Far away in a small bar, a well-disguised demon sat itching across the table from a dwarf farmer who hadn't yet had his yearly bath. The demon's skin was itching, and they were irritated about it. It was busy trying to make a deal with the dirt farmer who had found an artifact the demon had been tracking for a very long time. It wanted the artifact badly, as it had learned centuries prior the magical device would allow them to get closer to their goals. Their freedom. The demon had been working to find it for centuries , only for a backwoods farmer in the middle of nowhere to discover it! And on top of the annoyance at barely understanding the farmer’s thick, dwarven accent, their skin itched.

  Someone had used the demon's name. Their name! No mortal was supposed to have any inkling of it. The demon had destroyed all the copies of the Daemonium, made by those pesky priests and priestesses who had gotten that imp, that idiot of a gossip, drunk. And had gotten a nice payoff for that work. So why in all the Seven Hells was its skin itching? They had missed what the dirty dwarf had said and had to play it back in their mind. Something about… cabbages? No, they wanted a new cow and more acreage. Maybe.

  “Look, I’ll give you enough gold for all of that and more. Can we make this deal or not?” the disguised demon demanded.

  The dwarf farmer exclaimed something that was obviously gibberish. “I canna da e, wi oot ta payers!”

  The demon groaned and looked at the glass-polishing bartender for translation. “What did this filthy person say?”

  “He wants a contract," the man replied. "Only the gods know why. He can’t read. But he thinks it will keep him safe from the government and the aliens. Whatever that means,” the bartender said with a shrug, studying the perfectly clean glass for even a ghost of a smudge. He then shook his head and started polishing it again.

  The demon sighed. The last thing they wanted was for there to be a paper trail, even a small one, that could be used to figure out what they were doing. But business was business. And if the mud-loving dwarf wanted a contract to brag about to his sheep before buggering them, then so be it. They pulled out a standard contract and began rearranging it and putting in the necessary terms. Plus, some loopholes to rip the dwarf’s grimy little soul out if it told the wrong people about it. At worst, the dwarf’s soul could be sold into slavery. In fact, the demon decided to have some fun with the contract and put some more riders into it to make things worse for the dwarf if he talked about it at all. The demon smiled while writing the additions in. They were being petty, but in their defense, this negotiation had taken far too long.

  “Ti tin ess oot ma wag. Ta welum to et!” the grimy dwarf exclaimed happily with the chest of gold in front of him and the contract in his hand. The demon figured the gibberish was directing it to get the object out of the dwarf’s wagon. They left some gold with the bartender, enough to cover the tab plus tip but not enough to be remembered. It was a fine line, but they knew their way around mortals. They had a vast amount of experience with the short-lived shits. The demon absently scratched their neck as they found the object and slipped it into their bag.

  Now, they needed to track down whoever had said their name. And check on the newest Mage. Vexarith liked to keep an eye or two on their prey. Their competition. After a moment's reflection on the day's success, the demon decided that as long as no one else was saying their name and the itching went away, they would forgive the culprit. Probably an old researcher. After all, they had just gotten the item they needed to finally take the One True Light.

  “Finn? Are you Okay?” Harper asked, looking down at me. I had sat down. First demons, then Eric's story, and now this?

  It was one of those moments where breaking down sounded like a good idea, but I was holding it together—barely . For some terrible reason, the Voice had decided I was now back on track. But there were a lot of other things that needed doing, at least for Harper and Juan. In that moment, I didn’t feel comfortable going alone to the blinking spot on my map. Who knew what was going to be in those caves? I doubted I would survive it, not by myself. I didn’t know if I could even survive getting there.

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  At least I wouldn’t have to deal with that demon. There wasn’t anything it could offer me that would be acceptable.

  All I had to do was convince the Voice that we needed to go get some people to deal with the mercenary menace. Or at least inform them of the fact that the Steel Falcon Company was at large in Marea Kingdom. That way, I wouldn't have to go it alone.

