Hoots of tinker owls and chirps of crickets met her ears as she shot awake and bolted upright. Sheeva regretted the action as her head pounded. As her mouth filled with sour spit, she turned on her side and vomited, trembling. She hoped she did not have a concussion but would not be surprised if she did. Forcing her eyes open in an attempt to keep her brain active, she looked around at her surroundings. She still sat at the base of the slab with the banner of scales, and as she spotted Tazaro, his body still slumped on the ground.

It was dark and cold, the tree’s spooky branches and the ring of stone epitaphs seeming to cage them in. Sheeva brought her hands to her arms and rubbed them, shivering. As the pain on her palm registered, she stared at it, confused. The light from the two moons illuminated her hand, and she saw the sigil the ta’hal burned into it, the wound split and bleeding a small trickle. She sighed from relief as she thought she might have been dead, foolishly trusting an infamous entity known for acts of evil. With a wave of her other hand, she summoned her orb of light to get a better view, and before the thing flickered out, she saw a criss-cross of chains around a wheel.

She wondered if it had held up its end of the bargain. Angling her injured hand off the ground, Sheeva crawled to Tazaro and shook him. He stirred, and she let out another tense sigh of relief. Bartholomew had indeed kept to the deal. She wondered where Bartholomew might be and shivered as she thought he might be hidden away in her body somewhere, ready to control her at any time. Her hand nervously raised to her neck, and her fingers began to prod as they worked their way down her body in palpation, wondering if her body had changed, somehow.

“Wha-what? How-What? It was-It was daytime! What?” Tazaro babbled, looking around at the darkness. Sheeva stopped her worried prodding and looked over at him, surprised. Apparently, Tazaro had also lost a chunk of time.

“You remember nothing? You were under the control of a ta’hal. It tried to kill me.” Sheeva explained, wondering if maybe the thing was still inside Tazaro’s body instead. As she glanced him over in the dim light, it didn’t seem like anything had changed.

“I was what?" He asked, stunned. “Sheeva, I’m so sorry!” He apologized, trying to sit up. He found he could hardly move, and just the attempt wracked his body with pain.

He lay still for a moment as the further proof that Ta’hal existed sunk in, and with it, the astonishing fact that the gods existed.

Sheeva looked at his worn-out state and took pity, deciding she would help him sit up, but hissed as she went to use her hands to help her stand, open wound on her palm forgotten about. Her bag had ended up by the broken altar, and carefully, Sheeva crawled to it and emptied its contents to find the medical kit she carried. Slapping a fresh bandage on her hand, she breathed through the pain as she tied a knot to hold it in place with the assistance of her teeth.

He groaned in pain and held his head in his hands, and as he leaned forward to rest his head between his knees, he cried out from a burning, taut pain in his shoulders. When he tensed up to avoid moving more, it only made it worse.

“Sheeva, why do I hurt so much?” He asked through shuddered breath, trying not to move except to breathe. He regretted sitting up at all, feeling it would hurt just as much to lay back down.

“I hit you upside the head with a branch. I had to stop you somehow.” She answered cautiously.

“Ok, but that doesn't explain why everything hurts,” He groaned. As he recalled the pressure of a crystal being shoved into his guts, he gasped a worried “oh, shit,” lifted his shirt, and prodded at his stomach in fear. Instead of the gash that he felt his blood spill from, there was a light-pink scar that stretched four inches along his right side. As he pushed on it, he hissed in pain and, sure enough, he felt the firmness of something foreign within his body.

“Oh, shit,” He blurted, beginning to panic.

“What?” Sheeva asked, fearing that she had missed an injury on his body somewhere in her hastiness. She hurried over to him and looked at what he was inspecting, but couldn’t see anything.

“That guy-that guy shoved a fucking crystal in my body. I, I remember feeling it; it felt so fucking weird! I don’t understand; there should be a wound, or something, but there’s just this…scar, and that crystal–it’s still in there.” He blabbered, eyes wide and terrified. He pushed on the spot again, felt the shift, and cried out in disgust.

Sheeva’s eyes widened.

“I, I’m so sorry! I didn’t know!” She whispered, genuinely apologetic and guilty.

Tazaro, panting from terror as his overclocked brain tried to figure out if this foreign object inside of his abdomen could possibly kill him, jerked his head to Sheeva.

“What?”

Sheeva blinked at him, then forced the words to her lips.

“You were wounded and bleeding, so I, I healed you. I was…I couldn’t just leave you to…” She began, then trailed off, feeling even more guilty as she recalled she considered leaving him behind to pursue Llyud.

“You sealed a crystal inside my guts?” Tazaro barked, irrational.

“I didn’t know there was something there! I was trying to make sure you stayed alive!” She sassed back, defensively.

“What-but-now I–So, what? What? Now I just have this fucking crystal in me?” He cried, lifting his shirt to look again. It formed an odd, grotesque lump, like a tumor lurking beneath a sick person’s skin. “I mean, look at it!” He exclaimed.

“What am I supposed to do about this?” He babbled, staring at his abdomen in horror.

Sheeva, too, stared at the small lump, and then looked at the knife in her hand. A quick breath of fire would sterilize the thing.

“Well…I’m no doctor, but I suppose I could cut–

–Oh, hell no! Don’t you dare touch me!” Tazaro bellowed, pointing a finger at her.

From the tip of his finger, a tiny, red flame erupted in a flash before it fizzled out and became smoke.

He stopped and stared.

Sheeva stopped and stared.

“Did you see–Tazaro began, unsure.

“Yes. Yes, I did.” Sheeva nodded in affirmation. She sat back, pondering, then shook her head.

“Can you do it again?” She asked; even though she had seen it herself, perhaps she was imagining things in a moment of embarrassed vehemence.

“S-sure. Okay. Um, here.” He agreed, then forcefully pointed at her.

Thanks to the digit that flew towards her face, Sheeva flinched and recoiled, but when nothing happened, she sighed in relief.

“Oh. Nothing happened,” Tazaro muttered, mildly aware that he was slightly disappointed in the back of his mind. Sheeva squinted her eyes in thought for a moment.

“Here. Try doing this.” She offered, trailing her fingers in the air to trace the sigil of a flame. Tazaro followed, and from his gut, felt a warmth that pulled throughout his body.

“Wow, that feels–He stopped and clapped a hand over his mouth as fire flew from his lips with the breaths of the words he spoke. As soon as he did so, the warmth instantly disappeared, sapping him of energy. It made him dizzy and cold, and he would have fallen over if not for leaning against the base of Abraxas’s monolith.

Sheeva stared, amazed.

“You do have magic.” She stated in wonder, then furrowed her brow in deep thought. “I had almost forgotten, but I believe the ta’hal may have given you wings. They are gone now, but perhaps they are simply retracted.” She added, then sat up as she realized that, like she had when she’d first bared her wings, Tazaro might have giant gashes in his back that had been exposed to the dirt floor.

“Take off your shirt–I need to check your back,” She ordered, getting to her feet and stumbling around to his backside. “You might be wounded, and–

She stopped when she saw no wounds, nor any trace of the wings, as she had thought.

“Oh. It seems the ta’hal fully healed you before leaving your body.” She determined, intrigued. She held the thought that the wounds he had sustained might have killed him otherwise, not wanting to terrify Tazaro even more.

“I did.”

They jumped and turned toward the sound of the voice, and as Sheeva threw the knife she still held in the direction, they watched as it flew straight through and stuck in the bark of a tree. Bartholomew looked down as a current fizzled in the area the projectile had gone through. In the now bright firelight, he could see the leaves on the ground through the skin of his feet. He frowned and squinted at the fact with minty-blue eyes.

Sheeva could see the trees and bushes behind him, his body transparent as he stepped closer, floating through the remains of the broken stone slab. His skin was scale-like, tinted blue, turning a teal color as it covered his chest and stomach. The edges of his claws wrapped around his upper arms as he crossed them, and a scowl formed on his face, more like a ketze’s jowls and triangular nose than Sferranoid. A torn pair of pants were held up by a rope threaded poorly through belt loops. His legs reminded her of the haunches of a drake, and as she looked at his feet, his claws were incredibly sharp. Leathery wings were tucked in, and unlike hers, the arch of the first joint pointed downwards. As his tail whipped behind him, she saw a curved blade, like bone, that jutted out from the end.

