It only took a few minutes for the crew to execute the frozen qerbū, removing their heads one after another with cold efficiency and tossing them overboard into the warm waters of the lake. After nearly dying to the qerbū’s assault, the crew was in no mood for mercy. Still, more than a few hands hesitated, even if just for a fraction of second, before cleaving the qerbū’s heads from their shoulder. They may have been undead, but the majority of them were undead children, and Jasper wondered how many of them would have nightmares in the days to come.

He had other concerns, though, as he trotted over to his newfound family members. S̆ani loomed over her parents, her back turned toward him. “Is everyone all right?” He called.

His foot faltered as S̆ani turned to face him, giving him a clear view of his aunt and uncle. Whatever armor spell his aunt had been using had worn off, leaving her bare - not that it mattered. Her pale skin was covered in bloody smears, so much blood that Jasper wondered how she was standing. She was clinging tightly to S̆arrābī, who having finally woken up, was hugging her back.

His cousin intercepted him. “They’re going to be fine.”

He cast a worried glance over her shoulder. “Are you sure? That’s a lot of blood.”

She smiled faintly. “Unfortunately, no one has invented yet a healing potion that also cleans you up, but the wounds are closed.”

He sighed in relief, running a grimy hand through his hair. “Thank heavens. Listen, I’m sorry-“

S̆ani cut him off. “For what? My mother dragged you out there, didn’t she?”

He nodded reluctantly, not wanting to cast his aunt under the bus.

She leaned closer, her long blonde hair spilling around her shoulders, and lowered her voice. “It was because of me, wasn’t it?”

Jasper hesitated. “I don’t know - maybe? She started to tell me about something she’d been shown by the spiders, something bad, but she never finished.”

S̆ani frowned. “See, that’s why I didn’t tell them about my vision. I knew she’d go and do something to try and save me.” His cousin glanced over her shoulder at her parents, who were still wrapped in each other's embrace. “It's just like I said - she tried to do something to save me, and the result was that we almost all died.”

But you didn’t. Jasper kept the thought to himself, though. Obviously, Kaṣîtūma’s plan had hit a few rough bumps, but in the end, she had procured the ingredient she’d been looking for. And if it helped save her daughter, he had a feeling his aunt would do it all over again. But he also had the suspicion that S̆ani wouldn’t appreciate it if he pointed that out.

It was a long trip back to the capital. The boat, weighed down by the thick layer of ice t̆hat his aunt’s trap had coated it in from bow to stern, wallowed through the waters with all the speed of a pregnant hippo. But the true reason the trip felt so long was that no one was in the mood to talk. His aunt and uncle retired into the vessel’s inner chambers, the crew wandered around the deck like shell-shocked zombies, and even S̆ani and Ihra abandoned him, each lost in a world of their own thoughts.

Thus Jasper found himself alone. Leaning over the ice-laden balustrades, Jasper watched the island like a hawk until the tips of its white cliffs finally sunk beneath the waves. As the sun slowly peaked its head over the ring of mountains, its rays quickly burned away the last of the fog, washing the world in light.

But Jasper barely noticed the change; his mind was wholly occupied with replaying the events of the previous night over and over again - one scene in particular back to haunt him. Was the gallû helping us? He couldn’t explain the actions of the strange porcelain child. Twice it had come close to him, and twice it had let him go. Hell, if it hadn’t come to the beach and scared the utukku high priestess away, Jasper wasn’t sure if they would have successfully escaped. But why help them? It must have just been curious or…

The image of the paw-print the being had sketched in the sand floated before his eyes. Could it be connected to Barbartu, somehow? But why on earth would she want to save me? Jasper couldn’t quite bring himself to believe that the two were connected, but neither could he offer any better explanation. Nor, for that matter, could he escape the face of not-quite Jenny that haunted him until sheer exhaustion finally overcame him.

The next two days were quiet ones. The morning after the trip, he awoke to find a small box waiting at his doorstep. A simple piece of paper was attached to it, with just a few words scrawled across the front. Thank you for not abandoning her. They were written in a strong, steady hand, the letters thick and large, with an excess of ink, but despite the lack of signature, Jasper had no trouble figuring the author out. S̆arrābī.

He carted the box inside and, plopping down on one of the plush, cushioned couches, began sorting through its contents, curious to see what his uncle had sent him. It wasn’t quite what he expected.

A few old dolls were on top. Their porcelain faces showed long years of love, though the dresses they wore looked almost like new. Somebody’s toys? Confused, he dug deeper. It was an eclectic group of items. A cozy blanket. Several dresses, in various sizes. Some handcrafted items whose use he couldn't puzzle out. What even are these things? And then, carefully wrapped in silk, he found a series of miniatures.

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There were twelve in total; each was painted in vibrant oil colors, sporting a different image. Scrutinizing them closely, Jasper realized he recognized a few of the places. That’s the As̆rukkat. And that’s the fountain pavilion. The people in the paintings varied from scene to scene, but two remained the same in all of them. A young, ruddy Djinn with small black horns and a much smaller girl with pale skin and flaxen hair. Flipping one of the portraits over, he found a short inscription. Happy 12th birthday - Abī.

