Sepal Nasrin. The Withering. The Cult. Wyn's thoughts swirled as he hauled a bucket of water to the infirmary. Haoma. Spirit fire. Are they all linked? Or am I grasping at straws?

He tried to keep moving—handling any task he could find around the guild just to feel like he was actually accomplishing something. Every problem in front of him seemed impossible, but he could bring more bandages to a healer on the lawn, he could purge venom from an injured adventurer, and he could shoot monsters down from atop the walls.

An arrow loosed from his bow struck one in the middle of its four eyes. He drew another with practiced calm. Archery had never been his favorite, but he and Corrin had trained in more than just the blade growing up. He'd gone out with the hunters for deer in Straetum more times than he could count. It was one of the few weapons he was significantly better with than Corrin.

He couldn't confirm it, but he felt that the horde outside the walls had thinned slightly since their raid. Corrin's group had collapsed the northern entrance—maybe they had to stretch their monsters further now?

A commotion rose from the gate below. Wyn turned, pushing his way along the crowded wall-walk, wondering if some other survivors had made their way to the guild. As he passed one of the small towers dotting the length of the wall, the scene came into view: a young woman with wine-dark hair, carrying a child over her shoulder like a sack of grain.

She was walking towards the gates, ignoring the monsters closing in.

Wyn started to run. Is she insane? He shouted a cry of warning—then froze.

The closest monster's legs vanished from under it, and it slapped against the ground long before reaching her. More fell right after, sliced cleanly in half by some unseen blade. The cult mages nearby panicked, flinging a sphere of light that detonated harmlessly in the air.

Wyn stared, dumbstruck, as the soldiers on the wall milled around nervously, whispering beneath their breaths.

She came to a stop in front of the gates, tilting her head up towards the wall and speaking with a voice like honey. "Can somebody let me in?"

No one moved. It was obvious already—this woman was strong, frighteningly so. Could they really afford to let her in if she was a threat?

She sighed. "I'm not with the damn cultists, and I need to get this boy to safety."

A soldier called back down. "That's exactly what a cultist would say!"

Wyn groaned, slapping a hand over his face. He hurried towards the gate. In Shani's absence, the disparate teams of adventurers lacked clear cohesion or command structure, and conflicting orders were being thrown around left and right. Even the team manning the chains was arguing.

"What are we waiting for? Let them in!"

"But what if they're with the enemy?"

"It's too obvious," Wyn cut in, shaking his head. "And it isn't obvious enough. If the cult wanted to get in, this isn't how they'd go about it. Open the gates."

"Who are you to tell me anything?"

"Somebody get the guildmistress!"

Wyn drew his blade. Purple flames erupted along its edge, matching the ones burning in his eyes. "The guildmistress is recovering after we fought one of the cult's acolytes. If you want to bother her, be my guest. But that woman has a child with her, and he's covered in blood! So do as I say and open the damn gates!"

Wyn leveled his eyes coldly at the men. He felt it didn't suit him, much like the bow, but he would wield it all the same. Flames licked up his sword, dancing slowly as he waited.

They relented, and soon enough the chains were moving.

As the gates cracked open, the woman stepped through, calmly, as though she wasn't hurried at all.

"Took you all long enough," she smiled. "I was beginning to think I'd have to change tactics."

The gathered adventurers stood warily, many with their blades drawn. Her eyes swept over them, taking in every face. Despite her poise, Wyn saw her tense ever so slightly.

"What a warm reception."

"We're a bit nervous," Wyn replied. "I'm sure you can understand. You're clearly a channeler of some skill."

Her gaze swung to him as he approached, and she clicked her tongue. "I really was hoping you'd be the cute one…"

He blinked. "Excuse me?"

"Relax." She held up her hand and smiled. "I'm here to help with your cultist problem. And to deliver this kid."

Wyn approached slowly. She wasn't armed, and her posture was relaxed, yet he felt a quiet pressure from her, as if a noose was slowly tightening around his throat. He nodded. "Then let's get him to a healer." He turned to shout. "Somebody find Elis! Tell him I've got a patient coming!"