“My name is Bartholomew. Use it.” He growled, stepping towards them, slowing as he realized they did not crunch underneath his feet.

Tazaro began to shuffle backward in fear, despite how much it hurt to do so but didn’t get far since the cold stone at his back prevented him from getting any space between himself and the monster. He sucked in a breath from the sheer chill, but didn’t dare move to put his shirt back on.

“Relax, Sferran. I’ll not kill you. Made a deal and all that.” He announced, stooping down, balancing himself with the use of his tail. It did not shuffle the leaves about, and Bartholomew realized he would somehow miss that.

“I thought you said you needed a conduit.” Sheeva pointed out, wondering if the ta’hal deceived her.

“Never said anything of the sort. You came up with that shit on your own.” Bartholomew answered, giving a raspy cackle and a toothy smirk. Sheeva scowled at him, then dropped her head in embarrassment.

“Wait, Sheeva, you made a deal with him? For me?” Tazaro asked.

“You were an innocent bystander.” She insisted, trying to keep a straight face. “Besides, I…I’m so close to Llyud, now. I don’t want to miss this chance. Can you move?” She asked. Tazaro tried to stand, his muscles still aching.

“No, it still hurts.”

Sheeva sat down, fighting with her impatience, and glared into the flames. She watched Bartholomew stoop down in front of the fire, a worried look on his face, then reach out his arm and stick it straight through. The look on his face turned to one of disappointment. She wondered if he could only have senses through possession of Sferrans.

She reached over and grabbed her water pouch and a slab of jerky for herself, then tossed the ration bag to Tazaro. He grabbed and took a slab for himself, then tossed it back.

Tazaro mulled the flavor over with his tongue and sipped on the water pouch she lobbed at him as he mused in silence.

The man she’s chasing must be absolutely fucking crazy. He’s gotta be, to take my mom just to get back at her, or piss her off, or whatever the hell he wants to do. I hope...she’s not considering using my mother as bait. As a means to an end. No one could be that hellbent on revenge that they would actually do that, right?

Breaking away from his blaming thoughts, Tazaro reached around to feel his shoulders and wondered if his supposedly new wings were hidden inside his body.

“Sheeva? How does, uh, baring your wings work?” He asked. She stopped chewing and looked at him, annoyed about the fact that they were still sitting here when they could be pursuing Llyud. Her expression softened a little as she reminded herself that she needed to rest just as much as he did, finished chewing her jerky, and swallowed her bite.

“Similar to a ketze’s claws, I believe, though I am still not sure. I do not know if yours will work the same way or if you have to break your skin to bare them for the second time. I am not even sure if they still exist. I will say it is an excruciating process.” She warned.

“Do you think I could fly, too?” He pressed.

“Hm. Perhaps. These are new bones, new muscles. It might take a while.”

Tazaro warred with his next question, worried she might immediately dismiss him.

“Would you…be willing to help me?” He asked anyway. She took a deep breath, thinking.

She could, but with being so close to Llyud, she did not want to waste any more time than she already had. Also, if she was wrong about him wanting to kill Mildred in front of her, they were on a time restraint. If she managed to kill Llyud and they were safely back in Roussel, she could do it. Maybe, the surrounding hills would be spacious enough that she could teach him to glide and eventually soar. Her lips curled as she imagined them taking a leap of faith off of the clocktower in the plaza in the dead of night.

If she succeeded in killing Llyud now, perhaps she could take Tazaro with her to the temple and bargain for him to stay. Even though he was not gifted with magic like she was, he liked to create things to help people, and with the possibility of him having wings, it had to count for something.

She frowned as she remembered the deal she had made with Bartholomew. If she was to be his assassin, she imagined wandering from place to place. If she were to train Tazaro, she would have to take him along. Sure, she had worked alongside traveling caravans, but having a single travel companion was not something she was used to, and not necessarily something she was ready for.

“Sheeva? I didn’t mean to impose. I’ll figure it out myself.” Tazaro stated, taking her silence as “no.” She scowled at him.

“Do not take my silence for dismissal.” She ordered with a terse frown. Tazaro blinked, feeling sheepish.

“Look...figuring it out yourself is dangerous enough. I will guide you through it, but it is not something I can do right now. We need to rest and get moving quickly. We are pressed for time.” She answered.

“Right. Because of Llyud.” He stated, voice dripping with displeasure. “I swear, I could strangle that man with my bare hands,” Tazaro threatened.

“You’re not a part of this. You should not–” She stopped herself, realizing she sounded harsher than she ought to be. “No, I…” She took a deep breath, then sighed, feeling once again remorseful.

“Tazaro, I have been through much pain and have–regrettably–missed out on many opportunities by pursuing revenge. You have a life here; you should cherish that. I do not want for you what I have been through, myself,” She stated earnestly. “I’m trying to keep you out of all of this.”

Tazaro sent her a glare and scoffed.

“That psychopath kidnapped my mother, Sheeva! Whether you like it or not, I am a part of this!” Tazaro argued.

Sheeva couldn’t disagree. Thanks to her, Tazaro was right, unfortunately. She stood, stooped at her bag, retrieved a blanket, and handed it to him.

“You should sleep. We’ll leave at dawn.” She decided, grabbing her sleeping bag and crawling into it.

Tazaro lay down as well, shivering as the wind sifted through the holes in his torn, bloody coat. He took the tattered thing off and bunched it up for use as a makeshift pillow, and wrapped himself up in the thick, wool blanket. Sleep did not come easily, since each chirp, crack, and hoot echoed in his ears and sent spurts of adrenaline through his veins.

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

They paced themselves as Sheeva led the way, their breath forming wispy clouds in the morning chill. A mist spread through the trees, and the cold bit at their noses, red and runny. Tazaro had soaked his handkerchief and had resorted to using the sleeves of his jacket, and his body slouched with tiredness.

Sheeva was forming a plan as they went, trying to anticipate what she...no, they, she reminded herself, were getting into. Tazaro was good with a chisel and hammer, but they could not count as actual weapons, and she could not fathom him getting into a fistfight with anyone. He did not seem to have the desire. If they got separated, she wondered whether or not Tazaro would be able to defend himself and his mother long enough to escape.

She hoped she would not miss out on the chance to kill Llyud by being too focused on their safety. To compensate, she decided she would kill Llyud in front of them if need be, rationalizing that Tazaro would accept it since he was now involved, too.

As the question continued to nag at her and her imagination ran away, Sheeva slowed down and turned to him. She had to know.

“Tazaro, have you ever fought anyone?” She asked. He stopped, bending forward and resting his hands on his knees as he worked to catch his breath. He looked up at her, panting, wisps of hot breath fuming from his mouth.

“What?”

“If we get separated, I need to know if you can defend your mother and yourself. So, again, have you ever fought anyone?”

He shook his head.

“I’ve never had to.” He answered. She sighed.

“But, I’ll learn if you’re willing to teach me. I-I kinda have to, don’t I?” He asked, standing up and crossing his arms. He did not seem pleased at the thought as he kicked at the ground and pressed his lips together to avoid pouting in shame.

His statement surprised her a little. She thought he would be too soft-hearted to want to learn. Though, considering his mother was in danger, perhaps he was willing to do anything to ensure her well-being. She thought back to how Rose had trained her to defend herself and nodded.

“Very well. I will show you some things.” She offered, shrugging off her backpack and untying Abraxas from around her waist.

They spent some time going over the basics. Sheeva corrected him on the way to punch and taught him how to–if need be–drive a knife into someone’s body. Tazaro did not want to count how many times she told him not to cover his thumb with his fingers or not to lean forward when he punched, but her patience surprised him a little, even when he hit particularly hard and cried out and hissed when his skin split from striking the bark of the tree. It hurt worse than when a stubborn screw or nut would suddenly give and send them smacking into a part of whatever he was fixing at the time.

