Four days later, Thepa stumbled off the ship, well past the setting of the sun, thoroughly inebriated. Somehow, she had made it back to her office despite being completely sloshed. If anyone had crossed her path or spoken to her, she had no recollection of it. What she did remember, in fragmented flashes, was stripping off her clothes at the door, dragging out the small cot she kept hidden under her desk, and collapsing onto it. Sleep took her before she had the chance to think, pulling her into its dark, unforgiving embrace.

For the fourth night in a row, Rory haunted her dreams.

This time, the dream took the form of a memory, almost cruel in how it replayed before her eyes. She watched from a distance as her younger self sat under a familiar tree, side by side with a younger Rory, both of them engrossed in their studies. The daylight was dim, a setting sun casting darkening everything around them, yet Thepa recognized the place immediately. It was their sanctuary, a tree they'd meet at almost every day back in training.

"Do you ever think about right and wrong Thepa?" Rory asked, carrying a bit of softness in her voice.

The younger Thepa didn't look up from her book. "Not really, no."

Rory turned back to pressed her, pleading in her green eyes. "Well why not?"

With a sigh, Young Thepa finally set the book aside, marking her place with a casual crease at the corner. "I'd like to think I'm a good judge of character. Unless you're telling me I'm not, and I should rethink our friendship."

Rory gave her a playful nudge. "No, that would be terrible," before her voice grew serious again. "But how do we know we're on the right side of the war? Sure, we're more civilized, but maybe the beasts just want to live their lives too."

Thepa could still remember how absurd the question had seemed back then, how she had brushed it off as youthful idealism. Of course, were on the right side, she thought. She thought it then and she still thought it now. But that wasn't what she told Rory. Instead, her out-of-body self-mimicked the same words she spoke to Rory long ago.

"Where are you going with this?"

Rory hesitated, her gaze drifting to the horizon. It was the look she got when she was second-guessing herself. Thepa had come to know it well, though she hadn't understood it in the moment. It was one of the things the two of them actually had in common. "Even if we're right about the beasts, why are we so bent on killing them? Two wrongs don't make a right. The Goddess is right..."

"Actions have consequences," came another voice—Rory's, but older, harsher. Thepa turned to see a second version of Rory, the one that haunted her nightmares, standing beside her. The memory scene dissolved, leaving Thepa face-to-face with her tormentor.

"Please," Thepa whispered, the words choking in her throat.

Rory's shade sneered, her green eyes burning with disdain. "What's the matter, little satyr? Bottle not enough for you anymore? Maybe your mother's teat is still available—unless you managed to kill that too."

Thepa tried to avert her gaze, but she was paralyzed, rooted in place by the weight of guilt and fear. Around her, the darkness seemed to pulse, growing thicker and more suffocating. "It's not my fault you died. I tried..."

"Oh, I see," said Rory rolling her green eyes with exaggeration. "Big satyr, wants to play. Unfortunately, youngling, grownups take responsibility for their actions. YOU DON'T GET TO RUN AWAY FROM THIS!"

Thepa felt herself shrink, her body physically diminishing until she was half Rory's size. When she finally spoke, her voice was that of her younger self, small and fragile. "Go away."

Knock.

Rory morphed, her face and figure twisting until Sister Zelphina stood in her place, holding a freshly cut switch. Zelphina snapped it against her palm, glaring down at her with a cruel smile. "Scared little youngling, pretending to be a leader. What you don't understand, Thepa, is that leaders don't get to play. They lead, or they leave. And you—well, you've spent a lifetime running away."

Thepa glanced down and realized she had reverted to her youngling form. Small green top and earth-toned trousers barely covered her mud-caked body. Her hands, short and grimy, were clasped tightly together. She could feel herself unraveling, her strength fraying. Desperation clawed at her, and she made a last-ditch effort to fight back. "I hate you."

Knock.

Zelphina disappeared, and now another figure took her place. Except this time instead of Rory or Zelphina, or someone she might have expected like her mother, this person completely caught her off guard: herself.

Thepa stared in disbelief at her doppelgänger, a perfect reflection, yet colder—eyes darker, posture rigid, like a mirror image stripped of warmth. The other Thepa's gaze bore into her, unblinking and unforgiving, a judge waiting to deliver a verdict to strike at her every worth.

"No, Thepa. We both know the person you really despise is you."

