Tyrus was staggering back toward Cliffview, still using his sword as a makeshift cane. It wasn't built for the task, and sometimes, it would screech against a rock deep inside the earth that sent weird tingles up his arm. His back, bare where the blast burned through his clothes, still stung, every breeze slicing through his skin.

The pain in his back wasn't the worst of it. The thumping in his head grew stronger the more he thought about what the beetle spewed. That name, Yarus, echoed in his mind like a whisper in the wind. He'd never heard it before, but something about it scratched against the edges of his memory.

Whenever he tried to dig deeper, his skull pulsed with pain. Tyrus could sense something there, buried and unreachable. Some part of him knew something about Yarus and the Subterraneans. He just couldn't yank it free.

Grimacing, he stopped forcing the thought. Pushing harder only made the pain worse.

Fine, he thought bitterly. I'll learn another way.

If he wanted answers about the Subterraneans, there was one person—well, creature—who could give them to him, and that was Arach. That one would surely have information about the black tigers and the Subterraneans. Once he returned to Valis, he'd find time to head back into the sewers and talk to it. After that, he'd visit the Wasteful Wetlands to see the Elder Treant there for Eaubrus's sake.

But that was for later. For now, there was something more urgent to address. He had to tell the others what he learned.

He thought back to what Igneal had said about the Lockhart family's mining empire. If Scourge's plan was to destroy the mines supplying the Lethos Empire's weapons and armor, then the Lockharts were directly in their path. The collapse of even a few mines could damage production and plunge entire towns into ruin. And given the kind of people the Lockharts were, most likely greedy like all the others, they'd care more about the hit to their wealth than the lives lost in the tunnels.

Still, Fiona and Igneal had the right to know. Whether he liked them or not, this affected their family.

He grunted as another breeze tore at his back. The pain flared, and he instinctively reached over his shoulder, tapping the wound lightly, and immediately regretted it.

"Great idea, Tyrus," he growled. "You already know your back is burned. Why don't you touch it again just to be sure?"

Eaubrus trotted beside him. "I can carry you if you wish."

"You're half my size, Eaubrus. You'd fall in minutes."

"I am stronger than I appear."

"Yeah, and I'm tough enough to walk the whole way," Tyrus said. "I can manage this much."

He trudged on, eyes darting across the quiet plains. Something about the silence gnawed at him.

Earlier, the red bison and lesser hounds had been scattered across the grasslands. Now they were gone. The hounds had fled from their shade, and the bison herds were moving fast toward the lake in the distance, probably frightened by the sudden blast. Even the air felt a tad different from usual, and an uneasy feeling was gnawing at his stomach.

Was he forgetting something important?

He sighed. "Anyway... Can't blame them for being startled. I'd run too if I had the chance."

His legs burned from fatigue. He was just starting to wonder how long it would take to reach Cliffview when he noticed movement on the horizon. Two figures, closing the distance across the plain.

Tyrus sucked in his breath and checked his reserves. His mana had absorbed much of the shock from the explosion, leaving him drained. Only about a quarter of his reserves remained. It was enough to fight, but not for long. Without mana, a sorcerer was defenseless against those who had enough to spare.

He pushed mana into his eyes again, sharpening his vision. The two approaching shapes resolved into riders on horseback, galloping hard. His heart jumped into his throat, thinking it might've been Scourge that sent someone to finish the job. Just when he thought his luck couldn't get any worse!

Tyrus called forth his flying dagger from the Scourge ring. The blade shimmered into existence in his off-hand, its edge humming softly with static.

"Stay low and strike when the moment is right," Tyrus said.

Eaubrus hesitated, then melted into his shadow, vanishing completely.

Tyrus steadied his breathing, muscles tensing as the riders neared. He crouched slightly, ready to hurl the dagger the moment they crossed into range. But as the sunlight hit their faces, recognition struck: it was Fiona and Grant.

"Are you kidding me…" he groaned, lowering the blade. The tension drained from his body all at once, leaving behind only exhaustion.

The horses skidded to a halt a short distance away, kicking up clouds of dust. Fiona was the first to jump down, racing towards him with wide eyes. Grant quickly followed, his face etched with concern.

"Tyrus!" Fiona dropped to her knees beside him. "What happened to you?"

Grant's gaze flicked past him to the distant hilltop, some black smoke curling into the air.

"The smoke from earlier came from there, didn't it?"

Fiona was already inspecting his back. Her breath caught when she saw the damage. "Oh, Sthito, your skin is all red and leathery!"

"Yeah, I figured it wasn't pretty," Tyrus grunted.

