“I hope Fenvyre and Unit 17 are okay,” Taer’inar said as he sharpened one of his swords. “Praad said they didn’t see them when they were surveying the area around the tower.”

“Where could they have gone?” Ithan asked. He rubbed his eyes and tried to shake himself awake; Taer’inar had insisted on leaving the fort at dawn, so naturally he had been woken up by the sound of scraping metal an hour before.

“Perhaps they headed back to Greenreach,” Taer’inar mused. “In any case, I want to do a survey of my own. I find it difficult to believe that a terran could evade such a coordinated effort.” He sheathed his sword and stood up, ready to depart. Ithan grinned as he followed Taer’inar out of the tent. The elf’s attitude toward the hobgoblins had shifted drastically overnight; perhaps it was because the elf had seen their skills in battle. “Where’s Bimpnottin?” he asked Dhurik and Irse as he and Ithan approached.

“He is speaking with Advar,” Irse replied, motioning toward the large tent where they had first met the hobgoblin chief.

“You guys go on ahead,” Dhurik said. “I’ll catch up with Captain when he’s done.”

“Captain?” Ithan questioned as Irse rolled her eyes.

“Advar gave him that title for his ‘tremendous leadership,’” Taer’inar explained. “Really now, Dhurik. Let’s not encourage him.” The minotaur crossed his arms and huffed. Taer’inar pulled out a couple of polished stones from his bag and handed one to Dhurik. “If you speak into yours, we’ll be able to hear you from ours.”

“Where were these when we left Fenvyre?” he growled.

“I’m sorry,” Taer’inar said. “I should have given one to her or Unit 17. I did not anticipate getting separated from them like this.”

“Testing.” Dhurik’s voice came from himself and through the stone in Taer’inar’s hand. The minotaur had put his stone up to his mouth as if about to take a bite out of it. Taer’inar shuddered and cautiously pulled Dhurik’s hand away.

“You don’t need to put it that close for it to work,” he said.

“Got it,” Dhurik said, his voice echoing again. He stashed the stone in his pocket and clapped Taer’inar on the shoulder. “Go on and find Tree-Hugger.” The elf nodded and motioned for Ithan and Irse to follow, leading them back through the eastern entrance to the fort, greeting and saluting various hobgoblin soldiers along the way.

“They are quick to move on,” Irse remarked as she observed the hobgoblins going about their business.

“There is little time for grief when you are at war,” Taer’inar said. “If they do plan to take on that witch, they’ll need to stay focused.”

By the time the group reached the valley, the sun had already risen past the mountains in the east. As Taer’inar searched the ground for signs of their missing friends, Ithan looked to the north. Where the tower once stood there was now nothing more than a pile of rubble. Ithan grimaced; he wanted to have a more definitive answer as to Apostalite’s fate, but he knew the others would not be willing to help investigate. After all, the ignan had left them to the hobgoblins, and although they ended up becoming allies, the act had surely left the rest of the group with feelings of contempt.

“I don’t understand. How did they manage not to leave any tracks?” Taer’inar muttered. He followed the footprints again, mumbling to himself as he did so. When he stopped moving, he looked back up at the group. “This is where we left him, right? He said he was going to secure the area from this spot.”

“Looks right to me,” Ithan commented. “Why don’t you use Nyctea to do an overhead search?”

“I considered that, but I don’t know‍—” An odd sound interrupted Taer’inar. He pulled out one of his swords, prepared for whatever enemy was coming their way. The sound came again, this time from a nearby tree. As Taer’inar drew nearer to the tree, the sound grew louder, and something of a crude melody began to play. Ithan had heard this noise around the inn once or twice; it usually came from the far end of the hallway upstairs.

“Come on out, twerp,” Ithan called. Ian jumped out from behind the tree. He held a bagpipe in front of him, the blowpipe still held fast in his mouth as he played the instrument more fervently than before. The sound was unbearable; Ian had no sense of harmony or rhythm in his music-playing. When he was finished, he gave a bow to his audience and grinned snidely.

“A victory song for our heroes!” he exclaimed, looking rather proud of his work as the rest of the group exchanged glances of pain and annoyance.

“Where did you even get that?” Taer’inar groaned.

“No respectable bard leaves home without his instrument!” Ian shouted. “I keep it on me at all times!”

