Jorg relaxed, the crazed flash in his eyes fading. “See,” he said, fidgeting with his hands. “I do sound mad, don’t I?”

“It does sound…strange,” Darian replied. “You say you saw visions?”

“Several.” The Paladin’s eyes drifted away, narrowing as memories passed through his mind. “And I heard Argus’ voice. It reached out to me as I lay dying on the floor. He showed me the terrible future that awaited us.”

“And you’re sure these things were real?” When Darian found Jorg, he was bleeding from the eyes and his skin was burning hot. That kind of fever and that kind of stress could lead a man to see anything.

“I’ve asked myself that many times, but what I felt, what I saw…it was real.” Jorg wiped the wet from his eyes. “He told me to follow you. That through you, I could help him stop the coming death and destruction.”

“By killing the Gods?”

Jorg nodded sternly.

Darian pushed up from his chair, nervous energy filling him. While he’d seen plenty of odd things since coming to this world, he still doubted Jorg’s claims.

“I know how this seems,” Jorg said, rising from the couch. “But you don’t need to believe me. I will continue to follow you until Argus has ordered me to stop.”

“You said a moment ago he showed you where I would start? What did you mean by that?”

Jorg glanced at the door, then looked around. “I only heard his voice for a brief while, but he said the second God you met would be the first to fall.”

“The second?” Darian had enough after meeting one.

“Yes. But even our host, this God of Seasons, must die if the world is to be saved. It is Argus’ will.”

Darian stood motionless for a moment, wondering what to say or do. Jorg had always had issues with his faith, but his fanaticism was dulled after their battle with Victoria. Yet now it seemed to be returning in full force.

“The God of Seasons has allowed us to stay here,” Darian eventually said. “We are guests in his home. It would do you well to remember that.”

Jorg huffed. “He is one of the two fey Gods and cannot be trusted.” He stepped forward, his eyes narrowing. “What does he want from you? Whatever it is, it will bring only ruin.”

“I don’t know him well enough to fully trust his intentions, but I can sense he doesn’t wish to cause us harm.”

“He might not wish to cause you harm, but what about the rest of us?”

Darian wasn’t sure what to say to that. “For now,” he continued. “You should keep your talk of Argus between the two of us.”

“Worried I’ll spoil things for you?” Jorg smiled, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I understand.” He walked over and plopped back on the couch, his shoulders sagging in defeat.

“Can I trust you won’t try anything?” Darian asked, staring down at the paladin.

Jorg chuckled, the sound dry and desperate. “What could I do alone? No, you’ll get no trouble from me. But I would ask to stay beside you for what is to come. With time, you may see Argus’ wisdom.”

“Is that really the only reason you’re still here? Just because you think Argus told you to follow me?”

Jorg’s face grew tight, his mouth a thin frown. “When soldiers are shoved down in the mud, when their hopes are drowned and the enemy is closing in, do you know what they do?”

Darian shook his head.

“They fall back on their training, and I was trained to follow orders.” He nodded as if he’d just remembered something important. “One of the fey told me you were having a meeting with their God. Now I don’t know what the two of you talked about or what you’re planning, and I don’t wish to get in your way. But whatever you’ve got going on Darian, just be sure you don’t forget about us regular folk along the way.”

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“I don’t plan on it.” Darian backed away to the exit. “And I’m fine if you stick around. But your faith, it can’t cause problems here.” He thought about all the happy people he saw in the sanctuary, their smiles carefree and warm. “Do you understand?”

Jorg slowly nodded. “Aye, I understand.”

Darian waited there for a moment, but then he made his way down the tunnel. I’ll have to have another chat with him later. If Jorg and his talk of Argus worsened, Darian would have to ask him to leave. But now that he’s a vampire, I feel an odd…connection to him. Like a grumpy uncle that I never knew. Shaking his head clear, Darian emerged into the street.

Lucia was still waiting outside, and she bowed as he approached. “I did not expect you to return so soon.” She studied his face, her brow upturned. “I hope your visit went well.”

