Chapter 19 - Where Domains Meet

There had to be a joke in there somewhere.

It wasn’t Dominic’s fault that he kept brushing with death. Well, not entirely at least. Okay, maybe half of it was his fault – but then again, things did keep trying to kill him. And, in his defense, it wasn’t because he was caught off guard that he almost died.

Most of the time he was trying to protect something. And, yes, maybe it wasn’t the cleverest of ideas to keep getting himself knocked out in the process since that made him more of a liability than an actual helper – but his heart was in the right place!

That mattered…right?

Ugh. His head hurt. The darkness behind his eyelids refused to comment on his ideas – and his brain felt too swollen and spent to come to any kind of conclusion. With a deep sigh, Dominic–

–didn’t open his eyes. Instead, he rolled on the floor – much to someone’s alarm if the sound of their little yelp was any indication – and only began to see when he felt a strand of grass tickle his nose.

Safe. That was… surprisingly close. He had been saved once or twice from the sun’s maddening influence, but the elderly man was not going to test it out. Slowly, he pushed his arms beneath him – and noticed how there was no pain where the Nightmare had eaten a chunk of his shoulder.

In fact, looking at his torso, there was only a clean hole in his clothing. And he just betted there was an equal one on his back.

“Huh. Magic potion?”

It did speak something of his own temper that Dominic had no greater reaction. Merino, however, the anxious little man that he was, began to stammer.

“Wha – what? Uh… yes. Are you – alright?”

Dominic raised his eyes and looked at the [Apothecary]. He met those dark orbs, looking at him with small creases at the corners that marked concern, and gave another sigh.

“Yeah. Just peachy. I’d really want this to be a rarer occurrence, though. Oh well. How long has it been?”

“Um, half an hour, maybe? Elder went forwards to try and clear a–”

A body slammed against Dominic with all the weight of its twenty kilograms. The man fell backward as Kurian tackled him like a quarterback – and it seemed the lack of resistance from the [Death Doctor]’s part only made the boy further worried.

“Umph!”

“Oh – I’m sorry. It didn’t hurt, right?”

The [Survivor] spoke quickly, his right eye scanning Dominic’s expression only to fall on the torn armor and clothing where he had been struck.

Dominic Jones smiled.

“I’m fine. But you are heavy – could you…?”

“Right, right. Sorry.”

The boy lifted himself, giving Dominic a hand so that he could sit properly on the floor. Kurian looked fine, with only a dark bruise on his right arm, but he moved it with no problem – his wing seemed a little weak as well, hanging lower than usual, but all in all, it seemed [False Life] had done wonders.

“You shouldn’t do that! The risks – you’re really stupid.”

The tone made the [Death Doctor] raise his head and Kurian’s face was, once again, that reluctant acid pout. Forcefully distant, as if the concern was beneath him. It was quite cute.

“Yes, yes. I’ll try to dodge things better next time. Are you well?”

“...Fine. And you better, alright? Also – thank you.”

Dominic’s smile shrinked into a more serene version. He gave a small nod, eyes soft.

“You’re welcome. You’d have done the same.”

If the statement was true was irrelevant, but this was how you taught children into being better than yourself. Do what I say and not what I do – though Dominic had put his life at stake. Oh well… he could be awesome like that at times.

“Where’s Orieke? Is he coming back soon?”

“Ah. Yes. Uncle said he was going to clear the rest of the path. I think he felt a bit bad about how things went down.”

“Hmm. That’s… surprisingly kind of him. Considering what he had said I’d assume he’d let us fend for ourselves for the rest of the trek.”

Kurian’s nose twitched, his lips turning into the thinnest line they could with his fangs on the way. The [Survivor] held his own robe tightly – and when he spoke, it was almost apologetic.

“I… know that Uncle was rude – but please don’t be too bad on him. I think – I think he’s just worried. For us, I mean. He’s really nice.”

From the side, the [Apothecary] spoke as well – a little more contemplative than Kurian.

“Teacher always said he’s more protective than the others. She used to think he just took the whole family idea too seriously. Maybe there’s more to it?”

The [Death Doctor] took the words into consideration – and with Kurian’s wide, teary eye serving as quite the argument – Dominic sighed. He’d have to hold his tongue later. Maybe reevaluate the idea he had made.

“Alright. I promise I won’t try to argue with him, alright? We need to be together for this to end well. In tune. Now help me up, please?”

With a huff, both imps assisted him in getting up – Kurian almost fell over at the effort, but he managed to firm his feet on the ground after a second of windmilling with his arm. On his feet, the [Death Doctor] could better see what had happened to the small clearing they fought upon – and it wasn’t pretty.

The stain of dark, foul blood was present in different places, some greater than others – but the contrast of the black with the red grass made it all look like a hellish visage. The only thing that didn’t make it completely nausea-inducing, however, was the lack of bodies.

“Where are the Nightmares?”

Dominic said to the duo, and Merino was quick to answer. He fiddled with his bandoleer after carefully pruning some of the bloodied blades of grass into a small bottle.

“Elder Orieke took them as bait. He said – he said the creatures would have no problem eating their own.”

Both imps shivered, Kurian even sending a small gesture to the sky above. Dominic swallowed thickly – and when he felt the dryness of his throat, the [Death Doctor] was quick to take a sip from his canteen.

“That’s – nasty. Ugh. Alright, then. Let’s not think about that. What about the doll? Did he take it with him?”

“Ah, no. He left it with me. But… it’s a little broken, I think.”