“You weren’t carrying it yesterday,” Taer’inar continued.

“He’s always carrying more than it seems,” Ithan commented. “Allow me to demonstrate.” He stepped toward the halfling, who immediately began to retreat back behind the tree.

“Forget it,” Taer’inar grumbled, prompting Ithan to back off. “You easily could have been back to Greenreach by now. Why linger here?”

“I’m looking for Fen, same as you,” Ian responded. Concern was something Ithan had never expected from the halfling. “We didn’t see her when the hobgoblins took us, so I wanted to make sure she was safe.”

“So, you left in the heat of battle to search for Fenvyre because you knew you would not be noticed,” Irse concluded.

“Well, that, and I didn’t really feel like becoming someone’s snack.” He looked warily at Ithan. Ithan chuckled to himself.

“You’ve been here for almost a day now,” Taer’inar sighed. “If you haven’t found anything by now, I think our chances of finding them are‍—”

“Who said I haven’t found anything?” Ian grinned. He pointed down at the ground near where he had been hiding. There were animal tracks leading back to the west, but still no sign of Fenvyre or Unit 17. “Look here‍—there’s the fawn’s prints, and the other two sets must be her parents’. Fen’s gotta be with them.”

“How can you be sure?” Taer’inar asked skeptically. “Her footprints don’t lead in that direction.”

“Fen was my friend first,” Ian argued. “I think I know her a little more than you.” He turned away from the group and started following the tracks. Ithan sighed and started to follow the halfling, briefly turning back to Taer’inar and Irse.

“It’s our best lead,” Ithan admitted before catching up to Ian. The tracks ran parallel to the path that they had taken to get to and from the hobgoblin fort, until they were a mile or so away from it. After that, the tracks veered to the south, into a forest just past the ever-present fog that the group had traveled through on their journey to the tower.

“If they were with Lili, how did they sneak past the hobgoblins?” Taer’inar said as they walked. “Unit 17 isn’t exactly stealthy.” A small bleating sound came from the trees as they approached the edge of the forest. Moments later, a fawn stepped out into the field, jumping at the sight of the group. Instead of fleeing back into the forest, though, it pranced toward them and stopped a few feet away from them.

“What was the fawn’s name again?” Ian asked as he looked up at Taer’inar.

“Lili,” Taer’inar replied, to which the fawn responded with a short squeak. He leaned down until his eyes met hers. “Can you take us to Fenvyre?” Lili hopped up and away, heading back into the forest. She turned around and made another sound, as if beckoning them to follow. “Let’s go,” Taer’inar said excitedly, rushing past Ian to catch up with the fawn. With an exchange of relieved glances, the rest of them followed Lili and Taer’inar into the forest proper.

Lili danced around the group as she led them through the trees. She was far less timid than when they had first found her in the valley just yesterday; perhaps it was because she remembered that they had been with Fenvyre. After traveling for a mile or so into the forest, something glimmered in the distance. There, beneath some rays of sunlight shining through the canopy, was the glint of Fenvyre’s scales.

“Hey, everyone!” Fenvyre called as Lili pranced over to her. “Glad you made it!”

“How did you get all the way out here?” Taer’inar asked incredulously. “And how did you get past the hobgoblins?”

“We took evasive maneuvers,” Unit 17 replied as he stepped out from behind a nearby tree.

“Lili’s mom taught me a new spell!” Fenvyre exclaimed. “We followed you all the way to the fort and no one noticed!”

“Elk know magic…?” Taer’inar questioned. He looked more perplexed by the second. He shook his head. “At any rate, I’m glad you’re both okay.”

“So, what happened there?” Fenvyre asked. “Lili’s parents led us away when the storm started.”

“Long story short, there was a lot of fighting,” Ithan said.

“What about Apostalite?” she continued, making a worrisome face as she spoke their name. Ithan shrugged in reply, which was met with a more dejected look from the dragonkin. “Laht favor them,” she whispered before looking back up at the party and smiling again. “Come here, I want to show you Lili’s home.”

She and Lili began walking again, followed closely by Unit 17. The rest of the group trailed behind, and soon they came across a pair of elk standing in the distance. The bull bugled, and Lili pranced away from the group toward her parents, the doe nestling her head on hers. The three of them looked at the group for a moment more, then retreated into a small alcove between two large trees.