Knock.

The figure shifted once again, this time back to Rory. A blue light flashed in the process, and Thepa could feel the dream fading away. Rory frowned and as she washed-out of existence, she taunted Thepa a final time. "Run to Griff, Thepa. The sooner you're gone, the sooner you'll be replaced. The world would be better without you."

Knock, knock, knock..."Captain, are you in there?"

The voice, accompanied by a persistent knocking, snapped Thepa awake. She jolted upright, her chest heaving, her skin slick with sweat. Her muscles ached, sore from the constant tossing and turning on the too-small cot.

A yawn escaped her, more from exhaustion than relief. A different person might have been more annoyed, but she was grateful. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if she had been crying out in her sleep. The last thing she needed was to be sent to the hospital for a psychological evaluation.

"I'm here," she called out to the unknown stranger on the other side of her door.

"It's Lieutenant Rhihorn Captain. May I come in?"

Thepa glanced down at herself—rumpled underclothes, no trousers, and hair in wild disarray. She certainly wasn't ready for visitors, or work for that matter. If she hadn't been so sloshed, maybe she would have thrown on a dressing gown the night before. With a groan and a splitting headache, she staggered over to the clothing hooks to retrieve her trousers. "I'm a little busy at the moment, is it something important?"

A pause. "I was worried when I didn't see you at formation this morning ma'am."

Thepa cursed silently under her breath as she tugged on her trousers, blinking against the searing light streaming through the window. She squinted, gauging the sun's position—well past daybreak. Thinking quickly, she blurted, "I was working on a project for the Archduke. Give me twenty minutes, and we'll review the morning report."

"More deception," Zelphina's voice slithered into her thoughts, mockingly. How long are you going to keep up spinning lies, Thepa? Pretty soon they'll all unravel, and you'll have nowhere left to run, little one."

Okay Captain.," called the voice through the door. "May I get you anything?"

"No that will be all."

She waited until she heard the sounds of the lieutenant's boots walking away and finished getting dressed. Her headache throbbed behind her eyes as she tidied her uniform, pulled her hair back, carefully avoiding the two small horns that protruded from her forehead. The beret was next, followed by the moon-shaped pendant Rory had given her with the letter. She tucked the pendant under her tunic—hidden like so many other things. With everything in place, she carefully folded the cot and tucked it away beneath the desk, erasing any sign that she had slept there.

Thepa double-checked the room. Satisfied, she stepped into the corridor, walking briskly to the latrine. There, in the mirror, her reflection greeted her—blue eyes dull, ringed with deep shadows, and red veins creeping across the whites. She splashed water on her face, the coolness momentarily refreshing, but when she wiped away the droplets, the exhaustion was still there. She rubbed her eyes, knowing full well it was useless.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

You're falling apart, she thought, staring into her own weary gaze.

After freshening up, Thepa returned to her study, where Lieutenant Rhihorn waited outside the door. She gestured for him to enter but left the door ajar. She didn't fully trust him—not enough to allow a private conversation—but more importantly, she wanted the meeting to be brief. By keeping the door open, she was sending a message that this meeting should be as quick as possible.

"Report," she yawned, rubbing her temples.

"Ma'am, Lieutenant Aldermoon reports a goblin raid on the second level gate last night."

Thepa nearly stumbled out of her chair. "What? Why am I just hearing about this now? Where the hell is Aldermoon?"

Rhihorn shifted uncomfortably, glancing at his notes. "It says here the raid involved about twenty-five goblins, but they never reached the gate. Lieutenant Aldermoon reported that the new elite team had arrived earlier in the evening from Lightmount. Due to an overflow in the barracks, they were staying at the inn on level two. It was sheer luck they were nearby, given the staffing shortages. If not, things could've gone a lot worse."

Thepa sighed. She had been meaning to bring up the staffing issues for weeks. It might have been minor, but it was another failure in a rapidly growing list of her choosing to live in the magical numbness. She could almost feel her tormentor lurking again, reveling in her incompetence.

"I'm scheduled to meet with the new team this afternoon," Thepa muttered, forcing the guilt aside.

Rhihorn nodded. "Yes, ma'am. The report notes that the team dispatched most of the goblins within minutes. Very few managed to retreat."

Her headache was pounding and rubbing her temples weren't helping. Instead, she tried to roll her eyes into the back of her head. "Any casualties?"