The woman's smile twitched slightly, but Wyn was more confused by the uneasy looks on the adventurers nearby.

"What? What is it?"

One of them winced. "Elis is gone man."

Wyn frowned. "What do you mean he's gone?"

"You weren't here, but he strolled up onto the ramparts and then jumped. Took off into the streets with the monsters at his heels."

Wyn faltered. "He—why would he do that? You're not making any sense."

The adventurer shrugged. "Your guess is as good as mine. He didn't say a word."

"Don't worry about a healer," the woman said, drawing Wyn's attention back. "The boy is fine. Take a look at him for yourself if you want." She hefted him off of her shoulder and set him on the ground for Wyn to inspect.

True to her word, beneath the crusted blood, the child seemed to be in perfect health. Still, Wyn had him taken to the infirmary anyways, just in case.

Elis was gone? It didn't make sense. Going out alone in the city right now seemed like suicide. Either Elis had a death wish, or he was stronger than Wyn thought.

Wyn didn't follow the unconscious boy to the infirmary. He stayed by the gate, studying the stranger. Her golden brown skin stood out amidst the lighter shades of Liresil, and her amethyst eyes were piercing even when relaxed. A strangely cut jacket draped over her shoulders, shimmering in his mana-sight, and open in the middle to a white collared shirt which fit snugly around her curves.

"You never did introduce yourself," he said at last.

She smiled. "Neither did you."

"Fine." He stuck a hand out. "Wyn."

"Call me Elza." Her handshake was light. "You have a problem to the north, isn't that right?"

His eyes widened. "How much do you know?"

"Everything I need to. Let's say I've been keeping tabs."

"And you're only choosing to help now?" His voice rose before he caught himself. How was she so cavalier about everything?

Elza's eyes flashed. "It doesn't matter does it? Are you going to deny my help? If you'd like, I can walk back out those gates and leave everything to you. What a successful negotiation that would be."

The words hit him like a bucket of cold water, bringing clarity back. Wyn drew a slow breath, forcing his hands to unclench. He may not like her attitude, but he had no real reason to distrust her. And the truth was, they couldn't afford to turn away any help they were offered.

"What kind of help are you offering? Are you saying you have a way to seal the northern entrance?"

"You collect yourself quickly, I like that Wyn." She held her hand out to the side and a blade flickered into it, an oversized needle, keenly sharpened.

Wyn flinched back at the sudden movement, but she made no move to attack. Her coat fluttered, and he realized it had jumped to her hand from within, leaping from the leather sheath harnessed onto her waist. But it had been so quick. He'd barely seen it at all.

Wyn recognized it for what it was—a message, plain and simple.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

I am beyond you.

"I'm saying I'll take care of the entire northern problem for you," she chuckled. "You don't have to lift a finger. How does that sound?"

Wyn steadied himself. "Why bother telling me at all then? What's the catch?"

She shrugged. "I couldn't say. Maybe it's just because I was coming here already."

"You don't have to be so difficult." He sighed. On the one hand, just the way she answered just made her seem more suspicious. On the other hand… "I can't afford to turn you down, can I?"

"Now you're getting it," she smiled sweetly.

"Are you leaving now?"

Elza looked up at the sky. "It's a bit too bright at the moment. I'll go at sunset. Does that work for you?"

"Why even ask?"

She laughed, and the blade in her hand danced for a moment before sliding back into her jacket. "I feel like there was something else…" She tapped her finger to her chin and walked off. After a moment, she paused. "Oh, that's right. Listen Wyn, Haoma is the tree, and its roots stretch throughout the whole city. Shouldn't you know that?"

Wyn frowned. Haoma is the tree? Obviously. What does that—

The meaning struck him like lightning, stealing his breath away. She was already walking away, but he took a step towards her, managing to choke out a question.

"Just how much do you know about me?"

Without turning, she waved him off. "Me? Nothing at all. I'm just delivering a message."

He watched as she wandered off into the guild. He couldn't force a response from her, much less right now. But he swore, when everything was over, he'd get some damn answers.

For now…

Wyn found himself running, further in, towards the back edge of the guild, where the massive trunk of the spirit tree rose like a living wall. He found Sadirah on the way, hanging strips of cloth up to dry behind the infirmary.

