Chapter 17 - Journey To The North

If there was something Dominic Jones noticed during the preparations for their travel north, it was that humans and Imps were pretty much the same when it came to excitement. Or, anxiety, depending on the role one takes on the trip.

See Kurian, for example. Of all those going towards the Frozen Gates, he was the frailest – after all, not only had he yet to reach his fifth level, but he also didn’t take enough time to process either his wounds or his Skill. And Dominic could see the gloom surrounding the boy at times, in those moments when Kurian thought no one was looking and he grew quiet. As still as a statue.

Another one was Merino, the [Apothecary] having shrugged off most of the effects of his concoction by the time the first items were brought to Linkri’s atelier under Saleko’s order. Unlike Kurian – who seemed excited if not for the task at hand, then at least for the excuse to leave – Merino was serious.

He prepared his things in silence, plucking whatever he thought was necessary from the loosely organized pile while evaluating it all with a critical eye, making Dominic wonder if he had the [Appraisal] skill like Orieke and the other Artisans. The [Death Doctor] was certain it was not the same spell he had, at least, since his silent casting revealed nothing but a name.

Not even his reward from the [Path of The Ghost] had prompted anything different. The Lesser Phylactery, as it was called, remained inert in the place it had been stashed – stuck between his new robes and his belt. He had little idea what it was, and until he found some time to maybe ask Orieke to check it out, it was for the best that it remained quiet.

Nevertheless, the [Apothecary] finished his preparations with a quick trip to his house – a task he did alone, claiming it would be quicker that way. No one stopped him. They all had things to do.

The last one to join on their expedition – and their de-facto leader and main protector, since Dominic’s puny little bones would be useless in a fight – was Orieke. The [Perfumer] acted with a methodical approach that surprised the elderly man, organized to the point of keeping inventory of everything that the Artisans allowed them to take, balancing how much equipment one could take before it affected their leveling – which, apparently, was a thing.

His job was also to ensure everyone was thoroughly ready to depart – which in this case, meant making sure Iaakis had all the measurements she needed to begin Kurian’s prosthetics, leaving the ingredients necessary for his part with Linkri, and ensuring Dominic got some treatment for his knee.

And God bless the man’s hearts for that. When Orieke had asked Biakis’s assistance while Merino was away, the [Witch] was so quick to leave the house for her ingredients that Dominic hadn’t even noticed her absence – eyes focused on Vriako and the sleeping babies now that there was nothing much for him to do.

When she returned, her purple pointy hat decorated with those slow droplets of dark wax, and a small basket on the crook of her arm, Biakis was quick to take his attention. She sat where Merino had been, facing the [Death Doctor] directly, and began to take ingredients out of the woven basket.

“Oh – Hello, Biakis. Do you need anything?”

She hissed twice, distracted as she picked a fat candle – made of wax as dark as the one in her hat – and a small satchel filled with dried herbs.

“Nothing. Orieke told me you need some healing, right? Something about your old bones being a pain?”

Dominic scoffed at the way she put it, finding it endearing.

“That’s one way to say it. My knee has been acting up for a long time – a bad accident.”

“Broken?”

He nodded, finding a little humorous how similar the [Witch] acted to a very uninterested doctor. Though one that could turn you into a frog or something – Dominic wasn’t quite sure yet.

“In three. A nasty wound – but the doctors took good care of it. It just can’t handle too much pressure or it gets all sore.”

Biakis hummed in understanding, head down as she palmed a small instrument in her hand – a kind of chisel, though far thinner than the usual ones, and made of some whitish material that looked far too similar to bone for Dominic’s comfort.

“Say. This race of yours doesn’t have any magical vulnerabilities, does it?”

“Uh… Yes, it actually does. Thank you for remembering – I’d completely forgotten. Life, Light, and Holy Magics. They’d end up hurting more than helping.”

Dominic gave a quick look at the hand which had held Kurian’s life savior. The [Cure Wounds] spell had been painful, and the boy had said it was a basic spell compared to many out there.

