Ayko scratched his head while Chestplate and Arzen awaited his next move, their visible frustration growing with each passing second. Sweat dripped down his brow as he surveyed the towering structure of blocks between himself and his new friends, his fingers twitching while sliding a wooden square out from beneath the others. It wobbled from side to side, causing him to clench his teeth, relief washing over him when the tower’s teetering ceased.

Thank the gods, Ayko thought, sighing with relief.

Chestplate’s board game hadn’t made him flip the table yet, but it was still just that, a board game— one of Hazelmere’s hobbies, not his. He was starting to regret entering Faehome first.

The young man darted his eyes to the cabin looming above where they sat. “She’s taking her sweet time, isn’t she?”

Chestplate clicked his tongue. “Eyes front, my little novice. Focus on your own ordeal for now.”

Ayko frowned, turning his attention back to the game at hand. To call it an “ordeal” was summing up his experience lightly; Chestplate and Arzen eyed his crystallized fruit hungrily, the tower unmoving as they slid their blocks from underneath.

A smirk split Chestplate’s face. “Your go again. Persevere and keep your fruit.”

Ayko huffed, resisting the urge to slam his fists on the table. He ripped his gaze away from Chestplate and plastered it onto Arzen next. The crimson giant rested a hand on his cheek, indicating that he wore Chestplate’s same shit-eating grin beneath his helmet.

“Pricks!” the young man hissed. He outstretched his hand and ripped a block from the center, the tower tumbling over and exploding.

Veins bulged from Ayko’s clenched fists while Chestplate exploded with laughter, the two watching the wooden blocks scatter onto the snow.

“Horsepiss!” Ayko barked.

Arzen shoveled half of Ayko’s candied fruit into his helmet’s flap while Chestplate scooped the rest into his arms. “Adventurers don’t have to gamble, I suppose. My advice to you is don’t.”

“Tch!” Ayko jumped from his chair. “Beginner’s luck.”

Chestplate sneered at him. “You’re the beginner, you sod.”

Ayko slammed a fist onto the table. “Another round, then! Best out of three!”

Chestplate placed a hand on his face. “You’re a real sucker for pain, aren’t you? But if you want to lose everything so bad, then I’ll be glad to—”

Ayko and Chestplate turned their heads at the sound of Faehome’s door creaking open, with Hazelmere stepping out and flashing the former of the two a smile. She was sweat-free, and her breath lacked the same frost as Ayko’s.

Chestplate clapped Ayko on the back. “Two silver orbs.”

Ayko ignored him, instead returning Hazelmere’s narrow smile. “Was she bitchy or what?”

“What was your desire? She’s had a fill of your thoughts, and I’ve had a feel for your mental fortitude. Faehome exists to discourage anyone who enters, to sway them from their desired path. Seeing as you’re still standing here, you can share with the class,” Chestplate said.

“My desire?” Hazelmere twiddled her thumbs. “I…told her I wanted…” She blushed when her moss green eyes met Ayko’s, quickly diverting her gaze to Chestplate instead.

The auburn-haired adventurer stifled a laugh. “Keep your secrets, my dear!” He turned to Ayko next. “You don’t get that luxury, though. So tell me, why do you insist on waving that blade around, and why do you want to kill a Wolfcat? A king, nonetheless? To avenge your dead ma, maybe feed your dozen starving brothers and sisters? Perhaps to sell its pelt to some charlatan passing through your humble little village?”

Ayko met his gaze. “Because my future’s gonna go to shit if I don’t.”

“King Wolfcats’ll always be around, you know. It doesn’t sound like your future’s going anywhere.”

“You’re wrong,” Ayko said. “The old man only gave me three days. I can’t fail, or my future leaves with him.”

Chestplate drew his brow together and looked over Arzen, who still sat at the table, arms folded. “Old man, you say?”

Ayko grinned when Chestplate turned back to him, dismissing the glint in his eyes as the sun’s pale light. “Yep! An adventurer like you! There's not much resemblance, though, unless you aged a century or two. He’s gonna make me his successor.”

Chestplate didn’t speak, scanning him with an expression Ayko couldn’t read. A slight chill crept down the young man’s spine.

“Haze too,” Ayko added, darting his eyes to her.

“If you kill a Wolfcat…” Chestplate said absently.

Ayko and Hazelmere eyed each other. Even his friend couldn’t seem to tell if that was a question or not.

The young man jumped when the knight seized his shoulders, his face stern.

“Describe him for me,” Chestplate said, his furrowed brow showing it was more of a demand than a request.

“...He’s an ugly bastard,” Ayko said. “Scarred to hell and tall as a lamppost. As thin as one, too.”

“And his name?”

“Yarrow. You wouldn’t know him…” Ayko ran a hand through his hair. “He hasn’t left our village since before you were born.”

“I see.” The knight released Ayko’s shoulders and sighed. “On the gods, we’ll rock his world. You have an adventurer’s word.”

