Cole

Dear Lara,

I hope you haven’t been waiting for updates on my daring exploits in Athshin, because this is the first and last letter I’ll send before coming home.

When I left, my intent was to shower you with letters and stories and craft the image of the man I was becoming.

Things didn’t work out like that. Oh, I’ve done my share of adventurous deeds here in Athshin. I’m not sure when, or if, the news of what’s happened in the Confederacy will reach Fae’Riam, but I helped instigate and end a crusade for justice. There’s more than that: Giant centipedes, street brawls, heartfelt pleas, wounds physical and mental. I’ve earned first name basis with an Emperor, a Queen, and a King. I think I even befriended a necromancer.

I’ve done just what I set out to do. I feel I’ve aged more in these three months than I ever had in the Academy. Which is why I realize now that you were right: I’m not ready for the relationship I wanted from you. Even as wizened as I am now, I can’t say that I see myself sharing another rooftop rendezvous with you. I’m sorry Lara. I can’t love you, or really anyone just yet. It’ll take more than three months in Athshin to make me an adult that can.

I’m still looking forward to our mutual return. Hopefully we can work out our emotions in fencing class. I have a new sword you’ll find impressive. And don’t worry, I’ll still tell every story I’ve gained here.

Signed with a bittersweet smile,

~-~Cole the Wanderer

P.S: I picked up the name “The Wanderer” here. I think I might keep it.

Legion

Barato was a prophet: Legion returned to a ransacked house. Not all of it was gone. Furniture remained, but it wasn’t the furniture that was valuable. The museum was little more than outlines in the dust where artifacts were once displayed.

“I thought that was you traipsing up the street.” Barato announced his arrival grandly.

Legion wished he could have locked the front door to prevent such intrusions, but someone had kicked the door open and busted the lock.

“So returns the Avenger of Refuge.” Barato understood his presence wasn’t wanted and shoved a bottle into Legion’s arms as a peace offering. “Let me get a good look at you. Scars on your skin, iron in your eyes, I daresay I even see some sprouts of chin hair. Very impressive! This is not the same Legion Xibal that left my company at the start of the season.”

“Two predictions of yours have come true.” Legion pulled away from Barato. He pointed to the empty museum. “How long did it take for the second to fulfill?”

Barato puckered his lips in exasperation. He sank into his seat. “Two weeks. As I promised. Two weeks and a day, if you count that. When the deadline passed I broke open this vault myself.”

“I saw the mercenaries it bought. Passed them on the way to the shore. They hassled a few of my friends.”

“That’d be the menagerie currently at the tavern? I suppose that answers several questions I had on the way here.”

Barato nervously cleaned his nails. His heavy tail tapped on the floor like it used to. Legion couldn’t believe how he had forgotten such an aggravating sound.

“I apologize for the guards’ behavior. If they had known where their coin came from they would have bowed to you. So would many others in town. Regrettable as it was, your father’s collection kept us safe once the bounty hunters came for diablan bodies and horns. I don’t suppose that’s what happened to your set?”

Legion shook his head. He was parsing through the cupboards to see what remained.

“They’re not staying here with you, are they? The group you came in with.” Barato watched Legion’s actions carefully, mystified to his intent.

“No, and neither am I.” Legion collected a dusty mug to pour a portion of Barato’s present into. He drank a single sip from it, savored it, then offered the rest to Barato.

Barato accepted the beverage, but set it aside. “You’re not? I was worried about that. Are you still on the hunt for the killer?”

He had to shout because Legion had vanished out the back door. Legion’s fishing boat had long since drifted out to sea, or was taken by another household. Legion caught a glimpse of himself in the washbasin mirror. Two months ago, if he had seen the diablan in his reflection, he would have thought him a vagrant.

“No. I got my revenge. The murderer’s dead, may his eyes rot first.” Legion replied upon returning. “But as you said: I’m not the same as I left. I can’t stay here.”

“What next then?”

“I want to learn more about Arcana, maybe find an academy. I can’t afford one with the dust you left me, so I’ll find another way to earn a fortune. I just wanted to come back here for closure, among other things.”

You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.

“Then closure I’ll give you.” Barato put up a broad smile. Legion escorted him to the front step. It was a clear day with low wind in Refuge. The perfect day to go fishing. Barato held open his arms and Legion tentatively accepted the expected hug.

“Your father would be proud of you.” Barato spoke into Legion’s ear. The mayor had his moments of sincerity.

Barato ended the hug. He rested his hands on Legion’s shoulders, perhaps memorizing the last look he’d get of the boy. A stray idea caught his fancy and he looked back to the Xibal Estate.

“What of your house then?”

“The house?” Legion put up a disarming smile. “The house you don’t get. This museum will reopen.”

“Hola.” Pallet and Fern had finally arrived and were waiting patiently for Legion to invite them from the foot of the porch.

“Reopen?” Barato’s expression fell.

