I was down on the ground and wondered how grass, how dirt could feel so real. Each piece of grit poking in my palms, each blade of grass brushing up against my skin, tingling it, every sensation magnified. It was as if the entire world had sharpened its focus on this single moment, and in doing so, reminded me how fragile I really was. I had just watched a man—a creature, something—be reduced to a heap of meat.

I thought I understood what I was getting into. The sequence of events was simple, stupidly simple, I had gone over them in my head before – Talk to Greene about him being a vampire, pour holy water on him, shoot him when he goes vampire-mode. Simple, easy. Though apparently seeing someone, or something, be killed triggers an oddly singular part of the mind which in this situation makes one realize that he is surrounded by four soldiers, each carrying a matte-black tube of steel just one finger twitch away from turning anything in front of it into pulp.

I was thrown out of my contemplations when the tent’s canvas flaps flew open, the muted afternoon light spilling in as a group of soldiers rushed inside, their boots pounding against the ground mimicking my heartbeat. Their rifles were drawn, eyes darting between us and then lingering on the grotesque remains of Commander Greene sprawled on the ground in a pool of pitch black blood. The inhuman color of the blood seemed to freeze the soldiers in place, for just a moment at least.

“What happened here?” one of them demanded, his voice sharp with authority.

Samantha lowered her shotgun, raising her other hand palm outwards in a steadying gesture. “Stand down, the situation is over now.”

“What sort of a situation, and where is Greene?”

“You’re looking at him,” Samantha said flatly, nodding toward the remains on the ground. “Turns out, our commander was a vampire. Look at the blood. That’s not human.” The soldier frowned, looking at the body on the ground, probably a lot more questions on his mind.

While Samantha and the soldier went back and forth with the questions and answers, a hand extended into my field of vision. It was Diana, offering me a hand to help me get up. After considering for a moment whether or not I would be able to stand without fainting, I graciously accepted her offer and finally got off the ground. My legs felt like they didn’t belong to me—too solid, yet trembling like jelly—but somehow, I managed to stay upright.

“You should probably go.” She said quietly. “And don’t tell anyone about Greene.”

*****

I couldn’t focus, I just couldn’t, no matter how hard I tried, my mind was a storm I couldn’t quiet. Okay, I had to calm down. Calm down, just calm down. I told myself this over and over, but the words felt hollow, like a chant whispered to the void. I thought diving into a bit of magic practice might help, give me something else to latch onto, but no. I closed my eyes, forcing myself to block out the clutter of my mind, the phantom echoes of Commander Greene’s screams, the soldiers’ voices, Diana’s words from yesterday.

After everything that happened, lying to my parents about why I went on the Bonetown trip was… impossible. They didn’t buy my half-hearted excuse that I was ‘just curious’ and tore the ticket on a whim. So, I told them the truth, most of it. I told them about Greene being a vampire. Thankfully, the news didn’t go beyond our family. If it had, the church could have spiraled into chaos, if they believed it at least.

Now, in the present moment, I found myself perched on a weathered bench outside the church. In one hand, I held a sprig of Bryndrel’s lightning lichen, its faint crackling hum brushing against my palm like static electricity. In the other, just a simple, unremarkable stick. What was I even doing? What was I trying to achieve here? Alchemy? Distraction? Maybe both.

Bryndrel had explained it clearly—or as clearly as he ever did. This was the next step on the alchemical path. The first step was to perceive auras, which I’d managed to grasp, as evidenced by the faint crackling static field I could now see shimmering around the lightning lichen in my hand. The second step? Transmutation—or transference, or whatever term he used that day. Essentially, it meant manipulating the essence within an object, bending it, moving it, shaping it. The simplest application was transferring that essence from one object to another, using yourself as the bridge between them.

What else could essence be used for? Bryndrel hadn’t been sure. He’d admitted as much, though his eyes had lit with excitement as he spoke about the endless possibilities. Alchemy, he believed, was a vast, untapped frontier—the art of transferring essence so complex and nuanced that even a lifetime of study would barely scratch its surface.

Now it was my turn to try. The lichen hummed softly in one hand, the stick lay dull and lifeless in the other. I closed my eyes, breathing deeply, and tried to imagine myself as a conduit between the two. A bridge. I pictured the lightning essence soaking into my skin, rippling through my veins, crackling in my lungs, then surging out into the stick in my other hand like a bolt of electricity seeking a new home.

I focused harder, squeezing the image tighter in my mind, willing it to become reality. Nothing happened.

Again, I pushed. Nothing. The lichen sat stubbornly in my palm, indifferent to my efforts.

The best I got was to have the lichen let out a spark the moment I recalled the sound of Samantha’s shotgun.

A sigh escaped my lips, dissipating into the crisp morning air. Around me, the world carried on, indifferent to my frustration. The church’s courtyard was quiet save for the occasional rustle of leaves or chirp of birds. The gravel path leading up to the church entrance gleamed faintly in the pale sunlight, still slick from the dew that clung to the grass lining either side of the trail. It was the kind of morning that should’ve felt serene, but all I felt was frustration, or was it anger, perhaps something else entirely.

