“Ever heard of Will-o-Wisps? The lights hovering over freshly buried graves? They say your soul will be sucked straight out of your body if you catch a glimpse of them. Wearing three pepperwart roots as a necklace will keep you safe.”

“Oh, I’ve heard of something like that! Though here in Kalat, we say milk in a bowl saves the soul. Offer them a bowl of milk during the Guider’s Star’s zenith to appease them. Do it once every month, and the spirits will leave after half a year, guided towards a peaceful rest.” Fehyin said.

“Fascinating! That’s one worth remembering.”

Misara inwardly groaned. The olive-skinned young mercenary that had introduced himself as Dugeno had at first looked regal with a square jaw, steely eyes, and a well-groomed beard. A black cloak added an air of mystery spiced with threat from the longsword gleaming on his waist, his eyes scouring the countryside for danger. That had lasted about an hour. Fehyin occasionally talked at their escorts or to no one in particular. He had gone on, ignored, then as if something had changed, Dugeno began replying, then having entire conversations with her uncle and laughing with him, eventually finding room for himself next to Fehyin. It wouldn’t have been so bad if they hadn’t started trading tidbits of stories, each one more ridiculous and supernatural than the last. Worse, he spoke with an accent that meant Fehyin would suck the marrow off that poor boy’s bones looking for exotic tales. She’d be dealing with the fallout of this for months. Ghost stories were definitely in her future. Stories of distant lands wouldn’t be so bad if only Fehyin’s tendency towards the theatrical wouldn’t distort them into harrowing stories of monsters and fables. She tried tuning them out as Dugeno dove into another story, most likely nonsense like summoning ghosts on a full moon or dashing salt on Lelorians, the long-eared folk, so they didn't murder each other. She had heard that one before and was fairly sure instead of stopping them from stabbing each other; they’d simply stab her for doing that.

To her surprise, she was having a hard time concentrating on the Tretoic runebook. Sure, half of it was from the noisy conversation, but the other half was the strange runes themselves. She’d assumed, quite wrongly, that since she knew how Aelithic runes worked, the same would be true for Tretoic runes even the few times she’d seen Boreas runes, it was mostly the same. Just different shaped squiggly and straight lines drawn on an object, simple, straightforward, primarily rote and memorization with a steady hand backed by intent which she’d mastered. Tretoic runes took that idea and threw it down a well. Intent took center stage rather than the other way around. That had caused Misara to pause and read the book back several times. What was the use of proper rune inscription if it mattered less than how you felt about it? She’d always thought of runes as symbols that conveyed an idea, like the word fire with intent as the trigger. Tretoic runes were more akin to drawings representing concepts and the visualizing of intent, on the enchanter's part, doing the heavy lifting. The book didn’t help much since it expected the reader to have a firm grasp of the basics already. The only rune she’d been able to decipher so far was Fluidity. She’d tried it on a scrap of leather, and nothing had happened. At least Aelithic runes made sense.

Misara rubbed her forehead, unable to pierce through the jumbled mess that was Tretoic enchanting. She went back to listening to the two up front, trying to compose herself and watching trees go by as their wagon slowly rolled along, occasionally bumping up and down as it ran over debris on the road. Sunset approached, and crickets had already begun chirping. Misara relaxed, closing the book, hearing Fehyin’s voice. It had taken on that tone he used when she was young and filled with wonder, calm and soothing filled with a hint of the extraordinary as if containing his excitement.