"Don't move," she instructed, a soft light blooming in her palms.

A wet feeling washed over the wound, initially cold and tingly, then morphing into a biting pain. Tyrus gritted his teeth as the sensation crept across his back, the magic clawing into raw nerves.

Grant knelt in front of him. "We came as soon as Igneal told us about the collapse. He said you went after something. When we saw that smoke, we rode straight here. What happened here?"

Tyrus winced as another pulse of pain shot through him. "You might want to sit for this one."

He told them everything. The Subterranean beetle, the conversation, the mention of Yarus, the plan to sabotage the empire's mines, the unseen assailant who killed the creature before it could speak further, and the collar that exploded right after. By the time he finished, Fiona's healing light had faded. She sat back, her brows knitted in thought. Grant's hands were on his knees.

"If this is true—and I believe it is," Grant said slowly, "then we need to inform the Lockharts immediately. Scourge can't be allowed to keep destroying their mines. The Empire depends on them."

Fiona rose, brushing dust from her garments. "I don't have my communication tool on me at the moment. But Igneal should have one in his Lockhart amulet. He can contact the family head directly."

"Then that's our next stop. Can you ride a horse, Tyrus?"

Tyrus shook his head. "Never learned."

Grant frowned. "...The academy offers horseback riding lessons. Do make sure to learn in your spare time. Can you at least walk?"

Tyrus carefully rotated his shoulders. "Fiona did an amazing job patching me up. I'll be okay. Just... don't expect me to sprint alongside you guys."

Eaubrus's voice brushed his mind. "Do not push yourself too hard."

"Yeah, yeah," Tyrus muttered.

Grant turned, confused. "Did you say something?"

"Nothing. Talking to myself."

Grant blinked, then gave a short, awkward nod. He offered Fiona a hand, helping her back onto her horse. Once she was settled, he saddled onto the other, and they proceeded forward at a trot. Tyrus started after them on foot, not jogging, but walking at a rather brisk pace.

***

Back at Cliffview, the streets were quiet, in a spooky way. Normally, Cliffview's central square would've been occupied with merchants and walkers by this hour. Now it was nearly empty.

A few stalls remained open, though the goods they displayed were pitiful. One fruit stand in particular caught Tyrus's eye. A woman sat behind it with deep lines around her mouth, her expression tired. Only a few bruised phala fruits and purple berries rested in chipped bowls; the shelves behind her were bare and dusty. The sight made his chest tighten, so he looked away, unwilling to linger on it.

The further north they went, the louder the noise became. Murmurs, cries, the shuffle of dozens of feet. As they turned the corner, the source became clear; a dense crowd clustered around the Explorer Guild, chapel, and the infirmary.

Fiona's face hardened. "The whole town's in an uproar. Word must've spread about the collapse. No surprise there."

Grant dismounted, scanning the crowd. "Looks like the miners are being treated there."

From the doorway of the chapel came the faint scent of antiseptic and smoke. Tyrus could see rows of injured men—bandaged heads, splinted arms, torn clothes—receiving hurried treatment from priests in earth-brown robes.

"They're alive thanks to you," Grant said, clapping a hand on Tyrus's shoulder.

Tyrus rubbed the back of his neck. "I didn't save everyone..."

"No one saves everyone. But you did what you could and saved lives, and that's what matters."

They pushed through the crowd, slipping inside the guild hall. It was empty except for Reo and Igneal standing by the window.

Reo turned first. "Finally! Took you long enough." His smirk faded when he noticed the ragged hole in Tyrus's back. "What in Sthito's name happened to you? You look like you got cooked alive."

Igneal's brows furrowed. "He wasn't like this when he left the mines. Explain yourself."

Tyrus told them what he told the others, the story coming easier this time around. When he finished, Igneal stood frozen, mouth hanging open while Reo exhaled through his nose, dragging a hand down his face.

"Of course it's Scourge," Reo grumbled. "Who else would it be? Those bastards don't quit. What are the royal knights even doing?"

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Grant crossed his arms. "The knights are handling multiple fronts. They'll deal with Scourge soon enough."

Reo clicked his tongue but didn't argue.

Grant turned to Igneal. "Fiona told us you have a communication tool inside your Lockhart amulet that can contact your father. I believe it is imperative we notify the family head this instant."

Igneal said nothing as he reached beneath his tunic, pulling free his Lockhart amulet. He pressed his palm against it, and out came a crimson sphere, gold flames spiraling along its surface.

Reo whistled. "Stylish. Fancy for a glorified messenger orb."