As a sensible man, he had little intention of learning what they could do to him.

His hand had healed alright, though. No scarring at all.

Meanwhile, the [Witch] hummed a little, a thoughtful sound as she tapped the chisel on the candle. The yellow wick laid limp, longer than Dominic was used to seeing – and probably more of a fire hazard than the modern length.

In itself, the candle was fairly lackluster if one had ever seen colored candles before. The deep color was an oddity, along with the wick, but it seemed too mundane considering an honest-to-God [Witch] was holding it. Dominic narrowed his eyes, a detail coming to the surface as he expectantly searched for a magical shine or transcribed rune.

Where did the wax come from? Did they have bees in Kiringar? No – he had passed through Biakis’s house and it was as free of bugs as everywhere else in the village and beyond.

Not that the [Death Doctor] would ever complain about that. Bugs had never failed to make him shiver. Or scream. Well, Armstrong called it a screech – but he had never been the one to find the roaches in the dorm. The cursed things seemed to follow Dominic everywhere, and he was certain it was out of pure spite.

Still… a candle didn’t have to be made out of beeswax, did it? Dominic remembered going to some old museum expositions, during one of those days when the resorts got too boring, and a guide once told him fat burned just as well as paraffin.

Wait. Paraffin. From petroleum. Dominic looked back at the candle – then at Biakis’s hat, with the cloth slowly dripping melted wax like a glazed cake – and had the awful, awful inkling he knew what it was made of.

Lord Almighty, he had made the comparison himself, hadn’t he? Nightmares were the only creatures around after all. And Orieke did say Biakis worked with terror.

The [Death Doctor]’s appalled look must have been evident, for the [Witch] tilted her head in question – and Dominic couldn’t stop staring at the slow, thick drop of wax falling from the brim of her hat.

“Something wrong?”

He swallowed, putting on a toothless smile that trembled at the edges even through his monumental effort not to wrinkle his nose. His hand waved dismissively, the movement a little too quick.

“Not at all, not at all. Just… Uh – wondering about some things. Nevermind that. Um, you have a solution then? Can you… heal me?”

Biakis scoffed – an amused sound, followed by a tiny – almost mocking – smile.

“A solution? Old man, I’m a [Witch]! There’s nothing we can’t do. Now, will I heal you? Well… No.”

“I – I don’t understand, then. I thought that’s what you’re going to do.”

“Well, I thought so too. But then you came around saying you were some kind of undead-human-ghost… whatever kind of thing and it just got a bit harder. Not impossible, not that – but difficult. Lucky for you, of course, there’s not a problem you can’t throw a [Witch] at.”

She smiled, proud, and Dominic could tell she was not being entirely truthful. He let it slide with nothing but a small sigh – it wasn’t his first time meeting a little embezzlement.

“...Alright. What’s the plan, then? Wait… you won’t make some blood spell, will you?”

“Ha. Sun above, no! There will be no blood involved, old man. Just plain old witchcraft. The… non-harmful kind, of course.”

Her smile was all kinds of mischievous.

“Well, show me that knee of yours. And stay still, alright? I’m gonna take some time – BOO!”

Biakis lurched forward, her face suddenly so close to Dominic’s own that he could feel her warm breath on his face. His heart sped up, eyes widening as a breath hitched in his throat. Muscles tensed, trying to decide between fight or flight – and the [Death Doctor] jumped out of his stool, taken fully by surprise, and fell onto the floor butt-first. The other Artisans gave a quick glance at the scene, Orieke massaging his snout, before they got back to work with a collective sigh.

Meanwhile, the [Witch] laughed – cackled, really – while cleaning a tear of mirth from her eyes

“Ah… I really love doing that.”

“And what was that for?! My God, you almost gave me a heart attack, Biakis!”

“Pfft. Relax, old man. You won’t die because of a little scare, will you? Not for a second time at least.”

She grinned, face still uncomfortably close – until her eyes drifted upwards, looking for something above Dominic’s head. The [Witch]’s grin grew wider.

