The soothing drumming of heavy rain on a thick, opaque window and the low crackling fire in the hearth lent a cozy atmosphere to the once cluttered and chaotic living room. A full belly and a lulling drone of wind against the tiled roof made Ben’s eyelids heavy as he rested his head on crossed forearms, his body prone on clean, covered cushions in front of the fireplace. Ann had offered to massage his aching body, bruised after the morning’s spar with Ainsle. He had initially protested, as the thought of her ‘molding’ had weighed heavily on his mind, yet he relented after seeing the distress his refusal had caused his blonde-haired Keeper. According to Ann, the Archmage was in no worse condition than he had been before their flight from the temple. He had yet to wake, and Ben only hoped the old man would be okay.

The pair had decided; if they were to call the Archmage’s living area ‘home’ for the following two days, something would have to be done about the dust and clutter. Ben and Ann had spent the majority of the afternoon picking up and placing the scattered books, scrolls, and other miscellaneous odds and ends, neatly on a large table toward the far end of the room. The young man had cleaned the hearth while the Keeper swept and dusted. In the late afternoon, Ann had left for the district’s market to buy food and necessities for their stay after she commented that the old man obviously didn’t cook for himself; Ben stayed at the house, as the red-haired caster had neglected to give either of them the key to the front door.

They shared a pleasant supper of vegetable and venison stew, and Ben was lucky enough to find the old man’s secret wine stash under a loose floorboard near a trap door. He shivered at the thought of what lay in the basement of a Master Necromancer and decided that it would be best to ignore the door-in-the-floor’s existence. They spoke about nothing in particular before settling on cushions, covered with blankets bought from the market, in front of the warm, cozy fire.

“How does that feel?” Ann teased as she kneaded a particularly tight knot of insubstantial muscle below his shoulder blade with soft palms.

Between the radiance of her regenerative Aura and her tender attention, Ben couldn’t help but let out a sigh of pleasure. Ann giggled and began to slow her ministrations. Her delicate fingers caressed his back as the light scratch of nails traveled down to his trousers, and his body shuddered in ecstasy.

Wait.

Ben stiffened as the memory of the Keeper’s words from earlier that day rammed into the forefront of his mind and shattered the rapid current of promised pleasure that threatened to sweep him away. With his eyes closed, he felt the wave of distress billow from the blonde-haired woman through their bond.

“Is something wrong, my darling?” she asked in consternation as she withdrew her touch.

Ben exhaled a long slow breath. The rising heat had deflated instantly, and he turned to his back before propping himself on his elbows to meet the Keeper’s gaze. Her brows were slanted, and her hands were clasped to her chest.

“Annie… I,” Ben tried.

“Forgive me,” she said as she cupped her face with her dainty hands. Her words became muffled as she spoke through her palms. “I’ve overstepped again. Please forgive me, my heart. I will be better. I will-”

“No,” Ben interrupted. “It’s not you. It’s a me thing, really. I’m sorry. Look,” Ben said as he sat up straight, placing his hands on her shoulders to comfort her. “Can we give it some time? I mean, there’s a lot I want to talk to you about. As things are now… It doesn’t sit right with me.”

The Keeper’s eyes, glistening, widened as if she had come to an understanding. Ben doubted it was the correct one. Two heartbeats passed before Ann sniffed.

“I was weak…,” she said, and Ben’s brows furrowed at the uncharacteristic hesitation. “I just. When you were with the Red Maiden, you felt so… content. You radiated bliss and happiness, yet when you returned, you felt… frustrated. Annoyed. I prayed every night during my seclusion for Illephrre to ensure your safety until we met. I had always assumed I would be the one you desired, but it seems…” she trailed off as her eyes closed tightly.

She felt my emotions through the connection, and that’s why she was jealous… But Ainsle? Seriously?

“Wait. Okay, maybe I was annoyed when I returned to the shop, but that was for something completely unrelated to seeing you again.” Ben said with a sigh that hinted at frustration.

No, this isn’t normal. It can’t be.

A subtle rumble began to pervade his being, and his eyes widened. He felt an irrational possessiveness over the woman begin to overwhelm him, unsure whether it was born from her Oath and their bond or that he feared the extent to which she would suffer should he leave her. Revelations of the abuse she suffered at the hands of the Speakers echoed in his mind, and a hatred for them ignited an ember deep within him as he stared at the broken woman.

“My heart?” Ann asked, brows slanted, and tone raised questioningly.

“I need you to tell me everything about the temple where you were trained.” Ben’s tone had changed from exasperated and frustrated to cold and firm. The blonde woman flinched almost imperceptibly.

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She opened her mouth to speak when the front door opened to let in a chill wind and a tall, handsome, and wet Kieran. The Caster slammed the door shut and sighed. He dragged a large wooden chest with fraying ropes tied around his midsection—the heavy, dripping container grated against the floorboards before stopping with a creak. The bronze-skinned man untied the ropes and collapsed, exhausted, into a chair beside the pair. His matted wet hair sprayed droplets of water as he snapped his head to take in the pair in front of the fire.

Ben was topless and still had his hands on Ann’s shoulders. The blonde woman’s usually alabaster face was flushed pink.

“Oh. Did I interrupt something?” he asked, voice coarse from exhaustion.

Ben straightened as he withdrew from the Keeper, and Ann dipped her head bashfully. The young man reached for his white shirt as Kieran cleared his throat.

