Aitos’s shop was small, barely able to contain all eight of them. Ithan squirmed on a table in the center of the room as he waited for the apothecary to finish inspecting Huzen in the next room. His friends were all lined against the wall in front of them, packed tight like a bundle of sticks.

The space was further constrained by the hundreds of bottles and vials crammed into every available space on the shelves along the walls. Even the windows at the front of the clinic were blockaded by Aitos’s potions; the only light in this space was a lamp that, while admittedly brighter than a standard torch, was still no replacement for the sunlight that yet remained outside.

Huzen had a disgusted look on his face when he emerged from the back room.

“Your turn,” he said to Ithan. Ithan hopped off of the table and moved into the back room, where Aitos waited for him. This room, too, was covered wall to wall in shelves of vials.

“Come in and have a seat,” he said. “And remove your armor.”

Ithan quietly obeyed, unfastening the straps on the leather and pulling it over his head before setting it down on the ground next to the door. He then sat on the stool next to Aitos, who began his inspection immediately. He started with the cut Huzen left on Ithan’s neck.

“They could have entered through this wound,” Aitos mumbled, tracing the cut with his finger. “Lift up your shirt for me.”

Ithan obliged, bundling his shirt in his lap as Aitos circled behind him.

“This is quite the scar,” Aitos said as he ran his hand along Ithan’s back. “It isn’t from the worms, and certainly not from the cryomycete.”

“It’s from a demon,” Ithan said.

“I see. And Lady Irse has been tending to it, has she?”

“Yeah.”

“I’ll need her consult, then.” He opened the door. “Please join us, Lady Irse. I have some questions for you.”

Irse entered the room shortly after, gently closing the door behind her.

“How long ago did you start treating him for his back wound?” Aitos asked.

“A week ago,” Irse said. “I have already cleansed him of the venom. The rest of the treatments are for the scar.”

“What was your remedy?”

“Hyacinth nectar.”

“That’s all?”

“It was all we had,” Irse said, her eyes brimming with fury.

“Oh, I must apologize,” Aitos said. “I am not trying to critique you. I simply wish to ensure I do not prescribe anything that will cross-react.”

“I see,” Irse said, her cheeks turning pink. She cleared her throat. “I am sorry for assuming your intent.”

“No apology necessary, my dear,” Aitos said. The pink on Irse’s face turned darker. “Have you administered any other medicines recently?”

“He had a respiratory reaction to the mold, so I treated it with a potion made with snowdrop tincture,” Irse said. “That is all.”

“A reaction?” Aitos frowned. “How severe was his exposure?”

“It was just a brief encounter. The reaction only happened after he was exposed to heat.”

“It should not have happened at all with that level of exposure,” Aitos said. He stepped out in front of Ithan. “Not in a healthy person, at least. His magical resistance is compromised.”

“What does that mean?” Ithan asked as he redressed.

“Some people—about three in every one hundred—have weak immune systems,” Aitos said. “They get sick more easily and it is harder for them to recover from illness. A weak resistance to magic is similar—if your body cannot defend itself from magical ailments, it is more difficult to recover from them. But that is an even rarer condition.”

“Could the venom have had a lasting effect?” Irse asked.

“It is possible,” Aitos said, turning away to begin plucking vials off the shelves. “What kind of demon what it?”

“I do not know the name for it,” Irse said.

“Describe it to me.”

“It ran on all fours and was far larger than any gnoll I have ever seen. It had spikes along its back, and a long tail ending with a stinger.”

The apothecary stopped and looked back at Irse.

“A scourgeborn,” the apothecary muttered, his head tilting to one side much like Taer’inar’s would when he was puzzled. “Their venom only acts as a paralytic.”

“You believe that this condition came before, then?” Irse asked.

“I believe he was born with it,” Aitos said. “There are no documented cases in elves, but it's still the most likely explanation. At any rate, this condition is something to consider carefully for the future.”

