The next few days were lost in an oddly tense haze of shadowy monotony. The rural outskirts of Fort Turri were covered in a spiderweb of fracturing dirt paths, each branch aiming at a different dense woodlet without rhyme or reason. Twisted and gnarled tree roots that broached the surface in these shadowy areas became our greatest adversaries. Oliver, of course, wasn’t affected, flagrantly showing off the advantage of his mist-like form.

  “So unfair,” I muttered, watching him float over a tangle I had just tripped over.

  “You’re rushing,” he noted without a trace of guilt. “If you took your time to place your feet accurately—”

  “Animus keeps obscuring the ground.”

  “I’m doing my best,” he murmured defensively, his hazy form zipping ahead with irritated movements as he tore off bits of dark vapor. “But I can only absorb so much at a time without it adversely affecting me.”

  Night encampments were set up in grassy clearings where the dark energy was less concentrated and flowed more sluggishly. While Nora usually spent the evenings critiquing the lack of sensible and accessible paths, Relias remained oddly quiet, often lost in thought until someone called out to him directly. Oliver mostly studied the unresponsive gauntlet he had taken from Marquis Galenus, only to have Nora demand it for her own observation. Despite their disparate efforts, neither one of them elicited even the tiniest glow from it.

  Bedtime was, thankfully, seldom a point of contention, with us mortals finding ourselves weary from the day’s walking. A dry smell of early fall rose from the brittle rushes we matted down to sleep on. My makeshift mattress often crinkled and scratched, as if daring me to get comfortable. As I awaited sleep, I couldn’t help but worry that the year’s upcoming harvest might be poor, given the lack of rain we had experienced our first time through the countryside.

  “Up again at this hour?” Oliver inquired one night, his eyes shut as he meditated just beyond Relias’s overnight barrier.

  “You woke me up on purpose,” I asserted, plopping down directly across from him. “Your mark was flashing.”

  He smiled, obviously relishing the idea that I was put out with him. “I wanted to make sure the others were asleep first, that’s all.”

  “Why?”

  One of his eyes opened slightly. “Because one of them is the topic of discussion.”

  “Which one?”

  “The sage.”

  “And what is the source of your discontent with him now?” I asked, willing my face to remain neutral.

  He inhaled as if he were about to launch a laundry list of criticisms, but then frowned. “He is no longer directing his anger at me.”

  I waited a few moments for him to continue, but he remained silent.

  With a long sigh, I asked, “Where is he redirecting it, then?”

  “Toward himself.”

  “Himself?”

  Oliver nodded. “I cannot pick up specifics, even if he were to take the headband off. It should not come as a surprise, but his will is quite strong even without it. However, I sense the edges of self-loathing in it.”

  “He does tend to internalize…” I muttered. “When we first reunited, he was adamant that Euphridia was angry with him, but I don’t think he could be farther from the truth.” I blinked, remembering who exactly I was talking to. “Oh… Uh…”

  Oliver shrugged. “I only mention it because such strong feelings can pull at the animus around us. No doubt there will be demons in Fort Turri, and even though he is disguised, such a flow of animus towards a human will attract unwanted attention. As Captain, it's your duty to rectify this before it becomes a situation.”

  “Well, what should I do?”

  “Coddle him.”

  “Huh?”

  “Tell him he is doing a good job. Pat him on the head. Scratch under his chin.”

  “He’s not a dog!”

  Oliver smirked. “Oh, but he is a dog.”

  “Enough! You’re being rather crass about a problem that—”

  “Created in the 11th Year of Our Goddess, and the first Year of the Dog. Relias is a dog,” Oliver affirmed. “Raela, in comparison, was created six years before him, in the first Year of the Dragon.”

  You might be reading a pirated copy. Look for the official release to support the author.

  “There’s no way you meant that the first time you said it.”

  “How wonderful it is that words can have more than one meaning,” he said with a nasty grin. “But my advice still stands. You have forced him to turn against his nature, and he has yet to see any reward. Therefore, it behooves you to provide him with something of value now so he does not backslide in the interim.”

  “But… I don’t know what he likes.”

  At that, Oliver opened his eyes to give me a disparaging look. “He likes to be acknowledged and praised, just as I suggested. You don’t have to mean it, of course. Just be sure he thinks you do.”

  “That’s horrible, you know. Empty praise is exactly that. Empty!”

  Oliver twitched. “Alright, then tell him something you do mean. Whatever it takes, as long as I am not the one to do it.”

  I frowned. “What if Nora—”

  “I would think it would be better received from you.”

  “It’s not that I don’t want to… It’s just… I mean…”

  “You’re thinking about it too much,” Oliver noted. “You know that praise alone won’t fix him in the long term. He can only do that himself. However, that’s not the focus of our issue. You need to give him a reason not to hate himself for his past behaviors and actions that will get him through to the next phase of his mandated metamorphosis.”

  He’s not turning into a butterfly or anything… Sheesh.