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I slumped back against the bench, letting my head fall to the side. I’m not sure how long I sat like that, but eventually I saw two figures dressed in military camo walking up the path. Once closer, I recognized them as Diana and Helena. Diana walked a step ahead, her posture sharp and upright, the kind of confidence that seemed carved into her frame. Her camo jacket fit snugly over her lean, muscular build, the sleeves rolled up just enough to reveal a pair of tanned forearms. Her dark hair was tied into a tight braid that trailed down her back.

Helena, by contrast, had a more relaxed air about her. Her jacket was unzipped, her hands tucked into the pockets of her fatigues. Her red hair spilled loosely around her shoulders, softening the sharp angles of her face.

When they were close enough, Helena raised a hand in a casual wave, her lips quirking into the faintest of smiles. "Hey," she called out, “How are you holding up?”

I hesitated, my gaze dropping to the stick in my hand. "I don’t know," I admitted finally. "Still trying to wrap my head around it, I guess. Feels like my brain’s stuck in a loop or something."

Helena’s sharp eyes flicked to the lichen in my hand, then to the stick, and her lips twitched into a smirk. “Playing with twigs and weeds, huh? You know, most people take up knitting or something when they’re stressed.”

I managed a weak laugh, though it sounded more like a scoff. “I needed something to distract myself with. Why are both of you here anyway?”

“Sam wanted us to check up on you, make sure you haven’t spilled the beans since yesterday. You haven’t, have you?” Helena asked, her tone light, but there was an edge of concern beneath it.

“About the journal or Greene?” I replied, my gaze darting between the two of them, trying to gauge how serious this was.

“Both, I guess,” Helena said with a shrug. Her smirk faltered slightly, the humor bleeding out of her expression. “Though mostly the journal.”

The damn journal. Just thinking about it made my stomach twist. What kind of conspiracy had I stumbled into by reading it? Harold Bundewick, leader of the Restoration Front party, funding secret experiments to bring the dead back to life. A noble-sounding goal, until you dig deeper. A mad scientist turning his research into a nightmare, creating a zombie army. And then Bundewick himself sending a unit led by a vampire commander to clean up the mess.

I swallowed hard, trying to keep my face neutral. These were the kinds of secrets people got killed over. “I definitely haven’t mentioned anything about the journal to anyone,” I said firmly. “I’d rather not get involved with all of that.”

Diana nodded, her sharp eyes studying me closely. “Good,” she said. “The less anyone knows about it, the safer you’ll be.”

“Why do you think they even kept Greene around?” I asked, frowning. “I mean, surely they knew he was a vampire?”

“Hell, maybe the whole party is full of vampires. I wouldn’t be surprised about it at this point. Politicians turning into real life bloodsuckers? Sounds about right.”

I didn’t say anything, but the thought lodged itself in my mind, heavy and cold. If Greene was just one piece of this puzzle, what else was lurking out there?

Diana broke the silence. “Listen,” she said, her tone softening slightly. “Sam’s squad—me, Helena, Kate—we’ve been talking. None of us want to get dragged any deeper into this mess. Greene being a vampire was the last straw. If the Restoration Front is hiding something like that from its own soldiers, what else are they keeping in the dark? We don’t want to stick around and find out.”

I blinked. “Wait—you’re leaving the army?”

Diana nodded, her jaw tightening. “We’ve all agreed. Greene was supposed to be our boss. Instead, he was part of a conspiracy so big and twisted it makes my head hurt just thinking about it. Staying in the army after something like this? It doesn’t sit right with any of us.”

Helena crossed her arms and leaned against the side of the bench, her tone losing its usual levity. “Yeah, we’re leaving. And not in some dramatic way, we’ll just not join the convoy back to Belford. Normally we would hand in our resignations to Greene, but that won’t really work now.”

“So what, you’re just going to walk away? Won’t they come after you?”

Diana shook her head. “They won’t waste resources chasing us down. Probably. What would they do? Put us in prison and give us free food?”

Helena glanced toward the gravel path leading back to the tents. “Oh right, gotta mention, army will be packing up and leaving tomorrow morning, so if there’s anything you need—food, supplies, even just a warm coat—you’d better get it before they’re gone.”

I nodded slowly, the weight of their decision sinking in. Diana and Helena were stepping away from the army—and the chaos that came with it. Part of me envied them for it. They had each other, a plan, and the guts to walk away from all of this. Meanwhile, I felt stuck.

Helena gave me a grin, though it didn’t quite reach her eyes. “Take care of yourself, Max. And don’t spend too long playing with that moss out here. You’ll catch a cold.”

I chuckled faintly, but it didn’t feel real. “Yeah. Thanks. Also, it’s lichen not moss”

Helena nodded once, a flicker of something unreadable crossing her face. “Stay safe,” she said simply as she turned to leave. Her hands still stuffed in her pockets, her boots crunching lightly against the gravel. Diana followed a moment later.

Alone again, I let out a long, shaky breath and sank back against the bench.

For a while, I just sat there, listening to the faint rustle of leaves in the breeze and the chirping of birds. The world felt too calm for everything that had happened. Too quiet for what I knew was still out there.

Finally, I turned my attention back to the lightning lichen in my hand. The faint hum of its static energy brushed against my skin. The stick in my other hand looked just as lifeless as before, but I wasn’t ready to give up yet. Not entirely.

“Alright,” I muttered to myself, sitting up straighter on the bench. “One more time.”