He selected a potion—crimson red, almost the color of blood—from a high shelf and added the various herbs he had collected to it. He swirled the vial, and the color brightened to a lustrous scarlet. He offered it to Ithan.

“What is it?” Ithan asked as he held Aitos’s offering.

“A remedy made just for you,” Aitos replied. “It will eradicate any of the worms that managed to make their way inside your body, as well as the disease they carry. It will also clear out any lingering cryomycete.”

Ithan lifted the vial to drink its contents, remembering the face Huzen wore just a few minutes ago. He could not imagine why the dragonkin had such an unpleasant reaction… until the first drops reached his tongue. The concoction was overwhelmingly bitter, but Ithan managed to force it down. Aitos’s smile widened—Ithan realized he must have made a strange face himself while drinking the potion.

“Huzen’s reaction was not much different,” Aitos laughed. “Come now, let’s rejoin your friends.”

The three of them returned to the main room, and Fenvyre pulled Ithan toward her.

“So they’re okay now?” Fenvyre asked as she wrapped her arms around him.

Aitos nodded as he scribbled something on a piece of parchment and held it toward Huzen.

“Give this to Esthu for me,” he said. “My official notice that you are cleared to resume your duties.”

“Thank you,” Huzen replied. He took the parchment from Aitos and then shifted past the group toward the door. Before exiting, he offered a last remorseful look to Ithan. “I’m glad you’re okay. I’m sorry again for all the trouble I caused.”

After the door creaked closed behind Huzen,

“What about me, Doc?” Dhurik asked.

“You have nothing to worry about,” Aitos said. “It would take a large amount of cryomycete to affect one with such a splendid body.”

Dhurik grinned at the praise.

“Now then,” Aitos said. He snapped his fingers, and there was a clunk at the front door. “Lady Irse has informed me that you encountered a scourgeborn. How dire is the situation in Zastraria?”

“You know the region?” Taer’inar asked.

“It was where Elyan and I did most of our research. It was dangerous even then, but if there are scourgeborn there now...”

“Those nasty gnolls have taken over most of the region,” Bimpnottin said. “The hobgoblins’ forts are decimated."

“I see,” Aitos said. “If you are to venture in Zastraria again, please, just stay away from the chasm. The scourgeborn are drawn to corruption, and that place is rife with it.”

“We will keep that in mind,” Irse said. “Shall we return to the tavern, then?”

Ithan nodded, and most of his other friends each gave their own signals of approval. Taer’inar, however, seemed to be preoccupied—he had his head tilted to one side and his eyes narrowed as he stared at Ithan.

“Did… did you get taller?” Taer’inar said finally. Ithan quickly looked himself over in confusion as Taer’inar walked over to him. He stood uncomfortably close to Ithan and Fenvyre for a moment before backing away, his face contorted in bewilderment. “You did! By at least half an inch!”

“You’re crazy,” Dhurik said. “He looks the same to me.”

“Yes, well, half an inch hardly means anything when you’re already over nine feet tall,” Taer’inar snapped as he turned back to Dhurik. He then stepped over to Ithan’s left and gestured at him and Fenvyre. “See, look—Fenvyre was always ever so slightly taller than Ithan, and now they’re the same height.”

Ithan turned around and looked at his dragonkin friend. It was true—he would never have noticed had Taer’inar not brought it up, but he no longer had to look up to meet Fenvyre’s gaze.

“Huh, I guess we are,” Fenvyre said. “But so what? He’s still a teenager—elves still grow in their late teens, don’t they?”

“I suppose, but that much in only a few days?”

“It is not unheard of,” Aitos said. “Perhaps he’ll grow taller than you.” The others laughed while Taer’inar’s face turned pink. Ithan joined them in their laughter; next to Bimpnottin, he had been the smallest among the group. He could not help but enjoy the possibility of that changing soon.

“Well that’s everyone,” Dhurik said, “so let’s go already.” He brushed past Irse and flung the shop door open, stomping out into the night.

“Brilliant,” Taer’inar said. “We’ll have to wait another night before heading to Meriterre, I suppose.”

