Vah’mor stood on the edges of the ocean with the water lapping at their boots as they stared out at a slowly growing dot on the horizon. They used a spell to better their sight even more, but that did not make the small ship come to them faster.

A year. A year and a few months.

Even with all of the kinesiologists trying to use D’Argen’s spells to speed themselves up, it took more than a year for the ship to go out again and then come back.

Vah’mor dropped the spell for his eyes when he felt another come to their side. They did not have to look to know it was Acela. Her golden slippers and the edges of her white robes were instantly soaked by the lapping waves.

“That took too long,” Acela finally said in the silence.

Vah’mor only nodded, otherwise, they would have screamed in anger and restarted the same fight the two had over a year ago when Vah’mor felt the ocean waves wash over his mahee and the pain try to drown them all. Acela had ordered Vah’mor to remain.

“You will see him soon,” Acela tried to comfort.

Vah’mor said nothing and crossed their arms over their chest.

Over a year since they felt D’Argen die. It took another few weeks before they received the message that D’Argen was not, in fact, dead. The relief Vah’mor felt at that news only confused them even more when the rest of the message registered.

D’Argen was not dead. He had used up all of his mahee and done the impossible, but he was alive. Lilian, however, was not among the returning. Lilian would never be among the returning again.

The ship was close enough now for Vah’mor to see the painted sails.

Acela remained beside them until the ship steered toward the large dock that had been built since the ship first left for the north not that long ago.

Vah’mor remained at the edges even as people started coming off the ship. They refused to look at who was walking and who was being carried. When another figure joined him on the shore, they finally stopped looking at the horizon.

Thar looked exhausted. There were dark circles under his white eyes, bruises that looked so out of place, and his face was gaunt to the point of it being unhealthy. He said nothing but when he raised his chin high to the sky, he opened his mahee not to use the ice powers but to let Vah’mor in and destroy him, if Vah’mor so wished it.

The thought was immediately wiped from their mind but Vah’mor reached out and brushed their fingers against Thar’s bare throat. The man did not even flinch.

“What happened?” Vah’mor asked.

Thar told them. He spoke of the pillar, the field of red snow, the mountain, the crevasse, the climb inside the ice mountain’s paths, and then… then he told them they escaped the mountain coming down on their heads.

It was not everything.

Vah’mor reached up again and Thar once more raised his chin. Vah’mor hesitated only for a moment before brushing their fingers against his bare throat once more and then dropping their hand. They would not invade Thar’s mahee to search for the truth. No. Thar was holding something back, they both knew it and as much as Vah’mor needed to know what happened to D’Argen, they would never break this oath.

Instead, Vah’mor turned away and left Thar alone at the shore so he could finally go and see the runner.

The others had put him in one of the smaller houses where a fire was already roaring in the pit in the middle. It was too warm inside, but when Vah’mor touched D’Argen’s limp hand, all they felt was ice cold.

“How is he?” they asked, without paying attention to who was around him.

“He will be fine,” Darania’s voice drew Vah’mor out of their stare to look at the small woman. She had gone to the north to take care of D’Argen along with Simeal. The two were the strongest healers of all the Never Born.

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“How long?” Vah’mor asked again. Neither of the two women was able to wake D’Argen.

“I do not know,” Darania whispered the words out as if she regretted saying them. “I saw… I saw what he did.”

“And…?”

“It is impossible.”

“Explain.”

When Darania told them that D’Argen brought down the mountain, she sounded unsure. Vah’mor did not believe it either. When she told them what the others had told her—how D’Argen brought the mountain down without even a single word—Vah’mor thought they were exaggerating. When she told them how the snow had settled and frozen in place, Vah’mor wanted to find Thar and dig into his mahee until they learned the truth.

“Will you be coming to Evadia?” Vah’mor asked instead.

Darania shook her head and used her mahee to run over D’Argen’s entire body. “I want to take him to the Rube Islands with me,” she said instead.

“After Lilian’s funeral.”

“You are holding it?” Darania sounded surprised.

Vah’mor nodded and finally took note of the others in the room. Acela was sitting on a chair by the door, Zetha was behind her with a hand on her shoulder, and Upates was sitting on the edge of the firepit, his feet too close to the fire.