Kurian gestured for his own bag of holding and from within it the [Survivor] pulled the inert body of Zariastro. The poor toy, one of Saleko’s creations, was a dirty shade of white now that it had rolled over the floor and been utterly covered in poison. Dominic noted an attempt to clean it – but even if that had worked perfectly, it would never be mistaken for a new doll again.

One of its arms – its right one – had been eaten by one of the Devourer Dog’s Alpha bites. The cut was clean, concave into the spherical joint that allowed the toy better movement, but it wasn’t the only scar Zariastro had gained.

Its leg had dislocated sideways, the joint probably coming a little loose due to some impact not even Saleko’s Skills could entirely protect, and there was a small divot on its side where one of the Nightmare’s claws had managed to strike.

All in all, the little toy had done its job fantastically well – and Dominic couldn’t help but feel bad for how it had ended up for such a prodigious achievement. Quietly, the [Death Doctor] took the little toy from Kurian’s hands like one would a bird with a broken wing. The boy offered him Zariastro’s mini-sword as well, and Dominic put it over the doll's chest like a [Knight]’s funeral.

Maybe it was his age – or just the fascination at the magic that had kept the doll functional enough to save their lives – but being respectful of it resonated with the elderly man. The toy deserved something, even if Dominic had nothing to–

–No. There was something he could do, wasn’t there? He had seen it once, in a ballet of all things.

A beautiful interpretation in an Austrian theater. Straight out of Tchaikovsky’s mind – a rendition of a toy brought to life, adventuring through a world only shared between its owner and it, deep within her dreams.

How did it go again? Dominic knew there had been a moment before the adventure began, one that connected to this moment in front of him. It was just… badly aligned. Memory and reality weren’t connected as they should be.

The [Death Doctor] narrowed his eyes, trying to pierce the very fabric of his thoughts with a glare. If he could remember how it went, Dominic knew he’d have the right lens to see through.

And then it clicked. The play had been beautiful and even if it had happened long ago – there was art that stole your breath so hard you just could never forget it completely.

A broken arm due to a brother’s lesser care. A weeping child, holding onto her prized toy and trying to put it to sleep – only to end up in a dream where he was her greatest protector, fighting against rats and visiting queens. Her knight. Her defender.

Hers.

Like Zariastro had been.

The order of the events was inverted between them – and Dominic had not thought of Saleko’s gift as anything but a tool at the time he received it, but it had been his from the moment it was given.

And yet… the ending of The Nutcracker was always the same. A sad one.

It was all a dream. The broken remained broken in the end.

Dominic Jones abhorred the fatalistic thought with purposeful distaste, his face scrunching up in aversion. There was no place for that with him – there couldn’t be – but there was also nothing he could do. Not now.

The elderly man nursed the limp toy against his chest, rocking it silently.

“You’ve done something great, Zariastro. To defeat a creature so large, like David slayed Goliath, requires courage only the maddest or most loyal of minds can conjure. I am sorry that it ended like it did… but I also feel grateful for the sacrifice you’ve made. Thank you – and rest. For now.”

It was a promise.

Behind him, both imps shared a look at the sudden scene, but when Kurian caught a glimpse of the seriousness on Dominic’s face, he expressed his condolences. His disbelieving tone lasted for less time than he expected.

“Uh… yes. Thank you for – all of it.”

Merino was quick to follow. As someone that has studied under Vyraka, he knew his fair share of eccentric old people – and though the scene had brought a mix of nostalgia and pain, he was quick to embark on the [Doctor]’s idea.

“It was an honor to fight alongside you. May you rest knowing your… uhm, blood, was worthy.”

He stumbled a little when trying to fit the doll into a common impish expression, but all in all, it was a good enough farewell. Simple – and Dominic, though he had not asked for any of it, appreciated the effort.

Silently, he allowed the toy to rest back into the small box it had come with – perfectly nestled within the velvety interior – and put it back in his Bag of Holding alongside the last of his items.

He cleaned his eyes with his hands. Dominic Jones wasn’t crying because of a doll – the situation was just… a bit sad.

“Well. That was that. Bah, I’m way too old for this. C’mon guys, distract me a bit. Anything we need to know before we continue?”

He returned to the same affable smile, and the boys took the opportunity to dispel the mood just so that they could avoid any more grief toward the doll.

“Uncle said we should be safe around these parts until he returned. He sprayed something on the edges to make the Nightmares go far away. Also, I’ve leveled up!”

“Oh, that’s great news, Kurian! Level 4?”

The boy puffed up his chest.

“Nope. Level 5!”

Dominic gave him a small clap on the shoulder, mindful of his wound. Kurian seemed proud, even if the fifth level meant his Class got harder to change – but, perhaps to someone raised with the System, every accomplishment had a value of its own.

“It’s quite the achievement, or so I heard. Did you get new Skills with it? Spells?”

His questions came quickly – but Merino’s small frown as he looked at him was enough to remind the old man of what a faux-pas it was.

“Ah, sorry. Don’t mind that. I’m just glad you did it. Well then–”

Dominic felt someone hold his robe. The cloth stretched a bit before the old man stopped on his steps to look for what it was – and when he did, he noticed a change in it. The hole was smaller.

And not a little smaller, some imperceptible change. No, it was plain to the eye – the threads tried to join each other while producing more of the lacking length, like a spider spinning a web.

He stared at it for a moment too long and only snapped out of it when he heard Kurian’s voice. He really needed to get a better grip on this whole magic thing.

“I–I want to tell you. Is that alright?”

Dominic looked at that eager eye, searchingly. Kurian waited with bated breath, only to exhale when he saw the human nod – that same small smile on his face.

“Sure. It’d be an honor.”

