“Velaiah,” two worried voices spoke out in unison to thrust her back into reality, where she broke free from the grasp of her own thoughts. After a series of rapid blinks, she looked across the table to the concerned faces of her uncle and her teenage brother. A dry crackle sounded from the hearth. Rickety wooden chairs creaked with each minuscule movement. Velaiah breathed a sigh of relief. She was home, safe with her family.

“Y-yes?” she said as her eyes wandered down to the surface of the table—and given the meals set before each of them, she gathered that they were all having dinner together. The two had started eating, but Velaiah found her fork idly piercing a chunk of potato which had not yet made its way from her plate. Her stomach turned at the thought of lifting any sort of food anywhere near her face, let alone eating it.

“Are you sure everything’s all right?” Her uncle’s forehead wrinkled with the tension of his brow. The worry in his eyes left his stern demeanor unconvincing.

“Of course, Feron-Thozeth,” Velaiah assured, rubbing the fatigue from her eyes with a heavily bandaged hand. “I’m still just tired from traveling so much.” A whiff of cardamom traveled up into her nose, and she contorted her face to avoid gagging.

“I think we should hire a doctor,” Uncle Feron insisted, ruffling his mustache with his upper lip. Velaiah shook her head with fervor.

“Please don’t waste your money,” she insisted. “I don’t need a doctor.”

“If that’s so, I’d hate to see what needing one looks like to you,” Feron sighed, shaking his head as he shoveled in a mouthful of purple rice. Muffled, he added, “I’m going to get you one regardless.”

“That’s really not necess—”

“Oi,” her brother interjected. “I’ve seen you come back in better shape after a beatdown from the Noth Dozrin. And you were excited to tell us all about it. What happened?”

“Nothing involving any criminal syndicates, I can tell you that much,” Velaiah said. “My entire time away was terribly dull. Really, Girdorn, I’m just tired.”

“So, you leave for three years to go ‘work at a hostel,’ come back ready to keel over, and you insist you’re ‘just tired.’ Kavox. Skip the bormunk-shit and go rest if you won’t tell us what happened.”

“Girdorn,” Uncle Feron said sternly, “How many times have you been asked not to speak to your elder sister that way?”

“He’s right, I should rest,” Velaiah sighed, pursing her lips. She pushed her plate toward them, offering away her meal. “Please eat more where I can’t. I will go to my room.” She stood up, her legs shaking as she pushed in her chair. Its legs scraped raucously against the stone floor under her weight, which she’d entrusted to it to lessen the trembling. She winced at the cacophony that pounded through her head. Feron rushed over to help her, but she waved him away and began stumbling to her room alone. He sighed, waiting until Velaiah had made her way to her room and closed the door behind her to take his seat again.

Velaiah let herself fall backward onto her bed. Her bandaged thumb had begun to sting, radiating through her entire arm. It was nothing compared to what she'd endured, but it was uncomfortable all the same. The bruises on her arms and legs ached as if bone deep. The cold air chilled her skin, over which beads of sweat had formed. From her pocket, she pulled out her small black notebook and thumbed through pages of names, recalling the faces of all her previous cohorts – trying to cast one particular face out of her mind as it taunted her relentlessly.

Aranell Ilen, of Vylin-soren. Daughter of a bookkeep, beautiful and just barely beyond the threshold of womanhood. Dead.

Vethar Dovrin, of the capital Ux-Noria. A loving father to two boys, chairman of the city’s Mages’ Association. Dead.

Gothar Ondorio. Melaghe Throvin. Virnah Odon. Dozens of individuals with families and honest occupations all throughout Drondaris and beyond. All lost at the hands of the Noth Dozrin.

She sighed deeply and without a sound, although she wanted to scream and curse. With the air expelled from her lungs, she channeled away the nausea, the pain, and the tears. As her eyelids grew heavy, the final name on the last page faded in and out of focus.

Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

Deventh, of Girin-Uthroz, location indistinct. Guild leader—

“Valorforge,” she whispered to herself, letting out a breathy laugh. Clutching the book face-down to her chest, she allowed sleep to take her.

A knock sounded at the door. Velaiah jolted awake with a startled gasp. While unsure of how long she’d been asleep, a quick glance at the window revealed a night that had matured well into its full darkness, with a lonesome Zendine shining its deep purple light. She did not answer the person on the other side of the door, but he was not convinced she couldn’t hear him.

“Velaiah, unless you’re dead, answer me. I’m coming in either way.” After a short pause, the door handle began to click, leaving Velaiah with no other choice but to respond.

