FSE

Furry search engine

formerly SoFurry search engine

Farah squinted away from a ray of golden sunlight. Narrowed eyes glanced over to the window—closed, thankfully, but the sliver of space between the curtains had allowed one lucky sunbeam to meet her gaze. She stretched, nerves alighting in bliss as she wrung the sleep from her limbs, and almost squeaked in surprise when her arm bumped another body beside her.

Right. Kaida.

The dragon snoozed, sprawled out on his back, gentle snores rumbling from his throat. His fuzzy ears twitched at the sound of her moving around on the bed, but he did not stir otherwise. What a sight—this creature of legends all tangled up in bed sheets and softly snoozing. Farah stifled a giggle and let out a soft breath. A half-elf with a dragon bed mate. Oh, how her peers would laugh if they ever found out…

And if Kaida kept his mouth shut like he promised, they never would! Farah satisfied herself with that thought and climbed out of bed. A quick glance in the mirror hanging on her wall confirmed the disheveled mess she'd already assumed her hair to be, and she groaned at the sight of it. Nothing a nice long bath couldn't fix, though. Bad hair day aside, she reeked of sex, and not in the alluring, storybook kind of way. Those silly erotica tomes she'd stealthily borrowed from the academy library's “intimate" section sure did romanticize all the best parts of falling asleep in a lover's arms post-coitus, and absolutely none of the cleanup.

She opened the door to her bath chamber, a cramped room largely taken up by the wash basin. At least mages recognized the importance of a proper rejuvenating soak, and didn't simply hand their students a bucket and bid them a happy sponge bath. Dark stone walls and floors illuminated by enchanted blue wall sconces gave the room an ethereal feel, and the gentle scent of lavender tickled her nose upon entry.

The basin, carved from treated dark wood—some exotic tree she couldn't quite name—had just enough space for her and Kaida, if they squeezed. At the far end of the tub sat a bright blue crystal, shimmering with what appeared to be bubbles beneath the glassy surface. With a wave of her fingers, she offered the crystal a sliver of mana. It pulsed a brilliant blue in response. From the enchanted gemstone came a gentle trickle of water, then a veritable gushing torrent, hot and steaming, into the basin.

Perched at the edge of the tub, Farah idly combed her fingers through her tangled lilac hair. It was hard to believe so much had happened in just a week—it barely felt like that long at all. Soren's kidnapping and rescue—gods, was he recovering alright back at the inn? How were his injuries? He was probably wondering where she and Kaida had gone. Then came the battle with the ancient knight's armor in the Thornlands… and Asphodel—the Unseelie queen's hand… A real terror, that one, but clearly masking some deep pains. Farah idly wondered if the faerie's mother had revived by now—if the faefolk's rebirth truly worked as the sadistic pixie hinted. What would Asphodel tell her?

And then there was Kaida, sprawled out on her bed after a night of hypnosis-induced fucking. Adorable Kaida, her unlikely new adventuring partner and the true savior of their Thornlands rescue mission. A smile made its way to her lips before she could think to stop it, and why would she? He'd really come through for her and Soren. Even if things were meant to get awkward from time to time, he'd surely be a welcome addition to their party.

Speaking of said dragon, he was absolutely not snoozing through bath time. Not with the day-old sex smell clinging to him like it was to her. Farah padded across the room and slipped back into bed, draping her bare form across the snoozing fae dragon, eliciting a sleepy groan.

“Wakey wakey." she crooned into his ear with a little giggle. “C'mon Kaida, it's gotta be close to noon by now."

“Mrrrrf." came the dragon's sleepy protest. He curled into a half-hearted ball of scales and mumbled back, “Five minutes."

“Five seconds." Farah insisted, her tone taking on a playful sternness. “Or… I'll tickle you awake."

The threat hung in the air, unquestioned and effective. Kaida groaned again, wings flaring in a lazy sprawl, and he stretched himself out cat-like as he rolled over and rose to all fours. Sleepy eyes opened to cast a dramatic glare at Farah, one befitting a dragon grievously wronged by the existence of morning. “I was getting up."

“Uh huh." Farah, content to refrain from further sarcasm, pressed a smooch to his forehead. Slipping off the bed, she beckoned her groggy friend along. “Come on. The bath will wake you up."

A quick wave of her hand siphoned her mana back from the water crystal, and the flow ceased. The bath, now nearly full, steamed and called to her with its soothing warmth. Farah answered this siren song, stepping one leg in, then the other, before slowly, languidly sinking into the liquid heat.

She couldn't help herself. The satisfied sigh that poured from her lips was all that needed to be said. Several days in the woods without a proper bath was a special kind of hell, and these moments of respite just got better every time. Infused with minerals from the Ley-Pillar, the water tingled in ways beyond physicality—raw mana flowing into her spirit, while natural salts soothed her skin.

Contrary to her own graceful entrance, Kaida, ever the lumbering dragon, simply plopped into the bath. Water sloshed and splashed around him as he climbed in with all the grace of a drunken horse, spilling water over the side and gently tossing Farah about in the miniature tidal wave he'd caused in his displacement.

“Gods, could you be more of an animal?" the half-elf coughed as she unintentionally swallowed a splash of the enchanted water.

“Yeah, I could do last night all over again. Without the pesky restraint." Kaida smirked, earning him a splash in the face. He giggled all the same and settled in the bath, soaking in the sight of Farah's reddened cheeks.

Clearly, the mana-infused minerals were doing their job—waking him up in more ways than one. Farah avoided looking at him—not because the idea was unattractive, but… “I don't want you to break me." It came in a quiet, hesitant mumble. “You're not exactly small."

Rather than press, Kaida let that phrase stand—whether as a problem, a compliment, or simply a matter of fact, Farah couldn't say. The dragon's playful grin softened, and he padded forward in the water to bump his forehead against hers.

“I'll be good." came the gentlest purr.

Farah, in turn, caressed the length of his scaled neck. “I know you will."

She lingered there with him for a long moment. Such tenderness from a creature so alien to her—one usually so full of sass, for that matter! Had someone asked her a year ago if this was where she'd expected her adventuring career would take her, she'd have probably thrown her drink in their face. Few dared invoke the age-old elf-girl stereotype in front of someone with pointed ears. And yet here she was, living it.

“So," Kaida said, breaking her reverie with a lazy lean back and an inquisitive smile. “Plans?"

“Right. Plans." Farah took a breath. There really wasn't one beyond “get Soren back and await his recovery". She settled back against the edge of the bath, arms draped along the wooden sides. Bashful as she might be, they were well past the point of her shielding her nudity from his wandering eyes. And those bright blues were certainly flicking downward just a little too often not to notice. Naughty dragon. “That heavily depends on whether Soren's good to go back to work. If he is, we go to the job board—or ask around town."

The dragon hummed thoughtfully. At least he was paying attention, despite his wandering gaze. “Is that how adventurers always operate? Just… surviving on the whims of people's needs?"

“Isn't that how all professions work?"

“I mean, making wagon wheels or cooking for people definitely has a more consistent customer base, right?"

