Navigating by the sea of stars above us is surreal. The blurring of dark sky and shapeless land is at once eerie and beautiful. The ground melts away in the deep gloom, shadowed and shifting beneath our feet. We watch our steps by the faint illumination of the waning crescent moon. As rare as clouds are, the light mostly proves enough to see our way. On the occasion when they drift across the face of the silvery light above us, then we slow down and place a hand on the person in front of us. In this manner, we shuffle forward, like a human caravan pulled by the ornery pack animal himself: Azariah.
Traveling like this is nerve-wracking for the first couple days, but Nala didn’t oversell Azariah’s services. Despite his sharp tongue, he takes his job seriously. Ghost-like, he drifts between us throughout the nightly walks, showing up at just the right time to buoy up flagging spirits or to lend a supporting shoulder when someone trips. He cares about our survival, even if he’s not much of a people person. A true professional.
Every so often, he brings us to a full stop so that he can consult the strange, oversized bronze pocket watch he carries. He mutters to himself, squints up at the stars, fiddles with the dials, and corrects our course. Curiosity gets the better of me, and I peek more closely with the aid of my Domain, although it only reveals mana and shapes. I can’t visually inspect something if I don’t have sightlines, as much as I wish I had unfettered visibility anywhere within the range of my [Arcane Domain].
As far as I can tell in the dim light of the stars and moon, there’s not a clock face on his device. A profusion of gears that I don’t quite understand seem to interact in complex ways I’ve never seen. Since he keeps looking up, I assume he’s charting his way forward by the stars, like in the adventure books I used to read, but I’m unfamiliar with how the actual process works.
After our third all-night march, we finally halt for food earlier in the morning than usual. I had no spare time previously, but now we’ve got a sense of how to do things Azariah’s way, and he’s rewarding us with an early rest period. A few long hours past sunrise finds us approaching a pair of long, low, roughly rectangular boulders tilted against each other at an angle. The rocks create a small cave just large enough for the team to squeeze in together. I have no idea how Azariah found the odd rock formation in the monochromatic Barrens. I couldn’t even see the difference in the lay of the land until we were three or four strides away from the small shelter, but he guided us here with unerring confidence.
[Pathfinder] Skills at work. Neat.
“We’ll camp out here and rest during the heat of mid-day,” Azariah announces. “Secure the perimeter. I’ll get advance warning if something dangerous wanders too close, but it’s never a waste to have extra eyes when you’re in the Barrens.”
I nod, resolved to follow our guide’s recommendations to the letter. He’s always taken the night watch solo, so this is our chance to prove our worth. “Rakesh? Send out a few paper birds. One in each cardinal direction, maybe. Listen for anything unusual. I’ll keep an eye out, too, with my—uh, well, I’ll watch. But, as Azariah says, redundancy is smart.”
The [Smokeborn Pathfinder] raises an eyebrow when I trip over my words in my effort to change tack at the last moment and not reveal my Domain, but he doesn’t pry. He’s got secrets he’s hiding as well, I’ll wager. Better if we all keep our own counsel.
Once we’re situated, I get the team working on our mobile hot shop again. We’ve gone far too long without practicing, and I’m feeling the itch to create things again. As intoxicating as it’s been exploring the new power of my Domain, I miss working with glass. I’m walking the path of the [Mage] lately, but I’ve always been a craftsman at heart.
There’s something therapeutic about dragging the fingers of my right hand through the dry ground beneath our feet, sifting out bits of dirt and tiny rocks to collect only what I want. The Barrens are technically a desert, but they’re not the shimmering sands and endless dunes of my imagination. The landscape we’ve traversed is flat, aside from an occasional low rise or gentle slope, and considerably more diverse in its ground make-up than beach-like sand. The biggest surprise so far is that we’ve passed three tiny springs, one per day, though I have no idea how they’re filled since Azariah confirmed that it barely ever rains.
His smug look when I ask about water makes me think it’s yet another of his [Pathfinder] Skills at work. If so, then it’s an obtuse one, and perhaps runs passively. I don’t see any mana activate around him. Disconcertingly, he noticed my Viewing on the second day, and now he’s shielding himself from any further prying. How he learned to do that intrigues me even further.