  I let out a long sigh and stood up. “Alright…”

  “Oh, and Miss Rachel?”

  “What.” It came out more as a flat statement than a question.

  “Don’t ever try that technique on me, should I indulge in similar self-loathing. I’d much rather you berate me with the truth as you see it.”

  “Why?”

  “Because you are at your most sincere when you yell, that’s all.”

  ***

  Fort Turri wasn’t so much built into the mountains as it was jammed there, stone thrust haphazardly into every crevice nature had overlooked. Its walls stretched to the north and south until the mountains themselves took over, cutting the Wastelands cleanly from Turri proper.

  Both of its eastern outer gates were open, relieving pressure as a steady stream of travelers spilled through. From the east came a mix of humans and hybrids, most looking somewhat determined; from the west, mostly hybrids, their pace quick and eyes more desperate.

  What’s going on out there in the Wastelands, anyway?

  Controlling all the chaos was a surprisingly organized Order of Blue, their capes and banners all bearing their resplendent hue. Checkpoints buzzed with discussion as travelers were instructed to follow different cordoned paths within the gates.

  I turned to Oliver. “Do you sense any—"

  “Yes. Ignore them, as they are not of significant rank.” With a sudden fizzle, he disappeared, a trail of black smoke curling its way to the serpent mark mounted on Will’s hilt.

  Nora stared. “Did he just run away…”

  “So very unfair…” I murmured, looking once again at the fort, unable to shake a sense of looming unease.

  What if these magic artifacts fail to hide us?

  What if we’re held for questioning?

  I don’t want to end up in that prison again!

  Relias put his hand on my shoulder. “It is not the same fort we absconded from so long ago, Rachel. Fear not the shadows of the past, for you now tower beyond their reach.”

  Wasn’t I supposed to be praising him?

  “Ah, uh… Thanks, Relias. I appreciate it.”

  “There is no need for you to thank—”

  “I mean it. I’m glad… I’m glad you’re here with us, and… I… Well, none of us would be here if it wasn’t for you, so…” I bowed deeply. “Thank you for all your hard work.”

  For a brief moment, I could feel Nora’s bewildered eyes on me, but in the next, she was bowing her head next to mine. “And for putting up with us, to boot. That’s real patience, right there.”

  “I am not worthy of your praise,” Relias said quietly. “I beg of you two, please lift your heads.”

  I complied, only to see his face was near tomato red. “Ah! Sorry!”

  He turned away in a fluster, though I caught a fleeting glimpse of a smile. “You have no need to apologize… But if you would allow me to speak with the sentries, I believe I would make our transition into the Wastelands a smooth one.”

  Nora and I shared a glance and a shrug.

  “Sure,” I replied.

  Relias took a deep breath, then strutted forward, his staff clenched in his right fist. With a start, we scrambled to match his pace. His stride had a swagger to it that didn’t belong to him; a swift, decisive sort of arrogance hid within it.

  “Freedom lies beyond the gates of Turri!” he boomed, pushing past the slower citizens as he stormed forward. “Freedom from poverty!”

  I cringed.

  Saints above! What’s he doing?

  “Hold it right there, Mercenary!” one of the knights barked, guiding his horse to cut off Relias’s advance. “Only fools would be so brazen to enter the Wastelands now.”

  Relias tilted his chin up, meeting the knight’s gaze with calm arrogance. “Then you must already have the spoils in hand. Did you claim the demon king’s treasure hoard before we got here?”

  The knight’s face turned purple. “There is no such thing!”

  “Then why fear us taking it?” Relias countered, slipping something small and metallic from his sleeve just long enough for the knight to glimpse. “Let those who understand the sin of greed risk it. The rest of you may keep your pious hands clean.”

  That was apparently all it took. The knight scowled but made no move to stop him. When we reached the outer gate, Relias repeated the gesture, a quick, not-so-subtle flash of the same object for the posted guards. Their expressions soured with disdain, but they stepped aside, letting us through.

  Smooth as sandpaper, but I guess it worked?

  Relias smiled at Nora once we were clear of the gates. “And I would return your dagger, Lady Nora, but only after we leave town.”

  Her eyes went wide as she patted her cloak down. “How did you get that?!”

  “I must beg your pardon. I should have asked, rather than… appropriated,” Relias said with a faint blush, producing the very dagger with Vernie’s angry red monkey etched on the hilt. “Yet when I saw the delight you bestowed upon Vernie for her thieving skills, I confess, I coveted a measure of that regard. A childish trick, but I assure you, no malice was intended.”

  Nora tilted her head, her expression unreadable for a moment too long. “Why can’t I have it now?”

  “Because I would pass on messages best left unseen by official eyes,” he replied softly. “Better that Vulture handle them in person, for he is not one to press for the identity of their courier.”

  “Vulture? As in Vernie’s ex-husband?”

  Relias inclined his head. “Yes. Also, it would be comforting to know what paths our other companions now tread, would it not?”

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