The lieutenant turned the page. "No casualties, but there was a report of a civilian being injured...hmm."

She raised a brow. "Problem, Lieutenant?"

Rhihorn hesitated, then lowered his notes. "Not exactly, ma'am. Lieutenant Aldermoon included a remark about the injured civilian. She's unsure if the raid was related to Goldale or if the goblins were targeting the civilian directly."

"Was the civilian interrogated?" Thepa asked, frowning.

Rhihorn shook his head. "No, ma'am. She was unconscious when they found her."

"Where is she now?"

He scanned the report. "The hospital, I assume, though it's not noted here."

Thepa stood back up ready to move on. She did not want to deal with this right now. At the very least, she needed to talk to Griff. Already she could feel her body craving another fix.

"Alright Lieutenant. Have a sergeant sent over to the hospital to get her statement. If the goblins were after her, we need to know why. And when you see Lieutenant Aldermoon, have her report to me immediately after her shift. I'd prefer to hear the details firsthand."

"Yes, ma'am. Anything else?"

"No, that'll be all."

Thepa waited for Rhihorn to leave before pretending to sift through her notes, buying herself time. Once the corridor outside was quiet, she grabbed her coat from the hook and exited her office. Fortunately for her, most of her officers were working diligently in their studies, and she was grateful that the only encounter she had on the way out was a single guard who saluted her.

The path out of her office led Thepa through the barracks and onto the bustling main thoroughfare of Goldale's third level. The air was crisp, filled with the scents of spiced meat and fragrant herbs wafting from the vendors' carts. Expensive shops lined both sides of the street, catering to the wealthy nobility that lived in the grand quarters beyond the spire. She rarely ventured into these polished shops—too refined, too detached from the realities she faced daily. But the smaller stalls hidden in the side alleys always called to her, offering simple, hearty food that reminded her of home.

By mid-morning, the avenue was alive with activity, nobles gliding in their embroidered finery, merchants shouting their wares, and servants rushing about with packages. As Thepa neared the hospital, her attention was drawn to commotion unfolding in the street. A finely dressed noble, face flushed with indignation, was wildly gesturing at someone seated on the ground. A beggar, perhaps? Thepa started to make her way there, but the figure—a gaunt, shadowy person dressed in a hospital gown—sprang to their feet and bolted down a nearby alley before she could get a good look.

Thepa walked on. As she passed the spot where she had seen the beggar and the noble arguing, she looked around, but both of them had disappeared by this point. She continued down the road a little further until she was nearly bowled over by a elvan youngling who darted into her path.

"Is that your bow, ma'am?" the elven boy blurted, his wide eyes fixed on the weapon slung over her shoulder. His enthusiasm was infectious, and Thepa found herself smiling despite the weight of the morning.

"Sorry about that, Captain," said an elven man, accompanied by an elven woman, as his eyes move towards the insignia on her beret. "Since the military parade last month, he's been rather obsessed."

Thepa chuckled softly, kneeling slightly to meet the boy's gaze. "That's quite alright." Her smile widened as she asked, "What's your name, recruit?"

"Milo, ma'am!" the youngling declared, practically vibrating with excitement.

Thepa's heart warmed. For a moment, all her worries—Griff, the nightmares, Rory, the burdens of leadership—melted away. The emptiness inside her still lingered, but at least for now, it receded into the background.

"Well then, Private Milo," she said, her voice firm yet playful. "ATTENTION!"

The youngling snapped to a mock salute; his stance surprisingly disciplined for someone so small.

Not half bad, she thought as she circled him like he was one of her own recruits. Might even be better than some of the greenhorns.

The youngling shook with excitement, but stood firm, trying his hardest to impress the her. Coming back around she let him relax. "At ease recruit. You appear well disciplined. You must have graduated top of your class in basic training." The father and mother snickered. "Yes, disciplined indeed," she said a little louder, "But now we must decide what division to put you in." She stopped to pontificate some positions. "Gate guard? Scout?" She gestured to her bow, "Hunter?"

Milo practically bounced on his heels, barely containing his excitement. Thepa reached for her bow, teasing him with the possibility, then paused mid-action, making him deflate slightly.

"No, no, that won't do," she said thoughtfully, tapping her chin. "I've got it—the perfect assignment." She leaned in close, as if sharing a classified secret. "Spy."

