Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Up until that point, it had always been the two of them against the world, no matter what.

A mother and her young child, trying to make a way for themselves to live amidst the unforgiving world around them, fortune always as elusive as a cait.

“When all gods turn their backs on us, Aeber will take us in,” his mother used to say. “In these canyons so barren, our only hope is to run as fast as him, stolen spoils in our bags.”

Even then, he could feel the sadness behind her words. Hailing from a kingdom far to the west, Celia had run away from home after her sister became corrupted by a promise of power, and it was nothing short of a miracle that she and Therion were still alive, hiding in the empty caves of the Cliftlands where once countless wars had been waged.

Life had a funny way of toying with humans.

“No, mama, please!” he whimpered, sobbing loudly by her side, Celia’s eyes long unfocused, having lost their light. At least, the corpses of her hyena attackers lie on the ground as well, their lives claimed by those tell-tale marks of her familiar dark magic. “You can’t go, mama!”

A shiver ran down his spine, startling him. It wasn’t the usual cold of the night falling upon Orsterra, nor the unnerving presence of those skeletons and clouds of magic, the only creatures that dared haunt those lonely caverns.

There was a slender hand trying to get him to stand up, its gentleness despite the calloused skin reminding him of his mother’s touch, except that it lacked Celia’s ever-present worry that became a firm grip even when she didn’t mean it to be. Well, that, and the fact that whoever was in that cave was so much more ghostly, only tugging at him but never actually being able to nudge him an inch.

Over the course of the next weeks, he met them. Seven ghosts that seemed to watch over him with all the care in the world, much to his confusion. Who were these people? What had he done to deserve their kindness? Didn’t people usually run away from thieves? Celia had only just begun training him, true, but he couldn’t pass for anything other than a bandit’s child.

And yet they stayed by his side ever since that day, some of them appearing much more frequently than the others, for whatever reason.

Not that there was anyone he could ask about it. Miners and merchants were all he ever met on those dry, empty roads, and it wasn’t worth the risk of scaring targets away under the faint hope of getting someone who wouldn’t be immediately weirded out by a lone ragged child that claimed to speak to ghosts and had an answer to his problems.

So, he kept it a secret. Thieves were good at keeping secrets, weren’t they? This was his own, and he would share it with no one.

If the majority of the reason behind that was that there was no one to share it with, he didn’t care.

He did, however, start assigning them names so he could tell them apart and not feel like it was all his imagination. This way, he soon learnt that they all had different personalities, different ways of wordlessly interacting with him.

There were two of them that were often by his side, and he called them Moss and Hawk; names that he wasn’t the proudest of years down the line, but they had been the best fit, according to child Therion, and they had stuck by the time he started regretting it. Well, it wasn’t truly regret so much as embarrassment, much to his reluctance to admit so. He simply felt that the two ghosts that spent their time pretty much raising him deserved something more dignified.

Hawk was fierce but loving. Her guidance was immeasurably helpful for someone like him, getting him to stop living off of fruit bushes and salted meats that merchants brought, and instead taught him how to fish with his mother’s dagger, or to trap, kill, skin and cook small animals that wandered off too far from their packs.

Calloused fingers would smack the back of his hand whenever he was holding the knife wrong, then giving an encouraging pat on the back when he managed to figure out the correct way. Firm shoves would warn him when to hide amongst the rocks or the greenery and when to strike. Eventually, she had managed to teach him how to cut the skin off of a fox and a marmot, and nudged him to approach specific merchants who offered him some dried nuts in exchange for the untreated furs.

He wondered how Hawk knew which merchants were to be trusted instead of stolen from, but he wasn’t about to question her teachings.

Moss was a pretty cool guy, but he wasn’t quite as constant as Hawk was. No, he was more of Therion’s easier alternative to stealing from an apothecary, nudging him to collect some of the weird weeds that grew on the side of the roads only to store them away.

On more than one occasion, Therion had brushed him aside as though Moss was simply fond of strange plants, until he caught a cold or a bug and adding those same leaves to the stews Hawk had taught him to make helped him feel much better, Moss’ soothing hands tending to his burning fevers in the meantime.

(When he met H’aanit and Alfyn, Therion made a point to always watch out for them. He practically owed them his life.)

The other two that were frequently keeping him company were Cuddles and Witch, who were less than enthusiastic about their given nicknames. Especially Witch. But they couldn’t really tell that to Therion, much less offer an alternative.

On those cold and lonely nights where Therion felt like he was losing his mind, where the memory of Celia’s smile was too painful to bear, Cuddles would appear. Somehow, the ragged makeshift pillow Therion had fended for himself became softer, warmer, and he vaguely recalled the feeling of having his mother lay his head down over her lap and tell him stories of the land where they were from. Cuddles couldn’t speak to him, but she played with his hair, soothing his thoughts until he fell asleep.

Some nights, he would even swear that he could hear a faint murmur singing a lullaby very, very far away.

Witch was… strange, to say the least. The only reason that Therion even managed to tell Witch and Hawk apart was when the both of them appeared at once, much to his puzzlement. Witch… he seemed out of his element, always struggling to communicate with the thief despite clearly having so much he wanted to say.

But he did his best, nagging at Therion to steal a few soulstones off of a merchant just in case he ever ran into a frenzied monster, reminding him to cover up properly on cloudy days that were certain to bring rain, keeping him company whenever the thief wanted to stargaze atop the tallest cliffs, looking out for him constantly.

Was this what Celia meant when she talked about her and her sister’s relationship before things took a turn for the worse?

By that point, it no longer felt depressing to realize that Witch the ghost was essentially his big brother. No, at this point he welcomed his strange new family, and was grateful never to spend a night alone, for at least one ghost always made sure to appear every day.

He was quite grateful to Witch for teaching him magic. That ghost had a saintly patience, figuring out a way to make the thief notice he had magical abilities, and then finding a way to point him in the right direction to start practicing – that was how he had gotten his nickname, after all.

Witch had nudged Therion towards the campfire, yet he kept slapping his hands away from the soulstones and the flint.

“The fuck do you want me to do, then? Breathe fire at the wood? I’m not a fucking dragon,” he snarled. Witch poked him in the chest. “Hey! Back off!” He yelled, only to then feel the ghostly touch tracing a strange path down his forearms and into his palms, then another nudge towards the campfire.

It took about twenty tries for the young thief to produce a small flicker of a flame, and although that wasn’t anywhere near enough to get the campfire going, it made both him and Witch immensely proud. The ghost approved of using soulstones for now until he practiced enough not to need them anymore.

He was grateful because it meant he could go on longer trips, living off the land and the daily spoils he collected while planning another heist. He went from stealing from the rich folk visiting Quarrycrest and Cragspear, to ambushing shady bandits and false merchants going out of Valore or resting in the Riverlands before making it to the desert, to straight up heading towards the great city of Saintsbridge.

So many things happened in that place. Namely, the strengthening of his bond with Breeze, another of the ghosts that frequented him, mostly to point him in the direction of good wares merchants carried – only those that Hawk authorized, and never when Therion was stealing. Until then.

The influence of the Church of the Sacred Flame over Saintsbridge meant that the city had grown into prosperity, and that, in turn, meant that a handful of merchants felt free to overcharge for their wares or even deliberately sell low quality stuff to the townspeople. This seemed to anger Breeze, so one afternoon she shamelessly pulled him from the hand until they reached the shop of a corrupt tailor.

Not even five minutes later, an elegant lavender poncho shielded Therion from the cold wind and a beautiful dark purple scarf hid the lower half of his face. Not to mention the brand new, still shiny additions to his hidden lockpicking kit.

However, fortune was wearing thin, and the Saintsbridge guards soon apprehended him under a supposed anonymous theft report. They would throw him into the gaol for the time being, and in about an hour they would be bringing in the merchant stolen from to see what Therion’s sentence would be. It seemed like Hawk was out of her element and Witch was distracted, because they usually wouldn’t have let him get caught so easily. Or perhaps he and Breeze were too elated by their crimes that they didn’t notice the warnings.

Either way, such was the reason why he now shared a jail cell with a certain redheaded bandit, who seemed amused by the thief’s young age.

“Bet’cha couldn’t even steal an apple successfully,” he muttered under his breath, a confident smirk across his face. He spoke up towards Therion harshly. “What’s’a lowly tea leaf like ye doin’ ‘ere anyways?”

“Leaving,” he scoffed, drawing the guard’s keys from one of the pockets inside his poncho. The older thief seemed baffled, even more so when Therion didn’t immediately close the jail gate again. “What are you in for?”

The man had the decency to at least be honest to his possible savior. “Stole some coin t’ eat. Ye know how it is for the likes of us.” Then, before Therion turned around, cell gate open so he could also leave, he called out to the younger thief. “I didn’t catch yer name. ‘M Darius. Would’ya be interested in workin’ together? Two blades are better than one… and you don’t look like folk from these parts, I could show ye.”

Therion hesitated, not knowing how to process such a decision. Some of the merchants he met said that it was important to build trustworthy connections. Some others, the shadier kind, repeatedly said stuff about fending for yourself. Other than that, he didn’t really interact with enough people to have an opinion.

Moss and Hawk tried to nudge him away from Darius rather desperately. Was that just their parental protectiveness or did they have some sort of divine intuition? Breeze had put her hand on Therion’s shoulder as a form of support, ready to defend him in any way she could no matter what his decision was.

Witch was also there, nudging him away from the thief, though he seemed much more hesitant than the other two ghosts. In the end, he reluctantly had to shove Therion on the opposite direction, towards Darius’ outstretched hand, despite the absolute regret reeking from his presence.

“Glad t’make business with ye, partner.” Darius smiled.

His grip was firm and calloused, just like most people in Therion’s life. Very warm, too. All of a sudden, Therion stepped away, his head spinning as though the very ground was crumbling under his feet. Darius seemed worried about this, but he waved it off before the man could ask about it.

“Let’s get outta here,” he said flatly.

“What was that mark on your hand?” he asked, curious, once they had disappeared into the alleyways on lower Saintsbridge, into what Therion assumed was Darius’ hideout.

The redheaded thief raised an eyebrow. “Don’t tell me ye never heard of soulmates before,” he huffed out a laugh, then surprised at Therion’s nonplussed expression. “Shit… Well, most people are born with marks that connect ‘em to special people in their future,” he explained, showing Therion the crossed spears on the back of his left hand. “I think it’s rubbish t’live like those fancy folk do, waitin’ on their soulmates like some damn fairy tale. But… rumor has it, yer soulmates’ll help ya out when ya most need ‘em.

“I thought ye knew. Hells, I thought you’d recognized your mark back there or somethin’. Don’t tell me you’ve got ‘n apple mark somewhere?”

Therion blinked, once, twice, confused. “I’ve never seen any marks on me before. Nor had anyone to tell me I did,” he hummed, glancing at the ground. “Why an apple?”

“I love apples,” Darius said nonchalantly. “Kinda the only thing I’ve got goin’ for me, so… I guess that’s my mark. I ain’t gonna go pay one of those fancy seers to tell me what it is!”

He laughed at that. “Yeah. Better to focus on the people you have now than strangers from the future,” he said, albeit half-heartedly.

“I like how ye think,” Darius said with a grin.

Days became weeks, then months, then years. For once, life seemed to smile at Therion, having given him a family after so long – a very strange one, considering it was comprised of a pair of thieves and seven ghosts, but a family, nonetheless.

Still, Therion was conflicted about Darius.

Oftentimes, he would find himself absentmindedly watching the way the thief worked with his hands, whether it was when he trained his knife-throwing or his lockpicking, simply entranced by the way Darius’ strength and gentleness danced together, his forearm muscles flexing every now and then.

Frequently, he would stubbornly blame the sun for the heat that crept up his face when Darius unashamedly stripped down and dived into a nearby stream, content with relaxing on the water for a long time, the water lapping at his muscular frame.

Seldom was the nightmare-less sleep after Darius insisted on teaching Therion how to swim.

Don’t get him wrong, he loved having fun with the other thief and the Rivenese rivers were indeed amazing to swim in, but it just made his head spin like a ball of yarn that had been stuck into its own thread, and there was nothing he could do about it.

So many years by himself, at least physically speaking, that he didn’t know if what he felt for Darius was standard. And whenever he tried asking the ghosts – his soulmates, apparently – they stayed silent, as if keeping a somber secret from him, one that no matter what he did he couldn’t figure out. Turns out that outsmarting seven ghosts was more difficult than it sounded. At the very least, Cuddles and Moss would then lull him to sleep, for there was not much else they could do for Therion.

Even Witch, the cleverest of them all, kept his distance. Perhaps interfering with Therion’s infatuation was off limits to them, for whatever reason.

It was a particularly humid day, waiting for a group of merchants to pass through those lonely roads that served as Riverford’s only direct connection to the Cliftlands. The overgrown greenery served to hide their camp from unsuspecting folk passing by, and Therion was determined to keep honing his own skills while Darius was out hunting for dinner.

He gripped the short sword he had stolen from the smithy on a whim (in truth, following the guidance of one of the ghosts) and was now using a dried up tree to practice basic strikes and stances. He had left his poncho behind inside his tent given the suffocating heat, and now his shirt hung from a nearby branch.

Honestly, he had half a mind to stop training and simply let the river water cool him down. But no, that wasn’t an option, he had to keep pushing forward even if just a little.

Eventually, he heard Darius’ familiar footsteps brushing against the grass, setting some things down, most likely whatever he had gathered for the day. He shook that away and focused on his training. Breathe in, breathe out, ready his stance, focus on his target, and swing; repeat, his form corrected by invisible hands.

Until it was Darius’ hands against his skin, startling him.

“So, ye do have soulmates,” the thief hummed, dejected. “Here I was hopin’ you ‘n’ me matched, what with yer sudden interest in tryin’ new weapons.”

“… How do you know that’s not your mark?” Therion questioned, trying to regain his composure after the scare. “Did you go pay a seer to know yours is an apple, after all?” he teased.

“Hells no,” Darius laughed. “But… you have seven marks, ‘n’ I only got one.”

“That could still be you.” He shrugged. “Just ‘cause someone is my soulmate, doesn’t mean they have to be yours as well.”

Darius hesitated, shoving his hope away. “Nah. Never heard o’ such a thing. Soulmates always match each other, even in groups.”

An uncomfortable silence fell over the two. Therion wanted to promise that, despite not being soulmates, they could still stay as partners as long as life would allow them to. But no, Darius wasn’t a sappy man, and such words might feel more scalding than anything else.

“Could you tell me what they look like?” he asked shyly. “I suppose they’re on my back… Can’t really see them myself.”

The redheaded thief perked up at that, approaching to see the details better. Seven different soulmarks aligned straight over his spine, colorful and unique. As he described them to the best of his abilities, he traced their shapes slowly so Therion could have an idea of what they looked like, unaware of the electric effects his touch had on the thief, even more so given the intimacy of the situation.

“Well, this one looks like an oil lamp but it’s burnin’ blue… Then there’s a quill with a bottle o’ ink… Under that there’s a feather…” he started saying. Much to Therion’s surprise, with every soulmark described, each ghost rested their hands on his shoulders, giving away their identities. So far, it had been Cuddles, Witch, and Breeze.

Therion gulped, his skin growing more sensitive the lower Darius’ hands went.

“This is a fuckin’ useless sword, all blunted ‘n’ shit,” the thief joked. Knight, the ghost to whom the mark belonged, the very same who had been trying to train Therion earlier, seemed pissed at the comment. “This looks like some fancy dagger…”

Darius trailed off, drowning the spark of hope that he didn’t need to say out loud for both of them to know what it was. Therion didn’t have the heart to tell him that he already knew which ghost that mark belonged to.

“Ah, and the last two,” Darius continued, clearing his throat awkwardly. “There’s a curious plant herb thing, and below that there’s a white leopard.”

If the thief’s hands lingered on Therion’s back for a moment longer than they needed to, neither of them commented on it.

“… Thanks for telling me,” the white haired thief muttered, and walked back towards their camp.

That fateful day in the Cliftlands, it was eerily silent. None of his soulmates – it still felt weird calling them that – seemed to interact with him after breakfast, as though the scorching sun in the sky prevented them from warning Therion. Once, he thought it had been fate making sure that things would flow in the way they were supposed to. Now, looking back on it, he realized who was behind that, and it made his blood boil.

Fucking Lyblac.

Darius and Therion were walking along the lonely roads that wove through the canyons, not a lot of words exchanged. Then again, it made sense, given how exhausted they were after their last heist, some of their deeper wounds still healing.

“Down!” Darius warned, spotting a birdian that flew towards them at full speed. He dove to the ground, but Therion was too distracted to react on time. “Get down here!” the thief whisper yelled, yanking him down.

“Woah!”

He landed on top of Darius, both of them achingly trying to stand up after the birdian flew away into the horizon. Soon, they were walking once more – though Darius’ hand never left Therion’s. Did he feel like he had to protect him? That felt… oddly sweet.

Crash.

Finally, Witch managed to break through whatever spell was making them unable to interact with Therion. Just one touch from his soulmate was enough for him to glance away, spotting the near perfectly hidden silhouette of a brigand. Darius certainly had to have seen them as well, right? Therion looked at his partner, but he seemed unfazed.

“Therion… I gotta tell ye something,” the thief said, heaving a heavy sigh, stopping both of them in their tracks. He took Therion’s other hand and brought them close to the shared space between their hearts.

Witch let go of him, surveying his surroundings. Moss’ hands worked on healing his remaining injuries as quickly as he could. Breeze and Knight seemed to be nudging him towards Darius?

“’M sorry,” Darius swallowed, and then pushed with all the strength he had.

Therion hadn’t noticed how close to the edge of the cliffside they were – that explained Breeze and Knight’s insistence – nor the way Darius had pocketed his pouch of leaves as they walked, never thinking to doubt his partner in crime, not after so long, not after so much shared between them.

Surely, there was an explanation for this. Darius’ eyes leaked tears as he shoved him away, right? The brigands had forced him to do that, right? He betrayed Therion in such a place because he knew there was a river streaming below, right?

Focus.

He turned around, trying to land into the water as best he could, having the brains to stay underwater as he let the current carry him away, just so there would be no trace of his presence for the brigands to follow. Once they hit the edge of the Riverlands, Hawk pulled at him from above so he could get out of the water, breathing heavily.

“What the fuck?” he snarled. Before he could keep questioning the recent events, however, all his energy dissipated into fatigue like he had never felt before, and a head of purple hair vanished into the wilderness.

An outstretched hand, tender, caring, soft. Adorned with those familiar bangles and bracelets, tinkering with every movement. A breath of life into his spirit, bringing him out of the darkness, just like she had done before, when Celia’s death was about to cost him his own life.

“Thank you, Gold. I owe you another one.”

When he woke up, all of his soulmates were there. Cuddles and Moss had tried everything they could to keep him stable, head lying on Cuddles’ lap as she prayed, Moss’ hands hovering over his abdomen. Knight and Breeze held one of his hands, while Gold and Witch grasped the other. Hawk seemed to be helping Moss, though he wasn’t quite certain about whatever they were doing.

“Ah, good! You’re awake!” an unfamiliar voice called out, making all of their ghostly presences vanish away. “It’s nothin’ short of a miracle that you’re still here with us, in the land of the livin’, if I’m honest. I bet your soulmates are worried sick.”

Therion blinked, once, twice, trying to make sense of the unknown apothecary’s words. “What?”

The man backed away. “Sorry! Didn’t mean to pry! I caught sight of some of your marks while helpin’ you.” He pulled the collar of his shirt out of the way to reveal the symbol of a book near his clavicle. “Even before I became an apothecary, I’ve always helped people. At least that’s what my soulmate says… she’s quite the sweet one. Here, drink this,” he said, offering Therion a remedy to numb whatever residual pain he had. “My name’s Zeph. You’ve been out of it for a few days by now.”

“A few days?” he asked, trying to sit up.

“Yeah, sorry about that… I’m not quite as talented as another apothecary from town, friend of mine. He’s… busy at the moment,” he said, glancing away.

Therion gave him a confused glance. “No, no, fuck that. Why the hells would I be angry? You saved me,” he scoffed. “I’m just… relieved, I guess.”

“Ah. Was someone after you?”

“Kind of…”

Zeph sighed, rubbing at his temples. “Look… I saw your weapons,” he said. Then, he interrupted himself. “By the way, you’re probably gonna have a nasty scar on your left side. Your sword broke and cut you – it wasn’t that deep but it was a weird angle, you know how it is,” he informed him. “But uh… you’re a thief.

“Look, I can heal you up and talk to Magg so you can work helping him out at the local tavern, if you wanna lay low,” the apothecary offered. “My friend Meryl’s out of town, but once she gets back she could give you a fresh look, too.”

“Thanks, but I think I must be on my way.”

Before Zeph could press further, Therion bolted out of bed, snatched whatever belongings he had left on top of the nearby chair, and left the house. He couldn’t risk staying in that town any longer, not when Darius knew the ins and outs of the Riverlands like the back of his own hands, not when that strange woman was still somewhere nearby.

His misfortune only grew, however.

“What the fuck? You want me to be your godsdamned errand boy?”

“I do believe you’re in our debt, seeing as you broke into our mansion, so-”

“Heathcote, that’s enough!” the noblewoman interrupted the butler. She heaved a sigh, and walked towards the thief. “Mr. Therion, rest assured that no guards will be after you for an intrusion we devised,” she informed, side-eyeing the older man. “However, I must implore you to help House Ravus.”

Therion scoffed. “Yeah, nah, I don’t give two shits about some old rich folk prophecy. I bet I could get more from the market if I sold your precious stones than whatever you’re gonna offer me.”

“Even if we asked you to name your price?” Heathcote prodded. “A cold-hearted thief like you, unbothered in the face of a prophesized end of the world, will surely accept a hefty sum of leaves for your services.”

“A thief like me could get leaves anywhere, old man. Now, if you’ll excuse me-”

Cordelia stepped between him and the exit once again. “That purple-haired woman,” she whispered, sighing in relief when her words seemed to shock Therion.

“Did you fucking hire-”

“No!” the noblewoman retorted. “But, the fact that you know her…”

“Is this some weird feud between noble houses? If so, then I definitely want nothing to do with this,” Therion huffed.

Cordelia hummed, thinking out her next move. “Do you believe in destiny?” she asked bluntly, rolling up the sleeves of her dress to show a soulmark, shaped like a dragon. “Do you know of the goddess that weaves her guidance into mankind’s skin?”

“What the-”

“Steorra, they call her. One of the gods whose knowledge was long since sealed away, lest it fall into the wrong hands,” she informed. “My ancestors were blessed with magic to understand and use the dragonstones. My father was blessed with strength to protect his family. My brother was blessed with skill to serve Orsterra against any threat. I’m only able to partake in some of the Seer’s abilities.”

“Yeah, and I’m actually a lost prince from Hornburg.”

Knight smacked him for that, though he offered no further explanation. Not that they could really communicate with him as ghosts, anyway.

“Allow me to demonstrate,” Cordelia asked, taking a deep breath. Her soulmark lit up, and an itching sensation on his back told the thief his marks were doing the same. “You, Therion, have seven soulmates, one of which is the Flamebearer of this year’s pilgrimage, bearing Aelfric’s Lanthorn as her symbol.”

“How the fuck did you – whatever. What does that have to do with your request?” he demanded to know, much to Heathcote’s thinning patience.

“Please,” she said in a broken voice. “My father is long since dead, and I haven’t seen my brother in years. That strange woman has been stalking Bolderfall for a long time, surely after the Ravus treasure, and all of my last hopes fall upon you.”

Therion thought about it for a moment. “Wouldn’t it have been easier to say that the help of a skilled thief and possibly the Flamebearer were what you needed? Stop playing your fucking games and tell me what I’ve gotta do. The pay better be good, though.”

Witch gave a few pats on his back, proud of his decision.

“Right, of course. Now…”

Noblecourt had to be one of the weirdest places on the continent. There was so much wealth to be stolen, but only from visitors and tourists. The city itself was beautiful and its old style was charming, despite the glaring fact that a lot of the buildings were abandoned long ago. There was an ominous feeling of oppression everywhere, and yet people went on with their days as thought it was all completely fine.

Therion didn’t take long to figure out this was caused by the Obsidians, who had murdered the previous ruling house in Noblecourt and governed unjustly ever since.

He also didn’t take long to run into his first headache of the day, an annoying merchant by the name of Tressa Colzione. She had first spotted him as he inconspicuously ate a red apple, in truth waiting for the perfect moment to strike and steal that bottle of overpriced water from the Sunlandish merchant.

Ever since that moment, she had been very, very persistent about bringing his crimes to light, for whatever reason. From a “nice poncho! Looks damaged, though. I could help you sew it back together, but I’d need you to empty the pockets,” to a far more direct “I noticed you bought some water from that merchant, and my apothecary friend here could really use it for his remedies. How much do you want for it?”

“Um, Tress…” the blond guy next to her interrupted her incessant cascade of words.

“What? I’m trying to prove merchants’ honor to this thief!”

“So that’s what it’s all about…” Therion mumbled under his breath.

“Primrose is missing.”

“What?! You there, thief boy,” the merchant said, turning around to threateningly point her finger at Therion, “I’m not done with you. You’re coming with us to find our friend and then I’ll get back to you on that stolen water.”

Therion simply gave her a smug smirk. “And why should I?”

The blond apothecary stepped in, offering a kind smile and an honest glare that Therion would almost equate to watching kids make ‘puppy eyes’ at their parents so they could buy them something they wanted. Well, too bad, that sort of thing didn’t work with –

“Please. Our friend might be in grave danger if we don’t do anythin’ to save her. I trust you’re familiar with the rumours of the shady stuff in this place?” he asked, waiting for Therion’s hesitant nod before continuing. “Then surely you ain’t gonna leave the two of us to deal with them alone.”

Therion turned away. “I don’t know, prettyboy. Last time I was that kind to someone, they betrayed me. And last time I was a pushover, I had to travel half the continent to do errands.”

The apothecary sighed. “Will you come with us if I invite you to the tavern afterwards?”

“Your treat?”

The merchant gave the blond man a murderous glare, which he had to ignore. “Yes.”

“Alright then. Name’s Therion. Who are you and which shady house are we breaking into?” he asked, amused by the young merchant’s very dramatic eyeroll.

“I’m Alfyn, nice to meet ya!” he said with a bright smile. “And she’s Tressa, we’ve been travelin’ together for-”

“Just don’t get in my way unless you wanna get skewered,” she interrupted, leading the way towards the fancier parts of Noblecourt. “Our friend, Primrose, was catching up with one of her acquaintances here. Neither of us likes him one bit, but… Anyway, we’re rather worried about her. She’s kinda on the Obsidians’ hit list.”

“Gotcha. Is she, by any chance, that dancer over there?” Therion asked, motioning towards a quiet part of town with his chin, alleyways leading towards the town’s graveyard. A beautiful woman with long brown hair was chatting with some unremarkable middle-aged man, who glanced warily at a nearby abandoned manor. “There’s about three or four bandits keeping an eye on her from different points. Tressa, give me your money bag.”

“What?!”

