The rain had picked up considerably. Ilias mentally cursed his awful luck as they made their way down from Zion’s tower and across the large bridge. He very carefully avoided looking at the lake, as he was not ready for any reminder of The Incident.

Reaching the opposite side of the lake only increased his exhaustion. The downpour had managed to change the dirt into mud, which meant that the journey to town was going to be even more bothersome. He allowed himself a small, sad sigh which was instantly lost in the wind and rain. The day had been long and he was just so tired. He wanted to curl up underneath some heavy blankets and drop the pretense for a moment.

It didn’t help either that it was now getting quite dark. The night had no desire to stop descending upon them while they miserably waded their way through the muck. Nor was it pleasant how they within mere moments were soaked to the bone. The wind kept mercilessly whipping the chilly water on their faces.

Ilias shivered as he slipped on the mud for the umpteenth time, barely managing to keep his footing.

If he was being honest with himself, he was still a little bit in shock. Apparently Zion was a dragon, and Spiro wasn’t. He had trouble wrapping his head around it all. Then again, ever since he’d left home crazy stuff just seemed to be happening to or around him. So all things considered, he supposed he should fall out of his stupor. Instead of letting it drag on. He shook his head slightly as he slipped again, nearly falling.

Another shock had been the memory. Or, it had been more unexpected than shocking perhaps. He missed his mom even after all these years. It had been both wonderful and heartbreaking to see her face again - to hear her voice, to smell the faintly coconutty scent that always had seemed to follow her everywhere… His heart squeezed painfully as a familiar lump formed in his throat. He blinked rapidly, trying to prevent any extra moisture from gathering in his eyes. He’d had enough of that.

Speaking of, the award for the infinitely most shocking and dreadful thing of the day still went to the fact that he’d cried. Right in front of Erevan. Not just a little bit either, no no, he’d given the others a full-on spectacle by bawling his eyes out. With snot dripping down his nose and all. Bloody hell. His nose was still stuffy.

He lifted his head and blinked the rain out of his eyes, gazing ahead. In the heavy downpour it was hard to tell but he thought they were almost out of the woods. The lights from the town twinkled like stars in the distance before them. They were nearly there. A small, wretched thing that resembled hope began kindling in his chest at the thought of a warm, dry bed. Also he could easily skip breakfast if needed without making it weird.

And then, without warning, he slipped again. Though this time he was unable to break his fall. Because he was just the worst.

He caught himself on his hands and knees, feeling the cold mud instantly soaking and coating up his fingers. The rain poured down heavily as if it desperately tried to wipe the mud off and make him clean again. He inhaled sharply against the bitterness and hopelessness swelling in his chest, snuffing out the previous kindling.

Okay, okay. It wasn’t the end of the world. He tried to convince himself of this, that he just needed to get up and join the others before they’d notice how far behind he was lagging and everything would be fine. It was fine and he was fine, he was always fine, everything was fine. Pathetic, a voice sneered in the back of his mind.

He bit his lip as he tried to drown the thoughts and focus on getting up again. He lifted his left knee, gingerly placing the foot on the unsteady terrain. Only to slip again as he put more weight on it. This time he managed to make an even closer acquaintance with the ground. Or in other words, he fell face first into the sludge.

It felt like the perfect metaphor for his life. Every time he tried to stand up he just ended up face first in the mud. It was all his own fault too. Every time. Because he was too clumsy, too quiet, too loud, too stupid, too cowardly, too selfish, too shy, too brazen… The list went on and on. It felt as if he was constantly balancing on a razor thin rope, always veering too much into one direction or the other. He never seemed to get it right.

Not that he’d ever been good with balance to begin with so he wasn’t quite sure why he kept expecting to do better.

He sighed dejectedly in the mud, feeling the rain pattering on his back intensively. Like little needles poking everywhere. Even his clothes and hair were completely plastered on his skin by now - not providing much in ways of protection from the cold and wet. He couldn’t summon the strength to try again, his limbs feeling heavy as lead.

