Knwharfhelm was a squat city, wide where the Silent Peaks were tall. From a distance, it almost reminded me of a splash of water on stone. It straddled the Crystal Coast, the glittering of seawater that was its namesake visible even from outside the city.

Lucet finished hauling the last skeleton into the merchant's cart while Jiaola counted out coins. I had no idea what the value of the local currency was, but even though Jiaola and Sansen had left the Crystal Coast decades ago, they still had a decent head for money. After finishing the transaction, Jiaola split our newfound riches into five equal pouches.

"Alright, gang," I said. "What're we spending our newfound riches on?"

"Shelter?" Sansen offered.

"A healer," Lucet suggested.

"A workshop," Jiaola said.

"As an immortal demon, I need none of those," Meloai said. "But I'd be happy to help you out!"

Man, organizing our priorities was a lot harder when nobody was in imminent danger of freezing, starving, or Iola-ing to death. "I'm with Lucet," I said. "None of us know the first thing about fixing whatever Iola's done to us, but that seems like the kind of thing that's best caught early."

"I know," Jiaola said, "but it'll be expensive. The faster I get a shop set up, the faster I can get new woodworking clients."

"And besides, Knwharfhelm isn't a utopia," Sansen added. "Someone shanking you in your sleep to steal your soul will kill you just as easily as Iola's magic."

We all stared at him.

"It doesn't happen often," he said, defensively. "But it's not outside the realm of possibility."

"Right." I massaged my forehead. "Well, I'll defer to you two here. You're the ones who've actually lived in Knwharfhelm, after all."

Jiaola shrugged. "We have a lot of priorities and a lot of people. Seems like it'd be best to split up. Sansen?"

"Hm? Oh." Sansen focused his power, the flames of hope surging, and stared into a possible future. "Nobody's dead by tomorrow. Beyond that, there are too many divergences. Seems like a good place to start, though."

"Great. I'm on workshops, then; I've still got a few connections I can lean on," Jiaola said.

"I'll look for rooms to rent," Sansen added.

"I can go try to find a job! I've never done that before!" Meloai chimed in.

"I'll... supervise you," Lucet said, a wry smile on her face.

"Guess that leaves me to find a healer," I finished. "Unless any of you would be better?"

Jiaola shook his head. "Never needed a healer when I was here. Wouldn't have seen us, anyway."

"Any tips for navigating?"

"Stick to the main streets, and just flash some magic if anyone tries to give you trouble," Jiaola said. "Meet back here at sundown?"

"Will do," I said.

And with that, the five of us split up, headed towards the clamor and clangs of Knwharfhelm.

It was clearly a port city to its bones. Merchants on caravans flowed steadily through the grand metal gates, pulled by clockwork horses. Huh. Using Demons of Insecurity as a cheap workforce? I guess Meloai would fit right in. There were customs checks at the gates, but it seemed like they were largely concerned with the caravans; a bored-looking guard gave me a once-over before waving me through.

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The inside of the city was a riot of smells and sounds—rotting fish and human sweat, merchants' calls and hollered bets—but to my surprise, it was rather manageable. I'd expected the runoff of an entire city to create a suffocating stench, especially given the lack of visible plumbing. I got my answer a moment later when a cart laden with refuse stopped in a nearby alleyway, its driver disembarking—and tearing open a rift into the Plane of Elemental Vacuum, tipping the contents of the cart through the portal before leaving the rift to seal itself. I snickered. Yeah, dumping your garbage into another dimension was a pretty good way of keeping the city clean.

Curious, I opened my soulsight, and nearly fell flat on my face at the sudden assault of souls. The collective souls of the city practically made a tiny world of their own, a swirl of emotions that shone as bright as a star. I stumbled into a nearby alleyway, fighting to shut off my soulsight—

"Drop the pouch, girl."

I grimaced, returning to reality. Great. Somehow, in my blind staggering, I'd made my way into an alley, and a man with a blade had gotten between me and the main street.

