The melancholic grey sky mirrored the bleak empty market street, and the sporadic cold gusts of autumn wind were the last death throes of a once thriving port city. A pair of burdened undead thralls followed the two tall men as the dragging of their feet against the uneven cobbled stones echoed against deserted, boarded-up buildings. Most stores showed signs of looting —a sobering reminder of the violence and loss of life and the brutal pragmatism of mankind.

The young men’s cloaks fluttered in the wake of a particularly spirited gust of frigid wind, and Ben drew his cloak tight to his frame, his exquisite halberd resting on his shoulder. The War Dancer regarded the Apprentice Necromancer, who didn’t seem to be bothered by the cold at all.

“Hey, so, about the gifts,” Ben began and Kieran faced him with a raised brow.

“I planned on buying a dress for Ann… seems silly now that I think about it.”

Kieran met his gaze with deep black eyes and a sharp, toothy grin. “Why, I think that’s an excellent idea, and I just so happen to know of a Tailor nearby. There should be some display pieces or even uncollected orders that might suit Miss Blackwood.” Kieran gestured toward a building about four shops from their location. “Seeing as winter is almost upon us, and considering we’ll be on the road for a significant amount of time, I recommend something warm. A traveling dress, perhaps?”

“You think so?” Ben asked, relief evident in his tone. “A traveling dress, yeah. That would be perfect.”

“You mentioned getting something for Aunt as well; is there anything in particular you had in mind? We could browse through a few stores, yet I fear we won’t make it back before nightfall.”

Ben’s brows furrowed. He recalled her quoting a line from a novel when she had first begun training him. “A bookstore? I’m looking for something by an author named… Fastio?” he answered in a question, untrusting of his less-than-stellar memory.

The Apprentice frowned. “Surely you don’t mean Fabian J R Fastillo?” he asked incredulously as they approached the boarded entrance to the Tailor’s shop.

“Fastillo, yeah, that’s it. Your Aunt mentioned it a while back.”

“Hmm. I never would’ve suspected her taste in literature to be so… refined.” Kieran stroked the undead kitten in thought. “I suppose it does make sense, yet…”

The pair stood in front of the Tailor’s shop and Ben tilted his head questioningly. “What do you mean? What kind of novels are they?” he asked

Kieran met his gaze with stern brows. “They’re bodice-rippers, Ben. Many regard the works to be smut dressed in flowery prose.”

“You mean… the books are about heaving bosoms and throbbing co-”

“Yes,” the Caster interrupted. “Yes, indeed, Master Ben.”

The men shared a moment of silence at the discovery. Kieran began to pull off shoddily nailed planks from the front door and Ben joined in. After removing the barricade, surprisingly, the door swung open with no resistance.

“Here it is. The finest seller of garments in the city. Please have a look around and see if you can find what you’re looking for,” Kieran said, gesturing for the young man to enter. “I need to visit the Barracks in the main square. For the sake of expediency, how about we meet there in, say, half a bell?”

“All right, see you then.”

Kieran left Ben in front of the dimly lit Tailor’s shop, and Ben entered to find an assortment of apparel displayed on headless mannequins. The wailing wind in the background gave the silence in the abandoned store an eerie atmosphere. He walked past displays of dresses and robes in wildly contrasting designs and colors, the majority of which appeared to be those suited for colder climates.

Seems like the Tailor was getting ready for a pre-winter sale before they left in a hurry.

As he turned to inspect a particularly garish robe of purple and yellow, he felt the butt of his halberd catch onto a piece of fabric. He looked down at the offending garment to find the hem of a long-white dress wrapped around the blunt polyhedron of the shaft's end. He bent to unravel the fabric and saw it connected to a beautiful, form-fitting hooded dress lined with grey and white fur; its hood, neckline, and long sleeves ended in tufts of the same soft pelt. The fabric was thick yet whispered of comfort and warmth.

Glad he found a suitable gift for his Keeper, he scanned the store, hoping to find anything useful for their trip to the cold mountains. After inspecting rolls of fabric on the main counter, he spotted a hand-sized, grey-leather bag intended to be affixed to a belt around the waist. He recalled Kieran already having a pouch, yet perhaps the Apprentice could find a use for another practical storage accessory.

He bundled up the warm hooded dress and stuffed the pouch within its fabric. He fished out two black coins from his coin pouch and laid them on the counter, not out of any sense of morality, but because he had intended to buy his companions gifts —and scavenging items from an abandoned store to give to them, left a poor taste in his mouth.

Night had fallen, and the dark clouds obscured the moon, bathing the city in darkness, and the errant shouts or wails let him know that Honeydew hadn’t been completely abandoned. He made his way to the main square of the market street in almost complete darkness. A dim light from a lantern in the great arch of the city’s main gate told him that he hadn’t gotten lost, and he spotted the pair of burdened undead standing eerily motionless near what he assumed to be the barracks.

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Ben heard a muffled conversation behind a wooden door as he waited in the cold. After a short while, the door opened, and the handsome Apprentice greeted the young man.

“Ah, well done. It seems you were successful in your endeavor. Here,” Kieran rummaged through a sack held by one of the thralls and handed him a small brown, plain-looking bag. “We’ve got a bit of a walk back, and it looks like it might rain soon.”

Ben gratefully accepted the sack and took care to hide the leather pouch as he placed Ann’s gift inside.

“Thanks. Did you find who you were looking for?” he asked as the pair began their stroll back to the Master Necromancer’s abode.