“We’re pretending to be merchants on behalf of an apothecarial group. Set up shop, Alfyn provides the wares,” he explained, his hand still stretched out, expecting the robust pouch of leaves. “Got it?”

Tressa backed away. “And you? What do you want my money for?”

Therion rolled his eyes at her. “I’m going to buy weapons, obviously. Or do you think your little walking stick and his unsharpened axe are going to do anything when we’re facing them off?”

She seemed to still be fervently against the idea, until something caught her attention. Then, she muttered under her breath something that vaguely sounded like ‘godsdammit, Professor,’ and very reluctantly handed Therion the coin pouch, her eyes murderous as she did so. “Meet us back here in fifteen at most, or you’ll regret it.”

Turns out he had been right. The impromptu weapon upgrade saved their hide once they infiltrated the Obsidian’s manse, allowing him and Primrose to stun and distract their enemies enough for Alfyn and Tressa to deal the heavy hits. He had to give it to the girl, her uptight sense of morals and justice could be overbearing, but she knew how to pack a punch.

As for the apothecary – well, there were definitely many praises to be sung about him, but he wasn’t ready to unpack those opinions about the sunshine medicine man.

Turns out they had been right to be wary of Simeon, too. The man had stabbed Primrose, much to her surprise, and fled the scene before any of them could catch him. The woman, who had been too hasty to talk a lot with Therion, now lay on the floor, her fresh wound threatening her life. The thief was quick to throw his poncho at Alfyn and then discard his shirt, using it as a makeshift bandage to stop the bleeding.

Now, in the Forsythe household, they had sent Tressa to ask for some wet cloths and a bowl of clean water while Alfyn cleaned up Primrose’s wound and told Therion to help himself to his belongings – he could wear Alfyn’s sleeping clothes until they bought a replacement for his shirt.

“How is she holding up?”

Alfyn sighed. “Well, she’ll live. I still need to stitch up the wound, though,” he said, then turning around for a moment when the door opened. “Oh, Tressa, there you are. Just leave the cloths over there. Actually, could you give Prim’s wound one last wipe? I’ll be over there in a sec,” he requested.

Therion nonchalantly took one of the wet cloths from the bowl and walked over to the dancer’s unconscious body, ready to help. Alfyn’s stern expression of focus dropped in an instant as he spotted the thief’s movements.

“Wait, no! You might be our-!”

Chapter Text

A flash of white transported Therion from the Forsythe Manor to a different house, the sky pouring with rain outside, the sight of the Flatlands vaguely recognizable through the soaked windows told him he was still within Noblecourt, albeit some details about the city were quite different, namely that it didn’t look half as abandoned as it did in reality.

A young girl with brown hair and olive eyes waltzed in the hall, the elegant Sunlandish rug in the middle her stage, the nobleman with a fond smile sitting behind his desk her audience. She couldn’t be much older than ten, and yet she seemed to have mastered whatever traditional Flatlandish dance she was performing already.

Once she had finished, she bowed politely, and then broke into a giggling smile. “How did I do, Father?”

“That was beautiful, Primrose,” the man said. Why don’t you go show your…” -a loud thud interrupted his words, followed by a woman’s shriek- “Dammit,” he mumbled under his breath. “Stay here and don’t make any noise. I’ll be right back.”

He left the room, leaving a distressed Primrose panicking, not knowing what she was supposed to do. Had that been her mother who screamed? Was everything alright? It was no secret to her that the reason her parents had asked a trusted fellow noble family from Grandport to instruct her in wielding battle fans was the criminal organization in that very town known as the Obsidians, though she had never expected having to deal with them. Not so soon, anyway.

Therion hesitantly walked up to her, resting his hand on her shoulder to get her attention. She jolted away from her panic, looking around, trying to find whoever it had been. Therion, rather confused by the whole ordeal, glanced at his own hands, seeing they were nearly transparent.

“Are you… my soulmate?” she asked in hushed whispers. Therion didn’t know how to answer. “You’re the first one that talks to me,” she giggled. “I’ve been waiting for any of you for so long!”

Suddenly, the rest of the manor was completely quiet. Worryingly quiet. Therion took the girl’s wrist and pulled at her, trying to get her to hide somewhere. Much to his surprise, he felt an all too familiar hand doing the same. What the hell was Hawk doing here of all places?

“You’re weird. Both of you,” Primrose hummed, pensive. “I’ll call you Fuzzy and Strength until I get to meet you.”

Therion wasn’t quite sure which nickname corresponded to whom, but if he knew anything about Hawk, he would absolutely associate her with strength. So, he would have to reluctantly accept the remaining name bestowed upon him.

A man kicked the door down, dragging Primrose’s father along by his hair. “So, Geoffrey. Tell us where the tome is.”

After that night, Primrose’s life had been unspeakable horrors once and again and then some more. Orphaned at a young age, her family’s influence stripped away in a single night, her hometown taken over by criminals, every single person she had ever met in whom she could trust all of a sudden missing or dead.

Her older sister had taken her work in the Royal Academy as an excuse never to step into the Flatlands again. The Forsythes went into hiding before the Obsidians could target them. Even her dance instructor suddenly needed to go back to Grandport, and couldn’t take her along despite the several times she had promised she would some day take her on vacation to meet that beautiful city of commerce.

Primrose Azelhart, now just Primrose, growing under the care of a kind elderly woman who lived in lower Noblecourt. She wasn’t exactly sure why, but she was well-respected by everyone in town, enough that even the rumours about the Obsidians taking over the town watch didn’t faze her in the slightest.

The only connections to her past that stayed by her side were Fuzzy, Strength, and Simeon the gardener, whom Therion recognized as the man that would stab her several years into the future. Every day that he visited Primrose, every day that he tried to be by her side, Therion scowled and tried to draw her attention to other things that didn’t involve the traitorous poet.

And yet, the only time he tried to actively prevent them meeting by trying to keep Primrose at home that day, Witch swatted his hand away from her and allowed her to meet Simeon, much to his surprise.

First and foremost, because soulmates couldn’t touch each other, or so was the extent of his knowledge. Then again, Witch was a very unusual man…

Then, because why would he allow such a thing to happen? Whenever they met, Therion would have some strong words to say.

Marguerite, the kind woman who had taken her in, died of poisoning a few years later, the feather of a crow the only hint as to who the culprit had been, not an oversight from whoever the assassin had been, but a message to the young girl that they had not forgotten about her, that they were coming, that they were unstoppable.

“If they’re bent on this, then I’ll just have to move faster,” Primrose determined, choking back her tears of rage. “But… for tonight, that can wait. You guys…” she spoke, relieved at feeling the seven ghostly presences gather up around her. “Can I get a hug?”

In one of Marguerite’s diaries, she had recorded rumours of the Obsidians visiting the infamous tavern at Sunshade. Primrose never told anyone of her plan, smartly wary of anyone trying to get on her trail, though she found ways to wordlessly confide in her soulmates.

Cuddles, Breeze, and Moss seemed to be incredibly against the idea, instead pointing her hands towards that royal city marked clearly on the map, Atlasdam. Knight, Hawk, and Witch approved of her idea, however, and spent whatever time they had left training her, albeit the former was the only soulmate who did it wholeheartedly, fueling her desire for revenge.

Therion? He didn’t care to argue with the other ghosts. He was just a thief who only knew how to survive, and that was what he would assist Primrose with no matter her decision. By that point, he knew she would grow to be the soulmate that pulled him out of his grief after Celia’s death, the one that had reached out to him when he was dying, the one who was always there to support and encourage him.

And he would be fucking dead before he didn’t return the favor.

“Faith shall be my shield… thus is my house’s wisdom,” Primrose muttered, then looking up at where Therion stood, despite being unable to see him. “Thank you, for having faith in me.”

Sunshade had the potential to be a bustling city overflowing with commerce, if it weren’t for the tavern’s reputation overshadowing anything else. One of the provisioner companies for the Marsalim palace hailed from that very town, for fuck’s sake! But no, everyone’s attention was always drawn to that lawless tavern, manned by one of the worst people Therion had ever had the displeasure of meeting. Drawn to their star dancer, who vowed to endure anything for the sake of vengeance.

Whenever the desert nights became too cold to bear under those crappy blankets the tavern provided the dancers, Therion was right by her side to keep her warm, infusing his presence with his fire magic, as though the calm warmth from a fireplace.

Whenever her fellow dancers made Primrose’s life even more hellish, the thief’s hand was ready for Primrose to take, a silent support to lean on, a familiar comfort that would never abandon her, even if half the time it was out of duty more than anything else – dancers’ quarrels weren’t exactly Therion’s favorite pastime.

Whenever bandits threatened the safety of the tavern, and in turn the safety of Primrose’s only lead to justice, his fire made her fury burn brighter, bravely defending what she stood up for.

And when she hesitated to share her burden with Yusufa and take the opportunity to follow the man marked by the crow, Therion pretty much pushed her towards the discreet exit out of the tavern. When she sank her dagger into her employer’s body, Therion was nearly clapping and cheering for her to have avenged her nightmarish time at the tavern, as well as her friend.

When she refused Tressa’s offers to take longer rests and buy warmer clothes, at the excuse of needing the perfect dancing garb to call upon Sealticge’s blessings, Therion broke through her stubbornness and kept her warm with ghostly fire. It wasn’t as though she could physically push her soulmate’s help from the future, anyway.

When darkness enveloped her world, Simeon’s accursed blade imbued with the same magic that had tried to drain Therion’s life away, it was him reaching out to her, leading her back to the present day, encouraging her to keep having faith in herself.

“Fuzzy?” she asked, groggy, as she regained consciousness. Therion stood up from the chair in which Alfyn had sat him on after he collapsed. They locked eyes, instantly recognizing each other. “Therion!” she called out, tears welling in her eyes.

The thief had to remind himself she was still injured, so he couldn’t exactly throw the both of them into a tight hug. No, they had to settle for an embrace just as meaningful, but a lot more careful instead. “Primrose… I admire your strength. Thank you for everything.”

“Feeling’s the same,” she muttered, patting his back as a sign that she had to let go, the pain in her abdomen still flaring up.

The sound of Alfyn setting down a flask of medicine shook them from their thoughts. “Welp. Welcome to the family, buddy! I tried to warn ya about this whole… memory rundown thingy, but I guess there’s no need anymore.”

Realization dawned on Therion’s face, looking back and forth between the apothecary and the merchant who was very clearly waging a war against herself, unsure whether to feel scalding, boiling rage at being soulmates with a thief, or the general excitement of finally meeting another of the supposedly most important people in her life.

“You’re the plant,” he said, pointing at Alfyn. “And your hat! That’s the feather!”

“Yep!” Alfyn beamed. He started rolling up his sleeve to uncover his soulmarks, crowning his muscled arm. “Wanna tell us which one’s you?”

Therion needed a moment to process the offer. “Um… I don’t see why not,” he settled to say as an answer, and walked towards the apothecary. “No… none of those…” he muttered to himself as he looked at each mark, matching them with the descriptions that Darius had once given him. “I think that’s the only one I don’t recognize, so that must be me,” he said.

“Figures you’d be the red apple,” Tressa deadpanned. “See, Alfyn? My intuition’s always right! I told you this was no common thief!”

“Tressa, ya can’t just accuse a man of crimes while simultaneously claimin’ he’s our soulmate. I kinda thought the mushroom stew we had for breakfast had gone bad for a moment or somethin’,” he joked, Primrose trying her best not to chuckle.

The thief sat back down on his chair, trying to process the several years that had passed before his eyes in apparently a matter of minutes. “So, you’re after revenge, and I’m doing errands,” he started, pointedly ignoring Primrose’s glare at the way he made light of his own situation. “What about you two?”

The two travelers in question exchanged a sheepish look. “We’re kind of just… seeing the world,” Tressa admitted. “Well, I’m currently looking for some unique stuff to sell at the Merchant’s Fair in Grandport, but I kind of just stumbled into that… Medicine man over here just wants to go around helping people.”

“You betcha!” he said with a smile. “You’ll find out the details later, pal, but the gist of it is that they met in Stillsnow, and then we ran into each other when I was visiting Goldshore. Say, you haven’t met any of the others yet, have you?”

Therion groaned, leaning back against the chair, rubbing at his temples. “No, but I know who one of them is,” he admitted, much though he was still uncertain about the Ravuses. “Look, I’m just here to steal an heirloom from some guy on the lower parts of town. I’ll be in and out in like, twenty minutes.”

“Oh, no,” Tressa rushed to block the doorway, mirthlessly laughing at the idea. “Listen, I may not like your whole… you? But you must be out of your mind if you think we’re just gonna let you leave like that. There might still be Obsidians out there.”

“…You know what? I’ll humor you,” Therion grinned, much to her annoyance. “I want to know how you go from hating my guts to the soulmate I grew up with.”

“I don’t want to hear any of that!” Tressa retorted. “Any kindness I once extended to you? It’s gone after what you did!”

He seemed quite puzzled at her outburst. “What I did? I had never even fucking met any of you before today!”

“Oh, that’s rich from you, thief boy,” she said somberly. “D’you wanna know what it feels like? To have the person you considered a brother betray you?” she snarled, marking each sentence with a jab at Therion’s chest. He huffed, quite familiar with the feeling, not that she would know. “If your memory’s so bad, maybe ask that little redhead friend of yours, you-”

“That’s enough, Tressa!” Primrose cut her off. The merchant seemed surprised, considering that the dancer of all people knew the best what she was talking about. “I’m sure there’s some sort of explanation to all of this, but until then, I don’t want to hear you bringing up that incident again. Do I make myself clear? Now, unless you want to stay here and help the Forsythes do their chores, you should get ready. We’re going on a heist.”

“Uh, Primrose, I don’t think you’re hale ‘n’ hearty enough for-”

“Don’t worry. You’ve done an amazing job, Alfyn, but she is also in the room, you know,” she said flatly. The thought of the same soulmate flashed in their minds, though neither of them said a word, rather embarrassed to share the nicknames that they had given to their soulmate. Cuddles, Flame, Light, Lantern, either way they were familiar with her wondrous magic.

Thief and dancer were waiting for the scholar to give them the key and the password while Alfyn and Tressa stood guard outside.

He sighed, never one to find gratitude easy to express. “Why’d you snap at Tressa like that? She’s probably just a kid and doesn’t know better.”

“…I saw your life, Therion,” Primrose muttered, trying not to get their conversation caught by the man working on his weird concoctions. “Just as I’ve seen hers. Confusing as it is… she’s right to be angry, but that doesn’t make it okay to jab at your story unknowingly.” She leant against the wall. “Or rather, I wasn’t gonna let her do it knowing what you’ve been through. Besides, it helps no one if you’re fighting all the time.”

“I am worried,” he confessed. “How did she know about… him?”

Primrose glanced away. “When we were crossing through the Riverlands, a gang of thieves attacked us. They were led by a man… slightly taller than you, also cloaked in purple, who threatened to send his boss after us. Darius of the Ciannos, he called him,” the dancer informed, grimacing at the way Therion paled at his name. “In all honesty, I thought it would be a good idea to lure you into battle, and take you out after dealing with the Obsidians. Three-on-one? Pretty good chances.

“But now that I’ve seen your past… I’m nearly certain that it wasn’t you. Not that anyone else would know,” she said, heaving a dejected sigh.

“I thought he’d done it out of necessity, that we could meet up again once things were safe. If all of you were okay with that,” he chuckled. “But… he did it for power. God fucking hell, I need a drink once we’re done with this.”

Primrose tried to offer a comforting smile. It definitely felt weirder to do that in person instead of as a ghost. “I know how to make a mean cactus cocktail, if you’re up for it.”

“I’d love that,” Therion grinned. “Y’know, Goldie, you’re very fun to hang out with. I’m glad we were soulmates, and not just because of the whole surviving thing.”

She laughed out loud, to which the scholar grumbled not-so-discreetly, trying to focus. “Same, Fuzzy.”

“Hey! Just because I know fire magic doesn’t fucking mean-”

“But you are fuzzy,” she smiled innocently, running her hand over his hair, ruffling it, much to his dismay. “Anyway, let’s get your stone and get out of this place. I don’t think I want to stay a day longer in this region.”

Compared to the security in the manse, not to mention the Obsidians themselves, dealing with the greedy scholar was a piece of cake. And it was even easier traveling back to Bolderfall, despite the fact that it drove Therion up the wall to stop at every single damned town to restock on supplies for everyone, help every sick or injured person, and scam the townsfolk out of their money selling the random things they found on the road.

So much for morals, Tressa.

Then again, it probably said something about him that he preferred finding a nice cave to settle in than bother going to a town’s market and stay a night at the local inn. But today was not the day to unpack that.

“You know, it was pretty satisfying watching you tell those two where to shove it as a ghost,” Primrose commented as they walked up the stairs to the Ravus Manor. “Can’t wait to see it happen in person.”

“Eh… I can already see her smug fucking face as soon as she sees you with me,” Therion sighed, not looking forward to it. “Worse comes to worst, Alfyn can deck them in the face with his axe.”

“What?!”

“Chill, medicine man. The blunt side won’t injure them… too badly,” he hummed.

Said and done, Cordelia was eyeing the four of them back and forth, her mysterious power cluing her in as to their connection, prompting a ‘told you so’ expression plastered on her face. In the meantime, Heathcote dutifully set the dragonstone on its pedestal.

“Just four to go, huh?” she commented, though neither of them humored her. “Well, I must say I was surprised to see one of your soulmates was none other than Lady Azelhart.”

At the mention of her name, they drew their weapons. Given the fact that she had yet to explain what her family’s deal with the purple-haired woman was, it wasn’t completely out of the realm of possibility that the Ravuses shared some sort of link to the Obsidians. To their relief, they were rather confident that the four of them could burn down the place if they so needed.

Cuddles, Hawk, Knight and Witch were in the room, as they could feel their presences, though they remained silent, warily watching over the event. Although their help was always welcome and cherished, it was also rather ominous, for soulmates tended to show up whenever there was danger present.

“Out with it, Ravus,” Therion growled. “What’s the next errand for your little magic family?”

“I can only dream of the day where you’re not mad at me for my little necessary deception,” she sighed, turning around to rummage through the abandoned riches beneath the sheets of white cloth that draped over the unused furniture. She threw a hefty pouch of leaves in the air, which the thief caught. “Then again, I also hoped you would view saving the world as more than enough payment for this.”

“The next target is located in Wellspring, deep into the Sunlands. It’s a bit… in the middle of nowhere,” Heathcote intervened. “If you run into white sand? Wrong direction. Run into the outskirts of Marsalim? Wrong direction. End up in Sunshade? Wrong direction. So, I would recommend you stay around in Saintsbridge for a few weeks to gather information.”

Alfyn had to put his hand on Therion’s shoulder to prevent any of them from lunging at the butler and noblewoman duo. Tressa was distressed at the idea of running into those thief gangs again, Therion was firmly against ever setting a single foot in that town again, and Primrose felt both of their rage as though her own.

“I proved to you I held the Seer’s power, didn’t I?” Cordelia said to Therion. “And today, I’m very capable of doing that again. How else would I know that you’re Lady Azelhart? Or that you, miss merchant, are keeping a very rare, magical stone in your bag? Or even the fact that-”

“You keep givin’ us reasons to point our blades at you, that’s what you’re doin.’”

Cordelia took a deep breath, and raised her hand towards the sky, letting her soulmark shine again. “This is usually forbidden, yet you offer me no choice,” she sighed. “I vow, in the name of the Starseer, that no lives shall be lost during your visit to Saintsbridge.”

Once that was done, Therion broke out in laughter, much to the Ravuses confusion. Alfyn smiled smugly, being the one that convinced the thief to accompany him to visit some patients back in the Woodlands, where some elders informed them of that year’s pilgrimage. Seeing as the Flamesgrace cathedral had recently spread the news about the event, the Flamebearer was certain to arrive to the Riverlands any day now.

“Of course we’re going. We gain soulmates and a lot of leaves, after all,” Therion said. “But it’s always nice when someone makes our work easier. You know, you rely so much on your abilities as a seer that you can’t see a fucking inch in front of you, huh? I told you before, hiring me would’ve done the trick without revealing your precious secrets.

“When your blood betrays you, you learn to save up your trust for those who deserve it.”

Cordelia seethed at the comment. “You know nothing of my family! I’m choosing to trust-”

“That’s enough,” Heathcote intervened. “If you won’t be on your way now, I shall have you escorted by our guardians and curators.”

Chapter Text

Being back in the Riverlands was like a breath of fresh air for Alfyn, immediately snatching a table at the tavern and ordering his friends a plate of Saintsbridge’s famous hot spiced fish with river beans for them to eat.

As for the rest of them, they were at least relaxed after scamming Cordelia into wishing them good fortune, and quite delighted by the food served at the tavern – in part, because it was Alfyn’s treat, in part, because it was absolutely delicious, and in part because it was the first proper nice meal between them, an unspoken bond connecting the four travelers.

Not to mention that Knight and Hawk had practically dragged them to their seats while Alfyn ordered, so they trusted they would be safe.

Their post-meal banter was cut short, however, when a man outside the tavern yelled in agony, the heavy accent coating his words and the distance between them and wherever the man was slurring his words together into an unintelligible mess. They were very certain, however, that half of what he said were creative curses that failed to reflect the full extent of his excruciating pain.

They exchanged concerned looks, and when a middle-aged man bearing an apothecary’s satchel sauntered into the tavern, completely unfazed, Alfyn bolted up from the table.

“’Scuse me, sir,” he said as he approached the man, who pointedly ignored him. “Sir? Are you not an apothecary?! Don’t’cha hear the cries of an injured man outside? Or are his ailments beyond your knowledge?! For Dohter’s sake, tell me if that’s the case, so I can help him!”

The man scoffed. “If something were beyond my skills, then you’d have no hope of curing it even in your dreams, lad,” he said, then downing the drink the barkeep poured for him. “He has a bad cut on his torso, it’ll probably bleed out in less than two hours. Alas, I won’t waste my salves on a criminal.”

“Oh, you son of a-”

“Easy, Tress,” Alfyn said, putting his arm in front of the merchant. “Get our stuff, let’s go help ‘im. A true apothecary heals friend ‘n’ foe alike.”

Thus, the four of them rushed out of the tavern, not even needing to look around that much to spot the wailing man leaning against a random abandoned cabin. A disheveled mat of ruby-red hair crowned his head, almost as dark as the growing pool of blood staining his clothes.

He rushed to his side, checking over his injuries. “Name’s Alfyn, a travelin’ apothecary. Hang on there, pal, I’ll patch you right up.”

“Yer a mighty kind man, Alfyn,” he said between grunts and heavy breaths. “Call me Miguel. I was out for a quick hunt when-”

Tressa rolled her eyes. “Save it. No beast’s claws look like that – and believe me, I’ve seen some fearsome beasts,” she said, crossing her arms across her chest. “Call it a hunch, but that looks like an attack from the Ciannos.”

Miguel chuckled bitterly against his body’s protests. “No use in lyin’, eh? Well, lass, yer right. That bastard boss of ‘em and his fuckin’ lapdog got me unawares. ‘F I were a weaker man, I’d not be here to tell ye the tale.”

“Trust me, we know,” Primrose said, kneeling down to help Alfyn while the other two kept handing them whatever they needed from Tressa’s stuff, the same batch she had hoped to sell after she managed to convince Alfyn that no, he already had dozens of bottles of plum extract, he could part with some to pay the inn fees. “The bladework isn’t that impressive, but there’s magic left into the cut.”

“Yer all bein’ mighty kind, knowin’ I ain’t no hunter.”

“We’re the last people on the planet who would judge a bandit,” Therion deadpanned, though not missing the opportunity to give Tressa a side-glance. “Some of us, ‘cause it’d be hypocritical. Sunshine here ‘cause he helps literally anyone.”

Alfyn cleared his throat, ignoring the half-compliment. “I hate to bear the bad news, but… This is a very nasty wound, not to mention the spell cast on it. We might need to ask ‘er for help,” he said, reluctant. The four travelers exchanged hesitant looks, but figured there was no harm in trying. He turned back towards Miguel. “Alright. We’re gonna take you inside so I can stitch your wound,” he explained, and then did a quick consideration of his friends’ heights. “Therion, lift from his other arm. Prim, Tress, help us with his legs. Let’s try not to move ‘im around too much. Everyone ready? One, two, and up we go!”

Not too long after, Miguel’s cut had been cleaned, stitched, and bandaged, and a warm cup of tea steaming with a strong scent of grape was periodically brought to his lips for him to drink. His eyes stormed with internal conflict, yet the gratefulness shone through despite it all.

“She’s not responding to me either,” Therion sighed, a bit annoyed at their predicament. “Though I doubt it’d be of any use if she did. I’m no healer.”

“Did… Quill,” Alfyn tried, uncertain as to how they should refer to their soulmates so it wouldn’t be as confusing nor embarrassing, “not teach ya his communication thing yet? It’s darn handy for things like these, and almost everyone’s picked it up at this point.”

The thief gave him a pointed look. “Either I haven’t had the time or the will to sit down and learn some tricky shit like that, or maybe he saw it was more important to teach me magic,” he huffed, “not that I’m happy about how strict he gets,” he added under his breath.

“What’re y’all so hushy about?” Miguel groaned, trying to reach out for the cup of tea by his side, wincing at the dull ache that had taken over most of his torso by now. At least it had died down compared to earlier. “’F I’m gonna die, I’d rather ye tell that to my face.”

“Nah, I wouldn’t let ya,” Alfyn said, almost absent-mindedly. The shock in the man’s face was apparent, though only Therion and Primrose would recognize the surprise of a stranger caring that much. “But you might get some lasting damage since it was so deep, not to mention the spell. We were just… hoping to get advice from a soulmate,” he said sheepishly, “since she’s an expert healer and also deals with more magical stuff than I do.”

Miguel sighed, lying back down. “All the sappy shit I hear while I’m out workin’… never thought it’d come in handy, and yet here I am, huh?” he chuckled mirthlessly. “Soulmates won’t do shit for ye just all willy-nilly. If ye’re lucky, they’ll do something when you’re in dire situations or need tips for yourself. They ain’t gonna babysit yer entire life,” he said as though it were obvious. “If ye ain’t, though, like me… they won’t give a damn,” he added, scornful.

“There is another option,” Primrose intervened, albeit hesitant. “Do you think the priests at the cathedral will be too busy after the ceremony?”

“Oh, there’s no fucking way any of ‘em will take mercy on me,” Miguel retorted. “They uh… Ah, well, lately they associate any bandit with the Ciannos. Won’t bat an eye for someone who’s hurt this town that much.”

“We know someone who would,” the dancer said pointedly. “In exchange-”

“Primrose, we’re not withholding treatment from-”

“Shush, Alfyn. We’d appreciate it if you were kind enough to tell us some things once you’re feeling a little better, though,” she clarified. “Just some information on the people you surely wish to take revenge upon.”

“…Fine.”

The sense of peace, community, and awe brought by the ceremony of the Kindling, the blonde cleric performing its rituals in front of the cathedral’s altar, making the Sacred Flame burn all the brighter, warmer, and more soothing than before, was quite the stark contrast to what happened afterwards.