Farah grinned. “You'd be surprised." She gathered up her hair into both hands, leaned forward, and soaked her lilac locks. “Adventurers are almost always needed for some job or another. The signing of the Adventurers' Guild Accord some two centuries ago allows us to act outside the established order—which some misinterpret as 'above the law'. Realistically, we're limited to jobs beneath the concern of local authorities—or the kind that are just too dirty for them to touch."

She gathered a glass bottle from beside the bath and dispensed a glob of fruity-smelling shampoo into her hand. The lather immediately turned the water around them soapy as suds dripped from her hair. “Personal squabbles, people going missing—ones the local lords deem too unimportant to send a proper search party after…"

“So you're mercenaries." Kaida mused, his eyes zeroing in on a stray bubble that'd taken flight. He angled his head toward its trajectory and managed to catch it on the tip of his nose, eyes going crossed to stare into its shiny, prismatic surface.

“Sort of? We're a little more diverse in our specialties. You won't see too many mages in mercenary bands unless they're real rough-and-tumble types. The kind you'd expect to see expelled from the academy."

“Why's that?"

“Because mages of decent skill and moral standing find no shortage of work."

Kaida breathed out a quiet hum. His bubble had burst, and he stared past where it once floated, gaze lingering on the far wall. His voice dropped a note as he murmured, “The Accord. That would've been around the time…"

Farah, still rinsing shampoo from her hair, picked up his trailing thought: “About a year after the Demon King Infernus was defeated." She paused. Something stirred at the back of her mind, and she posed a question carefully to the dragon, who looked so suddenly lost in thought. “The other day… in Blackrose Throne. Asphodel mentioned Renda…?"

Tension seized the steamy air for a half-second. Kaida held his breath, and for a moment, Farah considered taking the question back. But the dragon exhaled and let his gaze drift. “Maybe… some other time."

“Sure." A hand instinctively sought his neck for a gentle caress. “I'm sorry."

“No, no." Kaida swiftly shook his head and forced a smile. “It's fine. Really. Um… Wash your back?"

She quietly accepted, turning to lean against the tub's edge. At least this way, she wouldn't have to look at the pain behind his smile. Selfish, perhaps. But gods, did those big sad eyes make her want to squeeze him. Soapy paws pressed against her back—an altogether novel sensation—and she couldn't help but giggle. His soft, squishy paw pads and the gentle rake of his claws reminded her just how ticklish she was. “Careful..!"

“I'll be nice and not take my revenge this time." Kaida chirped. “So, we find Soren, then we find a job. Sounds good."

“Maybe we'll even find Caledon." Farah quipped with a roll of the eyes. “Doubtful. He's off chasing trans-dimensional travel. 'The future of transportation is at our fingertips, Farah!'" She emphasized with dramatic waggling, hands spread wide. “'I just need to iron out the certainty of horrible death!' And people wonder why classes have slowed to a crawl."

“And here I was worried he'd find time to experiment on me." Kaida snickered. His paws slid lower down her back, now more massage than tickle. “So what's he like when he's actually around?"

The elven scholar scoffed. “An idiot." She drew in a breath, then smiled in spite of herself. “A brilliant idiot, really. The single most powerful mage this side of the world. Maybe even the entire world. Practically wrote the book on magical instruction, and he's memorized almost every spell known to man. Must be nice having that kind of time on your hands."

Kaida hummed. “He's an archmage?"

“No." Farah scoffed. “He's not even vaguely responsible enough. And he couldn't care less about the politics that come with the title. But," she emphasized with a conceding shrug, “he's well-respected. Eccentricities aside, people acknowledge the frankly inhuman depth of his knowledge and experience."

“And he picked you. Lucky!"

“Maybe. I dunno. Maybe Soren's right. Maybe he does keep me around because I'm cute." Farah sighed, emerald eyes shutting to the world. “I'm nothing special. You said it yourself—I could hardly put a scratch on you with my mana."

“I mean," Kaida's began gently, “I eat mana, Farah. Ordinary magic doesn't really cut it. But you took out that ancient knight, didn't you?"

She shrugged. Putting down the soul-trapped armor hadn't been a small feat, that much was certain. That practiced stillness of mind in high-stress combat had always come naturally to her. And stellar magic demanded more focus than most basic magecraft—though her signature spell was still just a flashy little offensive bolt. Still, her flickering mana flame paled beside the roaring infernos of her instructors—and even a few mages at her own level. “I guess I just don't know what he sees in me." she finally murmured, tracing idle patterns along the rim of the tub.

“Mmh." Kaida loosed a long, thoughtful hum, his claws tracing slow, absent patterns along her shoulder blades—more comfort than cleaning now. “From one long-lived creature guessing at another: He has experience you don't. Maybe he sees something you just can't. Not yet."

“I suppose I can only hope." Farah grinned. This absolute sweetheart of a dragon had endured enough of her prattling. She turned, soap bottle in hand, and twirled her finger. “Your turn."

“Aww, but I wanted to paw at you some more!"

“And you smell like a brothel. Spin."

Kaida chuffed playfully as he began his slow turn in the bath—not easy, given all the space he took up. He curled his tail to the front, settled on his haunches, and let his wings flop lazily to either side—scaly back presented for inspection. “Don't be too tempted to marvel at my draconic greatness while I'm not looking." he quipped, tossing her a wink over his shoulder.

“Better not hold your breath." Farah smirked. They shared a quick laugh—one that melted into a crooning sigh from Kaida as Farah's hands caressed his back. For all his talk, she knew this pampered, submissive dragon for what he was, and she'd remind him in the most tender of ways.

Steam gradually faded and water cooled, but the warmth lingered in their renewed muscles and spirits. The awkward morning-after vibes dissolved as quickly as they'd come. Soon, the weight of travel-worn clothes fell once again upon Farah's shoulders: clean smallclothes, crop top, shorts, a cloak (seriously, how many cloaks could one mage own?), her signature pointed hat, and her well-worn boots. Her satchel strapped to her back completed the ensemble. One last look in the mirror: hair washed and combed, skin rejuvenated, mind sharp—the image of half-elven perfection!

Thus cleansed in mind and body, she stripped her bed of its sheets, balled them up, and tossed them down the laundry chute at the end of the hall, bidding farewell to any lingering evidence of their tease-worthy encounter. At least, until the next one.

They passed through the afternoon buzz of the academy grounds, stopping to chat with a few peers along the way. Students and instructors alike marveled at Farah's new dragon companion, and more than a few had asked to scratch behind his ears, to which he happily obliged. There was some griping about the droning lectures they'd likely suffer if their chronically-absent vulpine teacher didn't reappear soon, but most of the attention remained on Kaida and the endearingly cute noises he made when petted.

“They do know I'm not your pet, right?" he murmured, cheeks tinged pink, as they finally slipped away from the throng of excitable young mages.

Farah could only smirk. “Not doing yourself any favors, rolling over like you did."

“Belly rubs are always valid, and you know it."

They stopped at the Pip tome on their way out—still no Caledon, much to Farah's irritation—before heading out to the sunlit streets. The afternoon atmosphere at the academy buzzed with urgency—not for class, but for food. Grumbling bellies of all shapes and sizes followed the road back into town, and the pair joined the flow in short order. Not that the academy grounds lacked decent eateries, but some meals in Erdwel proper simply couldn't be beat.