It felt as if the mud had accepted him as its own. He was so tired. And sad. And tired of being sad. Maybe he should just lie here. Become one with the mud. It’s not like he had anyone left who cared about what happened to him anyway, so why not?

“Ilias!” A voice could be heard calling amidst the raging wind and the water bombarding the back of his head. Okay, maybe he was being a bit melodramatic. Another thing to add to the list of his shortcomings.

“Ilias!” The voice was closer now. In a somewhat detached manner Ilias noticed the voice belonged to Nalion. There even was a touch of concern bleeding into it, as he had yet to answer. The detachedness faded as guilt began to take its place, swirling in nauseating circles within his gut. Damn, now he’d gone and made Nalion worried for nothing. He was fine.

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“Are you okay?”

Ilias wearily closed his eyes, waiting for a moment in order to be able to conjure a convincing smile. Then, he lifted his head and flashed it towards a worried Nalion and an ever intimidating Erevan. Apparently they had both returned by his side.

“I’m fine, just taking in the sights,” he joked lightly. The last bit wasn’t even lying as he could taste some of the earthiness of the mud on his tongue. Lying with the truth always was the most effective way and his personal go-to whenever possible. However, it didn’t help in appeasing a disgruntled Erevan who glared down at him with his arms crossed. Or, well, Ilias supposed the ranger glared since that was what he usually did. It was difficult to discern much of anything in the murky environment.

“Get up,” the ranger said gruffly, tone impatient.

Ilias brought his arms closer to his torso, palms down on the ground. His cold fingers were beginning to feel stiff in the chill. He was trying his hardest to be careful, hoping against hope that it would help with the slick substance.

Instead of helping it only seemed to prompt him to become acutely aware of how his heart was anxiously throbbing in his chest. He was going to fail in front of an audience this time. That was always the worst. He sucked in a breath, slowly sliding his knees up, and… Slipped once more. There he was again, face first in the mud. It really was the metaphor of his life.

See Imad? He could come up with metaphors too.

Ilias clammed his mouth shut and shoved down the bitter and hysterical laughter that almost bubbled its way up his throat. If he started cackling like a crazy person, there was a risk that he might also start crying. And if he started crying again he didn’t know if he could stop. That he could not afford as he’d been crying enough in front of these two to last a lifetime.

Before he could make another attempt doomed to fail, he could feel a pair of hands grabbing his arms on both sides. The mud made a smacking sound as it reluctantly released its hold on him, a feeling which Ilias partly shared. He’d been ready to become mud-people. Yet now he was standing, with both Erevan and Nalion steadying him on either side. He could feel his muscles freezing in place, barely daring to breathe as his mind struggled to catch up. What was going on? Why would they do that?

He tried his hardest not to look too spooked as he glanced at the others. They let go of his arms once they probably deemed it safe. You know, balance wise. Erevan scowled at him before angrily stomping his way towards the town again.

Ah. Now he understood. He could feel the slight tension bleeding out of him as he stared at the dark blurry blob - also known as the ranger’s retreating form. Erevan wanted to get back as soon as possible and both he and Nalion were too good people to just leave him lying there in the rain.

He smiled winningly at Nalion before fumbling his unsteady way. He just needed to follow Erevan along the muddy trail. It didn’t feel like he had a choice. Thankfully he was spared further shame as he stayed on his feet for the rest of the miserable journey. After a while they finally reached the inn. They’d done it. They’d actually done it. Got the staff and everything and now they were done. The realisation hit him out of the blue, leaving him a bit lightheaded.

Erevan banged on the door with a closed fist and considerable force. Nalion stood next to the ranger, grasping the staff tightly against his chest. They both looked positively drenched and miserable. Whereas Ilias had, selfish as he was, been making it all about himself. He felt how his lips nearly curled down on their own volition. He consciously made an effort to brighten his smile.