“There you are.”

With a quick motion, Biakis plucked what felt like a strand of hair – never minding Dominic’s sudden yelp of pain as she sat back onto her seat, the prized strand held tightly between two claws – almost cloud white in color.

“Now, Dominic. How much do you know of witchcraft?”

A hand up on his head, the [Death Doctor] felt out of step with the young woman.

“Wha–What? I mean… Why did you..? Agh, fine! Fine, fine.”

He lowered a hand to his robe, straightening it out as if an expensive suit. It did little on the coarser cloth, but it helped settle his nerves enough. Puffing, Dominic sat back onto his seat – face sour as his knee flared again.

“Why are you asking this now?”

“Well – It’s polite to explain what we are doing, Mother always said. Unless you are cursing someone, then you could let them wallow in ignorance like the maggots they are. Her words, not mine.”

The elderly man gave her a toothless smile, conveying all manners or sarcasm.

“How charming. Um – I know little of witchcraft. More than most, I dare say, but it was never something I was deep into.”

Too esoteric even for him. Little charms and spells weren’t enough to cure him at the time – not when he had needed a miracle – so the hippie grimoires and meditation sessions never took much of Dominic’s attention back home.

The System might have changed that, though.

Biakis hissed while working, distractedly moving her smaller chisel up and down the candle in a set pattern – gliding a little above the surface, without causing an indent. Not yet.

“Well, in layman’s terms, witchcraft is the magic of meaning – which means that our focus is not in understanding, like [Mages], or in our emotions, like [Sorcerers]. Our magic is in the connection we make with things, how we see them, and what value it has to us. To tweak that, or break it entirely, is witchcraft.”

Biakis recited solemnly as if a sentence she had heard a thousand times before. The [Witch] looked almost entranced now, focused on whatever it was that she was doing. With little warning, her chisel began to carve onto the soft wax.

“Some connections are greater than others, though. And those that we can more easily manipulate are the ones we specialize in. [Witches] are… not as diverse as one might think – always a potion, a curse, a spell, a ritual – but the way of doing it all changes. The meaning we give to our magic makes it particular. Unique. Do you follow?”

She raised her head, and the brim of her hat obscured her face with deeper shadows – a veil of darkness that slowly crept down, covering Biakis’s features. Dominic nodded, eyes narrowing as he tried hard not to sweat under the sudden pressure the woman gave.

The [Witch]’s smile flickered, and she lowered her face towards her work again.

“You asked if I could heal you, Dominic. I could. I can. But it would never last for long – one day, you’d be walking and your knee would crumple again, maybe even break once more. Because, you see, healing is not something meaningful to me.”

The [Death Doctor] listened with questions on his mind. Still, he nodded, unwilling to speak – partially because he feared only a squeak would come out – but also because Biakis looked serious. Like Martha when she began to work.

“Mine is a craft of fear. Of the shivers down the spine and the feeling of your heart beating louder as you cower. But fear is primordial, you see. No [Witch] could encompass it entirely – none could give meaning to all its facets. So we choose some.”

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She smiled, her chisel stopping as it made a final curve on the body of the candle. From where he sat, Dominic saw nothing, but the [Witch] seemed content enough. Still, her presence hadn’t lessened – and slowly, Biakis began her next steps.

She began to press his strand of bristled hair into one of the indents made by her chisel – right at the bottom of the candle, opposite to the wick –then took some of the removed wax to seal the hole.

“Fear is also connected to its ending. When hearts calm down and you realize the sudden scare was nothing much, just a trick of perception. An illusion of the mind. The moment your bristled hairs settle down again and you give a nervous chuckle saying ‘It’s fine. Just a little scare.’.”

It was his voice. Dominic shivered as he heard Biakis imitate him perfectly, tone and pitch identical like a recorder. She didn’t look at him again.

With a snap of her fingers, Biakis moved some of her magic.

“[Create Flame].”

