CHAPTER TWO
First Impressions
Orion woke to the smell of something burning.
This was not, in itself, unusual. Nera's relationship with cooking could charitably be described as "adversarial." What was unusual was that the smell was accompanied by humming—bright, cheerful humming that suggested the person responsible for the burning was entirely unbothered by it.
He found her in the kitchen, human-sized and wearing one of his shirts as a makeshift dress, standing before the stove with the determined expression of a general surveying a battlefield. The pan in front of her contained what might have once been eggs. They had achieved a color not typically found in nature.
"Good morning!" Nera beamed at him. "I made breakfast!"
"I can see that." Orion eyed the pan. "What did the eggs do to offend you?"
"Nothing! They're just... enthusiastic." She poked at the blackened mass with a spatula. "I think I had the heat too high. But it's fine! The burned parts add character."
"The entire thing is burned parts."
"Then it has a lot of character!"
Orion gently removed the spatula from her hand and set the pan aside to cool—or possibly to be given a proper burial later. "How about we get breakfast at the guild tavern instead?"
Nera's face lit up. "Oh! We can look at quests while we eat! And I can bring Mira her flowers!" She gestured to the windowsill, where a small bouquet of wildflowers sat in a cup of water. Orion had no idea when she'd gathered them. Possibly while he was sleeping. Possibly through some method he was better off not knowing about.
"Get dressed," he said. "I'll clean up."
"You're the best husband." She kissed his cheek—having to stretch up on her toes in this form—and darted toward the bedroom.
Orion looked at the eggs. The eggs, mercifully, did not look back.
He scraped them into the waste bin with the air of a man performing last rites.
* * *
Twenty minutes later, Orion stood by the front door, travel bag over his shoulder, waiting.
"Nera? We should go."
"Coming!"
The bedroom door opened, and Nera emerged in her human form—properly dressed now in a simple green dress that complemented her forest-dark hair. She'd tucked the wildflower bouquet into a small satchel at her hip. Her feet were bare, because Nera had opinions about shoes that largely amounted to "unnecessary prisons for toes."
"Ready!" She bounced on her heels. "Let's go have an adventure!"
"We're getting breakfast."
"Breakfast is an adventure! Everything is an adventure if you have the right attitude!"
Orion opened the front door. "After you."
Nera stepped out onto the front path, stretching her arms up toward the morning sun. The light caught her hair, her skin, the delicate points of her ears. She looked, in that moment, radiantly and unmistakably not human—beautiful in a way that belonged to old stories and older magic.
Which was, of course, exactly when someone rounded the corner of their garden fence.
* * *
Vex Thornwood was having a fantastic morning.
He'd completed three quests this week—a personal record—and Denna had finally admitted that his plan to ambush those goblins from above had been "not entirely stupid." Coming from her, that was practically a marriage proposal. He was Gold rank, twenty-six years old, and absolutely certain that he was destined for greatness.
He was also completely lost.
The housing district on the city's edge all looked the same to him—little fenced gardens, whitewashed walls, doors that could belong to anyone. He'd been trying to find a shortcut to the guild and had somehow ended up in what felt like a maze designed by someone with a grudge against navigators.
He turned a corner, looking for any landmark he recognized, and stopped dead.
There was a woman standing in front of one of the houses. A beautiful woman—no, not just beautiful. There was something about her that made the air feel different, that made the morning light seem to bend toward her like flowers toward the sun. Her hair was the green of deep forests, her ears delicately pointed, and when she stretched her arms up, Vex could have sworn he saw the outline of something at her back. Wings? No, that was ridiculous. She was clearly just an elf, or maybe—
The woman turned slightly, noticed him staring, and smiled.
Then she dissolved into light.
Vex's brain, which had been operating at roughly half capacity due to the morning and the unexpected encounter with beauty, ground to a complete halt.
Where the woman had stood, there was now a tiny figure—a pixie, barely larger than his hand, with iridescent wings and the same forest-green hair. She giggled, actually giggled, and zipped through the air toward the house's front door, where a dark-haired man had just emerged.
"Sorry!" the pixie called out in a voice like tiny bells. "I forgot to change before going outside! Did anyone see?"
"Just some half-elf," the man said, his voice flat and unconcerned. "Looks like he's having a moment."
"Oh no! Should we help him?"
"He'll be fine."
The pixie landed on the man's shoulder, then crawled down to settle in his shirt pocket, her tiny head poking out like an excitable hamster. The man glanced once at Vex—a look of profound disinterest—and began walking toward the main road.
Vex stood frozen for another ten seconds.
Then he ran after them.
* * *
"Excuse me! Hey! Wait!"
