Sam didn’t return until three days later.

Harald ignored Vic’s badgering, Nessa’s pointed stares. He refused to open the secret door again, and instead threw himself completely into his training. It still felt strange to tackle his morning runs alone, to work on the weights without Sam’s encouragement, analysis, and feedback.

Vic anointed himself the official Darrowdelve Manor chef, and set to cooking elaborate feasts of dubious quality. He claimed that he received inspiration from the Fallen Angel herself, and it was she that dictated that he glaze figs in bacon fat and then stuff them with cheese, or caramelize root vegetables in honey and acorns in the oven before mashing the whole of it into soup with grilled eels and balsamic vinegar.

The food was edible, if more often than not nauseatingly rich.

But Harald didn’t complain. He exercised, he ate, he slept. He looked forward most to his classes with Nessa. To untangling the logic of the blade. He quickly came to love the way the longsword had begun feeling like an extension of himself. It happened rarely, moments when he lost himself in a drill, or relaxed enough to intuit how to move, where to turn, what to anticipate.

But when he did, it felt sublime. It never happened with the wooden training swords, but with the Dawnblade it would glimmer to the fore, the sheer number of hours spent drilling and striking, flowing from guard to guard bringing forth a state of mindless focus that allowed his instincts to shine.

If he felt this way after only a couple of weeks’ training, how must it feel after a year? After five?

Though the more he learned about handling the sword, the greater the gulf of what remained to learn yawned.

“That’s the way of it,” Nessa said one evening after he’d badgered her into a second training session. They were both drinking water by the patio steps, the sound of crickets sawing against the distant trundle of carriage wheels. “Especially with the longsword. Train hard, and you can quickly become proficient with the basics. How to hold the sword, how to strike, how to step. But to progress beyond that crudest of understandings? That’s when things feel as if they’ve slowed down to a crawl.”

“I can see that.” Harald scowled at this tin cup. “When our swords touch I’m overwhelmed with options. To press or surrender, to push in for strong leverage or allow a weak one to work in my favor. The result is paralysis.”

“Only for now.” Nessa smiled at him. “I recall my first year vividly. I would sneak out of my father’s house to train with his fencing instructor in the evenings. I spent all day longing for the moment I would step into the training hall and join the other students. The feel of the sword in my hand. At first it felt so right, and then, gradually, it felt overwhelming. I thought myself incompetent, unequal to the task.”

“What did you do?”

“I persevered. In a real fight, you barely have time to think. You must rely on training and instinct, on reflexes and the desire to win at all costs. The only way to achieve that is through countless hours of quality training. To study under a master who corrects your mistakes, your bad habits. To drill and drill, spar and spar, so that one day, when you finally find yourself facing a foe who wants you dead, you don’t seize up, you don’t panic, you don’t trip over your feet.”

Nessa looked away across the dusky garden. “You simply do what you’ve done a hundred thousand times before, and you cut that man down, no matter who he is.”

Harald nodded. “I guess I’ve got a ways to go, then.”

“Don’t feel discouraged.” Nessa glanced back, considered him. “You’ve talent for the sword. I don’t say that lightly. You’ve a feel for it, which is important, but a willingness to commit which is just as crucial. Now you just need to familiarize yourself with the flow of combat so that you simply do what needs doing when the time comes.”

Harald grinned and finished his cup. “Speaking of, shall we continue downstairs?”

Nessa laughed despairingly. “I’m done, good sir. You need to rest.”

“Sure.” Harald took up their wooden blades and stowed them in the long bag. “I’ll rest. Soon.”

Day followed day. Nobody came by the house. The date of the auction was creeping closer.

Master Ling’s men arrived one morning to collect every piece that was to be sold. Harald braced himself, told himself he was ready, and signed the paperwork that was presented to him without really reading it. Fortunately Vic was there to snatch the documents back and scan them, then politely suggest three amendments.

Harald left him to it. Instead, he trailed the movers who strode efficiently into the house with straps and reinforced blankets, wrapping up one piece of furniture after another and carrying it to the carts waiting out front.

One by one the parts of his childhood disappeared, sliding out the front door to leave mute traces of their having existed behind: faded rectangles against the walls, islands of dust that had accumulated under objects, glaring open spaces, new echoes that hadn’t sounded before in suddenly barren rooms.

Vic was everywhere, laughing, commenting, annotating the list of packaged goods. Harald felt himself a ghost in his own home.

It was the packaging of his mother’s harp that hurt most.

