I am Maribel Holloway, age 16—rogue adventurer. Envy, Shadow, and I set out to escort Prince Drakemore and his attendant. That mission has… evolved.

"Here it is," announces Quin from the back of Shadow's wagon, pointing to a narrow, empty plot wedged between a building with barred windows and a raised wooden platform sporting four gallows.

Quin is tall, slender, and middle-aged, wearing a frilled uniform better suited to a castle ballroom than a city street. His pompous tone and the smug tilt of his chin make his face very punchable.

An impulse you've done a great job resisting.

For now.

He's one of King Thaddeon's aides, tasked with showing the prince potential sites for his new apothecary.

So yes—our simple escort job has swerved into curing a plague and opening a business.

That's what we're doing now, apparently.

Yeah, didn't see that one coming.

"You mean, behind the alleyway between the gallows and… what is that?" Ren asks, one brow raised skeptically.

"That's the jailhouse for those awaiting public execution," Quin replies matter-of-factly.

"Efficient," I mutter, holding Envy's mask toward the building to give her a better view.

Ren exhales sharply. "So our apothecary's view would be either people being executed, or the ones waiting their turn?"

"That won't be your only view, my young prince," Quin says, gesturing across the street. "Two market roads converge right here, forming the capital's grandest marketplace—your apothecary would be its crowning jewel."

"Grandest market?" I repeat under my breath. There are people buying and selling, but it looks more like desperate folks scraping together what little they can for basic necessities.

"That would imply their other markets are even worse."

"Does this city have more than one market street?" Shadow asks, echoing my exact thought.

"Just the one, actually…" Quin admits awkwardly, before quickly pivoting with practiced cheer. "But you couldn't be closer to where your customers are!"

"Perhaps," Ren says, clearly unimpressed. "But we're not looking for an empty lot. We need an existing building."

"As you wish," Quin replies, momentarily taken aback but recovering swiftly. "I have another excellent option just ahead." He gestures forward, and Shadow flicks the reins to set the wagon in motion.

We roll down the crowded market street, the people ahead parting like water around a ship. The buildings flanking us are simple gray forms—functional, box-like structures built with all the passion of a bricklayer on a deadline.

The crowd is a blend of races, clad in plain clothes just as utilitarian as their surroundings. Even Quin's frilled uniform—by far the most flamboyant thing in sight—feels tame compared to the gaudy excess of Lord Fobos back in Arcadia.

"You know you don't need to do that, right?"

I'm jarred from my people-watching and glance over to see Ren watching me with a raised brow.

"What do you mean?"

He points at the Envy mask I've been holding out in front of me, following my line of sight wherever I look. I glance down at it, then back at him.

"Envy doesn't see through the eyes of the mask," he says.

"I know that!" I snap, frowning.

"She knows I see through her eyes."

"Well then, why are you waving her mask around like that?" Ren asks.

"She asked me to take her out of the bag for a while."

"After what happened at the castle, I wanted her to keep me on hand. I didn't like not being able to help."

"There's that," I admit, "but it also just feels weird shoving my friend into a bag."

Ren shrugs. Apparently, our reasoning is enough for him to lose interest in arguing the point. Then his nose wrinkles sharply, and his expression twists in disgust. "Ugh, what is that smell?" he mutters, glancing around apparently trying to locate the source of the stench.

The smell hits me a second later—like death warmed over. It stings my nostrils and settles thick on the back of my tongue.

Quin stands, already holding a cloth to his nose as he gestures stiffly behind us.

We both turn to look.

The sight is just as offensive as the smell.

"What in Gaia is that?" Ren mutters, recoiling.

Quin had clearly been about to announce it, but Ren's reaction beats him to it.

Before us stands a two-story gray cement building with shattered windows and a collapsed side wall where it borders another structure. The adjacent property appears to be a dumping yard—an open space piled high with rotting food, scorched planks, broken junk… and animal carcasses.

The building is clearly derelict. At some point, the sheer weight of accumulated filth from next door must have broken through the wall, spilling tons of ancient garbage into the building's interior.

