“But Morto...” Adna whined.

“You weren’t invited.” He repeated in his trademark stoicism. “Fede said.”

“Yeah, but Timbrelle would have invited me! You know Fede is just picking on me. I had to wait outside last night for someone to open the door. Ninety minutes! This isn’t fair!” She flopped onto the bench at the dining table, letting her arms hang on either side. “I should have a key to my own home. Lend me a spare. Leave the door cracked. At least put in a cat flap I can wiggle through. Something! Mr. Brontella, the old widower next door brought me pity soup that was, admittedly, delicious but I don’t want to be seen as a temple beggar!”

Adna stared at the white stucco ceiling as the impassive ruby auror poured a clattering of grindlow nuts directly onto the stone counter.

She wasn’t bothered by getting locked out, not nearly as much as her mood would suggest. Last night had sucked but what can you do when Tuna abducts your only means of entry?

The night before, after she’d been allowed into the temple, Adna returned to the… what had Timbrelle called it? The blanket building? The apology sandwiches laid out on the platter had dehydrated, forcing her to come visit Morto for meals. After the fiasco the night before, she’d spent the day sleeping on the couch in the pseudo-temple so that she didn’t get stuck on the wrong side of the door again. All she had to occupy her time was a long, boring game of unsuccessfully pestering Morto into conversations to combat the growing edge to her emotions.

She had been agitated ever since Timbrelle left. It started small, annoyance at her sudden disappearance. But the note they sent for her had explained it well enough, so the feeling couldn’t be called annoyance anymore. Was it just worry? …No. That wasn’t quite right either. It was more like… apprehension.

Adna threw a dramatic hand over her face, shaking her head in frustration. Is this really what she was like without Timbrelle? Miserable? Sleeping all day? Useless? Despondent? What a great friend she made—codependent and ever present. She would have to find a way to handle the next two days until Timbrelle’s scheduled return. There was no good reason for her to sulk like this.

Adna looked back to Morto. “What do you do for fun? I’m realizing I might not have any hobbies.”

“Adventuring.”

“You do odd jobs for the city guard? You don’t seem like the type. I don’t know exactly who you are but I’d bet my ass you’re a big-shot arostocrat.” She said.

“Not me. You. Try adventuring. You’ll like it.” He said, shelling grindlow nuts for the stew.

“I’ll run it past Tim—“ she cut herself off. “I’ll think about it.”

Morto simply nodded.

Adna was quiet for a while. The rhythmic shelling the only noise between them. He crushed two of them in his palm every three seconds or so. At her request, he tossed her a nut the size of a gold piece. She tapped the nut against the table testing the rock-hard shell. Morto was definitely using his rubies to turn the outer layer to dust.

Maybe he’d consent to training Timbrelle and letting her observe the classes. It would be good to train her up to go adventuring. That girl was too thin. Or maybe Timbrelle could get Fede to hire some kind of bodyguard or—

Good Lord! Why were all of her thoughts revolving around Timbrelle?

There was no fooling herself. She couldn’t shake the feeling that something wasn’t right. What was once simple discomfort was quickly building to despair. Her thoughts and feelings weren’t right; This was an inordinate reaction to her friend simply being busy. If she wasn’t just feeling sorry for herself, then where was this mounting dread coming from?

She sat up. “Morto, I think I need to find Timbrelle. I shit you not: something is very wrong.”

Morto said nothing, he only dusted his hands off and walked to the door, applying his seal and disappearing into the temple.

Adna scrambled to put on her shoes and find a congregational robe. By the time she was finished tying her boots, Morto came striding back in. The wiry man tossed her a sword similar to the one at his hip.

“You might be strong enough for that.” He said while reapplying his seal to the closed door. “There’s a recoil.”

Adna nodded and affixed it to her belt.

“Leave the robe. We’ll go this way.” He said when she went to drape one around her shoulders.

His seal of blood-red interlocking triangles flashed three times in quick succession before the door swung open. On the other side there wasn’t the normal temple hallway or residential district. Instead, the door opened to a new location. They walked into a grand study of two-story book cases bristling with their hard-bound fruit. On the only patch of wall not dominated by shelves hung a colossal portrait of Fede and Tuna.

As they swept past it she pointed up and said “I am going to have a lot of questions about this after. Be ready.”

Morto jogged through the palatial halls with Adna close on his heels. They passed a surprising number of children funneling in from outside.

