Chapter 1

On the dawn of their ninth day of travel, Sheeva shook Tazaro awake. He shot upright, startled, citrine eyes stinging as they peeled open. By their burn, he was sure they were bloodshot and hoped the smirk she sent his way was only from red eyes and not an embarrassing trail of drool. He checked the corners of his mouth with the back of his hand, relieved when he felt they were dry.

“I would offer to make us breakfast, but I heard predators howling nearby. I do not believe we are in immediate danger, but we do need to get going.” She stated, tossing him a slab of jerky. It landed on the sleeping bag and he stared at it for a second, his groggy brain still registering what it was. With a small “ah” of realization, he picked it up, stuck it between his teeth, and pulled back the sleeping bag to crawl out of it.

He groaned as he stood and stretched, further upset when he saw the sky was just beginning to lighten; dawn had not officially even cracked yet. He took this frustration out on a large bite of jerky, rubbed a sore spot on his shoulder, then stooped down to roll up the sleeping bag.

The air was chilly, and it pierced through his shirt, mildly damp thanks to a sheen of sweat from curling up in a thick sleeping bag overnight. He paused to look around them while fumbling with the drawstring of the sleeping bag cover. Traveling by orbs of light until well after sundown, they finally stopped to rest at a small riverbank, the cold water lapping at the rocky, sandy shore. The forest stopped a few feet away, but the branches were still long enough to reach the river. The river itself wasn’t too deep; maybe waist high, but housed some fish strong enough to swim against the current…minus a couple that they’d speared like barbarians and cooked for a late-night dinner. Birds began to chirp, waking with the rising sun. He heard the rocks crumble behind him and turned.

Sheeva had her stuff already packed, and when she grimaced as she threw her bag over her shoulders, Tazaro wondered if the week’s travel without sufficient rest was getting to her. Tazaro’s muscles were incredibly sore, and he could only imagine how hers felt as a knot pinched in his lower back. Apparently, the place he set up to sleep in dim light was not as comfortable as he thought it would be.

“We are almost to the temple. Just over that hill over there and onward a few miles.” She announced, seeming cheery about the fact. He ran to catch up with her and almost buckled to the ground from the way his legs felt like jelly. She gave him a sympathetic look, reached into her backpack, and handed him a cube.

“Here, eat this.” She ordered, pushing it into his hand. He popped it in his mouth, chewing it as fast as he could before the flavor could stick. She could neither find nor afford any honey this time around, and he made a face as the bitterness lingered on his tongue. He took another healthy bite of the jerky to drown out the face-scrunching flavor and followed her as she began to lead the way.

At the top of a snail’s-pace, steep hike up a mountainside, Sheeva stopped suddenly, causing Tazaro to bump into her. She reached back and grabbed his shirt as he almost fell backward, and he further steadied himself by grasping at her arm. She did not seem to mind; her gaze was fixed off into the distance.

“Ah," She sighed peacefully. "It has been a while.” She commented.

Maybe, she was recalling her own string of fond memories, as he had upon his departure from Roussel a week ago.

Tazaro looked in the direction, and his mouth dropped. The temple was massive, made of what seemed to be limestone and towering pillars of wood. The slanted, grey, shingled roof of a prominent part of the temple disappeared into the mountain behind it, and the outer, protective walls were roofed with red, clay shingles.

“Wow.” He whispered as he gazed at it. “That’s amazing. This temple must be ancient.”

“It is. It was made at least…” She paused to think, a thoughtful expression on her face. “Five-hundred years ago. Considering how close you grew up here, I’m still surprised you haven’t heard of–

Sheeva made a startled “argh!” breaking Tazaro out of his reverie of the temple. He watched her shudder and brush herself off, then looked as Bartholomew hovered in the air above the valley and out of harm’s reach...not that they could do anything to retaliate, anyway.

“You need to stop that, or I'm gonna stab you with the next silver thing I find–I mean it!” She threatened, chucking a rock at him. It sailed through his head and rolled over itself as it fell into the valley. Bartholomew snickered at her.

“Oo, good shot! I’ll give you fifty points!” He commented, giving her a typical cheeky, fangy grin. She curled her lip in a mocking sneer and tutted at him. Tazaro bit his tongue to hold back his titter at the cute, brief show of immaturity.

“That’s the Malfa Temple, isn’t it?” Bartholomew asked, turning to face the structure. Like Sheeva, he also seemed to calm and dive into some sort of fond memory, given the small smile on his maw.

“You know of it?” She asked.

“Uh, yeah? I’m not a piddly Sferran, duh. I’m a ta'hal.” He waved and took off, floating over to the temple.

Tazaro was thankful for the path winding down the mountainside that had been trodden so much that plants no longer grew, had become solid, dark, rich dirt, and eventually laid out stones. He noticed a few resting points with a collective bunch of stumps or boulders placed in overhangs, where he assumed people came to enjoy the view...or perhaps, “enjoy the view,” if the community nestled inside the walls held several generations worth of families. He did not dare ask, much as he wanted to.

They stopped at the bottom of the mountain to rest and sip water before attempting the climb up a ridiculously steep string of stairs, something Tazaro was not looking forward to at all after making the journey down a sharp decline of the mountainsides.

Only a couple buildings rested here by the wooden outcrop on the river's edge; a forge with a large, retractable wall to allow for open workspace, and a closed-off building with a watermill connected to it and long, stone pipes that shot up and along the mountain's face.

Tazaro watched the forge master down the cobblestone pathway as the bearded, burly man pounded steel to craft what would likely be a beautiful piece of armor. A spinning water-wheel pumped air into the searing hot coals at the pull of a lever, and a nearby trough produced the satisfying, sharp hiss of steam as he quenched the working piece.

“That’s Ezrah, our blacksmith. His work is well-known here and Urul,” Sheeva explained, breaking Tazaro from his fix and handing him her water pouch for him to drink from. He drank deeply.

“His wife assists with any leatherworking, and their two daughters…” she paused for a moment, a funny, slightly embarrassed expression breaking through as she chuckled to herself. “I’m not sure. I forget how long I’ve been gone. Last I knew, though, they enjoyed hunting with their mother. Maybe, they’ll take over her craft someday,” She murmured thoughtfully, then took a deep breath and held it in preparation for something.

“We should keep going. I’ll introduce you to Ezrah, Nora, Kallie, and Olna once we get settled in. You’ll become familiar with them once we get you fitted for a weapon and armor.”

Initially surprised by the idea that he would get to choose his own weapon–worried he wouldn’t be able to handle the sword Tyler gave him well enough–and encouraged by the fact that he might become a “bit of a badass,” Tazaro found himself driven to begin the climb up the stone steps, and eagerly followed her as she made her way.

While she took pause to rest her aching leg, Tazaro noticed the occasional stick with strings of fabric tied to them in the ground, and upon further inspection, realized they marked off every 30th step. When they stopped to catch their breath again, he tried to guess at how many markers they had already passed. He asked Sheeva, and she smirked at him through a pained face.

