Emrys walked the streets of Westover with the knowledge that it would likely be his last time. He’d taken his time returning from Sonora. Lilith was safe and sound back with her parents, who had been all too willing to offer him a room for as long as he liked.

He didn’t know when to expect Zereh’s return, so he took them up on their offer. Sonora was closer to where he’d last seen her than Westover would be, so it made sense to stay in town.

But one day had turned to three, with still no sign of the stoic warrior.

He was still linked to her through the party connection, so he reassured himself that she hadn’t abandoned him. Besides, she surely had business to attend to in her own world, after the paladin’s tumultuous exit. Not only that, but he was aware that time passed more quickly in his world, so if she was busy for only one day in her own world, that could count for as many as four days in his.

These reassurances cycled through his mind, but still he felt uneasy. He checked that party connection every five minutes, just as a reminder that she hadn’t abandoned him.

On the fourth day, he bid Lilith and her family goodbye. They extracted a promise from him to visit again, a promise he wasn’t sure he intended to keep. As grateful as they were that he had returned their daughter to them, he could also sense that his presence was a reminder that she had been taken in the first place.

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So he returned to Westover. His home.

Everything looked the same: the shops, the people, the guards stationed on the walls. But it felt different in a way he couldn’t articulate. Like when he’d left there had been an Emrys-sized hole, but it had healed over while he was gone.

He didn’t fit anymore.

His pace quickened. He was just in town to tell Sven’s mother what had transpired. As much as he would have preferred to deliver the news with Zereh, he also knew that it would be cruel to delay any longer.

He found her on the front porch of her house, sitting peacefully in her rocking chair with a half-knitted sweater in her lap. She smiled when she saw him.

“Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes,” she said. “Come sit, sit.”

Emrys stood awkwardly. “I’m so sorry, ma’am. We found Sven, and he was… He wasn’t taken by the necromancer; he was the necromancer.”

The old woman sighed. “I know, dear. That warrior friend of yours already told me. I tried to tell you that whatever happened, it was already decided. There was nothing you could have done.”

“Zereh was here?!”

“She’s a kind girl, I can see why you like her.” Sven’s mother winked. Lightly teasing, as if her son hadn’t just been killed.

“How are you—? How can you?” The arcanist stuttered.

She set her knitting down on her lap and her smile turned sad. “I did my grieving while you were gone, dear. A mother knows, you know. But he was a grown man, and he made his own choices. And those choices had consequences. The best I can do now is continue on. So. Come sit with me. Tell me everything.”

Emrys swallowed heavily. He was still struggling with his friend’s death, and he hadn’t been able to put it into words. Everyone he’d talked to in Sonora was just relieved the necromancer was dead and gone.

He took a seat beside the necromancer’s mother. And he told her a story.