Tressa ran up to the apothecary, out of breath as she had run back to find him in a frenzy, quite alarmed by something. “Alfyn!” she yelled from afar, air burning her lungs as she tried to regain her composure, slowing down as she approached. “Alfyn, thank gods I found you. She’s…” the young merchant tried to say, though her sentences were broken up by her breathing. “She ran after some kids that went missin’… The townsfolk said that there’s a… really fuckin’ big monster in the Murkwood where she went… We gotta help ‘er.”

“Egads! Did anyone follow her?”

“No… Primrose and Therion are still trying to find you. It’d probably be pretty weird and dangerous to follow her alone.”

“Pardon me,” a man spoke up as he approached them, worry clear in his voice. “I could not help but overhear your conversation. I sincerely hope my intuition is in the wrong, but… might you be referring to the Flamebearer?”

Alfyn and Tressa exchanged a quizzical look before answering. “Yeah, why?”

“I can only hope H’aanit is on her trail. Let us make for the Murkwood post-haste,” the man sighed, motioning for the taller man accompanying him to follow. “Thank you for the help.”

“Aye,” the other man said with a short nod, then handing them a small leather pouch. “Here. We were hoping to aid you in rescuing the kidnapped child, but… I’m afraid this is all we can do.”

Alfyn extended his hand to receive the present, face lighting up as he recognized the flasks of pomegranate essence and other expensive ingredients underneath. “Gods a’mercy, this is a lot! Thank you kindly! May Dohter see you all back safe and sound.”

As the duo disappeared back towards the upper part of town, Therion and Primrose arrived, asking wordlessly who those people had been, relieved to have finally found their friends.

“Just a knight and a fancy-robed scholar,” Tressa said, knowing the weight her words carried.

Therion whistled. “Foreboding.”

“Look, let’s just get goin’ to the Rivira Woods before Miguel…” Alfyn didn’t have the heart to finish the sentence. The other three travelers nodded, making haste towards the outskirts of town that would lead them there.

As it turned out, the mercenary had a reason to be so nonchalant about his work. There was no need for secrecy when he could hold his own against four relatively seasoned fighters while severely injured.

“Ugh!” Tressa huffed as she parried one of Miguel’s attacks with her own spear. “I just don’t get why bandits like you are so fond of backstabbing people!”

“Doesn’t matter why, what matters is makin’ sure the kid stays safe,” Alfyn said, raising a wall of ice to shield himself from an incoming attack. It would be impressive, the way Miguel could handle himself so well, if he weren’t fighting them. No, for now it was only worrying, the apothecary having to resort to throwing a vial of blinding dust over the ice, hoping it worked.

Primrose gave a dejected sigh when noticing that the concoction did nothing, Alfyn’s previous remedies still potent enough to deflect the half-baked store-bought paste. “Well, he is associated with the Ciannos. If they hear word that he’s alive and against them, he won’t be soon,” she offered, her sentences paused as she focused on the moves of her dances, invoking a cloud of darkness that effectively rendered the mercenary blind for a few seconds.

“Could be,” Therion said, calling forth a blast of fire that hit Miguel squarely in the chest, “but I think it’s something else.”

“Like what?” the merchant questioned, heaving heavy breaths as she took a moment to regain her composure. She had experience sparring against fellow merchants, but mercenaries weren’t exactly her area of expertise. Perhaps she should’ve taken Leon’s offers of sparring together instead of trying unsuccessfully to set up shop in Victors Hollow.

Therion snuck away from the fight and towards Primrose, shielding herself behind the dense greenery from where she could cast her spells, and did a quick incantation that his mother had taught him long ago to boost her magical stamina. “Well, remember how pissed you were that we ended up being soulmates? Despite that, you’re still here.”

“…Well, duh. People can do better,” she said, thinking of Leon’s words about his vow. “So, I guess I can trust fate on this one. Still waitin’ on you to give me a reason to trust you fully, though.”

In an instant, Miguel was next to them, swinging at thief and dancer with a bloodthirsty smile. He managed to twist away in time and dash out of the mercenary’s range, but Primrose was only quick enough that she got hit with the wooden part of the spear. Even so, Miguel’s strength was enough to send her crashing into a nearby tree.

“Fuck,” Therion hissed under his breath, regrouping with Alfyn and Tressa. “Well, I happen to know that Miguel’s soulmate is a total jackass with enough charisma to convince a direwolf to bark like a puppy.”

Another hit headed towards Alfyn, this time stabbing through the apothecary’s abdomen, much to the other two’s distress.

“Besides, when Primrose was stabbed, did you two not feel her pain?” the thief asked, gesturing with his hands to Tressa for them to split up into the dense woods around them.

“… Same thing happened a longer time ago, your soulmark started aching a lot,” Tressa admitted, readying a wind spell into her bow.

“The pain of nearly losing a soulmate is unbearable,” Therion deduced, “either physically or… just the idea of it,” he added, feeling Hawk’s and Witch’s hands on his shoulders, proud of his observations. “Like a dog to its own vomit, he’ll go back to the Ciannos even if it hurts.”

Tressa fired the spell, giving away Miguel’s position. She chuckled to herself something along the likes of ‘gotcha!’ and then readied her polearm. “Sucks to be him,” she said, promptly dashing in front of the mercenary. “Catch me if you fuckin’ can.”

“Oh, ye smug little-”

In an instant, she was gone, as though nothing other than an illusion, and in her stead Therion was ready to strike with his dagger, a dreadful fire burning in his eyes. Against the speed of the thief, there was not enough time for Miguel to react. He was not a religious man, but it felt as though Aeber had finally shown himself to cast judgment upon the bandit, and not in a favorable way.

Next thing he knew, he was unconscious, Therion having hit the side of his head with the blunt end of his dagger. As he watched the man collapse on the floor, he breathed a sigh of relief, leaning back against a tree.

“Can’t do it,” he said, anticipating Tressa’s intrigued question. “I’m a thief, not a murderer. I’ll spare you the details, since you might see those later… but when I was a kid, my mother made me promise I wouldn’t. Never understood why, but it’s certainly brought peace to my mind.”

It was always Darius who sometimes returned to camp with bloodied hands, too absorbed in the spoils of his quest to care about Therion’s face of disapproval.

“Won’t judge you,” Tressa said flatly, then approaching Alfyn to rummage through his satchel. “I saw him use this before, though. Prick the jerk and there’ll be absolutely no way he’s going to surprise attack us.”

A hearty dose of slumberthorn later, he walked towards the apothecary while Tressa carried Primrose and the child closer to where they were, both still unconscious.

“So, what now?”

“Fuck if I know,” Therion said, looking at Alfyn’s bleeding wound. He sighed. “I… have a crazy idea.” He took the merchant’s silence as a nudge to continue. “Cordelia said no one would die in Saintsbridge, right?”

“…Does this place count as Saintsbridge, though?”

Therion glanced away. “Exactly. So… I’ll rely on something else. I’ll do our whole soulmate thing while you go back to town with the kid. If the Flamebearer’s back, bring her here, otherwise hire a healer.” He raised a finger before Tressa could object. “I’ll be fine, Tress. Miguel won’t wake up, and nothing’s gonna happen. You and I have been in each other’s lives as ghosts, right? Then it’s guaranteed I don’t die here and now.

“Besides, after I watch Alfyn’s life, I’ll have some basic knowledge of medicine to help once I’m back.”

“…Fine,” she sighed. “By the way, one for yes, two for no.”

He’s familiar with the sight of a Riverlandish thunderstorm.

Only gods know how many times he had been there, shivering at the cold seeping in through his tent, trying to shove away the sneaky, annoying thought of suggesting he and Darius stave the cold together by snoozing off in the same tent. He was grateful that soulmates couldn’t hear his thoughts, and only hoped that he hadn’t been too obvious in hindsight.

What he wasn’t familiar with was seeing tears rolling down the blond kid’s face almost as heavy as the rain droplets rolling down the windows, his eyes red and puffy from how long he had been sobbing.

“No, I can’t,” he said, although there appeared to be no one nearby. “Mom’s still out, ‘n’ I don’t know where she put it.”

Oh.

Now that was something Therion could recognize. He had never been particularly talkative, so it wasn’t as common for him as it was apparently to Alfyn, spending his time openly talking to his soulmates.

“Stop!” he cried out, moving his arm as though he were trying to shake off someone’s invisible hand. “Just leave me alone, Inky. Zeph’s too mad to ‘talk it out’,” he said, mocking what seemed to be the ghost’s suggestion. “That goes for you too, Light. I didn’t get hurt or anythin’.”

Hesitant, Therion approached. Whatever was going on, being warmer wouldn’t make things worse, right? Besides, he wasn’t going to try and talk to Alfyn, unlike the soulmates he assumed to be Witch and Cuddles, he was just going to keep him company for a bit. So, he sat down and hugged the kid, not a word spoken.

“…! Who’s there?” he asked, turning around, although by now he knew he couldn’t see any of his soulmates no matter how hard he focused. “You’re… warm,” he said, relaxing a little. “Oh! It’s you!” he giggled. “I was worried. I met everyone already, I didn’t know when you’d come!”

Not knowing how to respond to that, Therion simply ruffled his hair fondly, earning a laugh from Alfyn.

“You’re nice,” he said flatly, much to the thief’s surprise. “I was plannin’ to call ya Apple or somethin’, but that doesn’t fit you. You’re Sunshine now,” he declared, leaning back against the wall where he had been sulking, into the comforting warmth. “Y’know, I usually like rain. Smells pretty amazin’, doesn’t it? But nothin’ beats a good day by the stream under the sunlight.” His expression then dimmed. “I can’t do that now, though. Zeph’s usually there, and he probably doesn’t wanna see me again. Oh, right, you don’t know what happened, do you?”

It took Therion a moment of wondering how to speak with the kid when he remembered Tressa’s advice. He tapped twice on Alfyn’s shoulder.

No.

“I guess I can tell you, but only if you promise to be cool about it!” Alfyn said. Confused, the thief traced a question mark on his arm. “Inky usually grabs my hand and writes out advice,” he said. Clever, Therion thought, but definitely not something he’d be patient enough for.

No, he tapped firmly.

“Great!” Alfyn beamed, then frowning again when remembering the situation. “Y’see, my best friend Zeph has… had, this wooden doll he really liked. We were playin’ earlier and I dropped it and the river carried it away and he got mad and ran home and doesn’t wanna talk with me,” he explained, tears welling up in his eyes again. “If he’s mad at me, then Mercedes will be mad at me, and then Meryl too, and then everyone and I just-”

Therion ruffled his hair again, for he didn’t know how else to draw Alfyn’s attention away from the cascade of worries thundering inside his mind. ‘You worrywart,’ he thought, and then gently lifted his hand to point towards the window.

“The storm… it calmed down. They always do.”

Yes.

From that point onwards, Therion pretty much became a heating pad more than anything else, seeing as Alfyn didn’t really need him to watch out for stuff like Primrose did. No, when he was out foraging for stuff, Hawk was the one who took over guidance.

Still, it made him smile to see that Alfyn was always the bright, kind person he would meet later in life.

Even if sometimes it surprised him to think that a child so inquisitive, so bright, and undeniably so goofy at times would grow to be the man that essentially raised him. Huh. Turns out putting more than five minutes’ worth of time into thinking about the logistics of soulmates made things quite strange. Anyway.

He drifted through Alfyn’s life rather quickly, only really keeping him warm company whenever he felt isolated, his mother busy working while he stayed home studying hard to become an apothecary, or having to go gather stuff alone while everyone else did other stuff.

Therion quickly learnt that the reason behind Alfyn’s constant worries and pressure on himself to be as useful as possible were his parents, Oliver and Maria, both reformed bandits that had caused quite a terror when putting Clearbrook as their mark. And yet, the village renowned for its kindness to travelers and bandits, offering homes and second chances, took them in. The elders at the time made it clear they were welcome, though it was clear some villagers didn’t share the sentiment.

For fuck’s sake, the day of Oliver’s funeral, only about half the town cared enough to pay their respects. Amongst them was Zeph’s father, who in an ironic twist of fate turned out to be his and Maria’s soulmate, thinking of them as his siblings, greatly mourning Oliver’s passing. Perhaps that also explained why Alfyn was always looking out for Zeph, trying to do well in his eyes.

Truly, Maria had the patience of a saint, every day attending the tavern to sing to the people that had turned a cold shoulder when her husband died.

It made his blood boil, that the townspeople had inadvertently caused Alfyn to grow up with the insecurities he hid so well from everyone, even from his soulmates, putting on a kind smile for everyone. As the saying went, the smaller the town, the larger the nightmare.

He never requested it, but Therion was always by his side whenever he needed reassurance.

The day he messed up the delivery of Zeph’s letter to Mercedes, once more curling up into himself in the corner of his room, Therion was there, a hand on Alfyn’s back encouraging him to cry but not allowing him to go on without taking care of himself.

The day Maria died, only Zeph, Meryl, and Magg showed up to the graveyard to mourn with Alfyn, leaving it at a grand total of eleven people if he counted his soulmates. They were there, offering the support they always had shown him, solemn.

Therion couldn’t help but wonder, seeing as Alfyn’s sense of worth came largely down to his healing capabilities, whether he saw his and Tressa’s independency when it came to sustaining themselves as a relief or as a worry that his efforts weren’t as needed. He made a point to make sure he never felt that way with them, or ever again, so long as he could help it.

The day Nina was bitten by that wretched viper, other than remind Alfyn to take a break and let Zeph handle stuff, Therion was there to encourage him to travel the world. He knew how much he loved that town, how much he loved his two best friends that still lived there, but he wasn’t about to let him spend the rest of his life amongst people that had treated his family the way they did. Besides, his soul ached to help the world, to learn about every remedy in every region, and he needed to get out of there in order to do so.

Did Mercedes leave in a similar manner? Chasing after her love of knowledge whilst escaping a town that didn’t do that much for her.

It became apparent why Alfyn’s soul mark on their skins was a dandelion instead of literally any other herb. So resilient, so bright, and thriving once he was set into freedom, seeing his life not as aimless so much as divinely guided, aiding anyone who needed his help.

For the first time in ages, not to repay an unjust debt that wasn’t his, but to bring succor to those he came across.

But just like storms cleared up and brought calm skies, bright days eventually faded into the darkest of nights. And as Alfyn traversed through the Riverlands, collecting ingredients for his remedies and aiding everyone he came across, his frown deepened and his stress built up, pressuring himself to work harder, faster, better.

Tired after a long day of work, he let himself collapse on the bed, gazing up at the ceiling of the inn’s room, hoping that the deeper he sank into the mattress the better sleep he would have. Therion, with a fond smile, sat beside him, laying the man’s head on his lap and trying to soothe his mind by playing with his hair. However, Alfyn yanked himself away from the thief.

Hesitant, Therion reached out to trace the shape of a question mark, but decided against it, waiting for the apothecary to speak instead.

“All this time,” he mumbled under his breath, “all this time there’s been so many people in the world that needed an apothecary, and where was I? Dilly-dallyin’ around in pity!” He huffed and turned over, away from his soulmate. “And you didn’t think to tell me earlier? Did you wait ‘til leaving would feel like abandonin’ Zeph in a time of need? I’m workin’ my ass off tryin’ to make up for it and you just saunter in here to coddle me,” he accused, tears welling in his eyes. “Well, guess what! I don’t need your sappy shit now, I need to work. So shove it and get off the bed already!”

Hurt, Therion did as told, trying to leave the room and spend the evening by himself. However, as fate would have it, when they were ghosts, they could interact with nothing but their soulmate. Instead, he settled for curling up by the chimney, where his presence would be as hidden as it could be.

And he didn’t interact with Alfyn again during the rest of his stay in the Riverlands, nor while he crossed half the continent, all the way until he was deep into the warmth of the Coastlands. In a way, the humid heat of the region made it all the easier not to feel guilty, for Alfyn probably didn’t need his warmth whatsoever, reducing the pit in his stomach considerably, albeit not entirely. It still hurt to see him in need of help and have to restrain himself from offering it.

Goldshore was tough.

With so many clerics and foreign apothecaries coming and going, his services weren’t really that needed. Then, there were the two girls that had arrived out of nowhere, bumping into him at the markets, an instant flash of recognition as they saw the feather of Tressa’s hat peeking out from under his sleeve.

It wasn’t that he didn’t like them, at all. He really did, they were very admirable people. The thing was that they were a bit hasty to fulfill their connection and travel into their pasts, and now the anxiety was eating up Alfyn’s brain as to whether or not they had seen that, and if they did, how longer it would take until they brought it up.

“Hey,” he said one day at last, as they lazed around without much to do. “Have you had any contact with our soulmate?” he asked, understandably receiving only quizzical expressions for an answer. “Um, the apple guy,” he clarified.

“Um, yeah, almost every day,” Primrose said, intrigued by his question. She wouldn’t admit, however, that she had been asking for reassurance, for bravery, as they drew closer and closer to her hometown.

For his part, Therion’s thoughts wandered into the strange logistics of soulmates, and how he was essentially by both Primrose’s and Alfyn’s side in such similar time frames. Hells, he could be in seven different places right now! Unnerved by the thought, he shook himself back into the conversation.

“Same, talked to him this morning,” Tressa said flatly.

Alfyn sighed, covering his face with his hands. “Then I fucked up, big time.”

“Maybe you just… don’t really need his help at the moment?” the dancer offered.

“No, no, that’s not it,” he groaned. “I actually maybe really need him because I can feel he’s been here for… weeks, maybe even months. But he’s avoiding me.”

“And why would he do that?” the merchant questioned, her voice letting them know that she was aware of something, somehow. “Why would our dearest soulmate avoid you, hm?”

Not elated about her interrogation, he sighed. “Shucks… Well, I kinda maybe definitely told him to fuck off,” he admitted. Tressa whistled for lack of words. “I was going through some stressful times and I exploded on ‘im…”

“Honestly, I’m surprised you haven’t apologized.”

“It’s… complicated.”

“The fuck it isn’t,” Tressa huffed. “So long as it’s a heartfelt apology, I’m certain he wouldn’t hold a grudge for it. ‘N’ if you’re worried about making it up to him then like, don’t overthink it. We’ll meet him one day, there’s not much point in breaking your head asking how to do something for him while he’s just some ghost.”

Alfyn found himself sitting by the lapping waves of the beach, pensive.

He kept failing.

Another apothecary had done a better job than him when it came to treating a seriously ill child, while he could only heal Ellen’s scraped knee. Tressa had gotten angry again about using so many of their leaves on buying medicine supplies, and Primrose was refusing to take any of his remedies despite arriving from the tavern clearly worn out after so much dancing – they knew she wanted to work herself to the bone so that exhaustion evicted dread from her mind.

And he still couldn’t apologize to Sunshine.

He was a total wreck, and this time there was no one he could turn to. Every time he took a misstep, every time he needed to steel himself before solving things, Sunshine was there to offer him comfort until he was in the headspace for it. But when it came to mending things with his soulmate, what was he supposed to do?

“You look sad.”

“Huh?” Ellen’s voice had surprised him, so he turned around looking for the source of the voice. “Oh, it’s you. Hi there, how’s your sister doin’?”

“Better! Miss Hysel’s medicine was great!” she beamed. “You’re a pock-a-therry too, no? Why don’t you offer to help her? Mom always says working together is best!”

Alfyn gave his best smile, though it was visibly sad. “Ahaha, I tried, but she declined.”

Silence.

“So? Why are you so sad, Mr. Pock-a-therry?”

For a moment, he debated brushing it off, since the kid didn’t need to trouble herself with his worries. Then again, it was clear she would insist until he fessed up. “I got into a fight with someone I care about a lot. ‘N’ I dunno how to fix it.”

“Who?” Ellen asked, frowning in anger. “If someone hurt Mr. Pock-a-therry, I’ll make sure they regret it.” To that, Alfyn gave her a worried look. She immediately lightened up. “Oh, Mom says the worst thing you can do is hurt someone who helps people.”

“Heh… she’s a very wise woman, your mom,” he said, choking back his tears. “But no… he’s always lookin’ out for me. That’s why it hurts so much that we got into a fight.”

Ellen mouthed a long ‘oh’ as she heard that, then sitting down next to Alfyn. “So he’s like a pock-a-therry for a pock-a-therry… I didn’t know that was possible…

“Anyway! I think you just gotta tell ‘im you’re sorry!” she suggested. “Mom’s always takin’ care of me and Flynn, but when we’re causing trouble and she gets angry, we give her the prettiest seashells and hug her a lot and say we’re sorry. Maybe you can do that!”

Alfyn wasn’t so certain he could give a ghost a seashell. Then Tressa’s words echoed in his mind. “…Y’know, you’re right Ellen, I think I know what t’do now. You’re a very smart and kind girl,” he smiled, ruffling her hair.

That day, he whispered something only for Tressa and Primrose to hear, making sure to stay away from them so that his soulmate – whom he knew was still hanging around somewhere – couldn’t peek at what they were doing and ruin the surprise.

Later that day, as the sun set on the horizon and the hues it cast on the sky gave the sand a truly golden glimmer, Alfyn went to the beach, sitting on a nice, quiet spot.

“Sunshine?” he asked out into the air. Therion hesitated for a moment, knowing he was waiting for a response.

Yes.

“Oh… glad to see you’re here.” Alfyn smiled. “Look… I’m really sorry. All my life you’ve given me kindness, and I just threw it back in your face. I never shoulda lashed out at ya like that,” he admitted. “I hope you can forgive me… and that we can meet sometime soon so I can give you this as a promise.”

From his satchel – when did the girls find the time to sneak that without him noticing? – he retrieved a pair of objects that looked like some sort of friendship bracelets. Woven into it were the prettiest seashells that Therion had ever seen, approved by both twins when Tressa asked for their help in picking them out. Primrose had been the one to make them afterwards.

“So, what’cha think? Can we be buddies agai-”

Therion cut him off with a tight hug. Alfyn smiled. “Missed ya, Sunshine.”

When he joined in as Primrose and Tressa praised him for figuring out Vanessa’s schemes and putting a stop to them, proud of the apothecary, Therion smiled. They were a family, after all, and they were back on good terms. Oh, how wonderfully natural it felt.

Chapter Text

With the sight that welcomed him into the world, he almost thought he was still in Goldshore, completely forgetting the fact that they had been in the Riverlands beforehand. There was a lot of heat, he noticed, albeit it was dryer. There was gold sand everywhere, yet the air lacked a taste of humidity and salt.

Fortunately, it also lacked that oppressive aura from Primrose’s memories of Sunshade.

“Where the fuck am I?” he asked, sitting up from the unknown bed he was lying on. “Ough!” he yelped, taking a moment to process that the merchant had thrown the both of them into a hug. “Tressa? What in the-”

“I’m so glad you’re okay,” she said, and as soon as he noticed the rasp in her voice, he hugged back on reflex, even if still confused. “You’ve been out of it for weeks, you bastard!”

Tressa let go, backing away a bit, knowing Therion wasn’t too big on physical contact. Sure, his soulmates were an exception, but he was only really used to that while they, or himself, were ghosts traveling through each other’s lifetimes.

“Told you I wouldn’t die,” was everything he could come up with. She rolled his eyes, and then he heard Primrose chuckling into her hand, sitting on the opposite side of the mattress, eyes shining with that same happiness upon seeing him wake up. “Where are we, though, seriously. And why are we here?”

“Good morning, Therion!” an unknown man greeted as he entered the room. Judging from the relative quiet outside and the lack of a glaring light, they were most likely in an inn bedroom. “My sincerest apologies for startling you. My name is Cyrus Albright, a scholar from Atlasdam. Me and my companions joined the three of you after the worrying events that took place in Saintsbridge. We stayed enough for the injured to be stable and most of the unconscious to recover completely, but we required to move on, so Tressa here hired a carriage for you and Alfyn while we made our way here, to the town of Wellspring,” he explained, setting a tray with a teapot and a few cups on the bedside table. “This is plum and pomegranate tea, for you.

“Now, if you’re interested in the full extent of the details, Tressa ran up to us in Saintsbridge asking for our help, since you three were in the Rivira Woods, and considering the feather on her hat and the absolutely wretched ghostly pain we had felt earlier, we quickly realized that the four of you were also our soulmates, which-”

Therion’s groans interrupted his cascade of words. “Oh, my fucking gods, take it easy! You must be the quill with the ink, huh?”

“Why, yes!”

“…Are the others here?” the thief asked, surprised by the lack of a monologued answer.

“Yes. My – or rather, our – traveling companions are in the other room, watching over Alfyn as we speak.”

“He… he hasn’t woken up yet?” he asked, worried. Tressa and Primrose glanced away, solemn.

“I fear not. He suffered a deep wound, and while Sister Ophilia is an excellent healer, the only medical knowledge we had at hand were Primrose and Tressa’s memories. Not to mention that you both were deep into the soul mark’s spell,” Cyrus informed. “However, seeing as you have woken up, I reckon it won’t be long before-”

A soft knock on the door cut the professor’s words again. He settled for pouring a cup of tea while Primrose got up and opened, Therion only seeing the silhouette of the visitor, strawberry blonde hair cascading over a strong frame, taller than the dancer.

“Hath he awoken yet?” she asked softly. “Alfyn was very desperate to seen him. Olberic had to keepen him down whilst Ophilia reminded him of his injuries.”

“Yes, come in.” Primrose then turned around to face the thief. “Therion, this is H’aanit. Are you feeling well enough to go see Alfyn?”

He downed the cup of tea, relishing the warmth it brought into him and the instant boost to his energy, and set down the cup. “Yeah, sure. Nice to meet you two,” he added, giving a slight nod towards Cyrus and H’aanit each.

The dancer and the other woman guided him towards the room next to theirs, where a tall muscular man and a blonde cleric were checking over Alfyn’s bandages. Therion noticed quickly the lantern resting atop the table, a blue flame quietly burning inside, as well as the long sword attached to the man’s hip. There was also a fucking snow leopard and a wolf sleeping by the window, trying to stave off the desert’s heat.

When he and Alfyn locked eyes, the apothecary started crying again. “Therion… Gods a’mercy,” he said, not knowing how to condense his thoughts into words. “I told this to Prim and I’ll tell it to you, I promise I’m never gonna leave you alone, y’hear?”

“I should be the one saying that,” he hummed, sitting down by his side, opposite to his wound of course. His eyes drifted towards the bracelet the apothecary wore, not having paid much attention to it before. “How are you holding up?”

On one hand, it was a very strange experience to meet the rest of his soulmates in a single day, the skepticism and distrust of talking to a stranger intertwined with the familiarity and the care he felt towards the people that had been there with him nearly his whole life.

On the other, at least it was a good thing to be able to place names and faces to the marks he had on his back, no longer having to refer to them by their nicknames. An opportunity to truly get to know them – as exciting as it was frightening.

There was the Flamebearer on her pilgrimage, always offering kindness to everyone, so polite and so gentle and so virtuous. Ophilia Clement, was her name, and Therion could tell there was something else going on with her, especially with the way she immediately offered him apple slices and a bright smile, or readily scolded Tressa for her remarks about his profession. No doubt crossed his mind that she was Cuddles.