"Saw those, did you? We still have a ways to go. The marker up ahead should be number five." She answered, pointing at one by a well-stacked tower of what would be great skipping stones. Tazaro further prepared himself, not sure if he wanted to know the answer to his next question.

"Number five of how many?"

Sheeva didn't answer his question and turned away, continuing up the slope at her own, steady pace.

At the top of the billions of steps they had to climb, they reached a neatly patterned, off-white, brick plaza. Ladders and bridges stretched across the plaza to join the hallways atop the temple walls. There were two towers on the corners of the front wall.

Tazaro groaned and leaned down to massage the ache from his thighs.

“How many steps are there? I lost count about halfway up.” He asked. Sheeva looked at him, smirked, and shook her head.

“Five-hundred and forty. One for every day of the year. I would know; Rose would make me walk those suckers sometimes.” She answered.

"Oh. So that's why you didn't..." Tazaro trailed off when she gave him a somber look. Perhaps it was a memory he should refrain from tugging at for the time being.

He let it go and continued to look around. For as large as the construct seemed from atop the mountain's peak, it was more grandiose up-close. He had not noticed from afar, being too distant to see details. The red, clay-shingle roof covering the plaza’s perimeter appeared to be a winding, scaly lindworm, holding its head up to purvey and guard against assault from the rugged mountains just outside. Tazaro held back the comment that the thing could probably come to life and breathe fire, but as he thought about it, maybe the stone structure could become animated and go on the offense.

“Seems nothing has changed much. That is…" Sheeva stopped and shook her head as though to correct herself. "It should not be as surprising as it is.” She admitted briefly with a soft chuckle before heading towards the towering red doors. She pulled them open using a large brass hoop sticking out of a wooden creature’s mouth. Tazaro rushed up, gawking at the height of the doors, and took a moment to admire the craftsmanship. Whoever had done it took the time to add detail to the mohawk of bristly hairs, the curvature of the ears, and the thin, long face.

“This temple was built about five centuries ago by a handful of people. It’s going to be much different than places you are used to. The first room is reserved for teaching, so let us be quiet and mindful.” She stated, walking in.

Lit by streams of sunlight coming in through carved windows, he followed the stream of light to a large, metal plate that reflected the light further into the room. The entrance lobby reminded him of an arena as the floor sloped down into a pit. Jade statues etched into the support beams rested at the corners of the open space, appearing to be staring at something in the middle of it. They held giant drinking basins in their outstretched hands.

Sheeva paused by one of the statues to scoop some water into her hands and drank.

“Spring water is some of the best I have tasted. It is crisp, almost sweet.”

Testing it for himself, Tazaro scooped his hand and tasted it. Sure enough, it was slightly sweet. He drank a little more as he realized how parched he was.

“There are four classrooms here. Two there,” Sheeva pointed at two sets of sliding doors to the left of the lobby. They were closed but occupied; shadows on the doors showed a few people inside. “And two over there.” She pointed on the other side of the lobby, where another set of sliding doors sat, one open to reveal the students inside, hunched over scrolls of parchment, with tiny glass oil wells and quills resting next to them.

As he examined the doors’ decor, he looked back as he heard her mutter, “wonder if they bolted down the desks.”

“What did you say?” He asked.

“Nothing–just thinking to myself!” She smiled shortly and waved the matter off. “I learned to read and write here. Learned to do arithmetic, too, but it is not a strong point for me, as I said. Rose worked with me daily outside of classes to catch up to the others. Eventually, I did, and was placed with the rest.” She explained, thankful that Tazaro didn’t seem to have anything to say about it. Before giving him a chance to reply, she waved at him to follow her and stepped through another set of wooden doors.

The walls were painted red, and lanterns hung from the ceiling, slightly illuminating the dark hallways. Still, Sheeva cast her ball of light, shifting it to linger above their heads and dimming it a little.

“Here is where everyone sleeps. There are two floors, so be mindful of your gait. Step lightly. Curfew is at ten.” Sheeva continued. Sliding doors held the people’s rooms, some open, others closed. She headed up a flight of stairs and down the hallway. She stopped at the fourth door, slid it open, removed her bag, and set it inside.

“This is my old room. The one across from mine seems unoccupied, so it will be yours. I figure you would appreciate having your own space.” Sheeva mentioned, sliding the door open and walking in. She looked around. The closet was empty, the shelves dusted and well-kept, and a bed sat in the corner. There was a small sectioned-off area for a bathroom next to a paper window in the far left. The tiles and wood beams, painted green, stood firm as they supported her. She walked towards his room, standing in the doorway and waiting while he set his stuff down and looked around.

“Where do we...bathe?” He wondered if perhaps the paper divider was used for privacy during sponge-baths.

“Oh. That is right. You are not used to the idea,” She commented, seeming mildly embarrassed for forgetting so. “We have a communal bathhouse set up to draw water from the river at the bottom of the mountain. The women's and men's baths are separated by a wall, but keep in mind that you can still hear over the wall.” She explained.

“Um...Oh.” He stated, somewhat unnerved with the idea that someone else would walk in on him while he was bathing.

"We all…share the same bath?"

She shook her head.

"There is a constant water flow–like washing in a stream." She explained. "If you are worried about being, um, naked in front of someone else…It is just another body. You all have the same parts, as do women.” She tried to advise, averting her eyes to the closet. They stared intently at the shelf above the hanging dowel, then spotted the new pair of cork sandals.

“Ah, another thing: Keep your shoes hidden when you’re sleeping. Kids are pranksters.” She said with an out-of-character, mischievous smile. Leaving him to ponder in mild worry, she turned and left, and he hurried after her.

Down the stairs and further into the construct, she stepped into a courtyard lined with trees and paused, gazing fondly at the late-summer blooms on the branches of wisteria trees. The wide-topped tree that stretched over the southwestern corner was a light pink, its limbs drooping like a weeping willow. The other wisteria in the southeastern corner was a deep, navy blue, and she took a deep breath in through her nose, calming at their sweet fragrance. Their petals began to fall, casting a blanket of pink and blue, and almost blended into purple amid the green grass.

A grey stone pathway led to a crossroad amid the courtyard and another fountain donned with a statue rested here, though he doubted this water was for drinking. The statue of an unknown woman guarded benches at her feet as water poured out of a marble pitcher she held and into a large basin. He walked out into the middle of the area and listened to the sound of the rippling water, taking in the view.

“Wow. This is beautiful.” Tazaro muttered, pacified with the view. Sheeva gave a soft chuckle.

“Yes. One of my favorite spots in the temple.”

Tazaro toyed with the idea of teasing her about it, but before he could word a jab in his head, Sheeva cleared her throat and pointed to her right.

“Through there is the library. I will take you there later. Across from the library, you will find the hospital wing. Hopefully, we don’t end up in there for anything other than a check-up, but I will introduce you to Dr. Marx later.”

Tazaro looked down the blue-painted hallway towards the assumed library and medical wing, its floor paved with small pebbles and hardened clay. Someone was currently sweeping away dust and leaves.

“To the left is the bathhouse, and across from that lies the greenhouse.”

