---ROTHFIELD GRANGES---

The stench of failure clung to the air; a mix of dying crops, blackened soil, and the sharp, acrid tang of Wilbur’s burnt concoction. The new crops had showed promise. Now they lay shriveled and lifeless, stalks of Wilbur's experimental grain curled like the fingers of a starving man. Even weeks after the miasma's retreat, its taint lingered, choking the land of life and hope.

I watched Wilbur sift the grain between his fingers, his brow furrowed as if willing the seeds to sprout by sheer force of will. His hands were stained with earth and ash, the smell of sulfur clinging to his robes, refusing to be washed away. He muttered under his breath, voice low and tense.

“It should have worked,” Wilbur murmured, crushing the brittle stalks into powder. “The soil was treated properly. I accounted for every element….” He flung the remains of the grain to the ground, his shoulders slumping. “If we can’t find a solution soon, there won’t be a harvest. There won’t be anything left.”

I glanced out over the desolate fields, a heavy sense of guilt pressing down on me. I had watched Wilbur pour his heart into this endeavor, hoping that his reliable fertilizers would bring salvation to Rothfield and the lands surrounding it. But instead, the blight was winning, suffocating everything it touched. And the villagers had begun to whisper of curses, omens, and the Saints themselves turning their backs on us. I stared at my open palm, and thought that maybe I was lacking or insincere in my prayers for dispelling miasma. I shook my head, and poked my finger on the ground, just like I did that very first night in Rothfield.

I connected myself to the ground… and I felt... hungry for something; a nutrition I could not describe. I grabbed Wilbur’s arm and translated what I felt through touch. We stared at each other, stayed there on the granges, looking comical: a grey child poking the earth holding his lanky older brother’s arm. Wilbur concentrated, then opened his mouth in realization. He closed his eyes, nodded, and called Ealhstan over the cottages he was building. We told him what must be done.

“I know it’s risky, but we have to try. The feldspar could enrich the soil, release the miasma still deep in the roots, further away from where Ryne’s kindflame cannot reach, and protect whatever we plant next.” WIlbur was pacing again. As he did, Claude came up from behind Ealhstan, already sensing a night excursion to the mountains.

“Feldspar… yes, and unakite ore from one of the caverns below the mountain. The unakite’s crystal properties should enhance the soil’s resilience. Strengthen it against the corruption.”

He stared at me, weighing my words, his face taut with worry and weariness. Then he sighed, rubbing his temples as if the weight of the world pressed down on him alone. “This is a new chamber. You mentioned there were new shadowbeasts waking?”

I nodded. And then we ventured thorough the dark forest. We were ready. My party walked with me to the dark trees until the communal fire of Kent was past behind us. I placed both hands on the soil and allowed the vines in the earth to connect me to the mountain’s chambers. Through the dark tunnels I went, past soil and rock, until I saw the color of the unakite ores, and the new flying beasts we would encounter.

“It’s guarded by a flock of corvus,” I whispered, and I felt an old, familiar dread creep down my spine. “Great black crows with wingspans as wide as oak trees. They nest in the deepest caverns, jealously protecting the unakite deposits. They’re vicious creatures, from what the stories say. Smart and relentless.”

“We will go,” Elastane said simply.

—MOUNT LHOTTEM—

Mount Lhottem towered above us with its jagged peaks. But our path was deeper into the tunnels. Claude’s hand rested on his sword hilt, his gaze locked on the darkness beyond. After passing many familiar tunnels and the common iron and copper ores, Ealhstan made new tunnels with his strength toward our destination.

Then we heard a deep squawk.

“Stay close,” Claude said. “They’ll strike fast and without warning. We need to reach the unakite and take what we can before they overwhelm us.” I looked at him. He probably heard of how corvux behaved from the many stories passed down.

Wilbur and Ealhstan nodded at him approvingly. Elastane hauled us all over his shoulder as he climbed a steep wall. Beyond that was a platform with walls glittering faintly with veins of unakite, their rosy and green hues stark against the gloom. Up above were stones jutting out from the walls like branches of trees. I strained my senses, every nerve on edge, searching for any sign of movement in the shadows.

Then I heard it—a faint rustling, like the stirring of dead leaves in a winter forest. I turned just as a shadow fell over us, and a screech echoed through the cavern, sharp and piercing. A massive Corvus swooped down, its wings like the blade of a scythe, its talons gleaming like daggers.

Claude was ready. He leapt forward, swinging his sword in a wide arc, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision. The Corvus veered away, but not before Claude’s strike caught it across the chest, feathers and blood turning to ash, splattering over us.

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“Keep moving!” Ealhstan bellowed, his voice carrying above the din. He bent low, heaving a boulder the size of a small house and hurling it at another of the attacking Corvus. The creature shrieked, its wing crumpling under the force of the blow. But more were coming; dark shapes slipping from the shadows, eyes gleaming with hunger.

I focused my breath, reaching for the warmth of my inner flame. I held out my hands and called forth the shieldflame, a barrier of flickering red light erupting around Claude. The Corvus slammed into it, beaks and talons scraping against the shield’s surface, but it held strong. And just like the direwolves, these creatures of shadow burned quickly at Gaelmar’s holy flame. It went up in the air, then fell as the flames consumed it, like burned leaves. My shield disappeared just as another giant crow was about to peck him. Wilbur and Ealhstan were battling two or three squawking corvus each.

