I have come to understand a fundamental truth of the matter of sin.

It is not a matter of acceptance and rejection, but acceptance and justification.

Too many prefer to justify rather than accept.

— Excerpt from Meditations, by the Red Emperor

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"Ah, Shurra. Thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

Shurra ducked under the door frame as she stepped in and closed it behind her. Whereas the door itself had resisted Molam when he attempted to close it fully earlier, Shurra used one arm to shove it back into its frame without a hassle before she turned around to face him.

Molam gestured at the seat across from the table. "Please, have a seat."

Despite her size, Shurra's movements were quiet and restrained as she walked over, only the dull thump of her boots and the creaking of the hardwood floor indicating that she moved at all. She pulled out the chair and settled herself into it as Molam cleared up the documents he was poring over. Whether it was Primrose's sense of humor or a lack of good space, she had given him the same room that he had been brought into while blindfolded.

Reaching below the desk, Shurra pulled out a chipped ceramic teapot warmer and revealed a teapot in her large hands, alongside two cups. "Primrose asked me to bring tea."

"Of course she did," Molam looked at Shurra with a smile and then at the teapot. It was ceramic, and Molam guessed that it was porcelain. On the side was a decoration of satem flowers, artfully inscribed in blue and orange glazing.

Shurra set down the warmer and the two cups next to it but did not set the pot down, looking at Molam expectantly.

"Yes?"

"She also said that we had no need for matches or warming stones."

He decided that Primrose had a sense of humor, and that he personally found it quite disagreeable. Reaching forward with his left arm, he snapped a finger above the solitary wick within the warmer.

To think you would treat me as mere flint.

A red spark danced from his wrist to his outstretched index finger and leapt onto the wick, setting it alight immediately. The flame remained red for a moment longer before flickering and settling into the dull-orange glow the other candles in the room had.

Shurra leaned forward and set the teapot onto the warmer, settling it in place before shifting back in her chair, the wooden fixture dragging slightly across the wooden floor but not creaking in response. With a low exhale, she crossed her arms and directed her gaze at him.

Up close, Molam could see her features more sharply. The thin blue tattoo decorating the scar on her pale face was in the shape of a thunderbolt. It had been outlined with thin black ink but given a layer of white shadow, causing it to have the presence of a moving image on her face. Today, she was dressed in a layer of black leather trimmed at the edges and around the neck with white fur. For a brief moment the thought crossed Molam's mind that it was not something Primrose would ever wear. But then again, Shurra clearly dressed for practical purposes.

"That tattoo must be quite the achievement," Molam smiled at her. "A hunt or a duel?"

She did not move as she responded. "A jade scorpion."

Molam found himself shifting slightly backwards with a raised eyebrow. "Alone? A grown one?"

"It was a broodmother protecting a clutch."

Molam raised an eyebrow. The jade scorpion claimed a spot as one of three infamously dangerous hunts in the Northern Plains with a sting that paralyzed aura circulation, and the large broodmothers increased in their ferocity when protecting a clutch of eggs. As a matriarchal society, the Northern Tribes reserved their hardest hunts for their male warriors hoping to win tattoos. The men risked their lives to earn a story worthy of sharing at the Hearthomes in the hopes of being deemed worthy enough to contribute his bloodline to a Tribe. Molam wondered if Shurra's Tribe deemed her dispensable enough to allow her to join such a hunt, then decided against asking it.

"That must have been an incredible hunt," He contained the impressed tone in his voice. "Aren't they normally best hunted as a group?"

"I chose it for my rite of passage."

A solo hunt? That is quite impressive. For a human.

Molam shared the spirit's sentiment. "Could you tell me the story behind the tattoo's design?"

Shurra lifted her right index finger without uncrossing her arms, pointing at the tattoo and the scar on her face. "I fought it for two days before RainBringer passed overhead. I slipped in the rain and the tail grazed my face. Before the second strike could kill me, it was struck by lightning."

Molam's lips twitched, wondering what RainBringer would think of this story. He then remembered that RainBringer would probably not care for whether her actions inconvenienced humans at all, being the dragon that chose when droughts or floods happened.

"That's quite amazing. To choose the jade scorpion as your rite of passage and attempt it alone, but also have the dragon RainBringer involved in your legend. I'm quite sure you tell this story at the Hearthome?"

His smile faltered as her look shifted, her eyebrows pinching together as though she were contemplating something, and then ultimately returned to her frigid look of indifference.

