Zaric sat down bonelessly on the bench she’d just vacated, offering her a tankard. Talia hesitated for only a moment before grabbing it and nodding her thanks. She sat back down, taking a few swigs before turning an inquisitive look on the mage-commandrum, who had opened An Exploration on the Mechanics of Arcano-Suns and was idly flipping through it.

“Heavy reading. You understand all this stuff?” he asked.

Talia shrugged.

“I get the gist of it. Pretty sure even the author didn’t know what he was talking about at times. Deciphering truth from fancy is going to be a pain,” she replied.

The collared mage grunted and gently shut it.

“Better you than me. I never had a head for this stuff. My brother on the other hand… Bah, but that’s history. Listen, I really wanted to apologize again for earlier. I shouldn’t have accused you like that. I was just…well, I don’t know, but either way, I’m sorry.”

Talia raised an eyebrow at the casual dismissal of his brother, but something in his posture told her not to pursue that particular avenue of conversation. She’d have attributed the odd acquisition of social graces to her psionics, were she not keeping a tight grip on her mindsense.

Who knows Tals, maybe you’re picking up a thing or two from, you know, actually talking to people.

“It’s fine,” she replied, “Honestly, I can see why you thought what you did.”

Zaric nodded, swigging at his rapidly emptying tankard, cuing Talia to follow suit. She hesitated, looking around at the morose gathering and ensuring that no one was close enough to overhear them before continuing.

“And to be frank, your hypothesis wasn’t far from the truth,” she whispered.

Zaric’s brow rose high onto his newly shaven head. He tensed, fingers clenching around his tankard.

Talia rolled her eyes.

“I’m not saying it was me. The truth is far less believable than that. You might not even believe me when I tell you.”

The mage-commandrum’s eyes narrowed down to slits.

“Try me. I’ve seen shit you can’t even imagine.”

“Care to hazard a wager on that?” she asked.

Zaric gave her a smug smirk and stuck out his hand.

“You’re on.”

Talia shook his hand and smiled evilly, scooting over closer so she could speak in low tones.

----------------------------------------

“I don’t believe you.”

Talia barked a triumphant laugh. Sticking out a hand for the agreed-upon bet. Zaric only glared at her through the remains of incredulousness that had colonized his face as she told her story.

“You’re messing with me. What really happened? C’mon now,” he said.

The young woman just held his gaze, mirth fading away to placid sincerity.

“You expect me to just accept that—”

“Shhh— lower your voice. If you’re struggling, imagine how the crew would react,” Talia interrupted.

Frowning and shaking his head, Zaric leaned in and continued in a whisper.

“You expect me to just accept that by pure happenstance, you met a sapient, psionic spider. And not only that, but instead of whipping you up into dinner, said spider brought you into some kind of brain space to help you in some unknowable, unquantifiable way. All the while she was marching us through the Under with us all none the wiser.”

Talia leaned in, admittedly taking a perverse pleasure in shocking the man, and whispered in his ear.

“Yep.”

The man leaned back, staring at her for a moment.

“You’re serious.”

Talia nodded.

“And the part about her being who knows how many thousands of years old?”

Talia shrugged.

“She certainly came off ancient, and let me tell you, she was huge, but the topic of her age never really came up.”

Zaric shook his head in amazement, then fell silent, staring into his mug, contemplating. The young woman let him be, taking a sip of her own drink and slipping off the bench to lean her back against it. She irritatedly blew a lock of her lengthening hair out of her face.

Have to cut it down again soon. Too much of a hassle.

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The mage commandrum muttered something she didn’t quite catch, his eyes still caught in the riptide of his ale.

“Hmm?”

He tore his eyes from the drink, looking down at her.

“Do you think she could help me? No, scratch that, you said she tried to teach you…whatever it was she was doing to fix your head. Can you do it? Can you fix mage-madness? Cause’ that’s what it is, isn’t it? What she was doing? What else would it be?”

Even though she should have been expecting it, the question caught her off guard. Talia grimaced but couldn’t bring herself to meet the man’s eyes. They burned a hole in the side of her face. A swell of sorrow flowed through her as she remembered the Matriarch's words.

Gods. The sad atmosphere really refuses to leave well enough alone tonight. Argh. I wish…I don’t know what I wish, but it’s not this.

She sighed softly.

“It doesn’t work like that,” she murmured, “Past a certain age, it sounds like it’s irreversible. Even with whatever she did to me, the Matriarch said it wasn’t a cure, just… a stay of execution.”

Talia finally found the courage to turn and meet the man’s eyes.

“I’m sorry. If there was anything I could do…”

The mage-commandrum nodded slowly, staring through her for a moment before coming back into focus. A deep, weary sigh escaped him.

“I should’ve figured,” he said, biting off a bitter chuckle, “It’s alright, I’ve made my peace with it. I’m just glad that one of us got a little extra time. Even if…wait, if it’s related to age… what about Osra? Could you help her?”

Talia winced and shook a hand back and forth.

“It’s not as easy as I made it sound. I barely did anything, really, the Matriarch did ninety-nine percent of the work. I guess I could try? We’d have to tell her about the whole thing though, and I’m worried about how she’ll take some of what I learned, given her…disposition.”