  I looked around the Wizard’s office, the mess, and my friends. I was just sitting there, and Eric had grabbed a bucket, deciding I was going to throw up. Seeing all the paper lying around, I wasn’t surprised his first thought was to protect his work by giving me something to empty my stomach into.

  “Finn, are you okay?” asked Harper again, worried.

  Wishing I had a glass of water, I carefully nodded my head. “I… I’m fine. It’s just a little overwhelming. Does anyone know what the Voice is, or what it wants?” I asked.

  “Not really,” Juan muttered. He looked worried and went to stare at the sheets again.

  “I bet the Lich knows. He has a great deal of knowledge about this world and how things work,” said the old wizard. Seeing that I would not share my breakfast with the room, he had put the bucket down.

  Juan spun around, angry. “No! We do not deal with that penche cabron. The price is too damn high!” His face flushed, and he got louder as he continued, “That hijo de puta asks too much of people and knows too much. We need to stay as far away from him as possible!”

  There was a story there, but with all the emotions in the room, I didn’t think I could get it out of him. Hell, I didn’t even want to try with Juan using curses I didn’t even know. But I made a mental note that if all else failed, I would find the Lich.

  Of all the things I’ve learned while studying political science, the fact anyone had that much soft power and knowledge and freedom meant they had something, whether it was blackmail or WMDs. Whatever beef Juan had with the Lich, it happened long ago. I couldn’t allow that to prevent me from utilizing every tool to get home. Well, almost every tool.

  Eric put his hands up in a calming fashion. “I’m sorry, Juan. I wasn’t thinking. Of course. Things are already very complicated without bringing in that ancient creature.” He went to his desk and sat down, tired. “I really need to get some sleep.”

  “Do you think the Voice will mind if we find the people to deal with the mercenaries first?” I asked. We were sitting in our suite after lunch, talking about what our next steps were going to be. Juan’s explosion at the Royal Wizard’s office had put a damper on things—the old bowman still looked irritated.

  “I don’t know, chico. All my time here has left me with little information about it, other than the Voice’s role in teaching new people how to access everything and understand the basics. And as I have told you, its offer to send us home for figuring out the riddle and the associated quest. What did you say the quest was called?” Juan asked, pulling out his notebook and scribbling down some notes.

  “I think it was ‘Track the Beast’ or something.” I replied. A glimmer of understanding dawned in my mind. And it wasn’t shiny.

  “I think the Voice wants you to solve the riddle,” whispered Harper. She and Juan looked at me with worry.

  “Wait. Why do I have to be the one to solve this stupid, asinine riddle? I’m a big-picture guy! This isn’t my kind of thing. None of this is…” I faltered, frustration seeping away. If I were the only one in decades to get this quest, it was specific to my class. The implications of that staggered me. “Oh, God no.”

  Juan raised an eyebrow and leaned forward. “What are you thinking, Finn?”

  “Mages are targeted because of this quest, aren’t they?” I stated softly. “Something about it is so important that the demon, or demons, don’t want it to be completed.”

  “It does look that way, Finn. I’m sorry, muchacho,” Juan replied. The old man looked tired, but also hopeful. Like there finally was a way to make things right. I still wasn't sure what drove him to continue fighting and helping others, but I was grateful that he was in my corner.

  “The best thing to do is to head to your blinking dot. It was next to the mining camp. Was it in the caves or mines?” he wondered. Juan shook his head looking through his notes. “Either way, we’ll head there immediately and deal with this beast. Then we’ll go through the mountains to the main army and get some help to clear out the Falcon mercenaries who were near where you arrived, in rural Marea. Finally, we will follow the quest chain of the riddle. Finn, whether you like it or not, this might be the only shot home. For all of us.”

  “No pressure, Finn,” Harper said with a laugh.

  “Fuck me,” I muttered. I won’t go into the feeling of unfairness, or the onset of self-pity I felt in that moment. It was short-lived, and I just don’t enjoy talking about that stuff.

  There came an ominous knock at the door, loud and curt, cutting off all further discussion.

  Thanks for reading!