This hallway was painted green, and Tazaro noticed an array of plants lining the hallway and crawling up and along a trellis overhead. He was sure he saw grapes, and he pursed his lips at the distasteful things; he didn’t care for the way they popped, and picking seeds out of his teeth annoyed him to high skies. He looked over when Sheeva moved across his vision.

“And, through the hallway around these steps here…” Sheeva walked to the foundation of some stone steps, where a hallway seemed to hide. “...Are the dining hall and kitchens.”

He stilled slightly when she closed the distance and leaned up to whisper in his ear. “Aside from all of this, there are also hidden pathways and rooms. I may decide to show you some later.”

Sheeva walked up the ornate stone steps and stopped at a green door. Tazaro followed, but when she hesitated, he turned around to take in the view of the courtyard from this new angle, further swayed by its serenity. The wisteria trees looked like puffy, colorful clouds framing the marble statue. He noticed an out-of-place window carved into the hallway they had emerged from and wondered if it was a hidden room, doubtful it was a room someone slept in. It did not seem to be big enough. When Sheeva tapped him on the shoulder, he turned to look at her.

“This is the temple leader's room. Be respectful, and do not try to lie. Like…any parent, it seems, he always knows.” She stated before opening the door. They walked in and hit a wave of incense and smoke. Tazaro fought to keep from coughing and felt his nose plug instantly. A small window filtered light in, but the room was mostly lit with more candles. He fought the hum of annoyance.

The walls were a soft orange, with a basket-weave divider separating a basin full of water standing in the right corner of the room. Tazaro somehow doubted it was for bathing or drinking. Two peculiar statues of lindworms wound around two etched pillars and guarded a bare wall to the left, a curtain tied up to one side. Tazaro wondered if they protected one of the secret passageways Sheeva had mentioned.

An aged man sat on a green cushion, smoking from a tall, silver hookah. The glimmering coals brightened as he took a drag.

“Welcome back, Sheeva Jules. Your friend seems to appreciate the designs of the temple. You have good taste in friends!” The old man greeted jovially with a smile and billowing smoke out of his nose. He stood to greet them, and with how long the man’s beard was and how tall the man stood, he seemed to resemble a lindwyrm himself. Tazaro fought a shiver of nerves.

“Sir,” Sheeva tipped her head in greeting.

"And, welcome, Tazaro Chorea. May these walls bring you peace, and help you to become resolute!" He smiled.

Unnerved, Tazaro looked at Sheeva for some kind of explanation, but she only offered a nonchalant shrug.

“It is good to see you again, Sheeva, and in such good health...” He paused, squinting and seeming to stare through her. “Despite your recent troubles. You seem less turbulent than you did years ago. Perhaps you have gained wisdom and peace. I am pleased.” The old man pointed out, his mustache lifting with his smile. "The world is too big to worry about everything."

“I...suppose so.” Sheeva agreed hesitantly. He only hummed, seeming to disagree with her downplay.

“We are pursuing someone dangerous. I need to train Tazaro and hone my skills.” She explained. Straight to business, as usual.

The man seemed to expect this side of Sheeva and sat back a little, turning to a small teapot and filling a cup with dark, brown liquid. He held it in long, bony fingers, likely to warm his hands.

“Yes, you are, aren't you. But, that is fine–there is always time for more training, though I am surprised to note the company you keep. When you depart again, these two are going with you?” He asked.

Once again surprised at the man's clairvoyance, Tazaro looked around, and only then noticed Bartholomew had floated up between them through the wooden floor. Sheeva let out a defeated sigh and stared at something across the way. Tazaro wondered if Sheeva had wanted to keep the fact that they were traveling with a Ta’hal undisclosed.

“Yes, sir. Our target is...far stronger than I am.” She muttered, fighting the tremble she was beginning to feel.

The old man nodded and sipped.

“I can sense the uncertainty on you.” He announced shamelessly. Sheeva frowned even deeper and hid her face from Tazaro when he tilted his head to gauge her reaction.

“He used skills that I’ve never seen before. He broke my bones and rendered me unconscious, then killed Tazaro’s mother. He’s sadistic and psychopathic, and he’s been on a murderous rampage since he left me lying in the dirt.” Sheeva summed through clenched teeth. “But…that’s not the only reason I am here,” She countered with a deep, held breath and a heavy sigh. “I believe that we’re safest here, with the veil to protect and hide us for the time being. I can train Tazaro to fight and to fly and fully recover after my injuries.” She praised, visibly relaxing as she seemed to remind herself of the temple's fortitude.

The man nodded.

“I will say I am proud that your foe’s ruthlessness weighs heavier than your defeat, though you seem to...” The man paused, peering at Sheeva’s face. She didn’t turn her face away in discomfort but slowly dropped her head, allowing him to continue to read her. “Struggle with it. Still, you have learned humility, it seems.”

When clouded, amethyst eyes locked onto his own citrines, Tazaro crossed his arms as they rippled with goosebumps, suddenly feeling on the spot as he realized he was being read, too. At first, he felt his face harden in defense, but as the man waved his hand, Tazaro felt a sense of calm sweep over him from head to toe. A spell similar to Sheeva’s, he realized the man was trying to help and that he was not in danger. Eager to bask in the lax feeling, he sighed and slouched a little.

“His actions bother these two, as well.” He gestured to Tazaro and Bartholomew. "Both of them have suffered great loss at the hands of your foe."

Bartholomew snorted and deflected the statement with a wave of his claw.

“The hell it does, old man! What do you know?” He growled. Tazaro thought he heard a worried inflection but shook his head. He was only hearing things, dizzied by smoke and worn out by traveling for a whole week. Plus, whatever spell he assumed had been cast had him so warm, fuzzy, and complacent, the sense of alarm seemed distant.

Sheeva turned her head to Bartholomew, furiously amazed with his rudeness.

“How dare you, Bartholomew, you–

–It is fine, Sheeva.” The old man waved it off. “Ta’hal or not, Bartholomew, you were Sferran once, too. Base instincts and primary habits do not simply disappear, nor are promises forgotten. Funny that you should return here after so long a time, Bartholomew. Are you here to carry out your friend's dying wishes?"

If steam could blow out of the creature’s ears, Tazaro imagined it would be, given how tight-lipped Bartholomew became. They watched as he hastily turned his back on them and left their company, grumbling as he floated through the door.

“I hope no one else can see that,” Tazaro muttered. “Or, hear that.” He added as they heard him swear and curse in temperament. Sheeva ignored the statement, irate about something, but Tazaro felt relieved when the old man gave a short, airy titter.

"Though he has been a Ta'hal for many years, it seems he fights hard to hold to the shreds of his former soul. A commendable plight; and I wish him well in the endeavor."

Tazaro hummed in contemplation, recalling the Ta’hal’s brief explanation of what he’d done for his son when he was still Sferran. It seemed, perhaps, that underneath the tough, scaly exterior, a smidgeon of a compassionate person still “held onto shreds of his former soul.”