I set aside that mystery for now, concentrating on the dirt again. I strain out the pebbles and bits of detritus that will pollute my batch. Once I have a pile of relatively pure sand, I prevail upon Avelina to summon her flames. According to Azariah, there’s not enough vegetation in the Barrens to make a campfire each night. Lacking firewood isn’t a problem with all of Avelina’s fire-related Skills, thankfully. She’ll simply have to trade mana for flames to sustain the fire once it’s ablaze. I imagine we’ll have to conserve our non-magical fuel as long as possible, and burn it during the chillier days we’re sure to face when we draw closer to the colder climes around Loch LaMara, the fabled inland sea.
“A little more heat, Ava,” I instruct my [Flameworker]. I stoop down to squint at the mass of sand she’s melting with her orange-white fire. Bits of silica glint merrily in the morning light. “How’s the comp looking, Mel? Ready for me to hit it with [Vitrification]?”
Lionel hunkers down on the other side of the small campfire, his nose wrinkled up as he surveys the work. “What’s the point of testing the composition if you’re just going to glass it with magic, boss? Not like we have the proper flux out here. No plants to burn, either, for a quick n dirty method of making soda ash.”
“Right. That’s why I’m cheating.”
Lionel sinks down on his haunches and kicks his feet out in front of him. “Yep. I get that. But why bother? Why not go straight from mana to glass, like your old Skill used to work? That way, you don’t have to worry about whether or not you’ve got the right mix. Mel won’t always be there to help.”
“I need practice, too,” Melina says. “It’s been weeks since I’ve made anything. I need to keep my Skills sharp. Seems smarter to work as a team while we’re traveling together.”
Azariah tosses a bundle of foldable shovels down to the ground next to me. “Rivetin discussion, but time’s a-wastin. Gotta bunker down and dig into the sands so we’re not baked alive while we sleep.”
“I’ll keep us cool,” I reply absently, still considering Melina’s point about practicing our Skills even if it’s suboptimal. That’s unlike her. Usually, she’d push me to advance on my own, and I’ve never lacked confidence that she’ll do the same. Then it hits me like a bolt from a blue sky: Melina is doing whatever it takes to include Avelina in the process. If her sister’s engaged with the team, then she’s less likely to sink back into her funk.
“You got a survival Skill?” Azariah asks, leaning forward. His shrewd eyes study me, as though to pick apart my secrets, but it doesn’t faze me. Scalpel was far worse.
I ignore him. “Perfect, Ava. I think we’re about ready to move on to the next phase. It’s a lot easier to do this without burning mana for my [Greater Heat Manipulation],” I say, offering an encouraging smile to the silent twin.
Our surly [Pathfinder] pokes me with a stubby finger when I don’t reply right away. “Gone deaf, kid? Start coolin us down, if yer [Heat Manipulation] ain’t an empty boast!”
“[Greater Heat Manipulation],” I correct him, proud of the work I’ve done to earn the rare, upgraded variant of the otherwise common Skill. “I’m busy. Bother someone else.”
Azariah scoffs. He stomps over to a corner and begins digging a shallow bed for himself. For a brief moment, I feel glorious about standing up for myself. Then I sigh and reach out with my [Arcane Domain], seeking the heat energy around our guide, and apply my [Greater Heat Manipulation] only to his body.
“You‘re welcome!” I call out.
The [Smokeborn Pathfinder] chuckles ominously. “Not bad. But let’s see how long it lasts before you start crowin in triumph.”
I turn to face him, crossing my arms, and make a show of looking Azariah over. “Heh, no problem. You’re so short, I barely need any effort to run it all day. Heat rises, after all.”
He snorts out a stream of pipesmoke, a hint of a smirk on his face. “Could be better. Talk to me when your Skills last a month, passively, and can keep an entire group alive.”
I turn back to my Avelina and roll my eyes at Azariah’s dismissive behavior, earning an all too rare giggle. It doesn’t last long, but it’s something. I nod at the pile of sand. “Let’s start it melting, and then I’ll cast [Vitrification] on it to finish the job.”