“The temple in the mountains, eh?” Aitos said. “What is it you seek there?”

“Er…” Taer’inar scratched the back of his head. Aitos laughed.

“Well, whatever it is, I hope you find it.”

“Thank you,” Taer’inar sighed. “Ah, I have one last question before we leave. You worked very closely with Elyan. Do you happen to know why he paid Briryn to stay in Greenreach for so long?”

“Ah, that,” Aitos said. “I always found it to be an odd thing. But Elyan was always a bit odd himself.”

“So he didn’t tell you,” Taer’inar mumbled.

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“I’m afraid not. Apologies.” Aitos sidled past the group and toward the front door. “Now, you all had best be on your way. And remember what we discussed, Lady Irse.”

"I shall," she replied.

The group filed out of Aitos’s shop, each of them saying their farewells to the elf. Ithan was the last to leave, and the moment he stepped over the threshold a surge of energy coursed through him. The sun had set by now, but it was a relief just to be out of that tiny room. He spun around and smiled wide at Aitos.

“Thank you,” he said.

“Of course,” Aitos said. He began to close the door. “Laht favor you.”

“And you,” Ithan replied cheerfully through the thinning opening, turning back to his companions only after the door had closed completely.

“Onward then, my fine fellows,” Bimpnottin said, running along catch up to Dhurik. Ithan started to follow along behind Taer’inar and Irse, but he stopped when he realized Fenvyre was not with them. When he turned around, she was still standing in front of Aitos’s shop.

“Aren’t you coming, Fen?” he asked.

“I’m going to spend the night with Sonys,” Fenvyre said. “I’ll meet you all at the fountain tomorrow, ‘kay?”

“Give the Velthins my regards,” Taer’inar said. Fenvyre nodded and jogged down the road and out of sight. “I do wish she would settle down. She could have a good life here.”

“The call is strong,” Irse said. “Is that not why you first came to this place?”

“I suppose.” Taer’inar walked in silence next to Irse, with Ithan following them. Their quiet walk back to the tavern gave Ithan much time to contemplate. Where did he come from, and why was he here? Did something call him here, too?

The raucous chorus of dragonkin reverberated through Ithan’s head as he, Taer’inar, and Irse entered the tavern. Dhurik had already finished four mugs of ale and was working on his fifth, and Bimpnottin was seated in the corner of the tavern.

“Come, my minions!” Bimpnottin called as the three approached him. “Dine with your Captain!”

“Cram it,” Briryn shouted as he stepped out of the kitchen. He carried a large platter of what resembled lumps of bread. Ithan tilted his head a bit as he watched Briryn bring the platter to the table and set it down at the center. The lumps of bread were actually lumps of egg, cooked to a golden brown and folded over on themselves.

“Oh,” Taer’inar muttered.

“Wanted to try my hand at one of Mor’lavan’s dishes,” Briryn said. “I think I did a darn good job. And there’s no fur!”

Ithan laughed and Briryn grinned as Taer’inar cut open the dish to reveal a delightful sight—perfectly melted cheese lay hidden inside the pouch. It oozed out of the dish as Taer’inar plucked a piece to take his first bite; a stringy strand of cheese clung to his fork as he chewed. Ithan started on his own plate and could not help but smile as the first bits of it touched his tongue. Perhaps it was from the horrid medicine from earlier, but at the moment this was the best thing Ithan had ever tasted—to his limited memory, at least.

“It’s great, Briryn,” Taer’inar said. “I’m sure Mor’lavan would be proud.”

“You think?” Briryn’s grin widened. “Glad you like it!” He sauntered back toward the bar, leaving the group to dine in peace.

“He seems to be in a much better mood today,” Irse said as the group neared the end of their meal.

“He really misses Mor’lavan,” Ithan said. “You guys don’t talk about him much. Why did he leave?”

“He, uh…” Taer’inar mumbled before clearing his throat. “He had some things he wanted to sort out.”