“We may as well find a place to camp for the time being,” Irse said as she observed the elk. It was difficult to tell through the canopy, but it was well past noon at this point. “I would rather rest here than in the fort or the fog again.” She looked up and scanned the area before walking toward something that caught her attention. Among many of the larger trees in the forest, one of them had a sizeable hole about halfway up its trunk. The group followed Irse over to the tree, Fenvyre saying her goodbyes to Lili and her parents before joining.

“I’m going to take a look,” Taer’inar muttered. He climbed up and into the hollow, out of sight from the rest of the group.

“You all right up there?” Ithan called after a few moments, but he did not hear a response from the elf. Mildly concerned‍—and a bit curious himself‍—he climbed into the hollow to join Taer’inar. The hollow itself was roughly the size of his room at the inn. “Don’t you think this is a bit small?”

“We should be fine,” Taer’inar said, his eyes darting about the room as he walked through it to the other end. As he placed his hand on the inner wall of the tree, a face appeared in it, and slowly a slim body began to form from the wall. Taer’inar stumbled backwards, nearly crashing into Ithan as the figure emerged fully‍—it was a dryad woman. “Pardon me! I did not realize anyone lived here.”

“Oh, an elf!” the dryad exclaimed. She floated over to Taer’inar, circling him as she spoke. “I have not seen one of your kind in over six hundred years! This city once belonged to the elves, you know. Their king was very friendly, always wanting to keep the peace between them and us. Such a shame that they had to leave.”

“Why would they ever want to leave this place?” Taer’inar asked, his eyes glimmering.

“Oh, it is such a long and boring story,” the dryad replied as she glided back to view the party. “But oh, how rude of me! I have not properly introduced myself!” She bowed slightly, her arms extending out to her sides. “I am Eleana Aspen. It is an absolute pleasure to meet you.”

“I am Taer’inar Volarei,” the elf began, “and this is‍—”

“And just who might you be?” she asked as she peered at Ithan. Her wispy voice blew through him like a cold wind.

“Mor’lavan,” Ithan replied curtly. Eleana made a sour face, but she did not prod further, opting instead to simply inspect him briefly.

“Well, it is a pleasure, all the same,” she said finally. “What brings you to Myth Veri’Shantar?” Ithan’s heart skipped a beat. The City of Living Trees. Finally.

“We were just passing through,” Taer’inar replied. “We did not realize that this was even a city.”

“Oh, I see,” Eleana said joyfully. “Well, then allow me to show you the sights!” She flew past the two of them and out of the tree into the sunlight, motioning for them to follow. “Come, come! There is much to see!” They climbed out of the tree to meet back with their friends below, who introduced themselves to Eleana. She regarded each of them with kind eyes before beginning her tour of the city. Ithan followed behind the group, pondering his next move as he neared his objective.

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

Eleana hummed to herself as she led the party through the city. She floated just above the forest floor and drifted from side to side every so often, the trees around the dryad parting to allow passage.

“Here we have the library,” Eleana spoke as she motioned to her left to a large oak. “The materials within are perfectly preserved thanks to the magic the ancient elves used.”

“Library…” Taer’inar repeated as he wrote the word down on a scrap of paper. He seemed to be trying to map out the city for further exploration later.

“Over there was the home of the Lirae family,” she continued as she pointed ahead and to the right. Ithan tried to block out the dryad’s talking. The crypt was near the center of the city. He had no choice but to bring his friends along. “And here we have the teleportation circle‍—”

“Does it work?” Taer’inar asked, pulling out another scrap of paper‍—it was one of the pages of notes Taer’inar had found in his room.

“Sadly, the runes have worn away over time,” Eleana explained, “and while we could restore the physical carvings, we do not possess the magic to infuse into them.”

“I see,” Taer’inar muttered with a frown. “Perhaps we could work on that later.” Irse nodded slowly next to him, already inspecting the circular platform on which the faded runes rested.

“Could you guide us to the center of this city?” Ithan requested.

“Certainly,” the dryad said. She waved for the group to follow her and began to float through the trees once more. Ithan followed close behind, and the others followed suit.

“Why the center of the city?” Taer’inar asked.

“I just want to get a better feel for the area,” Ithan lied as Eleana continued pointing out various landmarks along their path. Taer’inar nodded in agreement, and Ithan’s stomach turned.