Zaric rolled his eyes.

“Her fanaticism, you mean. No need to tiptoe around it. It’s not her fault. She’s been indoctrinated, anyone would be, growing up the way she did. But who cares? If you can give her time, she’ll have more years than most of us to come to terms with the reality of things.”

Talia’s face scrunched up uncomfortably and she looked away.

“We just got onto the right page, and now you want me to shatter her beliefs? I can’t— I can’t do that to her. Not after…” she trailed off, “ And besides, like I said, I’m not even sure I’ll be able to reproduce what the Matriarch did. I understand the theory, the basics, but the execution is several orders of magnitude more complicated than anything I’ve ever done with my psionics.”

A calloused hand fell on Talia’s shoulder, gently pulling her to face the man. There was sympathy etched across his face, but also a drive, a determination that surpassed simple duty to an apprentice.

“I get it. You feel like you just made a friend, and you don’t want to risk that. It’s normal to be afraid. But if you can help her, even just the tiniest bit, then you have to try. That’s what a true friend would do,” he said.

Talia repressed the urge to cringe away, to shut down all the feelings and shove them in a box for ‘later’.

I’m past that now. Lazarus is right. Healthy coping mechanisms can always turn unhealthy.

Searching Zaric’s face for a milligram of doubt revealed not a spec of it. He seemed like he truly believed—or perhaps the better word was hoped. The only way to know for sure would be to dive into his thoughts with her psionics, and she’d already promised herself that she wouldn’t.

“Fine, I’ll try. But we have to be fully transparent with her. No half-truths. I’m not even sure it’ll work. I might even do more harm than good. But I’ll try, if that’s what you think is the right thing to do.”

The mage-commandrum smiled that blinding smile at her, pleased that she’d agreed.

“That’s all I can ask,” he said, “And if it works, well… Think about the good you could do back in the city. All those young souls, doomed to die, to flounder through life waiting for the day they snap. You could help them all.”

He patted her shoulder and looked off towards the flames of the fire-pit, a mixture of hope and sorrow on his face.

Talia followed his gaze, considering the implications of what he’d said.

If he’s right, then it would be the start of a new age. From what the Matriarch implied, I have until at least old age, if I’m careful. It’s not a cure, but still…decades. Time that many back home don’t have.

Talia finished her drink.

And I could give it to them.

But only if she could master what the Matriarch had attempted to teach. The Weave-Fragment would help—she vaguely remembered the ancient arachnid mentioning the process of ‘de-feralizing’ her fledgelings as being similar— but still. It was a lot of weight on her shoulders. Weight that she didn’t need, wasn’t sure she could carry on top of all the rest.

Zaric’s groan pulled her from her thoughts as he stood, his customary smile back on his lips.

“Alright, enough of that shit. We can discuss it with Osra later. Maybe when we get to the Dead City. Right now, we have a task to accomplish.”

Talia looked up at him, a question in her gray eyes. He winked at her.

“Tonight is a night of rest, which means that in true delver tradition, we have to get sloshed,” he grinned.

The young woman shook her head.

“Nope. Nuh-uh. I have stuff to do tomorrow. Important things to take care of. Your apprentice suggested some interesting ideas about cycling techniques, and I have some projects—ahh!”

Talia yelped as the mage-commandrum tugged her off the ground by her wrist, slipping his arm around her shoulder and guiding her towards the casks, drawing eyes all around.

With a smirk, he called out to the assembled delvers.

“Oy! Our good Wyrmslayer here thinks she can get off with just a single ale before slinking off to bed. Have you lot got no pride? Someone get this girl a drink!”

The chuckles turned to laughter as Talia squirmed in the mage-commandrum’s grasp, futilely attempting to escape.

“Fine! Fine! I’ll have another,” she cried, finding a tankard pressed into her hands before she’d even finished.

The delvers cheered, their prior black mood momentarily dispelled by the prospect of teasing their fellows.

“Just the one though!”

They jeered, led on by a maniacally grinning Zaric.

Talia caught sight of Torval, seated on the back platform of wagon one, his head bent over his logbook. The delvemaster looked up to wink at her before shaking his head and returning to his work.

Wonder why he never joins in on these celebrations. Maybe he doesn’t drink? He seemed pretty well acquainted with the crew…

The youngest officer was drawn out her thoughts as Zaric raised his mug high and jostling her shoulders under his arm.

“To the Wyrmslayer, titled on her first delve!”

The crew cheered once more and raised their ales up.

A cacophony of toasts ranging from sober remembrance to deranged shouting rang out as the crew galvanized each other.

Talia glanced speculatively over at the mage-commandrum as she watched the pall that had hung over the group like a swarm of blight devils disperse.

Savvier than I gave him credit for.

The young woman went to deposit her mug and sneak off, but found herself cornered by revellers, a pair of drinks already in hand and ready for her, evil smirks on their faces. Music finally began playing somewhere in the crowd, a clear indicator of spirits shifting.

Needless to say, Talia’s commitment to ‘just one more drink’ was broken, as delvers did as delvers do—ensuring that none remained drink-less and un-watered for long.