When they stopped, his hands were shaking, knuckles bruised and bloody. As Sheeva cast a spell to heal them and applied bandages to finish the job, he chuckled at a thought.

“You know, I kinda expected you to smack me upside the head by now or something.” He admitted in a slight joke. It only seemed to annoy, and instead of responding, Sheeva hurried to pack up her gear, slung it over her shoulders, and grabbed the lock of hair again. When she focused on gaining their bearings, she found that the strings were much thicker than they had been. She headed in the direction.

She slowed down, partly to allow Tazaro to keep up, partly because she felt unease about being considered a rough teacher.

“Like you, I was once new to learning to defend myself. Rose was…” She paused, taking a deep breath. “Incredibly patient with me. She would be disappointed in me if I did not do the same for you.” She admitted.

“Ah. Well, thank you.” He said, crawling over a fallen tree that she quickly jumped over. He wiped off the muddy moss on his pants, wincing as he accidentally brushed his knuckles.

“She sounds like she was a great teacher.” He complimented. She chuckled in bittersweet fondness and nodded.

“She was a fair teacher but could dish out one hell of punishment when the occasion called for it. And with me, well...” She trailed off and huffed at herself. “Mm, never mind.”

“Oh? Were you a troublemaker, Sheeva?” Tazaro asked, intrigued by this new, hidden side. She ignored his question and kept her back to him to hide her giveaway smile as she recalled the ridiculous shenanigans she and her friends had pulled as children. Tazaro took her silence and body language as a surefire “yes.”

As Sheeva and Tazaro pushed through a thick spot of tree branches and brush, she stopped suddenly and stooped down, grabbed Tazaro’s arm, and jerked him down with her. A fortress stood in the middle of a clearing, a high watchtower leaning slightly to the side. Her heart pounded in her chest as the zing of adrenaline and worry coursed through her, wondering if they had been spotted in their reckless approach.

“Shh.” She insisted with a finger to her lips.

She held the lock of hair in her pocket and focused. The strands of light led straight to the door and inside.

“She is definitely here,” Sheeva whispered to Tazaro. He looked and went to dart out to run to the door, and she grabbed the collar of his coat and yanked him back into the brush. He stumbled backward and tripped on a rock, falling on his ass.

“Fool! Do you want to get your mother killed?” She hissed at him, quickly forming some seals and slapping her hand through the sigil that floated in the air. Tree roots sprung out of the ground and wrapped around his body, restraining him. She turned back to the fortress, worried that he might have given away their presence. When no one rushed out to examine things, she turned back to him, still furious. She knelt beside him, grabbed the filleting knife from her boot, and cut the tree root that had wrapped itself around his mouth. He turned and spit out the gritty dirt and weirdly sweet root juice that had seeped into his mouth.

“What the hell were you thinking?” She hissed. Tazaro glared back at her, fighting his bindings.

“I want to save my mother! Let me go, damn you!” He demanded.

“No! We need to make a plan! It could be a trap!” She countered.

“To hell with planning! We might not have time!” He growled.

“For the sake of all our lives, we need to have a plan!” She barked back.

Tazaro silenced and decided to struggle against the roots in futile efforts instead.

Crossing her arms, Sheeva turned her back on Tazaro, trying to think about how they were to proceed. Time and time again, she had been hasty in her pounce after backing Llyud into a corner, and every single time, some unforeseen force had prevented her from succeeding in her task.

“Sheeva! Don’t ignore me!” He ordered, still fighting his bindings. “Wouldn’t you have done whatever it took to save your mother?” He countered. Her eyes widened, and her nose flared in anger as she whipped around, stooped, and slapped him hard, a stinging red hand-print forming on his cheek in seconds.

“Don’t you ever say that again! I did do everything I could, and she still died!” She barked in his face. The look of shock was evident on his face, and he immediately faltered back, embarrassed with his rude self.

“I-I’m sorry. That was, that was low. Forgive me, I…” Tazaro begged.

Her chest ached, and her heart cried for her loss. The look of desperation on his face reminded her of her own futile struggle as this was how she had been restrained by Rose during the fight with Llyud that had claimed her life. Sheeva wheeled around and brushed at herself, aware of how her tongue rested uncomfortably in her mouth, gagged by phantom roots. She wiped at her face and shivered as she felt the drops of blood plopping onto her face from Rose’s shielding efforts when Llyud had attempted to run Sheeva through with her own blade.

“Sheeva?” Tazaro called to her. Sheeva blinked and turned back to face him. He had calmed much more, a forlorn look on his face, cheek still bright-red as he pouted in humility. “I really am sorry. I’m worried, but…you’re right. We probably need a plan. We don’t know what’s waiting for us.”

Sheeva remained silent for a moment, taking Tazaro’s word as evidence that he would listen to her now. She stooped at his side and waved her hand to release a few of the roots wrapped in a likely uncomfortable fashion around his wrists and neck.

“Yes, we do. I don’t know what to expect. Before she died, Rose…bound me as I have bound you. She didn’t want me to fight. She fought Llyud with my sword, and when he grabbed Abraxas from her and tried to strike me, she took the hit. She shielded me with her body, and it cost her her life. I watched the light die from her eyes.” Sheeva explained, feeling the tension pull in her face as she fought back tears. The last thing Rose said was a confession of motherly love, and Sheeva’s face heated with shame, having had the audacity to spend the last few moments of consciousness screaming in fury.

“Mothers that give a damn about their children are much alike. I can see Mildred doing the same for you, and I’m trying to prevent that. And so, I’m…tempted to leave you here so that she doesn’t feel the need to sacrifice herself.”

Tazaro gulped, paralyzed with worry. He hadn’t considered such a thing.

“I’m...sorry, Sheeva.”

The sounds of the forest filled their ears for a moment, and neither of them looked at each other, wrestling with their own worries.

“I hate to say this, but how are you going to manage to keep track of her while also trying to keep track of Llyud? She’s blind. She can’t just run away–she needs someone to guide her, and it’s going to have to be me,” Tazaro bargained.

Reluctantly, she let out a heavy sigh, waved her hand, and released a couple of the roots, still holding his wrists and ankles down in case he decided to make a break for it.

“Stay close to me. We find your mother, and then you get her and yourself out. Is that clear?” She demanded. He quickly nodded.

“Yes, ma’am.” He verbally agreed.

“Ok,” She trusted. She waved her hand, and the rest of the roots unraveled from around his body. He sat up and hissed as he rubbed the dirt out of his raw skin around his wrists and neck.

Sheeva looked back in the direction of the fortress, then checked the time. It was mid-afternoon, coming upon three o’clock, and the sun was still high in the sky. If anyone was in the watchtower, they would see them running across the grass. She somewhat hoped it was nearing nightfall, so that they might have the advantage of a blinding sun or the cover of night.

“We’re going to need to wait until nightfall. We must take Llyud by surprise. It will be the safest thing to do at the moment.” She began. Tazaro sighed, antsy, but did not protest, not keen on tasting dirt and sweet root juice again. He spat again for good measure as something gritty found its way between his molars.

He watched as Sheeva grabbed some dirt and molded it into a ball, closed her eyes, and focused. A flash of light formed from her hands, and as she opened them, he saw a yellow bird. The black designs on its wings looked similar to the bird that lived in the workshop. Maybe, it belonged to her, somehow. His skin crawled a little bit as he thought she might have been watching him, and he snorted at himself as he thought that maybe, just maybe, he meant a little more to her than she let on. Perhaps, Sheeva even found him attractive.

He shook his head at himself, then hid, hoping she hadn’t heard him talking to the bird about her.

The false bird hopped and chirped at her, then took off, flying off in the direction of the fortress.

“What are you doing?” He asked.

“Surveillance. There does not seem to be any guards on the outside of the fortress.” She answered. She weirdly tilted her head, but Tazaro was more weirded out by the assumed affirmation that she had been watching him.