And ignited the wick. Fire caught quickly as if it had been soaked in gasoline, and the dark smoke rose in plumes that stung his nose. Slowly, the [Witch] turned the candle so that he could see what was written.

“Mothers saying there’s nothing under your bed. That the shapes in the woods aren’t Nightmares hunting around your house. That all you need is to look again and your fear will be dispelled. That it will bring–”

Relief. Etched into the candle, was that single word – surrounded by quick, but perfect, drawings of vines. They surrounded the letters like a fairy ring, making it pop off in a way Dominic could not describe, but that stole his attention entirely.

The wax began to melt, the flame doing what it was intended to do – and as the dark liquid began to drip and harden on the candle’s surface, it also covered part of the letters, breaking the spell.

Shaking his head, the [Death Doctor] blinked quickly, trying to make the world around him snap into proper focus even through the lenses of his glasses, and only when reality stopped being a blur of shapes did he look at Biakis.

The shadows had receded from her face, almost as if being sucked into her pointy hat, and all there was left was that same mischievous smile. With a low chuckle, she held the candle in front of her – unresponsive to the warm wax that drizzled down her claws.

“Show me that knee, old man.”

Dominic extended his leg forward, raising the hem of his robe like a Victorian thirst trap. It was embarrassing to reveal his skinny legs, ones that he always used to cover under loose pants, but he pressed through. At least they were hairless – God bless lasers for that.

With one eye closed, the [Death Doctor] mustered enough courage to see the state of his knee – only to find nothing different. No swelling or redness – just his plain old knee, hurting like hell, but with none of the signs.

He had no time to think deeply, however. Biakis had, without warning, tilted the candle’s top so that it hovered over his knee – the flame melting the wax far more directly – and let the dark liquid drip freely onto his skin. Dominic tried to jerk away in a reflex, but the [Witch] held him still with her other hand, smiling at his anxiety – until it vanished.

There was no heat to the wax. There was, in fact, no wax at all when he looked down at his leg. It had vanished, absorbed into his skin, and the effects were immediate.

A wave of warmth began to grow on his knee, the pain turning into solace so deep that his entire body relaxed. It was the fluffiness of a blanket, mixed with a relaxing massage under the hands of the greatest and sprinkled with the sheer peace of a hand caressing your head.

It was heady. It felt like getting high for a second. And then, it began to fade, slowly, taking the pain with it.

Dominic opened his eyes, unaware of when he had closed them. His lips carried the smile of a man in the clouds, playing with cherubs.

“Nice, isn’t it?”

Biakis passed a hand above the flame, and it disappeared with a tiny hiss. Dominic’s brain slowly came as the effects passed completely. He eyed the dark candle in her hands, noticing how most of it was still intact.

“Perfect, really. And the pain – there’s none at all! Look at it! God, I feel like I could just… run.”

His excitement grew with every beat of his heart, the grip on his cane getting tighter and tighter.

It was all cut short when the [Witch] raised a warning finger, making his thoughts of speeding down the streets and woods crash into each other like a bad car accident.

“Hold your hounds, old man. It is Relief, not a healing spell. It took away the pain – but the wounds are still there. So unless you want to break down like kindling, don’t put in more effort than necessary.”

He nodded, listening but still far too excited to try and walk without feeling like a hot poker had been driven between his bones. Still, Dominic was no stranger to doctor’s orders – and he had learned to take them seriously over the years.

“And how long will it last?”

“Until the dawn of the next day. Then you’ll have to reapply it – just light the wick and drop some wax on it and you’ll be good to go.”

She offered him the candle, and Dominic immediately began to pocket it in the enchanted bag he had been given – until he stopped. And turned towards the [Witch] with the threat of a smile.

“Tell me, Biakis – would this candle of yours work for other sore spots?”

“It’d work just as fine.”

His smile blossomed, turning fully into a grin as mischievous as her own – Dominic’s eyes disappeared with the rise of his cheeks.

“Just cause I’ve got this spot on my back that’s been bothering me a lot and… a young woman like yourself wouldn’t mind helping this old man out, right Saleko?”

