Areth caressed the crystal that had found him in the gutter. He had been tempted more than once to pawn it for more cat videos. But then morning had come, and with it, a bloody invasion bringing inversion. Helplessness replaced with strength.
Now, to part with this Water Crystal was to deny the meaning of life.
Pocketing the water crystal, Areth stood and stretched on a pile of corpses in the Eastern market square. Countless injured adventurers were laid out a few streets away, and Areth could just make out the hats of the nurses bobbing as they busied around the bruised and broken. The occasional flash of red showed a severe case getting priority. Just like in the army, when his friend had- his friend-
Bile burned at the back of Areth's throat and he reached for his video crystal, but turned out a broken mess. The dawn lit Areth as he looked around, breathing heavily, searching for something to lean on. To hold on to.
His gaze turned down to the pile of goblins beneath his feet. The kin of killers, perhaps the very same that had been there that night. Torn apart and swept into a mound that gave Areth a clear view of victory.
Savage glee curled through Areth's bones and he clutched his water crystal in his pocket. Areth giggled and briefly considered piling the corpses in a different way. Or shredding them. Or…
We're gonna be rich. That warm voice echoed in his head, And who knows? Maybe we'll be heroes.
Areth pulled himself away from the thoughts. It was hard not to be giddy, or seething with bloodlust, but toying with bodies was…gross. And he was tired. Besides, there was more to think about.
Someone had tried to invade the city with an army of goblins. Jamming the gate open so that the goblins could invade. Thousands of little horrors had walked through the gates and found Areth waiting. Vengeance in his eyes.
It had been a good night. His friends would be laughing now.
It was time for a drink.
Areth clambered down, using his water magic as an extra limb to aid him. He was starting to get a headache, but made it down just fine. The street was slick with blood, but Areth would let another water mage deal with that.
"Hello lad," A deep voice said, and Areth turned to look. The vicious anger he'd suppressed turning to a mote of pride. He'd defended this whole quarter of the city by himself. He wasn't some addict in the gutter anymore. Who were they to call him a lad?
Areth looked at the man. Then up. Then up some more. By the time he reached the face, his own pride had descended to floor level. Grog had that effect on people.
"Hello, Guildmaster, sir," Areth saluted reflexively, "This gate is secure."
Grog nodded and said, "At ease, hero. You've done well here."
Grog looked Areth up and down and said, "You were an adventurer, weren't you? You failed to pay your dues a few weeks ago, so your name was removed. But I never forget a face."
"Yes, sir," Areth said, neck burning, "I…didn't have the money, sir."
"Understood," Grog said, "You've come a long ways. I don't think that you would be driftwood rank anymore. Tell me, when did you find a crystal like that? I would have known if a water mage of your caliber was training."
"Last night, sir." Areth said, feeling his neck burn, "I...have always been fond of rain. It came naturally. And with these goblins piling in…well, sir. I couldn't stand back. I got a lot of practice."
"Indeed," Grog said, "Your natural skill is likely Copper rank with a little training, although you will still be in the wood ranks. I have been seeing so many people like you recently."
Areth frowned and said, "Like me, sir?"
"Fast growers," Grog said, "Who are stuck in the wood ranks. Still, we don't want adventurers promoted on power alone…"
Grog waved his hand and said, "Never mind that. I came here looking for you."
Areth said, "Me, sir? Why?"
"Call me Grog, not sir," Grog said, fishing in his locker, "The Duchess wishes to speak with the Heroes of the Evening. What you did here is hardly a footnote, so I decided that you are included. Here are your royal summons."
Grog handed Areth a fancy, if hastily written, paper. Areth squinted, but had never been good at reading. It felt…heavy in the way that only certain papers do. The papers that say you're worth something.
"Hand that to the guard at the castle gate," Grog walked away, then turned back and said, "The summons are for two hours from now, but there will be food, baths, and rooms to stay in. Get there quickly and they might even have some fresh clothes."
"Sir!- I mean, Grog!" Areth finally managed to pick up his hanging jaw, "Yes sir! Thank you sir! It's an honor sir! Thank you!"
Grog grinned and walked away. Areth held up the invitation, then tucked it protectively inside his shirt. He'd have to be careful not to lose it. Avoid those alleys and…
Areth fingered his water crystal and grinned. There wasn't much reason to be cautious anymore. Being covered in blood-splatter was a good deterrence against the gangs.
****
Clara hovered. Torn. Petra wasn't practically fainting anymore. Jasson was looking better, but he still wasn't meeting her eyes more than once or twice. The bath seemed to help him as well, yet it also cleared the grime so she could see exactly how…stuck he was. He'd been focused on his phone and just…ignoring everyone.
Both Jasson and Petra lounged in chairs, and Clara hovered between the two. Then Scott arrived and Clara looked to him, hesitating. Scott nodded and slid the couch with the unprotesting Jasson next to Petra's so that they were mirroring each other. Then Scott took Clara's chair, the last chair in the room, and wedged it between the two couches.