“So he’ll come back, right?”

“Who’s to say?” Taer’inar replied. He finished his meal and jolted out of his chair, grasping his plate tight. “I think I’ll join Dhurik for a bit. Could use a nice glass of wine after the day we’ve had.”

“You did not have to spend the day in the mines,” Irse muttered as the elf walked away. She sighed and finished the last of her plate as Bimpnottin, too, stood up and scurried over to the bar. “Are you finished, Ithan?”

“Hm? Oh, yeah.” Ithan scooped up the last of his food and shoveled it into his mouth. He grabbed Irse’s plate and stacked it on top of his own, then stood and walked toward the kitchen to clean them. Briryn emerged and stood in his path.

“I’ll take those,” Briryn said. “You go on and get yourself rested up.” Ithan smiled warmly at the dragonkin and handed him the dishes. He turned back around and toward the stairs, with Irse following close behind him. His other friends continued to enjoy their drinks from behind the balusters as he ascended the stairs; Ithan longed to join them instead of yet another healing session with Irse. The nightly ritual had gone on for two weeks at this point, and though he enjoyed Irse’s company, it was always a struggle to keep still.

They stopped in front of Mor’lavan’s room, and Ithan noted the freshly painted sign that hung on the door; it read “Not for Rent”. The room across the hall had been Ian’s room, or at least so Taer’inar thought. He had told Ithan plenty of stories by now of the halfling that often tormented the other guests with his tricks. Taer’inar said he would always hear that particular door quickly open and close soon afterward. But with Ian’s disappearance, Briryn passed the room over to Ithan.

Ithan fumbled for his key and unlocked the door to his room—a mostly barren room save for a bed in the corner—and stepped inside, throwing off his shirt. He knew the routine by now—he collapsed down on his bed face first, then turned his head so that he could see Irse at the door. She sighed and entered, closing the door behind her.

“Only a few more days of this,” Irse said. “The scar should be healed up by then.”

“Mhm,” Ithan mumbled as Irse kneeled down next to him and took out her satchel from her robes. As she applied the ointment to his back, he began to hum to himself—a melody that had been stirring in his head for the past few days.

“That is a lovely tune,” Irse said. “I am surprised you know it.”

“It’s a real song?” Ithan asked. “Do you know the words?”

“Not precisely, but I know the general story the words tell. A child far from home wanders the land alone, until they find the family they seek.”

She waved her hand over his back, and the sting from her magic and the ointment made Ithan shudder. He would never be used to that part, no matter how many times he went through this routine. Irse packed up her things and stood up, and Ithan pulled himself up to sit on his bed in front of her.

“We will be back in the wilds soon enough,” she said. “Just try to relax.”

“Okay,” Ithan replied. Irse departed, and when the sound of her own door closing reached his ears from down the hall, he fell over on his side and drew his knees up to his chest, wrapping his arms around his legs. Irse meant well, but she did not understand. No one could understand this feeling—the desperation to recall his past, to be so close to the veil, only to be ripped away at the last moment, over and over again.

But then there was Greenreach, and all the people in it. Though he was new to this place, he truly felt like he belonged here, and he wished he did not have to leave. But he could always come back, after Meriterre… The realization brought Ithan some comfort, enough to allow him to drift off into slumber.

When the first traces of daylight broke the darkness the next morning, Ithan sprang to life and rushed over to his window, opened it and leaned forward to try to glimpse the rising sun. His room received no direct sunlight, but Ithan was eager to feel its warmth on his face. The city was quiet in the early morning, but Ithan would always catch a few dragonkin out and about. He waved at one of them when they looked up to see him, and they smiled back at him before he retreated away from the window to begin his morning stretches. He stretched up toward the ceiling, barely reaching it with the tips of his fingers, and then down again to the floor. His whole body ached, perhaps from sleeping on such a stiff bed.

I wonder if some hay would make it more comfortable, he thought as he reached up again, trying his best to reach the ceiling beam that crossed through the center of the room. Then, he retrieved his shirt from the corner of the room and threw it on.