“Voltaire!” Morto shouted to a solid man helping a young boy dump out a bucket of befouled training swords.

“Mortominsla!” He called back cheerfully. Upon noticing the man’s demeanor, his face fell into rapt attention. His eyes flashed to the Rigel blades at their hips, narrowing further. “What is it?”

“Timbrelle. Where is she?” Morto asked.

“I heard she’s out with a maid gathering mushrooms. …Is she in danger?” Voltaire looked to Adna when Morto deflected the question to her.

“I’m sure of it.” Adna said. She was about to reaffirm the statement when she felt a fiery pain blossom in her chest. Blood burst from her mouth as she yelled in sudden, whole-hearted agony. The explosive pain dropped her to her knees just as Morto doubled over holding his head.

“Good gods! Assemble the guard!” Voltaire called across the practice grounds. The few squires training dropped their wooden swords and booked it inside to follow the order. Unsure of the situation, the man hovered about uselessly until Morto could choke out an explanation.

“A-a ruby has shattered on the mountainside.” He pressed his palms into his ears to drown out whatever sound came from the dying aurora gem.

Beside them, Adna clawed at her chest, desperate to stop the agony radiating from her sternum. She tried to scream once again but had no control over her lungs. Her mouth was left open in a silent cry.

“What’s going on?” She heard Fede demand as he came rushing onto the scene. “Diadna? Mortominsla? Voltaire, explain!”

Fede placed a hand on her forehead then swore. “What a time for you to be resistant to my power.” He turned to Morto and repeated the gesture.

The ruby auror took a couple deep breaths, benefiting from Fede’s crystalurgy before saying “Timbrelle is in danger. A ruby just died nearby.”

“On the mountain? What could possibly be dangerous enough to shatter a gem?” He asked, frustrated. “Where is she?”

Morto shook his head and gestured to Adna.

She pulled in a gasping breath, choking. Fede’s question went ignored. She couldn’t pinpoint Timbrelle’s exact location but as they had been running through the estate, she could sense them moving in the correct direction. In fact, as she stumbled to her feet she could feel instinct pulling her south through the exit to the practice grounds. Relying fully on that instinct to lead her to Timbrelle, she took off at a dead sprint.

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

“Adna! Adna!” Fede called after her when she bolted for the exit. “Dammit! Follow her, arrange a mounted search party and find my granddaughter!”

Adna glimpsed Morto following close behind and Voltaire just after. She could rescue Timbrelle with a ruby auror and a random giant dude.Totally. Totally. Totally. That would totally do for now—at least while they waited for the soldiers to assemble. In truth, Morto might be strong enough to back her up without the Voltaire guy. Davian was terrified of Morto, saying they’d only ever trained together once. She assumed it was because, like Timbrelle training with herself and Davian, Morto’s ability was on another level entirely.

If the two men were able to keep up with her as they went hurtling through the forest, she would gladly have them.

Adna was not so much running down the hillside as throwing herself through the air, taking light steps like a stone skipping across water. Moving at speed, they were losing elevation quickly. Hundreds of feet lower than before, the feeling began pulling her forward instead of down. To her surprise, Morto was keeping pace through the rocky mountainside. He never lagged in their sprint through the well-forested land. A fact for which Adna was grateful when she almost ran directly into her first magical creature.

Morto grabbed her elbow and hooked her into a sharp arc to the side. Her feet flew up, carried by her momentum. She would have been sent cartwheeling with a dislocated shoulder if not for the superhuman strength of her companion and her own dexterous muscularity.

Morto kept a grip on her arm to balance her, his other hand holding a finger to his lips.

She followed his gesture to see something standing motionless amid the tall, thin pine trees. Directly in her path was a large humanoid figure who looked to be wearing a satin cloak of royal purple, patterned to look like a moth’s wings. It was eight feet tall and silent. Not just quiet, but an unnerving, deadly silence. One she became all too familiar with in the Dorark. It drowned the rustling of branches and birds singing into a circle of unnatural silence.

On closer inspection, she found that the cloak wasn’t patterned after moth wings. The silken wings were quite real but the humanoid body was not… not entirely. Its body, unlike its wings looked incorporeal and transparent—made of ether and the night sky. A shadow.

Morto put up his arm, his hand in a fist. The distant crashing steps of Voltaire instantly quieted.

