The lighthouse loomed against the darkening sky, its massive, glowing lamp casting eerie golden light over the gathering of people outside. Pilgrims, desperate survivors, and opportunists were camped near the base, their murmured conversations ceasing as Vigdis approached.

She didn’t stop.

Cuts and bruises from the fight still marked her skin, dark streaks of dried blood on her battered leather cuirass. She moved with a purpose, her tall frame drawing glances from those she passed. Her presence was impossible to ignore—big, bruised, and radiating the quiet ferocity of someone who had been through hell and come out the other side.

Whispers followed her as she ascended the stairs to the tower door, but she paid them no mind. This time, she didn’t hesitate. She reached the door, pushed it open, and stepped inside.

The heavy wooden door swung shut behind her with a low thud. Before she could take another step, the room dissolved around her, replaced by the disorienting sensation of being pulled upward through space. When she blinked, she was in the Magician’s chamber once more.

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The Magician was lounging in the same spinning chair, his boots up on the desk beside a glowing monitor. He didn’t look surprised to see her; if anything, he looked amused. His gray eyes flicked over her cuts and bruises, lingering on the faint green glow still radiating faintly from the bolts in her crossbow quiver.

“Had fun?” he asked, his tone light but edged with curiosity.

Vigdis didn’t reply immediately. Instead, she reached into her pack, pulled out a bloodied severed head, and made to drop it on the nearest table.

“Not on the keyboard,” he said sharply, spinning his chair to point toward a cluttered alchemy bench across the room. “There. I just organized this morning.”

With a shrug, Vigdis walked over and unceremoniously set the head down amid jars and vials, the lifeless eyes staring blankly at nothing. “You could say that,” she finally replied, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

He swiveled back to face her fully, resting his elbows on his knees. “Good, because I hope you saved me some of the details. You’re looking... lively.”

She raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond. Instead, she stepped closer, her green eyes narrowing slightly. “You’re going to tell me what’s in these bolts.”

The Magician’s grin softened into something more thoughtful. “Straight to business, huh? Fair enough.” He gestured toward her crossbow. “Mind if I...?”

Vigdis unslung it and handed it to him, watching as he examined one of the bolts with a practiced eye. He didn’t seem to need any of his gadgets this time. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, twirling the bolt slowly between his fingers as he spoke.

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“You’ve heard of the Tree of Life, haven’t you?” he asked, his voice casual but carrying an undertone of significance.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Vigdis frowned. “A myth.”

“Most legends are,” he agreed, “but myths are funny things. This one says that the sap of the Tree of Life—pure, ancient, primal—has the power to end chaos, corruption, evil. It’s supposed to heal the good and destroy the wicked. Idealistic, isn’t it?”

She crossed her arms. “What does that have to do with these bolts?”

He held up the bolt, letting the faint green glow play off the strange metal tip. “This. Someone—either an idealistic genius or a deeply twisted experimentalist—decided to coat these in a substance derived from that sap.”

Vigdis’s eyes narrowed. “Derived?”

The Magician shrugged. “Call it an imitation. Sap’s hard to come by, assuming the Tree even exists. But this? It’s close enough to the real thing to do what the legend says.”

He placed the bolt back into her quiver, meeting her gaze. “It’s not just a weapon. It’s a force of judgment. Use it on someone good, someone innocent, and it’ll try to help them—heal, protect, revive. But if you shoot it at someone like those cannibals? It tears them apart on every level. Physically, spiritually, existentially.”

Her jaw tightened as the memory of the glowing light in the cave flashed in her mind. “It’s dangerous.”

“Dangerous,” he agreed. “And rare. Try not to use it on decent people. We don’t have enough humanity left for experiments like that.” He leaned back, folding his hands behind his head. “If you want my advice, make some regular bolts for the everyday fights. Save these for special occasions.”

Vigdis nodded slowly, her expression unreadable. She wasn’t sure whether she felt anger, awe, or unease about the bolts now. Perhaps all three.

She turned away from him, the weight of the crossbow heavier than before. The idea of carrying a weapon that could do so much unsettled her. But at the same time, it felt... right.

“You knew what those bolts could do, even before you sent me to that cave,” she said evenly. “Why stall?”

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The Magician leaned back, a faint smile playing on his lips. “Because it was a test.”

“A test?” she repeated, her green eyes narrowing.

He straightened, “I needed to see how you’d handle yourself with something like this. And from the looks of you, I’d say you did better than expected, and you are ready for something bigger.”

She stiffened. “Bigger?”

He nodded, leaning forward. “That map you’re following. I know where it leads. And I know what you’re going to find.”

Her hand instinctively moved to the pocket where the map was folded. “What’s there?”

“Possibly nothing,” he said with a shrug. “Or possibly the remnants of the old world. The network built by the rich and powerful before the Cleansing. They were supposed to survive any cataclysm.”

She nodded slowly.

“Well, if even one of those places still stands, it could mean trouble. Big trouble.” He leaned closer, his expression serious now. “The people who got into those Bunkers weren’t saints. They were powerful. Ruthless. The kind of people who would do anything to survive. And if they come back into the world... it won’t be pretty.”

Vigdis frowned. “You think there are survivors?”

“I don’t know,” he admitted. “But if there are... I need you to bury that place. Whatever’s inside, it stays inside.”

“That sounds a lot like murder,” she said coldly.

“It’s prevention,” he countered. “You’ve seen the world out there. It’s brutal enough without adding another war to the mix.”

She studied him, her grip tightening on her axe. “And if I refuse?”

He shrugged. “Then you do what you want. But think about it. If they’re still alive, they’re not going to welcome you with open arms. You’ll have to fight anyway. And if you win? Well... you’ll know what to do.”

Silence stretched between them, heavy and tense. Finally, Vigdis grabbed her crossbow and slung it over her shoulder.

“I’ll think about it,” she said, her voice tight.

“Good,” the Magician said, leaning back with a faint smile. “That’s all I ask.”

She turned and walked to the window, her mind racing as she stared out at the wasteland. Whatever lay ahead, it was going to test her in ways she wasn’t sure she was ready for. But she wasn’t about to back down.

Not now.