"This, m'lord," Quin says, stifling a gag mid-sentence, "could be the home of your new apothecary."

"The hell it is," Ren snaps, his irritation plain. "This is worse than the last one."

"I am so glad I have no sense of smell."

"It just needs a bit of cleaning up—" Quin begins.

"A bit of cleaning up?" Ren cuts in, incredulous. "It's barely standing!"

"You can fix it with magic, right?" Quin offers, far too casually.

"Oh sure," Ren replies, rolling his eyes. "I could burn it down. That'd be a huge improvement."

"Even if we spent the time and resources to rebuild this disaster," Shadow adds, shaking his head, "it wouldn't change the fact that the city dump is next door."

Quin slumps back into his seat, visibly frustrated but resigned. His tone is flat as he gestures ahead. "Very well, m'lord. On to your next option."

Presumably, he started with his best option, right?

"If that's the case, I don't have high hopes for what's left."

Or maybe he's just trying to unload the worst of Hyperion's real estate on us first—clear out the trash by handing it to the outsider.

As the wagon jolts back into motion, I watch Ren's foot tapping, his hands gripping his knees with growing frustration.

Beside him, Willow sits—the picture of perfect serenity. That calm smile she wears never cracks. I used to think it was arrogance. But now I understand: it's disinterest. Our problems don't matter to her. They've never posed a threat. She's always in control. Always holding back. And that, more than anything, is what unsettles me most.

And that thought leads to a question that's been gnawing at me ever since the moment we faced off against King Thaddeon's men.

I've been wondering.

"About what?"

Why does Lady Willow always wait until the very last second to help? She's powerful—absurdly so. If she wanted, she could solve every problem, clear every obstacle without breaking a sweat. But time and again, she waits. She watches. And only steps in when there are no other options.

"Every time she casts a spell, it shortens her life," Envy answers from within me, the words slipping into place as naturally as my own thoughts.

Her voice… it didn't always sound like mine. Back when we first bonded, it had an edge—slightly deeper, a little distant. But over the past few days, it's been shifting. Now her tone matches mine so closely, it's becoming hard to distinguish her thoughts from my own.

If my life got shorter every time I used magic, I'd be careful too.

"Your mana comes back with rest. Hers doesn't. She has to take life from others to restore her power. The bigger the spell, the more it costs."

So every time Ren fails to solve a problem on his own… someone else might have to pay the price.

The wagon comes to a stop again, but before Quin can speak, Ren cuts in.

"Quin, I don't think you're understanding me," he says through gritted teeth, standing as he gestures sharply toward a row of three blackened buildings that look like the aftermath of a recent fire. "We do not want your trash."

Quin recoils—whether from offense or the sheer intensity of Ren's glare, it's hard to say. But Ren doesn't let up.

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"We will not accept any building that needs to be rebuilt or repaired. We want a facility in good condition, with no obvious problems. And we do not care how far it is from your ruddy market!"

Ren presses on, his voice sharpening. "Your king made it very clear—we're to be provided a quality property that meets our needs. How do you think he'd react if he saw the garbage you've tried to pass off on me?"

Watching a stuck-up, self-important noble—supposedly a grown man—shrink beneath the fury of a nine-year-old is honestly the highlight of my day. Quin slumps back into his seat beside Shadow, his voice small and beaten. "Understood, m'lord."

He gestures weakly for us to move on. But Shadow doesn't flick the reins just yet. Instead, his head turns slowly toward Quin, the motion of enchanted metal creaking with menace. Quin meets the dark eye-holes of Shadow's mask—and audibly gulps.

"I promise," Quin blurts, "the next will meet the young master's requirements!"

"See that it does," Shadow replies coldly, turning back toward the road. With a flick of the reins, the wagon lurches forward once more.

Quin gives a stiff nod, then directs Shadow to guide the wagon through the winding streets of Astradel—away from the market, and soon, away from the city itself. I glance up from where I'm lounging atop the potion crates just in time to see us pass through the southern gate.