“We’re here!” Eleana interrupted. In front of them stood a massive tree that rose higher than all around it. At its base was a stone monument, with two giant doors, engraved with what looked to be Elvish writing. “This is the Crypt of Kings. It is home to many great kings of the old times. The elves used to come here to offer their prayers.”

“Thank you,” Ithan said. He stepped up toward the doors, trying to read the engravings. They were certainly in Elvish, but they were so worn that they were impossible to read. He stepped closer still to the doors until he was within arm’s reach, squinting his eyes at the markings.

“What prayer might you offer to the fallen kings?” Eleana asked gently from behind him. Ithan placed his palm on one of the doors and closed his eyes.

“Grant me the strength to do what must be done,” he muttered under his breath. After a moment, the sound of dragging stones alerted him that the doors were very slowly opening. Ithan took his hand off of the door as they opened out toward the group, revealing a large staircase leading underground. Ithan stood in surprise as he watched the doors slowly come to a stop.

“How did you‍—” Eleana asked from behind him. Without a word, Ithan bolted into the passage, leaving his companions behind. “Oh dear.”

“Mor’lavan!” Taer’inar shouted as Ithan ran down the stairs into the crypt below. He did not know how the doors opened, but it did not matter to him; he was so close to his goal, and he was eager to finally be finished with his errand. As he descended the stairs, the lights followed as the footsteps of his companions echoed behind him.

The walls of the passage were immaculate. It looked as though they were just built, even though they had to be thousands of years old. As they were underneath an enormous tree, Ithan expected the crypt to be covered in roots and vines, yet there was not so much as a weed within. As the stairs ended, Ithan entered a large area filled with stone sarcophagi. There were three other passages leading out of the room: one to the left, one to the right, and one straight ahead. Ithan stopped where the paths converged.

“What are you doing?!” Taer’inar yelled to Ithan. Ithan turned toward his friends as they caught up with him. Irse looked confused, and Fenvyre was holding the back of Ian’s cloak as he tried to investigate a nearby sarcophagus.

“It’s not your concern,” Ithan replied. He was growing tired of the pestering elf.

“It certainly is,” Irse chimed in. “We are here with you, are we not? It is our right to know‍—”

“You didn’t have to follow me in,” Ithan growled. His voice echoed through the chamber. He paused as his companions’ faces unanimously shifted to ones of bewilderment. He took a deep breath to regain his composure. “If you don’t want to follow me you can wait outside.” He turned and began walking down the central path, leaving the others behind.

After walking for a short while, Ithan came to another large chamber. Unlike the first, though, this room was filled to the brim with treasure. Ithan scanned the room for his objective, and it did not take long to find it; at the far end of the room stood a large statue of a woman draped in robes, her hands outstretched, with what appeared to be an urn resting between them.

There it is, Kiraan called, making Ithan’s hair stand on end. Before he could make another move, though, a rush of cold wind blew through him, and a shadow appeared atop the statue.

“Who’s there?” Ithan called. After a moment, the shadow disappeared, revealing a large creature with pale green skin and yellow eyes wearing a tattered black cloak. It carried a large glaive on its back.

“Welcome, welcome!” the creature shouted as it reached into its cloak. “I must thank you for opening those doors, boy. Quite a handy trick, tricking the doors.”

“What business do you have here?” Ithan asked.

“Oh, I just came by to collect my prize,” the creature replied. It smiled at Ithan. “First come, first served, as they say. It reached for the urn resting between the statue’s hands.

“Don’t touch that!” Ithan shouted, his blood beginning to boil as he summoned his own glaive.

“Come and get it!” the creature taunted. It grabbed the urn and held it out in front of its chest. Ithan burst forward and leapt at the creature as it waved its free hand over the urn, malevolent energy filling the air around it. Ithan swung his glaive down, and it connected‍—not with the creature, but with another blade that had materialized in front of it. The blade, though certainly solid, was semitransparent, and was held by an equally translucent elf wearing fine clothing and jewelry. The elf stared coldly at Ithan as he shoved him away.

“Lava!” Fenvyre called. Ithan looked back for just a moment‍—his companions had followed him into the chamber, only to be beset by ethereal warriors.