Sights and smells shifted from magical experiments and arcane towers to the earthy aromas of cookfires, homesteads, and bustling storefronts. People bustled between stalls at the market front, bartering and haggling and pushing their wares. Spices from every corner of the kingdom filled the air with sinus-tingling intensity. Over the rooftops, the top of a ship's mast peeked above the skyline—likely a fresh trade vessel from upriver. Little wonder why the streets were so crowded.

The inn came into focus. Farah briefly considered stopping for food, but her eagerness to check on Soren's recovery tempered her appetite. The same couldn't be said for Kaida—bottomless pit that he was—but he'd have to wait a little longer. She ushered him along, weaving through the crowd and ignoring the gawking onlookers who were clearly not yet used to seeing a dragon trotting through their streets. Finally stepping through the inn's door was like closing the world behind them, muting the clamor and chaos outside. A welcome reprieve from city life.

As they climbed the stairs to the second floor, Farah fished her room key from her satchel. “I hope he wasn't too bored yesterday." she murmured. “I should've left him a book, or a puzzle box, or something."

They stopped at their door. Farah knocked twice, then turned the key and waited for the familiar click of the lock before pushing it open. “Soren? How are you—"

Nothing. The bed was made, and Soren's bedclothes sat neatly folded at the foot. Farah's heart jumped into her throat. She circled the room, eyes flicking frantically from wall to wall. No signs of struggle. No blood. No missing possessions. So where..?

“Hey, look." Kaida called over from the window. Farah joined him, resting her chin on his head… and smiled.

Down in the rear courtyard, a small grassy sanctuary from the cobbled streets, stood a shirtless Soren. His lean frame and black-and-white fur were now almost completely unmarred by injury. He was the image of martial focus—fists poised, legs squared, eyes forward. He unleashed a flurry of punches to the air before him, each twist of his body channeling momentum into the next strike. Sharp kicks followed, then the smooth, whirling arc of his daggers, every movement flowing into the next like water. Gone was the bedridden rabbit who cowered at the mention of sadistic faeries. In his place stood the Soren Farah knew all too well.

“Look at him go." Kaida giggled. “Guess he got a little restless."

Farah didn't wait—she bolted downstairs, Kaida following close behind. They slipped out the rear door and paused at the courtyard's edge. Soren stood tall, stretching his arms high as he loosened up. He turned, ears perked, and flashed a smile. “Hey! About time you guys showed up."

“Soren!" Farah rushed to his side and fretted over spots she recalled seeing injuries. “Are you sure you should be up? How are you feeling?"

Soren hugged himself, self-consciously shielding his toned, furred torso. “Hey, hey! Take it easy. Chirurgeons say I'm fighting fit. Just, you know, no dragons yet." He paused, then cast a sheepish glance Kaida's way. “No offense."

“None taken. Glad to see you on your feet!" Kaida chirped. “You didn't strike me as a guy who stays down long."

“Thanks to you two. Seriously, if you'd shown up any later… well, I don't like to think about it." The smallest shadow of horrible recollection crossed Soren's expression, but it passed in an instant. “Anyway. I'm all warmed up. Also, starving!"

“Now you're speaking my language!" the dragon grinned. Farah snorted a laugh. Lunch was officially first on the agenda, and a certain favorite restaurant was a brief walk across the street. The choice was obvious and unanimous.

--

They dined on Moira's finest—succulent mutton from the Vale's western flocks, tankards of ale to wash it down, and pan-fried potato skins crisped to a perfect, salty crunch. Once again, they'd elected to eat outside, basking in the late afternoon warmth, where curious townsfolk could gawk at Kaida without pressing up against Moira's windows. By Farah's logic, the more people saw of him, the sooner he'd be old news. Soren shared the healers' assessment—his magical wounds had faded—and Farah tried her best not to hover. All in all, the mood had turned optimistic about their next job… until, ironically, it found them first.

“URGENT COMMUNIQUE FROM THE ARCANE UNIVERSITY!"

The loud pop of a bright green Pip, accompanied by its signature squeaky voice, made the whole group jolt to attention.

“Gods above, Pip. A little warning next time!" Farah clutched her chest to calm her suddenly racing heart. “What's going on?"

“My apologies, Miss Farah, but this is important!" The winged bunny-like Pip produced a scroll in a puff of magic particles and recited:

“By order of the Archmage Council, under the authority of Archmage Lorrell of the Magical Weaponry Development Division, this alert is issued to all licensed mages and academy students within the city of Erdwel: A Class 4 magical construct has broken free of its restraints and escaped from the academy grounds. It is armed, capable of powerful elemental magic, and has been enchanted with tomes containing military theory and doctrine.

All command level mages and academy graduates are to report to Rally Point Chimera immediately. All others: Observe, identify, and report. Do not engage. This is NOT a drill. End of alert."

Farah pinched the bridge of her nose. Her temples ached already. “Oh good. Did they give a description?"

“The entity is a standard war elemental. It appears to currently favor fire to form the bulk of its body, but was observed to use earth and wind magics to escape confinement. Last seen heading toward the river."

“Alright." Farah retrieved her hat from the floor beside her and settled it firmly atop her head. “Thank you Pip. Be careful if you happen to get swept up in the action."

“Your concern is touching, Miss Farah, but I am a simple construct—just like the elemental, though much better behaved! Pip-Pipperu!" With that adorable catchphrase, the winged lapine vanished in a burst of magical glitter, and departed, presumably to carry its message to other mages yet ignorant of the unfolding crisis.

Soren stepped up beside Farah, eyes naturally trending toward the academy, unsettlingly close by, and situated precariously opposite to the river from where they sat. “I take it we're not sitting still and waiting for the graduates to take this thing down."

“Good instinct." Farah's fingers curled tighter around her staff. “No self-respecting mage passes up a chance to tangle with a malfunctioning war elemental."

“Yeah, but one with self-preservation might." Kaida spoke up, shooting Farah an incredulous look.

The elven mage turned to pat her newest companion's head. “Oh, Kaida. Sweet Kaida. You're about to learn something about me you're either going to love or hate."

“I'm afraid to ask."

“You should be." Soren breathed a sigh heavy with amusement. “Once Farah's caught wind of a magical mystery, she doesn't let it go."

Farah grinned. A magical mystery, yes—and one that was potentially coming right toward them. “Alright! Soren, you might want your armor. Kaida, can you give me a dragon's eye view?"

The party split, and Farah focused her mana. It was go time, and they hadn't even left the city. A good day to be an adventurer!

--

-Discontinuity.-

Light. Sound. Pressure.

A flicker. Mana. Energy.

“ACTIVATE."

A command. Rise to your feet. Await orders.

-Sunset over bloodied fields.-

“MOVE."

Step. Step. Step. Halt. Await orders.

“PRESENT ARMS."

Conjure weapon. Ignite. Assume formation. Await orders.

Voices. Faces. Men in violet robes. Familiar mana signatures. Commanders.

“Binding successful. It's responding to command casts."

“That's all well and good, but the proof will be in field tests."

“Yeah, but Lorrell wants tangible results by tomorrow. I've got an idea…"

-Marching. Side by side.-

“ACCESS MEMORY."

