With an ear-rending shriek, the great mantis whipped back from the flames. Its forelegs smoked, stinking hideously. They were too badly damaged to keep hold on the prize it had snatched. As it released her wing, Sunny screamed and crumpled onto the floor, skin black and red under her smoldering feathers.

The leader’s shrill cry brought the small hunters scrambling to its defense.

“Don’t do anything stupid, West!” ordered Roman. The swordsman stabbed at one mantis as it disengaged, piercing it through the abdomen and spilling its life across the floor.

The remaining three hunters launched with savage fury at any possible threat near their injured leader, including the prone witch.

Already at a full run, West got between them at the last moment. A claw carved a deep slice onto the back of his arm. With a cold grimace, he grabbed the striking limb and hurled the hunter against the back wall, landing where he’d seen Sunny trigger the trap. Another click, and spewing flames incinerated the creature. It fell to the ground, blackened and convulsing. The leader mantis screamed again, in instinctive fear; so did Sunny, curling her burned wing close to her and sobbing.

One hunter tried to flank West. He pivoted to block its path. While he was occupied, the second swept in low from behind, slashing at the back of his leg.

With ruthless efficiency, West shifted around the blow and, in the same movement, slammed his steel knuckles head-on against the attacking mantis. Something scorched on contact, knuckles gleaming wickedly as they scored a deep gouge and sent a mandible skittering to the ground.

The hunter reared back with a terrible cry, flailing and flinging flecks of ichor. Recognizing it from the crack he’d split in its carapace earlier, West spun a heel kick right into the fissure. Its carapace split wide open, leaking ichor and worse. It keened and skittered away as quick as its legs would move.

Roman, cursing, finally approached the fray. “West, incoming!” The large mantis was bearing down on them. Maddened by pain, its raised damaged forelegs high and ready.

“Clear out the wee ‘uns,” West said, stepping forward to meet the danger. A sudden worry seized him– “An’ damn it, Roman, dinnae let ‘em near Sunneh!”

“Of course not.” The words rolled off Roman's tongue derisively, and West’s worries screamed louder in his head. He couldn’t spare half a second to make sure Roman did as he said, though. The huge mantis was bringing down those terrible legs like numb clubs over his head.

As West fluidly sidestepped the flow, he felt anticipation kindling in him, a familiar spark of excitement. The creature was big, but it was slow and it was hurting. And West had a long lifetime of fighting creatures much bigger than him.

With a slam of a fist, he cracked open one of the great insect’s legs right at the joint. It hissed and staggered, rebalancing on its three good legs. He hopped back, fists held at the ready, bouncing on his heels. Target the bits of it what havenae any thick armor– bring it down, a bit at a time–

West timed his next rush after it swung again, angling for a strike at the joint where its legs connected with its thorax. Too confident, though– that was the position that the mantis wanted for its prey, right in the gripping spot where it could snap down with those awful mandibles.

West couldn’t reverse out of danger, but a push of his Pond under his feet and he sprung up just over the creature’s head before it could clutch him with those sharp jaws. It grabbed at him, but couldn’t keep him from slipping by and landing his feet on the smooth back of its thorax.

In the instant before it could whip him off, West managed to get a grip on one of its long, quivering antennae. Stomping down a foot on the back of its head, he yanked the feeler clear out with a pop.

It shook and thrashed under him, and his heart lurched with it as his balance faltered. Without proper footing for another strike, he jumped off and away toward the nearest pillar. As the mantis clicked furiously behind him, West twisted to get his feet between him and the stone column. As his feet contacted, he directed his Pond through his feet, giving him a moment of grip on the vertical surface. Long enough to reorient and launch off again.

This time, he wasn’t coming at the mantis from its preferred hunting angle. It swung a forelimb to ward him off, but too clumsily. Even as it snapped its mandibles at him, he brought his fist down with crushing power atop its head.

Something cracked and crumpled, but he wasn’t betting on the thing going down yet. Hooking his free hand at the joint between head and thorax, West whipped his momentum toward the ground and yanked downward.

The whole mantis unbalanced and went crashing down along West’s trajectory, slamming its damaged head into the stony ground. It thrashed violently, but its twitching limbs had lost all coordination. The kicking legs weakened until they stilled at last.