"There is nothing to be proud of." She tilted her chin upwards just a bit slightly. "I will never know if I could have killed it alone."

Molam fell silent, slightly taken aback by Shurra's denial. "So … what you want is a fight wholly your own. One you can be proud of." He leaned backwards, trying to remember the particularities of the Northern Tribes. "There's not many challenges stronger than a jade scorpion, and that's why you're helping Primrose." The Northern Warriors had an unspoken rule that each challenge must be greater than the last, in a bid for more scars and an increasing difficulty. For Shurra, who had started with a jade scorpion, further hunts were not a realistic option. "You're here for duels."

Shurra nodded without ceremony. "And you? Do you have a story?"

Molam raised his eyebrows at the unexpected question. The Northerner's ice-blue eyes gave him a measuring stare as he contemplated what to tell her. Moments passed before he licked his lips and responded. "I once came back from the dead."

Shurra snorted. "How about a real tale?"

He raised his eyebrows. "I've met and spoken with four dragons in my life."

Shurra's eyes flashed and her lips curled before she asked in a low voice. "Are you mocking me?"

Molam held up a hand feigning defeat. "I've spoken with the Oracle on three separate occasions."

After a momentary pause, Shurra leaned backwards, her chair creaking against the shifting weight. "At least that is believable. I heard most people only meet the Oracle once, if they meet at all. And? What makes it a story worth telling?"

"Well," Molam paused, unsure of what to tell her. "It's not exactly a duel, but I bested her in dragon chess."

There was a lengthy pause as Shurra stared at him unblinkingly, her crystal blue eyes a pair of glinting gems in the candlelight.

"Perhaps it's not an impressive enough story to tell during a Gathering." Molam shrugged with a sheepish smile.

It took a moment for her to respond. "No one knows how strong the Oracle is at dragon chess, so no one knows how difficult it was."

Molam's smile widened at the Northerner's polite response. "Do you know much about dragon chess?"

Shurra shook her head. "Not many in my Tribe play it."

"Hmm," Molam thought for a moment and then sighed. "I can only say, it was quite a hard game. But I can understand if it wouldn't make a good story for a Gathering at any of the Hearthomes — not enough fast-paced action and probably unrelatable for your Warriors." He refilled their teacups again before sitting back down. "Though maybe the Blue Ravens would appreciate it."

Shurra did not react to his naming of a Tribe. After a moment, she replied, "You seem to know quite a bit about Northerners."

"I spent a year traveling through the Northern Plains. When I stopped by Hjornheim, I took a chance to learn some silversmithing from the Black Oxen and even saw the Twin Stars from afar." Molam eyed her as he poured the tea from the teapot for the two of them, then pushed a cup to Shurra. "There, thank you for coming to talk to me."

She didn't pick it up as she kept her eyes on him. "Primrose said there was something you wanted to know."

Molam blew at his tea and then sipped at it, feeling the citrusy liquid rush past his tongue and permeate his sense of smell. He finished drinking the entire cup before he set it down to look at Shurra with a smile.

"Yes, and I already got my answer."

***

"Do come in, Lyka. Thank you for —"

Lyka shoved the door closed behind her with a resounding thud, but it wouldn't close entirely. She pounded on the edge twice with a closed fist, then shoved her shoulder into it so that it fully closed with a bang.

"... taking the time to meet with me." Molam finished his sentence, then gestured with an attempt at an encouraging smile. "Please, have a seat."

Lyka dragged out the chair in a manner that allowed it to squeak across the floorboards. Having seated herself across from him, she then scooted her chair in before she sniffed at the air, her eyes coming to rest at the two teacups between them.

"Pomberry tea?"

"I believe that is correct."

"Don't you have anything better?"

"Well, it wouldn't be a good example to the others if we are drinking quality tea, would it? Seeing as it is already brewed, it wouldn't do well to waste tea."

Are you going to tell her that this is the cup the Northern woman left untouched?

Molam ignored the spirit's words as he widened his smile at Lyka.

The moment lingered briefly before Lyka picked up the cup and sipped at it, then held her arm to the side, emptying the cup onto the ground. Tea splattered everywhere, but her eyes stared straight at him. "You served me lukewarm tea."

"That... is my fault," Molam acknowledged, picking up the teapot from the warmer and offering to pour her more. He berated himself for not thinking of that and wondered if Lyka was already insulted. "I apologize. I had poured it earlier but I hope you understand: we are approaching Winter's Sorrow."

The narrative has been illicitly obtained; should you discover it on Amazon, report the violation.