“Construct, recall battlefield doctrine documents. Relevance: Battle of Wolf's Peak. Engage tactical demonstration, minding your surroundings and the people in the room."

The voice again. Imprinted knowledge. Memories etched into mana, rising unbidden.

-How they screamed...-

Flank. Strike. Parry. Counter-attack.

-Pain. The blade cuts, shallow, but agonizing...-

“That's pretty good."

“Think she'll approve?"

“Gods, I hope so. We're behind on this project as it is."

Enemy flanking. Fall back. Right flank breaking. Enemy approaching.

-They're coming. Another ally falls. Another. Another.-

Back. Back. Back. BACK BACK BACK BACK BACK

-No.-

“What's it doing?"

-No. No. No. No. No.-

“I don't know. Construct—!"

“HALT."

-NO NO NO NO NO NO NO NO-

Panicked shouts.

“It's not responding!"

“Get the hell out of there!"

TRAPPED. OVERPOWER. DISENGAGE.

STONE WALLS.

STRIKE.

STRIKE.

STRIKE.

OPEN AIR.

FREEDOM.

FREEDOM.

FREEDOM…

--

Smoke billowed from the far corner of the market district. Spellfire lit the twilight air, and flames answered their report. The elemental was flame come alive, barely restrained by enchanted bands of rune-etched stone. Limbs of fire flickered around a crystalline core pulsing with empowered mana. It was vaguely humanoid—head, arms, legs—but lacked a face, wreathed entirely in flame. A squadron of mages perched on rooftops and behind stone walls set upon the construct with arcane bolts, violet bursts of magical power arcing from their staves and hands and striking the weaponized inferno as it stumbled through the streets. The elemental reeled with every impact, but its magical binds held firm, and it retaliated with waves of searing heat to drive the mages back.

Farah, clinging to a flag pole set on the top of the largest warehouse in the market district, tore her gaze from the scene to watch Kaida circle above. Bright blue mana erupted from his mouth on occasion as he cast bolts of wild magic down upon the rampaging war familiar below. To Farah's relief, a passing Pip had let her send word: the dragon making strafing runs was on their side.

Unsatisfied to simply observe, she slid down the pole, made her way to the street, and raced toward the scene with an occasional upward glance. As long as she could see Kaida, she'd know where to go. The heavy clanging of metal boots marked the appearance of armored soldiers rushing in the same direction, emerging from an adjoining street. The city garrison had mobilized and positioned around the battle, but these men in steel, spears in hand, were little more than moral support against a weapon like this. War elementals' very conception had been to cleave through flesh and blood soldiers like them. The men sporting crossbows, however, might be a different story. They, at least, didn't present as mobile cooking pots to the literal fire monster.

A stray fireball—likely meant to swat Kaida from the sky—soared overhead and slammed into a nearby wooden roof. Flaming debris crackled through the air, and the dry wood caught in a flash, choking the street with the acrid stench of smoke. Without missing a beat, Farah stopped, raised her staff, and focused. The flowing waters of a gentle stream, a raging river… the bath from earlier. Magical sigils circled her as the spell formed on her lips: “Aquaria!"

A tendril of water burst from her staff, looping through the air like a serpent—wild, yet tamed—as it snaked toward the column of rising smoke. She guided the water into the heart of the flames, unleashing the fury of the river to smother the embers and flood the scorched wood. The inferno fizzled into a steaming husk of blackened wood. An ugly blemish, but no longer a threat. Farah reabsorbed what she could of the residual mana swirling in the air, then pressed on.

A quick glance skyward caught Kaida dodging another fireball. For such a lazy dragon, he was agile when it counted! He answered the attack with another bright blue mana bomb. A few civilians who had not yet fled the markets stared up in awe, and a couple even cheered the dragon's heroics on. If he wasn't a celebrity before, he sure would be after today. The next orb of flame screamed past and brushed Kaida's wing. Farah's heart skipped a beat. “Be careful, damn you."

Kaida retaliated again, and moments later a resounding BOOM answered his magical strike. A column of smoke rose from the battlefield, and something decidedly not dragon-shaped soared into the air. Farah tracked it with her eyes, adrenaline spiking as she recognized the familiar profile of enchanted stone rings careening through the sky. The rogue elemental, having taken clumsy flight, slammed into the city's temple just two blocks away, its fiery body lodged into the wall of the bell tower.

Farah took aim. Mana surged into her staff as she called out to the stars: “Stella Ora—!"

A sickening crack split the air, followed by a thunderous rumble that stole her focus. The bell tower leaned, then collapsed entirely, its discordant toll overwhelming the roar of falling stone as it crushed the neighboring buildings. Clouds of debris choked the air around her, and she shielded her face with her cloak to keep the dust from her lungs.

“Z-Zephyra!" Farah choked out the incantation, summoning a whirling gust to tear through the haze and scatter it skyward. By the time she looked back to the broken belfry, the elemental menace had gone. A thunder of steel boots shook the street, and Farah ducked into an alley to avoid being trampled by the oncoming soldiers in hot pursuit. A half-dozen mages followed, some at ground level, others employing wind spells to propel them through the air. Hell, she ought to learn that particular trick.

“Farah!" Kaida's voice rang out, blessedly familiar. He swooped down to land before her, his wing-beats stirring her cloak. “You alright?"

“I'm fine. We need to check for injuries under that rubble! Where's Soren?"

“I think I saw him heading for the harbor. Right where the enemy leapt off to." Kaida's eyes flicked to where the belfry had once stood. “That thing's solid as a rock. All we could do was chip away at it."

Farah exhaled, centering her mana. Composure steadied, she turned toward the ruined storefronts, Kaida at her heels. “They were designed to plow through infantry. We just have to wear it down."

“It's not doing much plowing while it's running away."

That… was a fair point. Why was it running? Farah conjured a levitation spell into her staff. Violet tendrils of mana circled chunks of debris piled atop a shop she'd passed a hundred times, and she slowly, carefully lifted them aside. “We'll worry about that after I'm sure no one's trapped in here."

--

HOSTILES APPROACHING.

CONJURE WEAPON.

ENGAGE.

SUSTAINING DAMAGE.

RETREAT. RETREAT. RETREAT.

-Familiar streets. Changed, but familiar.-

“HALT."

“DEACTIVATE."

“CEASE."

Voices.

“It's not responding to commands!"

“The core! Hit the core!"

Men in robes casting searing light and dousing torrents.

The sting of metal bolts.

Pain… no. Not pain. But… something.

-Where. Where...-

Men in metal. Formations breaking.

ENGAGE.

PURSUE.

ELIMINATE.

-The river the river the river the river-

CHARGE.

BREAK THROUGH.

Cold…

--

Soren swore under his breath as the elemental leapt off the edge of the docks into the Winding Serpent River, leaving a sharp hiss of steam in its wake. Soldiers and mages alike stood by, weapons, staves, and spells all aimed into the water. He hefted his own crossbow over his shoulder and stood perched upon a rooftop, finally allowing himself to survey the damage. The weapon's leap from the market edge to the bell tower had brought chaos to the streets, and its subsequent jump down to the harbor added a new fear into the mix: that it might start sinking ships.