“There are no guards in the watchtower, either. This fortress seems to be abandoned.” She continued, tilting her head differently. Tazaro remained silent, not wanting to break her concentration, but wondered if her strange head tilts were how she controlled the bird.

“I see your mother. She is restrained. There is a man in the room that I do not recognize. It appears he is working with him. But...where is Llyud? I find it hard to believe that–Ach, Vilg!” She hissed, screwing her eyes shut and holding her head in her hands in pain.

“What happened?” He asked, worried.

“Llyud must still be there. He killed the bird. I do not think he knows it was mine.” She answered, taking some deep breaths to breathe through the pain.

Tazaro waited until she was no longer in pain before speaking up.

“There was a bird in the workshop that has the same, uh, patterns. Is it...yours?” He asked bluntly. “So-so you were watching me?” He asked.

“I used Pteryx to check in on the children and Mildred when I was away, too,” She attempted to sweep the awkwardness under the rug. “I apologize for slapping you. That was low.” Sheeva announced, taking a drink of water. He took it from her as she offered it to him, and drank deeply, though he wondered if it was her subtle way of avoiding talking about things.

“No, it was low of me to say that,” Tazaro admitted. “I-I panicked. I’m still nervous.”

“I understand. I can relate.” She muttered. Whether it was to make him feel more comfortable or to make her feel less vulnerable, he wasn’t sure, but as her expression darkened into a scowl, he decided it was the latter.

“Did you really mean what you said?” He asked, admiring her adamance.

“Every word,” She assured.

At his stunned silence, Sheeva took in a deep, shaky breath, held it, then let it out just as slowly. Her stoic demeanor softened, and she leaned her head back against the tree she sat against.

“I should rest. I want to be ready for this fight. It had better be our last,” She growled, shuffling through her back to find her blanket.

“You’re gonna sleep? What–you don’t think I’m gonna try to run off while you’re taking a little cat-nap?” He badgered.

“I have faith that you won’t,” She admitted. “But, since you’ve suggested such a thing:

She trailed some sigils through the air, and as she slapped her hand through it, more roots sprung up from the ground and coiled around his leg, though loosely.

“Consider this insurance,” She answered with a curling sneer. He didn’t like the threat hidden behind the expression. She traced the same sigil on her arm, and as it flashed and faded, Tazaro vaguely understood that she had set up an alarm if he tried to make a break for it.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

“Go ahead. Try and run for it while I’m sleeping. I dare you.”

“I wasn’t really gonna…” He began to protest, then relented–he was only kidding himself, considering he had a split-second thought to run away.

“Can’t believe you can sleep at a time like this,” Tazaro grumbled, getting to his feet and pacing the floor. He tried to shake the root away, and it coiled tighter around his calf, trailing up along his thigh She tilted her head to look over at him, frowned, then settled against the base of the tree.

“This has been my way for five years. You get used to it after a while. Like I said, I want to ensure I am ready to fight. This will be the last time, or so help me.” She explained, using her knife to scratch a sigil in the tree. She cast a spell to create the same blue barrier she’d set up in the workshop in the forested area around them. Curled back up in the base of a tree, she crossed her arms and closed her eyes.

“Will that warding spell work? Are you sure Llyud’s even sferran?” Tazaro asked skeptically. She gasped and snapped her eyes open. Fear and worry painted them, and she pulled her knees into her chest to hug them for comfort, struggling with the sudden doubt in her ability.

“Vilg. I...I used to believe so, until I learned he’s been fashioning dummies from dirt. Trash, too, now that I think of it.” She muttered.

Her eyes narrowed, and her face fixed into a frown.

“It’s probably how he got past my wards. He…he really had been watching me, and for apparently, much longer than I thought.”

“Damn it.” She scowled and looked around tiredly, even more uncomfortable.

“I’ll keep an eye out. You sleep. You, uh, need it more than I do.” He offered, picking at the wrappings of his knuckles in nerves.

With his assurance, Sheeva nestled back and closed her eyes in an attempt to sleep.

He looked around for something to do and spotted a chunk of wood. He headed for it, then stopped as the root tightened against his leg, almost causing him to trip and fall flat on his face.

The leash she had him on wasn’t much, apparently being just enough that he could duck behind a tree to urinate if he needed to. His groan tickled his throat as he muffled it to prevent waking Sheeva, and as he looked back at the chunk of wood just beyond his reach, he looked for something to extend his limited reach.

The clearing didn’t offer much, but he did manage to find a stick long enough that he could shuffle the chunk close enough to reach with as outstretched of a body as he could manage, what with the root coiling tighter, almost painfully so, around his leg.

Successful, he snatched the chunk up and took out the knife Sheeva had lent him to use in case he needed to, hoping she would not mind it being used to whittle away at something.

He had gotten a decent project going when he heard a soft ‘blip’ to his right. He jerked his head in the direction, then stared, open-mouthed, at the ta’hal that towered over him. Bartholomew had to be eight feet tall.

“You’re so tall! It’s terrifying!” Tazaro blurted.

“And you’re so puny! It’s hilarious!” Bartholomew shot back with a smirk.

Tazaro looked behind the monstrous thing, wondering how he had gotten in without waking Sheeva, who was definitely out by the steady rise and fall of her chest as she snoozed.

“Wait, how did you get in?” He asked. Bartholomew looked around, saw the sigil glowing in the tree bark, and nodded in understanding.

“I’m a ta’hal. Your pointless spells don’t work on me. But yes, any others would be turned away–including that bastard, Llyud.” He explained. Tazaro felt relieved with the information that Llyud was indeed Sferran, and made a note to tell Sheeva of it in the morning.

“What are you making?” Bartholomew started, making small talk. Tazaro eyed him suspiciously.

“Don’t know yet.” He answered cautiously.

Bartholomew reached out his claw for it, and Tazaro stilled at the razor-sharpness and sheer size of the things. It could probably maul the tough hide of Raynak’s Great Quadracorns that grazed in the plains and gut the scaly beasts with no problem.

“Can I see it?” He asked. Seeing no harm in it, Tazaro held out his hand, dropping it into the ta’hal’s outstretched claw. It fell straight through.

“Oh. Right. Damn.” He stated, sitting cross-legged. Tazaro watched as he created a spring with his tail and seemed to balance himself on it.

“Are all ta’hal like this?” He asked, motioning to the ta'hal's transparency.

“No. I used to have a body. It must be because I was trapped in a crystal for years.” He answered, then laughed about something. “Funny that it’s now trapped in you! Oh, how the tables have turned–My prison is imprisoned! Aha!” He cackled, amused.

“You mean, the crystal that’s now sealed inside my body?” Tazaro asked, still unnerved about the idea. Bartholomew nodded.

“How did Llyud do that–trap you in a crystal?” Tazaro wondered. Bartholomew eyed him curiously, then gave a toothy grin, then cackled, then began to laugh hysterically.

“‘How did Llyud do that,’ pah! So you can do it to me, too? Vilg nyet, I’m not telling you!” Bartholomew countered. Tazaro nodded and shrugged. The ta’hal had a fair point.

Tazaro went back to his project, eyeing Bartholomew out of the corner of his eye and occasionally turning to study the creature’s form as the chunk of wood began to take the shape of the ta’hal. As he began to chisel out the tail, he wondered if Bartholomew could use it as a weapon or if it was just a continuation of his spine. He voiced the question, rewarded with a sharp cold feeling jabbing into his back and through the front of his chest. Tazaro looked down at the disturbing feeling and saw the blade sticking out of his chest. Horrified, he struggled to breathe, gaping like a fish.

When Bartholomew removed it, Tazaro gasped for air, dropping his miniature and backing away from Bartholomew, who gave a wheezing cackle, stood, and floated off into the forest. Tazaro hastily pulled his collar down and looked at his chest, prodding at it with his fingers and checking for blood. There was no damage, and he assumed it was only because Bartholomew lacked a physical presence.