“Claude, now!” I shouted.

He spun inside the shield, his blade lighting momentarily as I channeled my kindflame on his sword. The Corvus recoiled, feathers singed and smoking. But even as they faltered, another one swooped low, its beak aimed at my throat.

My heart lurched. I called upon the flame and it came surging up my arm like liquid fire. The flame exploded from my hand, a brilliant arc of white-blue light that engulfed the Corvus. It shrieked in agony, the flames searing through its feathers, reducing the creature to ash in seconds.

Panting, I glanced at Claude, who nodded grimly. We turned to Ealhstan, who was clearing a path to the unakite vein, crushing any Corvus that dared come close. A giant corvus–must be one of their leaders–flapped its wings suddenly and all of us save for Ealhstan were buffeted away, rolling over the flat ground of this chamber.

“Get the ore!” Ealhstan roared, his voice reverberating through the cavern. “I’ll keep them off you.”

We stood and moved swiftly as Ealhstan distracted the giant corvus by hurling boulders at it. It swerved and dived at Ealhstan. Wilbur searched his satchels and threw off an explosive bottle at the creature in midair. It fell to the ground, and Ealhstan jumped and landed on its neck. There was a crunch, and all was silent. Claude and I broke off chunks of the precious ore and stuffed them into our packs. Each piece glimmered faintly in the torchlight.

“Let’s go,” Ealhstan rumbled, wiping ash from his brow.

We emerged from the cave battered but victorious, the unakite secured. It was time to fight the darkness threatening our fields, and save Wilbur’s dream from withering on the vine.

—INFIRMARY / LAB—

The air smelled of bitter herbs and metallic tangs, sharp and unyielding. Wilbur, his eyes shadowed with concentration, hunched over the massive kiln, the unakite ores and feldspar chunks glinting beside him.

“Unakite’s ready,” Wilbur muttered, his voice a low rasp. He glanced up, the light painting his features in an otherworldly glow. “This part is delicate. We have to break it down slowly with heat, then fuse it with the feldspar to create a potent mix and hopefully bring life into those dead fields.”

I nodded, feeling the familiar rush of purpose course through my veins. For weeks, we’d struggled. The barren fields seemed to mock our efforts. The deep soil was still being choked with miasma, heavy with its foulness, making it impossible for the new crops to take root. And now, with so much at stake, our hope lay in these strange, stubborn rocks and the power within them.

Wilbur’s hands moved deftly, laying the unakite shards in a shallow copper tray. He sprinkled a dusting of crushed feldspar over them, the reddish powder settling like rust over mossy green. “Feldspar will keep the blend stable during calcination. We’re going to melt away impurities, leaving only the essence that the soil craves.”

I watched as he lit the flame beneath the tray. “Ryne,” Wilbur said, gesturing for me to step closer, “when I give the word, use your kindflame to concentrate the heat. We need to keep it hot but controlled. Too much and it’ll shatter. Too little and the reaction will fail.”

I took a deep breath and focused inward, feeling the familiar warmth of my power thrumming beneath my skin, eager to be released. I extended my hands, palms up, and called it forth. I funneled it toward the tray.

Wilbur nodded in approval, eyes narrowing as he watched the minerals begin to sweat and glisten under the heat. The feldspar liquefied first, forming a molten cradle for the unakite shards. I could see the impurities bubbling up to the surface; dark, greasy flecks that spat and hissed as they were burned away.

“Steady now, Ryne,” Wilbur murmured. “Just a little more.”

Sweat beaded along my brow as I forced the kindflame to focus even tighter, the orange flames dancing within the kiln’s blazing heat. The unakite shuddered, then split with a sharp crack. A thin, verdant smoke coiled up from the tray, swirling in intricate patterns before dissipating. The once-solid rocks had turned to a shimmering, greenish-gold liquid, glowing faintly.

“There!” Wilbur’s voice was triumphant. He reached for a pair of long, iron tongs and dipped them into the mixture, carefully lifting it into a smaller, waiting crucible. “Now, we let it cool and solidify. Once it hardens, it’ll form the core of our new fertilizers.”

As the mixture cooled, Elahstan turned to the feldspar chunks we’d harvested from Mount Lhottem. He took a deep breath, setting one chunk aside, and picked up another, larger piece. He told Wilbur that they looked familiar.

“I should imagine so,” Wilbur replied. “Feldspar is a natural stabilizer. it’s what’ll make our fertilizer mix easy to apply and control. But it’s also glass when treated correctly.”

Ealhstan, said no more, only picked up a hammer, the tool looking almost comically small in his massive hand, and struck the feldspar with precise, deliberate blows. The chunk split along clean lines. He then placed the shards into a separate crucible, his movements slow and deliberate. “I’ll need to temper it with normal flame, then mold it into the shapes we need.”

Back at Ealhstan’s workshop, the shards of feldspar began to melt in the flame, oozing into a viscous, glowing pool of liquid glass.

Ealhstan moved quickly, using a slender iron rod to draw out threads of the molten feldspar. With a flick of his wrist, he spun the glass into thin vials, shaping them with an artistry I hadn’t known he possessed. Each vial gleamed like a frozen tear, the glass clear as crystal but strong enough to withstand any corrosive mixture Wilbur could concoct.

“One for every tincture and tonic,” Ealhstan rumbled, his eyes never leaving his work.