Hissing once, Kurian extended a finger towards Dominic – and the [Death Doctor] saw that red exclamation mark on the corner of his eye pulse. With a thought, he asked the System for its presence.

Kurian, Son of Nifestu, has shared information with you.

Will you accept it?

Y/N

The same question from last time appeared before everything. Dominic agreed.

[Lesser Endurance]

Sturdier the vessel.

[Dangersense]

Be warned.

The elderly man finished reading the small descriptions at the same time Kurian gestured towards Merino, giving a smile towards the [Apothecary] that was met with a shier reflection.

Not knowing how to react, the [Death Doctor] waited for Merino to finish his thoughts.

“I… can’t say it’s surprising – but it’s still odd to see [Dangersense] be given so early. And [Lesser Endurance] is great for everyone. Not bad at all.”

“What do they do?”

Dominic asked, eyes shining at Merino. The [Apothecary] adjusted his glasses, curling a bit at the devoted attention he was submitted to.

“Hm… Eh, [Dangersense] is a warning, like it says. I think it doesn’t work on every threat – but it can tell when something wants to… you know… kill you.”

He stopped for a second, looking at Kurian, but the boy seemed uncaring about it. Merino cleared his throat and continued.

“[Lesser Endurance] makes you last longer at… everything. Not a great improvement, but its effects are wide enough that it’s quite a nice help. Less pain, less exhaustion – less time sleeping.”

Merino sighed wistfully at that. The [Death Doctor] wished to tell him sleep was a must for your health – but that would be far too hypocritical. God knows he had always had a hard time not burning himself out.

“Would this, um, [Dangersense], work on the Nightmares?”

Dominic worried for their safety – and if Kurian’s new skill would help avert any surprise attacks, then it was already invaluable in his mind. The [Apothecary] hissed.

“It should work – I don’t know how far away it can sense threats, or how frequently, but… I don’t think Kurian will get ambushed as easily.”

The [Death Doctor] relaxed even further, his shoulders lowering as he looked at the [Survivor]. Kurian seemed to have absorbed what Merino said only partially, too enamored with his advancement to think clearly.

“Alright then. Did anyone else get something new? I didn’t level up this time.”

“Me neither. Not… apothecary enough I think.”

“About that – how does it work with your class exactly? I thought of asking the Artisans but there was never a right moment.”

Merino thought for a second.

“There’re many ways actually. I could brew a great medicine or prune a special flower, maybe even give weeks into improving a recipe. Though… quality isn’t always as reliable as quantity when it comes to our lower levels. Of course, if a Sulphurborne were to use one of my medicines, I’d get a few levels just because they were using it… but that’s impossible.”

Dominic Jones considered his words, finding the remains of his cane beside a large stain of foul darkness. The rubber end was lost – along with a quarter of its length – and he felt fidgety without it. He sighed, and pushed the remains in his Bag of Holding, not even considering how it disappeared inside a pouch the size of his foot.

He flexed his hands, opening and closing them, feeling the absence. In the end, Dominic returned to the conversation.

“So Orieke could just mass produce perfumes and gain levels? Quantity over quality?”

The [Apothecary] began to answer – and even Kurian, son to one of the greatest [Wandmakers] to be born, opened his mouth to do the same. Neither got the chance, however, as a voice called from between grass blades.

From whence they came, Orieke appeared.

“It wouldn’t work. There’s more than just numbers involved – or the most productive would also have the highest level.”

Walking towards the trio, Orieke stopped in front of Dominic – his jaw tense, and the distance between them large enough he didn’t need to bend his neck to face the taller human.

“Orieke.”

“Dominic.”

Silence reigned for a moment – and the [Perfumer], subjected to the glare of years handling from old administrators to young trainees, held it remarkably well.

Dominic Jones, however, knew his tricks. Slowly, the elderly man’s arms moved – almost forward, his right fingers holding onto the left hand like an almost prayer sign – and as it reached chest height, they crossed around each other as quickly as a snake could strike. The glare intensified – his smile turned just a bit sharper – and Orieke stumbled at the sudden change.

He looked away. Just a second. Less than that, in fact. But when the [Perfumer] raised his eyes to look at Dominic, the old man was – worst of all – smug. Orieke sighed.

“You’ve recovered well enough.”

“Indeed. I assume I must thank you for that.”

A beat of quiet passed as the two looked each other up. Then, Dominic remembered Kurian’s request – and, as the better person, decided to stand an olive branch.

“...Especially about the potion. It must have been an expensive one.”

“Quite. They don’t make Greater Potions of Healing that often anymore.”

“Then I’m even more grateful. Now, though, what are we going to do? Continue north?”

He asked towards the entire group, taking a step to the side to open a circle so they could better talk. The three of them waited for Orieke to answer.

“We will. The next border is peaceful for now – the scent markers will keep the larger packs away, but the lone straggler or some other creatures might still go for it anyway. Hunger makes them reckless.”

“But won’t they be stronger? You said the borders made for more dangerous Nightmares.”

“That. And also – different. More versatile. And yes, they’ll be. All of you will have to be careful.”

Dominic nodded, silently agreeing. Orieke stared for a moment before sighing – until Merino raised his hand.

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“I’m sorry Elder, but what is the next domain? Should we… make any other preparations?”

The [Death Doctor]’s eyes opened wide and then closed in resignation. How easy it was to fall into this false sense of safety. And how uncharacteristic for someone that had always taken matters into their own hands.

Nevertheless, Dominic was thankful that Merino had asked – even if it stung a bit. The [Perfumer]’s lips rose for a moment, before settling in a more serious expression.