Tazaro shivered as he gained his wits, then rested his hands on his knees, deep in thought as he waited for dusk.

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

Sheeva shook Tazaro awake, and as his brain caught up with him, he wondered how long he had been asleep. He cursed himself for even falling asleep, as he was supposed to be watching out for them.

“Damn, sorry. I didn’t mean to fall asleep.” He apologized. Sheeva shook her head.

“It is fine. You are only Sferran, after all. You have limits, too.” She explained, heading to Abraxas and tying it to her shoulders instead of her waist. She’d need the extra security so that it didn’t flop about as she ran. She looked at her bag, then to Tazaro, weighing her options. Silly, she told herself. It is just a bag.

“Will you carry my bag?” She asked. He stood and nodded, took it from her hands, and set it on his shoulders. He tightened the clasp around his waist. Now that he wasn’t trying to put the thing on while also attempting to run, he could adjust it as he needed, making it much more comfortable than it had been.

“How do we do this?” He asked. She looked in the direction of the fortress.

“We will approach from the back and sneak around to the front door. Stay close at all times unless I tell you otherwise. When we find your mother, stay hidden if you can until I tell you to run. I want to ensure either the other man or Llyud is dead before you try to escape. Your chances are better that way.” She explained, taking a drink from her water pouch and popping an energy cube into her mouth. She handed one to Tazaro, and he took it, doing the same. His body was shaking from nerves, and she noticed.

“Take a deep breath. Helps to keep your wits.” She suggested.

She stepped through the branches and peered out, scanning the field. It was empty, and there were no torch lights around the fortress, save for the glimmer of firelight from one of the rooms. The moons had yet to rise, the darkness aiding their cover.

Unease stewed in her gut as she worried it might still be a trap, but she took a calming breath. This had to be done now. For herself, for Mildred. For Rose.

Sheeva waved her hand to catch his attention and held a finger to her lips to show he was to be quiet. They crouched behind the cover of bushes and trees towards the back of the fort, then around the high wall toward the front gate. It’d been bashed in, one side hanging off the hinges and the other laying on the cobblestone floor. She held up her hand, signaling him to wait as she poked her head in and looked around. There was an unused stable to the left, a giant fire pit in the middle, and a makeshift smithing station on the right.

She motioned for him to follow and inched closer to the door, using the stables for more cover. Sheeva grasped the handle, twisted, pulled the door open slowly, and hoped it wouldn’t make any noise. As the rusty hinges creaked, she stopped to listen intently to the inside. Her heart was pounding in her chest so hard that she could almost hear it in her ears. When nothing happened, she checked how much room they had. There would be enough.

She peered through the opening and waved for Tazaro to move in first, then slipped in behind him. Carefully, she slowly shut the door to prevent it from flying open or closed at a sudden gust of wind and drawing attention. They waited while their eyes adjusted to the darkness, then moved slowly forward.

The foyer they were in led to a long hallway with rooms on either side. After checking them all only to find them empty or ransacked, they continued to the end of the stretch. Peering around the corner, Sheeva saw a large room with a long table and a cooking spit in the corner. She guessed it’d been a mess hall at one time. Old, moldy, tattered banners hung from the ceiling, and rusty dishes were strewn on the table, remnants of bone on some of them.

Another door to their left sat propped open. Firelight glimmered in the room, so Sheeva dismissed her ball of light and unsheathed Abraxas carefully so that it didn’t zing at them. They neared the entrance to the room, and she stopped him just outside the door, peering through the crack between the door and its doorframe. Llyud and the other man were in the room, and she saw Mildred, bound and gagged on the floor next to them. Sheeva turned to Tazaro and leaned her mouth to whisper in his ear.

“Wait here. Your mom’s too close to them for me to–

She sucked in a frightened gasp as someone in the room began to speak, and they both jerked their heads to look at the doorframe.

–We know you’re there, Sheeva Jules. No use hiding, is there?” A voice she didn’t recognize called out to her. It must have been the other man.

She let out the tense breath she had and squeezed her eyes shut in frustration as she swore beneath her breath. They’d been so careful, and she’d even checked for alarms or wards before setting out. Aside from the scout she’d lost, she told herself they couldn’t have known her presence otherwise, trying to keep a shred of belief in her skill.

“Vilg.” She swore, stood, and stepped into the room. Tazaro stayed where he was; perhaps no one knew he was with her.

Sheeva's eyes narrowed and her skin flared in seething animosity as she saw her target, but when she spotted Mildred in the corner of the room, a part of her brain reigned in her fury. She took a clearing breath and reminded herself that she needed to be careful, as there was more to care about than just her revenge.

She stared both men down, giving a fierce scowl. Llyud sat in a chair, one leg draped over the arm and his head resting on his palm. The other man leaned against a support beam on Llyud’s left, arms crossed. Mildred seemed conspicuously placed in the corner of the room to Llyud’s right. There was too much distance for her to reach Mildred in time if need be.

“Only way you could have survived is if you killed the poor bastard. I must say that’s more than I’d hoped for.” Llyud taunted. Sheeva kept her face stern; Llyud apparently did not know Tazaro was still alive. It was an edge she’d possibly have, and she hardened her glare.

"I consider his blood on your hands, Llyud." Sheeva bluffed.

The other man laughed, and she fearfully wondered if maybe he knew the truth, sending him a scowl to mask the widening of her eyes that would give her away. He wore black robes and a masked cowl so she couldn’t see his face, only his eyes, red, like hers. What little skin the opening did show was riddled with a scar of some kind. When he didn’t say anything, Sheeva turned her attention back to Llyud.

“I am not about to die. Not before I have killed you. And I will be damned if I let anyone get in my way. Even a man possessed by a ta’hal.” She announced as she took a couple of steps forward. Wanting to close the distance between herself and Mildred, she thought of something to engage both Llyud and the other man in conversation. Struggling to keep a level head for Mildred's safety, Sheeva couldn’t think of anything to say.

“What, the man you supposedly killed? Don’t lie, Sheeva. He’s standing right outside. Come in, Tazaro!” The other man announced, giving a taunting laugh.

As her eyes widened, she felt her face heat with shame–even her attempt to bluff had gone wrong. Sheeva wondered how the man knew Tazaro's name, too, and her head dropped. She glanced behind as she heard Tazaro’s footsteps, then turned to face Llyud and the other man. She needed to regain her edge.

Since Sheeva's attempt to bluff had been flubbed, perhaps she could command Llyud’s attention with jabs at possible insecurities. He’d certainly enjoyed jabbing at hers in their short-lived encounters over the years.

“I did not expect you to accept help from others, Llyud–you always prefer to use them, instead. It takes away from your idea of fun. Or, are you perhaps afraid of me?” She pointed out, hoping he would answer her question. Llyud’s face contorted into an indignant scowl.

“Like I’m afraid of a runt like you!” Llyud hissed.

“Seems to me you are to partner up with someone. Suppose I should give you less credit than I used to.” Sheeva paused as she watched him grab the handle of his sword. It somewhat relieved her; her plan to engage one of them was working.

“Did you need to partner up with someone stronger than you, Llyud?” She continued, managing a couple more steps. “You must be losing your touch, old man!” She laughed, fueled by a fire in her gut.

“Old man?” He lifted his head off his propped elbow, an irate furrow of his brow and curl of his lips at the wound to his ego.

She rested her hand on the handle of Abraxas, thumbing the pommel-stone with her next thought. Bold as it was, it might not have the intended effect.

“I don't need him! I’m stronger than he is by–

–You are nothing but a coward, Llyud! You harm innocent people! Children, older men and women, and, even more cowardly: that blind woman who cannot see your face? Would you hide in this man’s shadow, coward? Would you have him kill me, instead, as you have had others try to?” She challenged, the words flowing easily as her fury hit a peak and made the hairs on her arm stick up straight.

His yellow eyes narrowed and burned with rage as he uncrossed his leg and sat forward, the tip of his tail twitching. A surge of confidence flew through Sheeva as she felt she succeeded in commanding all of Llyud’s attention. Mildred and the other man seemed forgotten about as he followed her taunting, side-to-side pace at the steps to the throne.