********

Uncertainty washed over Yarrow, making his lips tremble. He didn’t think that coal-haired wench would be so easy to convince, but here she was, leaving the tavern with Elies and himself. The old adventurer didn’t know for what reason, but it was per her request, or more so, demand.

She’d seemingly ignored his request at first, simply staring back at him with her terrible eyes just to seize his wrist as he raised his drink to his lips.

“I don’t revel here,” Ilta had said before strutting out the door. Elies simply shrugged at him and followed her lead.

Yarrow stared after Ilta as he lagged behind her and Elies, slush crunching beneath his boots and the assorted rows of box-shaped cabins they called homes looming over him. Despite the cold nip in the evening air, sweat dripped down his apprentice’s flushed cheeks as he spoke to her, but she didn’t appear to be listening. Instead, she stared straight ahead while giving an occasional huff or flip of her hair.

“Hmm.” Yarrow frowned slightly. Of all the pretty faces Maywood had to offer, the boy picked the one least deserving of his love.

Your lust blinds you, Elies, the old adventurer thought. But your sad infatuation might be of use to us both.

The occasional villager stopped and stared with each box-shaped cabin they strutted past, their eyes as cold as the frost blanketing their roofs. Their snowed looks weren’t for him, but instead, they followed Ilta, who returned their glares with one of her own.

“Dross!” some spat.

This content has been misappropriated from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

“Filthy whore!” shouted others.

Yarrow drew his brows together. Hypocrites, he thought.

Their jeers would turn to whistles and sweet nothings, and their glares into leers as soon as night fell.

The villagers’ layered curses grew in number, as did their stares, until the last home vanished behind them. The lanterns’ warmth evaporated, and the tufts of grass sticking from the snow danced in the icy wind. The shrubs and Solberry bushes dotting the near bare field raced past as Yarrow sped up, taking his place at Ilta’s left.

The wench glanced at him from the corner of her eye. “Come to glare at me up close?” she asked.

Elies rested an arm on her shoulder, her eyes darkening in turn. “Don’t be that way. Yarrow’s a nice guy when he wants to be.” He looked at Yarrow and frowned. “Isn’t that right?”

Ilta shrugged Elies’ arm away and walked faster. “I highly doubt that.”

Yarrow placed his staff on Elies’ shoulder when he tried to match her pace. “What in the Inferno do you see in that girl?”

Elies blinked at him. “Look at her.”

“That’s not what I meant. That woman is no ordinary wench.”

“That’s exactly why I’m drawn to her!” Elies squealed, his eyes glittering. “Among many other reasons…”

Yarrow sighed. “Just be mindful. Pretty things often hide something ugly underneath.”

“Oi, give her more credit than that,” Elies said, gently nudging his ribs.

Elies remained at his side as they followed behind Ilta, the powdered ground protruding with clusters of trees. Bunches of Peppergrapes dangled from their leafless branches, swaying in the strengthening wind.

Upon swatting away the low-hanging tendrils and thorns at the trees’ roots, Yarrow’s ears twitched at the muffled sound of trickling water nearby. With a gasp, he allowed the branches to scrape his skin, ignoring the slight hints of pain as the sound grew closer. The water’s trickling turned to a roar, and the snow into droplets that spattered his face.

Cleaving his staff through the brush, Yarrow murmured at the sight of the river before him, the churning of its water rendering it white.

Ilta stood at its bank, smoke coiling from the cigarette she held loosely in her manicured hand. She whirled around, meeting Yarrow’s gaze. “I revel here,” she said flatly.

“We,” Elies interjected, again taking his place at Yarrow’s side.

Yarrow cocked an eyebrow at him. “Revel how?”

He squeezed his staff when Ilta smirked and reached into her robe, pulling out a particularly outlandish weapon— a Hand Cannon is what most called it, a gleaming cylinder etched with a single hole. At its base was a lever that resembled a sword’s hilt.

The old adventurer’s brow twitched. That weapon wasn’t of the Frostlands. “What kind of wench carries that around?” Yarrow asked.

Ilta ignored him and fired at Elies, the old man holding his staff before his apprentice’s face. He cocked an eyebrow when an object fell to the ground, one that lacked smoke or char.

Yarn? Yarrow thought, taking the ball of purple strings into his hand.

“You thought I’d waste sparks on my favorite toy?” Ilta scoffed. She eyed Elies. “Your old man’s dumber than I thought.”

Elies flashed Yarrow a sheepish grin. “This is how she revels.”

“By tormenting you?” Yarrow sputtered.

Elies cocked his head at him. “Not much different than your training.”

Yarrow huffed. “No, I suppose not,” he said, his voice even. “This revelry of hers has actually sated my hopes. This girl will be good for you, after all.” He smirked. “Ready yourself, Elies!”

Elies flinched away from him. “...why?”

“Stupid question. Ilta, fire away.”