I have to admit, I'm a little impressed by this royal twerp. He's got real skills. He's kind to the powerless, stands his ground, and puts haughty nobles in their place. No wonder Shadow likes the kid.

"He's the future king Arcadia needs."

"Where is he taking us now?" Ren mutters, eyes scanning the passing farmland. The wagon rocks and jolts as we veer off the main road onto a narrow, uneven dirt path. A wooden signpost creaks by on our right: Windgrove Manor.

The trail opens into several acres of wild grass, swaying in the breeze. At its center, the path leads to a wide clearing, where a red-brick mansion looms, oddly pristine and alone in the vast emptiness."

Unlike the stark, gray buildings of the capital, this manor is warm in color, roofed with faded ceramic tiles that catch the sunlight. It's smaller than Lord Griswald's estate, but still grand—larger than any home I've ever known.

Broad windows line the front, framing a pair of tall double doors. Through the glass, I catch a glimpse of the interior: cleared of furniture, but clean and intact—save for a blanket of dust and cobwebs clinging to the corners.

"This is—" Quin begins.

"Perfect," Ren finishes for him—though his voice drips with irritation, not satisfaction. "Why didn't you show us this one first?"

"Yeah, why did you waste our time with those other options?" I add, as Shadow brings the wagon to a halt in front of the estate's circular patio. It's raised three steps off the ground on all sides, centered directly on the main entrance.

"This manor is thirty minutes from the city and far from the market," Quin protests, sounding defensive, as if he's being attacked from all sides. "You'll be far from your customers."

"We'll be the only apothecary in your entire kingdom with access to life-saving potions and healing magic," Ren replies, eyes scanning the manor's brick facade and arched windows. "I'm certain our customers will come to us—no matter how far."

"Being this isolated also makes the location easier to secure and restricts access to those with legitimate business," Shadow adds as he dismounts. His greaves hit the ground with a heavy thud, and the wagon lurches from the sudden shift in weight. He moves to my side and offers his hands to help me down.

Without hesitation, like a reflex honed by habit, I step off the wagon and into his waiting arms. His massive, gloved hands catch me gently but securely beneath the arms, guiding my descent into a quiet embrace. I wrap my arms around his neck—or try to. Even on my toes, I can't quite reach all the way. Instead, I lean into his broad, solid frame as his hands drift up my back, pulling me into a careful, wordless bear hug.

"The outside looks great," I hear Ren say as Shadow slowly releases me, "but what's it like inside?"

"Thanks, big guy," I whisper softly to Shadow as we part. I circle the wagon to the manor-facing side, where Quin, Ren, and Willow are already deep in conversation.

"This was once the residence of one of King Thaddeon's sons," Quin explains, gesturing to the manor. "A count, tasked with managing this territory. He and his family were lost to the withering less than a year ago…"

"That's tragic… and it's gone unused since then?" Ren asks, failing miserably at sounding mournful.

"Yes," Quin replies, clearing his throat. "But it has all the features you would expect from a noble estate. A large parlor, dining hall, kitchen, pantry, one master's, ten guest, and ten servant quarters, a study, ample storage, and a large ba—"

"Bath?" Ren cuts in, suddenly interested.

"Yes," Quin confirms with a nod. "A spacious outdoor bath in the central courtyard. It can be filled via a manual well pump and heated by an oil-fired boiler."

"I think I've heard enough. Please pass my thanks to the king," Ren says, already striding toward the front door. "Shadow, could you off load the cargo before you take Quin back to the capital?"

"No problem," Shadow replies, moving to the back of the wagon. He unlatches and lowers the rear panel, then lifts the first crate of potions with ease. "I'll handle these—you help them get settled inside."

"Alright," I reply with a nod, turning to follow Ren and Willow through the front doors. The hinges groan as they swing open, and my boots kick up a thick cloud of dust that stings my throat and makes me cough.

Just inside, Ren and Willow have only gone a few steps further, leaving a trail of footprints in the grime.

