Time stopped.

  Around him, the world stretched, pulled back like a taut bowstring. In the center, the perfect point of clarity, was Siel. Her face was a mixture of shock and pain. Molly had finally sensed something was wrong and began shaking and snorting, spinning in circles around the sylvan.

  Sam rushed forward and caught her as she fell. She was so light that he had to be careful not to crush her. He’d come to see her as this pillar of strength, this thoughtful, stoic warrior, with a heart of pure mischief. She felt so fragile in his arms as she crumpled, blood welling from between her fingers.

  “Siel, Siel, are you alright? Can you hear me?” The voice sounded distant, as though it was coming from far away. It was far too calm to be his voice, yet he felt his lips move as the words continued.

  “We need to keep pressure on the wound, and I need you to focus on your nature magic. You’re part plant now, right? I need you to grow.”

  His eyes locked on the location of the dagger: the center of the chest, right through the sternum. If they were unlucky, it could have nicked the heart. He froze, realizing he had no idea whether Sylvan biology was the same as human. The heart could be somewhere else entirely. His concrete plan of action came skidding to a halt.

  A decade of first-aid training and the subsequent years spent studying to become a doctor all came crashing down. Was this really a patient that he could treat, or would he do more harm than good?

  Indecision roiled in his gut as he considered every possible course of action. His mind raced, trying to think of items in his inventory that could help. How quickly could he start a fire? Would cauterizing the wound even work if there was internal bleeding? Could he attempt to suture it? He didn't have any forceps. Would he need to enlarge the wound to get a needle and thread in?

  Ideas flared to life, only to be shot down immediately. He just didn't have the knowledge or the time. All of his skills were focused on keeping himself alive. Never once had he been presented with the option to heal someone else.

  For the first time since the War began, he truly wished he had someone to pray to. The thought pierced his own chest like a red-hot poker, and he tried and failed to push it aside. He needed to do something to help. Anything would be better than watching her slowly succumb.

  His eyes settled on the blade. Regardless of the following steps, they needed to remove the knife.

  Siel’s eyes went wide as she watched him reach for the handle.

  “It's alright. We need to get this out. Then you can start to heal. I need you to focus on your mana, on your regeneration skill. Turn off everything else. Just focus on my voice.” He tried to keep his tone as level as possible as he held her gaze, heart-wrenching at the panic in her emerald eyes.

  Her face was going pale, paler than usual. It was at that moment that he realized she wasn't breathing.

  As gently as he could, he tugged on the handle of the knife.

  It didn't budge.

  He furrowed his brow. Of all the outcomes, that was not one he expected. He tried again, subtly tapping [Kinetic Discipline] to lend strength to his trembling digits.

  The knife came free with a metallic shriek, and Sam nearly tumbled backwards from the sudden lack of pressure.

  Beside him, Siel let out an audible gasp, panting like a racehorse as she rolled over and started retching.

  “Oh my god, Siel, are you alright? Oh fuck, talk to me.”

  She raised a hand, and he took it, stunned by the force of her grasp. She squeezed hard enough that he had to channel the passive from [Iron Skin], lest she break his fingers.

  He crawled over beside her, expecting to see her swimming in a pool of her own blood. Instead, he saw only a few droplets fall into the mud, only to be quickly washed away by the torrential rain.

  “I'm alright,” she wheezed at last, voice hoarse. “I'm alright. The knife didn't go that deep.” She rolled over onto her back and let out a pained laugh before storing her leather breastplate.

  Beneath it was a shirt of silvery scale mail. The shirt was literally made of scales, as Sam recognized the colour as that of the [Elder Cliff Adder]. It was clear that the vest was the contents of the package she’d received from Arther.

  They’d been in such a scramble leaving the city, he hadn't gotten a chance to ask her what she’d had him craft. His own [Adder Scale Skirt] clinked around his legs as he sat back to admire the Smith's handiwork.

  The vest was incredibly form-fitting and easily slotted beneath her existing armour. The issue was that it was so tight, it had crushed her chest while under pressure from the knife, and partially melted from Atlan’s attack. The blade itself had only penetrated about an inch, and only because it had managed to find a gap between the plates.

  “Thanks for that,” she whispered, trying and failing to push away the wet snout of the deeply concerned boar. Molly was deftly avoiding crushing the elf, but was still bathing her in a not-insignificant amount of drool.

  “I thought you were going to die,” Sam replied, slumping down in the mud. His own heart was racing as he realized just how close he'd come to losing a party member.

  Despite them only knowing each other for a few weeks, he felt a closeness to the sylvan that only trauma could forge. They’d faced down monsters and bosses, and now, other Warriors. They’d done it as a team, and somehow survived, even when challenging the scariest titans the Ring had to offer.

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  The reality was, he couldn't imagine doing it without her. The prospect of losing her scared him more than he cared to admit.

  “That scale mail lives up to its reputation,” she said with a grunt, pushing herself upright. “I hope Arther is able to make some more when he’s not caught up crafting your [Divine Core].”

  “Same,” Sam responded. While he was confident in his [Runic Breastplate], he couldn't deny the efficacy of having a backup plan. Siel was living—emphasis on living—proof that the mail could be a lifesaver.

  “I'll be alright, I just need a few minutes. Go collect the loot and meet me back here. We need to depart before the gods decide we need another calamity thrown at us.”

  Sam hesitated for a moment before standing, unwilling to leave the injured sylvan. The force in her eyes got him moving, and he did a quick lap storing the corpses.

  He reviewed the combat logs as he did so.

  [Combat - Alren Te’Kona - Sylvan - Iron - Scion of Mazu]

  Wave Priest of the Order of the Celestial Tide.