“Tell you an old enchanters tale, passed down from generation to generation. There was a man who lived long ago, before the first Menanian empire’s collapse, before people even walked Anora’s shores. He sought to discover the secrets of the stars, for his people remembered them. Not only the Guider’s Star but the vast assemblage of lights like a massive encampment, lit by uncountable torches, that stretched through the heavens. His father and his father's father told the man that Atrista had grown jealous of their beauty and hid them away, leaving only the Guider’s Star to help men find their way through the night when she was away. Not believing them, the man sought out the oldest person in the world for surely they would know the truth. He traveled far but never knew hunger, impressing villagers with magic for bread and tales. Eventually, the man heard of a woman named Glimech who had lived before the stars vanished. He asked for directions, excited to finally know the truth. He found her, gaunt and skeletal, on a river constantly rowing her boat to one end and back to the other. When Glimech made it to his side, he asked her why she rowed to and fro, to which she replied, cackling, ‘A bargain struck with Death. He cannot slay me whilst I quest.’ Fascinated but determined to know the truth, he grabbed her boat. Glimech screamed, whacking the man with her oar, but he refused to let go, asking her the secret of the stars. She told her the same tale his father had told him. Disappointed, the man let go, and Glimech rowed away, but not before yelling one final thing. ‘Look to the Guider’s Star to find the lost ones.’ Puzzled but hopeful, he returned home. Now with a clue, a hint to figuring out where the rest of the stars were locked away. Using ancient knowledge, he began enchanting a mirror with powerful magics to gaze more clearly upon the Guider’s Star so he could find the lost ones. However, he needed the light that obscures, Atrista's light, for her power had placed the seal. During a full moon, on top of a hill, with the full weight of Atrista's presence bearing down on him, he worked, casting spells in the old ways. But, Atrista saw him and what he wrought. She was furious and cursed him, trapping his soul in the mirror, dooming him into captivity, unable to free himself or the stars. Much to his horror, he soon realized that Death no longer hunted him for he was outside Death's domain. Even Atrista had not known how cruel her curse had been. That’s why no enchanter will work a spell on mirrors during the full moon, lest Atrista remembers the slight and curse them with the same fate. Hopefully, with death as an option this time,” Fehyin laughed at the last part.

Misara remembered being told that story when she was ten and smirked. One night on a dare from her cousin, she’d done just that. Cold, windy, and terrified out of their minds but filled with youthful bravado, they’d secretly gathered in an abandoned house with Atrista looming over them through the ruined roof. Misara had meticulously drawn runic symbols to make the mirror heat resistant. Nothing had happened. They’d waited for a few minutes before trying other magics upon the mirror with the same result. It was a bittersweet memory. The relief and disappointment she’d felt were both hammer-blows signaling an end of her childhood naivety. There was magic, and then there was the supernatural.

Dugeno had thrown his reins to the older man that might've been his father when he moved onto their wagon. At least that man’s gaze had never wavered, his eyes still roving through the underbrush. He’d at first been farther in the lead but had slowed until he was only a few feet distant from them. He was listening in on the conversation, grimacing whenever a new story passed between Dugeno and Fehyin. Misara grinned, seeing a partner in misery. She placed the book back in their chest and hopped off the wagons backside, neither Dugeno nor Fehyin noticing. The man did spot her climbing onto Dugeno’s horse, but he merely looked amused and continued observing the landscape.

“Needed to get away from those jawing old wives,” she said.

“Hirrus,” The man said, performing a curious gesture, a cupped hand moving from his chest towards her.

“Greetings, Hirrus. I’m Misara,” She said, trying to replicate the gesture. He smiled then.

“It’s from heart to heart,” Hirrus said.

“Oh.” She performed the gesture again, and he nodded in approval. “You guys look like you’re from Bura. Is it true it’s so hot you can crack open an egg and eat it fully cooked by the time it hits your mouth?”

“No, and I’ve never been anywhere hot enough for that,” Hirrus said, raising his eyebrows.

Misara chuckled. “Just checking. Where are you guys from?”

“Genagin. Far to the east of here, farther than Bura, across the ocean.”

That was astounding. Her uncle would get those exotic tales after all. Menanee remained the largest empire left on the Anoran continent, and Bura, though not an empire, was huge, bigger than Menanee. If not for their inhospitably dry land, they would’ve been a powerhouse. As they were now, Bura still maintained power of sorts by trading goods between kingdoms cut off by the great desert in the continent's middle. Beside Menanee and forming a border between Bura was Kalat, a not-so-small kingdom either. She tried picturing the distance all the way east with little success.