Muscles shaking from the exertion, West rose, ready to lend Roman a hand. But the swordsman had lopped off the forearms of his mantis, and as West watched, dispatched it with a final chop across its mid-thorax, splitting it in two.

Four bodies of the little hunters, and the massive corpse of the great big one. There was one unaccounted for– West called up the image of one with a split abdomen, missing one mandible– but it must have run once the tide of battle turned against it.

For the moment, the room was secure. West had no time to let the adrenaline fade, though.

“Sunneh– ‘ey, Sunneh!” Nearly slipping in his rush to get to the Aerie’s side, he got a proper look at her. His heart plummeted right into his guts.

The injury was as bad as it had looked– maybe even worse. Deep, angry blisters spread over her back, her side, her shoulder, and most of her right arm. The entire right wing looked like a loss, too deeply damaged for any conventional healer to dream of saving. Sunny herself was paler than a burial shroud, hair plastered over her face by cold sweat, breathing only in staggered, shallow bursts. Lím, protected by her body at the moment of danger, was giving his all in chittering at his witch and headbutting her face, refusing to let her cross fully into unconsciousness.

“West.” Roman’s tone was black as pitch as the swordsman drew up behind him. “Do you remember what I said before, about decisions we were going to have to make? This is the time for it.”

The best response– the only response– the Investigator could make was a complete refusal of acknowledgement. With a harried Lím watching his every move, West cradled Sunny’s head against his knee as he opened his pack, forcing himself to be calm and purposeful despite the wild panic lighting him up from within.

“I’m serious, West, listen to me. We’re already at the outer hall. We just need to find the door leading out. Sunny’s not going to be doing us any more good–”

West finally snapped. “Shut yer mouth, Roman. Fer yer own feckin’ good, dinnae say a single damned word more.” It was the first time that West had let something like menace slip into his voice. He glanced at Roman, not bothering to fight down the snarl from his face. Roman stammered into an awkward silence.

The respite ended when West drew a vial of tea-colored liquid from his pack. “Investigator, please tell me you’re joking!” Roman protested. “Isn’t apprehending spellcasters your job? You could well be killing us, West!”

“I cannae help noticin’ that yer still talkin’, lad,” West warned, wiping the damp strands of hair clear of Sunny’s face and angling her head back. “I’m nae lettin’ aught happen to Sunneh.” Flipping the lid of the vial off with his thumb, West tipped the liquid into Sunny’s mouth, letting it trickle down her throat.

The vial emptied, and in the helpless moment to follow, West felt his heart hammer. This was the very best potion he had, and only one was issued to any Investigator at a time. In all his years with the Bureau, he’d only had to use one of these once, and the paperwork to follow had been a nightmare. His captain would throw a fit to know he’d used it on a civilian. The captain can bite it, though.

Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

Like dawn pinkening the sky, the color returned to her face. The Mani revived with a gasp, but a step ahead of the potion’s best effects.

“Easy,” West urged, steadying her by her good shoulder as she thrashed and twisted with the return of agonizing consciousness. He gritted his teeth, trying to keep her from hurting herself worse, counting down the seconds before the healing would finally touch the visible injuries.

With a fuzzy crackle, the edges of the burns gradually retreated, leaving unmarred skin over her shoulder and back. The healing paused as it reached the damaged wing, almost as though the magic itself hesitated at the extent of damage it met, but proceeded doggedly on. Fresh muscle and tendon knitted, the veins and capillaries building anew, skin regenerating, and finally small pinions and tufts of feathers blooming out, replacing their burnt and broken predecessors.

The release of pain brought shuddering sobs out of Sunny, who struggled to sit up. “Are ye feelin’ all right?” West asked carefully. “It’s… I know ye wanted none of our potions, but–”

A fierce grip around the back of his neck cut off West’s words. Sunny cried into his shirt, words wringing out between the sobs– “I’m sorry, I’m so s-sorry, I’m so so so so sorry!"