Sheeva broke eye contact to gauge the other man’s stance, noting the glint of glee as his eyes curled in amusement. She didn’t dare look at Mildred in case it reminded the two men she was still there.

“You always threaten my life, Llyud. You say you’ll kill me–but in the end, he might be the one to kill me." Full of stark hubris, she barked out a jeering laugh.

"I mean, come on! How messed up would that be?” She goaded, forcing a deep breath. Resolve replenished, she ceased fidgeting with the pommel-stone and fixed her hold on the handle. “Playing this cat-and-mouse game and torturing me for years, only for someone else to kill me!” She continued, flashing him a daring sneer. “You fucking coward!”

“Like hell I'll let someone else have that pleasure!” Llyud barked, rushing for her as he went to slash down at her head. She blocked the attack, threw him aside, and sliced at his torso. He stopped the slice, the force pushing him around. He jumped backward as Sheeva tried to stab him.

Sheeva managed to trip him, and he fell on his backside. She kicked his sword away and straddled him, pinning his arms beneath her legs. She went to stab him again, missing as he tried to buck her off of him. Abraxas sunk into the floor near his shoulder. He used the proximity to punch her cheek. When she staggered to the side, he ripped the sword out from the floor. She knocked it out of his hand. It clattered to the side, out of reach.

He whipped his tail and looped it around her neck to choke her. She reached into her boot, grabbed her slim knife, and used it to slice and cut away at his tail. He screamed and dug a claw into her side, and she cried out in pain and swung again. Llyud’s tail loosened from around her neck as she successfully severed it from his body.

Llyud howled and managed to throw her off of him, getting to his feet. She got to hers too, knife in hand, and pressed her palm to her side to heal her wound. While forming her fire sigil, she took a deep breath and blew fire at him, hoping to catch him off guard to pin him down again to finish him off. He covered his face with his arms to push through, drove his palm into her stomach, and knocked her down.

He held her shoulder down as he yanked the knife out of her hand and raised it above his head, taking a moment to watch the terror in her eyes as they followed it. She used the moment to hit his locked elbow with such force, the limb bent unnaturally at the joint and caused him to buckle to the ground. As she managed to roll the both of them over, Sheeva snatched up the weapon and with a feral, triumphant scream, raised it above her head.

After all the times she had willed herself not to, she found a strong desire to witness the light die from his eyes in the same manner as she had witnessed Rose's.

Seeking revenge won’t bring anyone who’s died back. If yeh stop to think about it, the ones yeh fight so strongly for might be disappointed in how yeh’ve chosen to live yer life. There’s always a choice, Sheeva.

She flinched and hesitated, and apparently, her stillness was as much a shock to Llyud as it was to her as his frightened eyes fixed on the knife in her hand. The pleading, frightened look on his face no longer struck the well of satisfaction and vindictiveness, and, sickened with herself, Sheeva hardened her fierce scowl, trying to call upon the well of determination she’d spent years fostering.

The same well that she’d drawn upon to get herself through the daily, dawn-to-dusk training regimen or push onward after every failed catch was no longer tasteful, and had somehow dried up.

Perhaps, in ending Llyud’s life, Sheeva really would have nothing left to live for.

In her moment of distraction, she didn’t notice the other man in the room wave his hand with the cast of a spell until the knife shot out of her hand and stuck into the wood of a nearby crate.

Sheeva and Llyud both turned their heads to look at the man who'd interfered.

“Come on, now, stabbing him to death would be too forgiving–certainly, he deserves so much more! Or, are you doubtful?” The man asked. He barked out a laugh as Sheeva’s embarrassed expression betrayed her.

“Hah! Are you really going to second-guess yourself, Sheeva? You’ve worked so hard for this moment; you’ve survived so much!” He taunted, turning his attention on Llyud. “And you, Llyud, are you just going to lie there and die? Or shall I have to kill them for you?” He snickered.

Tazaro sucked in a breath, worried at the man’s words, but found himself unable to move.

"Don't meddle in my affairs, you bastard!" Llyud ordered. “I don’t need you to do shit!”

The masked man, seeming impressed into silence, arched his eyebrows and stroked his chin in mock thought. He watched them throw each other about, both reduced to a slew of swearing and dirty tricks: bitten limbs, the smash of a crate on one's back, cheap shots to the groin–even a handful of ash thrown in Llyud’s face that caked it grey when Sheeva used the stone brazier next to the wall to stand from a tumble to the ground after an over-the-shoulder throw.

They continued their struggle, and as Sheeva managed to gain the upper hand, she began to punch him with her armor-laced gloves, not registering the blood that splattered on her face. She reared her fist back for another punch to his long, multiply-fractured nose when a force slowed her assault, then threw her back across the room. She tumbled over along the floor as she rolled to a stop. She pushed herself up with her arms, exhausted and panting, and shoved Tazaro away as he tried to help her to her feet, waving him toward his mother.

Seeming to ignore the others in the room, the other man stepped forward. He hovered his hand over Llyud’s body and pulled him up onto his knees with a flick of his wrist as though Llyud were a simple, wooden puppet on strings.

"I tire of your woefulness–of your…presumptuous attitude, Llyud. You say you don’t need me? You try to set yourself above me? Compare yourself to me? Say you’re better than me?” He asked, sickeningly sweet and with a crazed glint in his dangerous red eyes.

“And, all that, after all that I have done for you?" The man whispered, then tsked. "You disappoint me for the last time, Llyud Halma.” The masked man’s voice was soft but carried an icy threat that chilled Tazaro to the bone. It reminded him of a respected, organized-crime leader.

“You. Disrespectful. Lout!" The man commented, twisting his hand in a way that equally twisted Llyud's arm and made Llyud hiss in pain. "I gave you freedom. I gave you my power.” The man ran a gloved hand through Llyud’s shaggy hair, and Llyud’s eyes widened with fear. He straightened the hair, parting it, tenderly combing through it with long, slender fingers.

“All I asked was your loyalty. Your freedom. Your indentured servitude.” He continued, hooking fingers beneath Llyud's chin to raise the man's eyes to meet his own. “I even let you live.”

“But I have been–

–HAVE YOU?” The man bellowed with a voice that echoed through the void of Sheeva’s stagnant lungs, causing the instinctive alarm of danger! to screech in her brain and buzz on her skin. She struggled to get to her feet but stopped as the man made a sharp movement in the corner of her eye, and flinched as his hand raised above his head. It was a reaction she had not had since her suffrage under the “woman that birthed her,” and it sent her reeling, fighting to overcome the desire to shirk back into a corner and curl into a ball.

Llyud stopped mid-sentence and hissed as the man grabbed a tuft of hair and angled his head back, baring Llyud's angled neck, pronounced by the Adam's apple that bobbed with a nervous gulp.

"WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION ME?"

The whimpering man cowered down as well as he could, considering the awkward way he was being restrained.

“Zakaraia, please, I–give me another chance, I can–

–Oh?" Zakaria interrupted with an airy, mocking cackle. "You would grovel at my feet for pardon? I thought you said you were stronger than me–that you were better than me!”

Llyud let out a whimper of terror as Zakaraia raised his hand and visibly flinched when the other gloved hand touched his jaw, caressing it almost gently. It was unnerving to watch, and Tazaro’s gut twisted as he wondered what the man would possibly do.

“You truly are a coward. Suppose I shall remind you who’s the better man, here...coward.” He stated. Tazaro could see the shape of a ghastly grin beneath the form-fitting cowl that shrouded the man’s face.

Llyud screamed out with pain as Zakaraia simply twisted his hand to snap the man’s jaw. The crunch made Tazaro cry out in shock, then shudder as the grind of broken bone ground in his ears. Llyud's cries of pain followed through, and Tazaro could only stare at the slack-jawed state of Sheeva's foe. A pain in Tazaro’s back made him briefly aware of how much he was shirking back, but, too terrified to move, he could only stare.