“That’s amazingly far.”

“Aye,” Hirrus grunted. Misara waited three breaths, but no more words followed.

“What’s it like over there?”

Hirrus simply shrugged noncommittally. “There are more important things we should discuss.”

“Oh? Like what?”

“What do you know of Menanee and Kalat’s alliance?”

This time Misara raised her eyebrows, caught off guard by the topic. “We’ve been allied with Menanee for hundreds of years.”

“And yet you go to aid their enemies, strange.”

“We are allowed to offer our services to anyone. It's one of the freedoms we’ve fought for. No one can tell us what to do.” Misara said proudly, leaving out the or else. Kalat fielded enough mercenary companies that if they ever seriously went to war, no singular country on Anora would be able to stop them.

“Aye, strange. Been working here for near a year, and I haven’t seen a battle where there wasn’t Kalatians on both sides, tearing each other apart.”

Misara winced at that. The most popular enchanted items in the entire Kalatian empire were masks. Masks that disguised your voice were especially valuable. They ensured that homecomings didn’t turn into awkward reunions or, worse, blood feuds.

She’d seen it herself. No one wanted to have a village dance with Kelindrel, slayer of Mendral who was father of two children and married to a poor seamstress. No amount of poo-pooing or ‘It was a battle. It had to be done.’ had stopped that seamstress from slitting Kelindrel’s throat during the night, leaving the village with two orphans. Their mother having been hanged the next day.

“Okay, my countries a tiny bit strange, but so what? Everyone has their problems.”

Instead of answering, Hirrus asked another question, “Do the Menanians pay well?”

Misara scowled. “From what I hear, they don’t.”

The old man sighed, ceasing his vigil and fully looking at her for once. “I was hoping they simply underpaid foreigners. There might be treachery afoot.”

“Treachery from who? If you wore a pointy hat, you could pass for a wizard old man. What are you talking about?”

“It’s nothing, merely a hunch. Forget I said anything.”

Misara scoffed. The Dark Age would come sooner than that. Had he been offered gold to betray them? A chill passed over her, and she excused herself, getting off the horse and moving back to the wagon, no longer feeling safe out in the open without their defensive runes. Fehyin broke off from his conversation, finally noticing her escapade.

“Hear any interesting tales from your new friend?” he said smiling.

“Just doom and gloom.” Misara stared at Dugeno. He at least had the decency to look abashed.

“Ah, well, I must get back to my watch. It has been nice chatting with you.” Dugeno said, making that heart-to-heart gesture towards Fehyin. He gracefully leapt off and quickly mounted his horse, leaving Misara and Fehyin alone. She took the now empty spot beside Fehyin, watching Dugeno and Hirrus pull farther forward, scouting ahead.

“That old man knows how to put a damper on the mood.”

“They don’t have drainage systems where they come from?” Fehyin asked, raising his eyebrows, looking aghast.

Misara snorted. “No, he said we might be betrayed, but he didn’t elaborate on who or why.”

“Hmm, that is worrying. However, you should feel safe any mercenary that betrays us to bandits will find themselves facing our secret weapon.” He winked. “ I’ll talk to him about it,” Fehyin said, giving her a reassuring smile.

“Yeah, I’ll go check our defensive runes.” Misara climbed over to the backside, checking their runic weaponry, not just the wagon’s wards. Hirrus hadn’t been hinting at simple banditry.

I

- - = O = - -

I

Hours later, Misara popped open their chest, storing the Tretoic runebook beside their Aelithic one, using a dim glowstone to see as the sun had gone down. Then, she promptly locked the chest with both magical and physical locks, securing their family's legacy. Any night-time thief would find the chest challenging to grab, and attempting to pick the lock nigh-on impossible. Practical, not flashy, quite how Fehyin liked things, the opposite of her.

