Garrick's return to Respite was a breath of fresh air, literally and metaphorically.

The embrace of the quiet, the serene whispers of the wind through the trees, the smell of trees and the slightly distant scent of mountain flowers—it was the peaceful antidote to the bustling energy of Maretown. He’d left after lunch, Ember in tow, with a quick stop back at the smithy to pick up the hinges and then the jeweler to see what could be done about an examination of the ring. Not much, it turned out—save for a very gentle cleaning. But, it would have to do.

There's other, more pressing events at hand, he thought. Like this 'Necromancer of the Bleak' business.

Garrick couldn't help but feel a stirring of his old, almost dormant instincts, the part of him that had faced down beasts, brigands, and sorcerers at times backed into a corner.

Which is when I work best, he mused. Or so I've been told.

The very idea that the Necromancer had taken an interest in Dashiell suggested…well, what did it suggest exactly? Consequences, most likely. And not just for Dashiell, but for him, too, considering he was about to be attached to a project the young man was also intimately a part of. What game was the Necromancer playing? And how did Dashiell, of all people, fit into it?

He was far too out of the loop at this point to make judgements on hunches, wasn’t he?

If time were a friendlier companion, Garrick would have already been plotting his course, setting out under the cover of darkness to track down leads, interrogate shadows, and unravel this web. And he was sure it would be a web of some variety.

One that’s a pain in the neck.

He’d been going over the nature of the letter Dashiell had received for the fifth time when he’d passed the final stretch and his wonderful little oasis materialized over the rise in the hill.

Ah, home sweet home…

Garrick allowed himself a moment, just at the edge of the forest where his property began, to close his eyes and soak in the calm. The sun was beginning its descent, casting long shadows that danced gently on the ground. Here, in this fleeting tranquility, Garrick found a semblance of solace.

The peace shattered with an abrupt clang from his windmill—a noise akin to a forge hammer battering an anvil in a less-than-harmonious assault.

Garrick's eyes snapped open, sighing in resignation. The sounds continued, unyielding, causing Garrick to consider that Respite was, perhaps, misnamed.

What’s all this, then?

He made his way to the windmill, the source of the discord. As he passed his garden, he noticed moisture on the skin of the tomatoes and frowned up at the sky.

Was that a bit of sneaky rain?

He hadn’t even known there’d be showers today, but here was the evidence.

Upon reaching the structure, Garrick could see faint light flickering from the upper windows, betraying the presence of his unusual guest.

Pushing the door open with an air of inevitable confrontation, Garrick ascended the stairs. At the summit, the sight that greeted him was bedlam. The upper level was awash with a peculiar light, casting eerie shadows over an assortment of metallic oddities, potion bottles, and deeply intricate runic symbols that adorned every surface available. And in the midst of this secular nightmare stood Levi/Tate, the specter of impressive stature, somehow wielding a wooden mallet and hammering away at a piece of metal with a focus that bordered on obsessiveness.

Garrick cleared his throat, drawing the attention of the spectral figure.

"Quite the operation you've got going here," he remarked.

Levi/Tate paused, turning towards Garrick with a gaze that could pierce the veil between worlds.

"Gare Ick," it acknowledged. "Your return is...noteworthy."

"I'd hate to interrupt your endeavors," Garrick continued, eyeing the disarray with a mixture of curiosity and concern. “But what are you doing?”

“I’m making a lab,” the creature said simply, and then turned and went back to pounding feverishly, its upper half whipping wildly with each frantic strike.

“Hey,” Garrick said, more firmly. Levi/Tate let out a groan and stopped hammering, turning to face the old man.

“Yes? I’m quite busy, you know. Not that you would care, but I’m building a—”

“A lab, yes you said,” Garrick interjected. “Now, I said you could stay here not set up literal shop on the premises. I don’t know that a workshop is the best use of your limited time.”

“But you’ve got one,” Levi/Tate said petulantly.

“Yes, but this is my property, as previously established,” Garrick said. “It doesn’t matter anyway, because I'll be leaving Respite earlier than planned. That means, Levi…Tate, you'll have to vacate as well."

The specter simply stared at him, its glowing eyes narrowing slightly at the declaration.

"Why?" it finally asked, the word hanging in the air like a mist.

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Garrick frowned, not used to having to explain the practicalities of hospitality to a being who had turned his windmill into a science experiment.

"I can't very well leave someone here while I'm gone, especially not in the midst of...this."

The creature seemed genuinely flabbergasted by the notion.

"There will be no one here. Just me. And I assure you, no one will approach Respite under severe penalty."

The assurance, delivered with such conviction, did little to ease Garrick's apprehension. He pondered the implications of leaving a ten-foot-tall specter to its own devices in his home, the promise of deterrence notwithstanding.

“Be that as it may…” Garrick looked down at the ground near the creature’s…well, not feet, but, lower section. There was dirt everywhere. Garden-soft soil.

“Were you in my garden?” Garrick asked, putting his hands on his hips.

“It’s…” the creature started, suddenly shrinking back behind the mallet as if it would act as a shield. “...not what you think.”

“Oh? And what do I think?” Garrick wondered.

“You’re thinking that I went into your garden without your permission.”