"Sadirah, come with me!" He grabbed her hand, pulling her along.

She stammered as they went. "Wyn? What's going on?"

"I might need your help."

Haoma's trunk wasn't like that of a normal tree; it grew in segments, large shields of wood that curved and wrapped around each other as they twisted upwards, creating an appearance unlike any Wyn had seen before.

But it was still all one, wasn't it?

Almost a week ago, Wyn had climbed this very trunk, and he'd heard it then. Yes, that was how it had all started—a voice in his head. It felt so long ago, but he remembered now.

"I'm listening," Wyn whispered. "Please…" He reached out, placing a hand on the trunk and reaching out tenderly with spirit fire. He couldn't feel anything on the other end, but he did it anyway.

Ernydor's words echoed in his head. "For Haoma, as we approach the solstice, its powers should only increase."

The solstice was less than a day away.

Then he felt… something. He heard a distant voice, carried on the wind, though he couldn't make out the words. Spirit fire flickered unsteadily, but it wasn't as though he was holding it to nothing either. There was something on the other end, but it was faint. He needed one more push.

"Sadirah." The calm of his own voice surprised him. "Can you wake me in a few minutes?"

"Wake you up? What are you—"

"I'm testing something. Just don't let me stay out for too long."

She hesitated. "I guess I can do that."

"Thank you Sadirah." Wyn placed a hand on her shoulder. "I'll be able to check on your siblings very soon, I promise."

Without waiting for her response, Wyn closed his eyes and turned his attention inwards. He let the spirit fire in his chest dim, pulling back from his body. But he kept a firm grip on the single strand of fire going out to the tree. As the burning subsided, all of his pent up exhaustion washed over him in a wave.

As his vision dimmed, he fell to his knees. Sadirah cried out in alarm.

And Wyn slipped into a dream.

***

Music drifted through the courtyard as sunlight spilled through the leaves above.

Kei sat in the grass with a little girl in her lap, too young to really understand what was happening. They didn't know where her parents were—she'd come in with a group of refugees, picked up off the streets.

A crowd had gathered together, young and old, sitting on blankets set out by the manor's staff. Bruno and Aria stood in the center, telling a story and plucking a lyre, trying to keep the people's minds off of events beyond the walls. It almost worked.

Then the wards sizzled overhead with a flash of red light, incinerating the attack that had been thrown over the walls. It was getting harder to ignore with each passing hour.

Ever since Corrin's group had returned from the western entrance, the cult had begun to attack the estate directly. Monsters threw themselves against the walls, and mages hurled spell after spell to probe the wards. The head servant, Venish, assured everyone that the wards had plenty of mana to spare, but Kei noticed the staff growing more worried as the day grew long.

She knew there wasn't much she could do to help, but she still couldn't help but feel useless. Then again, it didn't seem those stronger than her were much better off.

Across the yard, Luscien was sitting atop a small stone slab, pieces of broken chalk strewn about around him. The once-composed boy looked ragged: his coat was torn, his hair was disheveled, and his glasses were so cracked she wondered why he still bothered to wear them. He was sitting with an arm slung over his knee, and his head in his other hand, the picture of defeat.

The Kegslayers were mourning as well, grown reserved after the death of one of their members. Not to mention their injuries and fatigue.

It didn't exactly fill her with confidence.

Please wake up Corrin…

"Kei."

The soft voice made her glance up. Eia hovered nearby, a distant look on her face.

"What is it?"

"It's Wyn. Something feels… strange."

Kei's brow furrowed. "Is he hurt?"

"I don't think so." She swayed left and right in the air anxiously. "But I can't reach him either. It's almost like he suddenly fell asleep. It doesn't feel like he's in danger, but I think I'll go check on him."

Kei nodded. "Of course, you should then."

"I'll come back as soon as I can."

Eia zipped away, passing through the wards above and flying out into the city.

As Kei watched her go, there was a sudden clamoring from the gate. The guards were pointing towards something outside. She handed the little girl to another woman and jogged over to see what was happening.