“There are two other circles before we get to the Frozen Gates. If the one we are in is hunger, the next one is loneliness. Of spending winter alone in a cold home. Of getting lost in the snow. That’s why no one enters it without either a guide or a direct way out.”

Kurian tilted his head.

“Father always used to say it was more trouble than it was worth it to go through. The fog messes up with the ropes or something.”

Orieke scoffed, almost amused.

“That’s because your father never took the time to learn to read them correctly, Kurian. By the time he went north for the first time, he was already strong enough to go around it all. Star forbids him from following our expectations.”

The huff of familiar amusement died down, a flash of hurt going through his face, and Orieke took a shaky breath before continuing. Dominic glanced at Kurian only to see the same expression, though his lasted for longer.

“The creatures that reside on the second circle are master ambushers. They can control the space around them well enough to split any individual from a group – and they’re stupidly hard to kill. The worst of them, the Pale Men, however, are not the smartest of Nightmares – vicious, yes, but their minds are mad and far from truly rational – so the caravans that do go through it like to keep animals at their periphery as bait. We won’t do that.”

“Because we don’t have any animals?”

Merino asked, sounding unsure. Orieke hissed twice.

“Not only that. If you manage to disperse the fog, then there’s no need to worry about their attacks. The very nature of the Pale Men makes them despise being in the open – but that’s not why we won’t do it. The second circle is a maze of trees, stone, and fog, we’d take days to go through. Kurian’s option, however, is much better.”

Dominic narrowed his eyes. The [Survivor] did say there was another way to go through, back when they had just left Kiringar.

“You want to go around it. But – you said that it was madness to walk the border with the Grove.”

“And it is. The combination will be… problematic – but if we go through there, I’ll be able to assist when necessary, without having to worry about one of you being taken away.”

“So you’ll help us?”

“I’ll have to. No way you can do it alone. And, in the meantime, I’ll try to make you three learn – you lot are good enough to survive, but that won’t be enough when we reach the final place. Or the middle one, for that matter.”

Dominic and Merino shared a glance of worry, but Kurian’s excitement made the boy unable to stand still. That and his smile. For someone that was going to be an [Artisan], he seemed to actively enjoy a more… direct approach to his solutions.

The [Death Doctor] sighed. He was sure it wasn’t healthy to have one so young attuned to combat. When was the last time he had seen Kurian relax? Do things a… teen was supposed to?

God, he was fourteen. They needed to have a conversation as soon as possible. So much to do.

He turned towards Orieke, filing the thoughts and plans for later.

“Are we safe here? We’ve been walking for hours – at least we should have a meal while nothing bothers us.”

He commented off-handedly, fully expecting Orieke to order them to have a snack on the go – but the [Perfumer]’s silence lasted for long enough that Dominic looked back, only to see him smile.

“Good. To capitalize on a moment of rest is essential – you never know when something else might strike. And yes, we’re safe. You should have a proper meal before continuing. Also, water. Drink your fill.”

***

With their bellies fuller – not completely, Orieke had advised, or they might get lethargic – and their thirst quenched, the group continued onwards. Dominic had considered applying another dose of Biakis’s magical candle, especially now that his cane was no longer usable, but like someone with far too much experience with remedies, the elderly man chose to play safe and follow her ordered timeline.[

Only God knew what would happen if he over-medicated himself with magic. And he was very willing to let the Lord Almighty keep that knowledge a personal secret.

The walking happened in silence. To some, the fear of another attack made them wish and act hard to stay undetected, their footsteps soft and conscious of anything that might alert the Devourer Dogs of their presence. Others, however, had another feeling mixed with the dread.

Fascination. To Dominic Jones, this was a new world – and the beauty of hundreds of meters of tall, scarlet grass dancing with the wind was not lost to him. The sun had made the blades warm to the touch, and they moved like an orchestra at each passing breeze.

The [Death Doctor] hadn’t expected them to grow even taller, however. It wasn’t easy to notice it from the distance they had been, especially with the wind bending them and their gradual increase in height mixing with his own perception of depth, but Dominic was fairly certain the grass was growing taller. Tall enough to even cover him.

The imps didn’t seem to mind the change. They were always shorter than the strands, so perhaps it was inconsequential to them, but Dominic couldn’t help but feel a little disturbed at the notion of the grass slowly hiding his shape. Like being dragged deep into the sea, your body fading beneath the waves.

He shivered, trying to dispel the thought with a shake of his head. There were other things to focus on – like the small red berries that sometimes grew from the tip of the tallest grass blades, making them bend. They weren’t circular, like a grape, but thinner and longer and somewhat rugged in the way a raspberry was.

The largest of them, and probably the most mature, was as long as his middle finger. Its color wasn’t red like the grass around it or its smaller brethren, but some kind of shade of black, a faint crimson undertone beneath it.

Dominic Jones touched it lightly, feeling its texture. As rugged as he expected. Coarse to the touch, almost spiky, but that wasn’t what kept him fascinated. The color… it was familiar.

“Oh… Hm, Elder? You shouldn’t eat that. Scab Berries are poisonous.”

The [Death Doctor] paused, blinking rapidly. He turned towards the [Apothecary] with a disbelieving smile in place.

“The… what?”

“Scab Berries… that’s – that’s what they are called. Um, they can only grow when enough blood is given to the ground. It’s – nasty.”

Slowly, Dominic turned towards the pretty berry – and the familiarity of the color was clear now. The rugged feeling of its surface felt less like soft, fruity flesh and more like hard coagulated blood.

The [Death Doctor] left the fruit hanging in peace and cleaned his hands on his clothing, silently vowing to go through Merino before touching another plant.

“Well then. That’s disgusting… God, a Scab Berry? Really? Is there anything more revolting out there? A Pus Flower, perhaps?”