They had mundane runes which kept cloaks dry through even the worst downpours, but nothing dramatic like a blazing sword. Misara sighed, even adding their new Tretoic rune, nothing changed. Fluidity did hold some promise, but finding the correct medium to use Fluidity on would be an obstacle. Perhaps something rigid to better highlight the changes? It might even be possible to make flexible metal armor.

If only Aelithic runes worked with these new ones, unfortunately, they didn't. Different rune types didn't work well together. Oh, there had been experiments in the past but, the results had always been duds or catastrophic disasters. Aelithic, Boreas, Tretoic, Galendran, Mitheous, and all the other types each held their own power, advantages, and disadvantages but mixing them at least safely was deemed impossible by most, leaving her with just this one rune to experiment with. Still, it was the only one she needed. Baby steps, First, figure out how to make this rune work, then the rest would follow.

Standing atop the wagon, she breathed in methodically, looking up at the moon, Atrista, slowly rising over the sky. One breath turned to two, then three as the light bathed her, seemingly gravitating towards her. For one wondrous moment, she felt a tug at her senses, and then it ended. Misara looked around the valley, campfires sparking to life, illuminating people in a plethora of golds and reds, resembling a small village. People walked about, setting up tents, talking, gossiping, preparing food. There was comfort here, but there were legends up there. Whispers between campfires of heroes slaying titanic monsters of old, soldiers of eras long past battling fierce wars against dark lords, and always the legends spoke of the magic items they used. Weapons like Rajelus, the spear that broke open the sky toppling Caerulum, the last flying castle. She was no hero, but you didn't need to be one to create a legend. She breathed once more, gazing at Atrista, and felt a slightly stronger pull, a trick she'd learned from a passing mage. One she hadn't told Fehyin she knew, partly because Misara was uncertain how Fehyin would react when she told him the price, copies of all their secret Aelithic runes. The wizard emphatically warned her not to do more than three a night, and she could see why. The ground slowly moved about in waves forcing Misara to stand there for several minutes, recuperating. She would create her legend one day, and it would be a weapon for the righteous, for a hero with a mighty cause, a good cause.

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Misara hopped off the wagon and made her way towards their campfire. Her uncle had invited the Pelanin family to dine with them, which was partly annoying. They had three children, all apprentices, none of which she could trust for ten seconds with their wagon. Pesky enchanters always trying to find new runes to play with, she thought, smiling to herself. Her uncle liked forging bonds between other enchanters, so while she wanted to ignore them and immerse herself in experimenting, a certain amount of camaraderie was required. You can tell secrets to friends, Fehyin always said with a twinkle in his eyes. The oldest—Delim, a tall, gangly teenager—was cooking soup, but none of the adults were nearby.

"Hey, Delim, right?" she asked him.

"Yeah," he said, flashing a grin at her. The other two, Felina and Weralim, looked bored. She was sympathetic for them as they were too young to do any enchanting without supervision.

"Have you seen my uncle?"

"He’s at a meeting. Shouldn't be too long," Delim said. Meanwhile, Felina had started trying to annoy Weralim by just barely not touching him, and Weralim, for his part, played the classical youngest sibling, railing at the cursed toucher of those who should not be touched.

"Stop it you two!" Delim shouted, voice cracking, pink blossoming on his cheeks.

"They're just having a bit of fun," Misara said. Delim sat by a few wooden blocks, which Misara realized fit her criteria perfectly. She nonchalantly stood beside him, having spotted her quarry. "Your family works with sensory runes, right?"

"Yeah. Sight and hearing mostly, what about you?"

"Secret," she said, laughing. Delim blushed, refocusing on the soup, realizing he had just given out information for nothing. It was an excellent lesson to teach him. They might be friends, but they were also competitors.

With pleasantries out of the way, now seemed a good time to try that Fluidity rune while everyone was distracted.

"How's the soup?"

"Almost done," Delim said.