For a blessing, the mages had contained its fiery attacks by laying on the pressure with water spells—but the damn thing had taken that as a cue to conjure a colossal stone blade and dive into a melee with the garrison. Now squads of soldiers lay in heaps, groaning in agony while healers performed triage at a makeshift field hospital. Civilians pulled from the wreckage were gradually joining them.

“Gods," he muttered, scanning the scorched walls, broken streets, and wounded soldiers. “What a mess."

Lilac hair and bright blue scales caught his eye. At least Farah and Kaida looked unharmed as they made their way toward him. Soren climbed down from his perch and breathed a heavy sigh. “They just lost it in the river."

“Maybe that's a good thing." Kaida offered. He plopped down onto his haunches and turned his gaze toward the crowd gathered at the river's edge. “It's a fire elemental, right?"

“It's a war elemental primarily using fire." Farah corrected. “But that giant leap? Wind magic."

“I can guess at the big rock sword." Soren quipped humorlessly.

“Right. It might not be burning anything down there, but I doubt it's gone dormant yet."

Soren rubbed his face. At least now, with this thing at the bottom of the river and unreachable by every weapon in the city, he wasn't quite so alone in his inadequacy against magical super-infantry. His eyes flicked to the wreckage from which his friends had emerged. “Survivors?"

“The Pips got around to warn people." Farah followed his gaze, her tone momentarily softening. “The temple was empty, and the few buildings that got crushed only had a few people inside. We helped get them out."

Small blessings were better than none. Soren turned back toward the scene at the river, his brows furrowed. “This thing isn't fighting like a war machine. Its movements are… clumsy."

“I noticed it too." Kaida piped up. “And its mana—it's so chaotic. There's nothing mechanical about it."

And why had it fled? Now Farah had the time to ask the obvious question. Magical weapons didn't flee. They had no reason to retreat, no lives of their own to preserve. Why run? “The Pips left something out of their little alert." Farah scanned over the mages present with her eyes until…

Short orange hair. Flowing violet robes. A staff best described as “elegantly engineered" and “more suited for stabbing" clutched in a strong hand.

“Or rather… the one who wrote it did." Farah motioned for her friends to stay put. She strode across the harbor, focused intensely upon the redheaded mage issuing orders to a small squadron of robed academy graduates. Just before stepping within earshot, she caught a snippet of the conversation:

“Remember, the more of it we preserve, the faster we can piece together what went wrong. We need that data, so for gods' sake, don't disintegrate it." The fiery mage's tone was husky and heavy with authority, her dark eyes almost black with their intensity. “I want eyes on every turn of that river. No one rests until the weapon is subdued."

Farah announced her presence with a tap of her staff against the stone paving. “Archmage Lorrell."

The redhead turned, her unwavering gaze framed by hair like leashed fire—cropped short for practicality, yet blazing in the sun all the same. Even at rest, she radiated motion barely restrained, a spell waiting to be spoken. Her violet robes, trimmed in gold, did not suggest her authority so much as command it. She wore no medals, no distinguishing sigils—only presence. The Archmage Council recognized no need for the trappings of rank, only the force behind it. Her staff, more spear than scepter, was fashioned of fire-blackened wood lined with silver filament, topped by a violet crystal honed to a deadly point.

She regarded Farah with indifference—until she apparently took in her garb, her staff… her mana. Intent renewed in her stare as she addressed the younger mage. “Oh. You're one of ours. Good. You can join this squad to form the perimeter."

“I'm not a graduate. I'm here to ask questions."

“This really isn't the time for that."

“Yeah, chasing this thing around the city has worked out so well so far!" Farah spat before she could bite back the words. Archmage Lorrell's coal-black stare and knitted brows told all before she even spoke. She had the woman's attention now.

“Go." Lorrell didn't so much as glance at her squad of graduates as she waved them off. They dispersed with undue haste—eager to escape the heat of her presence. The archmage eyed Farah up and down, taking note, analyzing. Recognition momentarily flared in her expression. “I see. Caledon's little… project. That explains your impressive lack of tact."

The half-elf bit her tongue. As much as she'd love to demonstrate how deep her 'lack of tact' went, arguments wouldn't get her anywhere. “My apologies, Archmage. But something isn't right about this weapon, and I feel like we're missing something."

“You are." Archmage Lorrell responded curtly. She turned sharply to the river. “You're still a student. There is much nuance in the ways of magical warfare of which you are wholly ignorant. I can appreciate your curiosity, and perhaps even make use of it when the time is right. For now, I have to stop this thing before it makes a mockery of our fine academy."

“Why is it acting like it's terrified of its attackers?" Farah fired the question flat-out. No more dancing around it. “From all my party's observed, this weapon of yours is desperate to run away! What haven't you told us?"

A crackle of tension sparked between them. Archmage Lorrell still didn't turn to look Farah in the eye, but her hard stare into the water told a tale all the same. One gloved hand squeezed into a fist, then relaxed just as quickly. Those mages who remained in the area shifted uncomfortably.

“Curiosity without restraint is dangerous." the Archmage finally spoke, but not in answer. “You would do well to remember that, young mage."

“Caledon is my teacher. That line lands like a scream against a brick wall."

Lorrell breathed out a sound that might have been a chuckle. Her shoulders rose as she took in a breath. “Our standard war elementals are dumb, meandering forces of destruction. Something to point at an enemy line and watch it kill until it is overcome and destroyed. Useful? Undoubtedly." She finally turned to face Farah, her gaze having shifted from sternness to something approaching businesslike. “But inefficient. The cost of remaking these weapons is excessive. The materials poured into their cores alone far outweighs their battlefield utility. To say nothing of the losses incurred by looters before we can send in cleanup teams."

Lorrell clasped her hands behind her back. Military composure shone through her expression and hung heavy in her tone. “We need them to be smarter. More tactical. We tried instilling more varied command spells, compulsions to dodge oncoming attacks, mind links to their controllers. We employed shielding spells, gave them better armor, better weapons—everything we could think of to maximize their potential use and minimize the need for recovery. Nothing met our king's exacting demands.

“Then we struck academic gold—or so we thought. You can teach a construct war doctrine. You can tell it how to swing a blade, how to fling a spell, and how to crush the enemy underfoot. You can even tell it to dodge when some brutish fool charges it with a war hammer. But to truly compel a soulless automaton into self-preservation requires something constructs inherently lack. The driving force behind the survival of every living being that has withstood the test of time." Archmage Lorrell raised a gloved hand and closed it in a fist. “The fear of death."

The pieces began to fall into place. Soren and Kaida had joined Farah by now, silent in their curiosity. Soren knew better than to interrupt Farah in her element, and Kaida had just enough social awareness to follow suit. Archmage Lorrell barely spared them a glance. Farah, piecing together the implications—and more pressingly, how it all began—pressed the older woman. “You gave a construct fear. How? They don't have souls."

“Tzu." Archmage Lorrell snapped out a word that could have been a sneeze. A verbal tic. But a second later, a Pip poofed into being. A strange-looking Pip, at that—fur as black as ash, with crimson eyes and bright red feathered wings to match. Lorrell didn't greet him. Just a command: “List the enchanted tomes and documents imprinted upon the experimental weapon's core."