Orion sighed without slowing his pace. "We're being followed."
"I noticed," Nera whispered from his pocket. "He seems upset. Should I have waved? I feel like I should have waved."
"You turned from a human into a pixie in front of him. I don't think waving was the issue."
"Lots of things can shapeshift! It's not that unusual!"
It was, in fact, fairly unusual. Most shapeshifters couldn't change their size so dramatically, and those who could were typically powerful enough that people tended to notice them. But Orion didn't have time to explain this before the half-elf caught up, slightly out of breath and wild-eyed.
"You!" Vex pointed at Orion, then at the pocket, then back at Orion. "I saw—she was—there was a woman and then she wasn't and—"
"Can I help you?" Orion asked, in a tone that suggested he very much hoped the answer was no.
"The woman! The one who turned into a pixie!"
Nera poked her head out of the pocket. "Hello!"
Vex stared at her. She was, unmistakably, a pixie. Small. Winged. Definitely not the tall, ethereal figure he'd seen moments ago.
"But you were—" He gestured vaguely, indicating a much larger height. "You were up to here! You were a whole person!"
"I'm still a whole person," Nera said, sounding slightly offended. "I'm just a smaller whole person now."
"I know what I saw!"
"Did you sleep well last night?" Orion asked. "Sometimes people see strange things when they're tired."
"I slept fine!"
"Are you sure? You look tired."
"I'm not—" Vex sputtered. He did look tired, actually. He always looked a bit tired, according to Denna, on account of staying up too late polishing his sword and practicing victory poses in the mirror. But that was beside the point. "I know what I saw. She was human-sized. She had wings—or, no, she didn't have wings then, but she has them now, and—"
"Pixies have wings," Orion said patiently. "That's one of the defining characteristics."
"She's a very normal pixie!" Nera added, nodding vigorously. "Very small! Very normal! Nothing strange about me at all!"
Vex opened his mouth, closed it, and opened it again. He looked like a fish that had just been told an uncomfortable truth about water.
"I'm not crazy," he said finally.
"No one said you were." Orion started walking again. "Have a good day."
"Wait! Where are you going?"
"The guild."
"I'm going to the guild too!" Vex fell into step beside him, apparently determined to get answers through proximity. "I'm Vex Thornwood. Gold rank adventurer. You've probably heard of me."
"I haven't."
"Well, you will." Vex puffed out his chest. "I'm going to be Platinum rank within two years. Maybe even Mithril. I have a whole plan."
"Good for you."
"What rank are you?"
"Silver."
Vex's stride faltered for just a moment. Silver. A whole rank below him. And yet something about this man's flat, unimpressed demeanor made Vex feel like he was the one being looked down upon. It was infuriating. It was motivating.
"Silver's not bad," Vex said generously. "I was Silver once. Two years ago."
"Mm."
"If you need any tips, I'd be happy to help. Gold rankers have to look out for the lower ranks, you know."
Nera made a sound that might have been a sneeze but was almost certainly a suppressed laugh.
Orion just kept walking.
* * *
The Adventurer's Guild was busier than it had been yesterday, the morning rush of adventurers seeking their daily quests creating a low roar of conversation and clinking armor. Mira Coldwell presided over the reception desk like a queen over her court, her stamp rising and falling with the rhythm of bureaucracy.
She looked up as Orion approached, and something in her expression shifted—not quite a smile, but a softening of her default severity.
"Mister Stargrass. Returning so soon?"
"We thought we'd find a quest." Orion stepped aside as Nera flew up from his pocket, clutching the wildflower bouquet that was nearly as big as she was.
"These are for you!" Nera deposited the flowers on the counter with a triumphant flourish. "I said I'd bring you flowers and I did! The purple ones are good for tea and the yellow ones just smell nice and the white ones are technically weeds but I think they're pretty so they count!"
Mira stared at the bouquet. The flowers stared back, cheerful and entirely out of place amid the stacks of forms and quest notices.
"I..." Mira paused, visibly recalibrating. "Thank you."
"You're welcome!" Nera beamed. "I'll bring more next time! Different colors!"
"That's really not—"
"It'll be great!"
Mira gave up. She carefully moved the bouquet to the side of her desk, where it immediately brightened the entire space, and returned her attention to Orion. "The quest board is freshly updated. Several postings suitable for Silver rank. I'd recommend avoiding the sewer quest unless you enjoy smelling like refuse for a week."
"Noted."
"Oh! Oh!" Vex pushed forward, having followed them inside like a particularly persistent stray. "Mira! I need to report something! I saw—"
"Form 12-C for unusual sightings," Mira said without looking up. "Form 7-B if it's dungeon-related. Form 23-A if you believe it constitutes a threat to public safety."