It hadn’t been played since her death; she’d taught him basic techniques, but he’d never wanted to touch it after she was gone. The movers wrapped it tightly, and then with great care hefted it and carried it away.

It was as if they removed the final shadow of her ghost, and Harald felt a lurch in his chest as it disappeared.

“You can insist that they leave it,” said Vic quietly, appearing at his elbow. “We can easily afford to keep anything you value now.”

“No.” Harald considered, then shook his head. “I’m losing the house. Where would I put my mother’s harp? Any of it? I’ve been feeling like a ghost, watching the pieces be carried away, but the truth is this house died years ago. I’ve been living with ghosts, and now they’re finally being put to rest.”

“Poetic,” said Vic. “But all right. Oh. Look who we have here.”

Sam stepped into the second parlor, looking as lost and shocked as Harald felt. She had a large pack over one shoulder, and wore a tunic of vibrant emerald green, the cloth rich but sturdy and cinched at the waist with a broad leather belt studded in brass. Over this she wore fitted trousers of a deep, earthen brown, tough enough for raiding but cut to flatter. Her boots were also new, made of supple leather dyed the color of aged wine, rising to mid-calf and buckled with an air of practicality and style.

Her golden hair was worn loose save for a band that kept it from her blue eyes, and around her neck hung a simple cord adorned with a score of heavy silver rings. The tattooed tips of a red-yellow feathers emerged from her tunic to rise up the side of her neck, the colors smoldering and beautifully inked.

“Sam,” said Harald, his throat closing tight. “You came back.”

“They’re taking everything today?” Her protest was clear, half-panicked.

“Yes. The auction’s in two days.”

“Right. Of course.” She took a deep breath. “Of course.”

“It’s… it’s strangely unsettling.” He smiled apologetically. “Which is at once an obvious thing that it would be right? And yet, on some level, I’d thought I’d be more at peace with it.”

She nodded briskly. “I’m going to step outside.”

And she strode out of the parlor toward the back of the house.

Vic gave him a nudge. “Go on.”

Harald hurried after.

Sam stood at the edge of the stone patio, gazing out over the garden, taking deep breaths.

Harald moved up alongside her, studied her for a moment, then joined her in looking out over the untamed wilderness.

“Not how I envisioned my return,” she said at last, and then gave a broken laugh. “I had it all figured out. But then I saw the carts, everything being brought outside, and I… I just wanted to vomit.”

Stolen content warning: this tale belongs on Royal Road. Report any occurrences elsewhere.

“Yeah,” said Harald. “I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” She flashed him a smile, and in that brief expression he saw something new in her, a complexity, a sharpness, a focus that there hadn’t been before. “Perhaps this is best. I came to explain how things had to change, and what better way to do it then in the midst of this chaos?”

Harald crossed his arms, listened.

Sam took another deep breath and then turned to face him full on. “Harald. It’s… I’ve done a lot of thinking these past few days. I spoke with a friend, and they advised me to just sit and think and until my thoughts ran clear. It took two full days. It was… it was the most uncomfortable sensation.” She smiled brokenly. “The closer I came to where I needed to be, the more I wanted to jump up and run out of that room. But… I stuck with it. And realized a few things.”

Harald listened intently, meeting her bright blue gaze.

“I can’t keep on living in this house, for one. I can’t continue being the Sam I used to be.” It all came out in a rush. “Everything needs to change so that I can continue doing what I truly want to do with my life. And that’s raiding, that’s growing my class, that’s discovering myself, my best self, my truest, strongest self.” She grimaced, her hands opening and closing, and then forced a smile. “I thought maybe I’d want nothing more to do with you. That felt like the appropriate response. But it wasn’t true. Our relationship… it’s profoundly broken and messed up. But I still value you. It’s true what I said before: you’re like a brother to me. But.”

Harald raised his brows, prompting her to continue.

“But you’re not my brother. And that’s not the only way I feel about you. I… I hate you, I loath you, and sometimes I want to… just, do extremely unsisterly things, and—and—!” She wiped tears from her eyes, smiling widely, her expression at once self-mocking and desperate. “And it’s all twisted up into an awful, tangled knot. And I want none of it. I want to cut that knot away, free myself from that past, but somehow also remain a part of your raiding party?”

Harald nodded, sympathetic.

“Because that’s what I want. To fight next to you, to salvage scales, to rise. I know that to be true, a core truth. But I need to continue finding myself, discovering who I am away from you, from Darrowdelve Manor, all of it. So.”