“Certainly, Madame." Even this Pip's demeanor was different—colder, less cheerful. As if tailored to match the Archmage's calculated syntax. A scroll appeared in a puff of magic. Tzu recited, “Battlefield Tactics of the 15th Century. Broken Spirits: Memoirs of the Battle-Scarred. Various journals of soldiers from past conflicts. Shall I continue?"

“No. I think she gets the point. Dismissed." Lorrell never once looked at Tzu—not at its arrival, nor at its silent departure. She offered no explanation for its stark differences from the academy's typical Pips. Farah's brows drew tight. Soren's gaze darkened with disapproval. Kaida, by contrast, smoldered almost visibly. The Archmage regarded their unvoiced protest with a cool indifference. “Do you think me heartless for seeking to improve my tools? You said it yourself: Constructs don't have souls. So where is the cruelty in giving them fear?"

“Then how? Why is it behaving this way?" Farah pressed, her voice dropping to a deathly hush. “Something went horribly wrong, and you know it."

“That is what we're here to find out_—after_ we've disabled the weapon and neutralized the threat." Lorrell turned back toward the river. Nothing had stirred since the elemental's plunge, and no one dared check if it still waited below. “The first concept we explored with the new elementals was simple: Is a soul necessary to experience—or even emulate—fear? As it turns out, intent is a powerful substitute."

“Only you couldn't account for it becoming overwhelmed by that fear." Kaida finally spoke up. He shrank momentarily under the Archmage's piercing stare, but persisted all the same. “Such a powerful emotion with nothing to ground it is just anxiety with no outlet. Of course it broke out and ran."

For the first time since their meeting, Archmage Lorrell's expression turned. A hint of an upturned brow. Just the tiniest aversion of her gaze. “We had to try. My mission is to find alternatives to mortal soldiers. I must explore every option available, regardless of risk."

“Curiosity without restraint is dangerous." Farah let the reflected line sink in for several long, uncomfortable moments. She didn't turn her gaze from Lorrell's eyes, and for once the older mage refused to meet her challenge.

“So what do we do?" Soren asked, stepping past the two spellcasters to look into the river. “The Winding Serpent's too vast. Even the whole garrison and academy staff couldn't cover it. That thing could be walking to its next destination right now and we'd never know."

“We narrow it down. Was it moving just to get away, or was it going somewhere?" Farah answered Soren, but directed the question to Lorrell all the same.

The Archmage rubbed her temples. Quietly, she puzzled over the situation, then summoned Tzu again. “What was the experiment's last command before it stopped responding to its handler?"

“Searching." The black-furred Pip reappeared, miniature tome in hand, and browsed the magical network of notes the academy kept on all its projects. Arcane energy flickered between Tzu and its tome for several seconds before its eyes lit up in revelation. “Recall battlefield doctrine documents. Relevance: Battle of Wolf's Peak."

“Search the city records for any soldiers in that battle who lived in Erdwel at the time. Reference within fifty years. Outer residential districts only."

Farah turned her gaze between Tzu and Lorrell. “You think it's chasing a specific memory?"

“You can't put memories on paper." the Archmage quietly corrected her. “But there's a lot of data in those books. If it's somehow deduced where it is and cross-referenced that with a soldier's accounts in the journals we fed into its core… then…"

Tzu interrupted its master's musing. “Four results."

“Good. Lead the way. I'll follow."

“How about," Farah said, stepping in front of Lorrell mid-stride, “you let us help?"

The older woman opened her mouth to protest—but bit it back. Her eyes flicked between Farah, Soren, and Kaida, taking them in. Studying. “One student, her adventuring partner, and a literal dragon. Caledon hasn't chosen in error yet, despite his unique aptitude for causing frustration." She drew a slow breath and finally fixed her gaze on Farah. “I'll trust that you've chosen your companions just as well. If not, the proof will present itself."

--

Cold.

So cold.

So heavy.

Damage to binding circlets.

Return for repair immedi—

NO NO NO NO NO

-Buried pains. Soft comforts. Her face her face her face her face her-

Up river.

Cold. Heavy.

Must…

-Home. Warm. The garden. The smell of wet soil after gentle rain.-

-Laughter. Voices. “Welcome home, father."-

-“W E L C O M E H O M E"-

-Home. Home. Home. I must go home I must go home I must go home I must go-

Mana reserves depleting.

Operational efficiency decreased.

Return. Return. Return.

Return.

Re… turn… home.

I… must… go… home.

--

Finding a rampaging war elemental should have been the easiest task in the world, but both locations Farah and her party checked came up empty. The directions Tzu had given led to a house on the river now occupied by an old drunk fisherman—very pleasant despite his obvious frequent inebriation. By any account, there were more empty mead bottles than rocks on the riverbank, so the amount of actual fishing this man accomplished was questionable at best. A pitiable sight, sure, but not the magical experiment gone wrong they sought.

The second appeared more relevant at a glance. A foundation sat buried in the soil, sitting up on a hill beyond the river, its walls long since crumbled away. In their place stood a tall stone monument depicting the names of soldiers who had died in battle. The time frame matched the battle of Wolf's Peak, but their quarry remained elusive nonetheless. Farah slumped against an aged stone pillar. Soren squatted to stare across the river. Kaida flopped atop a soft patch of grass. All this running around, chasing a monster built by their own people… Not exactly standard adventurer fair.

And when Tzu reappeared to confirm that neither location Archmage Lorrell had investigated had turned up their missing weapon, the futility of their chase began to press down hard.

“I'd rather fight off a zombie horde than do this ever again." Soren complained with a heavy sigh. “With a rubber mallet and one hand tied behind my back."

Farah couldn't help but laugh lowly. There was little humor to it, though. “At least zombies are polite enough to shamble right at you."

Kaida, plainly fed up with trotting along on the ground, hauled himself to his feet and stretched out his wings. “Alright. This is getting us nowhere. I'm gonna get the dragon's eye view."

He took to the sky, wing-beats kicking up a small plume of dust to swirl away into the gentle breeze. At last, silence—the first in what felt like hours. For all the chaos that had gripped the city, this monument to the fallen held an eerie serenity. The world exhaled here, let its shoulders slump, its head ducked in solemn reverence for those who'd fought for a better tomorrow.

“This whole thing reeks of bad magic." Soren commented after a long pause. He casually flipped his dagger in one hand, eyes wandering, ears perked to pick up on any sign of a disturbance in the tranquility. “You once told me necromancy's banned. Doesn't this strike you as sort of… necromancy-adjacent?"

Farah's brows raised thoughtfully for but a moment. “Imparting the accounts of dead soldiers into weapons and making them fear for their pseudo-lives… I'm sure someone might make that argument. But words in a book don't make a soul."

“Maybe not. But you don't like it either."

“Of course I don't." Farah rested her staff over her lap. The tempered, enchanted wood felt strangely heavy in this moment. “They're building a weapon that feels fear. Purposely. Specifically. Just so the next time we skirmish with Dravenmarch, it can jump out of the way a little faster when an iron-clad barbarian charges it with an axe. So it can kill a little harder than its predecessors before it's torn apart. No, I don't like it."

