Analia strolled through the Fields of Parron, whose fragrance and beauty was fuel to poets.

She’d chosen to wander where the landscape dipped slightly, and if one looked in the right direction it was easy to feel that one was separated from the rest of the world; adrift in a sea of vibrant colours. A gentle gust of wind even simulated ocean waves through the beautiful plant life.

Analia stroked the pink petals of one the small ganni-trees that dotted this part of the Fields. There was a wonderful cleansing effect to this blessed place, which no evil had ever dared set foot in. It was just the place to visit after a harsh nightmare.

But the illusion of being alone in some impossible sea was just that, and she turned at the sound of approaching footsteps. Petyko had shed his armour for a coat with the exact same colour scheme, and he’d left his sword at the edge of the Fields. The man stretched his arms wide and groaned happily.

“So, do you have your next masterpiece ready?” he asked as he lowered his beefy limbs.

“It is not quite so simple,” she told him. “The seeds have been planted, in the soil of these experiences.”

She touched the side of her head.

“Now they need to grow. But I will have something ready soon enough, and submit it to the council.”

“I have no doubt it will make it into the Great Canons,” he told her. “Yet another chapter in our people’s history, told during summer festivals for generations to come.”

“Is that praise of my abilities, or of yourself for having a role in this particular chapter?” she asked with a smile.

“Can’t it be both?” the warrior replied. “But we have company.”

He gestured in the direction of Sahasalon, and where the landscape crested just enough to hide the city from view stood Myrina and Jonelik. They were looking towards someone who was coming, and with a bit of a sigh Analia walked over to join them. She felt in no hurry, and the Fields of Parron always seemed to somehow discourage it anyway, but personal healing aside there were still matters to attend to.

The four of them stood together on the crest by the time their guest arrived. He was a handsome man heading into middle-age, with a neat little beard and clad in a distinguished robe.

“Councilman Kylis,” Analia said. “Greetings.”

“Greetings yourself, Champion,” Kylis replied. “It is good to see you all. And...” He took a savouring breath. “It is good to feel this air again.”

“How are things in the city?” Petyko asked.

“The Great Serpent has been bound in place again,” Kylis said. “As strongly as it ever was, and the weavers are looking into ways to do even better.”

“Disaster is often the mother of innovation,” Jonelik commented.

“So it is.”

“Is everyone accounted for?” Analia asked.

“Everyone,” the councilman told her. “There are plenty of injuries, and even more shocks of the spirit, but all live.”

“The whole point was torment,” Petyko said seriously. “Of the whole city. Revenge and victory in the name of the Abyss. Only those who got close to threatening the great lie were targeted for death.”

“And even so, we... and those others... all survived,” Analia said. “I consider that a mark of the strength of our people.”

There was a brief silence, and she took it to mean they were all mulling over her words. Kylis, in particular, looked quite thoughtful.

“I could almost remember,” the council half-whispered. “I had the pieces to understand what was wrong, and what needed to be done, but I could not assemble them properly.”

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“Neither could I,” Jonelik said, and the two shared an empathetic look.

“Well, you did an excellent job of hiding, Councilman,” Analia said. “The Powers certainly know that I tried to find you.”

“I was being hunted,” he said, and it seemed that for a moment he was reliving it all. But they stood in the Fields of Parron, and his gaze soon softened.

“Well,” he said as he pulled himself together. “All is back to normal, or shall be soon enough. And that is why I am here: The Council of the Wise wants to see the four of you in the High Hall. We will need a thorough debriefing on what happened. The weavers will be given the task of preventing another such spell from being cast on us, and it is best if they have every detail possible.”

“And emotion,” Analia reminded him. “Wielding power is always a matter of emotion as much as anything.”

“Yes, yes,” he said.

“In five hours, correct?” Jonelik said, with one of his slightly smug looks.

The councilman smiled at him with amused annoyance.

“They wanted to see you in three hours, but I talked my colleagues into five. The four of you deserve a generous breather.”

“We do, as always, serve at the pleasure of Sahasalon,” Myrina said.

“And the duly chosen representatives of Sahasalon have agreed that you may rest for five more hours,” Kylis said. “So please do so.”

He seemed about to leave, but something held him in his steps. His professional demeanour, never all that stiff to begin with, fell away, and he beheld them with an odd mix of emotion Analia fixed in her mind for later recreation through music.

“You came through for us,” he said in a voice that matched his look. “All of you. Yet again. Time and again evil threatens, changing shape each time, and every time you stand as our shield. Our champions.”

Kylis stood still for a few moments, clearly at a loss for words.

“I rather wish I was one of the artisans. But I am not. So I have no idea how to sum up your value, and my gratitude on behalf of all our people.”

“We serve,” Myrina replied softly. “We serve something truly worth serving. I myself find worth enough in that. And in the safety of my neighbours, my kin, my companions and the service our city does to mankind.”

“Spoken almost like an artisan,” Analia said, turning to the woman with a smile.

“Spoken in earnest,” she replied.

“And you are averse to praise, I know,” Kylis said. “Like a true champion ought to be, I suppose. But we can all revel in the glories of our city once normalcy commences in full. I will see you in the High Hall.”

He turned and walked away. Analia kept her eyes on him as he drew further away. It was rather interesting to note the way his pace sped up a bit the moment he left the Fields behind. She then shifted her gaze a bit higher, at the city glimmering in the distance.

What a place to call one’s own. And how much more greatly she appreciated it now that she’d tasted something else. And just like that she realised yet another song seed had been planted in her overly crowded artist’s soul.

“I know a certain humility is befitting a champion,” Petyko said as the councilman vanished from sight. “But... well, we really are rather amazing.”

“You are not supposed to say that,” Analia said, although she said it with a smile as she walked up to him and wrapped her arms around his left one.

“Supposed to? No.”

“It’s all so strange...” Myrina muttered, and for a moment she looked almost as haunted as the councilman. “I remember that other life, that other city, and all of its different rules and workings. So complex but so dull. So choking. But it’s all... hazy. Distant. Mostly I remember the emotions it caused me.”

“Dreams are like that,” Jonelik said.

“So they are,” Petyko said in agreement. “They make perfect sense while they are happening. Then you wake up, and the nonsense becomes so very blatant.”

“Can we also agree that this was a very strange outing, all in all?” Myrina asked.

“I think we can,” Petyko replied. “But we rose to it. That is what we do. The four of us.”

He looked at each of them,

“We’ve proven that. Last time it was the Unborn Legions. This time it was the Deceiver and his tricks yet again. Next time perhaps it will be more Ash Giants, or the Masked Dead. Who knows?”

“I think I will have an inkling soon enough,” Jonelik said.

“Yes, yes,” Myrina said with a wry look. “And you’ll go just a little bit mad in the process and lord it all over us in your own little way.”

“Maybe,” he said, with a wicked little grin.

“Definitely.”

“My point is,” Petyko said, “that we’ll meet any challenge.”

“That we will,” Analia said. She separated one step from Petyko and held one hand out to him and the other to Jonelik. They each took her hand and took each of Myrina’s, forming a bond circle. She looked at each face; her companions, fellow sworn champions, her friends, with whom she’d braved so much through the years.

She smiled happily and the nightmare faded further in her mind.

“Together.”