Oswin hurried into the room, excitement clear in his friendly, dark brown eyes. Surrounded by disease, a hybrid survivor and a mystery, the mage was in his element. His brown hair was mussed by his hood and his shimmering bronze robes were soaked near the bottom and only got worse when he kneeled before the girl, seemingly unperturbed by the massive creature lying next to them.

“A strange-looking girl. Has a call of destiny about her, I am sure you feel it too, Prince Caeden? Whether that bodes well or ill for us, I cannot say. But I sense no ill will in her; no more than I do any other person,” he commented. “What races do you suppose she is birthed from?”

“Orc would be my first assumption, but only Elves have such iridescent skin,” Caeden answered, parting her lips to inspect her teeth. “Perhaps, she is a mixture of both Elf and Orc. What a scandal that would cause for them,” he smiled as he stroked her ear in absent-minded wonder.

“You – should not touch my ears,” the girl muttered weakly, pushing his hand away.

Oswin failed to stifle a smile and cleared his throat, busying himself with loosening the ties of the girl’s overgrown armour. Knight-Commander sniffed disparagingly behind him, and Caeden felt himself redden. Everyone on Archaicron knew that Orcs and Elves had a thing about their ears and touching them displayed an intimacy that went beyond mere friendship. What in Holden’s name possessed me?

The girl grunted when Oswin tried to remove the satchel from around her shoulders to get the armour off. She grabbed it possessively and held it to her belly. Oswin let her hold onto it, slipping the armour through its straps with some effort.

“How strange. The wound is old, yet the disease has not progressed as far as it would have with the others. Perhaps hybrids possess a resistance to it? Whatever the case, she has been fighting it for a long time. I may just be able to help her,” Oswin said.

He brought forth a golden flame to his left hand. Unlike most of Oswin’s fire spells, this one did not burn or radiate intense heat, it merely flickered and glowed warmly. These flames were meant to heal instead of harm. He placed his hand over her injured shoulder.

The girl squirmed in response, grimacing, and struggling to suppress a scream. She grew limp, her eyes growing distant and her breathing deep and erratic. The darkness spread further along her breast and shoulder.

Oswin removed his hand and patted the creature, calming its growing restlessness. Caeden often wondered at the easy kinship spellcasters had with wild beasts, doubting that they knew why or how it developed themselves.

“I tested this spell on the severed skin of the diseased; the illness retreated in the face of it. All I needed was to test it on an infected person whose illness had not progressed to the point of madness. I do not understand why she grows worse,” Oswin vented in frustration.

“There is something inside. I – felt it – move. He put it there – I think - when he cut me,” the girl whispered, breathlessly. She stared unseeing at the roof of the cabin.

“Who? Who put it there?” Caeden asked.

“He, who commands – in a strange tongue. Can you not hear his voice?”

Caeden grabbed her chin and turned her face until her eyes registered his presence.

“You will not listen or obey, the only voice you will hear is mine! Is that understood?”

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The girl’s brow creased, unsure of what to make of him. She nodded but continued to watch his every move, not with suspicion, but something else. What did she see, I wonder? What was she learning? She was skilled enough with the bow to be a hunter, was that what she was doing? Learning her prey? Or learning to behave like it? She was certainly not from the Empire, far too bold for a girl so young.

Oswin cleared his throat. “She might be suffering from the early stages of madness. Hold her still while I check the injury for what she speaks,” he said, separating the skin and glancing inside. “I see something,” he declared after gazing into it from all directions.

Caeden saw it too. A dark glimmer reflecting the rays of light. Oswin inserted the clamps he was holding and probed the injury. The girl writhed in his arms and Caeden stilled her movements as much as he could, but he could do nothing to prevent her pain-filled screams.

“I have it!” Oswin yelled in what seemed like an age, holding the clamps in the porthole’s light for them to inspect.

“What is that creature?” Ser Morley muttered, fingering the hilt of his sword as they watched the shiny, black insect writhe.

It stopped moving, suddenly. Long, thin legs folded in on themselves until it was nothing more than a sliver of glass so dark that Caeden felt lost inside it.

“Seems to be nothing more than black obsidian,” he said, averting his eyes from the stone.

“Dark Obsidian,” Oswin corrected. “It is enchanted, most likely with a curse. What is the purpose of such a spell? To infect, yes, but why? To what end?” He placed the obsidian on a nearby table and covered it with a tin cup he found there. “I should have insisted we take apart the afflicted dead. The knowledge we let slip our grasp.”

“And deal with the corpses walking among us together with those ash creatures? Not to mention having Fern’s wrathful eye turned upon us because we desecrated the dead. Perish the thought. You, girl.” Caeden shook her gently from her fitful sleep. “What happened here? Who cut you?”

“He shot the dwarf... His burning eyes... He went mad... So many dead...”

“The fever has her delirious, but her wound will heal now,” Oswin said, moving his golden flame across the afflicted area of her shoulder.

“It is her delirious ranting that troubles me. Can you read her mind? See her memories?” Caeden asked.

“Not if you want me to turn her into a drooling babe! Prince Caeden, for the last time, I am a mage and specialize in Pyromancy. Any Psionic spells I attempt will have undesirable effects more often than not. If you wanted a wizard as your Magic Advisor, you should have brought Gildaen.”

“I would rather not,” Caeden answered, his mouth turning down at the thought of the Master Wizard. Oswin may only be a mere mage, but he had a far better bedside manner than that insufferable man. “Tell me your name, girl?”

The girl stared at the roof, her eyes were livelier, more golden than the brown he thought them before, but they were still not fully aware of their surroundings.

“I am Ava – First of her Kind.”

“Well, Miss Ava, First of your Kind. I am Caeden, son of Emperor Haeden and Lady Ella, Prince of the Casimir Empire. Tell me where your ship was heading.” He stood, carrying her in his arms. The creature trailed behind the three men on unsteady legs.

“The Dorcan – Trading Post and then The Motherland.”

“Then your ship veered off course, you were heading to Casimir Empire and Haalfkinguit, the human lands. Oswin, make sure this ship and its disease sink to the bottom of the ocean. Ser Shael, set course for Spectermere. We sail as soon as everyone living has boarded the Lady Ella.”

“No!” she rasped, squirming in his arms. “You cannot. You will find only death and shadow.”

“Be still, Miss Ava, lest you slip from my grasp and fall to the ocean.”

Caeden watched the dwarven ship burn as they sailed south, Oswin’s fire elemental could still be seen hovering mid-air as it continued to throw balls of fire at its surroundings. She would go down with the ship when it sank to the ocean floor.

“Minervin,” she whispered fitfully.

The name brought a cold shudder to his body. His fingers itched to caress the gold pouch hanging from his belt. Why would she know such a cursed name?

“You should have left the girl there to burn with the rest, Your Grace. She is evil, whether you or Oswin see it,” Ser Morley muttered beside him.

“Be that as it may, Knight-Commander. The girl knows something about the origins of the Dark Plague and the land to which we sail. Perhaps she knows something about the power growing there that Gildaen spoke of. She will serve as our guide. I will not have us trek through the frozen wasteland blindly.”