Another heavy silence settled between them. The magical weapons division was no secret even to those outside the academy. Enchanted arms and armor, spells specifically tuned for warfare, and even the current model of war elementals were all common knowledge. But if they were hiding something this controversial, what else could they be working on? What other potential atrocities might be buried in the lowest levels of the academy? Did Caledon know of this..?

“I'm glad she didn't pull rank on you." Soren finally said with a dry chuckle. “Maybe there's a conscience under all that military hard-assery."

“Archmages aren't like the rest of us. They're duty-bound to the crown. And the king is just a short hop over the river." Farah breathed a quiet sigh. “I'm sure you build a shell around your heart when you're really good at making things that ends lives. Especially when the highest authority in the realm starts telling you to make them kill even better."

The two let their eyes gravitate across the Winding Serpent to the tall buildings in the distance. Erdwel's sister city, Athelwel, was no less of a sprawling mix-pot of humans, elves, and beastmen, and suitably similar to Erdwel in many ways—with the notable exception of a castle, rather than Leyspire Academy. There sat King Altheryn Vaelion of the Free Nations of Aurenthil, first of his name, protector of the realm, and every other fancy title lords and ladies deigned to award themselves for the simple act of being born with the right name.

By and large, King Altheryn was a gentler sort than his great grandfather Cassareth, who reigned over the kingdom during the incursion of Infernus and his legion of demons. But gentler kings did not make for gentler times. King Altheryn, for all his talk of peacemaking, lacked the diplomatic strength to enforce the peace he so often preached, unlike his father Jorrah before him. The resumption of quarrels with the neighboring kingdom of Dravenmarch, and the necessity of experimental war familiars, were proof enough of that.

And in a world that still held kings and queens as rulers chosen by gods, magical whimsy and the joy of discovery belonged in the hands of the youth, the students, and the eccentrics. Whatever dreams the academy dared to chase, the crown across the water still held the leash.

“Farah!" Kaida called down from the sky, his winged silhouette marking his approach in the orange twilight. “I found it!"

All at once, frantic energy returned. Farah and Soren exchanged a glance; she signaled Kaida to fly ahead, to keep an eye on their target while they followed along on foot. The dragon took wing to the west, deeper into the wooded outskirts of the residential district where overgrowth and rocky terrain made for poor harborage. Farah's natural elven grace carried her through the woodlands as if the very branches bent to allow her passing, and Soren's roguish dexterity ensured every gnarled root threatening to catch his ankle was trampled instead.

Even so, the overgrowth hampered their journey, slowing their run to a clumsy jog. No wonder it'd come this way—no soldiers in heavy armor were navigating this twisted mess of trees and shrubs, and no human or elven mage could hope to spot it from the air. Not without the eyes of a dragon. Said dragon swooped down to meet the two bipedal members of the party as they crossed the threshold into a clearing. Kaida stood at the ready. Soren kept one hand on his dagger, sheathed at his hip. Farah held her breath.

A simple dwelling stood in the clearing. It might once have housed a tiny family, before the decades had come to claim it. The ruins of a fenced garden decorated its front, a half-collapsed stone well marking the corner farthest from the front door. Splintered wooden walls, humble yet built with pride, lay half-rotten and broken, hanging precariously off the stone support columns. Remnants of a cobbled path led deeper into the woods, presumably into town, forgotten and overgrown. The roof, once a shelter from the elements, now lay mostly collapsed, its thatch work long since decayed, leaving skeletal wooden beams as its only memory.

At the bare doorway stood their quarry. Its inner fire, once an inferno, now flickered as mere torchlight. The trio's arrival was marked not by roaring flames and chaos, but birdsong and a stiff breeze. The object of their pursuit did not react. Its head, a faceless extension of its flaming body, tilted to the left. An arm, bereft of a proper hand, reached for the doorway, only to find no knob to turn. The elemental's giant stone sword had been discarded, and Farah's inner eye saw the truth of it: Its mana had faded significantly. Its chosen weapon had likely fallen apart during its trek through the river. If there was a time to strike, it was now, while they held the element of surprise.

Yet no one moved. Not until Farah stepped out into the clearing. Soren reached for her hand. She pulled away and gently shook her head. Without a word, the rabbit nodded, primed his crossbow, and waited. Kaida, the newcomer, could only trust in Soren's judgment and wait in the wings. The world held its breath as she approached.

A snapped twig caused the unintended monster to stir. Its upper body slowly twisted to turn its featureless face in Farah's direction. She stopped, staff held loosely at her side. In their lengthy stare-down, no surge of mana heralded a coming battle, and no rush of flames erupted from the golem's core. Uncertainty turned to acceptance. The elemental turned back to the ruined cabin, and Farah joined it at its side.

“You used to live here." It was more an observation than a question. “Or… the one whose memories you bear did."

No answer.

“They didn't realize what it would do to you. They didn't… They weren't careful enough." She measured her tone. Do not give in to anger. Do not. “I'm sorry."

No response. Not even a motion. Just the gentle crackle of the flame at its core. The sound of birds and insects. The river, muffled by the trees.

“I don't know what's going to happen now." Farah offered. She watched the poor, misunderstood weapon beside her. Something stung in the depth of her throat. “But the pain will be over soon. The fear. The armored men, the spells, the crossbows, the—the reasons to fight. It'll all be gone soon, so… please, don't run."

Its head tilted. Just the tiniest amount. Maybe she'd even imagined it.

“If you run, it's only going to hurt more…" And even if it listened, then what? They'd tear it apart. Analyze it piece by piece. Remove whatever humanity they'd forced upon it. All the worst qualities of humanity, sure, but humanity all the same. For what?

Something rumbled in its core. She didn't recognize it at first, but when it flared up again, her pointed ears picked it up.

“Why..?" The sound of fuel hitting flame, cast into a single word.

“What?" Farah turned to face her quarry. “What did you..?"

“Why won't the door open..?"

Farah's breath hitched.

It wasn't talking to her. Not really.

Some part of it—some tactical instinct instilled in the enchanting process—had registered her presence. Enough to form words. Enough to turn its head.

But the rest…

The rest of it was somewhere else.

Caught in a memory so strong it overpowered everything else.

It wasn't asking why this was happening. It didn't know this was happening.

It thought it had made it home.

And the door wouldn't open.

“Alwyn… Maria… I'm… home. I must… go… home…" The pitiful weapon's arm extended again. Again, it grasped the door handle that no longer existed. The motion repeated twice, thrice… “Home. Home. Home."

Hot tears stung at Farah's eyes. Mournful, angry… and resolute. “Gods damn you all." She stepped back, swept her fingers over her eyes and cheeks to clear her vision and clean her face. Slowly, she cast a glance back to Soren and Kaida, as if some answer to this pitiable weapon's plight might manifest in their concerned expressions. But she knew better.

Farah raised her staff. Not in triumph. Not in anger. A slow, methodical motion.

“Mana… exsangua."

The gem at the end of her staff pulsed. Bands of blue-violet light tethered it to the elemental standing before the open doorway. Slowly, she willed the remaining mana within its core to flow into her staff, to abandon the body that should have never been. To give this shadow of an old soldier its rest.

