I tugged at the discolored strands; it hurt just like it should, but nothing seemed directly out of the ordinary. I hadn't even noticed when or how the change had occurred. For a moment, I forgot myself and rose to my knees in the shallow water, grabbing the mirror with both hands as I stared at the rebellious blonde bristle. Mali's increasing struggle with keeping her eyes averted eventually caught my attention, and I blushed and sunk back into my bath.

"It suits you," she said with a smirk, but it sounded nothing but forced.

"Sure..." I sighed. "Shouldn't you run off before the maid returns?"

The girl scoffed in response. She watched herself through the mirror, turning slightly for a better look at the bruise under her eye.

"Did you get into a fight?" The question slipped from my lips, if anything to bridge the silence.

But she shook her head. "A customer," she added, and for a moment I could see her eyes again glinting distant and dark. She didn't care to elaborate further, and instead did her best to dodge the subject.

"What's that scar on your chest from?" she asked while returning to her spot atop the bed.

"It's not a scar, but a birthmark," I explained, and I could see that she was curious to ask more. But before I had the chance to elaborate further, our conversation was cut short. The maid returned with a bundle of clean clothes at hand, and a sour face at the sight of Mali. The girl was both smart and quick enough to sneak out the door before things escalated into a proper scolding; but I could have sworn she had winked at me before disappearing.

The maid let me know the new clothes would add a few silver to the steadily rising tab, but that my old ones would be returned once cleaned and patched. She also told me Yarelic was back and awaited me alongside Urax in the drinking hall. Once she had left, I hurriedly dried and dressed myself, energized and excited to share with him my growth.

The cloaked magi sat next to the two mountainous warriors who were Urax and his cousin. His thin frame, notable even through the cape he wore, looked more shriveled than usual in their presence. But there was also something else, a worn tiredness that seemed to seep out through the cloth binding his limbs, neck and head.

"Ah, young one, glad you made it back in one piece," he said as I approached, while Urax raised his tankard in greeting.

Harra, on the other hand, gave off a loud whistle, "The lad sure ain't too bad when he's clean, eh?"

Her question fell on deaf ears, as I tried my best to ignore her and instead replied to my teacher. "It was a great lesson. Tough, but great!"

Yarelic looked at me, at least I think he did, as he tilted his head with the cloth curiously wrinkled. "Urax told me why you've been gone for so long. You never read that note they gave you at your registration, did you?"

Remembering the small piece of rolled-up parchment, forgotten somewhere in the depths of my backpack, still unopened, I shrugged. "What of it?"

Yarelic sighed, the wrinkles in the fabric growing deeper. "Oh, nothing much. Just the usual 'don't harm fellow mercenaries', 'follow the laws of Karham'. Ordinary things," he paused. "It also tells new recruits to stick to the first two offshoots within Wolagh to avoid larger threats, such as the sculks you so brazenly hunted."

I was taken aback by his cold tone, and the thrill I had felt began melting away. In its stead, irritation rooted and bloomed. "I did as you said, 'don't get killed by sculks'!" I returned.

Yarelic looked unfazed by my outburst, and his voice remained calm as he continued. "I assumed you were smart enough to do what the other recruits do when they stumble upon a sculk scout; hide, wait, simply avoid it."

He turned towards Urax, "Have you heard of one of his age purposely facing the likes of sculks?"

The big man looked confused, "Me?" he said while absentmindedly scratching his bearded chin.

Yarelic gave off a deep sigh, and turned his attention back to me. "Ignore the oaf. Normal people don't run headfirst into the dark like you did."

"Hey!" Urax protested, but the snide mystic ignored him.

"You were supposed to gather kritmer-eyes."

"Kritmer, what are those?" I blurted.

Yarelic sighed again, even deeper this time. "Small spider-like monstrum, too large to fit in your hand but not much more. Eight legs, four eyes?"

"Oh, yes!" I replied. "I think I saw one of those on my way back."

I hadn't really gotten a good look at the creature before it scurried away, but doubted there were many others that fit the description.

"THEY are what new recruits hunt, young one. For a copper per eye, they are great value for little risk. Quick to run, and discarded with even a decent kick. They certainly don't cause that..." He pointed at the pinkish gash on my head.

I felt sheepish and frustrated. Wasn't he proud? hadn't I just survived a great ordeal and earned a good amount of silver? As if he had read my thoughts, he added, "...but I am impressed. Foolish as you might be, clearly you are stronger than your peers, young one. I never would have thought you could survive such a thing on your own."