“Well, unless you somehow got my permission without my knowing, that seems to be exactly what happened.”

The spectral figure shook its head.

“Well, yes, that’s what you were thinking—but I only went in there because that useless bird informed me that the crops needed to be watered.”

Garrick shuffled over to what passed for a window in this upper chamber—a slit in the wall so narrow, one might suspect it was designed by someone with a deep-seated grudge against sunlight. He squeezed himself up against it, nearly flattening his nose in the process, for a peek at the garden below. To his surprise, it appeared not just alive, but thriving, as if it had been on the receiving end of some tender, spectral care. Or perhaps plants simply flourished out of fear when tended by large amorphous creatures of indeterminate origin.

"Watered the garden, did you?" Garrick turned back, a hint of amusement in his voice, despite his best efforts to remain stern.

The creature scoffed.

"Of course, I did. It was...trivial. Besides, I also pruned the bushes, harvested the ripe tomatoes, replaced the missing rocks along the walkway, and yes, swept the porch. It seemed the appropriate thing to do."

Garrick raised an eyebrow, his confusion softening into bemusement.

"And you did all this because...?"

The specter huffed, the glow of its eyes intensifying slightly.

"Well, given your age and the nature of your 'errands,' I assumed you had met your demise. It seemed only prudent to ensure the property was presentable for potential buyers in the future."

Garrick nearly burst into laughter at the absurdity of the statement. It was the first time he'd considered the prospect of Respite being 'market-ready,' especially posthumously.

"That's considerate, in a macabre sort of way."

The specter simply nodded, its actions now seeming less like those of an interloper and more like a peculiar caretaker. Garrick contemplated the situation; he had indeed prepared a few mystical safeguards for Respite in his absence, but the idea of leaving a ten-foot-tall spectral guardian in charge offered an unforeseen advantage.

…It also meant those safeguards could come along with him on his journey.

Would this be foolish? He wondered. I could come back to a smoking hole in the ground.

He paused in his thoughts, considering.

No, that wouldn’t happen—there’s too much residual astara to protect it. Also, it would be nice to have someone here to shoo off the occasional rock dragon.

Gods, he hated rock dragons.

Am I really considering this?

He’d only just met this creature, but there was something…much like the sense of dread he’d been feeling in his waking dreams, something that was pushing him toward this. Like a nod. He’d found in life it was better not to resist those things.

"Your...housekeeping skills aside," Garrick began, the corner of his mouth twitching upwards, "this arrangement could work to a benefit, I suppose.”

Levi/Tate seemed to straighten, taking the comment as a compliment of sorts.

"Indeed?” The creature seemed to realize the implication of Garrick’s words. “Oh! Indeed! I shall ensure that no one dares approach this…place that exists. The penalty for trespassing will be...severe."

Its eyes narrowed severely, and Garrick felt he should make some further caveats.

"Just so we're clear, I'm not condoning any shenanigans that might get the local authorities on my doorstep. Keep it restrained, will you?"

The specter's response was a silent, solemn nod.

Like something clicking into place, Garrick had a sense of satisfaction wash over him. Now he found himself oddly content with the idea of his home being under the watchful eye—or whatever Levi/Tate had in place of eyes—of a massive guardian.

“When is the ancient, ailing human departing?” The creature asked.

“Tomorrow morning. Early,” Garrick said.

“Then I should inform you I am leaving tonight and expect to be in the ruins until tomorrow mid-day,” Levi/Tate said.

Of course.

“Another breakthrough?” Garrick asked.

“Perhaps,” the creature retorted, narrowing its eyes again. “Wouldn’t you like to know?”

"Fine, then," Garrick said, turning to leave but pausing at the threshold. "Just...try not to turn the place into an impact crater while I’m gone, alright? I'd like a home to come back to, not a tourist attraction."

“You will get what you get,” the creature said, but Garrick didn’t hear ill-intent in its tone. Instead, it was…relief? It was hard to pin down.

With that, though, Garrick descended the stairs, leaving Levi/Tate to its devices. The sound of the mallet resumed almost instantly.

He spent the rest of the night working to gather everything he’d need for his trip. He crafted another potion, took a bath, ate dinner, and stocked his pack and his satchel. Finally, just before bed—fortunately, the hammering had finally stopped a brief while earlier—he set aside a box, a bushel of tomatoes and the last remaining bit of his paint of preservation.

Ember, sitting next to him on the bed, watched on eagerly.

“The final bit,” he said, lifting the brush and beginning to splatter and brush it along the length of the box. “I won’t show up empty handed.”

He worked later into the night than he intended to, and when he finally fell asleep, he did so with a wide grin stretched across his face. Tomorrow, he was going on an adventure. For the first time in a long time. And for once…he had a good feeling about it.

—

The distant caw of a creature sliced through the quiet of the night. Garrick, however, was asleep, and remained undisturbed.

Vigilant Ember fixed her gaze out the window, her body tense. The creature cawed again, but it wasn’t the noise the pesky dark-feathered bird made. This was something altogether different. She released a growl, a low rumble that would be chilling to any witness to such a performance. Stalking slowly forward, her eyes trained in the distance and her ears pricked up at the sound, she slipped off the bed. Her form a shadow, she leaped through the window and vanished into the darkness beyond.