The wench smirked and pressed her hand cannon’s lever. Another ball of yarn shot from the glowing cylinder and below Elies’ waist.

The young redhead squeaked and clutched his family jewels before falling to his knees. “Bastard! I need those!” he growled through clenched teeth.

“I told you to ready yourself.” Yarrow held out his staff, allowing him to rise to his feet. “We don’t leave this riverbank until you deflect one of those.”

Elies let out an exasperated gasp. “That’ll take hours! A whole day even!”

“If that’s what you believe, it will be,” Yarrow said. He perched himself on the riverbank and shut his eye. “Your training starts now.”

*******

The sound of petering flames filled Yarrow’s thoughts as the evening went on, the sky turning into amber as the sun sank beneath the trees. Sweat drenched Elies’ tunic, soot powdered his hair, and rainbow assortment of yarn littered the snow.

Elies winced, frost puffing from his mouth with each heavy breath. Re…pellum… he huffed.

Yarrow’s lips twitched with a frown. The boy’s flames had turned to mere sparks—candlelight that did nothing more than light up the forest, just like the campfire he had conjured up.

Ilta squeezed her weapon’s lever, her eyes darkening when nothing but smoke rings burst from it.

Yarrow sighed and rose to his feet. “I think that’s enough for now.”

Elies flashed him a weak grin while Ilta glowered, the two joining him in sitting around the crackling flames.

“You need to push yourself, Elies,” Yarrow said. “Harder than you ever have before.”

“You’re telling me I didn’t?” Elies replied, his face contorting slightly.

Yarrow shook his head. “Not enough. Normally, it’d take you a week to grasp your first learned spell, but we cannot afford such time.”

Elies heaved a defeated sigh and lowered his head. “I see. I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry. Be better,” Yarrow replied. “But, disregarding that, here’s something to reward your efforts.” He pulled two skewers from the fire, the sticks impaling a single fish, their silver scales glittering with salt.

Elies nodded while Ilta snatched it from his outstretched hand, the pair nibbling without a word until Yarrow spoke again.

“So,” Yarrow darted his eye between the two. “Surely there’s history between you two?”

Elies gulped a chunk of flesh down. “If you’re asking how we met, it’s—”

Ilta dug her elbow into Elies’ ribs, making him wince.

“It’s…not worth telling.”

“Hmm.” Yarrow narrowed his eye at Ilta before shutting it. “Very well.”

Several minutes passed before Elies’ eyelids grew heavy, and his snoring joined the chirping of crickets. Ilta immediately followed, snow exploding beneath her as she fell onto her side.

Yarrow leaned forward and raised an eyebrow. Ilta retained her scowl even when asleep, but she wrapped her arms around Elies’ almost protectively.

The old adventurer pressed his lips together. “You are her possession, my boy. I don’t envy you.”

“Is that what you think?”

Yarrow turned his head upon hearing the new voice, drawing his brow together as a silver-haired woman strutted along the riverbank. She was shorter than Elies and Ilta and wore a black, sleeveless top and leggings. The pupils in her jade-green eyes were also slit like a Wolfcat’s.

“That girl is afraid,” the silver-haired woman began. “Of any and everything…” She eyed Elies and smiled warmly. “Almost everything. The brooding personality’s an act. Or at least that’s what I think.”

“You…” Yarrow eyed the tear-shaped ocarina hanging from her neck. It swayed from side to side with each step.

She beamed and waved at him, both gestures Yarrow didn’t return.

“Why are you here?”

The songstress puffed her cheeks and placed her hands on her hips. “Is that how you greet an old friend? Jerk! You could at least say hi or ask how I’ve been!”

Yarrow rolled his eye. “Hi Reina, how are things?” He looked her up and down. “You are still calling yourself that, yes?”

“Hmph.” The songstress folded her arms and turned up her nose at him. “I don’t want to tell you anymore.”

“Don’t want to tell me how you’re doing, or don’t want to tell me your new name?”

“Yes.”

Yarrow’s eye followed her as she made her way to the fire and lay on her back, placing her hands behind her head and crossing her legs. “I thought you were Amarant’s now.”

A giggle escaped her. “I adore you both, remember? Besides, I can see whoever I want!”

She sat up when Elies bellowed again, eyeing Elies, who was still snoozing away. Her pupils swelled, and she smiled. “So that one was yours, after all! Such a cute little thing. You should give him to me~”

“I cannot part with him,” Yarrow said. “Besides, you getting your hands on him would be a fate worse than death.”

“Aww!” Reina stuck out her bottom lip. “But I’ll make it worth your while!”

Yarrow’s brow twitched. “Enough. Why have you come to me unannounced?”

Reina clicked her tongue. “Ugh! Fine!” She rolled her eyes and returned to lying on her back. “I almost forgot how rigid you are. I’m here to warn you.”

A chill crept down Yarrow’s spine, and he squeezed his staff. Even in his old age, only one man was a cause for concern.

“Amarant has found you.”