Biakis’s answer was swallowed quickly as the [Toymaker] behind them, which had kept an eye on the proceedings ever since the beginning, gave her a true smirk.

“Indeed, indeed. Bia – do as he says. You need to learn to take care of your Elders. And since you’re on it, make me one of those candles as well – I’m out of them.”

Both men shared a grin as the [Witch] sagged onto her seat, defeated by the sheer power of elderly privilege. Her hiss was long and pouty.

It was a great lesson to teach the young – two can always play the same game if they are willing to commit. In this case, Dominic would deal with the fact he was wearing a robe of all things, later.

It would be embarrassing, but the victory did taste sweet.

***

Their official departure happened a couple of hours after.

Their small group of four had said their goodbyes still in the Gray House, so none of the Artisans had come to bid them farewell at the gates.

Not that any would have after Dominic sat down to talk with Vriako. They all stayed to collect the pieces of the broken man.

It was with a sigh that the [Death Doctor] watched the closed northern gates behind them, a hand adjusting the leather armor he had been given. Not an entire set – he had tried one and the weight almost made him buckle – but some pieces of it that covered his chest, and arms. Most of the protection would come from his robe itself, having passed through Linkri’s miraculous hands and made far more durable due to her Skills.

His bag, though, rested on his belt. A small, inconspicuous brown pouch that carried the items he had collected. Well, some of them – others he was already wearing by the time of their departure.

Dominic looked down at the new sandals, wiggling his toes and feeling the absolute comfort of the padded sole. Orieke had recommended it to him, saying it’d be great for long treks – and the [Death Doctor] had fallen in love immediately after feeling the softness of the leather and how it adjusted perfectly to his feet.

Not even his most expensive shoes felt so great. It wasn’t magical – not in the ways one would expect – but they carried Vriako’s skills in them and that made them precious enough.

That was just one of the items. He hadn’t taken much – only four of them, besides Biakis’s candle, before Orieke said they would hamper his leveling more than help with it.

Struggle was necessary – and if they were to lean on powerful items, the System wouldn’t see this trip as worthy of levels. And that was just counter-productive to their whole intent.

Kurian had taken the least of them all, being restricted to only two, and Orieke claimed he had little need for items beyond what he already had. Merino, though able to take more than Dominic, restricted himself to only three – and when he had asked about it, the [Apothecary] simply shrugged, saying it was a bad habit to lean on them too much.

Dominic could see the logic – but he was still unwilling to risk his safety that much. There was no use in leveling if he was dead, which made the extra protection all the more necessary.

Adjusting his cane on the ground, the earth soft beneath the strands of red grass, Dominic turned towards their leader.

“So – Where do we go now?”

“Well, we will keep on walking through that trail over there. It will take us a few hours to reach the first domain. After that… Kurian, you said you knew a shortcut?”

Orieke asked the young boy, who looked at him through his only-seeing eye. The other was covered by an eyepatch, a gift from Linkri. Kurian adjusted the strap around his head, hissing once.

“Yeah – It is between the first and the Pale Figures. It goes around them, so we won’t have to deal with it.”

“Wait. The shortcut is longer?”

The boy looked at him and nodded. Orieke faced Dominic with an amused smile.

“Trust me, the time spent dealing with the Pale Figures is probably the longest stretch of the trip towards the Frozen Gates. Now, does this shortcut circle around directly towards the frozen gates or…”

“No – it will round back to the third. Father tried once to go straight, but it was too close to the border between the Gates and the Choking Grove.”

The [Perfumer] gave a sharp whistle, the silent [Apothecary] beside him widening his eyes.

“Ah, Nifestu was just a little mad, wasn’t he?”

Kurian shrugged, a proud smile on his lips.

“He was powerful.”

“Yes. Yes, he was… Well, Kurian, I’ll put you in charge of spotting the path when we get there. Meanwhile, Merino, how much do you know about this stretch of the Woods?”

