Like all little villages, travellers were rare for Torrine. When its people received word that they were on the path of a roaming apothecary and her crew, the months that followed were all abuzz with excitement. The humble folk wondered what they could possibly give in return. They were told that the kind mages accepted something as simple as bread, but preparing such meagre offerings would wound their pride.

On a summer afternoon, a one-eyed boy said to his aunt, “You said they’re going to come, but they’re still not here...” It was about his hundredth time complaint.

“Oh, have a little patience!” Her number of eye wrinkles doubled.

“They’re a week late...”

“That was months ago. Who can estimate times down to the date? And, well, if they don’t arrive, then we can have the feast all to ourselves.”

As if on cue, someone shouted a while away, “They’re here! Look, up the road!”

Two horseless wagons peeked over the rolling horizon with a basilisk trudging beside. They had never seen such a creature before, but they heard enough tall tales and myths to identify it.

They welcomed them warmly, allowing the travellers to settle down and prepare their tents. There were some houses set aside for the occasion, but the mages and their assistants sheepishly refused to impose any further. At first, the villagers restrained themselves to hush words and gossip, but the dam broke loose after a single person probed about the basilisk.

The great mage healer was an elf, her strange appearance alone was enough to have many gawking and inquiring. It went on for a while, and the man who seemed to be most familiar with her hushed everyone away, telling them to come one at a time and form a line for treatment. The rest of the motley crew—though they seemed to share history—were more than happy to sate their curiosities.

For the one-eyed boy, admiring the basilisk from afar was enough. Even when it was his turn, he could barely take his eyes off of the thing, only looking away because he could not see through the tent walls. The elven woman gestured to the chair in front of her and asked, “How can I help you?”

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He set down and fidgeted. “Can you really get my eye back?”

“It’s tricky, but I sure can. I’ll need your help, though,” she replied, bringing a hand over to his face. “You’ll see only a blur at first, so you need to tell me if it gets better or worse, okay?”

“Okay!” he replied with a nod.

Something filled the half-empty socket, swirling and forming from liquid to solid. He shifted uncomfortably, but trusted her enough to sit still. Eventually, light returned.

“Raise your hand if it starts to get worse.”

Minutes passed as she tuned his new eye. It was a tedious, difficult process, but for the boy, there was only anticipation. Soon, it improved so much that it was better than his other, good one, and she had to fix it to match!

“Blink a few times,” she said, “Is everything okay?”

“Yup!” He jumped onto his feet and practically ran out. “Thank you so much!”

The elf sighed in relief as she wiped a bead of sweat off her forehead. A man slipped inside the tent, handing over a cup of cider.

“Good work,” he said, placing it on a nearby table for her. “I told everyone that you needed a short break.”

“You didn’t have to do that; I think I could go on for another hour.” She took it and had a sip. It was quite good, a glimpse of the festivities the villagers promised despite them saying it was unnecessary. “But thank you.”

“While everyone else was asking for any word of nomadic elves, I got a message from Orin.” He took out a metal cube with rounded edges and a mythril center. The other end connected to a matching piece at the archmage’s tower, allowing for communication through taps and holds. “Murkwell lost another mayor. What the heck is up with that?”

She thoughtfully hummed. “He did say it was a problem of the system, not the individual. I’m inclined to believe him.”

“Well, I don’t think any of us are equipped to tackle that. Hey, Sarabat can read now, right? Maybe we can make him do it,” he joked.

“Riiight. So, about the other thing...”

“Nothing direct so far, but we’ll find out sooner or later when we get to the Capital. Since we already have a foot in the door with the royal court, it should be easy.”

“Maybe it’s better not to get too presumptuous,” she replied, sighing with a tinge of hope. “Alright, I’m good to go.”

“Come on, the royal court’s full of geniuses. There’s got to be at least one historian that’s interested, right?”

“Okay, okay, that’s enough!” The elf waved him away, scoffing but smiling. “I’m sufficiently pepped up.”

Grinning back, he ducked out of the tent and shouted, “Alright, next!”