Having hit my stride about an hour into the run, the time flies past. I go into a sort of trance alongside it — a state that people tend to call a “trail daze”. Your mind starts to defocus when you’re crossing large swathes of samey terrain at a consistent pace, time seeming to distort a bit in your perceptions, all atop the more traditional runners high for me.

  It feels great, and I very readily lose myself in it, keeping my senses just alert enough over the period to react to anything dangerous or untoward. Luckily, nothing of the sort happens, even as the last night begins to fall right around when I enter the first reaches of the Ironbough Forest. This enormous forest edges much of the fae lands in this section of the continent and is known to have very abnormally high concentrations of Mineralis essentia — the essence most closely associated with metals, alloys, and similar minerals. Because of that density, the wood here is fantastically sturdy and even able to outperform stone as a building material in terms of durability and looks much nicer to boot.

  Each group of trees begins their lives a simple coppery red or iron grey saplings and grow into rust and verdigris-colored trees as they age. It’s not uncommon to see isolated or small clustered examples of trees that appear to be influenced by more esoteric metals like silver, gold, platinum and various magical metals. Those trees are, of course, highly sought after for their unique properties for everything from building to enchanting above and beyond their “normal” kin in the forest.

  I’d spent a couple days reading everything the codex had to offer regarding the region when I passed through last while traveling with the others as I’d had nothing better to do while “observing” typical operations for a group of knights operating as a unit. It was something I’ve long since been drilled on ad nauseum and really saw no point in for that whole trip, so I’d spent the time better educating myself using the codex whenever possible.

  Sighing at that particular memory and discarding it before It advances far enough for me to think about the rest, I spot in the distance the soft pinkish glow of luxlight illuminating a sturdy-looking barred wooden gatehouse. From the gatehouse extends twenty-foot-tall braced palisade walls reinforced with sturdy red trunks from the nearby forest.

  Silverbrook is known as a Fortified Settlement — a town that has settled in an area with known-to-be-high levels of monster activity because of the resource availability and essence density of the location. The most common resources here are naturally occurring Mineralis essence(something that is normally incredibly rare since compound essence is rarely found in nature), the wood, pearling from the adjacent river, and sturdy monster materials.

  Around the entrance to the gate are two very ragtag-looking individuals. In a different town they might have been more traditional guards, but Silverbrook eschews a standing trained force by taking advantage of its other most common resource — freelancers. Many people made their way here to hunt monsters for contracts and materials or to start making a name for themselves before joining a freelancer outfit or falling in with more organized state forces.

  As I break out of the forest and into the clearing the town is in I see a camp off to one side of the gate with a still-roaring fire. There’s a few tents surrounding it and a heavily robed figure with what looks like a hunched back or disfigured spine and very unnaturally broad shoulders.

  They glance over in my direction having probably heard my coming steps and I struggle to make out any details of their face other than a slight metallic green glint from eyes in their hood. I turn away, realizing I’d been staring at someone who is probably disfigured and exactly how rude that is. Blushing a bit in embarrassment, I turn to face the two freelancers as I cover the remaining distance.

  “Hail, stop there.” The first raises a hand to stop me. Their face is fairly androgenous with decidedly sharp features. Large, deep-set watery blue eyes. Clipped ears with multiple individual points looking akin to fins. A merkyn. They’re dressed in a well-fitted light suit of steel scale armor studded with pearls and are walking using a stave topped with a blue focusing orb. “State your business.” They ask very tersely.

  “You kiddin’, right, Chell? You askin’ the Vigil knight what ‘eir business is? How ‘boutcha take a guess?” The other, far shorter, freelancer chimes in with a soft chuckle. Before I can answer, he hefts a dark metal greataxe to his shoulder, grinning at me toothily.

  I lower my hood and doff my helmet and the merkyn momentarily stares at my crown of horns. I take the moment of awkward silence to speak, “I’m a messenger following after another knight who would have passed through here a couple days back. Titankyn, armor similar to mine but bulkier, carrying a breaker blade. Sound familiar? Nonzero chance he just skipped town on a beeline though.” I say after a moment, turning between the two freelancers to address both.