Lyka's ebony skin glowed with a bronze sheen in the candlelight as her dark eyes narrowed at him, almost completely hiding the white of her eyes. Her black, wiry hair was a large contrast to Shurra's earlier light blonde locks and individual strands gleamed orange when reflecting the light of the flames. Yet, her high cheekbones were made even more evident in the scant lighting, and her normally full lips were pressed into a thin line as she contemplated him and his outstretched arm holding the teapot.

Finally, she held out her cup and Molam poured the tea for her before setting it back onto the warmer.

"I understand we didn't start off on amicable terms," Molam settled into his seat and gave her a smile. "But I am hoping that our future together is better than our shared past."

She sipped the tea slowly. "If you mean the time when I was holding a knife to your throat, my duty is to protect Primrose and the rest of this group. I won't apologize to you for doing my duty."

The candlelight flickered and the shadows danced in the side of Molam's vision. For a brief moment, his nose was full of the scent of charred flesh, and he closed his eyes to exhale slowly as though it would get rid of the smell.

He opened his eyes again, meeting Lyka's gaze. "Such a strong word, 'duty.' To be able to absolve humans of consequences brought about as a result of responsibility."

Lyka's eyes narrowed. "When you're a Sand Spear, the first thing they teach you is the weight of duty, and its importance. Duty is what gives people the motivation to do the things they cannot otherwise accomplish."

"I've been meaning to ask you about that. Isn't the Lord of Sands at risk with a Sand Spear being here?" Molam leaned back in his seat. "I thought the Bloody Prince made him promise to stay in the Endless Sands. Isn't he shirking his duty by allowing you to be here?"

"The Lord isn't invading. I'm here because my duty is to safeguard our future."

Molam considered Lyka's words. They echoed in his mind, reminding him of words spoken a long time ago. "Does duty ever fail someone?"

The question seemed to send Lyka deep in thought as she silently sipped at her tea, her eyes unfocused and staring off somewhere else in the room.

Moments later, she returned her gaze to meet Molam's and answered. "Only if one chose the wrong responsibilities."

"And when does one find that out?"

"Sometimes too late." She shrugged. "Sometimes never."

"Quite the conundrum, isn't it? When both 'too late' and 'never' lead to undesired results." Molam looked focused on Lyka's face, ignoring the shadows at the edge of the room. "When you say your responsibility is 'to safeguard our future,' how do you know your actions will get you the desired result?"

Lyka set her empty cup down. "What do you mean?"

Molam paused for a moment. "Let's say a strong hunter was tasked with feeding a village, and every day he brought back a caribou or something similar. Several years go by, and suddenly a large pack of wolves attack the village, starved from not having enough prey to hunt because the hunter was effective at fulfilling his duty. The hunter was gone during the attack, so the wolves killed and ate many villagers before he returned. Next year, there weren't enough men to plough the fields, and the animals the hunter could hunt were also too sparsely populated for him to repeat his earlier successes. As a result, the village faced starvation."

He leaned forward and refilled Lyka's cup again before asking her, "Did the hunter save the village or doom it while carrying out his duties and responsibilities?" He pushed the filled cup to Lyka.

Lyka's gaze flickered to the cup, then back to Molam, before she tapped a finger along the cup's rim. "The hunter did his best. He carried out his duty and responsibilities well. It was the village's fault for relying on the hunter and not planning any further than that."

"I see you absolve the hunter of the results," Molam leaned his chin against a closed hand, "But you can see why duty and responsibility, even when achieved perfectly, may sometimes net you an undesired result."

"Enough. We both know you called me here for a reason and it wasn't to discuss these … could-have-beens." Lyka's finger traced the rim of the teacup, but she had yet to pick it up. "What did you want to know that you could not have simply asked Prim?"

Molam did not let himself frown at her decision to change the topic. "As our newly appointed strategist, it is my…duty and responsibility to understand our fighting strength."

"If you want to know how well I fight," the woman leaned closer to the table, "Why don't you fight me yourself?"

"Considering your position as Primrose's bodyguard, I'm quite certain I don't need to verify how well you fight. I'm more concerned with why you fight." Molam filled his own teacup again, then held it up to her in a small toast. "Duty and responsibility, is it?"

Lyka did not return the toast.

***

"Ah, Kalle. I understand you are busy preparing the thing I asked for, so thank you for taking the time to meet with me."

Kalle bent down to look at the door and the frame, inspecting it closely as he murmured to himself unintelligibly. Molam had found an extra cup and poured fresh tea for the two of them.