“Where are the others?” Vah’mor asked instead. The First Five were here, but that was all.

“Simeal is taking care of them.” Darania waved the question away as insignificant.

“How is it possible?” Acela finally spoke up for the first time since Vah’mor entered the small house. “How is it possible for one of yours to use naturalist spells?” She aimed her question at Vah’mor though her eyes remained glued on where D’Argen lay unconscious.

Vah’mor reached out, hesitated, and only touched D’Argen’s hand again once Darania nodded. Her mahee no longer covered the runner’s body and though he was breathing, it was so shallow. Vah’mor barely felt a pulse under their fingers where they wrapped around D’Argen’s wrist.

“I have always told you he was special,” Vah’mor said in answer. Vah’mor had once asked D’Argen, “Do you know what happens to a drop of blood when it falls in the ocean?”

D’Argen had laughed and answered, “It disappears.”

Vah’mor had not corrected him.

Upates scoffed and Vah’mor turned a glare to the Master.

“Being able to run really fast does not make him special,” Upates spat out.

“We have all known he was special,” Zetha added in, trying to calm Vah’mor’s anger. “There are so few of us that our scent is not our mahee. We do not understand why, and that makes each of them special. Yet… yet Haur was there and it was D’Argen who did this.”

“We do not know what, exactly, he did,” Upates interjected and brought his feet in when an ember from the fire flew at him. “Yaling and Abbot? They follow him around and will say anything to make him sound good to our ears.”

“And Haur?” Zetha interjected. “What has Haur said about this?”

“You want to read him?” Acela was the one to question though they were all thinking it.

“I want to read D’Argen,” Zetha corrected and motioned to the unconscious man with his chim. “I will not, I will never do it without consent, but I fear that only he may know the truth.”

“And Thar,” Vah’mor interjected and felt the anger inside them simmering. Thar knew what happened.

Upates scoffed once more and when Vah’mor turned to glare at him, the Master held both hands up in defence and said, “We all know you hate the man. Just because you do, does not mean—”

“D’Argen used Thar’s mahee,” Darania was the one to interrupt Upates. “I think.”

“You think or you know?” Acela questioned with narrowed eyes.

Vah’mor felt the beat under their fingers hit strong only once before it became so calm that it was almost gone. They ignored whatever conversation happened over their head and instead focused on D’Argen. It was such a weak beat. Vah’mor reached for their mahee and let the blood rush through them faster and try to stimulate D’Argen’s to copy it. It did until Vah’mor released the spell. When they tried again, it responded once more but it did not fill.

“He needs sound,” Vah’mor said, unaware of the conversation he interrupted.

“That is why I want to take him to the Rube Islands,” Darania answered.

“Vah’mor is right. After Lilian’s funeral,” Acela added in.

“Lilian’s mahee is gone. How are we to hold a funeral for them?” Upates grumbled.

The others remained silent.

Vah’mor had felt the ocean waves squeezing into their core to try and drown him. They also felt the summer breeze that stole the air from their lungs.

“They deserve it,” Vah’mor said. Lilian was D’Argen’s closest friend. On a few occasions, Vah’mor had let the jealousy of that fact run through their blood, but they also knew that Lilian was more like D’Argen than Vah’mor could ever be.

It was silent in the tiny house except for the crackling of the fire. Vah’mor was already sweating under their robes.

“A year?” the first asked.

“A year,” the second answered.

“It has been so long since we had to do this,” the third said with a sigh.

“I hoped we would never have to again,” the fourth replied quietly.

“Let us hope this is the last,” the fifth said.

All five agreed.

It took a month to reach Evadia.

All of the Never Born were there. The conference they held every ten years was one thing but a funeral was something else completely. Even Haur, who had wanted to remain in the north with the mortals that were there creating their settlement, had come. Even Upates, who rarely left his mountains, was there.

Even D’Argen, unconscious and unresponsive, was there.

When Abbot started building Lilian’s statue, his hands trembled so much that he made too many mistakes. Yaling was barely able to support him so the others helped more than they had in thousands of years. When they all called for Lilian—mahee calls to mahee—there was no answer. When Darania took D’Argen away to help him heal and keep an eye on him, Vah’mor destroyed most of their rooms in a fit of rage.

Thar had followed.