“Time to die!” the creature sang. All at once, the summoned warriors near Ithan converged, ready to skewer him with their various weapons. Ithan managed to dodge two of the warriors, but a third sliced into his left arm. Ithan let out a pained yelp as he began to channel energy into a spell. Teleporting away from the creature and its minions, he looked back at his companions for a moment more. Taer’inar and Unit 17 held off more warriors as best they could, while Irse prepared her own spell. Ian stabbed at the warriors’ legs from underneath Fenvyre, who used her claws to swipe at the apparitions.

“Return to the grave!” Irse cried, holding her hands out in Ithan’s direction. A sudden, painful ringing resonated from behind him, and a moment later the creature screamed. When he turned to look, the warriors were slowly disintegrating, and the creature was holding its head with its free hand. Ithan replicated Irse’s spell at the warriors attacking the group, making sure not to center his focus near his allies. As the remaining warriors began to vanish, a sharp pain on his left side prompted Ithan to look down‍—a bloody blade was jutting out from his body.

“Mor’lavan!” Ithan heard Taer’inar shout frantically as the blade retracted. Freezing cold swept over him‍—colder even than when he slept outside that first night in Greenreach. The cold permeated his skin and crept through his body. The blood dripping from his wound slowly began to solidify.

“Out of my way!” the creature yelled from behind Ithan. It smacked Ithan with enough force to send him crashing into the wall before falling on top of the gold beneath, splattering his blood over the elven treasure. As Ithan’s vision faded, he watched the creature walk past him toward the others. Between the blood loss and the icy cold magic flowing through what blood remained, Ithan was certain that this was the end, that this was the last he would see of his friends. A weakling to the end.

But then, an odd sensation began to flow through him. An energy that he had never felt before compelled him to move. At the thought, his right arm twitched. Survive. He could feel his arm again. Fight. He lifted his glaive and used it to pull himself up from the ground. Kill. With what little strength remained in his body, he held his hand out toward the creature and attempted to cast a spell, and to his surprise the creature was set ablaze. It screamed in agony as it burned, but it only lasted for a few moments as the flames‍—and the elven warriors‍—dissipated.

What remained of the creature toppled to the ground and crumbled, leaving nothing but a pile of ash. Grasping his side, Ithan shambled over to the mound. He dropped his glaive and slowly leaned down to pick up the urn, spilling some more of his blood as he bent over. As he reached out for his prize, though, Taer’inar thrust his sword down into it, shattering it with the force. Ithan held his hand there for a moment in disbelief.

“Why…?” he mumbled slowly as he dropped to his knees. He tried gathering the remains of the urn before glaring up angrily at Taer’inar. “Why did you do that?!”.

“Now no one else can steal it,” Taer’inar replied solemnly. Somehow, in Ithan’s panic and rage, he managed to pull himself up from the ground and lunge at Taer’inar, forcing his hands around the elf’s throat.

“I’ll kill you!” he roared, his vision beginning to fade again. The strength that had helped him stay conscious was very quickly leaving his body now. “I’ll… kill…”

Your task is complete, Kiraan interrupted.

What…? Ithan replied. It was even difficult for him to speak mentally now. But… the urn…

“Lava!” Ithan heard Fenvyre call as he fell against Taer’inar.

You have done well. Rest now. Ithan’s eyelids closed slowly, his vision continuing to lose focus until finally, everything went black.

🙡◊🙣

Eldritch energy amasses around Ithan. Life is draining from everything around him. After a moment, the energy begins to flow into Ithan’s body. The power he feels is almost overwhelming, but he embraces it. When he has absorbed the last of the energy, he unleashes a great wave of darkness. It spreads through the ground, tearing it asunder. The sky grows dark and fills with storm clouds. Lightning begins to strike all around him, leaving behind deafening thunder.

“Ithan?” a voice calls as Ithan relishes in his newfound power. He turns to the source of the voice‍—an elf, covered in cuts and bruises. The elf’s pointed ears protrude beyond his silver hair. His pale skin is almost as white as the snow. He holds one sword in his right hand and has a second strapped to his hip. Ithan sneers.

“Your friend sleeps in the abyss.”

🙠◊🙢

Ithan gasped as he woke in a cold sweat. He was now in the forest outside of the city, on the same trail that Fenvyre had led them down before. Irse and Unit 17 were settled on each side of him, but the others were nowhere in sight.