Zakaraia released his hold on the man’s hair and caught him by the collar, lifting him just enough that the fabric began to choke him.

“As for you!” He began, turning his attention to Sheeva with a taunting gaze and pointed finger. She froze, only able to get to her knees.

“Since you obviously can’t kill this waste of life, I’ll just do it for you.” He announced. Llyud tried to look at him in his shock at Zakaraia’s betrayal, but the attempt was futile since he couldn’t turn his head. The skin of his face and lips were turning purple, and he coughed, a rivulet of drool spilling from the corner of his mouth. He attempted to grab Zakaraia’s arm to pull himself up, but Zakaraia shook his arms free.

Llyud’s arms dropped, their final efforts wasted, and his eyes drooped closed, the whites turning a shade of dire pink.

“No. No! Don’t you dare!” Sheeva bellowed, managing to get to her feet. She stumbled on them as she stepped forward and caught herself on the support post, only to be pushed back by an unseen force as Zakaraia waved his hand at her. Tazaro rushed forth to catch her, easing her fall back down onto her knees.

Zakaraia brought his gloved hand to Llyud’s greasy head of hair to run through it, and Llyud’s eyes widened. He managed a short-lived scream before Zakaraia closed his hand into a fist. Llyud’s head exploded, splaying bits of brain and blood in every direction. He dropped Llyud’s body to the floor, and it fell to the side, a puddle of blood oozing out from the open neck. As he snapped his fingers, the body burst into flame.

After the mixed sound of terror and disgust erupted from his throat, Tazaro crumbled down against the wall, mortified at the sight of a man's head exploding like a cantaloupe being mauled by a sledgehammer. He turned his head and retched. Sheeva gawked at Llyud's burning corpse, barely registering her tremble of rage and horror.

“Oh, Sheeva, how disappointing.” He sighed with mock pity. “After all that, you’re still just a frightened child, aren’t you?”

Zakaraia found her sword and pushed it toward her with a booted foot. It slid across the floor to a stop in front of her, and Sheeva stared at the still-clean Marlboros vine etched in the blade as light reflected off of it. No crimson blood stained it to threaten rust. No bone had nicked or dented the carefully honed edge. Not even a hair on his head had met the sharp steel.

“You said you would not let anyone get in your way of Llyud. Apparently, you didn’t really mean that, did you?” He taunted. “Such a shame for you to have let Rose down so! I would think a mother’s death would mean more to you–

He stopped, caught off-guard as Sheeva grabbed Abraxas and sprinted to him as she swung her sword with reckless abandon and a feral scream. He backed off, dodging the blindsided attack with a narrow miss as the sword sliced a hole in his black garb. Soon as he recouped, he avoided each attack with ease, laughing at her violent outburst.

Retrieving a baselard from the confines of his robes, he used it to block her attack as she swung to the side and stepped forward to get in her face. She could see the joy in his red eyes.

“You hate me, don’t you? You shouldn’t, you know. You’ve only yourself to blame. You failed, Sheeva. Keep trying, and you’ll just continue to fail.” He rambled, laughing with glee.

“Vilg oui!” She hissed, pushing him away. He hit the wall, and before he could counter, she drove Abraxas through his chest and tore it out. Instead of gushing red blood, thick, black goo seeped from the wound.

Surprised at the anomaly, Sheeva took a few steps back and looked around in caution. Perhaps it was a mannequin, except this one appeared incredibly life-like and had possibly been made from oil. Unnerved, it showed with the tremble of her arms and the well of uncertainty in her gut, but when his body lay still and did not crumble into whatever material was used like her mannequins would, she took Zakaraia for real and dead.

She jerked her head back to Llyud’s corpse and rushed towards it, panting and forced to stare at a now smoldering pile of chunks of bone and sizzling flesh. With a guttural yell of rage, she reared back her foot and kicked at the mound. A nasty squelch made Tazaro shudder again, and he could not tear his eyes away. Instead, they followed as he watched the smoldering bits glow bright orange as they rolled along the floor. Further raging, she gave another feral scream as she grabbed a nearby chair and smashed it on the floor, then broke the backside on a support beam. She chucked the remaining planks of wood in her hands across the way, and they clattered as they ricocheted off the wall and to the ground.

Tazaro quickly covered his head and ducked, flinching at the splinters that bounced off his head. Not wanting to be on the receiving end of a bone-shattering kick, he raced across the room toward his mother. He struggled to untie the knot on the ropes that bound her hands and feet together. He gave up and used the knife Sheeva gave him to cut them free. When his mother couldn’t stand, he stooped down to pick her up, rushing her and himself out of the room while Sheeva ranted and raved.

His boots clicked hard on the stone floor as he hurried to the entrance door, welcoming the growing distance between them and the screeching temper tantrum being thrown in the farthest room.

The night breeze was a godsend to his flushed face, and he was sure he was covered in nervous, terrified sweat that dampened his shirt. He set Mildred down and shuffled his feet as he led her to the middle of the cobblestone courtyard.

“Are you alright, Mom? Did they hurt you?” He asked, trying to see for any wounds in the darkness; the moons hadn’t risen just yet, and likely wouldn't for at least another hour.

“No, no. I’m alright.” She answered, pulling him into a hug and patting his back. Tazaro let out a tense breath as he hugged her tighter.

“Thank the gods. I-I don’t know what I’d do.”

“Thank Sheeva, too.” Mildred insisted. “You got this far because of her.”

Tazaro looked back towards the building and cringed as he heard the shattering of something else built from stone and another feral scream, this one weaker than the previous few. With the damage she had done to the pillar, he hoped the building wouldn’t collapse with her inside of it.

“Later. When she-when Sheeva’s calmed down.” He promised, fighting a nervous laugh.

Tazaro shrugged off his now-tattered coat to help keep his mother warm, shivering as the piercing air finally hit him beyond the sheen of sweat. There were still a few logs in the pit, and as he looked for a stash of wood, he found some by the smithing station. He hurried to it, grabbed more logs and some bracken, carried the bundle back, and began to set up a fire.

He hoped Sheeva had flint and tinder, and as he searched her bag, he found a small box full of what he needed. It took a few tries, as the wood previously in the pit was damp from the rain, but he eventually had a fire going.

They sat in silence, Tazaro with his arm wrapped around Mildred's shoulders. He listened again to Sheeva, now sobbing and laughing with hysterics. He pitied her but kept the thought to himself.

“She will be fine, I believe,” Mildred assured him, but Tazaro had a feeling she wasn’t sure of it herself.

“I…hope so.” He muttered, going over the events of the last few days. It’d been a whirlwind.

“You knew the child was dangerous, didn’t you? I, I’m sorry I left you with her. I didn’t know.” He muttered, trying to ignore Sheeva. Mildred slowly nodded.

“She was...devoid of emotion. Devoid of a soul. It was so…” She shook her head, unable to describe it. “No, I knew I had to get you out of there. I’m glad I did.” She assured him, accidentally patting his bandaged hand. He winced and hissed, moving it out of her reach.

“You have hurt yourself?” She asked. Tazaro chuckled.

“Ah, Sheeva was teaching me how to punch correctly. I hit a tree a little too hard.”

Mildred chuckled and shook his shoulder.

“She has been good for you. Your pain is healing. That makes me happy to see.” Mildred commented. Tazaro took a deep breath and let it out slowly.

“Yeah. I, uh...me too.”

He looked up, thankful the area they were in had been cleared enough of overhanging trees to show the night sky. His hands no longer shook as he remembered how close he had been to the heavens. Recalling the assumption that he had wings, he opened his mouth to ask if she noticed any changes in him. Perhaps it was something she could already see and had chosen not to say anything for now.

Tazaro jumped a little bit and jerked around to look when Sheeva spoke behind them.

“Mildred, are you hurt?” Sheeva asked, her voice cracked, nasally, and dry. Tazaro turned back to the fire, figuring she wouldn’t appreciate anyone seeing her in her current state. Her hair was disheveled, and the whites of her eyes were red and puffy. No doubt, her cheeks stung from the tears of frustration she had shed.