Milo's eyes widened to the size of saucers, and he nodded eagerly. "I won't let you down, Captain!"

Thepa returned his salute with a grin. "See to it that you don't, Recruit. I expect a full report in a few weeks. You're dismissed."

Feeling her spirits lift slightly, Thepa resumed her trek toward the Spire. She was headed down to the first level, where Griff would no doubt be waiting. As she neared, a different voice called out to her, albeit a more familiar one.

"Fancy some breakfast Capt'n?"

On the left-hand side of the street stood a strange human male in yellow, blue, and purple clothing peddling a cart of freshly caught fish, most likely caught from the night before. Thepa shifted her bow on her shoulder and made her way to him as he frantically waved. She liked the rough fish merchant, and enjoyed his bantering and nicknames. He made her feel like a normal Saintian. Fortunate to have another positive interaction and the chance to feel normal, she decided Griff could wait once more.

"Omar," she greeted with a smile. "What do you have that's good today?"

Omar's grin was as broad as his shoulders. "Capt'n, you know I only deal in the finest! I keep the cheap stuff down on level two. Only you and yours get the premium."

"And that stuff you sold me two weeks ago?" Thepa asked, raising her brow.

Omar clutched his chest in mock pain, feigning mortal offense. "You wound me, Capt'n! I'll tell you what—next one's on me. Pick whatever you like."

She glanced at his cart, tempted as her stomach reminded her how little she'd eaten in the past few days. But protocol was protocol. Accepting anything for free, even from someone as harmless as Omar, could be seen as a bribe. However, as she checked her pockets, she realized she had given up the rest of the coin for the boat. For now, she would have to go without. The awkward feeling in her stomach that had had nothing but potato water for the past few days did not agree.

"I'll pass for today, Omar. Was there a reason you called me over?"

Realization hit him as he smacked his head. "Almost forgot. The men at the docks have a fix on that thing you're looking for."

Thepa's disbelief slipped out as a laugh. "It's about time! You've been telling me for months."

Omar held up his hands in defense, grinning sheepishly. "Capt'n, you know that place is hundreds of miles away. You can't just throw a line out on level one and expect to reel in something like that."

She folded her arms, teasing. "Oh? I thought you said you could catch anything, Omar. What was it? 'If it's in the ocean, I'll find it. If I find it, I'll catch it. If I catch it, you can eat it'—weren't those your exact words?"

Omar winced, backing up a step. "Well... maybe I was boasting a little. But we've got it this time, I swear! Just need a little help bringing it in."

Yet again, she shook her head in disbelief. Somewhere behind her, a commotion had started. "What kind of favors is it going to cost me this time?"

He rubbed the back of his neck, glancing around conspiratorially. "Ah, you know... customs have been a bit of a nightmare lately. Maybe you could... help smooth things over?"

Before she could respond, the commotion behind her grew louder. A shout pierced through the hum of the street.

"I'll teach you to never steal from me!"

Thepa's head snapped around, her posture stiffening. Across the street, she saw another vendor, face twisted with anger, looming over a figure huddled on the ground. The vendor kicked the poor soul viciously, landing blow after blow to the person's ribs.. Shocked that he would try something like this in her presence, she put a stop to it at once. "What's going on here?"

Angrily, the vendor turned, fury still burning in his eyes—until he too recognized the insignia on her beret. His expression crumbled into fear, and he stumbled backward, nearly falling. As he did, time stopped and she got a full view of his victim.

No... Thepa thought. It's not possible.

The tangled mess of red hair. The pointed ears. The green eyes.

A chill ran down her spine. Her mouth went dry. In the back of her mind, Sister Zelphina's cruel laughter continued to torture her. She should have known better. Again, her mind betrayed her in what could only be her comeuppance. Any second now she would wake up back in her cot as it would be revealed that Rhihorn, Milo, and Omar were just her mind's way of luring her into a false sense of hope before once again punching her in the gut.

Yet something was different. This time the only thing rooting her to the ground was her own body weight. There was no surrealness to her surroundings and the Saintian on the ground about to lose consciousness appeared as real as her own two hands.

Taking a hesitant step forward, Thepa swallowed the lump in her throat, allowing a single word to dribble from her lips in a soft whisper.

"Rory?"