There was the scholar, a royal professor on ‘vacation,’ so passionate about learning and sharing his knowledge, giving pointers to his companions on spellcasting that were impressively helpful. Cyrus, whom he had always known as Witch, with a sharp mind that exceeded any of their expectations, time and time again surprising them with his clever. Still, Therion hadn’t forgotten that he would ask him about some of the strange decisions he had made as a ghost, even if now it came from a place of curiosity about his reasoning.

There was the knight, apparently some legend from the fallen kingdom of Hornburg, Olberic Eisenberg, the Unbending Blade. “Never heard of you,” he told him nonchalantly, “but I guess it must be true. You did teach me to use this thing,” Therion said, showing him the short sword. He was especially relieved to have learnt his name, decidedly declaring ‘Knight’ a bit of a delicate nickname considering his sometimes fearsome quest for revenge.

Well, to be fair, it wasn’t just revenge. There were definitely some undertones of wanting to know, to understand, why his brother-in-arms had done what he had done. But he digressed.

There was the huntress from the hidden Darkwood town of S’warkii, oftentimes keeping to herself, otherwise spending time with Hägen, the wolf, or Linde, the snow leopard, clutching her traveling satchel tightly. She was rather aloof, her silent care reflected as she brought most of the hunted down meat they had for meals, and Therion couldn’t help but wonder what changed between now and the moment she became Hawk.

But he supposed there was no use in rushing fate, so he focused on what he was there to do. While Olberic conducted his own investigation, he was quick to gather information on the black market where the next dragonstone was supposed to be. And, as the time for preparations came, so did that wordless but knowing awkwardness they shared, knowing each other although not quite.

It certainly felt weird to suggest a plan taking into consideration what Cuddles and Witch and Hawk and Knight and Breeze would do, only to see that Ophilia, Cyrus, H’aanit, Olberic, and Tressa seemed to act as expected for the most part. He was almost sure they thought the same about him, finding it amusing that such a snarky, distant thief would act like the kind-hearted guy they knew he was, even if he himself wouldn’t quite describe his personality that way.

“Very well. H’aanit and Sir Olberic shall handle the hunting duty at the lizardmen’s den, and Alfyn will accompany them in case there’s any injured people,” Cyrus hummed, jotting things down on yet another of his thick journals, though reasonably leaving out any details that were best kept a secret. “Tressa is persistent on sneaking some valuables away from the market, and Sister Ophilia could offer her healing capabilities in case of an emergency, so they go with Therion.”

He sighed. “I can only hope future me has taught your past selves how to sneak around.”

“Don’t worry, I’ve dealt with pirates before,” Tressa smiled smugly. Therion didn’t relax at the comment, knowing the straightforward way in which that had likely happened.

“I would suggest Primrose accompany Olberic’s team for backup, while I go with the others. Should anything go wrong, my magic will serve as firepower. And if they go not that badly yet still suboptimal, I have confidence we could pass as more customers for a certain someone in Atlasdam, much though I loathe the idea.”

Therion threw open the door to the room, him and Tressa dropping off the bags of provisions and other helpful stuff they had gathered around town. Much to their surprise, they saw that they seemed to be taking turns activating their soul bonds, guided by whatever sort of knowledge Cyrus had about it – seriously, how did that man know so much about everything?

“What’s going on here?” the merchant asked, hesitant.

“Oh, Tressa, Therion!” the scholar greeted. “Well, given that we intend to keep traveling as a group for the foreseeable future, and since we had naught much to do but wait, we decided to travel to our respective pasts. By no means will we force you to do it if you’re averse to the idea, though.”

Therion looked around. In one corner of the room, Olberic and Alfyn were still deep into their magical slumber, the apothecary’s head having fallen down to rest against the knight’s shoulder. On the other side of the room, H’aanit and Primrose were just idly chatting as they waited for their turn, not yet comfortable with showing each other their pasts. Tressa had already nonchalantly walked over towards Ophilia to get started on it.

“Really, if you do not wish to, I could instead help you organize the provisions, or-”

“Look,” he sighed sharply. “Something tells me I should prepare myself for this encounter, so I’m willing to do this with you to hone my magic,” he said, walking over towards the scholar, sitting down in front of him cross-legged. “Now, how the fuck does this actually work?”

“Magnificent foresight!” Cyrus appraised. “Well, we need only make contact with the other’s blood while holding the intent of either help, guidance, or understanding in our minds. Focus on your marks. And, if you would be so kind, take out your dagger.”

Turns out that the instant teleportation into the past was just as dramatic and dizzying no matter if it was done on accident or premeditated, the Sunlandish decorations on the room swiftly transforming into lavish furniture not unlike that which had adorned House Azelhart when he traveled to Primrose’s past. Well, no, that was a lie, that manor was visibly more opulent than the Flatlandish home he was in at the moment, but to him any fancy place where nobles lived looked the same.

“Cyrus! Could you heat up the stew again?”

“Cyrus! Her fever’s back up!”

“Cyrus! It’s so cold in here!”

“Cyrus!”

In just a morning, Therion was already so exasperated by the Albrights that he had half a mind to convince Cyrus to sneak off into the town square for a few hours of relative calm. Alas, such was life when, out of five siblings, he was the only one that the gods had blessed with affinity for magic. What’s more, affinity for two different elements.

Of course, he could never blame his parents, tired as he was of this routine. Robert was busy training the new recruits for the royal guard and Melinda was working as an apprentice in the smithy, so keeping track of the household fell mostly on his and his older sister’s shoulders.

“Oh, Flame help us,” she sighed, pinching at the bridge of her nose. “We’re out of firewood. It’s already so late, too! I’ll have to run to the markets tomorrow first thing in the morning… Cyrus, I hate to ask, but could you-?”

“I got it,” he said, rolling his eyes as he walked over to the kitchen. Knowing himself tired, he opened a familiar porcelain jar. “Oh no…” he muttered to himself. They were out of plums, too. “Layla!” he yelled out to her, but she was probably too far away to hear him. “We’ve got a problem!”

Still no answer. Fuck.

Therion, quite familiar with this problem, and thanking Alfyn for the many times he had to watch him prepare this concoction, looked over at the open cabinets to see if there was any trace of what he needed. Once he saw the familiar jars, he practically whooped in victory. Drawing his attention back to Cyrus, he nudged him towards the cabinet.

“Who’s-? Oh! Nice to meet you!” Cyrus smiled. Well, color him impressed! Even if just a child, he seemed to realize immediately that it was his soulmate speaking to him. The boy then lifted his shirt, revealing the seven marks below his ribcage. “Which one’s yours?”

Therion poked at the apple. Then, not keen on slowing things down for the already chaotic household, he nudged Cyrus towards the cabinet again, much to the boy’s insistence that there were no plums in there. The thief chuckled, already knowing that, guiding his hand towards a different, elegant jar.

“You want me to eat this? No way!” Cyrus backed away. “That’s Rivenese fruit jam! A nobleman gifted it to Father! He’ll be mad if he notices I ate some!”

Therion insisted, this time putting his hands over Cyrus’ to guide him, inspired by what he had seen his future self do to communicate with Alfyn as a ghost. Knowing already of the tales that spoke of soulmates holding important wisdom, Cyrus acquiesced, taking out the medium jar from the depths of the cabinet, an elegant tag hanging from its neck. Rhiyo’s original, it read, promising the refreshing effects of Rhiyo the Healer’s legendary remedies, nothing short of a miracle.

‘Just a spoonful… and then you shake it like this so it looks untouched,’ Therion explained, even though he was well aware that his ghostly voice couldn’t reach Cyrus. The kid seemed elated at the discovery, or perhaps at the excitement of doing something forbidden, and then savored the sweet, rich taste of the jam on his mouth.

After such a delightful treat, it was no difficulty to blast some fire under the cauldron to heat it up, his magical stamina replenished.

A teenaged Cyrus argued with his parents, sulking as he leaned against the desk in his room, looking away from them with a slight pout on his lips.

“Please reconsider, son,” Melinda pleaded. “I can put on a good word for you next time they visit the smithy.”

“But I don’t want to be an apothecary! My wish is to hone my magic at the Royal Academy so that I can brave the world and discover the history of every region!” he retorted, hoping with all his heart that he could change his parents’ opinion.

Robert sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. “You need to understand, Cyrus. We’re not as affluent as we were before, and you going to the Royal Academy is not in the realm of possibility. We already owe your aunt so much-”

“But Father!” Layla interrupted him, trying to stand up for her brother. “Lucinda works as a huntress and Lily is an appraised cook at the tavern! We might not be as wealthy as we once were, but that’s no excuse to shut off his dreams! It’s no different than when Louise left to Flamesgrace!”

“The Church of the Sacred Flame takes care of her entirely; the Royal Academy is not the same.”

“Exactly! Between all of our jobs, we can manage!” she insisted. “Cyrus has always been looking out for us – mostly because you’ve always thought his magic could make him excel as an apothecary, don’t think I haven’t noticed – and I say it’s time we have his back. I don’t mind shouldering more chores around here, honestly.”

“And what will happen when you get married?” Melinda retorted, earning an exasperated groan from her daughter as she rolled her eyes. “The only way in which the Albright name can keep its weight afloat would be if Cyrus becomes a renowned apothecary!”

Layla gave a bitter laugh. “So, what? You’re just hoping he becomes some merchant selling overpriced medicines? Thank the Flame that he doesn’t take after you, then,” she spat, rumors like wildfire around town that the quality of the smithy’s products just wasn’t like they used to be, that it made sense considering the smith was the wife of the royal knights’ captain, trying to bleed the royal coffers dry.

Melinda slapped her across the face, enraged.

“Back off!” Cyrus snapped, standing in front of his sister. Therion put a hand on his shoulder, fueling the fire inside him, a shared flame of support. “I don’t care what I have to do, I know my destiny lies in the Royal Academy, and that’s final.”

His father squinted at him, a sourness in his voice. “So that’s why you’ve changed so much. One of your soulmates surely poisoned you with the idea, huh? You don’t even know them and yet you’re ready to trust them more than your own blood! Is that it?!”

“I still love all of you!” Cyrus protested. “But they’re my family too. When Layla and I had to essentially run this household alone, they were the ones offering me support.”

Melinda broke into silent tears, but Robert seemed too mad to even register his words. “I bet it was that thief with the dagger mark manipulating you!”

Therion clenched his fist, keeping the crescendo of flames in his palm. For a moment, he wasn’t sure whether he was thankful or pissed at the fact that he couldn’t deck Cyrus’ parents in the face while he was still just a ghost. He was not going to let them talk about Primrose like-

“Don’t you dare insult her!” Cyrus snarled. Therion noticed that, as he was still gripping the boy’s shoulder tightly, surely a lot of his own flaming fury had been shared with him.

Before anyone could notice, before any of his soulmates could warn him, Cyrus had involuntarily set the furniture behind him ablaze. Startled, the family ran outside the house, watching the fire start to consume the room where it had started. Cyrus, in a panic, called for his gelid magic, an avalanche of solid ice piercing through the windows as it extinguished the fire.

Whew, that was close. But hey! He was proud of himself for managing to do such a –

“What have you done?!” Robert wailed. Oh… right, the house was still quite damaged.

At the very least, the damage to his room served as an excuse for Cyrus to move into his aunt’s house, much to his parents’ disappointment and embarrassment. At the very least, his sisters had hugged him goodbye as he bid his farewells to them.

At the very least, his soulmates were still there.

He hadn’t lied about what he told his father. When Geoffrey Azelhart all but kicked them out of Noblecourt, when their smaller house in Theatropolis became even more hectic, when his sister Louise parted ways with them to become a cleric in Flamesgrace, when the whole world seemed to be against Cyrus, his soulmates were there for him.

Therion was there for him, offering the strength to stand again alongside Primrose, offering the warmth and love he deserved alongside Ophilia, offering the watchful eye against any dangers alongside H’aanit, offering the strength to stand up for himself alongside Olberic, offering the gentle reminders not to stay up late and take care of himself alongside Alfyn, offering a discerning eye alongside Tressa.

Offering him courage to pursue his dreams, to live his life to the fullest, to take risks and dares and challenges.

“Oh, Courage, you’re here!” Cyrus beamed, feeling his ghostly presence as he threw himself on the mattress that his aunt Beatrice had been ever so kind as to give him. “You’ll never guess what! Remember my cousin, from the grand theatre?”

Yes, he tapped on his shoulder.

“Turns out he has an old friend from Noblecourt that helped the daughter of Azelhart get into the Royal Academy! She’s an incredibly bright scholar, so he paid for every expense in the way,” he explained. “And he’s willing to extend the same kindness towards me! Isn’t that great?”

Yes, he tapped with a smile.

Therion jerked back into reality, only to find Cyrus with open arms, offering a hug. Huh? Oh, right, he kept forgetting that while he waltzed into their lives to offer help, they were stuck watching a disastrous tragedy. He accepted the hug.

“Warn a guy next time,” he hummed, much to the scholar’s confusion. “I didn’t know you were a history professor. I thought I was going to learn about, I don’t know, wielding magic.”

Cyrus laughed heartily. “Oh, my friend, you have my apologies. Such a subject is not many people’s strong suit, so do forgive me if I bored you.”

He gave a fond huff for a chuckle. “Nah, it’s fine. I might not have learnt what I expected, but I learnt what I needed. Got to hone my clever and strategy.” He shrugged. “Besides, watching you and Odette spar is a great way to learn defense, I guess.”

“Wonderfully said, my friend! There’s a lesson to be taken from nearly everything!”

A short silence fell between them as they waited for the others to come out of their own travels through time, dreading their upcoming missions.

“By the way,” Therion muttered. The scholar quirked an eyebrow, expectant. “You were the one who snuck some jam for us back in Saintsbridge, weren’t you? Thanks for that.”

Ah, so that was the purple-clad thief that Tressa and Primrose had been attacked by.

Fortunately, it meant Tressa would stop being so on edge around him, confirming with her very eyes that Therion hadn’t been the one back in the Riverlands.

Not-so-fortunately, he was facing off against Darius’ new partner in crime, albeit a more fitting title would be something along the lines of preferred lackey.

The physical part of the battle, that was easy. Tressa was in her element, keeping the handful of bandits away with her wind spells, only to then swiftly approach and attack them one by one, knocking them down with the body of her polearm and then landing a final attack on them. On the other side, Ophilia did something similar, surprising them with her skills as a staff-wielder, agile movements as she swept the floor with her enemies, metal slamming into their legs before blasts of blinding light knocked them out.

And, of course, as Therion drew Gareth’s attention elsewhere, Cyrus made flames and ice dance in his hands, the energy of the unfinished spells crashing into one another potent enough to invoke a crack of thunder that stunned the thief, giving an opening for Therion to lunge at him, dagger in hand.

“Focus two opposing elements together, a pathway opens for unbridled energy to shoot. Such is Alephan’s wisdom,” the scholar claimed once their enemies had been felled. “I wonder what would happen should one attempt this with darkness and light, or with wind and true lightning,” he then muttered under his breath, proceeding to unintelligibly ramble about fighting alongside Tressa and H’aanit in the same battle, or Primrose and Ophilia, or Therion and Alfyn. Perhaps it would somehow work, or perhaps there was a specific technique to cause the clashing elements to join strength instead of canceling one another. Much to think about.

But enough of that.

Once he and Tressa were regrettably certain that they had lost Darius’ track, they walked back towards where Ophilia and Therion were, the latter kneeling on the floor, processing everything that had happened with teary eyes.

The physical part of the fight was easy, but not the psychological one. He mourned for Gareth’s fate to have been this, and yet he was gleeful that such a life had been prevented from him in time. A pit of anger, of disappointment, of desolation boiled inside him, that Darius was oh so carefree, not a smidge of regret about discarding him, and yet he knew it would be worse for him if the redheaded thief showed a moment’s of emotion.

No, for his sake, he had to believe there was no way Darius regretted betraying, losing him.

He felt Cyrus’ arms wordlessly wrap around him, and he felt his own head resting against the scholar’s shoulder as he let it all out, sobbing and crying and hiccupping with tears while the professor offered him support. He certainly didn’t comment on the growing wetness where the thief’s face was buried, simply patting his back in a soothing motion, whispering over and over that it was okay, that they were there.

“I cannot thank you enough for dealing with the black market,” the blond knight said, welcoming them into Captain Bale’s office. A dancer they didn't recognize was sitting on the desk, kicking his feet absentmindedly. Judging by the lingering smile in the air, he must've had been talking with Erhardt earlier. “We had hoped to chase them out ourselves, but with the lizardmen continuously attacking closer and closer to town, we were far too worn out. And Olberic, from the bottom of my heart, thank you once again for helping me protect this town.”

“You’re most welcome, Sir Erhardt,” Cyrus accepted the gratitude on their behalf. “Now, I believe there was something you wished to discuss with us?”

“Aye,” he sighed, turning away to point at the map that hung on the wall of the room. “We believe that the bandits from the market are now dispersed near these parts of the desert,” he explained, pointing at some places north of town. “If you were to pass through there, you would most certainly be ambushed. Allow us to deal with them for now. So, if you have any business in the capital, rest assured that Marsalim is a very secure city. Otherwise, feel free to stay in Wellspring as long as you need.”

H’aanit cleared her throat. “Thanke thee for thy hospitality. However, I believe that ‘tis be perfect time for us to departen south. The Knights Ardante awaiten for mine arrival.”

“Understood. I wish you the best in your hunt,” Erhardt nodded, bowing slightly towards the respected huntress. “I have witnessed your capabilities, and I’m certain you will fare well.”

“…Thanke thee.”

Chapter Text

“Thank you, H’aanit,” Ophilia said with a smile as the huntress cut for the cleric her portion of that day’s breakfast. In the afternoon, according to their schedule, they would finally be arriving to Marsalim, but for now they were still making do with the caves they found.

“Thou art welcome,” the huntress said almost absentmindedly as she continued handing out their plates, aided by Therion who was attending the cauldron. “Thou shouldst’ve saiden something, Ophilia. None of us wolde have objecteden, and thou art surely aware.”

“I didn’t want to impose-” she began.

“Nonsense,” H’aanit said firmly. “Thou hast known thine entire life that I wolde not minden. Also, thou hast extended thy kindness to each and every one of us. Letten us doen the same for thee.”

“I’ll… keep that in mind.”

“I knowe it’s difficult, but so long as thou tryest, it’s good.” She smiled. “Thou art not alone, Ophilia. Thou canst relyen on us.”

“As can you, you know.”

She set down a big pouch overflowing with coins on the table of their shared inn room, much to the others’ surprise. She was then amused by what seemed to be a wordless battle between Tressa and Therion trying to properly manage their newfound wealth against Alfyn, whose eyes glimmered at the thought of buying exotic ingredients for remedies.

“I find myself quite impressed, H’aanit,” the scholar admitted, breaking her train of thought. “I reckon you made a profit of the carcasses of the beasts we felled on our way here?”

“Nay… Those leaves aren long gone,” she sighed, sitting down across from him. “In truth, I founde myself on the hunt once more. Confidence eludeth me, knowing we aren about to facen the beast even my master was unable to fellen. Such was the way I huntede dozens of beasts and solde their hides.

“By the by, Alfyn,” she raised her voice slightly, stretching a bit from her chair to make eye contact with the apothecary. “Wouldst thou be so kind as to sparren with me in the morrow? I wolde liken to practicen mine axe combat skills.”

“You got it, H’aan!”

“Thanke thee.”

“You know,” Cyrus intervened, an unusual seriousness in his face. “You did hunt a dragon, if you need proof that your skills aren’t in his shadow any longer. Not to mention the many more victories you have had along your travels – did you not face off that ethereal beast in the Spectrewood? Or that hellish plant in Victors Hollow? Or, I don’t know, a great part of those lizardmen wreaking havoc upon Wellspring?”

H’aanit glanced away with a huff. “Well, aye, but thou knowest I was not alone for any of those deeds. ‘Tis not a legendary prowess as mine master’s.”

“Did you not say yourself that Z’aanta was accompanied by a legion of knights to fight that dragon, even if they were knocked out after a while?” Cyrus deadpanned, a skill he had recently learnt and honed from Therion’s life experiences. “Or that his very stubbornness in facing Redeye alone was what caused his demise.”

“I…”

“You are an incredibly skilled hunter, H’aanit, and you fight alongside people that care about you and will stand by your side, myself included,” he said sternly. “Should anything go amiss, you also hold Susanna’s elixir. Please, take a moment to relax, lest you tire yourself before the actual hunt begins.”

“Even against impossible odds, thou art composed and confident of our success here.”

“I always am,” he said with a smile.

“… Thou art right, Professor. Thanke thee.”

“…”

“What?” Tressa asked, noticing H’aanit’s eyes on her.

“Just yesterday thou werest whining about the desert heat. Today, thou art playing with Linde and Hägen, and I finde myself envious of thy composure.”

The merchant couldn’t help but chuckle. “Yeah. But then Primrose bought me this nice dress for the heat, and I also remembered what my parents always do. I am from the Coastlands, you know,” she said. At the huntress’ curiosity, she continued. “When the summer hit Rippletide, my Ma always made stew and coffee – well, tea for me, until not long ago. Not as good of a taste as I expected, but it worked anyway.”

“Art thou suggesting I drinke a cup of coffee? In this heat?” H’aanit huffed. “’Tis be thy most vexing idea yet, Tressa!”

“Just try it. Or well, seeing as you’ve been very anxious about it all, you should definitely ask Alfyn for some nice relaxing blend of tea,” Tressa suggested. She sighed deeply, and then looked directly into H’aanit’s eyes, desperate. “I wish I had done the same. I didn’t know Sunlandish coffee was so damn strong. I’ve half a mind to go ask someone to do our soul bond so I can stop buzzing around.”

The huntress laughed heartily at that. “’Tis be just a hunch, but I suspecte someone mayhap playedeth a prank on thee, Tressa. Who bought thee thy coffee?”

She bolted upright, fury in her eyes, storming into the inn’s hallway towards the other room. “Therion, you little shit!” she yelled, the thief’s raucous, mischievous laughter echoing from beyond. “You’ll pay for this, you-!”

“I wondere…”

“Hm?”

“Speaking to King Khalim, it did reminden me of…”

“King Alfred?” Olberic finished the thought for her as they walked down the steps of the palace, to which she nodded.

“Aye. And of my Master as well, to an extent,” H’aanit added, memories of Z’aanta and of whatever she had seen of Olberic’s past as a ghost flooding her mind. Lately, it seemed that anything was quick to fill her thoughts so she wouldn’t worry about Redeye.

Olberic gave her an intrigued look. “And why would that be so?”

“They aren honest men, leading the people they aren meant to protecten,” H’aanit said. “Granted, my master doth have his share of flaws… But his strength and resolve aren to be admired, more so once the hunt begineth.”

“Venerable folk with a thousand qualities, eh?” the warrior hummed, then offering a smile. “I dare say, H’aanit, I find you are as honorable and wondrous as them, if not more.”

The huntress backtracked, stumbling over her own words in embarrassment. “Wh-Wherefore wouldst thou say such a thing? Dost thou intenden on mocking me with thy flattery? I wolde asken thou stoppest, Sir Olberic!”

He laughed heartily. “Nay. If you were to ask any of our companions, I stand quite certain that they would tell you the same thing.”

As they marched out of the city, H’aanit caressed the rings hanging around her neck, the wariness of the hunt settling in, warring against her resolve. In front of her, several lines of Knights Ardante stood with their weapons at the ready, guiding the way to the ruins where they had cornered Redeye.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Ophilia muttering prayers under her breath, so different and yet so similar to whatever Therion seemed to be directing at the heavens, likely one of those rituals to partake in Aeber’s luck and fortune that she had heard so much about, living close to the Cliftlands. Primrose, too, was deep in thought as she clutched her family’s dagger.

“Primrose.”

“Hm?”

“Thou didst tellen me recently about thy nickname for me as a child,” the huntress pointed out, “but I never didde tellen thee about mine.”

“Oh? What was it, then?”

H’aanit gave a fond smile. “Temperance.” This, of course, seemed to positively take the dancer by surprise. “Oft, I wolde firen mine arrows brazenly as soon as I saw my mark. Master was quite stumped trying to teachen me patience. But thee, Primrose, it was thy hand on my shoulder that stilledeth me and ensuredeth my victory.

“Perchance it is no mere coincidence, thy knowledge of the hunt taken from our time shared together,” she pondered. They had yet to do their soul bond, after all, and the longer they took, the more accustomed Primrose grew to working with her companions in battle. “Or perchance it was thine innate skills as a dancer, or as thyself. Either way, what I meane to sayen is… Please, trusten in thyself as much as I truste in thee. I know thou hast what it takes to doen this and more.”

The dancer smiled. “I don’t think I’m the one who needs that advice the most at the moment,” she simply said. “But… thank you. I am happy that my help was so appreciated.” She glanced up at the archway that marked the entrance to the Grimsand Ruins. “Now, our faith in ourselves shall be our shield. Let’s go.”

She grazed the rings one last time, feeling Linde reassuringly push her body against her leg. “Aye. Letten the hunt beginnen.”

“Aflyn,” she said as they ventured into the ruins, drawing her attention to where she stood, by the rearguard of the group.

“Yeah, what’s up, H’aan?”

“I wolde asken thee that thou keepest the remaining potions with thee,” she said, handing him two of the three bottles she had. “Thou art our apothecary,” she added with a weak smile. Sensing there was more to come, Alfyn waited. “Thanke thee,” she murmured, “for always taking care of us all. I knowe not what we wolden do without thee, both as travelers and as people. The gods blesseden us with amazing soulmates.”

“Shucks, H’aanit, I don’t know what to tell ya,” he chuckled, reddening on his face, scratching the back of his neck. “’M just happy to help!”

“Thou dost protecten us with all thou hast,” she observed. “May I asken thee, where doth thy confidence comen from? Thy bravery…”

He glanced away, dejected. “Thought ya would know by now,” he murmured, referring to the other day when they had done their soul bond. “I’ve always been… I’ve had to be good. T’least in my mind. So my confidence comes from knowing I became good at it – and that what I can’t do, I’ll learn how to.”

“I knowe…”

“As for the other thing… I ain’t gonna lie, H’aan. Some days, my fuel is knowing I have you guys with me. I’ve yet to make my peace with that… but whatever I work for, it still helps everyone. So, I don’t think too much about it.”

“I just… I thinke… Bah, words aren prey trickier to catchen than the most elusive of caits,” she huffed, annoyed. “Thanke thee… if anything, I knowe mine arrow wilt striken true.”

Alfyn gave a weak smile. “That’s the spirit! Dealing with the big trouble near damn always helps fix the more hidey ones.” He sighed. “And, ya know, you can always talk to us. You’ve always looked out for us – why not let us for a change?”

As yet another of those strange lizards fell to the ground, lifeless, and the depths of the ruins rumbled and growled, H’aanit yanked Therion from his wrist and hid behind one of the twisting corridors.

“What’re you doing?” he demanded to know, taken aback by her sudden move. Then, he noticed her unusually heavy, anxious breathing.