“Shocking as it is, more than Legion’s father cared about diablan history.” Fern patted the side of Barato’s face as he went inside.

Barato gaped. He kept shooting glances to Legion to confirm this was genuine. Pallet came next, and put a scroll and quill into Barato’s hands.

“I’m going to need an exact list of where you sold each item that was here, along with how much they were sold for.”

As Barato stood there in dumb surprise Legion followed Fern to the back patio. Fern was sampling Barato’s gift.

“That the spot?” Fern gestured with his mug to the grave overlooking the sea.

Legion nodded.

“I’ll maintain it until the day I die. I promise you that. I would have liked to meet him, based on what you’ve told me.”

“Thank you.” Legion was debating if he wanted to go closer to the grave.

Fern sensed his emotion and patted Legion’s shoulder. “If you find an academy willing to teach diablans Arcana, you come back here and let me know.”

The Refuge Tavern didn’t have a fancy name like Mephit’s Thirst, though it was remarkably cleaner. At the first table Frost and Nosib were arm wrestling while Azeroth ate from a bowl of tree nuts. Off to the side Cole finished the letter he was writing. Each paused their activity to hear Legion speak.

“Let’s go see the world!”

Vedek

The oak trees of Fae’Riam were a thrilling sight to Vedek. After the sparsely forested landscape of Athshin, returning to an environment where one wasn’t always aware of the horizon was welcome. He and his company of eight Sráid caballeros were flanked in all directions by foliage more than the size of any Fae. While Vedek was comforted, the Sráid Tuatha were set unease. A few had seen the homeland, but only when they were babes. Technically, them crossing into these woods was a violation of their bloodline’s exile, but that was only if their identity was guessed. They were more sun-tanned than Riam Tuatha.

Lake of the Sunken Druid. That was where Vedek was meant to meet the rangers. Vedek knew it on maps, but had never seen it in person. He egged his steed on to finish this last leg of his journey home.

The trees parted and the lake came into view. Pristine blue water filled a crater that was nearly a perfect circle. Sticking high from the center, taller than any of the surrounding trees, was a gnarled oak weathered by age and time. Its leaves had stopped growing centuries ago, but its roots and were strong enough to keep it standing long after death. The “Sunken Druid” of the lake.

Vedek dismounted his horse, as did several of the caballeros. One asked if the water was safe to drink, then ran to fill his water skin. Vedek walked to the shoreline, where wind-blown waves lapped gently against a gravel beach. He spun in place, looking intently for the rangers meant to meet him. He was a few days late from the deadline, but surely they would have lingered in the area.

His ears twitched at the sound of something whistling through the air. One of his guards fell dead from an arrow in his back. In the time it took Vedek’s jaw to fall open a symphony of further whistles murdered the rest of the Sráid tuatha. Only Vedek and the caballero by the shore were spared. The caballero hastily capped his water skin and produced his bow. Vedek did in turn.

The foliage surrounding the lake rustled. No less than the tips of twenty nocked arrows oozed into view. Vedek was surrounded without cover.

“Took you long enough!” A prideful voice called from the forest trail.

An Elden Fae with pale grey eyes and matted hair like black serpents swaggered from the shadows. His sallow skin gave vibrancy to the copper colored cloak he wore. Beneath his cloak, his leather armor was riddled with knife-made notches. Vedek knew this infamous elden. Mur Arta, the Gryphon Hawk.

“You’re meant to be bound in electrum chains.” Vedek’s body tensed with each step Mur approached. The ex-ranger was concealing something behind his back.

Mur snickered. “I am free on the pardon of the new King. He wanted me to patrol my old stomping grounds, keeping my eyes on the sky.”

He revealed what he kept behind his back: A Sráid messenger hawk impaled on an arrow. Mur playfully threw the bird to the ground.

“You must admire my effort to stuff the bird for this moment. All worth it to see fear in a Slevelisk’s eye.”

Words turned to ash in Vedek’s mouth. This had all been a manipulation by his brother. The Summer Lodge never received his message. Mur cackled proudly.

Slowly, subtly, Vedek turned his mouth to the remaining caballero. “I want you to run.”

“Queen Ruaidrí ordered your protection.”

“The moment for that has passed. You can fulfill your order another way. Survive however you can, but make it home. Tell them what happened here.”

The caballero bit his tongue. If he argued further then Mur would catch on to their conference.

“May your Archfaer protect you.”

He spun on the spot and dove into the frigid water of the lake. Fifteen arrows followed him. Vedek held his breath, but no blood reached the surface.

“After him.” Mur sourly ordered his ambushers. The trees rustled as several bodies vacated them to circle the lake.

Vedek heaved a sigh. It was up to powers beyond him now. He dropped his bow and quiver, even tossed aside his cloak to prove he had nothing concealed beneath.

"What happens now?” Vedek asked, staring defiant daggers at Mur’s heart.

Mur grinned. He gestured grandly with his arms out wide.

“Now…I take you to a family reunion.”