“Mor’lavan?” a voice called as Ithan pondered. The voice sent chills down his spine, though he could not place exactly why. He looked up to see Taer’inar carrying some logs over to him. “Thank the gods.”

“What happened?” Ithan asked.

“You blacked out,” Unit 17 replied.

“Obviously. I meant after that.”

“Ah, of course.” He arranged the logs as he spoke.

“Unit 17 carried you out of the crypt and then we left the city,” Taer’inar elaborated. “It was getting dark, so we decided to camp here for the night.”

“That’s it?” Ithan questioned as Taer’inar began trying to set the logs on fire.

“Yes. Well… there was also the matter of making sure you didn’t bleed out.” Ithan looked down at his side; the wound was gone. “It went clean through, so I thought there was nothing we could do. Even Irse couldn’t revive you.”

“So how‍—”

“Eleana helped,” Taer’inar sighed. “I had to practically beg her to do it, though. She was furious.”

“You could have left me there,” Ithan growled.

“I would have,” Taer’inar replied. His voice had lost its playful tone. “You’re more trouble than you’re worth.”

“I concur,” Irse added. “Your actions almost cost all of us our lives.”

“We are now accessories to burglary,” Unit 17 commented.

“I don’t care much about that bit,” Taer’inar said. “Now, let us hear your reasons for nearly getting us all killed.”

“I wanted the urn‍—” he started.

“We gathered that much,” Taer’inar interrupted, his eyes burning with a fury Ithan recognized from long ago.

“I thought it would help me…” Ithan muttered.

“Help you what?” Taer’inar scolded through gritted teeth. “You said you couldn’t go home, but you never told us why. What was this urn supposed to do?”

“Could someone elaborate on this, please?” Irse interrupted.

“Mor’lavan fled from his village because they tried to kill him,” Taer’inar explained.

“So that is what he told you… Clever.” As she stared at him with her cold eyes, Ithan’s chest tightened as he realized‍—she knew what he was. She had always known. He bared his teeth at her, and she raised her hands in front of her. Then, his body went numb. He fell to the ground, his glaive clattering on the ground next to him. My glaive…? When did I…?

“What are you doing?!” Taer’inar cried as he leapt between her and Ithan, his arms outstretched as he faced her.

“Mor’lavan is not as he seems,” Irse said, her hands now glowing with a radiance that, strangely, made Ithan want to flee. Alas, he was entirely paralyzed now, only able to watch and listen while the two standing in front of him spoke.

“What are you saying?” Taer’inar asked as he dropped his arms and turned toward Ithan. “What kind of magic is this?”

“It is meant to neutralize those corrupted by dark magic,” Irse answered. “Demons.” Ithan bristled at the word, and Taer’inar’s face tightened. His eyes grew ever colder as he glared down at Ithan. Yet there was still a certain softness to them.

“Let him go,” he muttered finally. Irse’s eyes flickered as they moved from Ithan to Taer’inar.

“Did you not hear me?” she asked.

“Trust me, Irse,” he said calmly. He kneeled down slowly in front of Ithan, maintaining eye contact as if he were attempting to calm a wild animal. He drew one of his swords and pointed it at Ithan. Behind him, Irse nodded, and the glowing energy engulfing her hands vanished. The feeling in Ithan’s body slowly returned, but he dared not move with Taer’inar threatening him. “Stand up slowly, and back up against the tree behind you.” Ithan complied, his heart racing as the blade aimed at his chest moved with him. He slowly stepped backwards until he felt the rough bark of the tree on his back.

“Taer’inar‍—” Ithan started.

“Quiet,” the elf spat. His eyes were brimming with anger now, the glimmer of softness snuffed out by rage. “You lied to us. You put us all at risk with your secrets. Not anymore.” He pulled his sword back, ready to strike. Ithan winced, turning his head away and closing his eyes as Taer’inar thrust the blade at him. But it never reached him. When he slowly opened his eyes again, Unit 17 was holding Taer’inar back from plunging the blade into his chest.

“What are you doing?” Irse asked.

“You do not have the authority to execute a civilian,” Unit 17 responded. “He is entitled to a fair trial.” He released Taer’inar’s arm, and Taer’inar begrudgingly sheathed his sword and stepped away from Ithan, sitting on the opposite side of the campfire.

“Fine,” he said finally, his eyes still shimmering with anger. “Consider this his trial, then.”