“I hear you,” said Harald softly. “You’re absolutely right.”

She studied him, not exactly suspicious, or surprised, but awaiting a ‘but’ of some kind.

“I’ve done a lot of thinking since you left, too. And realized that I’ve been a self-centered ass. I’ve been so focused on my father, on Vorakhar, on the Demon Seed and feeling like a hero-in-the-making that I didn’t stop to think if I was being a friend. Or a pseudo-brother.”

Sam frowned, listening intently.

“I want to support you in whatever you need, Sam. I care deeply about you. Because you’re also the not-sister I’ve always had. And yes, our friendship, our relationship, is profoundly fucked up. But I’d like to work on healing it. Even if that means not seeing you for months, or years, or however long you need. Whatever you decide you want, what’s best, I support you all the way.”

“You do?” Tears came to her eyes and she laughed despairingly. “Gods, I’m still doing it.” She looked up as she wiped at her face. “Still putting your opinion at the very top of the world.” She shook her head despairingly, but smiled at him still, that broken smile “But thank you, Harald. That… that’s more affirming than you can understand.”

“Of course. It turns out that while I’ve become very good at getting up for morning runs, I’m still pretty terrible at just about everything else.” He smiled apologetically. “So, please, tell me what you need. You’ve given me so much, Sam. It’s my turn to give you everything I can.”

She laughed despairingly once more and turned away. For a moment she just stood there, head hanging low, shoulders shaking, and then she drew a sudden, savage inhale and looked up at the sky again. “He told me it would take more than a couple of epiphanies to break old habits, to change who I was. I guess he was right.”

Harald wanted to ask to whom she was referring, but didn’t know if he had the right.

But she glanced back over her bright emerald shoulder and answered his thoughts. “Furthak. The smith who made my armor? He’s helped me a lot. Warned me. He told me I wasn’t ready to come speak to you, but I thought he was wrong. Knew it. And I think I was right.”

“I’m glad you took the risk. But you didn’t have to. I’d have waited as long as necessary for you to reach out.”

“And that’s why I felt like I could come back now. Even though.” She took another shuddery breath. “Even though things still have to change.”

“Well, if it’s of any help, they’ve been changing at a pretty quick clip.”

“You mean Master Ling, the auction?”

“Not quite. I found my father’s hidden room.”

“You did?” She took a sudden stride toward him and gripped his arm, expression earnest, shocked. “You found it? How?”

“I hit Gustav with my abyss Ability. Turns out that was the trigger. Kind of. A secret door opened, and stairs led down to a tiny chamber. In it was a letter from my father, an Infinitum scale, and four Artifact weapons.”

Sam’s eyebrows kept rising higher and higher. “An Infinitum…? A letter? What did he say?”

“You should read it yourself. Vic and Nessa already have. It’s… it’s pretty much what you’d expect from my dad, part insult, part horrifying revelation about Vorakhar and my Demon Seed.”

“And an Infinitum?” She blinked. “That’s… not enough.”

“No. Not for the manor. Not for all this stuff. But more than enough for what I’ve got planned. I’ve been waiting for you before telling the other two.”

“For me?” She frowned. “Vic must have gone mad.”

“He’s been channeling it into some pretty horrendous cooking. I’ve not had the heart to stop him.”

Sam stared at him, gave a half-laugh of disbelief, then pressed her hand to her temple. “It’s as if the past three days never happened. Everything’s swirling and flowing forward again. But those three days did happen. I’ve changed, Harald.”

He nodded soberly. “I’d say that’s a good thing, if my opinion mattered. Nice tattoo, by the way.”

She touched the tips of the crimson feathers on the side of her neck and smiled a private smile. “Thank you. Well.” Another deep breath, and she closed her eyes. For a moment they remained thus in silence, and then she exhaled and opened them. “Shall we call Vic and Nessa?”

“Your call. Only if you want to.”

“I do.” Her nod was decisive. “I want to be part of this. That’s why I came back.”

“Then let’s help Vic with getting the movers out, and then we’ll talk, the four of us.”

*

It took them till the Second Bell in the afternoon for the auction men to finally depart and Vic to hustle them all downstairs. He insisted on bringing wine in order to celebrate whatever decision Harald had made, convinced, as he told them several times, that it was the one and only correct decision, and involved the three investment schemes he’d not ceased talking about these three days past.

Sam stood apart from the others, her smile pained, Nessa’s welcome and Vic’s wink doing little to put her at ease. She deflected Vic’s questions, promising to answer later, and he was easily dissuaded.