The familiar blue gleam poured from the gaps in the cloth on his face, as he leaned in closer. "You seem to ignore the logic the rest of us find so very necessary to grow, and yet I have the feeling you learned a great deal in this short a time. I can feel it in the air, drawing me in. It will have to wait for now, but I want to see whatever it is you found within the cavernous depths!" His voice was sharp, curious, and carried with it a strange and unfamiliar hunger.

After mine and Yarelic's initial exchange, Urax interrupted with complaints of a rumbling stomach, and a sudden realization of my own moaning gut made dinner sound like an excellent idea. Soon we feasted on warm chicken stew and dark, spiced bread. I tried to order another ale for myself, but Yarelic shot my request down, and instead I was given a steaming mug of milk and honey. To be fair, I enjoyed that even more than I had the ale.

Over dinner, I asked Yarelic why he was looking so worn, and he replied with a short "You're not the only one who's been busy, young one," before returning to his own thoughts. Like always, he didn't share the meal with us, and instead opted to sit in silent observation.

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I brought up the barmaid's advice to seek out the temple, soon, as the eve neared. And though Yarelic stayed silent, Urax offered to accompany me once he had finished his third bowl.

The air was thick with the usual noise, but I found myself enjoying the liveliness. I don't know if it was my imagination, or perhaps the towering brute by my side, but I got the feeling that the bumping and pushing, as we walked down the road, had somewhat lessened. Given that the streets surrounding the temple were less frantic, especially this late in the day, the former was perhaps more likely. Nearing the central parts of Karham, I could see the fortress-tower casting a looming shadow above, just to the east, massive and intimidating. The temple, though much more modest in size, was however embellished to a ridiculous degree with white rock, statues, artful decor of carefully chiseled stone, and window frames glinting in a multitude of colors. Unlike every house I had ever seen, there was a strange translucent material where there should be wooden shutters. To me, it looked just like thin sheets of colored ice.

"Won't it melt?" I asked, nodding towards the oddity.

"First time seeing glass, eh, boy?" Urax chuckled. "It won't melt, but take care, 'tis a fragile thing."

We continued up an embellished staircase, up towards a massive, iron-studded door. Urax gripped the brass knocker and slammed it thrice into the hardwood, a deep resounding clunk each time. A small hatch in the door flew open, and a voice reached us from within.

"What brings you to the great halls of Aloor?"

Stumped, I looked at Urax, but the big man seemed to know what to say. "We are in need of healing, oh revered son of Aloor," he returned.

The voice within scoffed, "And have you brought the proper gifts of appreciation?"

Urax looked at me, and with a whisper, he asked, "You brought your pouch with you, right lad?"

I nodded in response, and Urax informed the person behind the hatch that that indeed was the case. Hastily, the hatch shut closed, and soon after, the heavy door began to move with a slow, stubborn creaking.

The man who greeted us inside was old, pale, and dressed in a white and brown robe with a dark blue stripe round each sleeve. Save for the expensive-looking dress, I could have sworn this man was of father Norn's blood, a brother or cousin perhaps. When he spoke, his voice was nothing like the one that had greeted us; in fact, the first thing he did was apologize.

"Welcome good folks. I'm sorry for brother Kelmin, he is new to us and not the most tolerant..." the old man paused, "...or well-mannered."

There were angry steps echoing from one of the nearby corridors as he spoke, and further in, a door slammed shut. The old priest sighed. "Please, come and make known what bothers we may help alleviate."

He led us through a rounded prayer hall with mats rolled out across the floor. A few priests, alongside some of the more well-dressed townsfolk, kneeled atop the fabric towards an imposing statue. A man with a chiseled physique and the head of a lion, the symbol of everything good and strong. The god of the brave—Aloor. It was the same god favored by father Norn, though I knew he was forced by the farmers to hold sermons in spring in the name of Rayum, goddess of fertility and golden seed. I wonder if these priests also turn to other gods when need be, I smirked, following the old man into the next room. Inside were a few wooden benches, a row of beds by the wall, and a large stone table at the room's midst.

"I took note of the wound on your head, child; is that why the two of you have sought aid?" the priest asked as he shut an old, rickety door behind Urax.

With a courteous nod, I replied. "Yes father—"

"Hoghlas," the priest filled in.