  The taller humorless one speaks first, “Passed through would be the right of it. In one gate and right out the other. May as well have bypassed the town.”

  “Ya, about two days back, I think, maybe three? Party’n I had just been gettin’ back from an outing and I’d been gettin’ sloshed when big, wide, and scary wandered through.”

  I nod, thinking that Garrick was making good time, but I was on pace to catch him provided I started moving in the morning. He’d surely be slowing down as he got closer to the area of the calamity to start searching more thoroughly. “That’s good to hear. May I enter, then? I’ll need to rest up for the next leg of my journey.”

  The humorless merkyn, Chell as I’ve gathered, shakes their head. “No, you’ll have to wait outside. Standing policy is for the gates to not open past sundown.” They give me a firm look, “No exceptions. You can wait with the others.” They jerk their head to the side towards the small encampment with the broad-shouldered individual who now appears to be staring over at our conversation. “Don’t worry, you’ll be safe by the walls.”

  The words remind me of something that happened a long time ago that brings a flood of emotion to the forefront of my mind. Trying to stem that tide, I take a deep breath. “It’s not the same situation. Just calm down, Nyssa.” I let it out slowly through a clenched jaw. “You sure? This forest isn’t exactly safe. I can defend myself but not when I’m sleeping, I imagine they’re the same.” I gesture in the direction of the camp. “I’m sure the both of you are quite capable, but surely leaving people outside the walls won’t help anything?” I focus on the more affable man hoping he’ll budge.

  “Sorry, ma’am. Mayor was real clear on it. Can’t let anyone in.”

  I feel a cold settle over me as my voice hardens. “So you’ll be responsible if someone gets hurt in the night, yeah?”

  The merkyn speaks next, “It’s not our business what goes on outside the walls. We’re supposed to keep this gate closed all night, so that’s what we’ll do. Just back off and wait for morning.” I see their hand grip their staff as they shift into a more aggressive posture. “Not going to ask again. We’ve got orders and I am not about to give up my paycheck because of some fools who decided to travel the roads at night.”

  I match their stance, hands moving to my daggers’ hilts. “Aye, uh, maybe this can be an exception?” The man offers, stepping forward and pushing Chell back with an arm on their chest. “The Vigil does nothin’ but good. It wouldn’t do to leave them in cold. Mayor’ll understand that.”

  The merkyn looks at the shorter man with surprise. “You want to throw away your pay? Go for it.” They step away, returning to their post on the farthest side of the gate from us.

  “Look, I’m real sorry ‘bout that. Chell’s always got a bit of a chip on their shoulder. I’ll let you in, don’ think it’ll be an issue. No knight of the Vigil is gonna be addin’ to this towns problems anyway.” He shrugs and turns to gesture to the walls, shouting for the gate to open.

  “If that’s the case,” I decide to take a risk, not willing to leave people out in the cold if there’s any other choice in the matter, “Those people arrived with me, yeah?” He looks decidedly torn, looking from me to the others. “Look, if anything happens with them, you can pin it on me. As far as anyone is concerned they’re traveling under protection of the Vigil.” He grimaces, rolls his shoulders as if weighing the odds before sighing.

  “A’ight. Just please don’t get up to any trouble. Town’s got enough issues with the smugglers as it is.” He waves at the hunched figure who’d been watching the exchange. “Ey, you lot can come on inside under this fine knights honor just as soon as you’re packed up and that fire’s out, yeah?” Standing slowly, the hunched figure rises, displaying a much more physically imposing frame than I’d have expected from how they’d been sitting. They give an affirmative wave and move to begin waking their companions.

  I put a hand on his shoulder, “It means a lot, really.”

  “Don’cha mention it, miss. I didn’ like leavin folks outside anyhow. Those folks’re too obvious to be smugglers anyhow.” He gestures towards the gate as it begins to swing open. “I didn’ catch your name, miss. They’ll probably ask.”