"Good, good. Don't burn it!" She said, slapping Delim on the back and laughing. Before Delim could object, she picked one of the blocks up and sat down opposite him. Then, as if getting out her knife for simple woodworking, she started carving.

"What are you doing?" Delim asked a bit too enthusiastically, making Misara wary. Was he onto her? Well, she'd show him by example how you dealt with these situations.

"Just an effigy," she said, not quite glaring at him, but if he wanted their secrets, he'd have to try a bit harder than that. Delim awkwardly went back to stirring the soup, adding some spices here and there.

"Ahh, well, did ya hear about the necromancers?"

"The ones in Ceren?" Misara asked. She was trying to subtly carve the rune between shaping the wooden block into a hideous approximation of the sun goddess. She was trying to concentrate on an image in her mind. Water! Be fluid like water!

"Yea, those," Delim said, rolling his eyes.

"I hear they work on dead bodies like we do objects. Kinda creepy, but what's new?" Misara said. From those words, two children abruptly stopped fighting, sensing something exciting was about to be said. Like mice sniffing out treats, They sat down next to Delim and Misara, mouths agape. Delim suddenly found himself with a crowd and took an authoritative tone.

"I heard dad talking about it. Ceren's losing the war bad, and we'll be working on dead bodies and helping necromancers. We'll be touching dead people," Delim said in an ominous tone. Weralim and Felina gasped. Misara paused a bit unsettled, but what he said was ridiculous, so she returned to carving.

"We're only going to enchant items. I doubt they'd reveal their national runes to us. That'd be dumb," Misara said. And this needs to be less rigid! she thought.

"But they don't have enough enchanters to do their work. That's why they hired us!"

"Yeah, and we'll be enchanting armor and weapons for living soldiers," she said. She had finished the rune and started adding fake ones, a strategy any sane enchanter employed. She liked to use her own set of self-made runes for this. Though Fehyin constantly warned her that good enchanters would instantly see through her fake ones for what they were, yet they fooled every enchanter that had bought from them, hoping to copy their runes, so they must not have been that bad!

"Not of they're losing. The necromancers aren't any better than the Menanians, and they use slaves. Ceren just uses a different kind of slave. When we learn their secrets, they'll make sure we never leave. We'll serve for eternity as undead."

"The Enchanters Guild wouldn't put up with that," she snorted, staring at the wooden block in her hand, gripping it as if she could squeeze it into a liquid.

"I heard they have something called spirit hounds! They can go through walls and kill people in the dead of night. The Enchanters Guild can’t fight that. They’ll let em have us," Delim said. Felina gasped, and Weralim started crying.

"Does your dad think Ceren would keep us from leaving?" Misara asked, abruptly switching focus from the effigy of Salrion she was strangling to Delim.

"Yeah, he told me! He trusts me with the truth," he said, thumping his chest with pride. Misara was starting to grow worried. She didn't want to believe what he said, but it did make a twisted sense. Besides, people had done much worse to enchanters to pry out their secrets. Her heart started beating a bit faster.

"Well, Kalat would bust down their doors if The Enchanters Guild didn't, and if all that's true, why's your family coming along?" she said.

"We need the money, and soon when Ceren gets desperate, they'll unleash the Joklos. They'll beat back Menanee, but then we'll never be able to escape. I heard Naillin say Joklos can sense the living. You can't hide from them no matter how far away you are. They can probably sense us from here."

Felina started crying, and the shadows around the campfire seemed to hide a bit more than darkness now. The weeping children didn't help. Misara was about to reply when the wooden block in her hand made a popping sound and dissolved. Everyone but Misara started screaming. By the time the mercenaries made it to their camp, Misara was chuckling awkwardly, looking at the wood splattered on the ground. Delim, realizing what had happened, tried to calm down the children. However, He was too late to stop the ensuing chaos, all that became background for Misara. She had no idea the enchantment would take so quickly or be so powerful. Even Aelithic enchantments took half an hour for someone of her power. Were Tretoic runes faster, or this an abnormality? Another thing to study.

