

Herah raised her head, her attention back on Alex.

“An apology for Owen, and you use my name.”

The soothsayer glanced at Owen, shrugged, then met the artist’s eye and smirked.

“I thought nicknames were fine.”

“And I thought you smarter, but if you can’t see my problem, then Max has the brains.”

That got a frown from Alex, and a chuckle from Max. The soothsayer shot the liar a glare before sighing.

“And if I win, you shut up and follow me as leader.”

“No.”

“No?”

Herah pointed at Max without moving her eyes from Alex.

“Max is our leader.”

“What?” the liar asked, wide eyed.

“Hmm,” The soothsayer glanced to the binder. “Fine with that, Owen?”

Owen flinched, his eyes darting between everyone as their attention came his way. The artist stood silent as the binder’s scent fluctuated and his lips quivered. By his smell, it wasn’t fear causing this reaction but confusion. Owen focused on the liar, Max’s lips pursed in response, then his scent stabilized.

“Yes.”

“What about my thoughts on this?” the liar asked, her lips twitching from a thin line to a frown.

“She’s better with people anyhow.” Alex said, ignoring Max. “My condition is that you shut up and defer to me unless my sister says otherwise. That work for you?”

“Sure.” Herah answered.

“Wait!” The liar stepped between the soothsayer and the artist, turning a glare on both. “Y’all can’t just make me leader then still try and fight!”

Herah regarded Max for a moment, not visibly reacting to her glare though a small, uncomfortable ditch caved into the artist’s gut. A bit of guilt creeped up at the liar’s placement in the current predicament.

You’re so upset you can’t even smile right now. Herah nodded with the weakest of smiles. Good, while I couldn’t stop the fight now even if I wanted, it helps to not have you messing with my feelings.

Alex lacked any such guilt.

“You’re right, sis,” The soothsayer locked eyes with the artist. “Her election as leader occurs after the battle, no matter who wins?”

“Yeah.”

Confirmation acquired, Alex began walking out of the black and white meadow.

“Where you going?” Herah asked, snarling.

“Can’t fight here, might hurt the tree.” The soothsayer glanced back before nodding where his path led. “We passed by a good spot in our walk earlier, while your head was in the clouds.”

Alex kept walking. For a moment, the artist didn't want to follow.

Letting you choose our battleground could be a problem. But you’re not wrong. I fucking hate that you’re not wrong.

Herah followed while Max and Owen trailed behind, both smelling frustrated and worried.

Maybe I owe you both an apology. Hmm, I’ll think about it after the fight. The artist thought as the group began their trek through the ever darkening forest as the planet’s star grew closer to the horizon. Herah navigated the dim landscape with ease, her eyes sharp enough to work fine in the dwindling light while her other senses covered up for any shortfalls. The soothsayer also moved about with no issue, though how, the artist didn’t know. The liar and binder struggled, both continually tripping over themselves as they followed behind, until Owen pulled out some rock from his hat that levitated and glowed a soft green, lighting up their path.

Navigation settled, Herah began thinking over all her knowledge of Alex.

Weaker and slower than me without your Will (what the fuck does Presence do?), stronger and faster with. Weird wavy blade, probably Scientific to some degree. You can heal somehow, maybe your gift, maybe something else. Speaking of your Gift, still need to work it out. It has that light, Norwe calls you soothsayer, Max called your Gift Enlightenment, you erased me, you can speak the Oni’s language, and… what else? What else have you done? The artist thought long and hard, scraping over her few memories with the soothsayer for all they were worth, until thoughts of Alex’s reaction after her return from erasure came into focus. More specifically, the interrogation the soothsayer gave Herah and his demands to have her say what was happening on her end. That was odd, almost like you needed to hear me yourself so you could decide whether or not I was telling the truth. Truth? Truth!

The artist’s eyes widened as the dots finally connected.

Your gift is centered around the truth! Enlightenment is about discovering the truth, and soothsayer must mean something like truth-sayer. You grunted at the Oni, and their language sounds like grunts so you were kinda speaking Ognohin. You had me repeat myself to you, because you can tell when someone lies. And you erased me… Herah frowned, doubt started to creep up. Do I not exist somehow? That doesn't make sense. Maybe I’m wrong.

“Herah, don’t look back at me.”

The artist’s ears twitched, graced by Max’s whisper.

“Maybe I’m guessing wrong on this, but I was watching you as we walked the forest earlier with Norwe. It looked like you were absorbing the world. Not just in amazement, but in study, as if you were breaking it all down. The way you were sniffing and tasting the air, I hazard that your senses are far greater than my own so you can hear these whispers where Alex can’t. Huff some fire if you can hear me.”

Herah faked a yawn, red flames streaming out her mouth and dispersing into the dark of the forest.

“Need a nap, ashbrain?” Alex glanced back with a smirk. “Don’t use exhaustion as justification when you lose.”

“Ta gueule!” The artist responded causing the soothsayer to roll his eyes then look forward.

“Crass, but good.” The liar whispered. “I don’t want you fighting my brother, but if you’re going to, I want it to be as even as possible. His gift is Enlightenment, in case you don’t remember when I said it back in the room. It allows him to control the truth and manifests as twelve balls of light. I only know what three do, and you only have to worry about one, maybe two. He can enforce his own truth with two of his orbs, one he keeps and can only use on himself while the other he can send out and put into other things. He redefines the truth of whatever his light gets into, so if he gets it into you, he’ll be able to control you.”

The next words, Max placed particular emphasis on.

“Avoid letting his light hit you, no matter what.”

Herah nodded, eyes locked on the back of Alex’s head.

I won’t let Alex touch me once.

“He’s got other shit too,” the liar said, “But I know him well enough to say he won’t use anything but his Gift and daggers in your fight. Nike, the wavy one, can cut through anything non-magical and gives you bad luck whenever it cuts you. It loses this effect on any even-numbered cuts, and Tara lets him restore whatever he stabs with it. Essentially healing, though it has some weird limitations as you saw with Owen earlier. That’s all I have.”

The artist grinned to herself, feeling hotter inside at her correct guess and grateful for the info.

The dagger is probably why I slipped when trying to counterattack in our first scuffle. Though I’m a bit unsure on what you mean by non-magical. My scales could stop it though, so I shouldn’t have to worry too much about it.

Herah didn’t get much further in her thoughts before Max added,

“And please, I know my brother isn’t the best, and he deserves an ass-kicking but don’t go too far? While you can both heal up fine, I don’t want to see a messy fight. I wasn’t lying when I said me and Owen were alike.”

A frown bore itself upon the artist’s face, and Herah made no attempt to respond.

I’ll hurt your brother as much as I need to ensure my name is spoken.