He half-joked, trying to ease his distaste and expecting Merino to smile with him – instead, the [Apothecary] looked embarrassed, the too-wide eyes behind the goggles staring at his feet as he fiddled with the bandoleer, and Dominic’s face fell.

“...You’re joking.”

“They’re really rare… But they are great against infections. And… and as a repellent.”

His voice died down at the end, and Dominic took a deep breath to settle his heart. Unwanted images of pus-dripping flowers in the colors of decay filled his mind – and the [Death Doctor] almost gagged then and there.

“Alright. Fine. This is fine. Let’s just – never talk about this again.”

He shivered. Banishing all thoughts of disgusting flora from his mind, Dominic turned towards the leading figures of their little entourage. Apparently, Orieke wanted Kurian to train his [Dangersense] skill after the boy revealed it to him.

“How long until we reach the border?”

“Not long. Half an hour, maybe. The scent markers are still up for the rest of the way, so there’s no need to–”

A shadow flickered at the edge of their sight, hidden in the grass, and Dominic immediately called for his scalpel. The blade appeared on his hand, Merino in the middle of pulling his crossbow out, and Kurian… doing nothing.

What? The [Death Doctor] looked at him, brows furrowed. Orieke sighed from the front.

“Relax, you two. It’s just an animal. Here – [Mage Hand].”

The [Perfumer] called for what seemed like a spell, and a spectral, four-fingered claw appeared in a hover above the ground. With a soundless impulse, it sped forward into the grass, only stopping when it found its quarry.

The little squeak Dominic heard seemed incongruous with the fear he had. It… didn’t sound like a great Nightmare ready to rip their throats, but more like a… rabbit?

Orieke called the [Mage Hand] back, and holding onto the scruff of the creature’s neck, was a hare. Cream-colored fur and long ears, only made mystical by the small horns that grew from its head.

“A Horned Hare – I forgot they lived here.”

Merino lowered his crossbow, dabbing at the sweat that sprouted on his forehead. Dominic stared at the creature and its useless attempts to flee.

“Is it some kind of Nightmare?”

“Does it look like one to you?”

Orieke’s sarcasm was thick, but still the [Death Doctor] took another glance at the beast before snapping back at him. Its appearance didn’t reveal any of the black, sinewy skin he had come to associate with the incarnations of dread prowling the Woods – and though the Horned Hare did have red eyes, they were a shade lighter, an almost cherry glow.

He took a step closer, examining the confined creature. It struggled harder as Dominic loomed over it, but the elderly man didn’t risk doing anything more than look at it. And there was something wrong.

Its horns, stubby like an imp’s, were whitening. A pale shade of bone Dominic had seen covering the White Stalker – but the hare’s was… incomplete. As if midway through a change, only the base of the horns had begun to shift towards the pale white, the rest of its length still a creamy brown.

“It’s… infected. Look at the horns… Wait – can something turn into a Nightmare?”

“Hm? Ah – that. It’s not turning into one – it probably just ate too much of the Scab Berries. Nightmare flesh and blood might change you like that. Or just give you indigestion. There are stories about it.”

Orieke shivered but dismissed the subject. Dominic still lingered on the hare for a moment, but when the [Perfumer] gestured for the dispelling of the [Mage Hand], the elderly man jumped back to a safe distance.

The Horned Hare wasn’t willing to confront them in any way, however. It had learned not to trust or defy larger beings – and if they were to grant it the mercy of life, it would use it right away. With a squeak and a hop, it delved back into the grass, never to be seen again.

“Alright. Let’s continue. Nothing new has tried the markers, but if any of you see anything from afar, let me know. Kurian – with me.”

***

Kurian, son of Nifestu, had thought he was doing a good job pretending.

After waking up in the temple, half-clad in smoke and gasping for life itself as the memories of torturous loss were burnt onto his brain, he had been desperate.

He had clutched at Iaakis’s robe with such strength that only its making avoided it from being torn. He had cried, messily, at her shoulder – and though his cousin had been soft and kind, whispering calming words in his ear, it hadn’t been enough to alleviate the pain. It was there, lurking, waiting for him to go to sleep.

It was his punishment. Kurian was certain the Voice had seen his cowardice and gave him a cross to bear, but by the Sun Above, he didn’t feel strong enough to do it.

The only relief was in the company he had found, for it kept him distracted. After all, as Nifestu’s only child, he had been raised in the company of his uncles and aunts – and after his death, even Elder Trakia, though their connection was flimsy.

Oh, she had taken him in – that wasn’t a lie. It was just that… she did it to everybody. The [Priestess] of Kiringar was the one to ensure the orphans and widows found their feet again, and though Kurian had received a large amount of her attention – mostly because of his father – it was never as profound as the one he had with his family.

For example, he had always refused her company outside of the temple. She had tried to grant him a room somewhere else, a place not so filled with memories, but Kurian would always return to the empty house when night fell. No amount of cajoling or convincing had changed that.

In other moments, it was her lessons that Kurian escaped from. As a [Priestess], much of Trakia’s talk revolved around the Scarlet Star – and the boy had nothing but a passing interest in that. Nifestu had been the religious one. He just wanted to learn his father’s craft, to honor him by continuing to master what Nifestu had tried to teach him for so long.

Not that he was worthy of that class anymore. No – Kurian knew he had lost the right to become a [Wandmaker] the moment he allowed the wrathful imps to arm themselves with his father’s wands, and even though they weren’t the most potent of them – far from that, in fact – he had defiled all art for power.