Avelina turns up the intensity of her flames, and soon the sand slags and melts, though the slurry of dirt and silica hardly resembles a viable batch of glass. She stares down at it, open skepticism on her face. “Don’t think that’s good enough.”
I glance at Melina. “Is it?”
Our youthful [Gaffer] grimaces at me and shakes her head. She clearly shares her twin’s opinion. “It’s not even close to pure. No one likes working with garbage, Nuri.”
“Fine, fine. We’ll turn it into a set of cutlery and crockery for our affable trail guide. Fitting gift, no?” I ask Avelina, lowering my voice into a conspiratorial stage whisper. This time, she’s not amused, and doesn’t laugh at my attempt at humor, even though I thought it was funny.
Ah well. Can’t pressure her.
“All right, let’s get our combined Skills going,” I say, raising my voice so that Azariah can hear me for sure. “We’re going to make a matching set of plates, bowls, and cups, as well as a spoon and fork mashed together. We’ll replace the ugly, dull, heavy set of metal implements that Azariah’s lugging around.”
“Ain’t ugly. Or heavy,” the [Pathfinder] grumbles, but he still seems intrigued, watching us from his now-snug hollow in the dirt. Between the shade of the rocky overhang and the soothing application of my [Greater Heat Manipulation], he looks downright comfortable.
Drawing on my glass cores, I hold my hand out toward the mixture of half-melted sand in front of me. Delicately wrapping a double-layer of thermal energy around my hand, I touch the edge of the sand without burning myself, and invoke my Skill. “[Vitrification].”
Power flows out of me. The ungainly mixture transmutes into surprisingly pure glass, and between Avelina’s flames and my thermal treatment, it’s soon malleable and ready to be worked by my team. I wink at Azariah, who seems impressed despite himself, and turn back to Lionel. “All right, Lio. You’re up. [Perfect Prototype], then work with Mel. Let’s bang this out before we cut into crankypant’s beauty sleep.”
Lionel unwraps several layers of thick tan sailcloth from around a blowpipe, which he’s been using as a walking stick to keep his balance during our nightly trek, and sticks the end into the batch of molten glass. He deftly collects a gather and sets the metal pipe spinning to prevent the glass from dripping uselessly into the ground. A few steady breaths later, the ball inflates to the desired size, and he begins shaping it in earnest.
We’ve brought jacks and a pair of paddles, and Mikko is kind enough to loan us his anvil to use as a makeshift marver. It’s a rudimentary setup, but Lionel is good at what he does, and he soon flattens the spinning glass into a platter. Mana swirls around him as he applies his Skills to ensure a perfect outcome, and when he’s finished, he and Melina copy the prototype.
Soon, they’ve created a full set of plates, and they repeat the process to make glasses for drinking. It’s such a familiar process that they don’t even bother to wait for Lionel’s Skill to recharge, relying on old fashioned skill to shape the cups.
After each batch, Avelina uses her [Strong as Stone] to ensure that the new dinnerware won’t crack or shatter in Azariah’s pack. Melina takes over, using her annealing Skills in place of a mobile kiln. She earns another raised eyebrow from our guide when she shows off a little by levitating the plates and cups in place with [Lesser Object Manipulation] while they anneal.
I switch places with our [Flameworker] when it’s time to move on to the cutlery, using my [Greater Heat Manipulation] to maintain the working elasticity of the glass while she works. Her lampworking is by far the best of our crew, so we let her do all the fiddly work of shaping the combination spoons and forks.
It’s been a while since we’ve worked together like this, but our time off hasn’t been spent lazing around. We’ve each made major strides in our mana control and general understanding of our Skills. If anything, we work faster and more confidently than before. By the time we turn in for the day’s rest, each face is flushed with pride at our craftsmanship, which warms my heart.