The liquid-like puddle of wood didn't seem very useful either. It was an amorphous blob, but it remained intact, which could be something. She dipped her hand into the puddle, watching the substance flow around her hand, but whenever she tried to separate it by cupping a part in her hands and lifting, a tiny sliver remained attached, bringing the rest of the blob with it. She tried cutting it, but it was like trying to cut water. Finally, she tossed it into the fire and watched it burn. At least that worked. There would have to be some formulas to control the magical effect. Surprising since the medium had been only wood.

Meanwhile, swords were drawn and flashing from the firelight. People shouted, ran around, secured the perimeter, asked for information; there was even a mage illuminating the surroundings with light spells.

"Enough!" Hirrus roared, causing Misara to snap out of her musings. The old man had lungs.

"You boy! Where's the trouble?" Hirrus said, pointing at Delim. Delim flushed and muttered a reply. "What?'" Hirrus cupped a hand on his ear.

"No trouble. I was just telling scary stories," Delim said. The mercenaries went from high alert to annoyed.

"Sorry, I'm partly to blame too. Was testing a rune," Misara said sheepishly. It was a bit her fault, and unlike Delim, she didn't fear what her uncle would say. He'd laugh it off and recount tales of his own mishap-filled apprenticeship. Delim's father, Telim Pelanin, though? He looked like someone had killed his favorite dog yesterday, every day. It was the least she could do, but where was her uncle? He didn't come running with the mercenaries.

"Alright, seeing as how you lot can't behave, we'll be posting some guards here," Hirrus said. He delivered a withering glare at Delim, which Misara felt bad for, but then she saved the pity for herself. When he stared at her, the disappointment was like a punch to the gut. Painters should draw that man's disappointed face and post them all over Anora. That would surely cease warring on this continent as any lord would be driven into an apoplexy of introspection once he looked at that. She inspected the ground. Away from that face with prominent, bushy, graying, downturned eyebrows.

"Where’s Fehyin?" She asked.

"Meeting. They're using sound wards. No one can hear in our out."

"Must be important."

"Aye, He’s taken my warning seriously."

Misara looked up at that. Would he reveal his information now?

Hirrus simply sighed. "Think of it this way. You're a massive war resource that's going to get many Menanians killed. They won't let you get to Ceren."

"But Menanee won't attack Kalatian civilians. That'd be a diplomatic incident," she said.

"Only if Kalat acknowledges the attacks, I'll place the Keepers of Kedel here for your safety," Hirrus said grimly.

"We don't need any guards!"

Hirrus shook his head. "Think of it as practice for them." he turned away, waving people back. Most of the mercenaries started filing towards their original guard positions except a small group that appeared to be around Misara's age. After some talking, Hirrus left, and the small group of youths made their way to Delim. They were three, two young men and a woman.

"Dimera Riolor," Dimera said, giving a stiff, formal Kalatian greeting, leaving Misara with the impression that these were patriots. It was almost like Salrion, the sun goddess, wanted to see how bad a day could get for mortals. Fortunately, Dimera didn't sound like she hailed from a city where the most zealous ones were. Sure, Kalat was known for its martial society and mercenary companies, but a group of people inside that society took it to heart, to the nth degree! You had to tiptoe around those people.

"D-Delim Pelanin, these two are Felina and Weralim, my siblings." Delim managed to splutter out. Dimera nodded, then glanced at her.

"Misara Itandra," she said. If Dimera was anything like Gelimor, a city kid that moved to their humdrum village, there might be some problems.

"You gaggle of donkeys look like you're about to piss yourself." Dimera laughed. Misara relaxed, and Delim breathed out in relief. "This is Lehime, my brother, and the lazy one to my left is Rienar." Lehime resembled his sister. Both were tall, black-haired folk with stern features, Rienar on the other hand, was Misara's size but gaunt. His face wore a perpetual squint, with blue orbs barely visible. Hidden doubly so below a mess of unkempt, long blonde hair. The most telling thing, though, was that his belt held no sword but instead a wand.