After quite a while of relentless pounding on the poor door, Robert finally came to open it. The innkeeper looked as tired as they were. Robert rubbed his face, bleary eyes blinking at them. He had probably been sleeping. Ilias instantly felt bad about waking him up. He really had been an ungrateful brat, prolonging their return with his nonsense. Regardless, it was good that Robert came to the door when he did as Erevan had been getting a murderous look in his eyes.

“Get in ya idjits,” Robert scolded fondly while stifling a yawn. He closed the door quickly after them so as not to lose any of the heat the small embers in the fireplace provided.

Erevan gave a noncommittal grunt, walking past Robert with his boots squelching on every step. The floor was soon covered with muddy footprints. Robert looked down at the sludge with a weary resignation as he began preparing a beer for the ranger. Ilias felt even worse for him. Here he was imposing on this man’s kindness, and now they were making a mess of his home and livelihood as well.

Then a thought struck him. He had magic now!

Ilias felt stupid forgetting that, even though it had been a relatively new addition. It didn’t look like Robert had minded that much when Nalion had been helping out before. Ilias knew he could do it, as cleaning small things up had been the way he’d discovered the magic in the first place. Back then it had been by accident and it had freaked him out, but now it was quite handy.

He didn’t really even need to concentrate as he cleared the muddy spots from the floor, strange words flowing from his tongue fluently. He still didn’t really understand the meaning behind the words. They worked, however, and that was the most important part.

He turned to look at Nalion, who was gazing at him with a burning intensity. Like he was a particularly interesting puzzle the elf so dearly wished to solve. Or how a predator eyed its prey before pouncing. Ilias felt a little uncomfortable by the intensity of the stare, like he was put on the spot. Luckily it was easy to act unfazed as he was used to being stared at.

“Do you want me to dry you off too?” he offered as kindly as he could. He did enjoy the company of the somewhat odd elf after all.

“Yes please! I would really appreciate it,” Nalion smiled wearily as Spiro peeked his head out of the elfs bag. Soon both Nalion and Spiro were dry as desert. It was nice, being able to help. Even if it was such a useless little thing.

Ilias looked over where Erevan was sitting, the rangers disapproving eyes following their conversation while the man himself was nursing a beer. Ilias lifted his hand slightly in a nonverbal question whether Erevan wanted to be dried off too. The older man's gaze clouded with mistrust, warring with the discomfort of wet gear. After a brief staring contest Ilias had not intended to start nor consented to, yet where he was too afraid to look away, Erevan did end up removing his boots. The ranger dumped them on the table with a smack.

“Just the boots,” Erevan rasped warily, watching him with the eyes of a hawk. Ilias quickly did as requested.

“Is the spell limited, so it can only be used on others or your surroundings?” Nalion asked after a while, ever curious. Ilias blinked.

“Huh?” he said intelligently.

“You’re still wet,” the scrawny elf pointed out.

“Oh,” he uttered. He had been so focused on finally being just a little bit useful that he had completely forgotten the wet coldness still clinging to his body. “Right, yeah. Just thought you looked cold, and I felt fine.”

He smiled as charmingly as he could to prove his point whilst lying through his almost shivering teeth. With a flick of a wrist he was dry, and retired to his room with a cheery “Good night!” as Robert finally noticed the dainty staff Nalion was clutching. Credit where credit is due and all that. It would have been dishonourable from him to hog it when all he did was tag along.

Tomorrow he’d leave. It had been painstakingly clear how much of a burden he’d been. That had not been his purpose, in fact he hated it. Leaving would be for the best. He didn’t want to be in the way anymore. Otherwise he might as well have gone back home.

No, he’d find something else. Take some job elsewhere in Lucca that was too dangerous for most people. Maybe then he could make a difference. Or maybe he would die trying. It didn’t really matter, even though succeeding with the first one would be nice. After all, that’s what all this was for wasn’t it? A second chance to do something good in the world. Then maybe, hopefully, he would have done enough to deserve a place in heaven. Otherwise he doubted he’d ever see his mom again.