“Girdorn,” she replied, “I’m trying to sleep. Do you have any idea what time it is?”

“Do you?”

Velaiah kept silent. Her mind still raced with hundreds of thoughts, vexed by the dull pain which filled her body with weakness. Annoyed as she was by her brother’s response, a twisted smile began to spread across her lips.

“Come in.” Before she finished speaking, the door creaked open.

"Charin.” Girdorn waved as he entered, his greeting dripping with sarcasm. After receiving a mere eyeroll in response, he made his way through the room, pulling up a chair from the foot of Velaiah’s bed and setting it down at the side. As he plopped himself into his seat, the lanky young Dronvar let out a huff that ruffled strands of shaggy, rust brown hair in front of his face. Leaning forward with his forearms on his thighs, he fixed his gaze on his sister. Eyes narrowed and lips drawn, he shook his head with pity at the sight of her.

“I understand that you don’t want old Zeth to worry,” Girdorn began, “Not that it makes a difference, since he nearly went out to get you a doctor and I had to stop him. But if something happened to you, and it’s as bad as it looks, can’t you at least tell me?”

“No,” Velaiah said. “I can’t.”

“Saying that is better than lying.” Girdorn sighed with frustration. “I know there are plenty of things you can’t tell us about your job, but you can’t expect us not to be concerned.”

“That’s...” Velaiah paused. “Fair enough. You know, I’m not so sure you’re Girdorn – he’s not the type to worry like this.”

“And you’re not the type to come home looking like you’re on the brink of death,” Girdorn scoffed. “Do I need to spell it out for you that I’d prefer if you lived a full life before joining Mum and Dad in Dronthôd?”

“It’s not that,” Velaiah answered. “Of course I know that.” She paused, meeting his gaze. His magenta eyes, usually quite similar to hers, burned with a severity that Velaiah had never seen before. Still, inklings of childlike softness remained in their spirited gleam.

“You’ve changed,” she stated.

“Well, yes, in case you’ve forgotten you were gone for three years, I’ve grown up a bit,” Girdorn scoffed. “You missed my eighteenth birthday, by the way.”

“Ah, there he is,” Velaiah chuckled. “I’m... Sorry I missed it. Truth be told, I stayed in Grimros for so long because I got myself into a spot of trouble and couldn’t afford to leave. By the time I made enough money to get myself back home, I sort of began to like my new job.”

“Please don’t tell me the hostel manager thing was true,” Girdorn chuckled.

“Yes, that was true.” Velaiah shook her head, somewhat embarrassed. “I’m not surprised you didn’t believe it.”

“I’ll admit it’s a step down from your brand of perilous altruism, but I won’t ask how you got stuck there.” Girdorn pursed his lips, hinting cheekily with a curious upward glance. “Though I am curious.”

“Come to think of it, that’s a story I can tell you. I’ll be sure to do so before I go,” Velaiah assured. Girdorn’s smile dropped.

“Are you leaving again?”

“Yes.” Velaiah nodded as she averted her gaze. “The hostel’s interior was destroyed, but the rebuilding shouldn’t be too long. I’ve decided to go back when I can.”

“You’re not serious,” Girdorn laughed.

“I am.”

“Why Grimros? Can’t you work at an inn closer to home?” Girdorn’s confusion was matched only by his suspicion.

“I’ll be able to come back and visit from now on. Besides, I can make more money to send over.”

“Right,” Girdorn raised a brow, looking intently at Velaiah’s averted eyes. “I think we’d rather spend time with you than just take money from you, but I wasn’t just speaking for our sake. The travel is blatantly inconvenient for you, as well. I understand, though – whatever unfinished business you have in Grimros, it must be important.” He shrugged, and before Velaiah had a chance to respond, he stood up and tilted the chair onto one leg, giving it a partial twirl with one finger before he made his parting comment.

“Just make sure you come back in one piece next time,” the young Dronvar concluded. He then dragged the chair away, dropping it off at the end of the bed before he made his way to the door. He turned back one last time before he left, but Velaiah had already rolled over, facing the wall. Girdorn’s eyes wandered up to the window, where the amethystine eyes of a gray, mauve-tailed rodent – a bormunk – peered inside from the branch of a silver-leafed tree. It nibbled on a pitch black acorn, holding it fast in its tiny and dexterous paws.

Beside the creature, a larger pair of crimson eyes stared in, too. They pierced through the violet light of Zendine, framed by a black hood and a mask that veiled the thin nose and soft cheekbones of a woman. By the time he blinked, however, she and the rodent were gone; Perhaps, he thought to himself, he hadn’t seen her at all.