Igneal ignored him, eyes focused as he activated the tool with his mana. The sphere shone every two seconds, then it dimmed after ten seconds. No sound or face appeared. Igneal tried again, and when ten seconds passed, nothing happened.

A flicker of unease crossed his face. "That's odd. He always answers."

"Who exactly can that thing reach?" Fiona asked.

Igneal hesitated. "It can contact Father."

"That's it? Not even other relatives or stewards that serve the family head?"

"I don't need you questioning how it works," Igneal snapped. "It's direct access to Father, and that's enough."

Fiona rolled her eyes. "Of course it is. What about Sir Wayne? He should have a communication tool too."

"He mentioned his intention to aid the injured miners at the infirmary. Apparently, it was a knight's obligation, along with some other drivel."

That doesn't sound like Sir Wayne, Tyrus thought.

That uptight knight didn't seem like the charitable type, and he showed little to no respect to commoners and Fiona. Tyrus found it extremely hard to picture the man going around aiding the miners with their injuries.

Grant straightened. "Then we go there next. If anyone can reach the Lockharts, it's him."

Without another word, Blue Dawn filed out into the streets. The crowd had thickened, buzzing with anxious talk. The chapel's doors stood wide open, faint hymns mingling with the groans of the wounded.

Tyrus slowed as they passed, glancing through the open doors. Three neat rows of benches filled the small space, lanterns burning in golden sconces along the walls. The tapestries bore vines and flowers woven into intricate patterns. At the far end stood a statue of a robed, barefoot woman, her arms raised with vines spilling down like a living scarf, floating off her shoulders.

That's definitely Mevena. This statue looks in better shape than the one at the ruined cathedral. Does that mean these people worship Mevena? I've never stepped foot, or even took a peek inside the chapel before.

At her feet stood Apostle Alaran, deep in conversation with two others: a young man with smudged cheeks and a tired face, and an elderly woman leaning heavily on her cane. The Apostle's white hair caught the light like spun silver.

Tyrus only caught a glimpse before a shout from the infirmary drew his attention. He turned just to see a line of soot-streaked miners spilled out of the building, faces ranging from exhaustion to fury. Some shouted, others simply looked hollow. Inside, the air smelled thick of herbs and sweat.

When Blue Dawn stepped through the door, the noise faltered. A few men pointed at Tyrus and Igneal.

"That's them! The ones who pulled us out!"

A ripple of relief passed through the room. The miners cheered, clapping and calling out thanks. Tyrus felt heat rise to his cheeks. He didn't know how to respond to the praise, so he just gave a short nod and stepped aside as the crowd parted for them.

Inside, every cot was filled. Bandaged workers groaned softly while the healthy ones stood around, eyes facing ahead. Toward the front of the room, shouting continued. Tyrus craned his neck but couldn't see through the wall of bodies. He rose on his toes, but that only earned him a view of the back of someone's head.

"Looks like Ulvur and Hayun are arguing," Grant said.

They pushed forward slowly through the cramped space. By the time they reached the front, the voices had grown louder, and Tyrus found two men standing toe-to-toe in front of a shelf of books.

Ulvur, a man whose belly strained against clothes too lavish for Cliffview, stood out. He wore a deep green tunic edged with gold thread, a chain resting on his hairy, exposed chest. Sweat slicked his red cheeks, and his thick fingers fidgeted, eager to wrap around the throat of the man before him.

Hayun stood across from him, a wiry young miner with a face smudged with coal dust. A crude bandage, stained brown with age, covered one of his eyes. The other burned with fury.

"I told you already," Hayun barked, "you're bleeding us dry! These men can't even lift their arms, and you're charging them thirty-six sil a fracture? That's four days' worth of food for a family!"

Ulvur's expression twisted into mock sympathy, hands splayed. "A pity, truly. But tell me, do you expect me to live off air? Potions and salves aren't free. Even a simple mending drains mana, and if I'm not careful, could damage my mana heart permanently. Maybe even death. Of course, I can't expect the unblessed such as yourselves to understand."

Hayun pointed a finger at the miners resting on their cots. "It'll be too late for your spells to work before they can pay you! Just look at those purple shoulders and swollen arms! You call yourself a healer? You're nothing more than a stonemason, waiting for us to die so you can pick our bones clean!"

A ripple of agreement settled over the injured men. Ulvur's face tightened.

"I'm the only one keeping this town on its feet! Without me, Cliffview would've fallen apart a year ago. I am the healer here, and the only one at that. So unless one of you suddenly sprouted divine blessings, you'll take my prices or you'll learn to live with your pain!"

That did it. Hayun lunged forward, and two miners held him back.

Grant stepped forward, voice cutting through the noise. "That's enough."