What S̆arrābī had sent him finally clicked. These were my mother’s things, he realized, as he started thumbing through the items again, this time with more interest. But the detail that truly stood out the most to him was his mother’s appearance - her fair skin and hair. Was she half-elven? He couldn’t be sure. Low-leveled Djinn did not look particularly different from humans - the red skin was earned rather than given - so perhaps he was reading too much into her appearance. She was a child in these portraits, after all.

But the possibility remained, and his mind turned to the conversation about bastards he had had with S̆anukkat. Was S̆arrābī a “spare heir”?

He suddenly wondered about his grandparents, realizing he knew nothing about them at all. His uncle had never even mentioned them. Were they dead? Alive? Was one of them an elf? A million questions surged through him as he filed the box away in his room, but he decided to wait a while before bringing them up to his uncle. The man deserved a few days to rest after his near-death experience. Plus, it’s not like there’s exactly a tactful way to ask someone if they’re a bastard. That wasn’t a conversation he was particularly eager to have.

Aside from the box, the rest of the week passed in relative peace. He and Ihra went hunting one of the days, in a series of marshes that lined the lake shore a few hours away from the city, and he sparred with Annatta in the barracks, but no grand adventures were had. He was just starting to get bored when another letter arrived for him.

This one was clearly not from his uncle. An ornate wax seal decorated with the symbol of a rampart tiger adorned the front. Grabbing the seal, he tried to break the wax. Despite his near superhuman strength, it stubbornly resisted him. What the hell? Fine, I’ll just melt it off. Letting a flame flicker on his fingertips, he ran it back and forth across the wax. It didn’t even soften. Beginning to get frustrated, he went for brute force, banging the seal against the wooden lip of his desk. With a crack, a splinter of wood chipped off the edge; the seal, however, was unmarred. Seriously?

It was then that Annatta, curious about the banging, poked her head into the room. “Banging one out in here?” She asked, with a smirk.

Jasper rolled his eyes, waving the letter at her. “Ha-ha. Got a letter I’m trying to open, but the damn seal could give Superman a run for his money.”

She took the letter, flipping it over in her hands. “I think it’s essence locked,” she finally decided, tossing the letter back at him.

“Which means?”

“Try channeling your essence into it. I’d open it for you if I could, but,” she offered him a lopsided grin. "you know. Kind of lacking on that whole magic thing.”

Jasper nodded sympathetically and tried to push his essence into the wax. The seal didn’t budge. “It didn't do anything.”

The Djinn chewed on her lip as she stared at the unyielding seal. “Huh. Maybe it needs blood in addition to essence?” she offered hesitatingly. “We could always ask Lord S̆arrābī to open it.”

Why is it always blood? he griped to himself. But, with a frown, Jasper pricked his thumb and smeared the droplet of blood across the body of the tiger. The wax soaked in the liquid greedily, quickly darkening in shade until it was nearly black. Satisfied, he channeled a little essence into it. This time, it did the trick - as soon as he removed his finger, the seal simply dropped off. Unfolding the letter, he quickly scanned its contents.

The letter was an invitation from the Seraph elders, inviting him and Ihra to meet with them later that night. He scowled as he studied the small map that decorated the bottom of the letter. In an altogether unimaginative trope, a bright red x marked their meeting place, smack dab in the middle of nowhere, a location a few miles outside of S̆addanu along the banks of the Yaddām River.

Jasper tapped the letter against his desk absentmindedly, as he stared out the window, pondering the invitation. Is it safe to go? S̆arrābī’s warning about the Seraphs echoed in his mind and the isolated meeting spot did little to ease his concern. It could be a trap.

“Is it from the Seraphs?” Annatta butted in, finally succumbing to her curiosity.

He nodded. “Yep. An invitation to meet with them. Tonight. Outside the city.” He spoke in a short staccato, as his face twisted in a frown. “To be honest, I’m not sure if I should go or not. Abnu seemed nice enough - aside from that time he tried to kill me, of course - but S̆arrābī thought that the Seraphs might try to harm me because of him. Do you think I should go?”

Annatta plopped down on the edge of the bed. “Lord S̆arrābī has a bit of a negative history with them, doesn’t he?’

Jasper nodded. “You could say that.”

“And you may or may not have Seraph heritage?”

He shrugged, shifting uncomfortably in his chair as he turned to face her. “Right again. Although, frankly, given what I’ve learned about my mother and her timeline, I’m guessing I’m not related to the Seraphs. Or, at least, not to her lover - he died well before I should have been conceived. But S̆arrābī is convinced that there's still some sort of connection, so..." he sighed bitterly, "I guess I don’t know what to do.”

The Djinn pursed her lips. “If you have Seraph blood in you, it doesn’t matter how they feel about your uncle - the Seraphs take care of their own. If you don’t…well, the Seraphs take care of their own,” she ended wryly.

“Thanks for that brilliant synopsis,” he snarked, “But that doesn’t answer my question. Is it safe to accept their invitation”

Annatta hesitated, her mouth screwing up as she mulled the question. “In an ideal world, I wouldn’t accept that invitation but…” she bobbled her head, “You don’t much have a choice, do you? You have a quest from Nahrēmah herself, and they hold answers you need - or so they claim.”

He grimaced, dropping the letter on the desk. “I know,” he admitted quietly. “I was really hoping you’d talk me out of it. But I guess it is what is. To the lions’ den I go.”

“Lions?” She quirked her brow inquisitively. “You know they shapeshift into tigers, right?”

Jasper could only groan. No one understands my references.