"Just close the door, Kalle."

"Yes, I'm trying to make that happen." The alchemist shifted to the other side and began peering at the door's hinges. "Ah. Do you mind, Molam?" Kalle beckoned backwards at Molam without looking at him, still inspecting the door. "I'm afraid you'll need to hold this up while I readjust the hinges. Come, come, allowing a bad circumstance to remain unadjusted only ever makes it worse."

Molam scrunched up his face. "Is that something they teach you in Techoria?"

Kalle turned his face away from the door and gave Molam a sideways glance, his beard reflecting an ochre color in the candlelight. The alchemist raised an eyebrow and Molam sighed, then stood up and walked over next to him.

"I just need to hold it?"

Kalle tilted his head to the side, seemed to think about it, and then looked at Molam again. "We'll need to see. But I think the fix is simple." He pulled open the door by several degrees, then pointed to the handle and looked at Molam. "Just push it up a bit while I fix the hinge."

Molam hefted the door up as instructed. "Do they teach all alchemists how to fix things?"

"What do you think alchemy is?" Kalle had pulled out a small tool and was prying the pin out of the top hinge.

Molam thought of the streets of Techoria, remembering various alchemists selling their wares. "I'd say, potions. Lots of potions. And all these esoteric trinkets and inventions."

"Hardly. That's merely a solution in action." Kalle had successfully pried out the pin, then used the side of his tool to bang against part of the hinge in an attempt to straighten it. "Alchemy," Kalle paused his banging and looked at the hinge, sizing it up, "is finding the answer to anything."

Molam frowned. "Not selling things that don't necessarily work?"

Kalle snorted. "That's Zaem. They merely use alchemy to make money."

"You sold me a few things." Molam raised an eyebrow as Kalle motioned for him to release his grip on the door. The alchemist didn't respond as he inspected the gap between the hinge and the door. "At quite the price, if I may remind you," Molam added.

"You haggled!" Kalle glanced at Molam with a look of incredulity before motioning for Molam to hold up the door again. "And it's not the fact that I sell things. Zaem practices alchemy for profit. Those of us that follow the true alchemic way sell things to fund our pursuit of alchemy. There's a nuance to the difference in approach!"

Molam frowned. "But isn't the result the same? A study in how things function."

"No, that's simply part of the process of finding an answer. For example, the flameproof cloak I sold you. From ideation to execution, I needed to understand quite a few subjects to make the cloak a reality." Kalle pressed the pin in halfway, frowned, then pulled it out again and knocked at the hinge again.

Molam was deep in thought as he watched Kalle work. "If the flameproof cloak was the answer, what was the question then?"

Kalle paused mid-hammering. "Huh. I seem to have forgotten. Well, Master Flangel always said that the path to understanding is an adventure that takes you to wondrous places." His eyebrows scrunched together as his lips pressed together. "I suppose looking back logically, at some point along my studies I wanted to know if it could be done. At the very least, it wasn't a pointless endeavor: flameproof cloth surely has many practical uses, I just haven't determined what all the uses are yet."

He pushed the pin in again, sliding it neatly into the hinge. "You can let go now."

Molam loosened his grip on the door and shook his hands vigorously before rubbing the blood back into his arms, feeling a small twinge of complaint from his muscles. He walked back to his seat and sat down, watching as Kalle pushed the door back and forth, then closing the door fully into its frame without any resistance. Again, he pulled open the door fully, then gave it a gentle push and watched as it swung closed.

"There, now no one else needs to deal with that problem." The alchemist murmured and nodded to himself, then turned around and sat down in the chair. Swiping the teacup off the table, Kalle drained it in one gulp and then set it down with sigh. "Now, I believe you have a question for me?"

"I did," Molam began, looking down at his teacup, then changed his gaze to Kalle. In the distraction of the door-fixing, he had almost forgotten why they were here. "But I suppose I have a different question now." He leaned forward and refilled Kalle's cup. "What are you trying to fix here?"

Kalle pulled the cup closer to him but did not pick it up, his light blue eyes glinting at Molam. "What makes you ask that?"

"You want this city to be free, but that's your 'solution in action.' That is the answer you've deduced." Molam returned the teapot to the warmer before settling back in his seat and locked gazes with Kalle's blue eyes. "Allow me to pose my question another way: what was your question?"

Kalle brought the cup to his nose and took in its aroma, his eyes still contemplating Molam. Eventually, he broke the pause with an exhale before finally sipping at the tea and putting down the cup.