“Sir, I don’t understand: Why would you allow him to disrespect you?” Sheeva asked. They watched him simply smile and hum as he thought of a response.

“If someone brings you a gift, and you refuse it, to whom does it really belong? The same can be said of insults. If you refuse to accept or acknowledge them, they belong to the one who offered them.” He pointed out. “Ultimately, I cannot control his actions or his words, but only how I react–and the same goes for you, and you,” he advised, gesturing toward each of them with an open hand.

Sheeva scowled, dropped her head and shook it, then crossed her arms and tapped her foot. Tazaro wondered if she was further frustrated with the statement’s ambiguity, brusque as she was, or the fact that the statement was an almost complete opposite of how she–and he, sometimes, if he were being completely honest with himself–seemed to react upon being slighted.

He found himself amused with the wisdom the man held. It reminded him of his mother. Or…maybe he was simply having a moment of missing her greatly. He wondered if the man was from Pacem and searched his eyes. He could see a purple shade behind them amid cataracts, though very light, like the pale lavender flowers Sheeva favored.

“Yes, Tazaro, I am from Pacem. Contrary to what you might believe, I am not all-knowing. Wisdom comes with vast experience and age. My condolences to you about your mother. Such a thing no one should have to witness, but continue to exercise forgiveness and patience, and the burden will become easier to bear.”

Tazaro dropped his stare to the floor and shuffled his feet, uncomfortable with being read like this. Emotions were one thing; thoughts were another. His chest still ached at the mention of his mother, but as he listened to the wise words, he did feel a little better. He took a deep, clearing breath.

“Thank you, sir.”

“Please, rest and reflect in the courtyard. I would talk to you alone for a moment, Sheeva.” The old man stated. He pointed at the door. Tazaro hesitated, then looked at Sheeva. She nodded at him.

“Go. You will be safe here.”

Tazaro stood and walked out immediately, thankful to get away from the smoke. He contemplated eavesdropping but decided against it, as one or both of them might know. He chuckled softly and shuffled his hands into his pockets as he walked down to sit on one of the alabaster benches at the lady’s feet.

Sheeva fixed her gaze on the designs of the carpet splayed on the floor, preparing herself for the scolding she was likely to receive, though for which thing exactly, she could not be sure. There were many things she did in her five-year absence. Perhaps he would chide her for all of them. She cleared her throat and sat down on the cushion at the foot of the short table, accepting the small cup of tea he poured her and the seat gestured with an open hand.

“So. You have made a deal with a Ta’hal? What were you thinking?” He asked, the disappointment evident in his voice. Sheeva had to admit, she was taken aback, not expecting that to be the first thing he questioned her about. She collected herself and fidgeted with the lip of the cup, warm and soothing to the pads of her fingers.

“Ultimately…” She paused, trying to find a viable way to define it. It had all happened so quickly, and she had not really sat back and given it any thought. “I did it to free Tazaro. He was being controlled by Bartholomew. He was a bystander; it was not right of me to abuse the situation for my own needs, even though I had a moment of weakness.” She stopped herself and waved a hand at the topic. It was far too easy to fall down the rabbit hole of nagging at herself for almost leaving Tazaro in the forest that day. She caught herself feeling thankful she could not move well; otherwise, she might have left and they might all be dead.

“The deal was not in search of power. Bartholomew agreed to allow me my revenge. I felt it was a win-win.” She admitted. He nodded, mustache curling with a thin smile.

“Did you attain your goal?” He pressed, gently lifting the cup and holding it to his nose before taking a sip. Sheeva felt a flash of frustration at the situation but forced a deep, clearing breath and sighed away her disappointment.

“Llyud is…dead."

"Ah, so the goal has been met. Did it satisfy?"

He hummed again, studying Sheeva's shielded demeanor and disappointed airs.

“Do you feel your anger resolved now that Llyud is dead?” He clarified.

Unauthorized use: this story is on Amazon without permission from the author. Report any sightings.

Sheeva didn't need to utter anything; her face did enough.

"No," She growled, painfully aware of how disappointed she sounded as it nagged at her conscience. "Zakaraia killed Llyud in front of me. Had I been able to do it, earlier, perhaps Mildred might still be–

She stopped, then sighed at herself as she recalled the firm reminders that Mildred's death was not her fault.

"No. That was Zakaraia's doing. Besides, I hesitated–killing him didn’t feel…right." Sheeva dropped her gaze to the floral pattern on the sides of the metal kettle as she tapped the teacup with her nails in need of fidget. She shook her head and waited for a little while before she spoke.

“My apologies, Master. I am trying to learn to...” She trailed off and scratched the back of her neck. “I am trying to learn to manage it more maturely, I suppose,” She admitted sheepishly. “It is an incredibly foreign thing to do.”

“At Tazaro’s behest?” He asked, sounding impressed.

“And Vincent’s.” She insisted, though, yes, it was primarily Tazaro’s suggestion.

"You understand that, if you had managed to kill Llyud earlier, you wouldn't have met the people you've met and had such personal growth, yes? Funny, that you would liken Mildred to me. Is it because we were both beyond our years?" He asked, cracking a joke and stroking the long, grey beard. “I can still put up a good fight for an old man, you know!”

Sheeva frowned, unappreciative of the jab and caving further in as she slouched over in a brooding heap.

“That’s not funny,” She grumbled.

He tsked in disapproval behind a sip of tea; it seemed a well-timed and appropriate joke.

Altea, my dear, you would have laughed a little with me…though Sheeva’s stubbornness reminds me much of my own when I was her age.

“You still have much anger, Sheeva. One would think it's become too heavy to hold on to. Like any stone, it's yours to put down at any time–you just have to trust, and let go. You might find it falls quite easily when you do.”

“I can't," she dismissed. "I mean,” She began, as though to validate the ultimate reason behind her–reasonable, she felt–frustration and seething hate. “Zakaraia puppeteered Llyud into kidnapping Mildred, exploded his head, beat me to the ground, and while I was unconscious, killed Tazaro’s mother." She countered. "I have no choice but to–

–Sheeva Jules, you miss my point," He countered clearly, sitting tall and stern, his shadow casting itself over the table and over her person. She stopped and stared at him, surprised and mildly frightened. “There is always a choice,” he reminded with a relenting sigh as he sat back a little bit and relaxed.

Sheeva sulked in a feeling of guilt, like a child being called out on a wrongdoing as silence lingered for a few moments.

"Understand that I did not mean for you to abandon your goals. You ought to not seek them with anger lest you be left unsatisfied and chasing phantoms…as it seems you've found, haven't you?"

Sheeva stared at him, involuntarily mute as she realized how strongly she understood that her mentor was right. Many a sleepless night spent pouring over her feelings on the situation had left her scowling so much her brow ached, and she had little choice but to accept things as they were in order to assuage maddening thought.

“As for the young man out in the courtyard,” He continued softly, a frown of pity on his face for the young man’s misfortune. “Witnessing a loved one’s death is a hard thing to bear–a commonality you two share.” He added, sighing as he gazed off into a tile on the floor in recollection of something.