=+=
[Pathfinder] is a more versatile Class than I initially realized, combining elements of [Wayfinder], [Survivalist], and [Scout]. As crusty as our guide may be, he’s skilled at what he does. In the week and a half since we’ve left Mahkaiaraon, he’s proven his value a dozen times over. We’ve hid from great monsters too strong to fight, followed him along an obscure shortcut in a broken maze of an incomprehensible canyon system, and uncovered an old well of water buried under nearly ten feet of debris.
Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.
Once Azariah realized that I can keep the heat at bay, his disposition shifted from hostile to calculatingly neutral. On the one hand, that makes our interactions more pleasant, but on the other, it means that I’ve been reduced to a human ice machine and furnace. During the day, I’m tasked with cooling the group and chilling our water when we stop at midday and burrow into the hot sands. And, at night, when the temperature drops steeply, my [Greater Heat Manipulation] is working overtime to keep everyone relatively warm and cozy on our marches.
I suppose the fine mana control of staving off the stifling heat of the Barrens for just the people around me, and not in a big sphere, is good efficiency practice. Every day, I’m squeezing a few more minutes out of my glass pseudo cores—although using them around our new guide makes me nervous. I don’t know how he figured out what they are, but he’s been side-eyeing them like a dragon scoping out a new treasure to add to his ever-growing hoard. I only hope he doesn’t resort to thievery.
Wish I knew why he was exiled.
I glance upward to see the sun’s position over the crest of the horizon. A few hours past dawn, looks like. We’ll walk another hour before we break for the day’s rest. I ponder the last several days, trying to glean clues about our guide, but nothing seems out of the ordinary. He’s not a people-person, but he’s profoundly proud of his professionalism. I don’t think we have anything to fear from him directly. I hope.
My idle speculation flees in an instant when a high pitched screech breaks the monotony of our march. A pack of snarling creatures surge out from a slight hollow in the ground where they’ve been hiding. Roughly the size of wolves, but with massive heads that seem too big for their long, lithe bodies, the predators are black-furred with a band of snowy white wrapping across their upper chests.
They dart toward us, their huge mouths gaping open unnaturally wide. The sight of their long teeth sends a bolt of fear through me; if they get past Mikko, then the rest of us are in bad shape.
Azariah is already charging ahead, taking the vanguard position at the front of the group. Smoke from his pipe billows out behind him. With a flourish of his wrists, he gathers the smoke into two gray battle axes that consolidate in his hands. The wicked, curved-moon smoke blades glimmer with red-gold embers, as though they’re still smoldering.
“White-Banded Stoats! They’re nasty, feral beasts. Don’t let em swarm ya and you’ll be right. They go down easy,” Azariah roars. “Now’s the time to prove yer mettle, youngins.”
Mikko springs into action, hefting his glass hammer and thundering after the [Pathfinder] to take up a defensive position. “Mel, slow em down for me!”
“On it!” Melina shouts.
Since Azariah reacted first, he’s a few paces ahead of our burly [Blacksmith]. He swings his axes at the first White-Banded Stoat, intercepting a leap from the leader of their pack, and the condensed smoke sizzles and burns on contact with the monster.
The axe cleaves into the side of the beast’s big head with a meaty thunk. The monster’s droning howl cuts off, but the blade sticks in the hard bone of the skull. Azariah lets go, not even trying to pull it free, and the weapon disappears, fading back into smoke. A new weapon flows into reality—a flanged mace this time—as his pipe smoke solidifies in Azariah’s grasp.
“They’re flanking you!” I yell to Azariah as I run toward the fight. He heeds my warning, shifting to face the next incoming White-Banded Stoat, but Melina’s temporal field pops into existence just in time to slow their movements. Their entire momentum freezes, caught up in the pull of her magic, and Azariah runs past them in search of the rest of the hunting pack.
Mikko rushes toward the pair of beasts with his glass hammer upraised. As he swings, Melina reverses the sway of her magic, speeding up both man and monster. Mikko’s massive hammer pulps them in a spray of gore, and I wince at the brutality of the kills.