Everyone turned. Even Ulvur flinched slightly at the sharp tone. Grant's usual warmth was gone, replaced by something harder.

"How much are you charging exactly?"

Ulvur adjusted his collar. "Obviously, it depends on the wound. But for fractures and broken bones, the standard rate is thirty-six sil. Reasonable considering the resources required."

"Or maybe show some sympathy, Ulvur. Remember the Code of Honor. Do the right thing."

"Sympathy doesn't pay taxes, boy. Do you think my supplies appear out of thin air? I need coin to restock the salves, tonics, and herbs! If I start handing out free miracles, the town will grow dependent, and I'll starve while they drink away their gratitude. You nobles wouldn't understand the burden of business!"

Grant's eyes, shadowed and unreadable, deepened with a sudden, unsettling gloom. Tyrus couldn't help but step back a bit at the freezing glare Grant was expressing to Ulvur. But before Grant could respond, Fiona snapped her fingers. The entire room turned to her. Even Ulvur blinked, caught off-guard.

"I see what's going on here," she said.

"Oh?" Ulvur said, frowning. "And what, pray tell, do you see?"

"An opportunity," Fiona said, stepping past Grant. She hummed under her breath as she knelt beside the miner with the swollen shoulder. "Let's test your business model."

She put her hands on the miner's shoulder. Mana gathered, starting with water that lurked around his bruised skin. The swelling went down, and then she whispered an earth spell, accompanied by pops and cracks that made some people nearby wince. Finally, a golden light shone over the spot.

When she pulled her hands back, the man rotated his shoulder slowly, then faster. His eyes widened in shock.

"By Mevena... I haven't felt this good in years! I feel twenty years younger! How can I ever—"

Fiona held up a hand, palm open, expression deadpan. The man blinked, looking between the palm and his savior's stare.

"Payment," she said cheerfully. "Healing services rendered, so seven sil. You didn't think I did this for free, did you?"

The miner looked from her to Ulvur, whose mouth hung open, then back to her again. He hesitated, then laughed and dug into his pocket, pressing the coins into her hand.

"Worth every bit," he said.

"Glad to hear it," Fiona replied sweetly. She pocketed the sil in a pouch and moved to the next cot. "Now, who's next?"

A murmur of surprise rippled through the room. Ulvur's face turned a deeper shade of red.

"What do you think you're doing?!" he bellowed, stomping toward her.

"Helping," she said without looking up. "Someone has to. There's a hobgoblin of a sorcerer in town who seems to have forgotten what healing means and forgotten his place."

The room burst into snickers at the jab. Ulvur's jaw dropped.

"You insolent brat!"

He reached out a shaky hand, as though to grab her shoulder, but the oaf didn't get the opportunity. Reo moved in swiftly, like a shadow, his hand shooting out to grip Ulvur's heavy wrist.

"That's not a smart idea," he said flatly.

The healer yelped. "L-let go!"

Igneal drew his sword in one smooth motion, pointing the edge squarely at Ulvur's stomach. "Careful there. One slice, and you'll finally look slimmer."

Ulvur's face went deathly pale. He dropped to a knee, wheezing as Reo's hold grew tighter.

"Mercy, please!" he cried. "Spare me, Lord Igneal! I meant no offense!"

Reo's expression didn't change. He tossed the man's arm aside, and Ulvur toppled backward with a thud, clutching his bruised wrist.

"You brats will pay for this!" Ulvur wheezed, scrambling to his feet. His eyes darted between them, fear and rage mixing behind the tears welling up. Then, with a strangled growl, he stormed out, pushing past the miners as the crowd erupted.

For a moment, silence. Then cheers broke out like thunder.

"About time someone shut him up!"

"Never liked that fat snake!"

Laughter and applause filled the infirmary. Fiona gave a mock curtsy, then went right back to healing. One after another, she treated the injured, each leaving her a handful of sil in gratitude.

Hayun stood apart, arms crossed. When she finished with another miner, he approached her.

"I'll say this," he began, "you've got guts, Lady Fiona. And I appreciate what you're doing for everyone. But…" He paused, glancing toward the door Ulvur had stormed through. "You might've made things worse for Cliffview. This is a mining town, and injuries happen every day. Ulvur's the only healer around. If he packs up and leaves, we'll be stuck with no one to treat serious wounds. I would imagine you're a busy person, given that you're an explorer and a sorcerer. Can't expect you to stay here forever."

The celebration dulled. Miners exchanged uneasy glances. The reality of his words sank in.

"I haven't thought of that before," one miner said.