Before he could dash out of his room, though, he caught a glint of something in the corner of his eye. There was something between two of the floorboards in the corner of the room. Ithan knelt down to investigate, trying to see beyond the thin opening. He pressed down on one of the floorboards and it came loose, causing Ithan to lose his balance and crash to the ground as his arm fell through the floor. He felt something underneath his hand, something smooth and curved. He grasped the unknown object and pulled it out of the opening, and was surprised when he realized what it was—in his hand he now held a bow made of crystal the color of a clear day sky.

A knock at the door made Ithan jump and nearly drop the fragile-looking treasure.

“Are you all right in there?” Taer’inar called from behind the door. Ithan walked over to open it, and he was met with Taer’inar’s tilted head. It did not remain that way for long, though, as the elf saw what Ithan held in his hand. “Where did you find that?”

“It was hidden under those boards,” Ithan replied, turning his head back toward them. Taer’inar closed his eyes and let out a deep sigh before slamming his fist against the door frame, startling Ithan again.

“Curse you, Ian,” he muttered.

“What’s wrong?” Ithan asked.

“One of our companions—an auran, like Irse—came here because that bow had been stolen from his home. He lost his life searching for it… and it was here all this time.”

“I’m sorry,” Ithan said.

“It’s not—never mind. Let’s get downstairs.”

The tavern was mostly empty—not many dragonkin were eager to start drinking quite this early—but most of Ithan’s friends were already there ahead of him. Dhurik sat at the bar next to Bimpnottin, who was hunched over with his head pressed against the top of the bar. Irse leaned against the bar rather than sitting, but she stood straight up when she saw Ithan carrying the bow.

“Where did you find that?” Irse called. Bimpnottin reeled from sound.

“Not so loud,” he said.

“It was in Ian’s room,” Taer’inar said to Irse. Much like Taer’inar had, Irse closed her eyes and sighed.

“Under our noses all along,” she muttered. “Storm might have been spared…”

“We should return it to his home,” Taer’inar said.

“We will,” Irse replied. “When our task is done, I shall see to it myself. In the meantime, however…” She reached her hand out toward Ithan. He glanced down at the bow, then handed it delicately to her.

“You intend to use it?” Taer’inar asked.

“I do not think Storm’s tribe would mind if another auran were to wield it,” Irse replied. “Especially if it is for a good cause.”

Briryn came out from the kitchen with a mug of something steamy and set it in front of the gnome. Whatever it was, it smelled wonderful compared to the usual scent of alcohol that emanated from all around the tavern. Bimpnottin grasped the mug and slowly took a sip.

“Ah, that’s good stuff.”

“Imported all the way from the elven lands,” Briryn asked. “I think they call it ‘coffee.’ Anyone else want some?”

“Another!” Bimpnottin shouted. He immediately grasped the sides of his head and squeezed his eyes shut at the sound of his own voice. “Oh, by the gods…”

“What’s got you all bummed out, there?” Briryn asked.

“There’s been a… development,” Taer’inar said.

“Just tell it to me straight,” Briryn grumbled. “Don’t have the patience for riddles.”

“Ian had the bow that Storm came here to find,” Taer’inar muttered.

“Oh,” Briryn said. His expression shifted to one of deep thought as he let out a long sigh. “So that’s what it was… He had said he and the other adventurers had found some priceless treasure when they were out in the Lizard Marsh.”

“The Lizard… wait, those adventurers?” Taer’inar said. Again, the pain began to return to Ithan’s head. “The ones that we—”

“He was the only one to make it out,” Briryn said. “Told me all about the dragon runes and how his friends became obsessed with them to the point of starvation.”

“Why didn’t he tell us…?” Taer’inar growled. “He knew we were going there—he should have warned us. No, better yet, he should have told us he had the bow all along. Then Storm would be...”