The last two White-Banded Stoats spring at Azariah a heartbeat apart, one high and the second trailing low, nipping at his hamstrings. The [Smokeborn Pathfinder]’s mace caves in the ribcage of the first monster, but he’s a split-second too slow to fend off its packmate. Razor teeth slice through his armored leggings like it’s wet paper, biting deep and drawing blood.
I’m there a moment later, driving my fist into the furry chest of the White-Banded Stoat and unleashing a vicious surge of [Vitrification]. At the same time, I shove outward with a pulse of my [Arcane Domain]. Trading nearly half of my mana in one go, I leverage the weight of my Domain against the monster, augmenting my punch and sending it flying almost a dozen feet.
Heart and brain half turned to glass, the vital organs shatter on landing. I confirm through the feedback of my Domain that the mana is gone from its body, fading away with death, and let go of the weighty Skill to sink down next to Azariah, who’s holding his mangled leg and gritting his teeth in pain.
Hesitating for a moment at the sight of all the blood, I still manage to smile and put up a pleasant front. “How bad is it? Can you walk?”
Azariah leans over to the side and spits. He shrugs a big shoulder. “You’ll get to Gilead. Never fear. Now shut yet trap and get the med kit from my bag.”
“Lionel? Help him out,” I say.
“Pull up the pant leg, or I’ll have to cut it away to get at the wound,” Lionel commands as he steers me out of the way. He crouches down next to our guide, all traces of his goofy nature gone in an instant. “Hold still. I’ll patch you up once we see how bad it is. I’m detecting toxins, though. Let’s start with this. [Lesser Neutralizing Touch].”
The Skill glows in my Domain’s passive vision, applying mana to Azariah and drawing out some odd, foul-looking miasma that dissipates into the ether. Like many of Lionel’s Skills, it’s leaking a ton of excess mana, and I can’t help but wonder how we can make it more efficient.
“Thought you were a [Glassmaker],” Azariah grunts. His eyes narrow in suspicion, but he tugs up his pants over his knee to allow access to the cut across the back of his lower thigh.
“I am. I’m also our team’s [Healer]. Now, let’s see what we’re dealing with. Hmm, looks deep,” Lionel says with a frown, probing the puncture wounds with his finger, despite the sharp hiss of pain from Azariah. “I’ll do what I can to stop the bleeding now that we’ve cleared out any toxins, but you’ll likely need stitches so you can heal up properly. We’ll probably still need that med kit.”
Azariah groans. “Get on with it, lad.”
“Right. [Healing Touch],” Lionel invokes.
This time, the Skill activation is cleaner and more tightly controlled in my sight, likely more efficient due to more practice. The mana flow is complex, almost hurting my head to stare at as it spirals into place in the wounds, suturing them up with the invisible energy of the world.
Sweat breaks out on Lionel’s forehead, even though I’m keeping everyone cool through my Skill, and I lean forward in interest. What’s taking him so long? I watch more closely as our [Healer] continues to push mana into the wounds. He hasn’t broken contact with Azariah, even when Mikko returns from retrieving the med kit, and the strain shows on his face as the color slowly drains from his ruddy cheeks.
Five minutes pass before Lionel lets go with a gasp, letting his hand fall to his side. His posture slumps, but he grins weakly. “Best I can do. Might’ve fully regrown the damaged muscle and vascular pathways if I had more mana.”
Azariah flexes his leg, a look of wonder on his face. “No wonder you’re headin to Gilead. Plan to join the Menders? Got real talent.”
“Something like,” Lionel replies evasively, his gaze flitting in my direction as if to ask for permission to speak further.
“Yep, we’ll be visiting the Menders,” I answer, keeping things vague. “Got business of my own with them.”
“Hah. Lookin for a new hand? Good luck,” Azariah says, rolling his eyes. “Ya don’t have near enough gold for that. Expensive schmucks.”
I smile thinly. “We’ll see. That’s for us to worry about. Gotta get there first. Those Stoats we just killed—are we likely to run into more of them? I’ve never seen anything quite like them outside a Rift. Savage little monsters.”
“You call that thing little?” Azariah wheezes in outrage. “Near tore off my leg!”