So that finally they were gathered in the small chamber by scale-light, clustered in a tight knot.

“Sam needs to read my father’s letter first,” said Harald firmly.

“Another five minutes’ delay?” Vic sagged back against the wall. “My heart. It can’t take it. I feel faint.”

“Oh please, do faint,” said Nessa dryly. “That’ll give us at least a couple of minutes’ silence.”

Vic scowled exaggeratedly at her.

Sam took the four sheets of parchment and set to reading.

Harald couldn’t help but watch her expressions with intent interest. She didn’t disappoint. Dismay, shock, horror. She’d glance up at him on occasion, eyes wide, only to dive back in. When she was finally done, she set the parchments down, hands shaking, and covered her mouth.

“I know. I’ve had days to try and come to terms with it all, and it only gets worse the more I think about it.” Harald crossed his arms and leaned against the wall. “This Demon Seed will surely undo me unless I fight it with all my might, and even then that won’t be enough. It’s too powerful. My father was a strong man, and he couldn’t stomach what it promised him, what it would do to him.”

“You don’t have to do anything,” said Sam quietly. “You can just stop. Never go back down into the dungeon again.”

“Let’s not get crazy here,” cut in Vic. “He definitely has to do something, especially with that scale. In fact—”

“I want to fight.” Harald spoke to Sam, their gazes locked. “Maybe it’s due to my new Nature, or maybe my new Nature just reflects who I am now. But I’m not going to run.”

“You want to avenge your mother?” asked Nessa quietly.

“More than that. I’ve this foolish memory of myself as a child—”

“I’ve got those,” interjected Vic sympathetically.

“—and I tell my mother why I want to be strong.” Harald smiled ruefully. “It made sense to me when I was six, and only just started ringing true once more. I want to be strong to help others. To help everyone in Flutic who has no idea as to what’s going on with this celestial war. To help that angel I saw. To help you three. I want to make a difference, but to do that I have to be strong. And for better or worse, I now have the Demon Seed. So I have to find a way to master it.”

Sam was slowly shaking her head in horror.

“Which is why he’s decided to entrust me with his entire fortune,” said Vic brightly.

“Vic? Darling?” Nessa leveled a flat and dangerous glare at him. “If you don’t get yourself under control I’m going to hurt you.”

“You’re right! You’re right. I’m sorry.” Vic rubbed his face. “It’s just that the proximity to so much wealth makes me manic. I feel giddy and like crying, all at once.”

“I know I can’t succeed without you three. The fates have thrown us together. Our past has been…” Harald sought the right world.

“Fucked up,” said Sam.

“Insincere,” offered Vic.

“Based on manipulation and lies,” said Nessa.

“Complicated.” Harald forced a smile. “But it doesn’t need to continue that way. These past few weeks have been intense for all of us. But for better or worse, they’ve brought us to a turning point. We can resolve to move forward together, to fight to be our best selves, or we can fragment, splinter, let our weaknesses govern us, and fall away into the darkness.”

“I love it when he gets like this,” Vic whispered to Sam. “It’s so inspiring.”

“I’m serious.” Harald looked from one to the next. “I can’t do this alone. My father literally said as much. I’ll fail and be corrupted by the Seed without even realizing it. Vic was right about needing to think long term, in needing to invest in strategies that will bear fruit down the road instead of going for immediate gratification today.”

“Yes!” Vic pumped his fist, grabbed Nessa by the arm and planted a loud kiss on her cheek. “Harald, you’re not going to regret this. I can’t guarantee anything, but that shouldn’t—”

“Hear me out, Vic.”

Vic froze.

“That’s why I’ve decided to split the Infinitum four ways. Each of us will get two Horizon’s Whispers and five Zenith Tides to do with as we wish. I’m also going to split the Artifacts amongst our number.”

Nessa’s face turned pale as she clenched her jaw. Vic lurched forward, caught himself at the last moment, then sagged back against the wall.

Sam simply stared at him as if he’d started spouting elvish.

“You can do with the scales and Artifacts what you wish. No strings attached. But.” And here Harald gave a pained smile. “It’s my hope we all use these resources to Ascend together, and then continue to train together, to raid together, and to help each other grow. I want to become a hero out of legend, a true monster when it comes to power—but not that kind of monster. Which is why I’m asking you three to walk with me. To, as my father said, keep my aim true.”

Harald took a deep, shaky breath, and forced himself to keep smiling. “So. What do you guys think?”