"Redefine for yourself what it means to have loved and lost, Sheeva. You have used it in pursuit of vengeance, but perhaps you can guide Tazaro in a prosperous and nurturing way–having been through dark times, yourself–and it can be used in pursuit of acceptance and peace. I hope for you to someday absolve yourself for your transgressions, and others for theirs."

Pained, Sheeva kept a firm stare at the floral patterns in the teacup.

He hummed to himself and smiled, pleased with his own advice, though Sheeva obviously struggled with it. He picked up his cup to sip from it, offering a tip towards the statue outside.

Thank you, Altea, my dear. Even now, I know you are still with me.

Sheeva stared at the lindwyrms on the pillars, and took a deep breath.

'Absolve myself and others for their transgressions,' huh? I don't understand.

“You mentioned the name, but who is Vincent?”

Feeling a little on-the-spot, Sheeva sipped at the earthy, green tea from her own cup.

An illegitimate son of Ivan Marx? She thought sarcastically, then pursed her lips. The statement seemed far too close to true to consider joking about it.

“Is that so?” He asked, amused.

“No, I do not think so, sir. Their resemblance may be incredibly uncanny, but I doubt they are related.” She insisted, waving a hand at the matter. Before he could suggest that she could be mistaken, she continued to explain the stranger she’d spoken of.

“Vincent Berkowitz,” She stressed the man’s last name as though to enforce her point. “Is Tazaro and I’s–er, our friend. He’s a doctor. He stitched me up and helped me recover after I was injured.”

“Hm. I see,” He answered. "He, too, is wise beyond his years. Tell me: have you pondered the meaning of life?"

Sheeva bit back her pout, wishing she had been able to ask the question Vincent had asked her, finding it such a useful tool and mantra. She brought the cup to her lips to hide the disrespectful frown.

"I wanted to ask you that, you know. I like to think I can teach you new wisdoms, too," She grumbled into her tea.

He chuckled.

"Considering that you are talking to me here and now, you have brought me wisdom, Sheeva!"

For a few moments, the only sound in the room was the pop and sizzle of the grand hookah as he reached for the pipe and drew in another deep breath.

Wanting to fill the silence, Sheeva spoke.

“Tazaro wishes for me not to blame myself for Mildred, but...I still do, even if a little bit. Not as much as I used to, though, so for that, I am grateful.” She stated.

Pleased with the budding sense of self-forgiveness beginning to take root, the leader of Malfa Temple reached over and took another long drag from his hookah, slowly exhaling. The pillow of smoke rolled across the table like fog before dissipating into the air.

“Would Rose blame you, Sheeva?” He asked, hoping to nurture the bud further.

Sheeva’s eyes widened at the mention of Rose’s name, and guilt gripped her. Fighting the urge to plummet head-first into her woeful pit, Sheeva did her best to shove off every immediate, dejecting thought.

While at first, the process would leave her immensely exhausted and craving a much-needed nap, the corrective actions seemed to be less taxing the more often that she did it. Through the fog of her muddled brain, as she allowed herself to imagine what Rose would say, she remembered that no, she had realized Rose wouldn’t blame her one bit. Sheeva shook her head to answer his question with a humbled, self-conscious smile.

“No. She wouldn’t want such a thing for me.”

“Then you should not, either. Your…friend is right to tell you so. He has brought you much calm.” He agreed.

With a heavy, affirmative sigh to accompany the stark moment of clarity, Sheeva hung her head in mild shame as she finally understood how easy it was to hold onto such anger and how much it had kept her from experiencing a more colorful life as it was. It was all she knew for years, but, as she had found of herself, she had only driven herself to miss out on the joys of life. She propped her head upon her palm, her elbow rested on her knee as she soaked in the epiphany.

Sheeva caught herself in a smile as she recalled their silly pact to chase a "slice-of-life" adventure, then let the grin splay on her face without shame.

“Feh!” She scoffed in a guilty-as-charged way, then softened. “He certainly has. I’m…eternally grateful.”

“I pray that it continues. A great warrior is never angry.”

Sheeva avoided his gaze, giving a thoughtful hum as she stared at the table and twirled the teacup with a lazy finger.

“I find I can be…” She paused, trying to find a good word for the endless swirl that covered her from head to toe in Tazaro’s presence. “Vulnerable,” She decided.

“I can be myself, and blunt, and earnest, and–She couldn’t help the chuckle that burst from her chest. “Silly, without it being thrown back in my face or weaponized against me. It is…incredibly liberating.”

He smiled, and tipped his teacup in praise.

“The essence of a true, everlasting friendship.” He whispered wisely.

When she contemplated his words, as much as it made her feel good, it still brought with it the bits of fear and worry she fought to stifle. Her and Tazaro’s strange form of...friendship was a topic she did not want to cover, at least not with him. She hoped he would not press it.

“Sir, I want to know: what do I do with this, this...anger? Llyud was just a pawn, and who knows how long for. It is–it is maddening. I worry that I wrongfully condemned…” Sheeva dropped her head in shame, fearing she had pursued a man who followed orders to save his own life, but as she recalled Zakaraia’s statement about the Iphsium den, she felt her eyes narrow and face terse.

“No, he was no innocent man.” She decided, hoping that putting it in words would finalize the point.

“Tazaro suggested that I let go now that Llyud is dead, but I simply cannot do that.” She asked, looking to her old-time mentor for his guidance. He would have an answer. A good answer. Something she could accept.

“Cannot? Or will not?” He questioned. She blinked, surprised, never having thought of it in this way before.

“You have the freedom to let go. Letting go will give you the resolution you seek. If you cling to anything in your heart, be it the anger you feel or the fear that dwells within, you cannot be free. There is more to freedom than being unbound from shackles and let loose from cages.” He stated. She stared at the floor as she took in his words.

“Tazaro is wise to tell you to let go. You should trust in him more. It is not wrong to care for or be cared for. Even if all you do is free a man from the pain of past ridicule. Besides–as you said–he has had a lot to do with your newfound freedoms, too, hasn’t he?” He stated, taking another drag from his hookah. Sheeva took a deep breath. She took his words to heart and slowly nodded, a sheepish smile on her face. He had never led her astray before, so she had to trust his judgment.

“Yes, sir. Thank you.”

He nodded in reply.

“You will always be a student, for ‘training never stops,’ and you are always welcome.” He said, waving his hand to dismiss her. She nodded and stood, heading for the door. She stopped and looked back at him, her hand still resting on the ornate, wooden handle.

“Sir?”

“Yes?”

“What is your, uh, your real name?” She asked. He smiled.

“Aglis. That is my name. Though I’d prefer others do not know it.” He seemed to whisper.

“Thank you...sir.” She couldn’t bring herself to say his real name, finding it a little more strange to say than “sir.”

She bowed and left the smoky room, mildly hazy and tired from thinking over her circumstances. She crossed her arms just outside the door and leaned against the doorframe.

‘Not wrong to care for or be cared for,’ huh?