  “Nyssa Vigil. And yours?”

  “Garron Thorn. Nice’ta meetcha.” He looks thoughtful for a moment. “I’m wondering. I’ve met a fair few of you Vigil types whose surname is “Vigil”.” His face shifts towards awkward, as if he’s uncertain how to phrase the next question. I know what’s coming, but I wait for him to get there himself. “I don’ wanna drag up bad memories or anythin’, but is it cus of what folks say? Vigil takes in survivors and raises them up to be soldiers?”

  I give a fairly prepared response. “More or less. Some of us were found too young to know a family name or otherwise had no strong association with it. The Vigil doesn’t make us join up for fighting, but most wind up doing it anyways. When you’ve not got a home, you stick with your new family, you know?”

  “And I s’pose, who better to fight them beasts than folks who understand it firsthand right?” He follows my explanation with the expected question.

  “More or less.” I say simply, not wanting to invite the other reason people usually suggest — that if someone with no history or home dies fighting a Calamity, it’s not a tragedy the same way it would be for any other person dying to one. It's something the Vigil is quite aware of, and not even something that most of us disagree with. People who have lost everything understand the pain these monsters leave behind more than anyone, but it's not exactly something fun to think about.

  “Sorry, that was prob’ly rude, I’ll let you get on and then get those folks squared.” He looks a bit sheepish but tries to recover with a small smile. I return it as warmly as I can.

  “Don’t worry about it. It’s a real common ask. Thanks Garron. If we ever cross paths again, don’t hesitate to ask after me.” I hesitate. "Might even be able to call in the favor with some other Vigil knights, but I can’t guarantee that one.” I give him a final smile and turn as I pull my hood up to see the camp starting to be broken down by the hunched figure and another person draped in a heavy traveling cloak. The hunched figure gives me a wave that I return as I head into the open gates.

  The interior of the town looks about how one would expect from looking at the outside. Taller than average buildings since the material used allows for it and going up requires less space than spreading out, capped with high mixed metal tiled roofs. The wood used in the construction has all largely taken on the rusty red tone this region is known for though appears to have been treated to retain a slightly brighter, richer red leaving it a fairly pleasant shade.

  The streets are relatively narrow, just enough for two carts and associated draft animals to squeeze by one another. They are also entirely empty as it’s approaching midnight, only lit by the lux-emitting lamps regularly placed along the roadway. After walking inwards a bit, I see the town square where most of everything in the town would normally be happening at a reasonable hour. It’s somewhat eerie to see all of the market stalls, eateries, and benches entirely empty in this low light, but at the opposite side of the square is the towns inn.

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  The Gilded Fang is about five stories tall, standing slightly taller than average for the buildings in the town though not the tallest, and is constructed mostly out of the rarer variants of the Ironbough trees. Its facade glitters, even in this half-light, like a hoard, and is externally adorned with all manner of monster parts that have been used as payment for renting rooms by freelancers. The entryway is surrounded by fangs and tusks, giving the impression of stepping into a monsters maw — an impression bolstered by the rust-red wood framing the door.

  It was somewhat novel and when we passed through last time, I’d wanted to stop in and take a look. But that curiosity went unexplored as, like Garrick, we largely only stopped in to resupply and then immediately left. I smile, a little excited at sating the curiosity, and immediately feel a little embarrassed by the childish feeling, so I pack it away like so many others.

  I walk into the maw of the beast-tavern and into a room lit by firelight. There’s a group of freelancers sitting in a distant corner near a roaring fireplace having an animated conversation that seems to revolve around ribbing a felid beastkyn girl for dropping her weapon in a recent fight. They pause their laughter for a moment and look over at me as I pull down my hood and stop for a moment to bask in the warmth of the room. I give them a curt nod of acknowledgment and make my way across the carpeted floor to an overburdened desk to find a little chime with a “Ring for service” sign next to it hiding amongst the piles of paperwork and monster parts.