The [Apothecary] thought for a second, carefully moving the vial Orieke had given him earlier on his bandoleer, making it easier to grab if it was ever necessary.

“Not much, Elder. Teacher preferred the Grove over anything to the north – I do know that the main Phobia is fear of the cold, though.”

“Well then. You guys will see it. Merino, you’re responsible for our backs, all right? Use what I gave you whenever you think is necessary. Kurian and Dominic – I want you two in the middle at all times, you hear me? No wandering around where I can’t see you. For your own safety.”

Dominic nodded, positioning himself behind Kurian. The boy hissed once, a dim sound as he faced Orieke’s serious face.

Putting one foot in front of the other, the trio began to eat at the distance of the open area between the northern wall and the first stretch of the Fear-Full Wood, slowly walking towards those same dark trees that seemed to surround Kiringar and all the area beyond the village. The path Orieke had pointed at before, was but a small clear way in the middle of the trees – someone had kept it clean of stray branches from the saplings and used it so much that the grass had died under their steps, though now they had begun to grow once again.

How long ago did Nifestu die? He had never asked Kurian, but the [Death Doctor] suspected it was a measure of months – and was he the last one to use this path?

Dominic looked at the [Survivor] in front of him, the missing arm and wing a grim reminder of what had happened. Kurian walked with more stability now – though from time to time, he’d stumble on a root and need to support himself on one of the trunks, but those moments were far fewer than they were yesterday.

Taking a deep breath, the elderly man allowed the wave of sadness to come and go. It was not the time to dwell on it. Instead, he turned his focus to something else.

“What are those domains you were talking about?”

“Hm? Well, do any of you want to try and answer it first?”

The [Perfumer] delegated the response to the other two, much like a teacher in class. Kurian raised his hand, but Orieke pointed at the [Apothecary] at the back first.

“Merino. Vyraka took you outside well enough. Care to explain?”

“Oh – Uh, sure. I can… try. Um, the domains are places where a certain type of fear rules more strongly. Teacher used to say it was a product of a great Nightmare that made the center of it its home. A domain also tends to… uh… radiate? Is that the word? It spreads widely, but becomes weaker at the edges.”

“Umhum. I’d give it an 8/10. You forgot a few important things, Merino.”

The [Perfumer] pushed stepped away from a knot on the roots below, signaling for them to do the same. Dominic used his cane instead of his hands, mindful of the poisonous bone-white flowers surrounding this specific tree. They were growing rarer and rarer the longer they walked, no longer that common of a sight with their thorny bushes.

Far away, Dominic could see none of them at all.

“Some theories claim that a domain is already aligned with a specific fear, and ends up producing a Sovereign on its own. The [Scholars] in Canbonia are quite fond of the idea, you know? Also, they don’t always get weaker at the edges. That only happens if they are bordering a neutral domain – like Kiringar.”

The [Death Doctor] paused at that.

“Hold on, the village is a domain as well?”

“But of course. The Fear-Full Woods didn’t grant us a place for free. You even saw the bones of the last Sovereign, right there in the center of the garden.”

His brows furrowed at that, and Orieke’s sly grin only made him more confused. There had been no bones in the garden, just the flowers, maintained in their spiraling pathways, and –

“The tree?”

The [Perfumer] hissed once.

“Our ancestors repurposed it after its demise. And yes, Kurian, I can tell the story again later.”

The boy’s eye sparkled for a second before he cleared his throat to hide the smile. Orieke chuckled.

“Still, as I was saying, not always does a domain grow weaker at the edges. When the two of them meet, both influences mingle in a way. Mix into Nightmares of their own. Most of the time, those areas are more dangerous for it.”

“Like the one between here and the… Grove you were talking about.”

Dominic risked a guess, receiving assent from the [Perfumer].

“Indeed. What they can produce is fully up in the air – but some of the combinations are well known, like the Misty Arachnes–”

Kurian stumbled, looking pale as he leaned heavily on a tree trunk. Dominic had grabbed his arm when noticing the boy’s fall, a quick reflex only possible due to his vigilance, and the little accident made them all stop for a second.