She fought to squish the nagging feeling that Aglis hinted towards their unity. They had a lot of work to do and could not waste time with such things. Besides, Tazaro likely had goals he wanted to attain that did not include her, and as she stated a couple of weeks ago, he was encouraged to pursue them after they met their shared goal of putting an end to Zakaraia. Finding that familiar smidge of twisted self-reliance, she closed her eyes and basked in it, relieved at the assurance it brought her...lonely as it was. Relishing in its comfort, she felt her tension subside.

She opened her eyes to survey the courtyard from the top of the steps, a soft smile on her face at the sea of colorful petals and swaying branches. Soon, she would be able to hop up or fly up onto the drake’s head that guarded Aglis’s doorstep and get an even better, uninterrupted view.

Voices of children rose to her ears, and she looked for the source, wondering if any she knew were still here or even if they remembered her in her absence. Tazaro was sitting in the shade of one of the wisteria trees, surrounded by some younger kids.

Good. Sheeva thought. Perhaps they are making Tazaro feel welcome. She walked down the steps and up to them.

Upon seeing Sheeva, one of the boys jumped to his feet. He rushed her, barreling into her with a tight hug. She feigned hurt with a subtle wince and chuckled softly as she patted the top of his head.

“Hello, Kalas. You’ve gotten stronger.” She muttered in honesty, needing to brace herself slightly when his head bashed into her sternum.

“Shouldn’t you be learning? Have you been staying out of trouble?” She asked, taking a spot by Tazaro underneath the tree, thankful for the shady respite from the harsh summer sun. She did not acknowledge the look he gave her at her proximity.

“Haha, trouble? Ah...no.” One admitted, giving her a grin. He was new, an unfamiliar face. He looked to be about five, and as she thought back, she remembered that Valirya and her husband Kam were expecting a child before she left. As she peered closer at the child’s face, she recognized her old teacher’s piercing amber eyes and held back a smile, wondering if the woman still had a knack for stopping troublemakers. She found it even funnier Valirya’s child would net her such troubles.

And, funnier still that he seemed to be friends with Kalas, who enjoyed shooting spitballs at the back of Valirya’s head.

“You seem to be well-liked here,” Bartholomew stated, floating beside Tazaro. Sheeva froze, hoping the others could not see him. His visage would terrify them. As they didn’t seem to notice, she relaxed. She glanced at Tazaro, wondering how they would play this off. Figuring Bartholomew’s comment was not out-of-place, Tazaro repeated it, though he sounded much more surprised than Bartholomew had. Sheeva frowned to dismiss the brush to her ego.

“They are children, hardly dangerous. I could beat them across the plaza if I needed to.” She cracked a smile, flashing them a menacing look. It did not come across as jokingly as she wanted when Tazaro gave her a worried look.

“Tazaro, surely you must know I'm joking!” She grunted, mildly annoyed that she would be taken so seriously. “No, I would never harm a child unless we were training, and even then, it would not be with intent to harm. I do not want any child to have the…early childhood that I did.” She explained. She crossed her arms and stared at the back of the statue’s head.

“Oh,” Tazaro mumbled, nodding his head with a bashful chuckle, reminding himself to expect less seriousness in the future.

“Anyway…” Sheeva diverted. She gestured to Tazaro with a nod of her head.

"This is my friend, Tazaro. He helped me recover when I was injured. We are going to be training together.” She explained carefully. Her uncertainty with how they were to define their relationship became even more apparent at the moment. She wondered how exactly they were supposed to introduce each other to others.

“We will all catch up later. You should all get to class.” She fought to dismiss them, wanting to discuss the issue with a bout of sudden determination. The other kids got up and left, but Kalas stayed behind. She fought a disappointed sigh at the eleven-year-old.

“But you just got here! And besides, I don’t want to learn that stuff. Now, fighting, I could do that all day! I've gotten so much stronger since you left!" He boasted.

Sheeva chuckled at the boy, thinking.

“I am sure you have gotten stronger, but, what if you or someone else is injured on the field, Kalas? Your strength cannot save you all the time. What would you do, punch someone to health?” She pointed out. Kalas thought about it, then gave a sheepish smile before laughing.

“No, that’s silly! Ok, I’ll go.” He stood and bolted after the others, sandals clapping on the cobblestone as he ran.

Satisfied, Sheeva leaned back against the tree and lifted her gaze to the red, gold-trimmed support beam, barely visible beyond a sheet of baby-blue wisteria petals. The rippling water fountain fueled her train of thought, and she smiled at how silly she felt.

“My apologies. I wasn’t sure how to introduce you. I am not used to company.” She admitted. Tazaro turned his head to look at her, and she could tell by the look on his face that she must have been “thinking funny thoughts again.”

As fate would have it, he pointed out just that. Sheeva tsked and gave an eye-roll at the situation.

“Company, huh? You make that sound like we’re to–He stopped himself from saying something, and she almost opened her mouth to request him to continue his thought despite the butterflies in her stomach at the thought of him saying they were courting.

“Do you always keep your friends at such a distance?” He asked, his light tone suggesting he was cracking a joke. Sheeva uttered a soft, passive pfft with her added thought: Only the ones that kiss me.

“Give me a reason to, and I might.” She deflected.

An awkward silence fell over them, and Sheeva counted the stepping-stones buried in the ground around the area. In the corner of her eye, she watched him drum his fingers rhythmically on his knee. She prayed the blush did not show on her face as she felt it on her chest and snaked her left hand to the side of her neck to press cool fingers against the warming skin. Her fingers found a loose lock of hair and began to twirl it, weaving it betwixt and between her fore, middle, and ring finger in the comforting pattern she recently developed.

Despite her pacifying fidget, she felt the pitter-patter of her heart quicken and noted his features in the corner of her eye. The rough fingertips that had coaxed her into that gentle kiss. Sturdy arms that had encased and supported her frame in the warm, freeing embrace. His citrine eyes that exuded joy, kindness, and hope..eyes that held an incredible tenacity when drilling the fact that she could place trust in him.

She averted her less-than-subtle gaze as he noticed it, embarrassed that she had been caught. The blush broke onto her face, and she pressed her other hand to her cheek to alleviate it, fixing her stare on the growing plantlings lined in the greenhouse hallway.

Say they were to begin showing romantic interest in one another. Could she handle everyone she grew up with teasing her about it?

More prominent, deafening silence followed, finally broken by the sound of his voice, laced with delicate deliberation.

“So, uh, how big is this place?” He asked, seeming to offer a tether for distraction. Sheeva ran with it, giving a thoughtful, thankful hum as she contemplated the question. She fought to think of a structure in Roussell that she could liken it to. The closest comparison had to be the central clock tower and the distance between the off-set castle, but even that seemed inaccurate.

“Fairly large. The library has two floors, and the greenhouse has three.” She stated. Deciding she would show him instead, she stood and brushed herself off.

“Which would you like to see first?”

“Take a guess.” He gave her a knowing smirk, eyes glimmering with the flirty presentation of his challenge.