“I’m going to go meet Fen outside,” Ithan muttered as he held a hand to his forehead. He bumped past Taer’inar and out the door. The sun was fully visible in the east by now, casting its warmth over all of Greenreach. Ithan filled his lungs with fresh air as he enjoyed the beautiful morning sky. But his heart sank when he looked to the west—the sky in the far distance was dark, and Ithan feared that they would grow darker still before he and his friends returned to Myth Veri’Shantar.

Fenvyre arrived at the fountain soon after Ithan did. She had her usual lively energy about her, bouncing with each step she took.

“Morning!” she said with a wide smile.

“Hi Fen,” Ithan replied. “How’s Sonys?”

“She’s great! I’m glad I spent the night with her. Don’t know how long it’ll be before we talk again.”

“Why don’t you stay here?” Ithan asked, remembering Taer’inar’s comments from the night before.

“I want to, but I also want to see more of Averion,” Fenvyre replied. “We’ve seen so many different kinds of places and people, but I know there’s more out there. Plus, I’m more in touch with my magic there.”

“Right. Magic…” Ithan had been thrilled when he was able to use his magic in the mines, but he worried that he would never figure out how to produce more powerful magic. Fenvyre had progressed quite quickly, while he was barely able to do much of anything.

“You’ll get there,” Fenvyre said as she rested a hand on Ithan’s shoulder. “You just have to feel it out.”

Ithan smiled half-heartedly at Fenvyre, but his smile faded as the dreaded Esthu came into view, followed by Huzen—he waved shyly at Ithan and Fenvyre—and another soldier. They marched into the tavern, and Ithan and Fenvyre quickly followed behind them.

“You lied,” Esthu growled at Taer’inar. “Unit 17 is alive.”

“What are you talking about?” he replied.

Esthu produced a piece of remarkably clean parchment, neatly folded in thirds. Taer’inar took it and opened it, and after a few moments gazed up in shock.

“What is it?” Ithan asked.

“Rham has threatened war against the empire,” Taer’inar muttered.

“What mess did you all get yourselves into this time?” Briryn asked.

“An enforcement unit leading a rebellion against the Seal is unacceptable,” Esthu said.

“Did you even read this?” Taer’inar asked, waving the parchment in front of her. “Just return the other terrans to their homes and Rham will call it off.”

“Those terrans were a gift to the empire by an esteemed benefactor,” Esthu said. “They—including Unit 17—are the property of the Seal.”

“He’s not anybody’s property,” Dhurik spat, steam rising around him. “And neither are the rest of them.”

“Quiet,” Esthu growled. “Now then, here is what’s going to happen. You and your guild are going to return Unit 17 here within one week.”

“We fully intend to negotiate with him—” Taer’inar started.

“There will be no negotiations,” Esthu snarled. “Return him to Greenreach, alive or dead. That is an order. Otherwise, you will be labeled traitors to the Seal, and you will be punished.” She took one last look at Ithan as she turned around and pushed past him and Fenvyre out of the tavern, Huzen and the other soldier following close behind. Fenvyre put a hand on Ithan’s shoulder and ushered him forward so that she could get by, and he followed her over to the bar as they surrounded the still ailing Bimpnottin.

“Well, that was something,” Briryn mumbled. “I guess you’d better get going, then. Don’t want to mess with Esthu.”

“We don’t have time for this…” Taer’inar sighed. “But we don’t want a war, either, so I suppose we don’t have much of a choice.”

The group headed down to the cellar, with Briryn following behind them. Ithan waited for his friends to gather where the teleportation circle hid, then knelt down and touched the ground. He produced an image of a door in his mind, one that could take him anywhere, and he spoke the words.

“Open the way.”

The hidden runes of the circle appeared, glowing dim at first but increasing in brightness after only a few moments. Ithan took his place among his companions, and together they announced their destination.

“Myth Veri’Shantar.”

“Stay safe out there, kid,” Briryn said as the light of the circle began to intensify. Ithan’s chest tightened as Briryn’s eyes rested on him, and he nearly leapt out of the circle as the light tore him away from home.