“Not the individual I was looking for in particular, yet I did find out what I needed to know. It seems that the Empire isn’t planning on supplying aid… I suppose it’s to be expected, as Honeydew was among the last independent settlements to resist the Empire’s annexation campaign a few decades ago.”

“What about your Father? Will he stay here when he comes back?”

“I hope to convince him to relocate. If we’re to visit the Speakers, we should naturally pass quite near the town he is currently visiting. I hope it won’t be too much of a hindrance to make a small detour?”

“Not at all,” Ben replied, teeth chattering in the cold. “I owe you and Bertram much more than I can repay; I think.”

“I appreciate that.” Kieran held up a hand for the pair to stop before gesturing to a nondescript building that had clearly been looted if the broken windows and slightly ajar door were anything to go by. “Let’s have a quick look, shall we?”

Ben nodded and followed the red-haired man inside the musty, ransacked store. The thralls waited outside in the street, a convenient deterrence to any desperate ruffians with courage enough to assault or rob the pair.

Kieran led Ben past damp, ruined books and parchment strewn about the floor to a closed door behind the counter. The young man almost tripped several times before the Apprentice cast a Light cantrip to illuminate their way. He opened the door to reveal a surprisingly dry storage room with shelves of neatly packed books and tomes.

“Ah, it seems our author’s latest… masterpiece was yet to be released to the public,” Kieran said as he pulled a book from the shelf and handed it to Ben.

The young man’s eyes widened as he beheld the shocking pink cover with an artist's impression of a muscly, bare-chested man holding a slender woman in his arms.

“The Sinful Desires of the Cobbler’s Daughter – Volume I,” Ben read aloud.

The pair remained silent for a moment.

The Apprentice coughed. “Yes. Very well. We should head back.”

“Right,” Ben replied.

The pair walked in the darkness of the autumn evening through the city's empty, winding, cobbled streets. Kieran had dispelled the light cantrip, stating that it’d draw unnecessary attention to them and potentially delay their return. Ben guessed that they were a few blocks away from the Archmage’s home when he asked:

“Hey, so… you don’t have to answer if you don’t want to…” he began.

“You want to know why I have these?” the Apprentice pushed up his upper lip with a finger to expose his sharp teeth before parting his messy red hair to reveal the stumps of what Ben only guessed to be filed-down horns protruding from his skull.

“Uh, yeah. I mean, if it’s too personal, I won’t pry,” Ben replied, unsure how his new companion would react.

“It’s fine. My Mother was —is what the common folk would call a demon. The word is actually very inaccurate, as the term ‘demon’ encompasses all living beings from her world.” Kieran rolled his shoulders, and his uncharacteristically terse tone told Ben that it was, in fact, a touchy subject. “She’s from a race that the greater arcane community has named the Nihilstrae. It’s the ruling species of that world, infinitely far from our own, one that Summoners interact with to call upon beings to do their bidding.”

“Your mother is from another world?” Ben asked.

“Well, yes. During an insurrection, approximately three decades ago, a group of dissidents employed mass summoning rituals to devastating effect. She was unwittingly summoned, by a Journeyman Caster, to fight in the uprising. But my Mother wasn’t a fighter, she was a creator. Akin to an artist in her homeworld.” He paused and sniffed, as Ben noticed his stoic composure crack, ever so slightly. “It’s a long tale, but the gist of it is: She fell in love with my Father, who was just a common Bandit at the time, and I was the result of their union.”

“What happened to her? You said ‘is’ and not ‘was.’ Is she still alive?”

Kieran’s expression grew pained, and Ben regretted the invasive question.

“Usually, when Summoners make a contract with a being from the Demonic realm, the summoned servant is bound to Aetheria within the stipulations of said contract —which often has an explicit duration of service, lest the Summoner be drained of mana and lifeforce. If the Summoner were to die, the being would be expelled from this plane, back to where they came from. My Mother, however, was the first of a very powerful caste to be summoned to Aetheria.”

“I guess the demons summoned from that realm are usually different?”

“There have been a few historical accounts of Nihilstrae being summoned, yet the writings are vague, and there is no conclusive evidence to suggest a reliable method to replicate the process, and none of the incidents suggest one summoned from her particular caste. So, yes, most summoned beings are either warlike creatures or those who serve the more… base needs of the Caster.”

The pair, distracted by their conversation, arrived at their destination. The men stopped for a moment in the chilly wind.

“To answer your question, she had sustained herself here on this plane with the power she drew from the connection to her home world. Her anchor, namely me- her son, prolonged the inevitable, yet eventually, the very same connection beckoned her home. One day, during the great invasion about five years ago, we woke to find a letter stained with tears.”

“I’m sorry,” was all Ben could say.

Kieran cleared his throat and the slowly building tension in his shoulders relaxed. “No, thank you for listening. I’ve only shared this with a handful of people. But… It’s a relief to let it out sometimes.” He chuckled. “I think my Aunt would tell the story of their meeting better than I could.”

Outside their temporary dwelling, Ben placed a hand on his shoulder. “Whatever you need, if I can help, you know what to do.”

“Thank you,” said Kieran.

The door swung open to reveal the grinning Berserker, who stood with hands on her hips and a terrifying slant to her mocking brow. Her frame was bordered by the orange glow from the hearth, giving a menacing air to her striking pose.

“You handsome boys sure did take your sweet time,” she said in her familiar husky drawl before addressing Ben directly. “Ready, Benny-boy? We ain't got much time before Sunshine wakes up, and I suspect we’re in for a good rough and tumble.