She caught her smile and masked it with a roll of her eyes, mainly directed at the flutter of her stomach so easily swayed by the pearly white grin. Sheeva quickly stood, waved at Tazaro to follow her down the blue hallway to the right, and then stopped in front of a red, furnished wooden door framed by gold trimmings. It creaked as she opened it, and a rush of fragrant, stale air greeted them. Sheeva felt calmed by the scent of paper, leather, and ink and stepped through the door, holding it open for Tazaro as he followed through.

Nothing seemed to have changed. Shelves stacked on shelves were loaded with books of many different sizes and shapes, and there had to be at least ten rows on either side of the open space in the middle of the floor. Towards the library’s back wall, a wide-open area was surrounded by a half-circle of windows lined with tables and chairs, with a spiral staircase leading to a second floor. A few people were sitting at desks, most reading by candlelight, only two or three by a glowing ball of light. Others were whispering to each other in their groups. Sheeva turned to him upon a muttered, amazed “by the gods.”

His wondrous look filled her with pride, and she smiled, glad he appreciated their expanse of books.

“You have never seen so many books, I take it?”

Tazaro slowly shook his head, lost in reverie.

“Honestly, it’s much more than I had expected,” He admitted. Having spent most of his early adult years in college, he was used to seeing shelves with at least three times as many books.

“Are there more shelves upstairs, or is it just more seating?” He asked with that bright, excited glow in his eyes that caught her off-guard. She allowed herself the tug at self-intrigue, happy to have found another person she could sit with and read in silence. It went beyond what she assumed was him being hospitable while recovering.

“Yes. You can get to it from the stairs by the fishbowl.” She explained, pointing in the direction of the wide-open space and staircase. As expected, he gave a curious, confused look at the area’s nickname.

“Why do they–

–When people wander outside and look in on you while you’re reading, you...feel like a fish in a bowl. I did not come up with the name, but I have been unable to think otherwise since someone pointed it out to me. I prefer to read in solitude.” She explained, remembering how she had smuggled books in her pocket and read them in the hidden room overlooking the courtyard.

He gave her a brief look with an arched eyebrow as though to suggest she enjoyed doing a lot in solitude, then wandered over to the window to look outside. A vast field with goats, sheep, and cluckatrice spanned for a couple of miles, disappearing down the side of the mountain, penned in with wooden fences.

“Huh. This place must be pretty self-sufficient.”

“We have gardens on the other side of the temple and use the greenhouse to grow vegetables in winter. We make our own cheese and prepare our own clothes; rarely do we need to go into any of the towns. If you do go out there,” She paused, looking at the collection of goats amid the plumage of cluckatrice, searching for the largest, gruffest, meanest one in particular. “See that goat with the busted horn? Stay away from him. He doesn’t like people. He will headbutt you.” She warned, pressing a hand to her clavicle in memory.

“Gee, Sheeva, I can only fathom as to why.” A voice said behind them, making Tazaro spin. Sheeva felt the unguarded smile in her cheeks and the cheer in the curl of her eyes. How long it had been!

“Hello, Cassie.” Sheeva greeted, turning to face her childhood friend, then gave Cassie a hug, further surprising Tazaro. It was unnatural to see her give hugs so freely.

He quickly replaced his shocked expression as Sheeva held Cassie at arm’s length to look her over.

Cassie was a little shorter than Sheeva, though as she looked at the blue dress, she noticed it now stopped just below her knees. It drove the sudden enlightenment of how much they had grown in her absence. Her brown hair was longer, twisted into a braid that stopped just below her collarbones. Sheeva noted the pendant dangling from her neck and found it vaguely familiar though she could not place where she had seen it at the moment. A pair of large, red glasses rested on the edge of a small nose. The lens seemed larger than her face as they magnified vibrant amethyst eyes. She had freckles on her cheeks and dimples accentuating her wide, happy smile.

“You’ve grown up! I see you changed your glasses,” Sheeva commented, brushing off Cassie’s shy reply about her rapid change in height.

“Oh, I changed them about two years ago. Who is this?” Cassie asked, stepping away and gesturing to Tazaro.

“Tazaro Chorea.” He answered, offering a handshake. Cassie accepted it with a smile.

“Cassandra Brea. But please, call me Cassie.” She insisted.

“What are you two doing here?” Cassie turned her attention back to Sheeva. Sheeva hesitated, glanced at Tazaro for a moment, then looked around at their surroundings. There were too many people available to overhear the tough explanation.

Taking the sidelong glance personally, Tazaro muttered that he would give them space and headed to a shelf down the way, reading the labels on the side that classified what kinds of books were in the particular row. They watched as he waved his hand and formed a ball of light to hover behind him. Sheeva’s lip curled in pride.

“Wow, he makes that spell look easy,” Cassie murmured in awe.

Sheeva sighed and crossed her arms, reminded of how quickly he picked it up, mastered it, and added onto it with his discovery of illumination intensity and color.

“You have no idea.” She began with a soft tsk. “Tazaro has a habit of finding new and improved ways to twist my spells.”

Cassie looked back at the man, finding he had already picked out a book and was skimming through it, citrine eyes alight with wonder. Sheeva gave a soft huff of fondness as he propped his foot upon the table and leaned back, a typical stance for the studious man.

“So, what are you doing? What’s with the outsider?” Cassie asked, nodding in Tazaro’s direction. Sheeva cleared her throat, looked around again at the patrons, and shook her head. There were still too many people.

“Upstairs. It is...not something I want others to overhear.”

“Oh. I could just read your thoughts if you wanted.” Cassie suggested. Sheeva shot her a look, her previous conversation with Aglis still making her feel tired.

“I have had enough of that for one day.”

Cassie giggled, and her lips curled into the framework of her cheekbones.

“Ah. I see you’ve already talked to the boss. Unfortunately, I still have a lot of work to do. Can we talk later?” She said, walking over to a leftover stack of books and examining some of the damage. She sighed as she saw a bent spine on one of them and stroked it in sympathy for the thing.

“Should not be surprised you work here now. You practically slept here.” Sheeva pointed out. Cassie shot her a grin and returned to putting the books back on their respective shelves.

“Is Kyle still here?” Sheeva asked, looking around for him, wondering if he worked here, too, though it was doubtful since he preferred to be outdoors. If she remembered right, he had been considering helping with the flocks, and she peered outside among the farmers to see if she could spot the blue-eyed, dark-haired man.

“No. He, uh, left,” Cassie answered curtly. By the embittered look on her face, Sheeva wondered if something had happened between the two and immediately felt an angry spur in her gut.

“Did he do some–Sheeva stopped at the sharp, warning look Cassie sent her behind her red frames, suggesting Cassie did not want to discuss the topic at the time. Fair, since she had a lot to talk about in secrecy, too. Sheeva pursed her lips and hoped it was not something she would have to pummel Kyle to a pulp for.

“Hm.” As much as she wanted to, she did not pry out of respect. It could wait.

“Later, then. Bathhouse?” She suggested. Cassie nodded in agreement and resumed stacking books on the current shelf.