I considered throwing a spell his way as Jiaola had advised, but... I'd come here to find a refuge from violence. Not perpetuate more of it. It was just money; we could earn it back.

I reached to my belt to comply with his demand, but the man waggled his knife, taking one step closer to me in the deserted, hot alleyway. "Slowly. No weapons. And if you try to call for help, I'll give you something to scream about."

The worst part was, he looked... bored. A quick glance at his soul showed none of the sadism or dark glee I expected from someone who mugged kids in alleyways for a living—just a resignation to necessity, and a blade to enforce his will.

Reading my expression, the mugger tsked. "Oh, don't make that face. I'm leaving you with the clothes on your back. All I'm taking is a handful of coppers—it's not going to kill you."

It very well might, asshole, I thought to myself. But the invisible ticking clock of my illness wasn't something I could show him, and even if I could, I doubted he'd have any sympathy. So I just handed over the coin pouch—

"On the floor, then step back," the man said.

Ugh. Reflexively, a part of me reached for the magic in my soul—

—howling, glacial winds that turned flesh to stone—

—torrents of fire that seared the soul—

—wiping the stains from my shoes—

I pushed away my reflexive action with an effort of will. The man was right. It was just a handful of copper coins. Not worth ending a life over.

Even if the life in question was his.

Maybe I could have scared him off with a warning shot, but... I didn't want to risk hitting someone by accident. So I dropped the pouch and stepped back. He picked it up, never taking his eyes off me; despite his caution, a single coin plinked out of the pouch and rolled into the gutter. His eyes flickered towards it, maybe weighing the costs of grabbing it or making me do it for him, then sighed.

"Keep the change."

And with that, he walked backwards, blade still drawn, before melting into the flow of traffic on the main street.

I sighed, then held out a hand, willing love to the surface of my soul. The coin in the gutter leapt into my palm. I shouldn't have been afraid to use my magic. I shouldn't have been afraid to scare him off. I shouldn't have—

—souls of the dying like falling stars—

—blood frozen solid crunching beneath my feet—

—we died warm—

I scowled, shaking the memories from my head. Regardless of what I should or shouldn't have done, my problem was the same: I needed to find a healer, and now I didn't even have anything to pay with. Just one copper coin and a bevy of spells that could kill a man in a heartbeat. I scowled as I turned to the other end of the alleyway.

"That's a mighty fine coin you've got there, miss," a kid called out.

I glared, homing in on the child with my soulsight, and turned to the roof. "Were you watching the whole time?" I snapped.

The kid shrugged. "It's what I do," they simply said.

"Yeah, well, you're not very observant. I'm not a girl, asshat. And this coin is worthless."

The kid tilted their head. "If it's so worthless, why don't you give it to me?"

I laughed, disbelieving. "Are you seriously going to try to mug me right after I've already been robbed? Fuck, I have had it with this city." Then again, if the alternative was the warzone in the Redlands... at least nobody here seemed murderously insane. Yet.

"No. No mugging. Just a fair trade." The kid stood up, then—to my shock—reached into their soul and chipped off a chunk. "Memory for a memory," they said.

"I..." I blinked in surprise. Despite my experience with magic, there were still entire schools of spells that I had yet to learn. "I don't know how to give someone else a memory," I admitted.

The kid frowned. "What do you mean? It's in the soul of the coin."

"Coins don't have souls," I said.

"What is a soul, if not a memory? And what is that coin, if not a memento of your travels?" The kid recited with the practiced rhythm of someone who had heard a saying a thousand times. "Give me the coin, and I'll give you a memory you'll need."

I raised an eyebrow. "Oh yeah? And what's that?"

The kid grinned. "The name of someone who buys memories. And it seems to me that you've got a bit of a surplus."

I looked down at my empty belt, the notable absence of the pouch of coins at my hip.

Then I looked back up at the kid. Even here, in the sweltering summer heat, I still remembered the shrieks of snow and ice.

I held out my hand.

Then I flicked the coin towards the kid, sending it tumbling end over end over end.