“Oh it was wonderful,” Darian said, his nerves still a little on edge. “Lucia?”

“Yes?”

“Argus, the Sun God. He’s dead, right?”

The satyr looked a bit confused at the sudden question, but then she regained her composure. “He died some years back in Lonelen’s first war with the demons,” she explained. “As the story goes, he faced Atarax the Demon God in single combat and was slain.”

“But that’s just the story? You don’t know for sure?”

Lucia cocked her head to the side. “My master was watching the battle. If you want an accurate account, he would be the best person to ask.”

“Thank you, Lucia. I’ll be sure to talk to him about it when I get the chance.” He felt his limbs begin to weaken, sleep creeping up on his mind. But I don’t want to go back in there. Not yet.

“Well,” Darian said, cupping his hands together. “It seems I’m not needed anywhere right now. Why don’t you show me around the sanctuary? If you don’t mind, of course.”

“I do not mind,” Lucia said with a smile, her hooves clopping against the stone road.

Darian fell in beside her, noting the streets were clearing out.

“There is no night in the sanctuary,” Lucia explained, sensing Darian’s confusion. “But summer fey still sleep during the night, and winter fey during the day. Most of the fey you have seen are winter fey and their time of slumber approaches.”

Darian looked the half goat woman up and down. “And what about your kind?”

“Think of us more like humans in that regard. We are more likely to follow the whims of our routines, but most sleep during the night.”

So many different kinds of fey. He watched a man and woman, both looking like they were made of wood, scramble into a home together, both of them laughing. I wonder what Fria is doing right now?

***

Fria stroked the cow on the back of the neck. Poor thing had been pulling double time since Darian and the others left. Nathaniel and Beatrice were drinking the same amount of blood they did at first, but Fria’s mother needed more and more.

“At least I finally paid for you,” Fria said, rising from her stool.

The farmer she stole the cow from, Mr. Kyser, had been pretty angry at her once he discovered what she’d done with his cow. But some smooth words from Fria’s mother and some coins had set him right.

Shivering, Fria made her way out of the barn. The night sky was a patchwork of grey clouds, but Fria could tell morning wasn’t far off. A side effect of living with vampires, I guess. Besides one incident with Beatrice, the vampires in the village had managed to stave off their thirst. But besides Fria’s mother, the others were only permitted inside the village under Fria’s direct supervision. Good thing too, or Beatrice might have taken a bite out of her son.

Zan was slumped against the back of the barn, his fur slowly rising and falling. He had a few bald patches here and there, silvery scars showing through. These were mementos of their time in the forest with Darian. I wonder what he’s up to?

The wolf lifted his head, his amber eyes blinking away the sleep.

“You might be covered in warm fur, but I sadly am not.” She beckoned the wolf to follow her. “Let’s get back to the house before Mother falls asleep.”

Zan rose slowly, then shot to his feet, his hackles raised. He lowered his body and growled, his eyes narrowed at something behind Fria.

She sprang forward and pulled her father’s enchanted bow from her inventory. Rolling across the ground, she came up and retrieved an arrow.

“Please,” a woman’s voice said from the darkness. “I do not mean you harm.”

Fria stuck three arrows into the frosted dirt, then dismissed her inventory. “Who are you?” she asked, readying a fire enhanced shot.

Zan inched forward, his lips peeled back. But then he sniffed the air, and his body slowly relaxed.

The woman stepped forward, her body wrapped in thick furs. A hood obscured her face, but her golden hair peaked through, the strands radiating light.

“I’ll ask again.” Fria pulled back her arm, her arrow ready to take flight. “Who are you?”

“A question for a question,” the woman said. “You are Fria Rostcliff, correct?”

Fria did not answer.

“I see.” The woman sighed. “Perhaps this will draw an answer from you.” The woman reached out and an oily black sphere formed. And from within her inventory, she pulled out a glowing, holy blade, the thick hilt carved with the initials R.R.

It was her brother’s sword.