"Wizard?" Misara asked. He shrugged. His wizardly demeanor in check, at least.

"Picked him up when we formed our company. You need three to start one, quite a catch eh? We have to fix his attitude, but that's a small price to pay. You got enough of that soup to hand around?" Dimera asked. Rienar clicked his tongue, gazing across the nightscape stoically or maybe wizardly?

"Yeah, sure," Delim said, grabbing bowls and filling them.

"Thanks. Lehime, you'll get some later. Go stand watch." Dimera said. Lehime groaned but did as ordered.

"We're in the middle of the camp," Misara pointed out. She doubted Hirrus had placed them here to watch over anything but her and the Pelanins to keep them from making trouble, which was annoying because she had more experiments to run!

"Aye, we'll keep you safe from danger even here." A hint of steel entered Dimera's tone. Misara noticing the sudden change in manner, wisely dropped the subject. Maybe Dimera wasn't so bad that she considered every Kalatian without martial discipline a disgrace to the long glorious history of their kingdom. But, Misara had no idea where she landed on the patriotic scales of crazy. Their society had a problem. Not one they talked to outsiders about either. It was kind of like pretending your insane uncle was normal when guests came over for dinner, despite everyone in the know being scared out of their wits while they ate, hoping nothing would happen. At least, the crazy uncle of the Kalatian kingdom did seem awe-inspiring to any outsider visiting the table for the first time, filled with heroic tales and deeds, which was why she kept her mouth shut.

They ate their meal in silence, minutes slowly passing by, Misara's mind awhirl, desperately wanting to ask the wizard a few questions or go off and experiment. However, Dimera watched Misara keenly, as if she was about to go and dissolve herself to see what it was like. Like she was a child! Even though Dimera was at most a year older than her! So minutes crept by with naught a word. If only Hirrus had stuck Dugeno with them. He knew how to take it easy, unlike this lot, though from what she’d seen, he’d be trading gossip with intruders instead of raising the alarm, so maybe it was for the best.

"Can I have some more?" Weralim asked; Delim nodded and grabbed for Weralim's bowl.

"Rienar switch with Lehime," Dimera said, causing Delim to jump.

"Oh right, here you go," Delim said, handing over a bowl to Lehime first. He was clearly nervous of all three of them, but Misara thought Lehime seemed affable enough once he started once the children began playing around him, and Rienar didn't seem so high-strung. Only Dimera worried her.

"Soooo, what made you guys take this contract?" Misara asked Dimera, trying to probe her a bit more.

"Decent pay, low risk."

"Hopefully," Misara grimaced. "Aren't you supposed to take on tough missions for first contracts?"

"And risk dying a dog's death? Hah! that's a stupid tradition." Dimera laughed, Lehime quietly joining her, laughing through his nose. Dimera had a funny-sounding staccato laughter, making Misara smile. Delim stopped hunching his shoulders.

"Yeah, I thought that too, but some people you know!" Misara said.

"What about them?" Dimera abruptly stopped laughing. Misara gulped, and Delim pretended he was busy cleaning all the bowls. Wait, Lehime was still quietly laughing, and then she studied Dimera. The left side of her mouth was trembling.

"By Salrion's Bosom, you're a lemon-sucking cupcake!"

"That's cute. Do all enchanters curse like that?" Dimera laughed again, and this time Lehime let out a full laughter, deep and bellowing. They enjoyed doing this!

"I thought you were one of those maniacs trying to join the Kalatian army," Misara said. For nearly three hundred years, the Kalatian army remained the strongest force in the northern part of Anora. They had high requirements like serving three years in a mercenary company and participating in at least five A+ ranked contracts. It was a small army compared to others, but it wasn't uncommon for them to take battles outnumbered three to one and win. They were the pride of Kalat and also the crazy uncle.

Dimera shrugged. "Not my style,"

"Had me fooled."