  I pick up the little handled brass bell and give it a couple shakes. It emits no noise, but I do hear a couple rings from behind a door behind the desk followed by shuffling and grumbling. I wait patiently until the door swings open to reveal the shortest man I’ve ever seen. He’s walking on a cane, heavily hunched over which together give him the look of being about three feet tall. The man steps forward and climbs a small staircase behind the counter which makes me realize there’s a walkway running along the back of the entire desk and adjacent bar to let him be at eye level with most people who might enter.

  As he rises to my level, I get a better look. He looks to be ancient, to the degree that I can’t really even fathom a guess. All wrinkles and scowls for a moment, and dressed in a one-piece blue sleeping garment with red hearts hand-sewn into it at irregular intervals. He pushes a tangle of gray hair out of his eyes, “Lookin’ for a room? Ahnah of course you are.” He bobs his head drowsily, “Won’ be much, we got lots of rooms free.” The proprietor lists out the cost of various rooms and I make note of a single and multiple-person room.

  “I wanted to get two, actually, if that’s alright? One single and one with…” I pause, remembering the encampment and how many tents it had. There were two, but one was quite a bit larger than the other, so I hedge my bets, “A room with three beds if that’s available?”

  “Ya got more comin? I’ll take ya money regardless, but wanna know if I should keep an eye out or go back to bed.”

  I nod, “Some others who move along a bit slower than me that I’ve been escorting. Should be around in ten or fifteen minutes. I’ll pay for both rooms up front though. Make mine for one night and theirs for…three.” He gives me a curious look, clearly feeling the request is odd, but being professional enough to not say anything about it. After counting up the nights and rooms, he gives me a figure and I consider haggling it or asking if there’s any discounts for Vigil personnel but decide against it. Not worth it this late into the night when I’m this tired.

  I withdraw my funds from my carry-all and portion out the amount — a bit higher than I’d expected, but he's probably charging an inconvenience fee for waking him up. I can’t fault him much, I wouldn’t feel any better being woken up like this.

  “Your room is on the second floor, the other is on the sixth, is that alright?” I nod, and he hands over the key — a small chit of white nullstone with an inlaid sapphire pattern on it. “Your other folks can grab their key whenever they come in.” He hands me the other one, dark gray nullstone with emerald green etchings, and makes to turn away, “You sleep well. Breakfast is served in the mornin if that’s your preference — it costs, but not much. Where’re ya goin’ come morning?” He asks.

  “Passing on through to Meadowfields to meet up with another Vigil knight.” I answer somewhat curtly, wanting to avoid the topic of that town as much as possible while I’m here.

  He gives me a polite nod of acknowledgment — his curiosity sated. Without waiting any longer he makes his way down his steps from the platform and to his door.

  I watch him go for a minute before turning to approach the freelancers — but am starkly surprised when I turn around and see the bouncy red-haired felid girl about two feet behind me and looking up at me expectantly. “Uh. Hi?” She narrows her eyes at me with a look of cunning that makes me feel more than a little defensive.

  “Where’d you get your armor, lady?” Her voice comes across a bit huskier than I’d have expected, coarse, even. She’s dressed in somewhat provocative clothing that I’d normally associate with the nation to our south — loose fitting, easily flowing robes. Not at all prepared for the coming winter here, but quite pleasant to look at in terms of their overall red and blue palette. She has two bladed rings on her hips that look to be made of some essence alloy or another.

  “It’s custom-made. Vigil issued. Why?” I ask, somewhat guarded.

  She immediately softens, “I win the bet!” and turns around skipping back to her table with a few twists and spins. There’s a series of groans from the table as purses are pulled out. I follow after her, as I’d been intending anyway.

  “Can I ask what the bet was?” I ask as I approach.

  The three losers all get sheepish looks, one tries and fails to avoid looking at my horns. The felid girl spins in place in her chair. “They didn’t believe you would be of the Vigil — since they don’t do escort contracts and they’d never seen a demonkyn among their number.” I frown at the statement.

