On the journey back to the hovel, Nathariel took a detour away from the trail. It would be a few hours of walking, and supposedly, the detour wouldn’t last long.

Nathariel said they needed to get some more food from the nearest city, though Vayra suspected he had some sort of other motive. Perhaps he planned one last effort to make her want to stay.

Trick her, likely.

‘Has he ever tried to trick you before?’

Alright, maybe trick wasn’t…the best word.

‘We’re just getting supplies.’

They snaked away from the main river, following a smaller trickle that carried mostly fresh water. It gurgled through the woods, winding through a maze of tall, lanky trees. The ground grew slightly softer, and when Vayra looked down, she thought it might have been proper, normal dirt, like she’d have found on Tavelle. But it was still too dark.

The little stream flowed downhill, along a slope of rocky rapids. Along its edges, a few flowers grew, their petals a shade of bright yellow. Something like that could grow here? It didn’t seem…tough enough. She stepped gingerly around them.

After a few more minutes, the little river turned into a canal. Instead of a rocky path, a valley of charred bricks guided it in a straight line. A small boardwalk ran along the top of the path, which she and Nathariel followed.

They passed the outskirts of a city soon enough. “This is Mallerfall,” Nathariel said, pointing to a couple of the smallest structures. They were built much like the houses she’d seen a couple months ago, in Muspellar’s port villages, except their roofs were slightly steeper and their windows were a deeper shade of amber. Vayra didn’t see any large fires, only candles and lanterns.

“What do we need?” she asked.

“Some feed for the horses, some salt, and whatever jarred goods we can get,” he said. “I’m not picky.”

As they walked along the path, the civilians she could see all dipped inside their homes. A few had slightly less sooty clothing—or clothes that they took pride in cleaning more often (she even saw a few shades of vibrant green and yellow). But most of them walked listlessly, their heads down and their feet dragging.

“It’s a lumber hub,” Nathariel said. “Provides most of the wood for any little settlement on this side of the mountains. Elderworlds have been working them twice as hard since they took over, and there’s no sign of it stopping.”

So he was trying to prove a point. Vayra hung her head.

On every corner, bluecoats waited, muskets resting on their shoulders. Their heads turned as Nathariel walked past, and Vayra wished she had a way to hide. They might recognize—

“No one will know who you are,” Nathariel said. “Inland? It takes months for news to travel. They might never even hear about a bounty placed on you.”

“Then why are the people going inside?”

“That would be my doing…” Nathariel said. “Strangers aren’t common here, especially not ones who look like us.” He glanced at a pack of bluecoats, who eyed him curiously. “I tried to liberate this village a few times, a couple decades ago. There are tales among the bluecoats of powerful strangers who entered the city and obliterated the garrisons. Even if these ones weren’t around to remember it.”

“There are bluecoats here still,” she whispered.

“And they wouldn’t dare attack us without backup.”

“So…” Vayra clenched her fists and looked at the pair of Elderworld soldiers clinging to the nearest street corner. “So do something about them?”

“I tried,” Nathariel snapped. “Twice. Three times, four. I lost count. Every time, they returned weeks after I left, and punished the townsfolk. It was a slaughter. Now, everyone here has learned to hate the God-heir who wields fire and makes their existence even more miserable.”

“No one came after you?”

“They sent God-heirs. They sent plenty. I had to deal with young masters of all the major families. When I stopped showing my head, they stopped their inquisition.”

Vayra glanced around. Deeper in the city, the buildings were more tightly-packed, but they weren’t any taller. She could still see through their first story windows and shopfronts. Silhouettes clustered in front of the orange panes, backlit by candlelight. They stared out nervously, their gazes flitting between Nathariel and Vayra and the bluecoats.

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“It’s like this every time I visit,” he said. “Bluecoats can guess who I am, and so do the townsfolk. Maybe one day, I’ll go on an unhinged rampage and tear apart the bluecoats, and they’ll suffer for it. Maybe one day, I’ll push myself too far, and turn into a Ko-Ganall that eradicates the entire star system. Or maybe I’ll leave them alone, and things will stay the same way they’ve been for decades.”

“There has to be something you can do,” Vayra replied.

‘Were you listening to what he said?’ Phasoné commented. ‘You’re gonna make the bluecoats nervous, talking aloud like this. What if one of them tries to get lucky and take you out? They might not know you’re the Mediator, but they know you’re strong.’

“I tried all I could for them,” Nathariel lamented. “But there’s a rotten core to this galaxy, and unless you take it out, nothing here will change.”

“...Karmion?”