“These beasts aren… This place is so… unnatural!” she whisper-yelled. “I wishe not to be a downer, as thou sayest, yet I cannot helpe but thinken our skills aren no use against this foul beast. Master’s wariness was not enough, but wilt our confidence be? I wolde loathen if my quarry got all of you petrified.”

Therion sighed. “If there’s anyone in this world who can do this, it’s you. And you know damn well we won’t leave you alone. I’m not one to turn my back on people once they’ve gained my trust.”

“But, if this soureth…!” the huntress backed away, dejected. “Looken, just… humoren me this once, wilt thou? I wante not to failen without having fulfilleden my soul bonds,” she explained. “So please,” she said, taking out her axe, “whilst we aren able, still.”

“No.”

“What?”

“I’m not doing it,” he repeated with a carefree chuckle.

“What dost thou meanen by that?” she asked, genuinely surprised by the thief’s flat response, suddenly acutely aware of even the sound of sand falling from the desolate ruins. “Dost thou truly disliken me that much? I wolde’ve never thoughten it from thee… If thou wilt not honoren my request, the least thou couldst doen is not grinnen like a fool!”

“Hells nah,” he said, dropping back into seriousness. “Not mocking you. H’aanit, look at me,” he said, uncharacteristically holding her gaze for longer than five seconds. “I certainly had you in my life as a soulmate. I assume you had me in your past?” he asked, albeit not really giving the huntress the time to answer. “We won’t fucking lose against Redeye. But doing the soul bond now blows that guarantee.”

She hesitated for a moment, processing his words. “I wolde not be so sure when it cometh to such an unnatural creature,” she hummed. “Didst thou not sayen Cyrus himself was able to breaken some rules on soul bonds? He is a brilliant man, yet he wieldeth not any of this nightmarish witchery.”

“Oh, trust me, I know the risks. Fate is a fickle mistress,” he said, but then shrugged. “And yet, I believe in my god’s wit more than in any monster’s secrets.”

“…Thou art either venerably courageous, or outrageously dimwitted,” she said before she could catch herself. Huh. Well, there went the influence of a thief, a pirate-befriending merchant, a brutally honest scholar, and a ruthless dancer had on her. “Mine apologies. ‘Tis just that thy willingness to putten thyself at the mercy of luck is-”

“Not the first time it’s happened to me.”

“Whichever is the case, I find thy…” she started. Certainty? Carelessness? There was no succinct way of putting it, at least not to her tastes. Then, a certain woman’s words echoed in her mind, from deep in the past. There it was. “Thou hast a dauntless character, Therion, and I finde it unexpectedly reassuring.”

He grinned, much to her behest. “Happy to help. Now let’s get back on track before they think some fucking lizard got us.”

Holy Flame in Heavens, were those human teeth? And was that a thumb? It was also a rather flat-looking skull, certainly lacking the snout beasts often had.

“That is fucking terrifying,” Therion blurted out. He took a deep breath, trying to focus on the battle. He had a promise to keep, after all. “H’aanit, Ophilia, keep it cornered. Professor… you and I have some spells to cast. Call it a hunch, but this beast looks like it could use a little heat.”

Very few folk were resistant to flames and lightning, especially those lacking magic to deflect it. And that certainly looked an uncanny lot like a person.

“Please, let’s never do that again!” Tressa shuddered, spear still in hand as she refused to sheathe and strap it to her back until it had been thoroughly washed and purified at least a hundred times.

“Agreed,” Olberic hummed, giving his beloved sword a similar treatment. “Otherwise, I would ask that we buy a few several dozen soulstones.”

Therion, relieved that he had outdone their luck and didn’t have to go against Redeye on close combat, approached the huntress. She seemed to still be out of it, as though the strange ethereal goop in the ground, already vanishing away, would somehow reform. “Told you we could do it,” he said, shaking her train of thought. She glanced down to where her two white-haired companions stood, concerned about her – albeit Linde could only growl to show it.

“I…”

He grinned, proud. “Holy fucking shit, H’aanit. You did it!” he congratulated. “Let’s get out of here already, I need an alehouse and a bath and a feast – and then another round of those after we do our bond. I don’t want to see more gruesome beasts but I reckon I will, unfortunately.”

“What’s that about more beasts?” Ophilia questioned, alarmed, having caught wind of their conversation. Pale, the cleric looked around, warily brandishing her staff. Alfyn was quick to reassure her nothing was happening.

“…Letten us leaven this wretched place. Marsalim awaiteth.”

His demands – which soon became apparent were everyone’s wishes – met, Therion now found himself on a quiet Woodlandish town, a particularly cold winter breeze blowing through the lush trees outside. Still no sign of H’aanit, however, so he took a moment to steel his nerves. He liked to think that he had done a rather good job at being there for Alfyn. Now, it was time to repay the favor to the huntress as well.

Oh.

‘Well, this is awkwardly early,’ the thief thought as the slight movement nearby startled him. How had he not spotted the young girl peacefully sleeping under a mountain of blankets?

She moved again. “I knowe thou’rt there. Reflexes toldeth me of thine arrival,” she spoke in a soft murmur. “Comen. I wanne knowen who thou art,” she insisted, completely unaware that Therion was not afraid so much as baffled at the way her words slurred her dialect and her childish way of speaking. Then again, she seemed to be the youngest of any of his soulmates at the time of meeting them for the first time.

That bodes well, he told himself sarcastically, not wanting to dig up his own memories, the very same ones that H’aanit was surely watching now.

“’Ere,” she spoke again, lifting her arm out of the nest of furs wrapping her. Around her wrist, which was often covered in her leather gear, were the seven marks of her soulmates. He tapped on the apple. “Oh! Thy touch is warm. Doth a sleepover sounden good?” she asked, excited. “It’s very cold outside!”

He was still not getting used to this whole cuddling thing, even after years – did they really count as years? – of doing it. Still, there was almost nothing he wouldn’t do for them.

“Ah… thou’rt like a campfire, truly.”

When Susanna gave her a snow leopard cub, it almost felt as though the woman’s piercing eyes could very faintly see the soulmates floating beside her. She was quite the renowned seer, after all, not that it made it any more comfortable for Therion to be noticed as a ghost by someone else than his soulmates. But, if this was the woman that had given H’aanit the courage to continue, brewed those life-saving potions that prevented petrification, for the Twelve’s sake, and smacked some sense into H’aanit after her victory against the dragon, perhaps he could trust her.

She certainly didn’t seem like another follower of Steorra’s that he was unfortunately acquainted with.

“Gram-gram, where art thou going?” she whined, clinging to Y’nuush’s sleeve. The woman sighed and kneeled down.

“I knowe I saide that I wolde playen with thee, H’aanit, but thy master tooketh all the leftovers and the tavern openeth not today,” she explained. “Waiten for me, dear. I won’t be long.”

But she would be, and both of them knew it. No beasts came out of their caves on the midst of winter, and whatever roots grew thriving in the cold had already been picked by the gatherers. Still, Z’aanta’s master was a woman of unwavering resolve, and she always did deliver, a considerable amount of meat arriving at their home after each hunt – regrettably not as soon as they would want it to be.

So, H’aanit’s soulmates took over the duty of caring for her.

“Gram-gram tooketh her coat… She wilt goen to the Frostlands,” the huntress deducted. “I hearde them talking. When luck eludeth her, she asketh for Grandma’s help, where and when to hunten.” Even with Susanna’s help, however, they would need a miracle to make their household functional considering some of Z’aanta’s questionable choices.

As it turns out, soulmates, as part of Steorra’s domain, could technically classify as miracles.

“Wherefore art thou taking these?” the girl asked as she picked out the ingredients that a pair of ghostly hands guided her towards. “What am I supposed to doen with bait and lure?” She sighed, worriedly setting down the things on the kitchen counter. “I knowe it be thee picking these, Reflexes.”

It had taken the thief an embarrassingly long time to decipher that the soulmate that kept her company alongside him was Tressa. However, once he had figured it out, it was no surprise she would be familiar with the ingredients at hand, being not only a merchant but also good friends with the chef working at Rippletide’s tavern on her free time.

Goldshore seaweed, which they used for fishing. Corn from some traveling merchant’s wares, which was a remarkable lure for certain beasts. And those strange cacti H’aanit didn’t know the name of, very flat but very much thorned, which Y’nuush collected from a place near the Cliftlands to sell their dried fiber to the weavers.

“Art thou sure this is edible? I… thinke not,” H’aanit commented as she stirred the cauldron. She had yet to meet Alfyn and hear his advice on things having multiple, sometimes deceitfully concealed uses. However, his analogy to poisons and medicine probably wasn’t the best at the moment.

Admittedly, given the lack of spices and the generally less than appetizing appearance of the food from the very start, it wasn’t something Tressa would be particularly proud of. Her friend would probably praise her resourcefulness, but that was about it.

As for Therion, he would at least be satisfied with having taught H’aanit how to safely slice off the spikes from the cacti before cooking them, as well as keeping her bowl warmed up so the strange flavor could at least be relatively masked by the heat.

He didn’t comment on the irony of those same cacti being one of the first things H’aanit taught him to gather and prepare when he was a child himself, her insistence on roasting them probably coming from this very experience. He laughed at the thought. People often said food was a form of love that transcended through time, through generations, through people of any and all regions and backgrounds. And yet, he absolutely never expected to witness that first-hand.

Between Y’nuush’s busy schedule and upcoming retirement, Susanna’s own business far from S’warkii, and Z’aanta’s migraine-inducing gambling habits, it was nothing short of a miracle that they stayed afloat as a family, makeshift though it was. Their love and dedication to caring for the orphaned huntress was palpable, and yet they were only human.

They were also only human, so they vowed the same fervor as the other three caretakers, never letting the huntress’ sense of loneliness bring her spirits down.

“M-Me? Hunten down the ghisarma?” H’aanit asked, perplexed.

“Of course! Thou art our best huntress!” the village headman assured with a smile. “Not to mentionen that time doth flowen against us now, as the woods aren ravaged by the beast.”

Despite her insecurity, refusing to step away from her master’s shadow, Therion managed to encourage her to go ahead, Linde by her side, an axe held tightly in her hand and a bow and quiver full of arrows ready at her back.

“Hearth,” she called out to him as she delved into the woods. “Thou hast always been by my side, for which I’m grateful. I hope that, during my travels to draggen Master back home, we can meeten. I wolde repayen thy kindness with mine own,” she assured. Then, she glanced away. “However, I doubte thou wouldst readily accepten an inexperienced huntress by thy side. Wouldst thee?”

Yes, he tapped firmly, wishing there were a better way to demonstrate his seriousness about it. He guided her hand gently towards where her rings hung.

“A family?” she asked, a bit flustered. “Aye… I suppose I thinke of thee that way as well.”

P-r-o-u-d, he tried to trace on her palm, hoping it got the message across.

Hägen growled and whined and huffed at the stone, mournful.

Seven pairs of ghostly arms were wrapped around the huntress, offering her their support as she let her tears fall down to the ground, the sight of her petrified master too much to bear.

“All of you have my gratitude, from the bottom of my heart,” she murmured, hugging them tightly. “Always, your trust hath been bestowed upon me, even as I waverede. And I knowe,” -she sniffled- “that were I to stumblen along the path, never willen you abandonen me.”

Cordelia was practically bouncing off the walls with excitement as she watched seven silhouettes walk into the room behind the thief, ignoring the fact that none of them returned the sentiment. In truth, perhaps she was lucky that Z’aanta had volunteered to wait outside with Linde and Hägen, for neither of the three had the most patience with unsavory folk.

“Oh, fortune smiles upon us,” she said with a smile, “the world is another step to being saved and the eight of you have been reunited! Aren’t you glad you took the job?”

“Thou never gettest less insufferable,” H’aanit spat, shocking the noblewoman. With a flash of recognition, she knew they had done their bond already, if she harbored such vitriolic distaste for her already. “Nature findeth its way flowing alongside us, but it wilt hesitaten not to doen so even in spite of us. Thinken not thy influence so necessary.”

Cyrus attempted to diffuse the situation. “I have learnt that overfamiliarity might worsen things, and perchance it’s a lesson others could stand taking to heart. Despair may be your burden, but not only you carry one,” he said. “Earn trust by your own merit, not attributing it to the gods’ will or similar wounds.”

“I would know your pain, as I would know his,” Primrose intervened. Well, she didn’t really just know Therion’s past, she was there for it. But that was beside the point. “And still, I wouldn’t make that the basis of our connection. What does make a connection is fighting together through things here and now.”

Therion, surprised by the sudden insight everyone had, pinched at the bridge of his nose. “Guys, I would rather sit this out. I’m just here to tell you the Ciannos stole the dragonstone, and they might go after the next one, if it’s not already in their possession. Where should I go next?”

Silence.

“…With them,” Cordelia muttered, solemn. “There has been some concerns of late… allow us to track them down for the moment. You would do well to visit Everhold in the Highlands, as the dreadful crows make their nest atop that city. Sever their link to the Ciannos. I believe one of you does have a score to settle with them.”

And so they felled the first two of their quarries, together, shouldering their worries and burdens as a family, sharing their triumphs and joys in the same manner. One traveler found her master again, alongside well-deserved confidence in her own skills. The other found peace, delivering the finishing vengeful blow to restore honor to her name, and peace to her hometown.

Sad as it still made her, Primrose knew her father wasn’t returning after this. No, now she forged her own path, and she would choose it to do it with them over anything else in the world.

“I bakede some sweetdough for everyone,” H’aanit announced, setting a tray on the table. Cyrus’ mouth already watered at the smell wafting from the pastries, and Ophilia gave H’aanit a kind smile as she took the one that had been sprinkled with oats for a garnish.

Olberic hummed in delight as he took a bite out of the bread, having to wipe some of the warm jam from his lips so it didn’t fall down onto his armor. “Why, H’aanit, these are delicious. May I ask what the occasion is?”

“Oh, thou knowest I share not Master’s love for grand celebrations,” she said, face reddening. “I wolde instead enjoyen my success with all of you here, like this.”

She sighed, lifting up her own drink as she cleared her throat.

‘This one’s gonna be good,’ Therion thought to himself. It was the moment or truth, and he was excited to see whether or not the huntress had learnt from his advice on speaking her mind more freely. Gods knew when the last time was that he had been this excited.

“To our victory over Redeye, my quarry hunted down. To Primrose, who riddeth the world of a pest and avenged her family.” She looked towards the merchant. “Thinkest thou I forgot? To Tressa, for delivering the final blow against that mageknight,” she said with a smile, Tressa beaming at the recognition, feeling the weight of a new magical hatchet and sword duo at her back. “To our futures, may the Gods watchen over us and weaven our lives together, and thanke every one of you, for being in my life.”

“Cheers!”

Chapter Text

No word from the Ravuses yet.

And so was why they now found themselves amidst the bustling markets of Grandport, the day of the Merchants’ Fair having dawned upon them. The sea waves lapped at the resplendent shores, and the breeze from the open ocean refreshed the atmosphere, carrying inside it the delicious smells of the food stalls that already prepared their specialties for after the main event ended.

Therion and Tressa bickered as they walked, something about the impressive quality of the wares, the thief responding with a snarky comment on the vendors’ trust on the attendees’ honesty. She laughed.

“Good to see them not at each other’s throats anymore, eh?” the dancer asked Alfyn.

“Not seriously, at least,” he joked. “I can only hope nothin’ ruins this day. Cyrus said this place felt like leavin’ Quarrycrest with a target on his back.”

“Mmm. Well, I’ll be damned if I let anyone take this from Tressa. She’s been all about it since I met her, and probably longer,” Primrose resolved. “Shame that the stone will go, but… I guess some experiences can’t be bought with all the leaves in Orsterra.”

They dropped the conversation as they noticed Ophilia walking towards them, a robust pouch in her hands and a relieved look on her face as she spotted them.

“Oh, thank the Flame, do you guys want any nuts?” she asked, offering the bag. They shot her a questioning glance. “Cyrus and Sir Olberic befriended a merchant and bought these from him by the tavern, supposedly very high quality or something. Honestly, I guess they’re indeed very tasty, but I will ascend to the heavens if I have any more.”

Alfyn reached out to try one of them, intrigued, immediately recoiling. “Damn! It’s… some stuff!” he said, trying to savor the richness of its flavor. “How many did ya eat?”

“At least a dozen…?” Ophilia glanced away, embarrassed. “It’s rude not to accept a gift.”

Primrose took the bag from her to examine its contents. “Phili. These aren’t just nuts, they’re Woldian nuts.”

“Eh?”

“Ya know, we make ‘em sweet jams down in the Riverlands, you enchant trees to make magic olives, the Flatlands harvest nuts that boost your strength whether physical or magical or mental…” Alfyn explained. “It’s like you just had a bag of holy olives thinkin’ it was normal ones.”

“Oh dear…”

“Yeah, next creature you blast is gonna get a cathedral’s worth of holiness in their face,” Primrose chuckled. “By the way, Alfyn, you do know they don’t actually do that? For the olives, I mean.”

“…Whaddaya mean?”

Now it was Ophilia’s turn to embarrassedly explain. “Well, you see… Aelfric did bless a glade of olive trees as he granted the world the Sacred Flame, and we do often pray for their magic to keep blessing us, but…”

“You don’t just turn random trees into miracles, eh?”

“No, Alfyn, that’s just a children’s tale… I’m sorry,” Ophilia said, trying to cheer him up with a smile. She sighed. “The matter at hand is, then… Sir Olberic and Cyrus probably bought these hoping to watch out for us. Therion told me they did something similar with Rhiyo jams back in Saintsbridge.”

Primrose pursed her lips, annoyed that such a nice day was still under the threat of danger. “Let’s get these to the others, then,” she declared, starting to look around for their familiar silhouettes. “And uh… what’s with the formality?”

“What?”

“Olberic. You keep calling him by his title. Isn’t that a bit cold?” the dancer clarified.

Alfyn gave her a stern look. “Primrose. They’ve literally been travelin’ together longer than we have with ‘im, and yet you’re the only one he’s done a soul bond with,” he pointed out. “Took a lot of naggin’, and he still turned me down! But he did say you were the only one who might be able to handle it.”

“Sure, it wasn’t pretty, but we all know he’s from Hornburg. He did not keep that a secret.”

“Prim… you kind of have also gone through a lot,” Ophilia said, hesitant.

Tressa sighed, dejected, praying upon Bifelgan’s fortune that it wouldn’t really come down to that. Her only hope, the feather decorating her hat, a lucky charm. “Give this to Ali,” she instructed, handing Ophilia a small pouch made with very nice leather. “Worst comes to worst, he can enter the competition with this. Either he wins, or he buys me a lot of time.”

“Tress! Are you absolutely sure?” Alfyn asked, perplexed by the idea.

“Oh, I hope I’m back soon and that I get to participate,” she laughed, mirthless, “but better safe than sorry. Now let’s go!”

She and Therion dashed through the twisting paths of the bazaar sewers, dodging the crumbling pieces of rock and the rising tide of the water as the waves flowed in, while H’aanit and Cyrus stayed at the rearguard, quickly disposing of any beast that, altered by the commotion, tried to chase after them.

“Give the journal back,” Therion scowled at the woman in front of them. “This is your only fucking warning.”

“Oh, is a cute little thief brave enough to fight off the Obsidian’s second in command?” she hummed, a patronizing smile on her face. “Well then, be my guests.”

She drew a strange knife out of her concealed pocket, and started muttering something that none of them could understand, too deep and low to hear her through the crashing sound of the water all around them. Except, of course, for an exceptionally perceptive scholar who was familiar with the art of teaching. Sure, he might nowadays tutor none other than Princess Mary of Wold, Sun of the Flatlands, but he wasn’t always a royal instructor.

He never thought he would be thanking Alephan for that particularly rowdy group of children he taught years back, his sense of hearing forever sharpened.

“Down!” he warned, before she could finish the incantation.

“What the…” Esmeralda scoffed. “I expected no less from Professor Albright, but to feel my spells before I cast them? That’s just outrageous!”

“You dull-witted assassin,” -he dodged her knife, returning the attack with a fireball- “did you not think a respected historian would be familiar with Hornburgian?”

H’aanit parried an attack with her axe, readying her following strike. It missed, given Esmeralda’s remarkable agility, but not by that much. “Thou impressest me further every day, Cyrus. ‘Tis be High Hornburgian, the magical kind,” she pointed out, much to the woman’s surprise. “Folk from the Greenwood oft spoken it to weaven their witchery. Didst thou truly studyen the language that far deep?”

“Seems like you’re worth your salt,” Esmeralda scoffed once more, focusing her attacks on the huntress for the moment. “The brat doesn’t know anything about this journal, but maybe you can be of help.”

Therion ignited a fireball, which landed dead on top of the soulstone he had snuck into the woman’s pocket, magnifying the impact of his attack by quite a lot. She yelled in pain, though it only hindered her for a moment. That was worrying.

“…No,” Cyrus sighed. “Berg taught me,” he said, misleading enough not to risk putting a target on any of their backs. The others understood quickly, however.

“Most impressive that thou foundest the time.”

“Oh, please, H’aanit,” Therion intervened, dodging away from Esmeralda’s accursed blades as best he could, though she was even faster than Primrose. Not entirely surprising for an assassin. “It hath been long enough together that even I learnede thy dialect. It wolde not surprisen me – waough! – that Professor here accomplishedeth more.”

The huntress was not entirely certain how to react to that. It felt very unusual, coming from the thief, but something deeper made her feel happy, that they had been so present in her life to manage such a thing… to an extent. “Thou needeth practice, still! Perchance thou shouldst becomen my prentice! What sayest thou?”

A blast of lightning from H’aanit, Esmerelda nearly fell to the ground, breathing heavily. She tried to lunge towards Tressa, knife in hand, before she could knock her out with her polearm, but then –

“It was for the best, Tressa,” Cyrus tried to shake her out of it. “You heard what she said about the Obsidians. She could’ve followed after us, or sent someone.”

“Well… it shocketh me that an assassin wolde thinken not about how slippery a sewer is,” H’aanit commented. She sighed. “Tressa, I…”

The merchant shook them off. “No, no, I’ve seen H’aanit’s life and I’ve seen Primrose’s life and we also fought a fucking mercenary,” she said, “it’s just a bit shocking when it’s an accident.”

“Technically it wasn’t.”

“Therion!” the scholar scolded.

“What? We were on a battle.”

Tressa retrieved the journal, then washed the blood off her spear in the water lapping at the stone platform. “I’m fine, really. I’ve dodged and countered several times before, it’s close enough,” she assured them. “Besides, so long as you guys are safe, then I’m happy. Now, let’s get back to the auction before we’re too late.”

“…Therion, why didst thou not sayen anything before?”

“Oh, praye forgiven me,” he said, rolling his eyes, but then dropped the joke. “Just never thought I’d actually have to use it. But hey,” -he chuckled- “I can also speak with somethin’ of a Riverlandish accent, shucks! Or,” -he cleared his throat- “I could maybe… put to practice some of the alluring things I picked up from Primrose,” he whispered with a smirk and an overly exaggerated wink.

“Never do that again,” Tressa said, although she seemed to be holding back laughter. “Ah… once this is over, I reckon it’s time you learnt some merchant talk. What’cha say to that?”

He snorted. “Sure.”

As they came back inside the bazaar, Ali rushed over to Tressa with a huge look of relief in his face, handing her the elegant pouch that held the eldrite.

“You haven’t gotten up there yet?” she asked, surprised.

“Nah… Your knight friend dealt with the other shady guy,” he informed. “Then, when it was almost my turn, they called them instead!” With his chin, he motioned over to where Alfyn, Ophilia, and Primrose were sitting, Olberic approaching them as he had just made a big talk out of auctioning his beloved warrior’s brassard, direct from Hornburg’s greatest battles.

Next up, having to fulfill the part as they didn’t know how soon the others were returning, Primrose walked onto the stage and talked at length about a beautiful necklace from which hung several hearts made of pure gold, a fine piece of jewelry straight from the royal jewelers of Marsalim, the raw metal being the first shipment from Sufrataljah after a certain princess’ intervention to make the working conditions much fairer for the townspeople there.

“They’d… they’d auction their things for me?” Tressa asked in a very soft whisper, barely believing it. “Then, I’d better win this Merchants’ Fair, so they don’t have to part with them!”

“Hey uh,” Therion spoke up. “If Ali’s signed with his own treasure and you’re using the journal, could I enter and snatch the prize money with this stone?”

“Oh, you little-”

“On one hand, I’m incredibly elated to be so damn rich,” Tressa hummed, “but I also… don’t really know what to do with ‘em. So many leaves will certainly draw attention, and besides I can’t just waltz back home and upgrade the shop! A merchant’s success isn’t just how many leaves we rake in, it’s how we use ‘em and what connections we make!”

“Turns out the Green Pea was a Wise Pea.”

“Shush, Ali.” She rolled her eyes fondly. “So, Alfyn. What do you say to working with me? You make the goods, I ship ‘em over to the eight corners of the realm!”

The apothecary blanked at her offer. “Tress, they’re leaves, not feathers. They ain’t givin’ you wings to fly across the continent.”

“But I know some guys from back home who can. Merchants on the rise with a passion for helpin’ people and giving second chances,” she explained. “That’s kinda your whole thing, yeah? You can keep traveling and treating your patients in person, and then at every port you visit, at least one of their ships should be there for you to load the medicines and bam! Done!”

“They have enough ships to do that? By Dohter’s wisdom and Rhiyo’s graces!” Alfyn muttered, mouth agape. “That would be some serious help!”

“Well…” she glanced away. “Not quite yet. But with this money, sure they’ll have ‘em.”

He whistled, thinking about the enormity of such a task, weighing it against the massive help it would be for the people. “Shucks, Tress. You know I always have extras, but making that many? I don’t know if I could handle that on my own.”

“Bah, Therion and I will help,” Primrose said nonchalantly. “After all our quests are met, at least the two of us are going to have some free time. And it is a much safer job than thieving.” To that, Therion didn’t protest. “And I’m sure Cyrus and my sister could strike some deal with the Royal Academy to get help from scholars of medicine, or… Whoever we meet that wants to help, really. I know several Altinian churches are also incorporating apothecarial knowledge to their healing.”

“Aye,” Olberic hummed, having once befriended one of the first participants, a very kind noblewoman from the capital.

“Then, it’s settled! We can keep helping the people!” Tressa cheered. An ambitious goal, she had to admit, but a very noble one. And frankly, perhaps achievable, with Wyndham’s leaves in her purse.

“That’s so sweet of you, Tressa!” Noa chimed in. “Oh, how I would love to see the day when it’s all a reality.”

“Is that how rich people pronounce ‘corny’?” Ali said, jokingly. “Guess it’s not unexpected from you guys,” he added, drawing attention to a brassard that now adorned Ophilia’s wrist, its size only fitting her as a bracelet, as well as the necklace that now hung by Alfyn’s chest, the seven soul marks on Primrose’s skin now visible, as the gold was a clever way to cover them in Sunshade. “I’ll have to admit it was a good plan to buy the things yourselves.”