Just as she arrived, the gates swung open and a man stumbled in, bloodied and bitten, a dozen monsters nipping at his heels.

Bough's Arrows rushed into the mass of gnashing fur and teeth, spilling blood into the dirt as the gates slammed shut, and the lone survivor from the outside collapsed into the grass.

He was laughing.

She rushed over, along with half a dozen of the manor's staff to check on the man, who seemed in awfully high spirits considering the situation.

"You saved my life! I was certain I was done for."

He had hair like white silk, parted down the middle, and mismatched eyes—one green, one gold. He wore a simple, sleeveless white shirt half tucked into dark pants—plain clothes torn by claw and fang. His toned arms were cut and bruised, but he was oddly relaxed, like they didn't touch him at all.

"Let me see your wounds," one of the healers said, kneeling beside him.

He nudged them away. "No need." He lifted his shirt to show the large gashes on his side already knitting back together.

"That's—so fast!" The healer exclaimed.

The man chuckled. "If only my legs were so quick. I'd been hiding in a cellar nearby, but they started breaking up from below. I broke out and hoofed it until I saw these walls down the street. Lucky break, right?"

"In a cellar? Have you had anything to eat?"

"Well I've had plenty to drink." He looked around at their stony faces. "That is—yes, I've eaten. In fact, I'd like to help if I can. I'm something of a healer, as you can see. If there are any injured children, I'd see them first."

The healer nodded. "We've gotten most of the worst under control. No children, thankfully. But more hands are always welcome."

"That's good to hear." The stranger shook the man's hand. "Call me Elis, I hope I'm able to help."

Kei wasn't quite sure why, but she ended up following the two of them into the infirmary. The healer had seemed impressed with his skills, so maybe he'd be able to help Corrin?

The night before, the entire hallway had been choked with the injured, but thanks to the healers—and the strange butterflies tending to wounds—only the most serious remained, eight people including Eryndor and Corrin.

As they walked by, Kei noticed Elis brushing his fingers across each patient's arm or chest, eyes flicking over them as the healer described their conditions.

Corrin and Eryndor were being kept in the infirmary proper, being of the highest priority among the injured. The healers had protested treating Eryndor—since they claimed he would survive anyways, and with or without their help he likely wouldn't wake for days—but the staff had insisted.

Corrin lay in a cot at the edge of the room. He was shirtless, his torso wrapped tightly in cloth bandages stained red. His skin was pale from blood loss, and his breathing was shallow.

Kei grabbed his hand as they approached, squeezing it tightly. She wished she'd never had to see him so weak. It wasn't right—Corrin should be loud and obnoxious, sporting a confident grin that made her want to laugh. That was what suited him best.

As Elis passed by, his fingers brushed over Corrin's exposed chest, just as he'd done with the others. Except this time, he paused, then doubled back, pressing his whole palm down instead. His eyes widened as he seemed to notice something, though Kei couldn't guess what.

"Who is this boy?" he asked.

One of the healers started to respond. "An adventurer who—"

"He's my friend," Kei interrupted, worried. "Is something wrong with him?"

Elis looked her way for the first time. For a heartbeat, his polite expression slipped, and something unreadable flashed across his mismatched eyes. Then it was gone, so quickly she thought she must have imagined it—after all, she was used to being viewed with distrust.

"Not at all," he said smoothly. "What's your friend's name, miss?"

"Um, it's Corrin… Why do you ask?"

His eyes widened further. Then, he threw his head back and laughed.

The ringing sound echoed in the quiet infirmary, drawing confused and annoyed looks from the other healers.

Finally, it subsided, and he spoke softly, his eyes suddenly tender. "Gravity is an inexorable force, isn't it? How can we tiny humans defy it with such ease?"

"Sir?"

"Ignore me. I was only thinking aloud." His eyes focused on Corrin. "I have some time to spare. Getting your friend back on his feet should be a good warmup."

It was Kei's turn to be shocked. "Can you—are you able to do that? The other healers said there was nothing more they could do for at least another day!"

Elis placed both hands over Corrin's chest, a soft green light blooming beneath his palms.

"Well," he murmured, "let's see if my meager skills can do any better."

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