He signed something to Adna who shrugged emphatically. The man frowned and began spelling out the words.

No sound. Die.

Adna spelled slowly: Kill it?

No! Die!

She tried again. No me. You!

Morto frowned. Die! Die! Die!

The moth creature stood in place, unmoving. They watched it for what must have been five minutes. It never moved, never even shifted.

Adna spelled to Morto then pointed at herself and mimed running away. I lure it

She watched him sign a forceful D-I- before deciding she didn’t have time for this. Timbrelle was dying.

Adna leapt out from behind her tree. She sprinted to a boulder, vaulting on top. Glancing back to gauge the mothman’s speed made her come to a hault. To her surprise, he hadn’t moved. Adna waved her arms, trying to attract its attention.

“Hey! Over here, shitbug! I’m right here, baby! Come get me!” She yelled at the creature. The words sunk into the silence like men into tar. “…Morto, I don’t think this is working. Are you sure it’s that dangerous?”

The man was no help. He looked terrified for her, unable to sign with fingers visibly shaking from adrenaline. Adna looked around for a moment, locating a stick the size of her forearm.

“Get ready to run, Morty!” Adna wound up and hucked the stick into the trees as far from them as possible.

The effect was immediate. The moth creature was a blur. At a speed impossible for her eyes to track, it tore through the undergrowth. The thing descended on the stick, destroying the area around it in a clamorous fit. Saplings were ripped from the forest floor and soil rained down on top of Morto at a distance. He did not hesitate to take advantage of the loud distraction. Instead, he waved for her to lead without slowing down to chat. They caught up with each other a few hundred feet ahead.

“What was that thing? Didn’t Fede say there were no dangerous monsters on this mountain?” Adna hurtled a fallen log, with difficulty while Morto leapt it soundly. She whistled appreciatively. “Damn, dude. Can you get me any of those cool rubies? I won’t tell Fede.”

“How far?” He ignored her questions, focused instead on the task at hand.

“Really close.” She said, returning to a sobriety that felt more appropriate.

Timbrelle’s scent was quickly growing stronger. Perhaps ‘scent’ wasn’t accurate but the sensation was similar. She knew she wasn’t following a trail that Timbrelle walked. They’d mentioned a waterfall but the only one visible was in the distance far up the mountain. How could they get all the way down here, so far from the cliff side?

The feeling was becoming painful. The pain that felt like a hot iron at her sternum flared as she closed in. Up ahead laid a newly felled tree, its trunk twisted and mangled. The heavy stench of blood and mulch hung in the air, Adna frantically trying to pinpoint the source.

“Timbrelle!” She shouted. “Timbrelle!”

Pain and fear tightened their grip on her heart. She wouldn’t be able to feel Timbrelle if she was dead. …right? That had to mean she was alive.

“Adna?” A raspy voice answered from below the tree. “We’re here.”

Morto rushed to the sound and lifted the trunk just enough for Adna to pull an unconcious freckled woman free.

“Careful of her leg.” Timbrelle’s voice cracked and she dissolved into a coughing fit.

“I’m here, Timbrelle. I’ve got you.” She pulled her by the arm, the only visible part of her body, though gashed and bloody. “I’ll get you out, don’t worry.” Her only hope was that her emotions didn’t seep into her words.

Timbrelle’s torso came free, exposing an open wound in her sternum. Dirt and debris matted the bloody, apple-sized crater in her chest. The rest slid clear of the tree with a sob from Timbrelle.

“Shit.” Morto breathed. He immediately removed his shirt and knelt beside Timbrelle, pressing the cloth into her wound to staunch the stream of blood.

“It’s here, Adna. It found me. It left the Dorark and it found me.” Tears were welling up in her eyes. “I didn’t think… didn’t think it could leave. But it’s been following me, Adna. It will follow until it gets me and it won’t stop.”

Adna grabbed the woman’s hand, thumb worrying at the back of her icy fingers. “Shh. Tell me all about it in the bedding fortress. I’ll make the sandwiches this time and apologize for not being there to kick its ass. Let’s just get you safe first.” She wiped blood and dirt from her best friend’s eyes—her only family. The same words came rolling out of her mouth over and over in what she only hoped was a voice more calm than she. “You’re ok. You’ll be fine. You’ll be ok. We’re ok. We’re fine.”

Adna watched, helpless, as Timbrelle’s eyes fluttered closed.