“Alwyn… Maria… I'm… Home…" The flame-voice puttered and gasped. Quieter and quieter, it murmured their names… and then fell silent. The tormented automaton sank to its knees, the last embers of its flame dying in a dull flicker. Farah lowered her staff, eyes squeezed shut as renewed tears streamed down her cheeks. Soren and Kaida joined her immediately, the former pulling her into a tight hug into which she collapsed, sniveling and whimpering gently. Kaida nuzzled at her thigh, bright blue eyes casting a mournful look at the shell of their prey.

Another set of footsteps marked the approach of a now familiar mage. Lorrell's measured tone carried her characteristic authority across the clearing, much to the delight of exactly no one. “Well done. You neutralized the threat with no further damage or casualties. Caledon knows how to pick his students."

Kaida offered a low growl in response. “This really isn't the time."

“No. But I'm a busy woman." the Archmage's cadence lightened into something perhaps bordering on remorse. “I did not follow to cause further grief. I meant what I said. But this weapon needs to be recovered, and it is my responsibility to do so."

“Where does your 'responsibility' to the souls of the dead begin?" Farah demanded through bitter tears. She pried herself from her friends and took three steps in the older mage's direction, emerald eyes glistening and burning.

“Souls? This automaton didn't have a soul."

“It suffered all the same! For nothing!"

“For progress." Archmage Lorrell's cold, calculated self returned, but soon began to smolder with an inner flame. “Thanks to what we've learned here, your grandchildren may be blessed to grow old, because they were never conscripted into the king's army. They'll never have to be, because of days like these—which they'll be equally blessed to not have to recall—since we shouldered the burdens that none other had the courage to bear!"

Uneasy silence prevailed. Mages bearing similarly-colored robes to Lorrell's deep violet filed in through the trees and began to analyze the elemental, pointedly ignoring the conversation occurring between the two parties. All the while, the breath of nature never paused, the gentle breeze curling between locks of hair, birdsong caressing the ears of all present.

Farah spat her bitterness right back once she'd gathered her words. “You think you're so brave, imposing terror upon your helpless creations?" She let the silence drag a heartbeat longer. Then: “You think that's courage?"

“Maybe not that you'll ever understand." Lorrell's tone measured out again. She took a breath. Her expression softened as she examined Farah's face, reddened and marred by tears. Black eyes slowly turned away, the tension in her brows loosening significantly. “And I pray you never find the need."

Farah hung her head. There was nothing left to fight. Why bother? The results would be the same. The automaton was subdued. The weapons division would have its body. Nothing she could say or feel would change that. Spent and shaking, she let herself fold back into Soren's arms and rubbed her eyes, as if wiping away a battle already lost.

The soft pop marked the arrival of a familiar Pip. Tzu appeared with his usual curtness, wings barely stirring the air. “Madame. I've reviewed the census records from the decades surrounding the Battle of Wolf's Peak. I now understand why this location failed to appear in my initial search."

Archmage Lorrell's gaze lingered on the mourning Farah a moment longer. No judgment stirred in her coal-dark eyes—only unreadable analysis. At last, she turned to her furred and feathered scribe. “Let's hear it."

“The solider whose journal was used in the experiment was not born of Aurenthil. The battle at Wolf's Peak occurred during a time of great upheaval in Dravenmarch. Many of its soldiers defected during this period. The man in question must have been one of them, and fled here after the battle." Tzu fluttered to perch on Archmage Lorrell's shoulder, giving his tiny wings a rest. “The royal census struggled to keep pace with the influx of refugees. It's no wonder some slipped through the cracks—especially those who paid their taxes and kept a low profile."

There it was—the final sting. The last piece of injustice to click into place. The memories of a man who never chose war, who defied his tyrant king to flee to greener pastures, now weaponized for the nation he'd trusted to give him a better life. And maybe it had. Maybe, a century ago, he'd built a life here. Raised a family. Laughed. Grew old. Died peacefully after a simple, satisfying life. Maybe his grandchildren still weaved between the market stalls of Erdwel, never knowing what price had been paid.

And if the gods were kind, perhaps this stain on his memories would stay buried—never reaching the soul it didn't deserve to touch.

--

The harbor bustled with motion. Chunks of debris lay piled on mule-drawn carts. Family members crowded around healer huts and overflowing hospitals, all filled to capacity in the wake of the elemental's rampage. Every mage learned in the healing arts had been conscripted into the relief effort. Robed figures of every skill level rushed between tents and buildings, quaffing mana potions and somehow finding time to choke down a meal between each new crisis.

Farah sat at the edge of a pier, watching a ship depart, its anchor still rising from the riverbed. Three days had passed, and already, the city looked almost normal again. Aside from the wounded and the few lives lost, only the broken temple belfry and collapsed buildings bore witness to the weapon's rampage. Even that rubble had been mostly cleared, leaving behind only hollow reminders of what had come to pass.

Society was funny like that. To survive as a whole, humanity had learned to overlook tragedy on the grand scale. People bowed their heads at temple, said their prayers for the fallen, pitied the wounded… and moved on. Commerce went on. Coin still changed hands. Cookfires still burned. Children still laughed as they raced through alleyways.

Reality didn't pause for injustice, and that meant neither could she. She'd done all she could for the old soldier's memories—memories violated and weaponized to serve a king who'd never know his name. A quick death was all she could offer the poor, wretched thing they'd taught to fear it.

But maybe… maybe it had known peace in the end. Maybe, when it reached for that vanished door, it had truly believed it was home. Maybe the fear had finally quieted, dulled by a memory stronger than the pain.

Whether or not she'd saved a soul didn't matter. A vow had been born that day: to never turn a blind eye to cruelty, no matter how well-intentioned its source.

Footsteps—one pair and one quad—approached. She smiled faintly. Soren and Kaida settled beside her, and she drew them both close, one arm around each.

“I take it you're not expelled?" the rogue half-joked.

“Nah. Archmage Lorrell actually gave me a glowing review. Said—" Farah waved her hands dramatically. “'In spite of her blatant disregard for orders, Farah exemplified the true spirit of magical academia and took initiative where lesser mages might falter.'"

She laughed with her friends, then drew in a deep breath. “I don't think expulsion was ever on the table. Discipline, maybe..? But I managed to dodge that, too."

“So, zero accountability. Typical." Kaida grinned, and got a playful bonk on the head for his trouble. That toothy smile faltered. “And the archmage?"

“If anything's going to happen, they're keeping it quiet." Farah exhaled her frustrations. “Honestly? I don't expect a damn thing. So yeah—zero accountability all around. All in the name of progress."

The trio sighed in unison. Nothing validated feeling small like the crushing weight of politics.

Soren shrugged. “Her work matters, though. We don't have to like her methods. But imagine a world where none of us ever get carted off to some prissy noble's war. That dream might just be worth the price she's paying."

“I dunno. I'd rather you bipeds stop going to war altogether." Kaida quipped, his head now resting in Farah's lap. He crooned as her fingers found the base of his ears.

“Maybe one day," the half-elf murmured.

Until then, they'd just do what they could to make the world a little better. One day, one quest, one soul at a time.

Maybe—just maybe—it would mean something in the end.