Then he had lost them all. Nifestu wouldn’t scream at him, he had never done that, but the boy could conjure the disappointment in his father’s eyes if he had known what he did – and that hurt more than anything.

Plus – he’d never be as dextrous as the Class required. An arm, a wing, and an eye had been lost, and though he wished to weep at it all – and grew frustrated every time he tried to move or see through what was no longer there – he took it all in silence.

He bore the weight of it all – even when it grew too much – with a mask on his face. A youthful one, sewn out of memories from his childhood. A mask that physically hurt to put on, shriveling his heart.

And yet, he believed that pretending was easier than the other option. It wasn’t new, he had done it for months after his father passed away, and had grown proficient at it with time. Fewer and fewer people had asked him if he was alright – and though this morning had been a dangerous relapse, even his uncles and aunts trusted his ability to overcome his hurdles after Kurian told them he was fine.

Not him, though. The [Broken Survivor] risked a look back, towards the elder human, and held in a sigh. Dominic looked more unsure without his cane in hand, taking slow and measured steps each time, as if proper walking was a conscious decision – and he did it in silence.

Thoughtful silence – one that made the elder’s eyes sharp, especially when they were looking at him. Considering Kurian, placing his attention on him. It was disconcerting to be under such unwavering focus – even if only for a moment – and despite it all happening behind his back, Kurian felt the warmth of his glare from time to time.

His mask wasn’t working so well with him. He knew the elder was suspicious of him. No, not of him. That something was wrong with him – and that unnerved him.

Kurian missed a step, sandals meeting the squishiness of a Scab Berry on the ground. His nose scrunched at the smell, metallic and far too filled with memories, and barely felt it when someone poked him on the cheek.

“You’re thinking too hard. I can almost see the smoke. What is it?”

He had forgotten about Orieke. Like a scent you grew used to, the [Perfumer] had faded from his mind during his musings. Too quickly, he put on an eager smile, but it felt strained even to him. It was useless, however, for Orieke hadn’t turned to look at him – his eyes were still focused on the path ahead.

They were just… chatting. In whispers. A bit farther from the other two than necessary

“Nothing, uncle. Just… uh… trying to sense anything with my new Skill. Nothing at it, though.”

Kurian’s smile turned into an embarrassed one as he stumbled over his words. The [Perfumer] pushed a handful of grass blades out of their way.

“Don’t worry too much about that. Keeping your senses open is enough. After all, many would be more than glad to never have to hear its warning. That would be nice, don’t you think so?”

The [Survivor] shrugged.

“I guess. But it’s useful.”

“Hm. Perhaps. To those who live in danger, I’m sure it’s invaluable. Not so much for an [Artisan]. Even an apprentice one”

“...Oh.”

Kurian flinched at the barb. He blinked, and Orieke was looking at him from the corner of his eyes. The [Perfumer] had something in hand, a vial, and with a movement of his thumb, a new scent rose.

Morning mist and bent light, small rainbows produced from a shard of glass.

The boy gulped.

“Why didn’t you use it? You know where your father’s is, don’t you?”

His Oblivion Stone. Nifestu had one – a reward from one of his Paths – and the [Wandmaker] had kept it safe inside their house, but not out of reach. It had always been there, an emergency solution in case something went really wrong with their classes.

Kurian knew where it was. He hadn’t gone out to see it, fearing he’d buckle under the relief of letting his burden behind, but the [Survivor] knew the path to it. He knew where it was hidden. What was the key.

And yet… the [Survivor] turned towards the rest of their companions – and they seemed unaware.

“Can they hear us?”

Orieke sighed, deeply, but granted him the reprieve.

“...No. They can’t. To them, we are simply walking. Now tell me, Kurian. Why?”

The boy continued, in silence, trying to think. He could try to deflect the question, but his uncle was perceptive. No, attentive – and he’d notice the attempts to flee. Besides, that was a coward’s way out.

Still, it took him a minute, maybe two. Kurian didn’t come up with a proper explanation – he barely came up with a reason at all – but he did get the bare bones of his argument. Thoughts and impressions and emotions, all jumbled up without a clear verbal logic.

Some of these feelings were new, sprouting only now that he found no way out and was forced to think. Others had been there the moment the Voice granted him the Class at the edge of a battlefield – but now they solidified, stuck in place.

And not all of them were good ones.

Nevertheless, the answer came, and it went like this to Kurian’s ears:

“I fled, uncle. All the time. I keep trying to – to find this moment where I can do something. I just wanted to help. When they came asking for the wands… I couldn’t say no. I wanted to be part of that – to fight Sybillus – but then… then I fled. They all died. The wands were… useless. We all were.”

Kurian looked haunted now. His eye saw yellowish flames and diseased bodies, rot and decay liquifying people he knew all his life.

“He just took it all. Every spell, every Skill… You didn’t see it, uncle, but he was like a god. A bad one. He kept laughing while we tried to attack him. And every time… every time someone thought they found a way, they just… died. I was at the back – I had taken father’s axe, but I couldn't get closer. It was scary. All the others were so close to each other, fighting, bleeding… It was too scary.”

He was shaking now, the words coming out with stunted and half-choked, the thick saliva in his throat a prelude to the tears wanting to fall. Kurian tightened his grip on his dagger.

“And I had nothing to use. [Remove Splinters]? [Basic Wood Carving]? My Skills were useless. I wanted to do more – I wanted to be more, uncle. Have you never felt that? I want… I want to be there when we put his head on a spike.”

There. The truth. It was revenge he wanted, wasn’t it? Kurian thought so – and the mere thought of seeing that sick snake beheaded made him sigh–

–In relief. It was one less monster in the world. One less nightmare.