  Spira: 700

  [Combat - Atlan Aen’Yun - Sylvan - Iron - Scion of Helios]

  Star Knight of the House of the Eastern Reach.

  Spira: 950

  [Combat - Kelt Droer - Dalith - Iron - Acolyte of ògún]

  Steel Warden of the City of Endless Sky.

  Spira: 600

  [Combat - Teer Nen Akota - Tzen - Iron - Acolyte of Geb]

  Eathspeaker of Tor’Nekah

  Spira: 550

  It was bizarre to think that each line of text had been a person. Someone with a family, with hopes and dreams. It was depressing to think the entire sum of their existence could be displayed in only a few characters and a price tag.

  He wondered how much he’d be worth if someone managed to kill him. He glanced at his tafla and debated messaging Arther and asking if there was a way to check.

  In the end, he held off, instead doing a quick inventory check of each of the fallen Warriors. Their items were automatically sorted when he stored their bodies in his inventory, and he appreciated that the tafla seemed to intrinsically know what he’d find the most valuable. They hadn't been rich by any means, but there were a few items that would certainly come in handy, and even more he hoped would fetch a good price on the open market.

  Atlan had a ridiculously large store of weapons. The elf seemed to have one for every occasion. Nothing was of exceptionally high quality, but Sam figured Arther would be able to give him a decent price for them. Again, Sam found himself calculating how much he’d spent on them all. If he’d allocated a few more spira towards skills instead of gear, he might have been able to put up a better fight.

  The tzen had an extensive collection of alchemical supplies and a few finished potions. Sam wondered how that worked exactly. Was magic still prevalent on the other worlds? Did they specifically study skills beforehand that would be relevant in the War?

  Most of the races, from what he could tell, had a level of technical progress roughly in line with Humanity’s. Did they blend the esoteric practice of magic with that tech? He made a mental note to ask Siel when they were less at risk of being ambushed.

  He continued his sweep, creating a shortlist of items that would immediately be useful. At the top of the pile were a set of [Rare] greaves that the dalith had been wearing.

  [Avalanche Greaves - Iron - Rare]

  Made from metals mined in the core of the Spire, these greaves imbue the wearer with the fortitude of the Soul of the Avalanche.

  Passive: Gain resistance to all movement impairment effects.

  Active: Indomitable Descent

  When active, significantly boosts speed and momentum. Increases overall hardiness to correspond with the gained momentum.

  24 Hr Cooldown

  [Durability 374/400]

  The greaves adjusted in size the moment they entered his tafla, a feature he noticed was shared by all [Rare] equipment. He removed his current pair and equipped the newfound loot, marvelling at the sensation of lightness in his legs. The dark metal was thick and rugged, yet it moulded to his shin as if it had been made for him. It even adjusted to compensate for the cut of his boots, wrapping tightly around his calf.

  Another piece of [Rare] gear was certainly welcome, and he was pleased to see that the greaves weren’t the only ones. The Wave Priest and the Earthspeaker each had their own contributions to his party’s growing collection.

  [Ring of the Nine Tides - Iron - Rare]

  Carved from coral harvested at the terminus of the ninth tide. This ring increases the potency of [Elemental] [Divine Skills].

  [Durability 175/175]

  [Headband of the Wandering Shaman - Iron - Rare]

  Taken from the grave of the Wandering Shaman, this heirloom grants the wearer a deeper awareness of the natural landscape. Increases the potency of [Tracking] and [Stealth] skills.

  [Durability 150/150]

  Sam couldn’t help but smile at their luck. While neither item was a good fit for him, both would be an excellent addition to Siel’s kit. He wondered if she’d get a bonus while using the ring, given that [Lunar] skills influenced the tides.

  Sam knew the relationships between various elements were complex, but hadn’t received more than a cursory overview from Arther. He wondered if there was another book on the subject that he could borrow from the Warden. While he wouldn’t personally be slinging spells, it still felt important to know how they all fit together, and even more importantly, how they could be undone.

  He returned to the clearing and presented the haul to Siel, who already looked dramatically better. Her face lit up as he presented the ring and headband.

  “The gods have smiled on us indeed. Your assessment is correct. I can feel a strong affinity for the ring.” She held out her hand and formed a staff of interwoven vines, using the implement to pull herself out of the mud. “This should improve the range at which I can activate my vines. I can think of a few potential situations where that would be useful, especially if we’re able to set traps.”

  Sam nodded, thinking through the various use cases. “I figured as much. There are a bunch of alchemical supplies as well. They don’t seem like they’d be of any use to us at this point, but I thought I might hang onto them in case we end up partying with someone familiar with brewing potions.”

  “A wise choice. We can always sell them if needed, but I agree they could be useful in the right hands.” She stopped, her ears perking up, brow furrowing. “We may not be alone for much longer, and I’d prefer not to fight unless we have to.”

  Sam did a sweep with [Arcane Eyes] but couldn’t see anything. Weeks in the wild with the elf had confirmed that she had a supernatural sense for danger. Despite not growing up in nature, her skills gave her an insight into it that even his own enhanced perception couldn’t match.

  “Alright, are you good to ride?”

  “I am, and the rain should help hide our tracks.”

  Sam rolled his shoulders, summoning his spear. “Even if it doesn’t, I’ll deal with whatever comes.”

  Siel gave him a look as she climbed atop Molly, breathing heavily as she cradled her side. “I appreciate that, truly, but don’t do anything stupid.”

  “In my defence,” he replied, grinning, “stupid has a tendency of finding us all on its own.”