The triumphant, lighthearted mood lasted all throughout dinner, chatting and cracking a few jokes back and forth between them, delighting themselves to the fine cuisine in that grand city of commerce.

Truly, it was quite the milestone for them that they were so readily willing to do their soul bond, having come a long way from the rocky start. It felt right. And it was exactly what he remembered from his own childhood, from Breeze herself as a ghost.

“Ugh, I’m fine, Ma!” she groaned, pouting as she threw herself on the bed. “We were just playin’ pirates!”

“Tressa,” Marina scolded, “your legs are completely scraped! Did you fall off a rock or something?”

“…I mean, yeah, but I’m fine!”

“Wait, did you really?” Olneo intervened. “My girl, it makes me happy that you’re so full of life and joy, but you need to be more careful! Just because the other kids cry about falling down and you don’t doesn’t mean you can’t get hurt!”

Therion observed the way in which history repeated itself before his very eyes. Cyrus, Alfyn, Tressa, their lives had been quite similar in certain ways, despite living several miles away from one another, their backgrounds certainly different.

And yet, the scholar’s bright mind which caused a rift between him and his family was a gift that he used to teach younger scholars, bestowing upon them the knowledge and wisdom he had so they would learn and grow and make their world a better place. The apothecary’s raw talent, albeit developed in his urgency not to feel rejected by the townsfolk due to his parents’ past, had undeniably saved countless lives as he traveled the continent.

Tressa was no different.

She was quite brave, to the point where some would call her reckless, never one to back down from a challenge. When others were too fearful of the slippery rocks by the beach, she climbed to the top with renewed courage, her prize a cool rare stone for her collection and the impressed faces of the other kids, soon to be followed by a scolding from her parents.

And when others were too busy helping their families restock or take inventory or handle such menial tasks, she was already asking once and over again for her father to teach her how to use a polearm, so she could command Bifelgan’s winds of fortune, and for her mother to teach her archery, so she never missed her mark when striking a deal.

When the kids that had once been her friends – later turning away from her as she became a flame too bright to stand nearby, a wind too fast to follow – were still getting the hang of managing their first shifts tending to their shops, or gathering their treasures, she had already traveled enough to have found her greatest treasure yet.

“Bifelgan’s feather of good fortune…” Marina hummed later that day, closing the door behind her as she entered her daughter’s room. “You know, Tressa, I once heard a tale about it.

“The Gods have been known to give gifts to people who prove themselves worthy. Kindly clerics that not even the foulest beast could harm, wise scholars bearing magical prowess rarely seen, passionate dancers whose movements restore people’s spirits, selfless healers whose remedies never ran out, skilled huntsmen communing with powerful beasts…” she trailed off. Therion noticed the tears starting to well in her eyes. “It’s just…

“I’m very proud of you, Tressa. There’s a lot of unsavory folk, pirates and renowned merchants alike, that only do what they do for greed. But you offer your fortune to those around you from the bottom of your heart, and…” -she glanced at the feather on her hat- “I think Bifelgan himself recognizes that, if he’s willing to support you with his fortunate winds.”

She was right, Therion mused. From the time he had known the little merchant, even though she always set the highest prize as her mark, she would readily use that to aid others. Her soulmates, very frequently.

He remembered the way she had given him the confidence that had earnt him his beloved purple garments from that corrupt merchant.

He remembered the way she had emerged victorious from their scuffle against a god, and the first thing she learnt to do was share her magical ability with everyone else.

He remembered the way she would’ve readily discarded her precious eldrite if it meant having an opportunity to give Noa what she longed for.

In Tressa’s eyes, her most valued treasure was the connections she had made with each and every one of them, both during their travels and long before that, ghosts following her around with the energy to match the seven marks that were dotted along her shin. Therion couldn’t help but give a proud smile at the thought – all of them would do anything for their family.

But all of that was nowhere near close to happening just yet.

No, for now, he was still just a ghostly presence at her side, being the one that could stand the brightness of her fiery spirit and keep up with the speed with which she blew past her peers both in combat and in merchant’s business. Honestly, to have fared so well against experienced pirates, Therion had no doubt she could one day surpass even the well-respected Leon Bastralle.

Speaking of whom…

“Prince!” Tressa muttered under her breath, calling out to him. “You gotta come see all the stuff he’s got here!”

Right, his nickname. Out of the five he knew by now, this was a strong contender for the one that made his ears burn the most, embarrassed, the other being Primrose’s ‘Fuzzy.’ Then there was Alfyn’s ‘Sunshine,’ of course, but then again, he did have corny nicknames for all his soulmates, so it didn’t really count.

“You’ve got quite the variety of skills,” Tressa had said that day, so many summers ago. “A fine eye for expensive wares, a sharp mind for haggling and also fighting beasts for treasure… And yet you’re way too lighthearted to be some fancy scholar or a tough knight.”

S-i-s-t-e-r, he traced on the palm of her hand. She giggled at the ticklish sensation of his ghostly touch.

For his other soulmates, he had been a source of warmth and support, a shoulder to cry on, a spark of valiant confidence, but Tressa Colzione didn’t need any of that. Especially considering the eternal heat that the Coastlands went through, its humidity the antithesis to what Therion was used to back in the Cliftlands, or their short passage through the Sunlands.

He was quite grateful he didn’t feel a lot of the temperature changes and weather as a ghost.

No, with Tressa, he was more of an older brother. Encouraging her to stand up for herself in the rare occasion her natural energetic personality wasn’t enough. Climbing those slippery rocks alongside her, playing pirate when most kids refused the offer, sparring with her when her parents were too busy, chatting with her with his rudimentary ghostly communication, pulling a few pranks on her – which really, he was proud of his clever, considering he couldn’t interact with anything himself, so getting her to be the victim and culprit of a prank at the same time was rewardingly amusing given the effort needed.

“With such skills and joy, and a certainly refined taste,” she snarked, “I wonder if you’re some sort of prince. Then again, you’re not exactly the most formal…”

Therion rolled his eyes. Had she never heard of the shenanigans the king of Riven usually found himself in? Or of Princess Mary of Wold and her cousin’s constant escapades into the Royal Library to sneak a few books on legendary tales into their quarters, reading late into the night about mighty knights and their lives supposedly full of romance and victory?

Perhaps not. But oh, if he spent a considerable amount of time hearing about that while visiting Alfyn’s and Cyrus’ pasts, then eventually she would as well.

No, he tapped firmly.

“Not a prince, huh? Then what, some aristocrat who cares too much about specific titles?”

He gave her a playful shove, fondly rolling his eyes. No.

“Eh, whatever. It’s still better than if I kept calling you by your soul mark, Prince,“ she chuckled, dodging away from the thief’s retaliation. At that, both of their eyes widened, albeit Tressa couldn’t really see that. “Hey. Do that again.”

Therion tried to shove her shoulder just as he had done, but she dodged his touch just in time.

“What. The. Hells.” Tressa’s polearm clattered to the ground, bringing her hands to her face in a happy surprise. “Did you see that! How am I doing it? How is this even – whoa! Thought you’d catch me by surprise? Think again!”

And so ensued a day full of what was essentially a game of tag, except not any game of tag included a ghost and a merchant laughing their heads off as they discovered Tressa’s slightly uncanny ability to dodge away from attacks near effortlessly, much like a leaf in the wind would persistently avoid the ground, carried into the sky.

It felt great to laugh like this again.

Therion snorted, his laughter freely piercing into the evening quiet. “All that sidestepping and yet you still stub your foot on the wall?”

“Oh, shut it,” Tressa huffed, rolling her eyes. “Not my fault that we’re carrying Alfyn after he fell asleep on the bar counter.”

“I keep telling ‘im not to overdo it,” the thief sighed. “Guess he’s just too kind for his own good. Maybe it’d be a good idea to have him sit through a lecture on taking care of himself… H’aanit and Cyrus would certainly be up for the task.”

Tressa pondered the thought. “Yeah, I can see that. Not tonight, though,” she hummed, “they must be tired after helping out with Ophilia’s post-ceremony things. It’s been a bit of a busy day for everyone, hasn’t it?”

And, as though fate was trying to showcase its fucked up sense of humor, in that moment came Primrose hurriedly running towards them, her expression that of great alarm, even more dismay as she noticed that Alfyn had absolutely conked out and was now being practically dragged by the thief and merchant duo.

“What’s got you like this, Prim?” Tressa asked, worried.

“It’s Ophilia. She’s unconscious in the inn room… we don’t know what happened,” she said, her mind running a mile a minute trying to come up with alternative solutions. “I don’t think she’s poisoned, but we can’t be too sure. We need to do something!”

“I think you, Cyrus and I could whip something up,” Therion murmured, confused at the thought of anyone attacking Ophilia out of nowhere, let alone managing to sneak past all of them to do so. “I doubt anything bad will happen. After all, she and I – ow!”

Before he could once again use his fate-challenging reasoning that they couldn’t be seriously harmed before they completed all their soul bonds, a sharp pain interrupted all of them, accompanied with a strong buzzing sound inside their minds. Therion felt as though some beast had scratched his back with its claws, while Primrose clutched at her chest and Tressa had to use her polearm as support before her leg gave up, pain coursing through it. Even Alfyn seemed to groan in his sleep.

“Fuck,” Primrose hissed. “That damned witch!”

“I’m pretty sure we would’ve noticed her if she were here,” Tressa retorted. Purple hair was a very noticeable trait, after all. “But… it is the same pain I felt when Simeon stabbed you, and I assume when Therion fell in the river. Who else could do something like this?”

“I don’t know,” the dancer heaved. “But they also stole the lanthorn.”

Therion readjusted Alfyn’s arm over his shoulders, motioning for Tressa to keep going. The sooner they got back to the inn, the better. “Shit, shit, shit… it hurts like hell!”

To their relief, Olberic and H’aanit had just stormed out of the inn and approached them, taking over the duty of carrying Alfyn back while they ran back to check on the cleric, hoping that they could indeed do something for her. Tressa cursed at the sky as she realized that the only thing that could numb pain and cast a deep slumber on someone like that would be a heavy helping of sleepweed – she should know. Someone had planned this out very carefully, knocking their apothecary out before striking.

“Primrose, help me mix a purifying salve,” Cyrus asked as soon as he saw them entering through the door, relieved as he saw their faces safe and sound. “Tressa, if I recall correctly, the scriptures of Bifelgan’s shrine we found at the Moonstruck Coast taught you a self-healing spell, correct? Do you think that could work in tandem with Balogar’s skills?”

“Uhhh… Not the slightest idea, Professor,” she hummed. “Can try it, anyway.”

“Good,” he said with a nod, then turning towards the thief. “And Therion… I truly hate to ask such a thing of you, but, do you remember that forbidden arcane your mother once taught you? An incantation for your blade.”

He backed away on instinct. “I’m not… I won’t… What?!”

“Tressa’s spell should eliminate whatever sort of witchery Ophilia seems to be under. Then, your very dagger might be what restores her spirits and stamina, at least what has been sapped away by that dreadful magic. Afterwards, our salve should stabilize her condition,” Cyrus explained.

Rummaging through her belongings, Tressa threw on the crown of the mageknight’s uniform, if only to make invoking that powerful magic easier, faced with her trembling hands. Therion still had yet to react, not knowing what to tell the scholar. Such an ability was quite feared, and he had only been taught in case of an emergency – Celia opposed fervently the very existence of such a method, for even beasts of the wilderness deserved better than to have their spirits snatched to strengthen oneself.

But this was different.

Ophilia was his soulmate, ever so kind and caring to everyone, offering a helping hand no matter what the situation was. Therion could return the favor this way, with a creative alternative that he hoped would be a victory.

With a deep breath he held Ophilia’s hand, and then made a relatively shallow cut on his hand, letting the strength of his own spirit flow into the knife, then back through his body, and then redirected into Ophilia’s to help her heal.

A loud gasp broke the worried silence. She had awoken.

Chapter Text

They had rarely ever felt such a dreary atmosphere around them.

The sky overhead was gray, and yet there were no clouds to stand out outlined with the sun’s warmth, simply an ocean of dull and chilling emptiness above. Whatever breeze managed to rustle from the west brushed into the never-ending fields of wheat, the rustling it produced adding to the silence hushing them into secrecy.

And that heavy pull of darkness, not the cooling respite Sealticge offered the Sunlands nor the wondrous vastness of a starry night sky, just a looming threat that reminded them of nightmares and hopelessness. Of the draining they felt in their very skins when Therion, Primrose, and Ophilia nearly died.

Didn’t help at all that everyone in town seemed to stay pointedly away from them, if not outright yelling hostilities at their group.

“Professor? Is that you?” a man suddenly spoke up, recognizing the silhouette of the scholar as the innkeeper slammed the door on their faces. Cyrus, recognizing his voice, turned around, a delightful surprise imprinted across his face. “With Alephan’s graces, it is! Come, I must tell you something.”

As they watched him disappear into a less concurred alleyway, Therion discarded his poncho and tossed it to Ophilia, gesturing for her to keep the head of her staff close to the ground, its golden ornaments fairly recognizable. She nodded a thanks, still too downcast to really speak up that much, and they followed Cyrus’ presumed acquaintance.

“Theracio, where in the Twelve’s name are you taking us?” Cyrus whisper-yelled as the alleyway disappeared into the wilderness.

The man, with a solemn sigh, jumped over a fence and kept walking. “Somewhere safe,” he said, looking back only for a moment. “Wispermill is now a town of Wold not so much as a den of despair. Their loyalties aren’t with the king, but elsewhere.”

He eventually led them to a nice cavern decently far away form town, inside which they had set up camp, shielded into one of the twisting pathways that would be likely ignored if anyone were to stumble across that place – or worse, came looking for them. And so, in a cave system thought to have been lost to time stood the makeshift camp that offered its hearth to a traveling teacher and an atoning thief.

“Gareth? The fuck are you doing here?!” Therion questioned, drawing one of his blades, against his better judgment.

“Didn’t take well to the heat, and I wasn’t the one running the market,” the thief said, unfazed, as he continued setting up the bedrolls. “Caught the man who was, and the Captain let me go. No one came back for me, so I just… Walked.”

Theracio leaned against a cavern wall, exhaustion showing in his face. “And you know my whole project, Cyrus. But the people here have been less than receptive… Didn’t matter what I tried, the very fact I’m from the Royal Academy means they would sooner trust a direwolf than me. Say that the Crown Family has been ignoring their pleas for years now.”

Cyrus gave a confused noise, his words failing him in quite the rare happening. “There’s been not a single request from Wispermill in nearly a decade! What are they talking about?” he asked, such a fact coming straight from one of Mary’s own ramblings about how interesting and beneficial it would be to traverse her own kingdom and aid the people, lamenting Wispermill’s reserved nature.

“Perchance someone interceptedeth those?” H’aanit offered, thoughtful. “Master talkedest about a neighboring town to our own, where riches overfloweden as much as shady dealings. I dealte with a few hunts in the area, yet he woldest knowen most about those matters.”

After Darius, after Simeon, after Erhardt’s confession, after Goldshore, none of them were strangers to the thought of such manipulations.

"Either way," Gareth intervened, “Ther and I have been hiding here for a few weeks now. We’re waiting for word from Noblecourt to stay there until things calm down…”

“I wouldn’t be so optimistic about that,” Cyrus grimaced. “We had thought our little incursion into the Altinian City of Theater would be enough to get the Obsidians off our backs, and yet Grandport proved us wrong. I have little doubt their connection to the Ciannos wouldn’t follow you as you entered that city.”

Theracio shrugged. “It’s worth a shot, I reckon. Apparently, Odette returned from her travels, her outstanding research earning the king’s favor upon request of bringing Noblecourt out of its murky situation. Last I heard from her, she and Russell are working with the local scholars on it.”

“Most wonderful news!” Cyrus said, clasping his hands together. Primrose stayed silent, yet a white-haired thief certainly didn’t miss the hint of a proud smile crossing her face. “Then, I do sincerely wish you the best. It is quite a shame, however, that fortune has yet to smile for any of us when it comes to Wispermill.”

“You’re welcome to stay with us until you sort things out,” Gareth mumbled. “I’ve got no idea why, but the remnants lurking around don’t mind us, they just… scare off whichever townsfolk wanders too close.” He sighed, content enough with his job. He sat down on his bedroll. “Besides, it doesn’t seem you’re leaving until you finish your business in this town, isn’t that right, Flamebearer?”

Tressa scoffed. “So, you’ve let it out. What secrets are you keeping? What do you know?”

“Flamesgracian cleric got here with your fancy lamp. Ever since, even the direwolves howl with terror every night.”

“Alright.” Therion sat down directly in front of her, much to Ophilia’s tired surprise. “You haven’t told us a single thing about what happened that day in Goldshore. All the information we have is from fucking Gareth of all people,” he said, incredulous. “You’re going through something, and I won’t ask what it is, but I will ask that you try and be a bit more considerate of the fact that you’ve got seven people who will do damn near anything for you.”

“…”

“Look, it’s a difficult situation for everyone, but it won’t do any good at all if we just wallow around in despair.” Therion sighed, glancing away. “But whatever. I will assume that whoever did that to you is someone you can’t just up and vow vengeance against, like Prim or Olberic. In fact, it’s strong enough to mess with your sense of duty,” he pointed out, his scathing eyes as sharp as ever. “So the only thing I can offer at the moment is escapism.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He shrugged. “When the world feels wrong, you can turn to one of the seven ones that have been with you all along. Now I’m probably not the best one to offer this but it is what it is – wanna spend some years away from today to clear your mind?”

Ophilia sighed. “Your kindness has always been so amusing…” She cracked a weak smile, fond memories swirling in her mind. “I guess that would be nice.”

It was almost ironic. It was nearly sickening.

That the very first memory he saw from Ophilia’s past, before being the Flamebearer, before losing the lanthorn to someone who darkened the Sacred Flame with hues of darkness, were all wrapped in raging fire, scorching down every building in her vicinity down to the ground.

In just a day, the memories of hearty laughter and warm homes and delicious roasted meals had been swept away under the dust blowing inside the Cliftlandish winds, under the cold mulch coating the forests as she traversed the land despite the thunderstorms raging, under the snow that fell, and fell, and kept falling in those frozen over Frostlands.

Oh, how she missed her quilted blanket and the warmth of the sun setting into the crags.

And yet, the Frostlands were far too cold to cry, the cold breeze biting at her skin whenever it happened. Her eyes were too sore, the part of her that wished to sob and wail and mourn and grieve so achingly dulled down that she couldn’t find it in herself to cry anymore.

Not to mention that it would just draw more attention and worry from Josef and Lianna, and she already took up so much of their time in her mind.

So, when she would run up the hill in Flamesgrace and gaze upon the flowers and let herself shed a tear, Therion was there so the cold didn’t bother her, and both his and Alfyn’s ghostly hands often stayed by her shoulders, comforting the young girl.

She wasn’t the best with words, to most people’s eyes.

Even to her soulmates, she didn’t talk half as frequently as she did to Aelfric, hoping that the holy scriptures and the Sacred Flame would hold a non-verbal answer she so longingly sought. If nothing else, for she was not even a cleric in training yet, the act brought her a sense of peace that she couldn’t put into words.

Still, to the people around her, she was even quieter. Probably because they were all oh so very worried about how she was adapting into her newfound life, and every thing she did was a sign for either another wave of worry or a sense of triumphant cheer that she honestly couldn’t understand. She had lost her family and her home, yes, but she had braved the wilderness and found new people mostly unharmed, hadn’t she?

The gods had been benevolent to her, and she had been fine. She would be fine, so if everyone would just please stop worrying –

She wasn’t the best with words, so she took to her acts to let people know she was doing okay, and that she appreciated them being there for her. She never brought herself to call Lianna anything other than her name or a variation of it, and it took a long time for her to refer to Josef as ‘Father’ instead of ‘Father Josef,’ that much was true, but she would often ask her sister to go up to the little mountain in the middle of town, or make a quick vegetable stew she vaguely remembered her mother making whenever Josef nearly destroyed their kitchen trying to cook.

Granted, she wasn’t the best at it either, so oftentimes she would end up making barely enough and had to serve herself a bowl of cold porridge from the church’s kitchen afterwards.

It was okay, so long as her new family was fine, so long as Flamesgrace was fine and never fell to anyone’s attack, everything would be just fine.

Therion lit up a small flame on his palm and heated up the bowl Ophilia put on the table while she scrambled around to find the hardtack that she knew was somewhere nearby. And oh, upon the first spoonful of oatmeal her eyes widened, recognizing that familiar hint of warmth that couldn’t be from anywhere other than the Cliftlands. Travelers from any and every corner of the realm visited the church, and out of any that could wield fire, none of their presences was quite like the flame that had heated up her secret dinner.

“Fire… you’re one of them, aren’t you?” She spoke softly, as if anything louder than a whisper would scare him away. “On the inside of my wrist… Thank you.”

In truth, Therion couldn’t understand why Lianna had been chosen as the original Flamebearer, albeit that was a thought he would never confess to Ophilia.

Sure, her sister was always bright and brave and ready to defend anyone or offer them her support, brandishing her staff and her diligent ice spells with the same readiness she had to tend to the injured’s wounds or offer advice to those who sought it. There was no denying that.

But it was Ophilia who had pulled herself through her toughest times before reaching that snowy town, it was her who showed her kindness even to the criminals the Knights Ardante caught, offering them her own meals and nonchalantly taking another bowl of ghost-heated oatmeal instead. Much like the Sacred Flame seemed to keep on burning, lighting and warming the path for every human seemingly out of nowhere, Ophilia was truly a beacon of light and peace wherever she went.

The cleric who would pass on a hearty bowl of winter vegetable soup for the sake of a criminal and buy a piece of roasted lizardman for a hungry child with her last leaves, running herself tired in smaller but equally important kindnesses much though every soulmate of hers urged to take one moment to look after herself.

Really, it wasn’t a surprise that she would simply set her own grief aside and allow Lianna to spend Josef’s last moments together while she was halfway across the continent on a dangerous pilgrimage that placed an enormous burden on the Flamebearer’s shoulders.

Therion wasn’t sure whether it was sad or heartwarming that the only thing she was adamant on taking for the Kindling was enough oats to last until she reached the next towns, a comforting symbol of her connection to the seven of them.

Even if unknowingly, they had grown closer to her than anyone else had ever done, and part of it was the fact that they were never expected to do anything for her. Well, sure, some could argue that people often had an innate kindness towards clerical figures and whatnot, but they had gone so far above and beyond common courtesies that she felt wholeheartedly appreciated.

Lianna, Josef, everyone back at Flamesgrace… she still loved them and was grateful for the kindness they had shown her throughout the years, but it felt unequivocally rigid, a great irony considering that the Sacred Flame’s light was supposed to be warm and comforting. Every time her oh so detailed acts of kindness were returned with prayers of wellbeing or other formalities that both clerics and knights alike had ingrained into their minds by now, it felt… automatic.

Like another snowflake falling upon the Frostlands.

Cyrus is always making sure she doesn’t stay up late neglecting herself the rest she needed, either waking Alfyn up so he could work on healing the sick and injured in her stead or simply keeping her company for a late-night reading of their favorite texts, though with the promise to go to bed as soon as the wax of the candles had melted off an hour’s worth at most.

Tressa always offers her the nicest wares first and foremost, knowing that Ophilia would rarely ask for any upgrades at all on her own behalf, perfectly content with juggling being extra careful in battle if it meant the others could visit a smithy first. “Not having that,” the merchant had told her firmly. “From now on, you’ll be the first customer of every sale I have.”

Olberic made a point to stop charging head-first into battle and start playing defensively as well, his battle experience and resistant physique allowing most of the healing to be performed on him instead of several injuries on the others. After a while, he had even invited her to do warm-ups together in the morning, seeing as they both were early risers. She accepted, although only upon his promise to join her for some quiet company for prayer and meditation.

Primrose was a surprisingly nice friend, despite their initial short-lived conflicts over their spells naturally clashing against one another, the way both of their stubborn behaviors meant they both tried to shoulder more than they could when it came to looking out for the group, and other small things that had made for a rocky start. And yet, as they both realized they were very patient people, putting those they cared about first and foremost, and with an unbreakable will to see their goals come true, they became fast friends, listening to one another’s grievances, chatting for a while as they watched the guys half-drunkenly doze off together, and even sharing a dance or two with each other to clear their minds off of things.

Aelfric bless her clever, Primrose was right. Dancing seemed to sweep away all of her worldly worries in a swift breeze, and for a moment, the only thing she had to focus on was taking the next step, and then another, and one more, all dread of daunting tasks to come vanished away.

Alfyn, apart from being a huge help when it came to healing duty, was a very comforting guy to be around. She could spend all day listening to him talk about the flowers native to the region they were visiting and their meanings – knowledge courtesy of his childhood friend, Meryl, – and weave some of them into crowns.

Of course, she would eventually figure out that oftentimes he made them with relaxing, mind-clearing herbs in an attempt to extend a discreet gift to her.

Therion, much like Tressa, would always make a point to get her nice stuff from the spoils of his own quarries. Moreover, after performing their first soul bonds, it became clear that it was him who kept her bowls of oatmeal warm for her, that it was him who had gotten her to stray off the path for a little bit during their travel to Quarrycrest so she could enjoy the landscapes she missed, and that he would continue to do all of this once they returned to the present time.

“Thou needest only asken,” H’aanit reminded the cleric every once in a while, having taught her to cook game meat in the Woodlandish style native to her and the few Cliftlandish recipes she had learnt given the closeness of the region to S’warkii. “Thou hast come far from the beginning, and thy reptalion roast is as delectable as a well-versed barkeep’s. I believe Alfyn and Tressa gathereden what the recipe calleth for, so… Whenever thou art ready, I can teach thee to fully preparen the meals thou rememberest from thy childhood.”

“Thank you, H’aanit,” she said with a wide smile. “Though I think I want to wait until I’m not sore from our sparring sessions… I’ve learnt to wield my staff better, but at what cost.”

“Gram-gram always saideth that feeling one’s muscles aching is a reminder that we, too, aren descendants of the land, and it connecteth us to our roots. The excitement rush is also great, dost thou not agreen?” she said, grinning. “I admitte, however, that ‘tis last bit be a lesson from Master instead. Thanken the spirits I share not his love for gambling.”

Thus, every moment of their kindness and care was so uniquely them that it was different from the monotony she knew in Flamesgrace; vastly better, too. Nothing akin to those blizzards and snowfalls as monochromatic as could be, but rather a colorful array of beauty that reminded her of a distant past, the light of a sunset painting the cloudy skies and the shapely crags in the midst of the Cliftlands.

They were home.

Stay with us, Ophilia!

We’re here for you! Don’t you dare lose your light!

I would offer you my sword to strike down whoever brought this onto you. Aye, you won’t ever be alone on your fight.

Hold your head high, Ophilia. Faith shall be your shield.

Don’t worry, I’m patchin’ you up! Just hang on, please!

I wille cooken thee thy favorite meal on the morrow after thou returnest… Just, please, waken up.

Focus on the Flame. I’ll kindle it back until you’re healed… Don’t worry, I’ve got your back.