Orieke didn’t deny the boy his moment – nor his feelings – but he did have a question.

“And then what?”

Three words, simple and said without any special inflection, without judgment, but that took the breath from his lungs like a punch. Kurian bit his tongue at the question, his eye turning wide.

He… had no answer.

***

Dominic Jones hadn’t noticed the illusion. He was a [Death Doctor] after all, a Class unsuited to discern magical mirages – but he did notice something was different when they reached the border. Mostly because Orieke's face was sagging, as sad as if he just went through a dozen papers saying his company was bankrupt – and Kurian no longer held his smile in place.

His eye still shone, so Dominic saw no defeat in it, but the boy no longer tried to call for that childish excitement from earlier. Instead, it was like those moments the elderly man had glimpsed at – those where Kurian’s eye grew distant and he lost himself to his own thoughts – had taken the spotlight.

Worst of all, he didn’t manage to find a good start for a conversation. Not that it would fit the mood – but the silence bothered him. Still, the tension did fade back when they finally stepped through the last of the red grass – now as tall as two of Dominic, but just as thin as its smaller counterparts – and had their first glimpse at the second circle.

Dominic Jones stared at an entirely new biome. The border, as Orieke had called, was only five meters wide – from the last strand of red grass to the farthest root from the second circle – and had nothing to call its own. The earth under his sandals was bare, dark and humid as he had seen in the most fertile of gardens, and served as the perfect prelude to what lay beyond it.

At first sight, what made Dominic almost buckle out of vertigo, was the size of the trees. Oddly mundane pine trees, covered in snow and with sharp leaves colored the darkest green – but so tall that the Nightshadow Trees he had seen would look like saplings in comparison. The cold grew sharply in intensity and only Orieke’s perfume kept them all from turning into shivering messes – and they hadn’t even entered the area.

The ground at the other side of the border went unseen. Snow had covered it like a soft blanket and the only things piercing it from time to time were some tree roots and sharp-looking stones, rising like broken obelisks.

Worst of all, that was all he could see. Dominic narrowed his eyes, trying to discern anything else from the area, but the fog surrounding the trees – a misty white that twirled and seemed to almost purposefully thicken wherever his eyes focused on – had turned the woods into a haunted place.

It wasn’t a mystical wall of fog either, worthy of being in a fantasy book, but more like a cloud that had chosen to stick to the ground instead of flying through the sky. And no matter how he looked at it, the [Death Doctor] found the gradual thickening of the white veil far more disturbing than if it was a single blanket covering the world.

“Excuse me – how long will it take until we reach the shortcut?”

Merino raised his hand, trying not to look at the scene in front of them. Dominic could sympathize with him – something about how the wind whistled between the pine leaves sent shivers down his spine too.

Orieke, however, seemed far more composed than they were. The [Perfumer] still looked tired, but when he spoke that certainty was still there, lacing his hissier tone.

“A couple of hours, unfortunately. We’ll have to be careful around here – I didn’t get to mark the entire way. Also, whatever you do, don’t fight on your own. Loneliness makes the Nightmares far stronger than they should be – and even a Devourer Dog can trample you around these parts. Got it?”

He glared at them all to ensure the point was through. Silently, Dominic nodded, not trusting his voice’s stability right now.

“Good. While we walk, I’ll ensure to keep you lot safe – and meanwhile, the three of you will train.”

“I’m sorry?”

Orieke grinned, and Dominic realized that he’d rather fight another pack of Nightmares than follow whatever the imp had in schedule for them.

“What? Do you think you’ll spend the next two hours just walking? Have I not just told you all to become better prepared?”

“You did, but–”

“–But nothing. We’re out here to make you level. And you won’t do that by standing still. So, Kurian. [Shadow Servant]. [Conjoined Spell: Chilling Grasp].”

Orieke called for the spell, and from the tip of his extended claw, a blob of darkness grew and stretched itself – falling to the floor in a soundless clump before rising to its feet in the shape of an imp. It had no details, but it stood there in impossible defiance against the sun’s light.

The boy took a step back, eye narrowing further when the shadow mimicked his movements – the only visible difference between them being the wing and the arm the shadow had never lost.

“You’re still not used to fighting with one eye only, are you? So I thought about how to improve that. This is a trial run – an experiment – but it’ll do you good. Now, the servant will follow you all the time, and once every minute it’ll touch you with [Chilling Grasp]. All you have to do is dodge.”

The [Perfumer] smiled, and Kurian gave another look towards the shadow imp.

“That’s… it?”

“That’s it.”

Kurian looked at his uncle for anything suspicious, but the Orieke had a true smile in place – which only made it more disconcerting in Dominic’s book.

“It sounds… too easy, uncle.”

Orieke’s smile turned into a grin, all edge, and pointed teeth.

“Oh, my dear nephew. You don’t have to worry about that. Trust me when I say that I’ve tailored it really well for you. So, relax. It won’t be easy.”

Kurian paled at the tone, but before he could complain – the shadow vanished in front of him, and the boy cried out at the sensation of utter cold that appeared on his flank. With a soft clap, the [Perfumer] swiveled towards Merino, looking far too excited, and the poor [Apothecary] gulped in fear.

“Now, Merino. Pray tell, did Vyraka teach you how to make one of those… heat potions?”

“Uh… a Tonic of Warmth?”

“Yes. That. Do you have all you need to make it right now?”

Merino’s arm moved unsurely towards his bandoleer, but the [Apothecary] already knew the answer without having to look at the vials. He swallowed thickly.

“I… do.”

Once more, the [Perfumer]’s grin turned pure evil.

“Good. [Cease Scent].”

