"Oh... Seven. It's you..."
He turns back drawing his knife, and limps toward the tree. Slowly, he begins to carve into the bark, Hamza’s name etched with care beneath another, older inscription: Farim, the name weathered and faded but still legible.
He pauses, blade resting against the bark, then glances back at me. "Sorry 'bout before. Should've let you be there, when I laid him down. I just... needed some time."
I shake my head. "Don’t worry. Makes no difference to me."
He gives a faint nod, finishes the last curl of the name, then steps back from the tree with a quiet grunt. "Town's stirrin'. Mayor’s got the militia musterin’, from the sounds of it. You joinin’ the fight?"
"Yeah. I will."
He nods again, slower this time. I look at him. "And you?"
He glances down at his leg, still crusted with dried blood, and mutters, “Don’t reckon I’ll be marchin’ anywhere. Not with this. And truth be told… I ain’t got it in me no more. I’ve done my bit, done enough runnin’ round for others.”
He pauses, voice growing quieter. “Hamza.... he was always throwin’ himself into trouble to help someone else. Gettin’ in scraps with lads twice his size, takin’ beatings meant for others...”
William to the fresh grave, then mutters, "Back when I was dead set on nickin’ that poultice for me ma... he came along without a blink. Didn’t even need to ask.... And for what? She passed anyhow. Both of us tossed in the dungeon, left to rot like vermin. Bloody pointless, weren’t it? I didn’t need him there. Didn’t need help. And now again... throwin’ himself in for some merchant he's never met, fightin’ for a bunch of sellswords that've probably all spilt their share of blood. And what’s he got to show for it...? Nothin’. Same as always."
William looks at me, eyes tired. "Mark me, Seven... ain't nothin’ good ever come from helpin’ others. Folk say it'll come back 'round, but it don’t. Lumina don’t bless folk like us. It’s all just... a waste."
I frown and ask, “What about what Hamza said? Doing what's right?”
He snorts, turning away. “What’s the use of ‘right’ if you’re lyin’ dead in the dirt?” He grabs his shovel, slinging it over one shoulder. “Good luck out there. I mean it. Hope you come back breathin’."
He leaves without another word, limping off into the snow.
I head back from Hamza's grave through to Ravencroft, passing by the inn. Osric's voice carries out into the street, clearer and louder than I last saw him, though angry. Curious, I step inside.
Osric stands in the middle of the common room, dressed in a gambeson, swinging a hunting blade. Across from him, Elsie pleads, her voice tight with worry. She's in her usual brown dress, hair tied with that same blue ribbon.
“You’re still hurt, da,” she says. “You can’t go with them. Please, don’t.”
Osric shakes his head, stubbornness in every line of his face. “I’m fine, girl. I feel strong, and Edwin says he needs every man who can still lift steel.”
Elsie frowns, eyes bright. “Some are stayin’ behind to guard the town. Do that. Stay. You don’t have to march off and fight.”
Osric growls, voice rough. "This’s my chance to make it right for your brother. To see those brigand bastards driven off for good."
He notices me at the door, and his face lights up. "Right, Seven? We’ll cut down the lot of ’em, won’t we? Bring peace to this town once and for all."
Elsie turns to me, pleading. “Please, tell him. He’s not well enough. He can’t go.”
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He's not ready for battle.
The blow he took to the head wasn't trivial.
He may be able to walk fine, but fighting is another matter.
I speak plainly. “Zaenith said it’d be weeks yet before you’re properly mended. Her prescriptions are never arbitrary. If you want to live, you’d do well to heed her.”
Elsie nods quick, eyes on her father, but Osric shakes his head. “I feel strong enough.”
“You won’t when it comes to a real fight. It’s a long march too.”
Still, he sets his jaw. “I’ve got to fight. For my boy. For Ravencroft.”
“Hmm... well... it's not my place to stop you. But if I were you, I’d stay. Town needs a garrison, you should stay and protect your daughter.”
He doesn’t answer, just turns his gaze away. Without saying more I turn and step back out into the cold, walking back towards the road.
Behind me, the inn door creaks open and Elsie hurries out, calling my name. She catches up, breath puffing in the chill. “Thank you,” she says, voice quiet. “For tryin’ to talk sense into him. I’ll keep at it.”