  “I…see.” I hesitate, recovering a bit from the implied barb, “I was going to ask, I need to get to sleep. Can you hand this off the people who wind up coming in next?” I think hard, “You’ll know who, they’ve got very stand out green eyes.”

  The one who made a look at my horns initially speaks up next. A human woman with golden blonde hair wearing relatively loose-fitting robes I would associate with some of the warrior sects of the northern continent. She’s leaning on a rather fancy-looking staff even while sitting, holding it almost lovingly. When she looks at me, her eyes feel almost detached or glazed over. “Clarification: I meant no offense. I have no problem with daemonkyn.” She speaks an odd dialect, referring to my heritage with an accent that confirms her origin in the north, “I was speaking literally about never having heard of any in the Order of the Eternal Vigil. It was not a value or morals judgement.” Her tone is almost mechanical, and her inflection and word choice feels precise beyond how most people speak. Extreme Ordo imbalance, probably.

  I soften with a bit of effort, pushing down my disdain at the explanation. “Oh it’s alright. I’m used to it, nothing to worry about.”

  “Offer: We can pass along your chit if you would like, consider it payment for the offense.” She extends a pale hand and I hand her the key. “Observation: Do these people know you? Or is this an anonymous gift from a benefactor?” I stare at her for a moment before answering.

  “Uh, it’s the latter, I guess.” somewhat offput by being read so easily by a stranger.

  “Aye ya, just ignore Jen, she’s a little bit weird when we ain’t fightin'. Weird when we are fightin’, too.” the other human woman, much broader of build and far more muscular than the trim-looking monk. “But if’n ya need to be getting to bed, feel free, we’ll getcha people squared away.”

  I nod, offering my thanks, and retreat from the group with a little too much haste. Talking with outsiders to the Vigil has never been my strong suit, and I prefer to keep it that way. But asking some strangers to pass along a key felt less daunting than explaining to people why I helped them the way I did and everything that could come up from that discussion.

  Once I make it to the base of the stairs I look back, estimating how many steps it would take to get here. Satisfied, I make my way up the stairs, counting from there. It gets notably warmer and I see that the baseboards of the hallway have small rivulets of solidified essence, probably ignia, inlaid into them. Very similar to my cloak, but a weaker and wider spread enchantment across the entire building. Getting it done is becoming a fairly standard practice in recent years as far as I’ve heard. It used to only be used in cases of need — the weak and infirm, hospitals, shelters, and the like — but costs had been driven down alongside new techniques for base essence distillation.

  All of that to say — it’s comfortably warm. When I make it to the room, which has a white-painted door with blue markings on it to match my chit, I wave the chit across a small receptacle beside it and the door swings open with a light touch.

  Inside isn’t anything to write home about. A single bed, luxlamps in two corners of the room, space for hanging arms and armor, and a wardrobe to tuck away anything else. There’s also a window looking out over the town square. Curious, I close the door, securing two distinct locks — one essence-based and one a physical deadbolt, and head over to the window. I spot my erstwhile “companions” making their way through the streets to the town square and directly to the inn.

  I watch them for a while. The bulkier individual has a strong stride and they walk using a sizable and baroque-looking glaive as a staff. In the glinting luxlight their hands look mailed and clawed — meaning they’re probably some esoteric type of beastkyn, or someone with a strange taste in gauntlets. I wrack my brain to think of any beastkyn that would match their body type but none come to mind. Some serpentkyn could come close, like Therron, but maybe they're a shifter who keeps their form shifted at all times for practice?

  Mentally shrugging, I look at the other. They appear entirely nondescript but are swaddled the most heavily in what appears to be layers of cloaks and are a good bit shorter than the glaive-wielder. Their obscuring cloaks make it impossible to pick out any other details than their height. Which is bog average for a human, as least based on their stride and lacking any obvious beastkyn features.