They turned down a street corner. Nathariel led her away from the canal, back towards the edge of the city. More people scurried inside ahead of Nathariel—some even abandoned a wagon full of black logs.

“Yes, Karmion,” Nathariel replied finally.

“Could you fight him?”

“Absolutely not. I might scratch his cheek, and that’s about it.” Nathariel tilted his head towards a storefront, then turned towards it. A sign hung above the door, and it was the only part of the structure where the soot had been wiped off of. The text, however, was in Elderworld script, and Vayra couldn’t read it.

“You are nature’s cure to the rot,” Nathariel said, pushing on the wooden door at the center of the storefront. “Whether you like it or not, that means you have responsibilities.”

As soon as the door swung all the way open, a bell jangled, alerting the owners that someone had entered.

Nathariel stepped into the store first, and Vayra followed close behind. She glanced around. There wasn’t anyone inside except for them. A single lantern hung from the roof, swaying in a draft and casting shimmering light around the inside of the building. When the light shifted to one side of the room, it illuminated shelves lined with glass jars and paper-wrapped boxes, and when it shone to the other side, it illuminated furs and small supply crates.

Behind the counter, she spotted unloaded muskets on a rack, as well as casks of gunpowder and paper cartridges.

Silently, Nathariel went about his business. He picked up armfuls of glass jars and passed them to Vayra. Inside were pickled vegetables—were those normal carrots?—and pickled eggs.

They brought the jars to the counter, then returned for a few of the paper-wrapped packages. Out of curiosity, Vayra peeled one open, revealing a tightly-packed brick of jerky strips. She couldn’t tell what type of meat it was.

As they picked up a couple of the paper packages, Vayra asked, “Why are you teaching me, then? If you think you can’t do anything to help, then why—”

“I never said that,” Nathariel said, keeping his voice low.

“Are you doing it for the good of the galaxy, though? Do you care if I can destroy Karmion?”

“Of course I do.” Despite his calm tone, he tightened his fist so tight the paper package began to crumple. “I wouldn’t have fought for as long as I have, trying to preserve justice and nature, if I didn’t care.”

“Why didn’t you seek me out sooner, then?”

“I didn’t know about you.”

“Bullshit.”

Nathariel crossed his arms, and put two of the paper packages back on the shelf for a moment. “Alright. I chose to train you when I saw that you were almost a blank slate, mostly free from other instructors’ tampering.”

“Why does that matter?”

“I could build your foundation as strong as possible.” Gently, he picked the boxes back up. “My old teacher told me to pass on his instruction to as many students as I could. He had secrets, techniques, and vast knowledge…which was mostly lost when he died.”

Vayra raised her eyebrows. “How powerful was your master?”

“He was in line to inherit the God of Fire’s Godhood and ascend.”

Nathariel carried the boxes back to the counter, then called for a clerk to assist him. A short and shrewd man emerged from a door further back in the building, his back bent. He walked on a cane, and when he arrived at the counter, he examined the goods Nathariel had set out. “Ten Quivres.”

Nathariel reached into his pocket and produced a leather pouch, then plucked out precisely ten gold coins—marked as Elderworld currency with a sigil, an eagle perched atop an anchor.

The clerk softly bid them farewell once he’d taken the coins and scampered back to safety, mumbling softly to himself.

“I hoped to pass on my instructor’s ways to a disciple,” Nathariel said. “I have made mistakes in my youth, took too many elixirs and sought quick boosts to my power—at the expense of spiritual health. I will advance no further, but a disciple may be able to carry on my instructor’s wisdom.”

“You think I can do that?” Vayra tilted her head.

“I think I can pass on some of my knowledge and forge you into the Mediator the galaxy needs. Truth be told, I believe Glade may be a true successor to my instructor’s Path. But both of you are important to me.”

He pulled his horn off his hip, then removed its cap. For the first time, Vayra got a good look inside it. On the inside, it had the space of a large barrel, with blank, brown walls and a few pouches stored on an invisible floor. He began to slip the jars and paper packages into it, fitting them into neat rows and stacking them.

“That should be it,” he said.

“What about the horse feed?”

“Do you see any?”

She shook her head, though she wouldn’t know exactly what to look for.

Nathariel nodded pointedly. “Supply lines over the mountains aren’t reliable. There are shortages of…anything here, any time. We were lucky they had this much.” He placed the last jar inside his horn, then sealed it with a cap. “We should get moving before anyone tries to get brave.”

Vayra took one last look around the dingy storehouse, then grimaced. “Alright. Yeah. Let’s go.”