“You all right?”

“I’m – fine, Uncle. Just remembered something.”

His answer was quick, coupled with a toothless smile that got Orieke looking puzzled. Both [Perfumer] and [Death Doctor] shared a look, but Dominic could only shrug at what the boy meant.

“Huh. Anyway… What was I saying again?”

“About the boundaries, Elder.”

Merino answered promptly, and when Dominic shot a glance at the [Apothecary], he had a notebook in hand. The elderly man tried to steal a glance at what was written and found only notes on what they were talking about.

He shot the young man an impressed look, along with a thumbs up. One had to stoke the flames of education when they could.

Merino’s embarrassed face was reward enough.

“Ah, yes. Now, for those of you that don’t have that much familiarity with this stretch of the wood, you need to be always mindful of how close to another domain you are. But, since this first ring until we reach the Frozen Gates borders on Kiringar, then they’ll be the weakest Nightmares we’ll find around these parts.”

Orieke smiled, eyes narrowed as he stared at the little entourage behind him. Dominic gulped, feeling his throat turn raspy. He didn’t like that look on the [Perfumer]’s face.

“And it’ll be perfect for you guys to test your skills against.”

***

It was hard to say for how long they walked before the woods opened up again. With the sun unmoving, and the shadows refusing to budge, keeping track of time became a hard task. Orieke said it had only been an hour since they began their journey amidst the trees– but after he had to dodge the third thorny vine from the bone-white flowers – he was just about done.

Truth be told, he had never liked treks. As a tourist, he much preferred museums and good cuisine over the wide wild world. Not even zoos were things he enjoyed, since most of the time was spent pitying the poor animals locked in cages.

As such, when the trees opened up into another meadow, Dominic had been excited to finally find softer ground than the roots he had been stepping on, his poor cane always getting stuck in a knot here or there. The feeling was short-lived though.

In front of the group, where none of the dark trees grew, was a meadow of red grass growing as tall as an imp. The strands were sharp and dry, dull blades that wavered with the wind like waves. It was… different – in more ways than one.

The air was drier here, that constant heaviness of humidity no longer present. It felt scarce, like a mountain top, but the [Death Doctor] was certain he had climbed no incline. He’d remember complaining about that if they did.

Not only that, but the temperature had taken a sharp turn down the moment they stepped into the meadow. Dominic had to rub his hands together to avoid the sudden numbness that tried to creep in.

“Alright everyone, come closer. This should last for the whole trip – if anyone feels cold before we get back to Kiringar, warn me immediately and I’ll reapply it. Don’t try to face the cold without protection.”

Nods and hisses ensued in affirmation, and Dominic watched as Orieke picked a small vial from his belt. Topped with a cork, the glassware housed a deep orange liquid, almost like liquid flame – though it swayed mildly within the confines.

Opening it, the [Perfumer] displayed another of his magical creations – much to Dominic’s barely concealed excitement.

“[Disperse Scent].”

Almost immediately, the [Death Doctor] felt the warm breeze waft from the bottle – and stick to his skin like a new piece of clothing. Dominic raised an arm to smell the scent even deeper.

A summer day, drinking lemonade while laughing at a family’s barbecue. A child’s tinted cheeks from playing so much, heat making the skin glisten with sweat. A soak in the ocean during nighttime, feeling the warm water relax your muscles.

Merino gave a light moan, breaking the spell of the perfume. Kurian giggled, the smile on his face as close to genuine as Dominic had ever seen.

“I’m glad you all liked it. But lesson number one when it comes to being on the great outside?”

A shadow leaped from between the grass blades, hitting Merino on the torso like a cannonball. Dominic’s swearing was muffled under the sound of a deep snarl, while Kurian’s smile faded into nothingness as they watched the [Apothecary] begin to struggle without moving.

Orieke’s voice lectured them from behind.

“Always be alert.”