Kemen always woke up on the wrong side of the bed. He always dealt with it, too.

This morning, to be frank, he felt fairly lucky that he hadn’t been awoken in the middle of the night by some unexpected threat. He and Kalatos could agree on a fair few things, but top on the list was that sleeping was excellent.

With a groan and two minutes, Kemen was dressed and knocking on Imelda’s door. She took well over two minutes. The long hair, probably. Impractical. After Imelda emerged, the two of them made their way down the stairs, hoping for a nice breakfast before they went on their merry way.

Kemen’s eyes landed on a boy - is he sixteen? Seventeen? - sitting right in front of the staircase. He devoured his breakfast with gusto… No, desperation, not gusto. He's hungry, huh? Kemen glanced down at the plate and internally grimaced. He had never been a fan of salamander. Too close to lizard.

They exchanged nods when the young man noticed the two. Kemen was taken aback by the color of his eyes: a dark, speckled brown, so dark he could mistake them for black if he didn't know that was impossible, save for a few specific Favored. He felt Imelda notice the same thing from the way she tensed up next to him, but he subtly bumped her so as not to make the interaction awkward and led her to a table by the side.

The Dune Rogue had his own plans and worries to mull over as he ate. While Imelda talked in a hushed tone with the serving girl, err, Ella, Kemen sunk into his concern. He’d noticed precisely nothing out of the ordinary in this village. No mid-night disturbances, no danger, no aftershocks in the ether.

At least, last time I checked. Kemen reached out to the ether with the familiarity of probing his teeth with his tongue to make sure they were all there after a fight. It was as rich as it had been when they entered, and there was that weird quality to it still there that couldn’t put a finger on. It was weaker than last night, though, which Kemen took as a good sign.

Wait a damn minute- his eyes widened. There’s ether in- Kemen checked. And checked again.

Yes, that was right. In this remote hamlet in the middle of the Bardenas Desert, the young man next to him talking to the young owner of the inn was a Favored. And, from the feel of his relatively deep ether, he had either been chosen by Mu, the Camel, or had been training for at least a year. But with whom…

Kemen checked around the village and confirmed it - nobody else here was Favored. And while it wasn’t impossible for ordinary people to train young Favored, it was very difficult. It would be highly unlikely for such a figure to be lazing around in the Bardenas.

Even stranger was that the boy had not left yet. Heralds never chose the static or afraid - it would be a waste of their power. For whatever reason, Heralds benefited from making change through their scions, and the amount of change one could effect from an area like this was limited. That was why the newly awakened were mostly made up of city dwellers; the connections and opportunities were more reliable for Heralds than having to bank on some untrained mostly-mortal making it out alive from the wilderness or the devouring sands.

And if it turned out that someone did awaken far from civilization? They had something damn special. Whichever Herald had chosen them had seen so much potential they were willing to overlook all the risks that came with their station and bless them. Most of the greatest Favored that Kemen knew were not pampered city kids. Including myself.

Something didn’t add up. And as Kemen squinted closely at the strange young man, hoping to see through him, the girl he was talking to whispered something about her father and his mask slipped. Agony that Kemen recognized instantly found its way onto the boy’s face. He pressed his lips together tightly. That was a terrible expression to see on anyone, much less a child with such a bright future.

Kemen knew that grief. Imelda did, too, and he could see the concern in her eyes when he glanced at her. He recognized the desperation in the young man’s sobs, too, and made up his mind - the boy needed guidance, the sort of guidance that only a veteran Favored could offer.

Not now, though, not in the throes of mourning. The mission could be put on hold for a day. Kemen sipped his drink - he barely remembered ordering something alcoholic, but it sounded like him - and gestured at Imelda to follow him up to his room.

The moment she entered and he shut the door, Imelda hissed at him, eyes wide.

“Did you see his Mark? I’ve never seen something like that!”

All of a sudden, it occurred to Kemen that no, he had not looked for the Mark. Embarrassing.

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“No. What was it? A hump, right?”

Imelda cocked her head in confusion.

“A hump? Why would it be a hump? No, it was the strangest thing - two feathers!” She saw him start and shook her head. “No, I got a clear look. A green feather, on the bottom, and a pitch-black feather on top. And his eyes,” she remembered. “Don’t you remember his eyes? Black, pure black!”