"This is going to take a while," I mutter, still coughing.

"Perhaps not," Ren replies, covering his mouth with his sleeve. "Would you accept a standard teacup's worth of blood to clean the house?" he asks Willow.

"Accepted," she answers without hesitation, and snaps her fingers.

A wave of warmth and magic rushes past me, soft as a summer breeze. The stale air vanishes, replaced by a crisp freshness laced with the scent of flowers. Dust disappears in an instant, leaving the floors and walls gleaming. The windows are so clear they're practically invisible, and every light fixture sparkles like it's been polished to perfection.

I only have a moment to admire how spotless the interior has become before Willow gives a casual wave of her hand. A deep, resonant thud—like a mallet striking wood—echoes through the space, and in that instant, furniture bursts into existence. Shelves line the walls, a polished service counter anchors the room, and the parlor is transformed into a fully furnished apothecary—ready and waiting to be stocked with wares.

"What can't she do?" The words slip out before I can stop them, and I stare, baffled, at the perfectly furnished shop. Willow catches my expression and flashes a pleased smile.

"Haven't found anything yet," Shadow replies dryly from behind me as he sets the first crate of potions down in front of one of the newly conjured shelves.

He makes quick work of unloading the rest of the cargo, then sets off to escort Quin back to the capital. Meanwhile, I get to work stocking the shelves.

Kneeling beside one of the crates, I gather several potions, intending to place them neatly on the shelf in front of me. As I reach up to set the first bottle down, curiosity compels me to glance over my shoulder to see what the others are doing.

My breath catches sharply. Ren is calmly drawing a blade across his own forearm. His motion is smooth, practiced—without hesitation or flinching—as if this were the most ordinary act imaginable.

But there is nothing ordinary about this prince, nor about the sight of blood trickling steadily from his self-inflicted wound.

It's the cost of a fae's magic.

Envy's words echo ominously in my mind as Ren extends his bleeding arm toward Willow, his gesture as casual as offering her a goblet of fine wine.

The analogy fits disturbingly well as Willow gently clasps his forearm with both hands, lowering her lips gracefully to the wound. Her eyes drift shut in evident pleasure, her expression eerily reminiscent of a noblewoman savoring an exquisite vintage.

Ren tolerates the pain stoically, yet he averts his gaze the instant Willow's lips touch his skin. Perhaps he prefers not to confront this darker side of his companion. Yet, I find myself unable to look away, my stomach twisting uncomfortably with a mixture of revulsion and fascination.

For one fleeting moment, I'm reminded of the simulated damsel that had lured an unsuspecting traveler into becoming a plant's next meal.

This is different. This is a willing exchange.

After several heartbeats, Willow draws back, delicately licking the crimson stain from her lips. The moment she releases his arm, Ren immediately casts a healing spell with his other hand. A brief pulse of green light envelopes his forearm, knitting the wound closed seamlessly.

"Perfect," Ren murmurs quietly, looking weary as he rubs the healed skin. His eyes meet mine, and he forces a small, reassuring smile, clearly attempting to dispel the horror undoubtedly etched across my face.

Without another word, Ren strides over to join me, silently assisting in placing potions onto the shelves. The three of us quickly finish sorting our inventory, though my mind remains consumed by thoughts of the grisly price Ren willingly pays for Willow's services.

While waiting for Shadow to return, I join Ren and Willow in exploring what will be my home for the next few arcs. The kitchen is now fully stocked with dishes, pans, and silverware—all of it oddly ancient in design, like something out of a forgotten noble's estate. The guest and master's quarters have been furnished with quality beds, clean linens, and sturdy wardrobes, while the servants' quarters have been converted into treatment rooms for patients.

I picked out a room for Shadow and myself, taking the time to organize our belongings for when he returns.

The tour ends at the bath in the central courtyard. It's styled like a natural hot spring, the basin sculpted to resemble worn stone and surrounded by overgrown flora.