I nod. “Seen bigger in Rifts. White-Banded Stoats, huh? They look like gigantic weasels, but they fight with swarm tactics like a bunch of rabid dogs. I could see them being tough if they ran around in any real numbers.”
“What kind of crafters are ya, anyway? Never seen a glassmaker who casually mentions Rifts. Even I don’t hazard enterin Rifts, and I’m an explorer born!”
“We’re talented, like you said,” I reply, grinning mischievously at our grumpy guide.
=+=
Proving our mettle in a fight, plus healing Azariah’s wounds, leads to our cranky guide treating us more equitably. He’s still not what I’d consider friendly, but our current dynamic is a big step up. We’ve passed an unspoken test and shown our reliability as part of his team. Now, as a reward, Azariah begins to teach us how to chart our course by the stars.
I discover that the so-called pocket watch he’s been carrying is actually an astrolabe. It’s a complicated bit of gears and dials that somehow correspond to angles and locations and the position of the stars. My head’s spinning as I try to follow his complicated, rapid-fire instructions, but I take solace in the fact that Rakesh is right beside me, furiously writing down notes.
Hlatky. Vivek. The Sparrow. The names of stars and constellations are useless to me, but our [Researcher] seems to know what they mean. That’s good enough for me.
Azariah is able to pick out subtle landmarks that are completely invisible to my team and keep us moving in an optimal path, but we still need the alignment of constellations to ensure we’re still heading in the right direction. It’s the difference between micro and macro navigation, as the smug [Pathfinder] is more than willing to explain. Happy isn’t a word in his vocabulary, unless he gets the chance to show off his superiority, but I’m glad he enjoys boasting.
The deeper into the Barrens we travel, the more and more grateful I am that I didn’t brush off Rakesh’s sound advice and set out without guidance. My recklessness would have gotten us lost for days, at best. Most likely, we’d have ended up dead as we succumbed to the unforgiving environment and ran out of water.
By the end of the second week of astrolabe and star-tracking training, Azariah turns over the navigation to Melina and Rakesh. To the surprise of absolutely no one, the scholarly duo picked up the knack of how to navigate by the stars the quickest. The astrolabe still baffles me, but they caught on so quickly it seems to unnerve Azariah.
Freed from “herding duty,” as he calls pointing us in the way to go, Azariah’s taken to disappearing for hours on end, coming back with news of the Barrens and warnings if we’re drifting too close to another pack of monsters like the White-Banded Stoats.
Today, just before our mid-morning sleep, he returns with a tawny monster with long horns slung over his shoulder, and an uncharacteristic grin on his stony face. “Finally found me a Barrens Oryx. We’ll feast on mana-infused meat today—and I can save the good ribeyes for meself!”
I can’t help but snicker now that we know the reason for his rare good mood. He treats the ribeye like they’re the last bites of some heavenly delicacy cast down to the earth. I like the steak, but not with the nearly reverential fervor Azariah displays.
“What’s mana-infused meat?” Melina asks.
“Secret to why I’m strong,” Azariah says. “Expensive stuff outside the Barrens. Not many monsters around who build up the body, other than Rift creatures.” He shoots me another one of his searching looks, but I just grin in response and keep quiet. He snorts. “No use sellin it at the tradin stations. I’d rather eat it and keep the benefits.”
“Oh! It’s like how Mikko built up his body by holding so much mana in his muscles,” I say, excitement sparking in me at the thought of a new way to soak my body in mana. “But I’ll bet it’s faster, and available to people who don’t have strength-related Skills like my brother.”
“Got it in one,” Azariah confirms.
“Ava, mind helping with the fire? I could light it, but I’m hoping to let my cores recharge before we sleep,” I lie. All I want to do is include her, particularly if she gets a chance to use her fire magic in a non-destructive way. I hope it helps her cope.
She nods and jogs over, using her [Flametouch] to ignite the few scraps of dry branches that Azariah found on his hunt. “Won’t last long enough to cook. I don’t mind tending the flames. [Command: Cinder and Spark] should do it.” She studies the fire for a long moment, not meeting my eyes. When she speaks again, her voice is quiet. “And if not, well, it’s been a while since I’ve drawn on [Adjuration of the Phoenix]. Might be nice to stretch myself again.”