“Alright. I’ll see you then. I’ll unlock the door.” Sheeva promised. A curl in her lips formed with mischievous giddiness at the prospect of sneaking around like they used to as children. Pleased when Cassie shared a similar smile, Sheeva turned and left.

She found Tazaro and peered over his shoulder at the book he was reading: Kosmos.

“Of course, you would have picked out a book like this.” She teased. Her statement got to him, and he smiled shyly and closed it, sitting up straight.

“Thought you’d be a while.” He pointed out, eager to deflect attention off of himself.

“Cassie and I have much to discuss, and the walls have ears.” She muttered.

He stood and went to return the book on the shelf but paused as Sheeva spoke up.

“You could take that with you. Just return it when you’re–

–Sorry, the rules changed a few years ago. Books have to stay in the library.” Cassie interrupted, taking the book from him and flashing a look at Sheeva. Sheeva covered her mouth with a hand to hide a smirk, forgetting about the time she spilled juice all over the pages of a book.

“I'll keep this handy for you. You can come back later and read it. Sheeva, I’ll see you later.” Cassie promised, taking it with her as she walked back to her desk. Sheeva nodded and led them toward the door, and as they stood in the hallway, she clicked her tongue as she felt his stifled smirk boring into her skull.

She turned to face him, not expecting the playful, teasing smile that made her stomach turn in nerves.

“Yes?”

“What did you do to that goat?”

“You do not miss a thing, do you?” Sheeva deadpanned.

Tazaro’s grin grew, and so did Sheeva’s furtive frown.

“In your defense, it was pretty obvious.”

Sheeva looked up at the Lady’s face, her knowing smile and judging eyes casting themselves menacingly. She was sure that if the statue could speak, she would speak out as a witness to the many reckless shenanigans Sheeva, Cassie, and Kyle had all pulled as children.

“I am the reason why his horn is broken; damn thing is a stubborn oaf,” Sheeva answered carefully, not quite ready to divulge those secrets. At least, not where Aglis could overhear.

“Oh. That’s all? I was hoping there was something else.”

“I will tell you the story some other time.” She promised, looking over at the opposite doorway.

“This is the hospital wing.” She veered, reaching for the handle and twisting it to open the door. They stepped inside, greeted by chilled air with a citrusy, sterile scent. Sheeva peered over the counter onto the other side, curious to know if the temple doctor was busy reading at his desk. He was not.

She craned her head into the large room where half a dozen beds lay in a row, wondering if he was caring for an ill or injured person...and here he was. He looked up and over his shoulder and gave a wide, welcoming grin. Instead of standing from his chair, he expertly scooted across the floor to stop in front of them. He crossed his arms, propped them up on the back of the chair, and then rested his chin on them.

“Well, whaddya know. Thought that it was you that came through the front gate. What did you do this time, kid? Break a bone? Wrestle a dangerous animal? Eat something you weren't supposed to?” He asked, a toothpick dangling and bouncing from the corner of thin lips as he spoke. Medium length, salt-and-pepper hair spanned his head and stopped at his shoulders, shielded by a white lab coat. The becoming beginnings of middle-aged smile-lines framed his cheeks, and a greying goatee softened his chin.

Large spectacles that rivaled Cassie's gleamed the light from the orb that zoomed to a halt next to him in the next second. As he dismissed it with a wave of his long, bony-fingered hand, sea-green eyes looked between the both of them.

"Who's this? He doesn't have an illness, does he? We're fresh out of Meshroot extract; some kids decided it'd be a good idea to go skinny dipping in a fetid pond and ended up with leeches everywhere." The man commented.

“Tazaro Chorea. A friend.” Sheeva put shortly, though, by the thoughtful, concerned look, Tazaro was no doubt recognizing the uncanny similarities between the man before them and Vincent. Before either of them could say anything, Sheeva spoke up again.

“Ivan, I was...gravely injured. I actually did suffer broken bones: my right arm and my left wing. I’d appreciate you taking a look at them. But, later. I’m still showing him around.” She insisted, tipping her head in Tazaro’s direction.

“Didn’t Vincent give you the all-clear?” Tazaro asked.

“Yes. But Vincent cannot do magic. There may be something he missed.” She explained.

“Well! I assume he knows of your proper heritage since you spoke so freely,” Ivan muttered, peering around Sheeva at Tazaro. “You said your wing broke? Did you leap off a roof wrong again?” He smiled at her.

Sheeva sighed, dropped her head, and shook it slowly, feeling the solemn frown on her face. She held out her right arm for him to examine. He grew serious and held the back of her wrist as he trailed a rigid sigil in the air. His eyes closed, and his palm glowed with a serene, warm, white light as he hovered his hand over her forearm.

The seasoned doctor’s eyebrows rose into his hairline, then fell into a furrowed frown. He tsked and stood, beckoning her to bare her wing. Shamelessly, she did, crossing her arms in wait, feeling the tingle in her shoulder as he peered into the bones of her wing, too.

“Who did this? Do not lie to me, either. These were not breaks from a crash or a fall. These were twist fractures.”

“We can talk about it later, I am still showing–

Sheeva felt cold fingers prod into a spot on the back of her neck and felt her knees buckle in the next second. As her muscles involuntarily stopped supporting her, Ivan caught her and sat her down in his chair, then jabbed a spot on her neck again. She could do nothing but glare at him in her momentarily paralyzed state, wishing she could direct thoughts as she screamed “skulka!” in her head.

“Sorry. Only did that ‘cuz I know how stubborn you can be. ‘Later’ can mean anywhere between three days or a week…or three,” He apologized, forming another scrawled sigil, red, and tapped her forehead again. As though he were unrolling a scroll, a string of letters flew into the air from her forehead, and he read them, expression growing even more concerned. Sheeva briefly wondered if she somehow succeeded in directing her thoughts, but the idea flittered away as she began to read the bright, glittering red letters. She had ended up in the medical wing enough that she could decipher a few.

“Iphsium, Sheeva? Really? I’m highly disappointed.”

It was not consensual. Sheeva thought and watched Ivan give a relieved sigh. Apparently, she could, or he had somehow altered his spell so that he could still commune with his patients.

“Your sartorius muscle in your thigh is damaged. I can mend that. Had you been trying to do that yourself?”

Did not have a choice. Vincent could only do so much.

“Well, this Vincent person did a damn good job, considering.” He commented before dismissing the onslaught of spells with a snap of his fingers. As soon as Sheeva could move again, she shakily stood and gathered as much distance from him as possible, unnerved at the new developments. She settled herself next to the large, potted plant by the door.

“You’re free to go. Come back when you’re settled. Tazaro, too. I need to make sure he’s not bringing anything that can endanger all of us here. The last thing we need is an outbreak of the flu,” he ordered. Sheeva nodded and turned toward the door, reaching for the handle.

“Oh, and before you go:” He stopped and offered them a smile. “I’m glad you’re okay. Welcome back.”

“Thank you, Ivan.” She smiled over her shoulder briefly before opening the door and stepping through. Tazaro quickly followed, throwing a quick wave at the man who'd already turned towards the stack of books on his desk.