“Thank you, Therion,” Ophilia said with a soft smile. “For the soul bond and for helping me back there… and I’m so very sorry you had to go through all of that in your past.”

“Some shit’s tough to get through, I get it. But my mother always said every problem would have its place, and there was no misfortune under Aeber’s care, just some scarce times that preluded high bounty,” Therion hummed. “’N’ I guess you’re all the best bounty I’ve encountered, heh…” Then, hesitant, he sighed. “…I miss her a damn lot, you know. But, at the same time, I don’t know, I think I miss her more than I even remember her. Hells, you probably have her face fresher in your memory than I do.”

“That’s…”

“It’s fine.” Therion stopped her, waving his hand weakly to dismiss her worried expression. “Say, let’s make a deal. I’ll tell you what I did back then if you tell me who wounded you. I think that, with your healing magic, you could really get a good use out of my spells.”

Ophilia glanced away. “I just…”

And, in that moment, when the light of the full moon leaked through somewhere in the cavern and reflected off the water quietly lapping at its depths and the stalactites on the ceiling, something deep into the passageway they were sitting in illuminated, the silhouette of what they thought was just some big rock revealing itself to be some sort of altar. In front of it, a ghostly presence appeared, much clearer than any soulmate.

“Ah! Thou truly art here, Flamebearer! With one of thy soulmates, I see,” the ethereal woman said, a smile the only discernible feature under her elegant mask. “Balogar toldeth me he sensedeth a worry in thy heart, so I finde it relieving we haven a chance to talk. To thinken he madeth such a trip to seen me and tellen me about it, something must be wrong… Speak, child, what aileth thy mind?”

Ophilia and Therion exchanged a confused look, staring blankly at the figure in front of them, ancient robes and a long mane of hair sharing a shade with the richest lapis lazuli floating in the air with an air of grace and power beyond any common sorcerer.

“I am Steorra, Starseer. You seeken my wisdom, correct? Speaken freely.”

“Well, first of all, I think everyone’s quite worried about how we’re even supposed to take the lanthorn back and finish the Kindling,” Therion said, breaking the strange tension in the air. “Not only that, we’ve been persistently attacked by some witch that nearly killed a bunch of us.”

“Hmm… Aye, quite the troubling task. Fretten not, you holden power of mind and body strong enough to defeaten the threat looming over Wispermill. After all, not only weren dangerous foes slain by your hands, but a member of your group also provedeth her resolve to my fellow god,” Steorra said. “I coulde only guaranteen your success so long as your determination has strength to matchen your skills. So, I aske thee again, Flamebearer, what aileth thy mind?”

Ophilia hesitated.

“I don’t know how I’m meant to face the one who betrayed me and took Aelfric’s Lanthorn from under my care,” she admitted, averting her eyes from the goddess. “During my pilgrimage, I’ve seen betrayal between those who share friendships, those who share bonds of soul, and even those who share blood. Is hope truly a thing so fickle and frail?”

“Child, I weave stars and etche them into the skin of humans with great care and precision. I knowe better than anyone the trials that each person passeth through.” Even though they couldn’t see half of the goddess’ face, it was noticeable she was dejected as she spoke this. “A mercenary and a thief, bringing naught but strife to one another so far. A thief and a scholar, turning over a new leaf together. Eight travelers, intertwined into a fate greater than any couldeth imaginen.

“A pair of scholars, who builden their own fate for their resolve is strong enough and they need not my guidance. A compassionate family taking in an orphaned child near two decades ago… I weave marks into reality to guiden people. A fate ultimately secured,” she explained, “but the strife or peace they encounteren along the way lien outside my hands. Mistakes aren bound to happenen, especially in the face of wicked witchery, yet they definen not the future any more than mine artful intervention, nudges in the right way.

“Choice remaineth in thee. So, Ophilia Clement, what dost thou wanten?”

That explained the vaguely plum-shaped mark Therion had spotted on Theracio’s arm, now clearly matching Gareth’s own tome mark on his neck. What a curious thing – but it proved the starseer’s words.

“I know Lianna wouldn’t do this out of her own heart, and that’s why I’m so troubled,” she finally admitted, eyes starting to water. “I wish I could reach out to her, but I just…”

“Just what?” Steorra questioned. “I gave thee thy seven marks because otherwise the chances of meeting and joining thy soulmates wolden be reduced. Thou neededst not a mark for Lianna since thou wouldst certainly meeten her. ‘Tis what I meante when I saide soulmates aren not necessarily more important than other kinds of family. Thou canst reachen out to her if thou so desirest.”

“And will she take my hand?”

Steorra smiled. “That, I knowe she wilt. Much like I knowe thou wilst recoveren Aelfric’s relic and conclude thy pilgrimage,” she assured. “Such is the fate I can give thee. However, the details now resten upon thy hands – wilt thou standest up and fight? Make destiny thine own?”

Her divine strength swelled in front of them, a blast of wind knocking them back a little. Almost instantly, Primrose and H’aanit were rushing to their side, worried that something had happened, shocked speechless when they saw the Starseer’s silhouette in front of them, ready for battle.

“Bring it on,” Ophilia said firmly. “I’ll do whatever it takes to save my family and protect the world, an oath I took from the day I first bore the Lanthorn.”

They eventually left the Starseer’s shrine, a fond smile at the knowledge that she would protect Gareth and Theracio for as long as the two men needed her help – that being, at least until they retrieved the lanthorn and finished the Kindling. At the very least, it meant they could ask them to watch over some of their belongings while they dealt with Wispermill, seeing as the inn would keep its doors closed to them.

Much to their dismay, however, they were at the moment locked up in a makeshift jail cell, its magical locks impossible for Therion to pick and yet to be disarmed by Cyrus’ knowledge. They had done well in their witchery, for not even any of Tressa’s conjured spells could slice through it, despite the impressive power wielded in each strike.

However, Ophilia was completely calm about it, patient and resilient through the entirety of it all. Steorra couldn’t ensure their seamless success, but she was fiercely certain that she would achieve that on her own, especially now that the goddess’ power had been bestowed upon her.

“…And I’ll free our true god once I complete the ceremony!” Mattias said smugly, believing himself too secure on his high horse of victory to reconsider sharing the details of his plan with the very same travelers who had dealt with people like Simeon and Esmeralda.

Therion scoffed, twirling a dagger between his fingers to distract himself. If it weren’t for the magical locks on the jail cells and the dozens of manipulated townspeople just outside the building, it would be so easy to pin Mattias to the ground and flee with the Lanthorn. Alas, things never seemed to be as effortless as one would hope them to be.

“You will not,” Ophilia said firmly, staring daggers into the man’s eyes. For a moment, the ferocity of her stare almost made him feel debilitated – but no, that was just him jumping to conclusions. With the power bestowed upon him, there was no way a mere cleric could defy him.

“You know, I’m quite worried,” Cyrus commented, leaning against the stone wall behind him. His three companions turned to look at him, puzzled. “And yet I cannot help but feel as though my concerns spoken aloud would be naught but obvious.”

“I mean, we won’t know ‘til you actually say ‘em,” Tressa pointed out. “I don’t imagine you’re going to say something along the lines of being hungry or something."

Cyrus chuckled at that. “No, not at all. Do you recall that Esmeralda was reciting incantations in High Hornburgian? Upon asking H’aanit, she informed me that the Greenwood hunters had a wicked witchery involving domination over animals in an unnatural way. It’s… vaguely reminiscent of a passage I found on the tome I’m researching, specifically on commanding the energy absorbed from the crystals consumed.”

“Right… Which means Yvon’s ancient evil spells caught the attention of an assassin. What of it?” Therion asked.

“Esmeralda was the second in command of the Obsidians, presumably taking on the role shortly after Simeon’s death. They have connections everywhere, including the Ciannos and perhaps even this Mattias fellow we’re dealing with, seeing as he recognized most of us even though his focus was the Lanthorn,” he pointed out. “The recently researched information on this type of forbidden arcane, the similarity in feeling to the occasions when the purple-haired witch or her lackeys attacked us, and the fact that Mattias has spoken of a sort of ritual involving the corruption of the Sacred Flame, I simply have a very foreboding feeling about this.”

“Steorra did say there was some urgency in allowing the eight of us to meet and collaborate…” Ophilia sighed, burying her face in her hands. “Gods… I hope Lianna is okay.”

Therion sheathed his dagger before he could try and drive its blade through the stone floor. “Of fucking course,” he mumbled under his breath. “That might also be why the Ciannos are so intent on keeping the dragonstones away from the Ravus family.”

Interrupting their conversation, someone nervously opened the locked door to that building and closed it immediately upon entering, then uncovering their head.

“Phili?”

Chapter Text

He had to admit, they made a pretty darn good team, and most of their quests went without a hitch.

From the way in which Primrose, Alfyn, Olberic, and H’aanit had intercepted the guards that were about to escort them to the altar in the Ebony Grotto, allowing them to storm the ceremony and put an end to Mattias’ nefarious business, to the ease with which they could work together to defeat the crazed Lucia and hunt a legendary eagle.

All of which had subsequently brought them even better upgrades to their skills, such as a fight against yet another divinity to immensely strengthen Primrose’s magical prowess or that child from Bolderfall gifting Therion a rusty dagger she had found while traveling the land after they helped her.

Same dagger which, after some quality repair, turned out to be engraved with the symbol of a viper and incantation made in the name of Aeber.

Had Marina not said something about noble thieves who proved their worth being blessed by the Prince of Thieves himself? He would shove the thought away.

“Aren’t they… strange?” Tressa hummed, watching from afar the way both thief and knight had dozed off together after such long day. Even Linde was sleeping with them, stretched over their legs comfortably. “Can’t say I’ve seen them working together that much.”

“Ehh, lately we’ve been doing some training in the morning,” Ophilia retorted, taking another spoonful of the Riverlandish spiced bean soup they had prepared, a thick blanket woven with Altinian wool draped over her shoulders as the evening started to fall, its chill seeping into the world. “I’m glad they’re finally getting along better.”

Primrose chuckled, drinking from her cup of tea. “Training? What sort of miracle did you perform to get Therion to agree to that?”

“I think it was more of an accident… We were watching the sunrise together the other day, and I left for a moment to get something I needed, but when I came back Therion had hurt Olberic a little badly,” she explained, much to the others’ concern. “They said that Olberic’s sudden visit startled him and he reacted reflexively… I guess that makes sense, considering we’re crossing through that part of the Cliftlands.

“So, while I was patching him up, Therion insisted on making it up to Olberic, and ever since then we’ve been training together,” she said with a bright smile. “It’s not a secret that Therion is not really a morning person, but… He seems more than content on joining us, for some reason. At the very least, he always leaves proud after honing his swordsmanship.”

Alfyn downed the last of his tea and laid down against the tree behind him, his hands serving as a makeshift rest for his head, eyes drifting towards the darkening sky. “Yeah… Hasn’t been that easy gettin’ Olberic to warm up to us – though I can understand why! – so…” he trailed off, remembering the things he had seen during his and the warrior’s soul bond. “Still, if there’s anyone that can sneak into people’s hearts, it’s gotta be Therion.”

“Sayeth the ray of sunshine,” H’aanit teased.

They had only just stepped into town, but they were already rendered speechless.

Bolderfall looked completely different, despite their last visit having been not that terribly long ago. Therion could even dare compare it to the capital, only a few days’ worth of travel from there, except for the fact that the style of the buildings wasn’t nearly so ancient. It was, perhaps, a little closer to what Stonegard looked like. The lower parts of town still had a long way to go, but it was remarkable to note that they had still been improved, now resembling what the decent parts of town were last time.

“It’s a delight to see you’ve returned!” Cordelia greeted them with a genuine, wide smile on her face. “Pray come have a cup of tea with us, everyone. There is so much to talk about, isn’t there?”

Primrose was the first to speak, figuring things out. “You visited the capital recently, didn’t you? This place is all… Nicer. What did you do?”

The noblewoman beamed. “Yes! After the last time we spoke, I decided that devoting myself to studying the arts of the Starseer wasn’t going to fix anything, so I’m doing exactly what you told me to. Shouldering the burdens of House Ravus as I look after our beloved town, and earning trust and success by my own hands and merit.”

“Right… But how did you manage to do all of this in such a short time?” Therion questioned.

“Ah, well, since the projects of improvement that were undergoing in the capital are mostly completed, it was easy to hire a trading company that supplied us with materials and workers,” she said. “I also visited the castle and signed a treaty of cooperation between Bolderfall, Quarrycrest, Orewell and Cragspear. It would seem as though things are starting to get better for the Cliftlands after so long.”

“Huh… Thou really tookest it to heart, didst thou not?”

Cordelia gave a weak shrug. “My family has wielded the gods’ blessings for generations, and after the changes for the better that happened within the royal family, it’s about time I used our gifts to secure prosperity for our people.”

Primrose gave her an approving smile. “It takes courage to pick up a noble house’s duty amidst difficult circumstances, but I have confidence you’ll do well. If you ever need it, I could put in a good word for you with House Azelhart,” she offered, never mind the fact that she had yet to pay Odette a visit after all this time. Perhaps an excuse would work in her favor.

“Oh, right, Noblecourt’s trying to boost support for scholars, is that right?” she hummed. “Then I reckon it would be a good idea. The people of Orewell have taken interest in developing their town to host apothecaries who wish to study the properties of local species, as well as scholars who wish to study the history and arcane of their ancient ruins.” Then, she waved it off. “But, I’ve taken up enough of your time with idle chatter. Let us go, there are severe matters to be discussed somewhere more private.”

As they walked up to the manor, they saw Heathcote and a blond young man at the gates, saying something to the woman who had visited them, shaking her hand as they bid her farewell. The woman, tall and silver-haired, bore a vaguely familiar emblem on her red attire.

“Oh, you must be the travelers aiding us,” the blond man said as he noticed them. “Please, come in! My name is Rondo, eldest son of House Ravus, it’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Ophilia’s jaw dropped. “Rondo? You’re Cordelia’s brother who was busy with the Knights Ardante?” Now, that was quite the understatement, not that anyone else would really know.

“Ah, Ophilia, it’s great to see you! Um… Yeah? I apologize if I never mentioned it to you,” he said sheepishly. “Lianna and Captain Eliza insisted on taking over my duties at Wispermill, so I requested time to help out with the negotiations in Bolderfall. The construction of better trading routes between the different Edoran cities and towns does require someone to keep watch for wildlife that could attack, after all.”

“Rondo’s been a great help,” Cordelia said. “While one of us is managing business, the other works with the dragonstones. It’s truly a lot of weight to be shouldered by just one person… I cannot thank the eight of you enough. The service you have done for the entirety of Orsterra has also allowed for this to happen.”

Therion heaved a sigh. How did an errand job end up achieving the improvement of several cities and presumably the saving of the world? He stared down at the dagger that Kaia had gifted him, Marina’s distant words about noble thieves once more echoing in his mind, much to his dismay.

“I believe I owe you my sincerest apologies,” Rondo said, drawing the thief’s attention. “I was the one who suggested hiring someone to aid in our troubles. I’m quite sorry if the circumstances of that weren’t exactly the most amicable to you, I swear on the honor of House Ravus it meant no injury or insult.”

“…Right,” Therion muttered. “Can’t say I resent it, there’s better things to hold a grudge against.” Like the actual backstabbing, plotting pieces of shit that were Darius, or Olberic’s next target, Werner, but he wasn’t about to ramble about that to this friendly, charming knight. “Now, there were things to be discussed?”

Rondo and Cordelia took their spots nearing the head of the table they had walked up to, and Heathcote diligently brought the two dragonstones that had been retrieved, arranging them in front of the two heirs.

“With the gift of the Twelve Gods, we unveil the wisdom of these relics.”

A swarm of magic drifted from their hands and condensed into a strange spell that linked the two stones. From deep within the crystals, light started to glow softly, matching the sapphire and ruby hues they held. Rondo effortlessly unlocked whatever secrets hid deep within the former, while Cordelia directed the rest of the spell. Despite not wielding the magic that would hold the key to the ruby dragonstone, her skills as a follower of the Starseer made it easy enough to make up for it.

“Allow me to explain,” Heathcote intervened, seeing as the siblings were too focused to speak. “The stones can locate one another’s presence even if they stand on opposite corners of the continent. However, this usually requires either a fully realized member of the Ravus bloodline or three participants: to forge a link to the stone present, to weave the locating spell, and to call upon the stone sought properly.

“Thanks to Master Rondo’s return, we can say with certainty that the two missing stones are somewhere deep in the Frostlands, for their presence echoes from beyond the Flamebringer’s Shrine.” He sighed, averting his gaze. “Although their magic cannot yet give us further information, I would suggest either the town of Stillsnow or the city of Northreach as the places to be checked. Rumours of their criminal activity are still being spread, despite the grave weakening that the Obsidian’s hold on the area suffered recently.”

The travelers exchanged a worried look, while Rondo and Cordelia gently let the spell go.

“Waiten. I have an inkling that these stones aren linked to the gods in manner we coulden taken advantage of,” H’aanit observed. “The elders that oft traveleden to Duskbarrow wolden speaken of some ancient tales that groupeden the gods by their realms of domain. Aelfric, Sealticge, and Balogar to imparten blessings of varying kinds on people’s spirits. Alephan, Steorra, and Bifelgan to bestowen knowledge. Winnehild, Draefendi, and Brand to wielden impressive might and resilience. Aeber, Dohter, and Dreisang to governen over the laws of nature.”

“Therefore,” Cyrus joined in, “the dragonstones grouping their magic into sapphire, topaz, ruby and emerald crystals? I could see that.”

“Aye. I wolde assumen Sir Rondo can speaken to the sapphire stone with either Aelfric’s or Balogar’s graces, if mine eyes deceiven me not as I looke upon his blade. Similarly, Lady Cordelia holdeth Steorra’s blessing. Were the topaz stone here, she shouldeth be able to usen it,” the huntress pointed out. “I wolde suggesten some of us lenden our magic to attempten this spell again.”

Cordelia sighed, dejected. “That’s quite the astute observation. I’m afraid, however, that it wouldn’t work as smoothly as you might think. Rondo is already the one making the connection, so it’s not as urgent that we have someone to take on that role. It would work if any of you had a stronger connection to Dreisang’s magic, but… that’s not the case just yet.”

“Coulden Olberic and I not connecten to the ruby dragonstone in his stead? That way, Sir Rondo, thou shouldst be able to weaven the spell while thy sister calls upon the other stones! I imagine mine and Olberic’s following of said gods wolde amount to something.”

“No, H’aanit,” Olberic answered before anyone else could. “You are a hundred times closer to the Huntress than I am to the Thunderblade. It is my fault that your magnificent idea would not work.”

Feeling the tension in the atmosphere grow heavier by the moment, Therion spoke up. “Well, Stillsnow isn’t that much of a detour when going towards Northreach. Really, I think we have enough information to embark on our last errand.”

“Wait,” Rondo asked. “We cannot offer this to Lady Azelhart, regrettably, but we could offer our knowledge to you two” -he looked at Ophilia and Tressa- “so that you can hone your newfound skills, if that would be agreeable. If not, then at least let us offer you our hospitality before you depart north again.”

Therion walked out into town, the chill of the falling evening hitting him as heavy as the still unfamiliar feeling of the new, improved look Bolderfall had. He huffed, watching his breath dissipate into the air, and started walking.

The others had started preparations for dinner, Rondo and Cordelia still sparring with Tressa and Ophilia, locked in impressive combat to test their abilities. He had to admit, despite having seen the noblewoman’s strange skills before, he never thought she would be so proficient in battle as well, correcting Ophilia’s stances every so often. The way seers and merchants wielded spears differed in some ways, after all, and they required a bit more agility to switch to wielding their arcane knives as well.

As for Tressa, she seemed to be fairing quite well, learning everything she could from Rondo’s skillful mastery of imbuing flames and light into his sword. The other elements she could keep honing in the battlefield, but at the very least she would start with a good domain over the two elements that the knight could teach her.

“So, this is where you’ve been,” Therion hummed as he spotted Olberic wistfully glancing into nowhere near the road to the lower parts of town. “I’ll treat you to a mug of mead if you tell me what’s wrong.”

“Nay. I must keep my mind at its peak until I can avenge my kingdom. Loath though I am to admit it, my fortitude is waning, and partaking in spirits could be disastrous,” the warrior said, speaking more weakly than usual.

“Wanna spar, then? I’m confident I could take you.”

Olberic sighed. “Therion, you were betrayed by your partner in thieving, were you not? You, Primrose, and I have all bonded over our quests for payback, for vengeance, for justice. And yet when it comes to the both of you, I find no fault in your goal. Personal matters, settled at last.”

“Uh-huh…”

“I, however, seek this path for my fallen kingdom, for my long-lost king, for the people that did not deserve such a cruel path. My personal matters were resolved when Erhardt and I crossed blades in Wellspring – and all the hatred I bore for him vanished, learning of his motives. It still hurts, his betrayal, but I think I can be confident when I say there is no bad blood between the two of us. Nothing would ever take away the victories and defeats and fun nights at the tavern we had together, because his grudge was towards the King and not me.”

“Right…” Therion hummed. Yeah, no, Darius had chosen to betray him, and the Obsidians were after Primrose’s family. He understood what Olberic meant by things being different.

“And yet, I wonder, were I to take Werner’s life, would that not make me the same? Would my actions not be a repeat of Hornburg’s demise? Am I really deserving of closure if it means putting more innocent lives at risk?”

Therion shrugged. “Look. Erhardt and all those other guys I’ve heard of eventually abandoned their merry little mercenary band. If not even them with scores to settle or debts still owed chose to stay with him, something tells me Werner is not a ruler as just as you’re thinking.”

“Even so, I would just be falling back into my past. Hornburg is gone, and there are kinder ways to pay honors to the people who lost their lives. I could slay Werner and say I did it for King Alfred’s death, or for the manipulation Erhardt suffered, or frankly my own grudge, but… I don’t want that to be the reason I wield my blade. Is it bad that I desire Werner to be such a nightmarish ruler so I can justify taking him down as a service to the people? Is my resolve worthy if it wavers and wanes this much?”

“We’ve all done some things that could be considered improper by fairy tale heroes or particularly judgmental elders,” Therion said flatly. “Sure, Tressa still feels a bit strange about having delivered that final blow in Grandport, and Cyrus mourns the demise of the woman he had thought a kind co-worker and a bright fellow scholar, but… things happen. Need I remind you that even our dear Ophilia ‘beat the shit out of a wolf’ to protect some kids?”

Olberic sighed. “I’ve spilled much more blood than that, is the thing. Have you ever taken a look at my sword, Therion? It’s an executioner’s sword.” He glanced away. “When I look back on it, I can certainly see King Alfred’s flaws, which Werner swore as his motivations, presumably. It’s just…”

“Olberic, look at me,” he interrupted the warrior. “I think there’s a vast difference between executing criminals and causing the death of a kingdom’s worth of innocents. And I say this as a thief!” he noted. “Even so, it doesn’t matter if Werner had a just reason. If he’s bad now and you can stop his wrongdoings, then I say go for it.”

A short silence fell between the two men.

“…So it is you, Trickster.”

“Huh?”

“Ah, my apologies,” Olberic glanced away, embarrassed. “I have… difficulties, connecting with all of you as my soulmates. But, after tonight, I think I decidedly recognize who you were in my past. And thus, I ask of you to perform our bond – I will warn you of it’s somber nature, but I will no longer run from it if it’s what you desire.”

“Bring it on.”

The first thing Therion noticed about Olberic’s past was that wow, Hornburg was very beautiful, whether it was the bustling capital of the kingdom or the quiet, nice countryside in which there were several small towns scattered.

The second thing that Therion knew about it was that King Alfred was a very questionable ruler, indeed.

He had been questioning for a while why the first instance of his appearance in Olberic’s life was until then, when the warrior seemed to be not that much younger than Tressa, sitting around in the castle courtyard as he waited, anxious, twiddling his thumbs together. And then, as another blond knight-to-be approached and sat down next to him, everything made sense.

“Hm? Who’re you?” Olberic questioned, startled by the sudden presence.

“Name’s Erhardt. Everyone else here is already an adult, so I thought I’d come chat with the only guy my age. Pretty exciting to start so young, eh?” he asked, sarcastic.

“Olberic,” he said, shaking the boy’s hand. “Not really. I came to the capital after my family died during the last plague. Now that my uncle passed away too, knight’s the only option I have left. Might as well defend the land so long as I have food and shelter for it.”

Ah, yeah. The infamous plague that had cost several citizens, and yet King Alfred had denied entry to most apothecaries on the grounds of being suspicious of smuggling strange arcane artifacts into his kingdom – which was, in truth, his excuse to keep Hornburg isolated from almost anything, really. Even ambassadors from Altinia, one of their most trusted allies, had to be very careful when coming in and out of Hornburg.

After all, it was a land near completely devoid of magic, by reasons no one really knew. Really, the only exceptions being the priests that the King had to personally approve of, and their spells granted by Aelfric’s guidance were to be performed only within church walls.

“Gotcha. I also lost my family,” Erhardt said, leaning back against the bench they were sitting on. He started whistling, trying to make their wait feel a little less slow. “Say, got any soulmates?”

“Yeah. Seven of ‘em. I’m not one of the lucky ones that get to feel their presence, though, and I don’t have the kind of coin to spend on a seer.” Olberic motioned vaguely towards the side of his leg where his soul marks were. Perhaps Erhardt would get to see them on another occasion as they sparred or changed into uniform or something, but for now that wouldn’t be the case. “What about you?”

Erhardt moved his shirt out of the way, showing a mark that appeared to be a small cluster of stars near his collarbone, grinning. “Can’t say we’ve talked much, but he appeared during one of my town’s dance festivals.”

“Lucky.”

“Maybe. But hey, you’ve got seven, you’ll be all about it when you meet ‘em.”

In retrospective, perhaps the downfall of Hornburg wasn’t as unexpected as Olberic had made it seem. Or maybe Therion had a keen eye for that sort of thing.

The fact remained that Erhardt and Olberic became close friends once they both officially became knights serving the kingdom of Hornburg, rarely ever apart. When they weren’t doing their training or whatever tasks their captain ordered them to do, they would spar against each other and keep honing their craft as much as possible, quickly breezing past their peers.

And when they were given time away from duty, they would visit the tavern together – Olberic was determined to one day win a drinking contest against Erhardt, impossible as it seemed – or walk around the capital finding stuff to do, even if only enjoying the cooling water of a nearby river or a hot spring hidden deeper within the mountains.

Therion realized that there was something strange going on in Hornburg, since he was there almost as frequently as he had been with any of his soulmates, and he could vaguely make out the silhouette of another one of them also hanging out there, yet they couldn’t really interact with Olberic. If he had to guess wildly, he would say it wasn’t entirely unlike that dreadful magic that had interfered in their matters before.

That, coupled with the fact that both knights had lost their families in disasters that could’ve been handled better by the king, meant Erhardt and Olberic had bonded together a lot by the time they were both selected to be part of the royal guard, fancy titles and expensive weapons being bestowed upon them. However, there were two other things they were given alongside their status, two very distressing things.