"Tadaa," Scott grinned, squeezing Jasson's shoulder, "A solution. Now, how have you been?"
"Scott?" Jasson looked up from his phone slowly, "When did you get here?"
Clara sat on the chair, smiling at Jasson and Scott.
"Earlier today," Scott laughed, "Or rather, yesterday. Do you have the lumber ready for me to build the Manor?"
"No," Jasson said, looking away, "I've been…busy. Sorry."
Clara watched as that brief spark faded and Jasson went quiet. Scrolling.
"Where's Harriett?" Scott said, looking around, "The Duchess said that she'd be here."
"Really?" Jasson said, "Why?"
"I don't know," Scott said, "I'd assumed that she'd been attending the party with one of you but…"
"Harriett was staying home from the Ball," Petra said, "She had to do something. She'll be alright."
The door opened politely, and an entourage of servants entered. The servants carried a lounging couch into the room and set it down, then left without a word. Clara glanced at them, noting their chagrined expressions. Why would servants be chagrined…of course.
"I hope that she's okay," Clara said, a bit dramatically, "She's always getting into so much trouble. She better have a good reason, since we were fighting a dangerous dragon all evening. I will have to- er…punish her? If she ended up doing something boring."
Harriett's voice rang clear, saying, "It was, in fact, awesome."
Clara smiled and turned to the couch which had been empty a moment before. There Harriett lounged and smirked, tired eyes beaming with pride. It must have been really hard.
Harriett looked away from Clara and met Scott's eyes. Clara smirked as the two seemed to stutter in and out of the present.
"Oh look," Clara said, "There's no extra chair. Scott, why don't you sit with Harriett. I'm sure that the Duchess will be coming soon."
The following dance of expressions. The awkward approach, and the scoot that didn't quite leave enough room for personal space. After such a long day it was a giddy balm to Clara's soul. It was so fun to see couples.
Clara absentmindedly started stroking her sister's hair.
"Um…" Jasson said, "Wrong head."
"Sorry," Clara blushed and shifted, covering her face daintily. Her hand smelled like the bath soaps. With a little extra hint.
Clara forced her hand down and hoped that she hadn't just been enjoying the scent of the sewer. She'd have to smell his hair later to be sure.
The door opened again, but less politely. The smell of grass and trees filled the room, heralding the Duchess of Stalt.
"Thank you for gathering here," The Duchess swept into the room, standing to face the five of them. "Allow me to thank you further for your aid. As you know, we suffered a series of monster-based terrorist attacks this evening. Or rather, yesterday evening."
The duchess motioned to Jasson, "Without this young man, who is the friend of you four, we would only have suspicions of the cause. A rumor. A symbol."
Duchess Primrose reached into her locker and pulled out a stack of papers, "But with these papers, we have enough. No guilty parties, of course. But I can say with confidence that this attack was committed by the same terrorist group that destroyed the Silversword Castle."
Duchess Primrose paused, and Clara felt Petra stiffen. Clara herself found her fingernails digging into her arm. The very same?
The Duchess said, "Tonight, the dreaded scourge known as The Home Makers made war against us."
Clara nodded. So Petra had been correct in her research on the destruction of their home. Clara rubbed her scar, massaging her leg subconsciously. Maybe it was time to get the wound healed properly.
"Wait," Jasson struggled to sit up, but collapsed back down, "What's their name?"
"The Home Makers," Petra said, struggling to sit up as well, "You remember how those goblins had traps that they shouldn't have? The ones with the boiling water?"
"No," Jasson said, and Clara could feel him withdrawing.
"Yes, you do." Petra said, "The Home Makers build dens and 'homes' for monsters to breed, then manage to command them in an attack. That's why there were so many goblins back then."
Jasson said, "Ok."
Clara frowned and the Duchess said, "There was a goblin invasion from the East. Thousands of goblins attacked, and someone had jammed the gate open. Thankfully, there were few casualties. I have sent Grog to investigate."
Clara felt Jasson curl up, and reached out a hand to touch him. Why was he acting like this? It was like he kept waking up, only to fall deeper asleep.
The Duchess said, "Casualties this evening are quite low. This was a miracle. A dragon and a basilisk. We have been underestimating them but…"
Clara lost focus as Jasson rolled over, curling into a tighter ball than she had ever seen. A deep agony emanated from him, and Clara could feel the hole in his soul.
Oh, Jasson. Clara thought as she touched him gently, You'll make it through.
But seeing him like this sent lancing agony through her core. That night. Everyone she'd lost. Aunts, uncles, grandparents, friends.
Father. Mother. Brothers.
Clara smiled and focused back on the Duchess, throwing the mountain of the present on top of the ocean of the past. Anything to give her land to stand on, even if it eventually sunk.
It was that or drown.