  As I watch, something curious happens. Inexplicable, really. From the hood of the more heavily obscured person, I see a golden glint fly out and start to flutter around them. The figures left arm darts out of the cloak to try to catch the glint and seems to fail repeatedly. “What is that?” I stare, somewhat gobsmacked as the golden blur sails around the two people, leaving behind a sparkling trail of glittering dust wherever it goes.

  As if reacting to my gaze, the nacre-gold glint stops in the air to stare at me. I return the stare, finding that I'm looking at a diminutive feminine figure wearing a simple dress with rapidly fluttering wings that spray that nacre dust all around them. She's pretty to a degree such that I struggle to really even *think* as I take her in. Her features are somewhat like an elf or a sidhe, but far, far more exaggerated. Kind, but sharp eyes that look like they could probably cut glass with a quick enough glance. She is also…maybe six inches tall.

  Our staredown lasts a couple moments before she disappears into the hood of the larger figure. That figure slowly looks up at me in the window and I catch a glimpse of their luminous, sharp, green eyes. I stumble back away from the window as with zero casualness or grace. I sit down on my bed. “Who cares if they saw you? You weren’t doing anything wrong.” I chide myself, but with little heart. I’d meddled in their lives enough this evening without even asking. "What even was that? None of my business, I suppose."

  Sighing, I start to unseat the various plates and sheets of my armor, setting them in a neat pile on a nearby table. Most of the pieces are designed to stack neatly into a backpack, so the pile remains orderly as I strip each piece. Eventually I make it to the bodyglove underneath and debate leaving it on. It’s light protection and not uncomfortable…But I shake my head and tell myself to relax. The bodyglove is in two pieces that seal in the midsection, so I undo the enchantment with a few motes of power and then tug the top and bottoms off. Blessedly, the room is a very comfortable temperature, even in my unmentionables, so I set the two halves aside and make to do some light stretching to cool down from the run and to limit the chances of cramping.

  As I do, I spot a mirror across from me that I’d failed to notice initially. I see myself in it and just stare for a little while, tracing my own figure with my eyes, settling and focusing on the near-on countless scars — most very old, but some newer ones as well. Four particularly nasty lines running across my body diagonally from my left upper arm to my right hip. It’s a scar that probably will never heal fully, either physically or mentally. “Not that many of them will.” I muse. Feeling somber, I toss my cloak over the mirror, hiding myself from myself — a normal ritual — and reach into my carryall to pull out some bathing supplies.

  While there is a shower stall off to one corner of the room, that is a daunting amount of effort, so instead I give myself a quick towel off and freshen up with a bit of Hydrus essence-infused traveling soap and feel quite a bit better afterwards. The temperatures have been low enough that I’m not drenched in sweat from the run, but I've still functionally run for a few days so I’ve been starting to feel somewhat oily over the last day or so.

  Cleaning off takes only a few minutes and immediately following I drop heavily onto the bed, thinking about the time and when I’ll need to get up to leave, “No more than six hours. First light should be fine.” I slip beneath the satin sheets and large comforter, feeling them rubbing against the more sensitive portions of unscarred skin pleasantly, but in spite of the nice sensation, it is, as always, just a reminder. I run my hand across my the worst of my scars before rolling over on my side and shutting my eyes.

  I spend a little while trying to think of happier thoughts to offset those memories but mostly fail until I settle my recent interactions with Serafina.

  Her hand on my shoulder in her office when I was crying.

  Coming to check on me even off duty.

  Reaching out to me when she saw me struggling.

  I feel very conflicted emotions as the memories run around in my mind in tight little circles. “It’s her job to watch out for you.” I keep thinking about her smile, her warm presence and, even a little against my wishes, how nice she looked in her “normal” clothes. “But is it? She’s nice to everyone but it feels different with me.” These thoughts dispel a lot of the discomfort I’ve been feeling. Casting aside long-ago memories for a little while as I finally drift off to sleep beneath the warm blankets. “Maybe this time won’t hurt?”

  The small bit of hope lingers as I have peaceful sleep for the first time in a while in this warm country inn.