The first of them being a secondary task to carry out, seeing as they were living through times of peace and there were several other royal guards to take their shifts every now and then. Such was the way Erhardt found himself starting to train the next generation of promising knights that could join the royal guard – Gustav amongst them – and Olberic was given the duty to become an executioner.

King Alfred was not the most merciful man when it came to criminals, which made for Olberic to end up dissociating often after just a couple weeks’ worth of working in his position. He would frequent Erhardt’s quarters and confessing his woes as they shared a bottle of refined spirits, sometimes Erhardt’s dearest apprentice joining them.

The second of them, something that made Therion’s ghostly figure burn with rage and indignation as soon as he heard it.

“As knights aspiring to be part of the royal guard, you are well aware of your own kingdom’s history,” Alfred spoke. “You must’ve heard about the tragedy that befell King Beowulf during a fateful night, when a dreadful witch took those closest to him into imprisonment, trying to use them as leverage for her nefarious goals. Queen Hildegarde and Sir Ravus would’ve both lost their lives if not for King Beowulf’s might and resolve.

“Ever since then, both parties involved have taken measures to prevent their soul marks from being used against them again. House Ravus, by masking theirs under the sigil of a dragon. And Hornburg, as ordered by King Beowulf’s son and successor, by completely removing them from our bodies.”

And with that, a specialized apothecary came into the room, at least administering numbing medicine before slicing off the areas of skin that were marked by the royal knights’ respective soulmates.

Deprived of family, either physical or ghostly, Erhardt and Olberic were left alone, the other knight being their only company, their only family. The only thing keeping them grounded.

The Unbending Blade found resolve in keeping up his work as an executioner if it meant the safety of the kingdom, of his brother-in-arms. Townsfolk knew him to be renowned by his skill with the sword, but they also thought his title a fitting name for someone so serious and dull – towards the majority of people anyway.

The Blazing Blade, with a smile and laughter as bright as the sun and a cascade of hair to match, had his personal reasons to keep the fire within him burning, amongst which were avenging his, Olberic’s, and Gustav’s unfortunate pasts, all of which had been presented to him as nothing but King Alfred’s fault.

Therion could only watch. And, because he could only watch, he had time to think. He had time to think that Erhardt had put his fervent devotion into what he thought was correct, only to find that Olberic’s vow to the king was surprisingly more important than all the time spent together, than the thirst for vengeance he assumed they shared.

He must’ve also felt incredibly betrayed, despite emerging victorious. A goal met wasn’t worth it if those he wanted to share his triumph with weren’t there.

“You know what, Therion? I’ll take you up on your offer. After what we just witnessed, I think we both need a mug of mead… or two.”

Therion snorted. “Glad to see I’m still being a bad influence on you.”

“…Aye. But you know, I’m quite glad you kept nagging me back then, even if it was so hard to communicate,” Olberic admitted. “It was thanks to you that my executioner job didn’t make me completely insensitive. What’s a little crime, in the end? Aeber himself advocates for wealth redistribution,” he pointed out.

“I’m still not forgiving you for nicknaming me Trickster, though.”

“What else was I supposed to do?” he questioned, laughing. “You were always either making me decide not to report minor thievery or nudging me to prank Erhardt!”

Therion laughed. “And that’s why I don’t regret naming you Knight,” he teased.

In the end, however, the thought of Erhardt’s actions kept echoing over and over again in Therion’s mind.

Perhaps that had been the only reason he had found the determination to put everything he had into that impossibly tough fight against the Warbringer, keeping his secret ideals front and center as he slashed at her divine silhouette and did his best to dodge her cascading attacks.

“I bestowe upon thee my blessing, for thy resolve to protecten thy family and righten past misdeeds is admirable. I knowe thou wilt not usen my strength for nefarious goals,” Winnehild spoke inside his mind as the altar glowed solemnly. “That being said, knowen that I like not thy plans for retrieving the dragonstone.”

“It must be this way,” Therion responded.

“Then my strength shalt never abandonen thee. I praye thy companions willen not, either.”

Facing Werner was quite difficult, much to their surprise.

Cyrus, Primrose, Ophilia, and Alfyn were still rummaging around the manor, looking for anything that could be of use, while he, Olberic, H’aanit, and Tressa faced off against the tyrant. Every blow of his that Olberic shielded them from was worryingly solid, and there was some sort of aura about him that made it feel as though that hateful witch were draining their strength.

“Thou wreakest havoc and strikest horror into the hearts of thy people,” H’aanit said through gritted teeth as she prepared to attack with her axe again. “Thou deservest not to standen as the governor of Riverford.”

“No one else’s strong enough to do what must be done,” Werner snarled, parrying her attack.

“You wanna talk strength? You’re not even the one who kills your enemies, you bastard! You’re just a coward with a lot of followers!” Tressa taunted, taking a deep breath before scattering her runes, sharing her strength with her companions. “Give him what for, Therion!”

And that was the moment of truth, where he knew there would be two victories to be had. The first, and most noticeable, the fact that after his attack Werner should be disarmed enough for Olberic to deal the finishing blow.

The second, and important perhaps only to him, would be getting to test Winnehild’s graces and ensure that it would be enough to finish what he was meant to do.

“Gladly,” he grinned, and for a single, delightful moment, there was terror in the tyrant’s face.

He swung his sword at Werner, and even though he seemed to parry the strike at first, he was soon overpowered by the divine might coursing through Therion’s body. And, just as the tyrant’s stance was broken, five more silhouettes identical to the thief lunged at him, strike after strike landing squarely in their target.

Such an attack was hardly imaginable, but in his lifetime he had met a handful of warriors who could accomplish remarkable feats. What he never expected, however, would be the cascade of magic that followed after the last attack, a cloud of magic bringing him to the ground, the same grin of victory shared between Therion and Tressa.

“It’s about time you paid for your crimes, Werner,” Olberic said somberly, and walked towards him.

Chapter Text

“Therion? You’re back here? Is something the matter?” Rondo asked, rubbing the sleepiness out of his eyes. “That shade of red suits – wait a moment, you have the strength of a warmaster?”

“Can I come in?”

“…Yeah, sure, make yourself at home.”

Now, the reason behind Therion’s visit to the Ravus Manor at such an early hour – the sun had yet to rise – and with not a single person to accompany him was as follows: he had run away from Riverford without telling anyone.

They had agreed to stay for a while to help with immediate reparations, at least until Harald had settled things enough to continue governing with relative peace, seeing as there wasn’t really a solid deadline for retrieving the dragonstones. However, Therion wasn’t quite certain about that, not after reading what they had found within Werner’s mansion.

It all but blatantly confirmed their suspicions. That witch, Lyblac, had been behind the shady connections between the Obsidians, the Ciannos, even the demise of Hornburg and the entire project led by Lucia, it had all been organized by her behind the scenes.

And what did you get when you mixed attempts at corrupting the Sacred Flame, the usage of forbidden arcane including draining people’s lives, resources gathered by two of the most dangerous criminal organizations in the continent, and ancient heirlooms that held the power of the Twelve Gods?

Whatever their suspicions had pointed towards, they now had a name. Finis, deep within the heart of Hornburg, the very cause behind her request that Werner destroy said kingdom.

And Therion wasn’t going to risk his newfound family from coming into any harm. He had to retrieve the missing dragonstones quickly, and there was only one shot at it before Lyblac figured out that he had gotten ahead of her and attacked back. He had to live up to his fame as a thief and swipe the stones from under Darius’ nose.

“And then what, Therion?” Cordelia questioned.

“What do you mean ‘and then what’? I thought you’d be all happy that I finally got why you were so worried about these crystals!”

She sighed, burying her face into her hands for a moment. “Do you hear yourself? When we first met, you had recently survived one of her attacks, and it was only due to your soulmates’ help that you survived until an apothecary could treat you. Now you’re just going to ditch them and fight Darius and Lyblac directly?”

“With Winnehild by my side, it should be possible,” he retorted.

“It’s not about possibility, it’s about not being a fucking dumbass, pardon the manners,” Rondo said as he returned to the hall they were in, setting a few cups of tea and a tray of pastries on the table. If they had been woken up by the thief’s strange ideas, they might as well not stay on an empty stomach. “Don’t you think I would’ve done that already otherwise?

“My schedule was quite tight, yes, but it’s also the fact that no one can face such a threat alone. If it had fallen upon my shoulders, I would’ve also requested for some of my best knights’ help, and that’s considering I’ve had a thousand times more time to hone Balogar’s skills and Aelfric’s blessings than you.”

Therion scoffed. “Well, you’re a warrior. I’m a thief with an ace up my sleeve. My plan is to snatch away the stones and –”

“And? Somehow traverse the entirety of their territory without a hitch? Survive the Frostlands, alone, while trying to bring the stones here? Please, enlighten me, what’s your plan?” Cordelia asked.

Therion stood up. “Look, you either do your fancy spell with the dragonstones using the gift Winnehild gave me and tell me where the stone is so my job gets fucking easier,” he said, “or you don’t, and then I can just risk this even more.”

“You’re insufferable, you know that?” Rondo sighed.

“Part of my charm.”

“If that’s what you wanna call it…”

“Alright, where the fuck did Therion go?!” Tressa groaned, slamming open the door to the room where the others were discussing important matters with Harald and Reggie. Everyone turned to look at her and H’aanit, confused. “He’s nowhere within city limits, and Linde can’t track him at all. Good news is, neither of us has felt any strange ghostly pain, so he’s gotta be safe.”

“This bodes ill,” Olberic hummed, trying to think about it. “Harald, Reggie, rest assured that our counsel and weapons are at the ready should you ever need us, and I wish you and the entirety of Riverford the best. However, I believe it’s time for us to leave, now.”

“Wait, what?”

He picked up his sword and spear, which he’d left resting against the wall, and strapped them on. “Turns out having one’s soul mark senses warped and numbed doubles as an excellent way to develop premonition.”

“Couldst thou stoppen being so cryptic? For the Twelve’s sake, we’re trying to finden Therion!”

“Aye, I know,” Olberic said flatly. “And he’s on his way to Bolderfall, if not skipping it altogether in favor of the Frostlands.” Then, anticipating their cascade of questions, he continued. “The very sky felt foreboding today. I had not seen anything quite like it ever since the day King Alfred was slain.”

“Right…” Tressa said, squinting at him with doubt in her mind. “And that’s good enough of a hint? Just some hunch you had about the weather?”

Olberic looked straight at her, gaze piercing into her eyes. “I mean to say, the day you visited Noblecourt, the day we were in Saintsbridge, even in Goldshore, all of those times there has been something wrong. Perhaps the gods trying to give me a way to know given that otherwise I simply wouldn’t be able to tell like all of you can,” he explained. “But it hasn’t been this bad since that day years ago.”

“But why woldeth he leaven like that? Doth he not knowen we wolden hesitaten not to aiden him?”

“Oh, please,” Primrose said, rolling her eyes. “The only thing he excels at more than thieving is not taking his own fucking advice. Doesn’t matter if it’s a cough remedy or some thoughtful, comforting advice, he gets a thick skull when it comes to that,” she said harshly. In truth, it wasn’t rage at him so much at herself for not seeing this coming, mixed with hurt that it had happened despite everything. “Come on. We don’t know how many hours he has ahead of us.”

Northreach was in quite the sorry state. Perhaps, once things had calmed down and the eight of them could visit together, there would be many things to be done in order to return that frozen city back to its glory. For now, however, he shoved the thought away, simply a thief blending into the shadows, ready to perform his greatest heist yet.

“Time to set things straight. Think you can make it?”

“It’s not about whether I can or not. I must. For me, for my father… I don’t care if you don’t think I can do this or that I shouldn’t. I’m going –”

“I’m not trying to stop you, Primrose. But you’re going to trip if you don’t look at you surroundings. Keep yourself level-headed and you’ll strike true.”

“… You’re the first one to support revenge from the get-go. Not that it should surprise me. But thanks, anyway.”

That underground cathedral was quite beautiful, even in its abandoned state. He wasn’t quite sure whether the heavy magical presence reverberating through the halls was the divine might of ancient prayers once spoken in that building, or simply the immense energy emanating from the two dragonstones that had to be somewhere nearby.

He readjusted the cloth covering the lower half of his face and peeked out from the corner where he was hiding, sharpening his gaze. There seemed to be only a handful of unremarkable bandits guarding the altar, where his prize lay unclaimed, displayed for everyone to see.

Thank Aeber that he hadn’t been spotted. Then again, he was a master thief, and sneaking into places was what he did for a living. The change in his usual outfit, which had been given to him by Winnehild, also helped not to be recognized, even his hair pulled back into a different hairdo despite how strange it felt to him. There was also the fact that traveling by himself meant less chances of getting recognized, and so was the way he found himself in this situation.

Who could’ve thought that spending so long with his soulmates would actually be beneficial for his skills overall?

Hide, wait, and strike, a simple combination already innate to him as a thief, perfected by H’aanit’s hunting experience. Once he was in position, he drew the pomegranate he had stolen from Alfyn out of his pockets and bit into it, feeling its energy coursing through his body. And then, he jumped out of the shadows and called upon the Warbringer, not giving his opponents the slightest bit of time to react.

Strike, dodge, parry, repeat, an intricate succession of movements that beautifully wove together the combat lessons Olberic had given him as well as all that time practicing with Primrose to enhance his reflexes.

He wrapped the stones with a piece of cloth – Tressa was always very adamant about preserving the quality of her wares during her travels – and stored them into the bag he had prepared. And just like that, he was out of the cathedral, immediately starting to find his way out of the city without even the most unsuspecting townsfolk catching sight of him.

Bless Cyrus and his insight on always having a general layout of the towns they would visit at the ready. Certainly made for an easier escape. Then, with a deep breath, he prayed for a seamless success, for once letting the Sacred Flame watch over him.

Skilled as he was, no amount of thieving experience would protect him if he were to run into Lyblac. Only the divinities that remained by his side would be able to be his shield.

“Shucks! Dealin’ with all those lizardmen and then mixin’ up remedies works up an appetite! I heard this Erhardt fellow say the drinks at the tavern are pretty darn good, too…”

“Then let’s hit the tavern after we’re done here. My treat first round.”

“D’aww, Therion! Really?”

“Starting to doubt my life choices, but… yes, that is what I said.”

“Brings me back. First time I ever mentioned hitting up an alehouse you kind of helped yourself to my coin pouch…”

“Eh. Think of it as a debt repaid. Doesn’t sit right with me stealing from friends – don’t even think about hugging me or I’ll change my mind.”  

He shook the thought away as he passed by the tavern, feeling his heart race and thump against his ribcage, an exhilarating rush of adrenaline coursing through his body unlike anything he had ever felt in years.

It was only a few more streets until the entrance to Northreach was behind his backs, and with every meter he came closer to that first goal of his quarry, his worry grew greater. Huh, usually by this point he would be pretty smug about his success, but it seemed like such an important heist was reverting him to his younger, more inexperienced ways.

Then again, it never hurt anyone to be careful.

“Steel your nerves, Therion. Don’t waver in your confidence, and you shall strike true.”

“Awfully praising today, Professor. Slept well last night?”

“Don’t deflect. It’s no shameful thing to be anxious in the face of a challenge – but I know for a fact you’re stellar at your job. A tad of confidence wouldn’t hurt you.”

“Challenge is the understatement of the year… Knowing what you know, you’re very confident that I’ll walk out of this unscathed.”

“I always am. I stand by my convictions, and I have long since declared my soulmates are some of the most competent people I’ve ever met.”

He heaved a sigh of relief as he ventured deeper into the wilderness, thankful for the ongoing snowstorm. He was cold as fuck, that much may be true, but at the very least his footsteps would be promptly hidden beneath a fresh layer of snow.

He had only gotten far enough that the ground stopped being so rocky and instead shifted into those sand-like dunes of snow that would eventually lead back to Stillsnow when he heard it. That raucous laugher he was once so familiar with, belonging to a man he once considered a staple in his life.

Despite the embers of rage within him sparking up back to life, urging him to call upon his newfound strength and show him what for, he simply gritted his teeth and dashed into a nearby cave, so grand and deep it could probably house a dragon. It wasn’t worth it to risk the stones, or putting a target on his friends.

“In nature, mimicry is a valued art. Predators usen it to striken at the perfect opportunity. Prey, to hiden and surviven. Hunters perfect this art so that we may usen it for either purpose.”

“Something tells me pretending to be bugs and rocks is twenty times nobler than sneaking into someplace to steal valuables.”

“The bird mourneth as the snake swalloweth its eggs, aye, and yet ‘tis naught but a quarry necessary for survival. I wolde confessen that I once thoughte of bandits and thieves poorly – alas, I now see that thy kind doth this for a reason. Truly, the only despicable act of thievery be of people already in power, as Tressa speaketh.”  

Much to his dismay, he could hear the group of bandits notice the fresh footsteps in the snow, and judging by the fact that no townsfolk from Northreach should have any business visiting that cave and none of the Ciannos had any missions there either, they were starting to investigate. Well, if that was what fate had in store for him, he would deliver.

He hid the stones behind a group of rocks and stalagmites away enough from the entrance for the bandits not to see them immediately. The rest would be up to his acting skills.

“So, ye cling on t’ life like the cockroach ye are,” Darius scoffed as he saw the familiar thief in front of him. “T’ what do I owe the pleasure? Didn’t even bring yer little friends along… surely ye wanted to settle some business with me?”

“That was the plan, yeah,” Therion smirked, relieved that at least they hadn’t spotted him while he still carried the bag with the stones on him. “You know I’m not really one for revenge… But you’re still using people and throwing them away. Me… your other supposed partner in crime… your fucking soulmate.”

“How very noble of ye, t’ swallow yer pride for others when ya couldn’t do the same for yourself. Here I thought ye a changed man… Maybe willin’ to offer me a deal, what with your new fancy robes.” He heaved an insufferable sigh. “I’m no lowly tea-leaf anymore, ‘n’ I can tell ye ain’t on the path we once were in either.”

“I don’t care about your antics, I’m here for my stones,” a somber voice spoke, interrupting him. In that moment, Therion froze in place, recognizing the head of purple hair that walked up to Darius, handing him some sort of strange vial. “Your lackeys will show me to your base. I hope you’ll be competent enough to deal with him quickly?”

“…Yes, ma’am.”

“Good,” Lyblac said, turning around and leaving.

The silver lining was the fact that even that witch hadn’t felt the presence of the dragonstones in that cave. However, there was still the daunting fact that he would now have to face Darius – and even if he wielded the might and prowess of the Warbringer, just a single mistake could mean risking an attack with that dreadful vial that surely held the same magic that had nearly killed him before.

Fuck.

“Here goes nothing…”

“In my line of work, everything is about connections and trust, and in yours, as you’ve tirelessly told me, it’s every man for his own sake. And still, it’s no lie that there’s some awful merchants out there, and that there’s thieves and bandits I’m more than willing to trust.”

“Backhanded, but I’ll take it.”

“Oh, come on! Stop grinning like that! You know what I mean!”

“Hmm, hmm… Yes, we share a lot of qualities, that was all you were talking about while we were browsing the nice wares in Grandport. Don’t know why you’re bringing it up again.”

“Ah, you just feel distant again lately. But whatever, if you don’t want to admit you’re part of this family, I’m just gonna leave and go buy some stuff.”

“…Sometimes, I wonder whether you enjoy selling stuff or shopping more.”

“It’s all part of the business.”

Therion stepped back, desperately trying to catch his breath.

One key difference between him and Darius had always been the fact that Therion knocked out his enemies at most, preferring to work from the shadows, ever unnoticed. As for the redheaded thief, he had no qualms about readying each of his strikes as a fatal blow.

And such was the way Therion found himself mostly on defensive stances, parrying every attack, his stamina starting to waver without a single hit having been dealt against Darius.

“Y’know, Therion, I really liked ye.”

“Funny way of showing it.”

Darius scoffed. “Lucky that I grew out of those fool’s dreams. Y’see, those ya consider yer brothers can betray ye… even soulmates. Where’re they now?”

“Safe and sound. I made the choice.”

“Ah, so ye betrayed them. Fitting… Ye’re a tea-leaf after all, Therion, the best there is. ‘N’ I guess there’s a reason why we worked together so well, once upon a time.”

Therion gripped his dagger tightly. “We’re nothing alike, Darius.”

“Shame. We could’ve been unstoppable.”

With that, he plunged his blade into Therion’s abdomen, the magic Lyblac had given him quickly coursing through the thief’s body, numbing his senses and clouding his sight.

But then, out of nowhere, a familiar silhouette dashed in front of him, a pair of daggers quickly attacking the redheaded thief, who had been caught by surprise. No more of that nightmarish concoction to serve as a last resort, there was nothing holding back the man from giving it his all against Darius.

“Heath.. cote?” Therion managed to speak, coughing.

“You’ll find that there’s people willing to traverse half the continent on short notice for your sake. Myself included.”

“You’re really wolfing down on those shrimps, eh?”

“Hmph… I didn’t get to enjoy them that much in Goldshore. And, unfortunately, it’s a very windy day today. So, I’ll take the little joys of life where I can have them, thank you very much.”

“Just saying. It’s good to see you’re letting yourself love things.”

“…Never hesitant to speak your mind, are you? Ah… But I’m just following your own advice.”

“Hm?”

“When you told me you didn’t see the point in holding a grudge, you said, ‘there’s no point in crying over yesterday. It’s what I do today and tomorrow that counts.’ So yeah, I’ll do my best to enjoy what there is to enjoy and mourn what there is to mourn and live through the life that the Gods have given us.”

“…Didn’t think my sulking would turn inspirational. Should I take up Cyrus’ offer and teach here?”

“Bah, stop deflecting. Besides, you know you hate stuffy schedules. Still, I mean it…”

“Glad to know. You’re gonna glow brighter than ever with that perspective.”

“How could I not, when I’m surrounded by the people I consider my family?”  

He couldn’t focus on anything, but he could hear the clashing of metal and the echo of steps against the cave floor as the battle was being fought. If he squinted hard enough, he could make out the silhouettes of the participants steadily securing a victory.

Rondo and Olberic were taking the brunt of Darius’ attacks, parrying and defending. Primrose, Ophilia, and Cordelia took care of keeping their companions hale, hearty, and boosted, while also dealing with any sort of magical enhancements that Lyblac had bestowed upon the thief little by little. Cyrus and Tressa were invoking an impressive cascade of magic upon the battlefield, and Alfyn and H’aanit took a more physical approach, using their axes to lunge at him.

Huh.

Perhaps strength wasn’t just physical or magical prowess, but the bonds formed between people that were willing to risk it all for what they cared about – and that would be him now.

“Those girls… It fills me with peace to see that the people of Wold will one day be under the rule of such wise, strong nobles.”

“Mary is the only person I know whose focus could rival the Professor’s, and Therese’s training mishaps are what brought is yesterday’s dinner.”

“Exactly, my friend. Despite whatever faults they may have, they keep on trying to improve themselves and their kingdom. If that’s not honorable, I know not what is. Besides, they do their duties with the devotion of the future rulers that they are meant to be – I admire their resolve to commit to memory their history, so that they won’t repeat its mistakes, and to tame their strength enough to command a thunderstorm.”

“…You’re very optimistic when it comes to the future.”

“I would hope so! I wield my blade to ensure no one goes through what I did those years ago – not the people of Orsterra, not the people of Cobbleston that accepted me as one of their own, and certainly not my friends and family. And that includes you, Therion, much though you seem loath to accept it.”

“Eh?!”

“You are so ready to show us your care and kindness, yet you vanish as soon as any of us tries to return the favor… despite the fact that you have known us your entire life. Ah… I will not presume to know if you are going through something, but I would remind you: even your darkest hour lasts only sixty minutes.”

“Wake up, buddy. You’re safe now,” Alfyn said softly, gently nudging him awake. He tried to sit up, but a dull ache in his abdomen prevented him from it. “Easy, easy… I patched you up, but you’re still injured.”

“Alfyn?” he spoke, his throat raspy and tired. “What the…”

A vaguely familiar man approached him. “Worry not, you will be alright. You are currently in the village of Stillsnow. House Ravus of Bolderfall requested the Church’s aid, and such is the reason why I’m currently at your bedside.”

“Right… Who are you? Where’s everyone?” Therion asked, looking around the room he assumed to be the inn. Only Ophilia and Alfyn, both teary-eyed, were there.

“I am Pontiff Julius. Everyone else is just outside, they stayed to aid in your recovery. I must applaud their skill, truly blessed by the Sacred Flame, but whatever spell hit you is far too nefarious to be healed so simply. That’s why it’s now my turn to pray for your recovery.”

“…’Kay,” Therion muttered, exhaustion dragging him back to slumber.

Fuzzy. Sunshine. Courage. Hearth. Prince. Fire. Trickster.

Therion.

“He’s awake!” Tressa yelled, noticing he had started to stir in his sleep. “Everyone, come! He’s waking up!”

Still the same room, though no trace of the man who had cleansed him from Lyblac’s spell completely. As he came to his senses, he saw the seven familiar figures rushing in through the door, overpowering relief visible in their faces, some of them even letting tears roll down their faces. Heathcote, Cordelia, and Rondo were standing by the corner, also relieved at his recovery, but allowing the travelers, his family, to reunite with him after so long a wait.

“Don’t you scare me like that again!” Primrose scolded, the first to wrap her arms around him for a hug.

“We missed you so darn much, buddy. It’s great to have you back with us,” Alfyn then said, being the only other one who was actually hugging him. Everyone was embracing him, but only the two of them were touching him strictly speaking – it was more of a cuddle pile situation, really.

“I was so worried about your wellbeing, Therion, but it overjoys me to see you hale and hearty. I cannot wait until you’re up and running with us again,” were Cyrus’ words.

“Thou fool!” H’aanit sniffed, holding back her tears. “If thou ever runnest away again like that, I wille callen the entire forest to retrieven thee, thou hearest? I care not if that be impossible, I wille finden a way!”

He snorted at the thought. At the very least, Linde would definitely follow her lead.

“Did you really think we wouldn’t notice you left?” Tressa questioned, hurt shining through in her voice. “Did you really think we wouldn’t fight alongside you until the very end?”

“I didn’t want to put you in danger-” he started trying to explain.

“Cut it out already. We’re supposed to shoulder these burdens together. Isn’t that why we’re a family?” Ophilia pointed out. He sighed, averting her eyes, apologetic.

“…At the very least, I am proud that you’ve come such a long way,” Olberic hummed, catching everyone off-guard. “When I first met you, you could barely land a strike with a sword! And now, you would wield Winnehild’s blessing to protect us.”

Therion blinked once, twice, processing his words. Then, he broke into laughter, remembering those distant days in which his ghostly hands would correct his stance until he could at least call himself a proper swordsman in training.

Primrose, Alfyn, Cyrus, H’aanit, Tressa, Ophilia, Olberic. Gold, Moss, Witch, Hawk, Breeze, Cuddles, Knight. It didn’t matter what he called them, they had always been there for him every step of the way, and they would continue to do so.

Then, it was only fair he did the same.

He smiled.

“I’m so glad to be back.”