"Well then, if I may ask you to take a seat..." he showed Urax towards one of the benches, "...and you, child, come lay down at the table, we'll see what these old hands can do."

I did as told, unsure what to expect. Father Norn wasn't necessarily known for his painless solutions to bad wounds, and some claimed his 'healing' was racket and fraud through and through. I hoped dearly that this old coot knew better, as I lay there flat on the cold surface.

"Mhm," the priest sounded as he brushed my hair aside, revealing the full extent of the cut. "Not too bad. Shallow, and in part healing already, but if left alone, and with some bad luck, it could turn to fester."

He held out his hands above my head, whispering, as steam began to rise from his palms. Within the steam, a soft, warming light grew, and the priest paused his whispers.

"Better close your eyes..." he advised, "...the light can be near blinding, and there will be some pain as the wound seals itself."

Again, I did as instructed, but curious as I was, I couldn't help but sneak a peek. Deep in concentration, the old man stood, whispering, chanting and praying all in one. Meanwhile, the light in his hands grew brighter and warmer. I felt a sharp sting from the side of my head, cutting, wrenching and digging into the wound. I pressed my heels and clenched fists against the stone, trying my best to bear the pain as it grew. Squinting, I once again looked up at the priest, only to see his face worried, scared even, and his face dripping with sweat. I'm going to die, I thought, something has gone awry, this is it. Then the pain was gone. Leaning over me, the old man was panting heavily, wheezing and coughing as I opened my eyes fully.

Strangely, when I moved to sit, still dizzy, father Hoghlas backed away, his eyes wild and face contorted. When he spoke, his calm, friendly demeanor was gone with the wind.

"What are you?" He cried out, tears welling up from old eyes. "I...I could feel it, pull me in, drain me. It just wouldn't close, a...and I couldn't stop!"

The old priest was beyond shaken, his gaze jumped around erratically as he retreated into a corner and slumped onto the tiled floor.

"Everything well?" Urax bellowed. The big man stomped over and grabbed my head in a firm grip, pulling at my hair and studying the part where the gash had been. "Looks all good! What's all this fuss about, father?"

But the priest didn't answer. Instead, the elder stared at the floor, his gaze distant and eyes red with tears, while mumbling desperate prayers.

"Come lad, we're getting out of 'ere...something's wrong with him!" Urax said, as we watched the priest dig the nails of one hand into the palm of the other, still babbling.

I followed in the steps of my bumbling friend as he pushed the old door aside so hard it almost fell from its hinges. A surprised priest with a sharp, weaselly face, jumped aside with a yelp, almost struck by the swinging wood. And while we continued down the hallway with haste, his nasal yells followed us, calling out for silver and repentance.

We passed through the central hall, stepping over and between those in prayer. In the rush, I glanced at the lion-headed statue atop its pedestal, and I felt a sting of guilt for what had just passed. Maybe I am cursed, I thought, trying my best to push the priest's fearful expression out of my head. Again, I peered up at the effigy, just before Urax pulled the massive gate open. Why? I asked in silence, and I could have sworn that between one blink and another, the petrified figure had turned and looked at me with contempt.

We rushed down emptying streets, sweat chilled by the evening breeze clinging to my back as we hurried back to the tavern. Urax barely spoke as we entered the noisy warmth that was home. His face was deep with thought as he motioned for me to head on up to the room without him. I watched him sit down alone with a foaming flagon at hand, guessing he was as confused by what had happened at the temple as I was. Once back into the safety of our room, relieved, I noted that Yarelic had not yet returned from his own matters, as the chair by the fireplace stood empty. Mind bubbling, and thoughts whirling, I headed to bed, freed from physical harm, but troubled.

When the night had passed, after dreams of scared priests and displeased lions, I was pulled awake by shouting and angry murmurs from downstairs. A loud banging on the door erased the last traces of sleep in my eyes, and I sprung out of the warm beddings. Neither Urax nor Yarelic was to be seen within the room, and a growing worry took hold at the bottom of my gut. There was a click and a turn, and with that, the door was thrown open.

"That's him!" a triumphant voice cried out, "...that's the boy!"

In the opening stood a robed man, his weaselly face all too familiar. Besides him were two well-dressed men donning embellished helmets and glinting chest harnesses. Faces stern, and their hands resting on the hilts hanging by their sides. The taller of the two stepped into the room, and with a voice that left no room for arguing, he spoke.

"Young man, you'll be coming with us."