“I saw a phoenix once,” Azariah says. His voice is uncharacteristically solemn. “Feathers like fire, gold and ruby-red. I was down south, mebbe three, four hundred leagues from here. On a job that went sideways. Got sold out by a fellow guide—still dunno why to this day.”
Azariah snorts out pipe smoke, and the gray streams take on the form of a caravan, just like when he’d woven his cautionary illusions for us back in town. Mountainous crags ring about the murky, indistinct shapes of the travelers. This time, instead of a landslide wiping away the caravan, a tenebrous twist to the smoke overwhelms the crew. They’re swallowed up in an inky cloud that abruptly vanishes, revealing a swarm of creatures that mob them.
“Anyhow, I’d taken on a contract to get a team of [Zoologists] to a volcano to study some sort of monster. Don’t know, don’t care. Brought along hired help, hunters to keep lesser critters at bay. They waited until we were on the slope of the volcano, then set off a smoke bomb filled with strange herbs—right smack dab in the middle of camp. The blood scent attracted monsters instead of repellin em. Most of the team died within the first hours.”
He pauses, grimacing, and spits to the side. “They were the lucky ones.”
“Watched a lot of good people get ripped apart around me. The ones who lived through it got eaten alive, bits at a time, over the next two days.” Azariah trails off, letting the smoke drift away. His face grows dark with anger.
“How’d you survive?” Melina asks quietly, managing to sound both intrigued by his story and deeply sympathetic to his suffering. How she builds rapport with people so easily, I’ll never quite understand.
For the first time since his story started, Azariah cracks a smile. “Hah! Hid in the latrine pit, covered in muck and filth. Not even monsters could stand that abyssal smell.”
Avelina clenches her fist beside me. “Smart. You gotta do whatever it takes. Even if you hate it afterward.”
“True enough,” Azariah says, nodding at her. He seems to have recognized that Avelina is struggling with her own trauma, and I appreciate that he treats her more kindly than he does the rest of us.
Lionel raises his hand, like he’s still in school, which earns him a snort of derision. He scratches his nose, not even remotely embarrassed by Azariah’s response. “So, how’d you get away?”
Azariah chews on his pipe stem for a while before he dives back into his story. His eyes grow distant, as though he’s reliving the memory. In a soft, almost devout-sounding tone, he says, “Phoenix showed up. Swept in with fire in its wake and lit up the entire camp, fightin tooth and claw with the monsters. Burned em all. Fire consumed monsters, bodies, supplies—everything. Thought the fire’d take me, too.
“Instead, the bird flew in front of my half-dead little body, covered me with its wings, and let the fire destroy it. All to keep me safe. Me! When I woke, the phoenix’s corpse turned to ash and smoke, all swirlin about. The smoke collapsed into itself, turned into the most beautiful egg I’ve ever seen. Swore in that moment that smoke was the element for me. Dragged myself out of the hills and back to town, reported the other guides, and evolved my Class to [Smokeborn Pathfinder] outta respect for that gorgeous creature. Decent trade.”
Azariah lifts up his pipe like he’s toasting us with a mug of beer instead. “Peh, listen to me ramble. Best get some sleep. Got a long trek ahead of us before we reach the tradin post tomorrow. Yer glass’ll be in high demand, if ya have the energy to make any trinkets aforehand. Welp. Catch ya tonight.”
Without any further ceremony, Azariah wraps himself in a blanket, lays his head down on his travel pack, and commences snoring.
We soon follow his lead, although I have a hard time sleeping. Buzzing incessantly in the back of my mind, like a swarm of annoying midges too tiny to swat, is the excitement of visiting a small sliver of civilization after our weeks in no man’s land. I wonder if we’ll be able to sell our glass at good prices. Maybe I’ll even offer a few imbued items, although I don’t want to flood the market. Either way, it will be a nice change of pace from the tedium of trudging along in the dark, keeping a tense watch out for something that might kill us at any moment. Safety sounds nice.