"Aye, me too." Delim broke in.

"Bit of fun! I need to keep up the act when I'm around them, you know. Good practice. You guys can relax. All of the other Kalatian mercenaries here are only trying to make ends meet. None of that death before dishonor nonsense." Dimera said.

Misara felt relieved. Then Hirrus's words struck her again, and she realized that, on this journey, those were the type of countrymen she'd rather have by her side even if they'd have to deal with their outrageous demands or disdain for civilians.

"Well, you had your laugh, but it's not funny when one of those Doqats tries to kill you because you waved a flag the wrong way," Delim said. Before Dimera had a chance to respond, movement caught their attention, and Fehyin, Telim, and Meralin, Delim's mother, broke through the darkness. Felina and Weralim ran towards their mother, hugging her. Delim started scooping up the rest of the soup into three bowls. Nervousness was evident on his face. Telim looked more dourer than usual.

"Mom, what's a Doqat?" Felina asked. Poor, poor Delim, she thought. Misara bit her lip.

What were you guys talking about?" Misara interjected, trying to distract them from Delim with little success. She saw Delim get dragged off by Telim with Meralin in hot pursuit.

"Logistics, boring stuff," Fehyin said, taking a filled bowl. Misara watched him eat, watched the slow way he chewed, ignoring the dressing down Delim was currently getting. She had tried! Her uncle typically took pleasure in conversation while eating, yet now silence reigned over him. A dark curtain obscuring his normal visage. The set of his mouth, his empty gaze, the mechanical way he ate. She waited until he was done.

"Uncle, can we talk?" She pointed over to their wagon "Itandra family business."

"Of course." He gave a poor smile that only deepened Misara's anxiety. She led the way, stopping when they no longer heard Telim's angry yelling.

"Did Hirrus clear up that whole traitor thing? Are we turning around?" she said, a hint of hope in her voice. A fun adventure loomed on their horizon this morning. However, now it resembled a one-way trip to the Fallen Lands.

"Hah! And lose the chance for a new rune? That's not the Misara I know." He said, chuckling.

"I'm serious uncle."

"No, we have to do it. Besides the runes, everything else has been paid for." Fehyin's convivial facade faded.

"Return the payment!"

"The Commissioner was there when I agreed to the contract. His personal seal is on it." Fehyin's face was bleak. "I'm sorry. This was supposed to be an easy mission, but Menanee isn't honoring neutrality right now. I didn't know. Ceren always seems like it's on the brink, but they always pull through. This time though," Fehyin sighed. "Maybe Menanee saw some weakness they've never seen before. They're trying to crush Ceren."

"But they wouldn't attack Kalatian civilians, right? That'd be war!" she said. Fehyin shook his head.

"Hirrus's company debriefed him. They’ve seen it happening, and Kalat has yet to respond."

"What if we go back?"

Fehyin gave her a sad smile, "You know what'll happen. They won't spare the children either. If it had been anyone else overseeing the contract, this wouldn't be an issue." Fehyin slapped the wagon's side, showing a rare hint of anger.

Misara was perturbed. She had come into this conversation expecting her uncle to deny what Hirrus had said, to laugh off all notions of impending doom. "I'm sorry," Fehyin said again after he noticed how quiet she was. He hugged her, and that brought little relief.

Later that night, Misara lay beside their campfire, wide awake. It felt like betrayal. Why had The Commissioner, one of the highest-ranking military advisers, personally overseen this contract's agreement? Had they been betrayed? Who was betraying them? She didn't know politics or military matters. She only knew that this felt like someone had pushed her and everyone else off a cliff. They couldn't go back, or The Kalat Military would execute them as cowards, and the road forward wasn't the safe journey the contract had implied. Yet, that wasn't all that kept her awake. One more niggling worm kept poking around in her head. It was this; she hadn't even asked Fehyin about what Delim had said. Misara turned over restlessly. She wasn't getting any sleep tonight.