Then her eyes meet mine. “Are you goin’ with the others?”
"Yes. They need me to show them the way. And I'd like to try out my new sword too." I say with a laugh.
She looks up at me, eyes still wet, voice soft. “You’re brave... You’re not even one of us, and yet still....”
She pulls the blue ribbon from her hair and presses it into my hand, fingers trembling. “Come back safe, alright? And don’t lose it. It’s my favorite.”
Is this...?
I take it slowly, unsure what to say. “Th-thank you...” I manage.
She glances around, then steps forward suddenly, wrapping her arms around me. Her head rests against my chest, and I feel a strange warmth, from her body, but deeper in my chest. A flicker of something I haven’t felt since I left Mistvale.
“Good luck,” she whispers.
Then she pulls back in a rush, smoothing her dress and scanning the street to be sure no one saw. With a flustered little curtsy, she turns and hurries back into the inn.
Was that... what I thought it was?
She couldn't fancy me... could she?
I linger a moment, clutching the ribbon, eyes flicking back to the tavern, half-expecting her to appear once more...
I shake the thought from my head. Now’s not the time for such things. With care, I tie the ribbon to my belt, then turn and make my way down the road, back towards the market district. Towards Zaenith’s apothecary.
Inside, she stands hunched over the counter, mortar and pestle in hand, grinding herbs with steady rhythm. As I step through the door, she looks up, silent, her eyes scanning me.
After a moment, she nods. “Your body’s coming along well.”
She watches as I step forward and place the empty flask she gave me on the counter.
She sets the mortar and pestle aside and picks it up. “You’ve finished the draught.”
"Yeah. A few days back."
She nods, before turning, taking the flask to the back of the shop. When she returns, she carries a small vial, its glass tinged a faint purple.
"Elixir of the Hydra," she says simply.
I reach to take it, but she pulls back slightly, her eyes darkening. “This one is not like the last. The giant was meant to fortify your body as a child, enhance its growth, in order to prepare it for what’s to come. This, though... this is the beginning of the true change.”
“What does that mean...?” I ask, somewhat nervously.
“A body fit to endure. That will not break like mortal flesh, capable of recovering from what would kill a normal man.”
My eyes widen and then narrow in on the potion, almost eager. She continues, her tone heavier now. “You will not take this every day. Once every moon only. And the effects... they will not be pleasant.”
She holds the vial out again, but adds, “Take it under the light of the full moon. It’ll shine bright tomorrow night.”
A full moon already.... I wonder how much longer that wolf can remain.
I nod and tuck the vial into the satchel at my belt. “I’ll need strength draughts as well,” I say. “The sort you gave me before sparring.”
Zaenith’s eyes narrow. “There will be time enough for training, after you’ve taken that draught.”
I shake my head. “No. I’ll be marching with Edwin.”
“.....Why?”
I hesitate. I don’t want to speak of Two... but I shouldn’t lie outright. “There’s a sorcerer. From Ashkar Veyrn.”
At the name, her eyebrows twitch.
“He means to kill me,” I continue. “So I intend to strike first. This battle is the perfect chance.”
She studies me in silence for a long moment, then gives a faint, approving smile. “Good. Confronting powerful foes is essential to the evolution. A filthy sorcerer shall serve as a worthy trial for your third cycle.”
She bends beneath the counter, withdrawing four slender glass bottles. Two shimmer slightly with an orange hue, the others a deep red.
“These,” she says, laying them out neatly, “Two strength draughts and two potions of healing. You may use them during your engagement with this sorcerer.”
Her gaze sharpens. “But heed me well. Do not take more than three potions within a single day. The body cannot endure more. Exceed that limit, and the draughts will turn to poison. Three only. You may choose their order as circumstance demands.”
I nod, collecting the vials and tucking them into my belt. “Thank you.”
The door opens behind me, a gust of cold air sweeping in. Zaenith’s expression darkens at once as her eyes fix on the new arrival.
Luna
Results
+ 2 Medium Potions Of Health
+ 2 Strength Draughts
+ 1 Elixir of the Hydra
- 1 Elixir of the Giant
Stats