For a second, Dominic looked confused. They hadn’t used any of Orieke’s perfumes recently, so what did he mean by–

The [Death Doctor] watched as Merino began to shake. His lips turned purple – his fingers trembled against the bandoleer around his chest – and when he breathed out, the white cloud that came out of his mouth revealed what had happened.

The trio’s eyes turned wide as Orieke dropped the only thing protecting the [Apothecary] from the bitter cold of the Nightmares’ domain.

“You have half an hour. When your time is over, I’ll dispel the effect on someone else – and you’ll either make a new tonic or they will freeze. Understood?”

The threat of sudden cold made them all balk, and Dominic took a step back. He opened his mouth to call out the madness that was leaving Merino unprotected – but the [Apothecary] beat him to it with a bravery he had not yet seen from him.

“O-kay. B-but extend the t-time. I’ll h-have to make t-two of it f-first.”

Orieke hummed for a second, only to hiss in agreement.

“40 minutes. No more. You can choose who’s going to be the next one to be cold. Now… Dominic.”

The [Perfumer] dismissed the shivering imp and faced the last of the crew. Dominic tried to seem imperious, but he too was intimidated by Orieke – and he knew.

“I thought really hard about how to help you, you know? You can’t really fight – but you do have the savagery to compensate for it. You are a [Healer], but you can’t heal. You also have what sounds like a [Berserker] Skill, which… makes no sense at all.”

“You mean [Undying Heart]?”

“Yes. That one. Let me see, it makes you stronger, more agile, more flexible. It should also make you immune to pain. Did I get it right?”

“Uh, yes. But… I don’t think I’ve been using it right. I mean, it works, but it was supposed to do something else, you know?”

Orieke hissed – and beside the conversation, Kurian gave another yelp as the shadow attacked his blind side. The boy kept turning around to try and find it, but the blob of darkness would always hide beyond his sight.

The [Perfumer] ignored the torment of his own creation and raised a claw to his chin, thinking.

“Why do you think so? Did the Voice say something?”

“Not… really, no. It’s just that the description makes it clear it’s supposed to extend people’s lives. Like, if someone was dying it’d buy them a few seconds. That’s what my Class is about, I think. Denying death.”

Or causing it. The [Death Doctor] flexed his fingers, missing the familiar weight of his cane.

“Still, there are more ways to save someone’s life than through Skills and Spells.”

“I know that. It’s just… I was never trained for it. I had a couple of classes on first aid, but I’m no doctor.”

“Then you’ll learn. If that’s what you want to be, you will learn. You're old, Dominic, not – actually, forget that. You’re dead. Star above, that is weird. What I mean is that you will define your Class, but you must work for it. And… Yes, my first idea will work fine with this. Gimme a second.”

The [Perfumer] opened his bag of holding, stretching the opening of the leather sack to its maximum capability. The rune burnt on its front – some kind of dripping spiral, dizzying to look at, but worthy of being in a painting from Dali – shone a dangerous red as the opening reached its limit, but it seemed to be enough for Orieke.

With a grunt, the [Perfumer] pulled the unthinkable from within – a Devourer Dog, crossbow bolt stuck to its eye, viscous blood running down its face, and incredibly dead. Dominic looked at the Nightmare, then at Orieke, and the slow understanding made him shiver.

“No… You’re mad if you think I’m going to –”

“Relax, Dominic. I’m not gonna ask you to resurrect it. Just pay attention. [Ice Blade].”

With a quick flair, a jagged blade of blue ice grew from Orieke’s hand, enveloping the limb. The [Perfumer] took a deep breath and lowered the edge in a single blow, slicing dead flesh and black sinew until one of the Nightmare’s limbs fell onto the loamy earth of the border.

“I took the idea from Iaakis. You see, the girl is good at her job – I’ve yet to meet someone capable of setting a bone as she does – but she has learned more than what her Skills gave her. And one of the things my niece’s good at is suturing wounds.”

Orieke offered Dominic the cold paw of the Devourer Dog, and when the [Death Doctor] refused to pick it, he threw it at the elderly man. To say Dominic flailed in disgust would be an euphemism.

“Oh, stop whining. And pick the damn leg off the floor. Tsk. Now, as I was saying, I want you to stitch the limb back in place – yes, I know you don’t have any thread or a needle, which is something you’ll start bringing around if I were you, especially since you’re an emergency [Healer] – but Linkri always puts the damn things in every single bag of ours.”

He searched inside the bag for a moment, eyes narrowed as he touched whatever it was that served as its interior.

“Hmph. Told you so.”

With a pull, the [Perfumer] took out a spool of white thread and some kind of bone needle – cheap and thicker than the ones Dominic was used to seeing, but the tip was just as sharp as a metallic one. The way it glimmered dangerously served as a good enough sign of its capabilities.

Orieke handed it to Dominic, along with the rest of the carcass which he pushed towards the [Death Doctor]’s feet, and gave a final calp to pull their attention.

A frustrated survivor grunted at the sound, his head turning constantly as it tried to find a moving shadow. The [Apothecary], shivering and working, already had his pestle and mortar out and ready to be used.

The [Death Doctor] could barely focus on the disgust and outrage fighting for supremacy in his heart. Still, he had a limb in one hand and a needle in the other.

“Well, everyone. You know what to do. You have until we reach the border or night arrives – whatever comes first. And we’ll do it on the move, so if I see any of you standing still I’ll throw a stink bomb so foul you’ll have to burn your noses off. Are we clear?”

The multiple “yes” came out weakly, resigned to their fate, and though Orieke grinned at them all like a sadistic master, none of them had the gall of denying the man’s training.

And so, they marched.