"Why do all societies seem to be broken, and how can we fix them?"

Molam set his head against two fingers, rubbing at his temple without breaking eye contact. "Are you telling me or asking me?"

Kalle shrugged. "Quite the question, isn't it? I think we all struggle with it, just on different levels. Take you for instance," the alchemist shifted, laying an arm on the table as he leaned forward. "Anyone with a basic understanding of history knows what the Oracle and the Frozen Saint tried almost a hundred years ago. Clearly, the Oracle and those that carry the color of her approval think that all this suffering can be solved by removing the Bloody Prince."

"Do you disagree?" Molam asked.

"I don't. But that's besides the point." Kalle sipped at his tea again before continuing. "That's your specific struggle, Molam. I like to think anyone with a degree of empathy wants to fix all this suffering; we just operate at different levels." He set down his cup and held out his hands in a wide gesture. "A village child struggles to till the field because it will help their village minimize the suffering of Winter's Sorrow. Or, a Master Alchemist struggles to understand the applications of moonberry extract because it may end up helping those suffering from sensitivity to the leylines."

"What's your specific struggle then, Kalle?" Molam interlaced his fingers and observed the alchemist. "What suffering are you trying to fix? I assume it has something to do with that." His eyes flickered to the man's undecorated scar as he raised a finger and touched the bridge of his nose.

The alchemist pinched his nose bridge, running his index finger and thumb against the scar across his face. "Remember what I told you at the inn? Have you considered learning tact? Maybe consider that this might be a mark of shame?"

"Tact is for when you are afraid of someone else's reaction." Molam said with a straight face. "Considering you wear it so openly without covering it, I think you've overcome your shame."

The lingering silence and Kalle's gaze almost made Molam think that he had mistaken Kalle's predisposition, but then the alchemist responded. "You're right, but also wrong. I assume you also had elders that espoused caution. And then as young men, we don't ever listen." He tapped at the side of his face where the scar ended. "I was young and foolish, so I received this when I…I lost a duel, trying to change something without fully understanding its nature."

"The reason I keep it uncovered is so others can see it." The candlelight flickered and the shadow of the raised scar seemed to etch deeper into Kalle's face as his voice lowered. "So their lingering stares remind me to never forget that there are things I cannot do. It keeps me humble, in a way."

"You don't need others to remind you of your shortcomings." The words came out harsher than Molam intended. He paused, then softened his voice. "You might consider it a mark of shame, but I don't think so, Kalle. All I see is a man who made mistakes when he was young and grew from it. You might not need to cover that scar, but you shouldn't torture yourself with it either."

"What would you know about scars and being told by your own people that you aren't good enough?" Kalle exhaled with a bitter tone that Molam did not associate with the man. "A daily reminder that I was not good enough."

"Not all scars are visible, Kalle." Molam drained his cup of cold tea without wincing. "Believe me: they ache all the same."

***

Molam waited until he returned to the room they had given him and closed the door before he began reviewing his notes.

"Well?" He murmured in a low voice.

No jade talisman that I could detect.

"Then they were smarter than I thought."

It is probably for muting the effect of Primrose's Charm. Perhaps they are intelligent enough to not bring the talisman with them when Primrose is not involved.

"It's possible." Molam inhaled deeply, holding the breath in his lungs as he tried to think. It was moments before he let go of the breath in a low murmur, "Well, we didn't manage to isolate the holder of the talisman, but I still got to understand what I have to work with."

You are trusting them without having determined the traitor?

He shrugged, walking to his bed and shedding his outer layer of clothes. "Did you think I can just bring the elderwood back to Sanctuary by myself? I'll need this organization."

Take care that you do not rush them into a plan they are unprepared for.

"That's why I met with them today, to learn more about them." Molam leaned back into his bed. "Readiness is about passion and mindset. One either forces something to happen or paves the way for it to happen in a… predetermined manner. Do it well and all participants will act just as planned."

You seem to think humans don't have much personal agency.

"They don't. That's why it's so easy to drive them to the extreme. They'll participate, willingly or unwillingly, but at the end of the day they'll believe they had no choice in the matter. They'll even say that it couldn't have happened any other way."

Does that not apply to you as well?

He closed his eyes and ignored the shadows that danced along the walls. The weight of his head sank into the pillow's softness as he prayed to God Yven to not send dreams.

"It did once," he murmured. "But now, I'm going to be the one that paves the way." before he drifted off to sleep.