Kemen rubbed his head. “Yeah, I remember that… but you can’t feel how deep his ether reserves are. Feathers? An avian Herald? You should know better than anyone that no Herald like that could give him that much ether without him being deep into the Mortal stage. No, a camel or a komodo dragon or, well, maybe a vulture - but that wouldn’t explain the green!” And I know Mu's on the market again... he had known the last Favored of the Camel. Kemen winced.

Imelda frowned.

“Why can’t he be deep into the Mortal stage? We don’t know how long he’s been here.”

Kemen pursed his lips.

“Look at us, gossiping about the boy when we don’t even know his name. These speculations are useless.” Now, it was Kemen’s turn to hold up a hand and cut off his younger companion. “No. Obviously, we can’t talk to him right now. Maybe not today. But any Favored is easily worth a day, and just a quick conversation can answer all our questions. Hopefully,” he frowned, “you were wrong about the Mark. I’ve never heard of something like that, either, and that might not be a good thing.”

Imelda looked as if she might disagree, but thought better of it and held her tongue. Kemen was about to thank her when the sound of shouting from downstairs interrupted them. The two looked down, then looked back at each other and agreed to check out the commotion.

As Kemen rushed out of his room, he found himself face-to-face with a disheveled, bulky man. Unsurprisingly, the stranger had been awoken by the yelling and also sought to intervene.

Kemen descended into the main room to find the young man yelling at Emma, who had long since shrunk back. She looked as if she’d prefer to turn tail and run into a corner, rather than continue the confrontation. When Kemen listened to what the young man was saying, it made sense.

“-your father!? Maybe you should sit down and be grateful! Try laying on top of Nio as he dies! Think about that! For more than a second, think about that and maybe you can say something a little less vapid than ‘it’ll be okay’, hm?”

Kemen frowned. The boy’s eyes were blacker than he remembered. And the ether… Kemen’s eyes widened in alarm. The ether was in a fury, flowing into his head the way it did when the influence of a Herald grew too strong.

The young man was only in the early stages of enthrallment, but already? It was rare for Favored to lose control to their Herald’s darker impulses… they were selected for a reason, after all. More and more issues piling up.

Luckily, Kemen was experienced enough to stride up to the boy in a flash, likely faster than anyone else in the room could perceive, and bump his palm into the boy’s head. That didn’t do anything.

The rush of pure ether that followed it, though, cleared out his channels and pacified them enough for the boy’s faculties to take over again. While he froze, unable to register the new presence of a stranger beside him or process the fit he’d just thrown, Kemen glanced down at his wrist.

Peaks be damned, she was right. Decades as a Favored meant few surprises when meeting the newly awakened. Heralds could only bless one person at a time, and there were a limited - though vast - amount of Heralds. Even if Kemen didn’t know all of their names, he could at least match the Mark to the Herald. Overlapping feathers, however, ringed no bells.

At least, each feather on its own did. Medvos is the black. The Crow. Rare that it choose someone. It’s famously picky. The emotional burden of the Crow is greater than most. And the green… rarer still. He took a second, fishing around in his memory before the name came to him. Imfir. The Hummingbird.

The Crow and the Hummingbird. The two were as opposed as could be, and Kemen could hazard a guess that it was Medvos that drew out this young man’s rage and directed it at Emma. It scarcely surprised him. The affinity for violence that the Crow was known for… few could handle it without breaking, and fewer without changing at all.

But if the Crow chose him… Kemen found that difficult to believe. All it took was one glance to see that this boy was ill-equipped for Medvos’ power. It was written all over him, even in the way he stumbled back now and nearly fell as he offered desperate apologies to Emma.

“Please, I don’t know what- I don’t wish you anything, Emma, I really don’t, and you’re so kind- thank you for-”

The stranger they'd encountered in the stairs stepped into the thick of it, too.

“That could have been handled better, Sil. But I imagine…” his eyes drifted meaningfully downwards, to the boy’s - Sil’s - wrist. “I imagine you’ve got challenges of your own that none of us can understand.”

“Well,” his shoulders turned to Kemen, and then Imelda. “None of us but these two. Sil, you’re one of the luckiest men I’ve seen to have two Favored here to spell some things out for you.” His eyes turned dangerous. “That is the plan, right?”

Kemen wondered who this man was to remain so cool in front of two people who could take him out in an instant. Nevertheless, he nodded.

“Yes, I suppose it is.”