“No. No, I’m not, dearie.” Mildred answered. She stood, and Tazaro watched Mildred reach for Sheeva, attempting to pull her into a hug. When Sheeva accepted it with an astonished look, Tazaro wondered if maybe he had managed to break through her hardened defenses regarding primary physical affection.

It further surprised him when Sheeva closed her eyes in relief and nodded, burying her face in Mildred’s shoulder. He looked away and back toward the fire, wanting to spare her whatever humiliation she would feel if she caught him staring. He felt a tired smile on his face.

“I am-I am so sorry. Please, forgive me.” Sheeva pleaded, trembling as she gripped her arms around Mildred’s shoulders. The faint scent of cedar and pine from Tazaro’s jacket pacified her.

She sunk into Mildred’s hold, allowing herself the physical comfort, though Mildred’s hands were not as firm as Tazaro's. Instead, they were tender and gentle. Her breaths evened and slowed, and the ache and tire of her muscles hit hard. Her hands dropped, unwilling to use them.

“It is alright, Sheeva. Everything is alright.” Mildred said, patting the back of Sheeva’s head. She felt a mixture of the desperate need for comfort, pain, and longing, likely for the arms of her mother. Mildred hugged her tighter to herself, swaying side-to-side. Sheeva sagged in Mildred’s hold as she wept silently, tearlessly, against Mildred’s shoulder.

“Here, sit. You are weary.”

Sheeva almost collapsed onto the floor and sniffled, giving a slight “ugh” of distaste from her clogged sinuses. Her eyes felt swollen, and she rubbed at them as she pulled away.

“You should drink some water.” Tazaro offered, holding her water pouch out to her. Unable to hide the embarrassment that barely showed on her face, she took it and sipped, then threw her head back as she began to guzzle, only stopping to gasp for air. Damn, she was thirsty. She winced as she wiped at her lip and brushed a sore spot on it, then cast a small healing spell on the wound.

"Thank you," Sheeva sighed, tilting the water pouch for reference. Limping slightly, she carefully stepped closer to the fire, then less-than-gracefully took a knee before plopping onto the ground to sit.

The kaleidoscope of embers and flame occupied her frazzled mind as the information sank in. They had succeeded in rescuing Mildred, and all that was left to do now was make haste back to the safety of Roussell. Mildred was unharmed, and while they might have to worry about finding a new home, Sheeva felt confident that the urn where she stashed spare change had survived the flames. She hoped it would be enough to provide in the meantime.

She wondered how long she might have to recuperate before Bartholomew swooped in and demanded she begin her repayment of her debt. A long sigh flowed through her chest, reluctant to oblige what would surely be a swift request; she would have liked to stay around for a few weeks to see things through.

Perhaps, even–as she glanced at Tazaro across the way–get to show him the beginnings of flight in the fields beyond Roussell as she'd pondered earlier that day.

It was a shame since she also wondered if it would kindle another curious flame for affectionate touch.

She harshly cleared her sore throat to hide the scoff at her desire.

"When I have returned you both to Roussel, I am going to leave." She announced after another moment of silence, preparing herself to disappoint. Tazaro scowled, upset that Sheeva had gone back on her word.

"Wha–Hold on, what about the agreement we had?" He asked.

"You must remember, I, too, made a deal. I do not think I would be able to keep it and stay in Roussel." She took another long drink of water and popped two cubes and a pain pill in her mouth, and swallowed them down.

"At least, not for long without drawing attention, considering the…nature of my repayment."

Tazaro stammered for protest, then sighed. Sheeva was likely right, considering Bartholomew wanted her to act as some type of bounty hunter. He’d probably have her going to all corners of Sferra to hunt and kill. Perhaps even beyond the dense fog that surrounded their islands. He envied her freedom to explore.

"Were you really cursed by a Ta'hal, Tazaro? I see shadows surrounding you. Similar to Sheeva’s." Mildred asked. Sheeva crossed her arms and scowled, thankful that Mildred couldn’t see her body language.

"To ensure your son's safety, I cut a deal with the ta'hal that was possessing him," Sheeva admitted. Mildred nodded and reached out her hand for Sheeva to take. She wanted to get a better read. Guilt, followed by disappointment, hit her, and she was glad that she was already sitting. The intensity would have brought her to her knees.

"And what deal did you make with my son?" She asked, focusing on the shift of Sheeva's state. Her aura shifted to uncertainty, worry, followed by an extreme, desperate defense.

"The ta'hal imparted him with…special abilities. I had agreed to teach him how to use them. I...am sorry that I cannot uphold my end of the agreement.”

Now that was a genuine apology.

"Abilities like yours, dearie?"

"I presume so. I am not sure what Bartholomew did."

Mildred gave a soft sigh and patted Sheeva’s hand. Relief swelled, then faded into a sense of calm before Sheeva pulled her hand away. Mildred closed her eyes for a moment, thinking.

"Tazaro, go with her. I will be fine. I have Tyler." Mildred decided. Tazaro looked at his mom for a moment.

"Are you-are you sure?" He asked.

"Of course. Go. Explore the world. You can tell us about all the things you learn." She insisted, though her heart felt heavy.

"Sheeva? Take good care of my son. And, continue to take care of yourself, too."

Sheeva looked at Mildred, then back at Tazaro.

"Yes, ma'am." She agreed, relenting to the woman's wishes.

The sound of the crackling fire was the only thing between them for a while, each gathering their thoughts.

Sheeva’s eyes drooped, threatening to close into the sweet embrace of sleep. She shuffled onto her side and pulled her bag underneath her cheek. She muttered for them to wake her if need be and quickly dozed off.

“How did you two find me so quickly?” Mildred asked.

Tazaro glanced at Sheeva across the way, hoping she was truly asleep. As light snores and a twitch of her foot shook her leg, he realized she was out. A smile cracked on his face, relieved for her to be able to get some good rest.

“We flew part of the way here. It was chaotic at first, but when we finally got out of range of...” He stopped himself from mentioning the arrows being shot at them in the sky, not wanting to alarm her. “Uh, the rest of the town, it was...unbelievable. I-I want to make something that can soar the skies.”

“Despite your fear of heights?” Mildred pointed out. Tazaro blanched.

“Uh, well, maybe.” He paled even more as he imagined taking flight, something going wrong, then hurtling towards the ground to imminent death. “Maybe not. Probably not.” He shook his head.

“Definitely not.” He decided, his inspired state crumbling.

“So, she really can fly?” Mildred asked, chuckling. “I feel bad now. I made a joke about her having wings and horns. Does she have horns?”

Tazaro snorted.

“Uh, no. Well, not-not that I know of.”

Tazaro looked back over at Sheeva, and Mildred tilted her head as Sheeva muttered something indiscernible in her sleep, followed by a frightened whimper of some sort. Mildred reached in the direction, found Sheeva’s foot, and rested her hand on it. The twitch stopped but reappeared in the thigh of her leg, almost jerking her foot out of Mildred’s hold.

Mildred shrugged Tazaro’s jacket off of her shoulders and clicked her tongue at its tattered, dirty state as she felt holes and crusted dirt, then draped the coat over Sheeva’s frame, returning her hand to Sheeva’s ankle.

“She has become more trusting of you. More trusting of...physical comfort, it seems? She’s much less...defensive than she was a few weeks ago. At any rate, it’s a good thing.” Mildred stated bluntly as she read the sleeping woman. The drastic quell of her raging emotions filled Mildred with relief.

“Fear makes enemies of those who would become friends…or perhaps, in your case, lovers. You should ask her on a date. If it were anyone else, T, I would disapprove,” Mildred stated, keen to the embarrassed chuckle of her son.

Tazaro lay on his back, pillowing his arms beneath his head.

“I’m going to try to sleep, too. We’ll probably wake up at the crack of dawn and head out. I don’t think she could carry both of us while flying.” He gave a cheeky grin and rolled over so that his back was to the fire.