Ren and I fumble with the boiler for a while, trying to figure out how it works, before Willow finally takes pity on us poor mortals and explains that it needs oil to operate. Undeterred, Ren just conjures hot water himself.

Shadow rejoins us just as Ren finishes filling the bath. He silently falls in beside Willow and me as we watch Ren step back from the steaming pool.

"What took you so long?" I ask.

"I restocked our provisions," Shadow replies dispassionately. "Since we're going to be here a while."

The sun dips low in the sky as the four of us gaze at the serene courtyard. The bath glows under the soft light pouring in through the manor windows that surround it. Cool night air drifts around us, filled with the distant chirping of nocturnal insects, and a bright full moon casts a silver glow overhead. Wisps of steam rise from the heated water, carrying with them the warm, calming scent of wild lavender.

"Well, no sense just staring at it," Ren says, already unclasping his cloak. "You ladies mind if Shadow and I go first?"

"Enjoy your soak, young master. The young lady and I will prepare supper," Willow says, turning to head back inside.

I glance toward Shadow as he begins removing his armor. A pang of yearning stirs in me, bringing back a pleasant memory—bathing with him after messy quests, helping scrub the gore from the crevices he couldn't reach. Back then, it had been a matter of practical necessity, but this is different and I feel a pang of—

Envy.

So instead, I follow Willow into the manor and head to the kitchen. She pulls an assortment of vegetables from her bag and hands them to me to prepare. I start chopping as she lays out seasoned steaks and sets a pan over the flame.

Not long after, Willow places two plates of dinner onto the newly conjured dining room table. For the briefest moment, I wonder why she's only prepared two servings—then I remember: Ren and I are the only ones in our odd little group who actually need food to survive.

"I love Willow's cooking," Envy speaks in my head as I take the first delicious bite. Her food is truly a work of art, with flavors that defy logic given the ingredients. Then again, the fae are known for culinary magic. This might be the first time it's been used without dangerous intent.

Willow sits across from me, watching as I eat, her expression fixed in that same calm smile she always wears. It's strangely peaceful—this strange home, in a foreign country, sharing a meal with a dangerous monster wearing a flawless mask. I wonder what she's really thinking.

"Thank you for the meal, Lady Willow."

"My pleasure, Miss Maribel."

Then after taking the final bite of my meal I clear my throat and look back at Willow with a burning question likely showing on my face.

"Can I ask you a question?" I ask.

"Certainly… if you are prepared for the answer," Willow says, tilting her head slightly.

"I get that Envy, Ren, and even Shadow trust you—a lot. Shadow trusts you even though you avoid him. And while I am thankful you're helping us, I need to know…" The words I've been holding back tumble out like floodwaters from a broken dam. "Why? What do you get out of this? Why are you helping Ren? Why does Shadow trust you? And why do you hate him?"

I stare at Willow, meeting her gaze unflinchingly. She looks back at me like a beautiful, terrifying statue—still, elegant, and unknowable. Her eyes are so deep I feel like I could fall into them, a portal into a boundless blue sky… and so piercing it feels like she's looking straight into my soul.

"I protect Ren because I accepted a contract that requires it. If he dies, I die," Willow says after a long, pregnant pause. "As for your friend Shadow—I taught him much of what he knows. I do not hate him. I fear him. He inhabits a mithril body, and mithril is deadly to the fae."

"That's it?" Her answer is so simple, so concise, it feels incomplete. Like a truth trimmed down to the bone, missing all the flesh and nuance that makes it real. It doesn't satisfy the mystery she represents.

Before I can push further, the hallway door creaks open and Ren strides in, wrapped in a white plush robe.

"Your turn, ladies. Thanks for waiting," he says with a yawn and a stretch, before dropping into the seat in front of the second plate of food.

"Enjoy your supper, young master," Willow replies, her tone light—but final. She's clearly done answering questions.

As she walks out of the room, I remind myself: the fae cannot lie. That should be comforting. It should mean the answers she gave me are true.

And yet… I know all too well the art of lying by omission.

I wonder what secrets our monstrous ally might be hiding.

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