I search the town over, but I find it empty. A great number of imprints in the dusty ground show that they were fleeing toward the front gate, yawning open toward the safety of the woods. As I hurry along the path through it, I come across the pierced body of a dogman. Shortly after, I come across a ratman. Then another and another. Once I round the last corner to the front the sound of cracking thunder nearly deafens me.

Nyt stands atop the wall, watching over the gate; bow in hand. A dogman who had approached the gate falls backward, clutching at his stomach, he tries to stand but falls forward, and tries to crawl away.

PTOOM.

It jerks forward as if something powerful, and invisible, just struck it in the back. Blood flows from the fresh hole in its back, around the shaft of the invisible arrow, and trickles out onto the ground.

“That’s the last of them,” Nyt says as the Ir hops lithely down from the gatehouse.

“Are you certain?” I say as I toss the blade onto the ground.

“Yes. I’ve looked around while you were busy.” The Ir’s tail flicks. “What’s next?”

“Ah...” I shake my head.

The rage subsides, and all that was left was a cavernous grief. I raise the wand.

“I allow the breath of the Salamanders to f...flow through me.” My voice wavers.

A red bolt of flame arcs up into the sky in the direction of the floating island and dies out a couple dozen feet in the air.

“Are you okay?” Nyt asks.

“Yeah...” I let out a long, shuddering breath. “Just...just some sweat in my eye.”

“You’re not swe —”

“Just some sweat in my eye.” I repeat as I squeeze my temples, “It will pass. It will pass.”

I make my way wordlessly through the canals to meet the boats as they touch down from their descent from the skies and row into town. My father pushes through the crowd of people, while the General, noticing my disposition, avoids me for the time being; instead, taking the time to organize the people and send them to search the area for weapons and armor, and food while Nyt does the same with the Efrans that had come down with her. A couple of women still support Allie as she wobbles on her feet, and lead her into the building where the other rescued humans had begun to trickle out.

I pull my father to the side.

“Dad...I’m sorry.”

“What do you mean?”

“Mom, she —”

“Where is she, is she okay?”

“No.” I shake my head, “No, Dad. I’m sorry.”

His lower lip quivers and his voice lowers.

“Where is she?”

I point to the roofless chapel, and he starts off on a mad dash to the building, and I do not follow. What do I say in this situation but sorry? What do I do? I pace around the ground for a moment. What do I do? What do I do? A moment later a horrible wailing cry breaks out from the chapel and echoes through the night. An inhuman cry, and I feel a hand wringing around my heart. How do I face him? Nausea pulls at the back of my throat. What do I —

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

A hard slap on my back brings my attention back to reality. Minutes must have passed as if I was hypnotized by panic and grief. The night that had just been abuzz with sound and life, lies still.

“Soldier; I know it’s hard, but keep your chin up.” The General says in a low whisper. “You have to.”

“Why shoul—”

I glance around. The people and Efrans exchange nervous glances with one another as they watch my worried pacing. Ah, I see.

“We’re relying on you, Private Able. If you break down now, what hope do any of these people have?” His voice is hushed, but still, his words cut deep, “Be strong right now. There’ll be time enough for sorrow later: there's an old verse I think of in times like this. Don't remember it as I didn't pay much attention in Sunday School, but it goes something like; 'there's a time and place for everything,' and boy, now's the time for strength.”

He slaps me on the shoulder again.

"Thank you, General,” I say as I lift my head, and stop the subtle shaking I hadn’t even known I had been doing.

“Me and a couple of the other boys will get your Dad. Make sure he doesn’t do anything stupid.”

“I’m not going to do something stupid.” My father’s trembling voice came from behind. In his hand, he clutches the amulet that had been hung around her throat. The last memento he had of her. I have no clue what it is. As far as I know, my mother had sold all of her jewelry over the years, and there was a strange aura coming out of it. I'll ask Reynard about it after all of this is said and done.

“Make them suffer, Lawrence. Make those things that did that to your mother suffer.”

With that order, he walks into the building.

“He’s a strong man.” The General says, “What time is it?”

I pull out my phone.

“11:10,” I answer.

A moment later my father walks out donning scraps of leather as armor and holding a spear in his grasp to go with the shield he still had over his arm. As if all the tension that I had been inadvertently spreading into the air. I should get ready as well.

I find a quiet place and lift my wrist.

“Have I leveled up any?” I ask.

“Yes.”

“Can you show me my stats?”

Occupation Adept Elementalist

Level 38 (42/5500)

Strength 37

Stamina 20

Perceptiveness 10

Intelligence 37

Creativity 25

Endurance 20(-2)

Magic 85(+2)

Points 12

A lot of my stats have gone up over the last two days of being in here and fighting. It makes sense. I think I heard it spoken somewhere, “There are years where nothing happens, and weeks where decades happen,” I don’t know who said it, but it's something that resonates with me at the moment.

“But all twelve of my points into magic.”

“Are you sure?”

“Of course I am.”

If I were to encounter the apostle, I have to make sure that my primary method of attack was that much stronger. I feel my core burn as the 85 turns to 97. Almost 100. What would happen when it reaches that number? In games, wouldn’t I get a buff or something?

“Show me what skills I can buy.”

Since the last time I bought a skill, I had leveled five times. I should be able to buy one more.

The skill page opens up, and I look through it. Should I get something defensive? Offensive? No, I have more than enough offensive spells. What I don’t have, however, is something to effectively combat other magicians. I think back to the time that I had the duel with the ratman in the sewers; he was able to counter my spells as if they were nothing.

“Is there a spell that would allow me to counter other spells?”

“No. But if you can ascertain the nature of a spell, you can send some mana that counters it into the spell to disrupt it.”

“Wait, can I use that in combat?”

“To counterspells. I just said.”

“How about hurting others?”

“No. It’d do little more than tickle the average person. Perhaps it’d be a good distraction, but that’s it.”

I click my tongue.

“So how exactly do I do it?”

“You’ve done it before.”

“Have I? When?”

“With that wind barrier in the sky. The earth mana you used disrupted the mana of the barrier.”

“So I totally could use it in combat! That explosion was incredible.”

“No. It only did that because you were trying to use an earth spell within a stream of wind mana.”

“So it won’t have that effect normally?”

“No.”

I’ll try it out. There’s an extra wand in the chapel. I unlock the skill, “Medium Heal.” Only to see what a difference it makes compared to Lesser Heal.

I tap my forehead with my wand.

“I call upon Brigid, the Beautiful, to lend me her powers to cure these wounds.”

A warm light floods my body, and the dull ache in my left shoulder that had been pierced by the barbed arrow fades, and the wound completely closes. Good. It’s a lot better. I stand up and check my phone. 11:20. 40 more minutes until the others enter, and we leave for the door. I’ll focus on my tasks for now, as the General said, there’ll be time enough for grief after my work is done.