His lungs froze solid on the spot, unable to breathe, unable to speak. “Nae, Sunneh, ye nae– I’m the one who ought to be apologizin’. You were doin’ yer part jes’ fine, I’m the one what wasn’t able to keep ye safe,” West said softly, doing his best to keep the choke out of his voice. With supreme reluctance, he unwrapped her arms from his neck and squeezed her shoulders. “C’mon, lass. There’s nae time fer this.”

He hated himself for saying it. The look in Sunny’s eyes as she went from wild contrition to a struggling calm was like watching the light disappear through the crack of a shutting door.

“Of course.” She rubbed away tears from her face, her voice barely more than a whisper. “I’m, I’ll, give m-me a moment and I’ll b-be, be f-f-fine….”

The healing had run its course entirely. Sunny’s burns were a thing of the past, along with the various other scrapes and injuries of unknown ages and origins. It had done a good deal to erase the dark circles under her eyes as well, though no magic could fully replace proper rest.

Her ragged dress was a different matter though– with most of its back burnt away, it barely hung on by a few threads. The potion certainly wasn’t fixing that.

West fumbled a moment with the coat tied at his waist, but then considered the Aerie’s wings and the impracticalities of fitting a closed-back coat over them. Instead, he rummaged in his pack and produced a long winter cloak. “Here, take this. Cut it up ‘owever ye need if it dinnae fit right fer ya.” He pulled the small fishing knife off his belt, more than sharp enough for the task. She took both offerings mutely, turning the cloth in her hands and staring at it without rightly processing what she was meant to do with it.

“Sunny.” Roman's voice was tart and suspicious, and he stood a wary distance back. “Why didn’t you tell us you were a magicker?”

The woman hesitated over her words, rubbing at rope burns on her wrists that were no longer there. “S-some folks… have t-taken it strangely,” Sunny said finally. “West too, before, when I did a bit, acted… oddly. So I d-decided I wouldn’t mention it, n-not until I needed to.”

Sparing a glare for the Investigator, Roman nodded curtly. “And what university are you affiliated with?” When Sunny cocked her head uncertainly, he clarified: “Who taught you to practice magic?”

“I… learned from my t-teacher,” she answered, “and the coven.”

The word coven sparked alarm in Roman's face, and his hand dropped to the pommel of his weapon.

West stood to face the swordsman. “Lad, what’s yer problem here?”

“My problem?” Roman said incredulously. “What in the devil are you thinking, Investigator? That’s a witch. I guarantee that she’s not papered. Why aren’t you having a problem? Hunting illegal magickers is supposed to be your job!”

Sunny’s face registered confusion and surprise, but West motioned down any comment from her with a wave of his hand, keeping steady eye contact with Roman. “Dinnae be daft,” West said reasonably, “she’s been ‘ere since long a’fore those laws were ever started. I doubt she e’en heard of ‘em. An’ if she did, ye’d owe her a share of gratitude fer riskin’ trouble to keep yer sorry arse from bein’ bug food.”

“Before the laws?” Roman scoffed. “Your reports don’t date back further than three years, Investigator–”

“An’ the reports are worth barely more ’n yer Zorrocean cult rumors,” West interrupted. “Sunneh, answer this fer me. What year d’ ye suppose it is righ’ now?”

The witch, observing the argument with growing alarm, darted her eyes from one expectant face to the next. “I… I really… I’ve been trying not to think about it,” she said quietly.

“Jes’ give a guess.”

“I suppose… it must be at least….” Sunny tightened her hands on the cloth in her lap. “6...89. It couldn’t possibly be less than 689....”

Agitated, Roman rounded on her. “What kind of answer is that?!”

“Let off ‘er!” West scowled. “She’s tellin’ what she thinks, and dinnae ye say she’s lyin’.”

“Why?” Sunny said, shifting nervously. “What’s– I couldn’t be that far off, if….” The warrior stared harshly. Bit by bit, her eyes widened. “What– what year is it, then?”

“It’s–” West bit down the instant he caught a look at Sunny’s face, increasingly despairing. The heat of the argument vanished into pained regret. “... Ah, lass. I never shoulda run my mouth off. We should wait ‘til we’re out o’ this place to–”

“Seven-ninety-eight,” Roman said, pronouncing each digit with emphasis and clarity. “It is 798. And there is no possible way, and no evidence that could suggest this blasted butcher shop has been running for upwards a century.”