“Is that stew?” Kieran asked cheerfully as if he had not interrupted a pre-coital session between the pair.

“Yes, please help yourself,” Ann replied.

“Thank you, Miss Blackwood,” He stood and ambled over to a pot beside the hearth. After retrieving a wooden bowl from a nearby shelf, he paused as if realizing something and turned to face the Keeper. “Is Master Durrene doing all right?”

Ann brushed non-existent wrinkles from the lap of her dress. “He lives, yet his condition is… strange. I detect no magical interference or any mundane affliction. He seems to be suffering from shortness of breath, dry coughs, and extreme weight loss due to what I suspect to be a lack of appetite… Perhaps, a neutral Healer would be best suited to diagnose him, as my knowledge on the subject is limited.”

Kieran’s expression became clouded, and Ben couldn’t decipher the emotions of the red-haired man. After a moment, the Caster regarded the Keeper once more. “Thank you, Miss Blackwood. Has he awoken yet?”

Ann shook her head in reply. Kieran sat and suddenly straightened on the chair. His black eyes took in the orderly living area, and he smiled with menacing sharp teeth. “I tried to clean this house on numerous occasions but was always met with aggressive resistance. I appreciate the gesture.”

A few heartbeats of silence were shared between the trio as Kieran ate the delicious stew. Ben felt goosebumps on his arms and tilted his head at the Caster before dismissing the sensation as the wind the wet man had brought could’ve been the cause, not the casting of a spell.

“Hey, Kieran,” Ben said, tilting his head toward the large chest near the entrance. “What’s in the box?”

The red-haired man placed a hand on his chin while considering the pair. He hesitated before answering. “It’s a… contingency.”

Ben raised his brow questioningly, and when the Caster didn’t reply, he let the matter drop.

“Xavier! You bastard!” a weak muffled shout came from the bedroom.

As if perfectly synchronized, the trio snapped their heads toward the exclamation. They hurried to the bedroom to find Archmage Durrene sitting upright in bed with arms folded. His wheezing cough caused his long white beard to flutter. A frown occupied his wispy white brows, and his face contorted into a scowl.

“Apprentice! Prepare to send correspondence to the Chaplain at the Capital imme-!” the old man’s outburst was cut short by another coughing fit.

Kieran’s lips drew into a line, and his eyes appeared strained as if in pain. He stood silently as the trio watched the Archmage’s beard turn pinkish-red with the speckles of blood that came with each labored cough. After a while, for what seemed too long to Ben, the coughing stopped and was replaced by pained, short breaths.

“Archmage Durrene,” Ann said and seemed to draw the old man’s attention. “As you may know, I have been actively maintaining an Aura, namely Giallesi’s Reprieve, to aid your recovery. Yet the damage the spell attempts to repair is constantly being negated by an unknown source. Do you perhaps remember the cause of your affliction?”

The old man’s anger dispersed as if it were the wisps of smoke of a blown-out candle. He smiled softly, milky white eyes softened in, what Ben thought to be, wonder.

“Ah, the Keeper. So, it wasn’t a dream after all.” He faced the blonde-haired woman. “Your kind are truly wonderful creatures. To master an adept level Aura of a directly opposing alignment is unheard of, even for the so-called Aura Specialist Grand Masters that I call my peers…” His gaze went distant in recollection or awe; the young man couldn’t tell. Master Durrene continued. “To answer your question honored Keeper, I’m afraid I do not know.”

Ann nodded and turned to Ben, who cleared his throat and spoke:

“Archmage, I’ve learned from a close companion that you had a visitor on the night before you began exhibiting symptoms of your condition. Would you happen to have noticed anything suspicious?”

The old man snapped his head toward the young man. “Ben,” his smile grew impossibly wide. “I’ll tell you what. If you and my Apprentice assist me to the main room, I may be able to shed some light on the matter.” He regarded the Keeper once more. “And perhaps, a gift of an exhibition from one Grand Master to another.”

The young men complied with the Archmage’s request, and Ben’s nerves prickled. They set him down on a chair, and the old man motioned for the party to stand back. The Archmage snapped his fingers, and the suspicious trap door flung open. A skeletal rodent leapt out of the dark basement, carrying a small green gem in his hands. It scuttled up the Necromancer’s leg and deposited its cargo on his lap before retreating to the basement before the hinged door slammed shut against the floor.

The Archmage pointed to the ceiling, and a humanoid skeleton, previously camouflaged behind a thick, wooden roof beam, unfurled its body and hung with its legs wrapped around the cross member, upside down as it accepted the offered gem from the old man with a boney hand. It placed the gem in its mouth and proceeded to hang motionless.

Ben felt a severe itch in the back of his throat and the prickling of thousands of tiny needles assaulting his skin. He swallowed repeatedly to try and dispel the uncomfortable sensation, to no avail.

The Archmage spoke in a wheezing voice: “Naethorul's recollection.”

The gem inside the hanging skeleton's mouth shone with a sickly green light. A torrent of an intangible power buffeted the trio, and Ben closed his eyes to block out the blinding light that encompassed his vision. After a few heartbeats, he heard a knock on the front door. He opened his eyes to see himself standing alone in the room. The world seemed to have lost most of its color as his surroundings were painted in shades of green, grey, and black.

The door swung open, and a tall, handsome man in plate armor, accompanied by a beautiful, ebony-skinned, slender woman, entered the room. A moment later, a familiar slender woman with an obscenely long braid of raven-hair followed the pair in silence.