"Much as I hated Ulvur, he was the only sorcerer willing to offer his services after our previous healer went off to join the Crown Prince's army," said another.

"Don't forget about that damn mine caving in as well. That means we're out of a job!"

What used to be an excited and thankful atmosphere now turned to that of gloom. It was as if a rainstorm had replaced the sunny skies and dampened every spirit. Laughter vanished, replaced by hushed whispers and the shuffling of feet.

"That will not be a problem," said a voice.

Everyone turned to the entryway to see Apostle Alaran standing there calmly. He strode in, his serene gaze sweeping over the room. The miners stiffened, some bowing their heads out of instinctive reverence.

"I have heard what transpired," Alaran said. "And I have witnessed enough to understand your plight. Cliffview's people have been tested sorely today."

Hayun swallowed hard. "Forgive me if I speak out of turn, but what do you mean, it won't be a problem?"

"Because justice will be served. I will ask the Temple of Thasmian if there may be priests willing to offer their services here. They are men and women who will heal not for greed, but for the balance of compassion and fairness. All living beings deserve dignity, commoner and noble alike. Such is the way of Thasmian."

Hayun bowed deeply. "T-Thank you, Apostle!"

He turned to Fiona, who was wiping sweat from her brow. "And you, well done for assisting the miners. However, never let arrogance or coin steer you astray."

Fiona blinked, seemingly surprised. She then gave a respectful nod. "I'll remember that, Apostle."

Satisfied, Alaran gave a faint smile and departed as quietly as he'd arrived, the faint scent of cedar trailing behind him. The room exhaled as if a storm had passed. After the Apostle left, Fiona went back to work healing the more serious injuries, sweat pouring down her temples. While watching her work furiously to heal her patients, Tyrus felt something stir within him.

He sighed. "Guess I can't just stand here and let Fiona do all the work."

Eaubrus's voice brushed his mind. "You intend to help?"

"Yeah," Tyrus said mentally. "Can't let her steal all the glory."

He knelt beside a miner with a nasty gash across his arm and placed a hand over the wound. Murmuring the incantation for Healing Touch, he watched as a pale gold light glimmered on his palm. The flesh closed, leaving only a faint scar. The miner blinked in disbelief.

Tyrus pulled his hand back. "That'll be two sil."

The man shrugged and handed it over. "A fair trade, I guess."

He moved on to the next patient. Tyrus mostly dealt with the small wounds, like shallow cuts, things he could manage without burning through what little mana he had left. Each time he finished, he pocketed another coin.

After what felt like hours, which was just one very long hour in reality, everyone was finished. When the last wound was closed and the last of the wounded gave away their coin and appreciation as they left the infirmary to join their families, Fiona dropped onto the floor with a groan.

"I'm exhausted. I can't feel my arms or legs right now. They're there, but not there at the same time, you know what I mean?"

Next to her sat Tyrus, his chest expanding with each breath. "I think you healed half the town."

Reo stretched his shoulders. "And gave their healer a reason to move out. Not that they'll miss him, by the sounds of it."

Fiona snorted. "Serves him right for those outrageous prices! Don't go telling anyone, but I'm glad that idiot was greedy. He gave me a chance to make some easy coin just by reducing the rate by more than half. I think I made around fifty-six sil in one day. Maybe my calling is that of a healer..."

"Regardless, you two did good," Grant said by the entryway. "Ulvur's greed might've broken this town. Maybe now they'll remember what kindness looks like."

Good riddance he's gone. He hasn't returned yet after so long, so he might've been kicked out of Cliffview or plotting his revenge somewhere. Whatever the case, I'm glad he's out of the picture. Now, about the other matter...

Tyrus cleared his throat and shot a glance toward the door. "Um, I haven't seen Sir Wayne anywhere around here. Didn't Igneal say the knight would be in the infirmary?"

Grant shrugged. "He did, and Igneal went to look for him a while ago. He must still be looking for Sir Wayne, given he hasn't returned here yet. Still, it is strange. Sir Wayne's the kind who does whatever Igneal orders to the letter. For him to vanish this long…"

"Maybe he's helping more injured people," Reo said, though his tone didn't sound convinced.

"Perhaps. Or maybe—"

A sharp clang split Grant's sentence in half. The sound echoed from outside, nearly deafening. Tyrus winced and clamped his ears as another clang followed.

Grant's eyes narrowed. "That was the guild's alarm bell."

Fiona groaned and pushed herself up. "Are you kidding me? We just finished patching everyone up!"

Outside, a shout rang out, followed by a chorus of voices.

"Everyone get inside!"

"Beasts! They're coming from the lower plateau and east! Prepare yourselves!"

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