The blood ran out of Sunny’s face. “That’s not– that’s not true, is it?” Sunny could barely seem to get her voice working. “How can it–“

“Oh, enough. I don’t believe a word you’ve said!” Roman seethed, clenching a fist. He whipped to face the Investigator. “West, you aren’t buying this, are you?”

“Lad, mebbe ye’d better jes’ take a breather,” West suggested. “In fact, why dinnae– righ’, first. Sunneh, ye’ll be fine for a minute ‘ere, aye?” Sunny nodded wordlessly, and West gave her shoulder a grateful pat. "That's a lass– erm, Sunneh.” If the Aerie noticed the slip, she was too stunned to give any indication.

West gestured for Roman to follow– “C’mon, let's have a wee chat o’er here”– and guided the swordsman to the far end of the room, safely away from the trap-triggering wall. “All right. Ye’ve got a piece ye need to say, so say it, quietly, and we’ll talk it through.” He spared a worried glance toward Sunny, but she was staring down at the cloak in her hands, locked in a world of private thoughts.

Just as well she was lost in introspection, because despite West’s best efforts to carry the conversation privately, Roman barely lowered his voice a decibel. “This is beyond stupid, West. Is there something about your mission you haven’t told me? You came here looking for rogue spellcasters– why aren’t you doing anything about the one that’s right in front of you?”

“Like I told ye, she nae knows about–”

“Amnesty ended years ago,” Roman cut in. “And you well know that ignorance of the law is not a defense to practicing unregistered magic.”

West aimed a hard stare at him. “I dinnae think that’s yer call to make,” he said. “Pretty sure, in fact, that it’s my job to be decidin’ on those matters.”

“It’s your job to enforce the law,” Roman argued, “for the sake of keeping situations like this from happening!” He gestured expansively, signaling the fortress as a whole.

West frowned. “I dinnae see how Sunneh’s caused any o’ this.”

In a tone of hushed urgency, Roman said, “The way I see it, there are two likely possibilities here. The first– Sunny is playing us, and she’s sided with–“

“That’s nae a possibility,” West interrupted firmly.

Roman glared at his interruption, but barreled onward. “Then the second– she got herself into this.” A muscle jumped in West’s jaw, but Roman continued, “Maybe whatever the Whistler is, she tried to summon it, and it got out of her control.” West was already shaking his head, and Roman's frustration began to boil over. “Well then, what’s your theory, Investigator?”

“Ye already know it. She’s tellin’ the truth, to the fullest she knows it. She’s helpin’ the best she can, and a fat lot o’ thanks ye seem to be givin’ her fer it–“

“Well one way or another, this is all happening because of her, isn’t it?” Roman argued. “Even if her story were perfectly true, this scenario is clearly set up around her. If we want to make any progress, we shouldn’t keep her around!”

“Don’t.” Their discussion had gotten too loud– not only had Sunny overheard, but now she joined in. She seemed to have finally been able to get her hands moving, smoothing over the cloak and considering how she could best alter it to work for her wings. “You c-can't– I’m sorry. It’s true enough that th-this is… I’m… I don’t think any of this would be happening, if I weren’t….” She flicked her gaze from the garment, but found it too difficult to meet Roman's eyes. “You shouldn’t go off on your own, though. It won’t hesitate to….” She swallowed.

“If we’re nae playin’ its game, it’s got nae reason to let us be livin’, is that it?” West asked. Sunny managed a nod. “Sounds ‘bout right. Get it, Roman? There’s nae reason to be wastin’ any more o’ our time talkin’ this over. Let's get our bearin’s, then we all can get a move on.”

"This is– that's–” Sputtering ineffectually, Roman disengaged, stalking toward the center of the room. A faint wave from a downed hunter drew his attention, and he whipped his sword ready as he changed course. He crossed to it with a few angry strides, brought his weapon to bear on the creature's head, and pierced it through. Then, in case that wasn't enough, he stabbed the jerking body twice more, shoved the creature aside with a push of his foot, and centered his attention on the next.

Hell. We’re goin’ to have a problem in no short time, West predicted glumly, turning away from the wasteful violence. He just had to hope Roman could hold it together long enough to get out of this place.