"It's not—I don't need a form! I saw that pixie turn into a human!" He pointed at Nera, who was now examining a wanted poster with great interest.
Mira's expression didn't change. "Pixies don't turn into humans, Mister Thornwood."
"This one did!"
"Did anyone else see this alleged transformation?"
"Well, no, but—"
"Was it before or after your morning ale?"
"I haven't had any ale!" Vex's voice cracked with frustration. "Why does everyone keep suggesting I'm drunk or tired or crazy?"
"I'm not suggesting anything." Mira stamped a form with mechanical precision. "I'm simply noting that extraordinary claims require extraordinary evidence, and you appear to have neither evidence nor witnesses. Form 12-C is available if you'd like to file a formal report."
"Denna will believe me," Vex muttered, scanning the crowd. "Where is—Denna!"
A dwarf woman at the quest board turned at the sound of her name. She was short even by dwarven standards, with copper-red hair braided close to her scalp and an expression of perpetual exasperation. A staff was strapped to her back, its crystal head glowing faintly with contained magic.
"What now?" she asked, making her way over.
"I saw a woman turn into a pixie!"
Denna looked at him. Then at Nera, who waved cheerfully. Then back at Vex.
"You saw a woman turn into that pixie."
"Yes!"
"The tiny pixie that is clearly a pixie."
"She wasn't tiny before! She was—" Vex held his hand at roughly shoulder height. "She was at least this tall! And beautiful! Terrifyingly beautiful!"
"Terrifyingly," Denna repeated flatly.
"In a good way!"
Denna pinched the bridge of her nose—a gesture she performed so often around Vex that she'd probably worn a groove there. "Did you eat those mushrooms again? The ones I specifically told you not to eat?"
"That was one time!"
"You tried to fight a tree."
"The tree was looking at me threateningly!"
"Trees don't have eyes, Vex."
"That's what made it so threatening!"
Orion had quietly moved toward the quest board during this exchange, Nera returning to his shoulder to review the options with him. But he could still hear the argument continuing behind him—Vex's increasingly desperate insistence, Denna's increasingly tired rebuttals. It would have been funny if it weren't potentially problematic.
"We should be more careful," he murmured to Nera.
"I know." She had the grace to look sheepish. "I usually check before I go outside. I just forgot this morning. I was excited about the flowers."
"It's fine. He's clearly not credible."
"He tried to fight a tree," Nera agreed solemnly. "That's concerning."
"Let's just pick a quest and go."
* * *
The quest board offered the usual variety: monster exterminations, item retrievals, escort missions, and one ominous posting that simply read "HELP" in shaky handwriting with no further details. Orion avoided that one on principle.
"What about this one?" Nera pointed to a notice near the center of the board. "'Harvest sprites causing trouble in the Millbrook orchards. Reward: 15 silver plus all the apples you can carry.'"
"Harvest sprites?" Orion read the details. "Minor nature spirits. Usually harmless."
"It says they've been stealing tools and leaving rude messages carved into the trees." Nera giggled. "I want to know what kind of rude messages."
"Is that the basis for choosing our quest? Curiosity about sprite profanity?"
"It's as good a basis as any!"
Orion couldn't argue with that. He pulled the notice from the board and headed back toward the reception desk—only to find Vex standing directly in his path, arms crossed, with the energy of someone who had decided to make this his problem.
"You," Vex said. "Silver rank."
"Me," Orion confirmed.
"I don't know what's going on with your pixie, but I'm going to figure it out."
"Okay."
"I have a very keen eye for detail. I once spotted a goblin ambush from three hundred yards."
"Impressive."
"It was actually two hundred yards," Denna said, appearing at Vex's elbow. "And I was the one who spotted it. You were looking at a butterfly."
"The butterfly was suspicious!"
"It was a butterfly, Vex."
Orion attempted to step around them. Vex moved to block him again.
"What quest are you taking?" Vex demanded.
"The harvest sprite one."
"Ha!" Vex grinned triumphantly. "A sprite quest? That's barely even a real quest. That's the kind of thing Bronze rankers do for practice."
"We like apples," Nera said.
"You like—" Vex faltered. "That's not the point! The point is that a real adventurer would take a real quest! Something with danger! Glory!"
"I'm allergic to glory," Orion said. "It makes me break out."
"That's not—you can't be allergic to—" Vex made a sound of pure frustration. "Fine! You know what? Denna and I will take a real quest, and we'll show you what actual adventuring looks like!"
"That sounds fine."
"It'll be incredible!"
"I'm sure."
"You'll regret not watching!"
"Probably not."
Denna grabbed Vex's arm before he could continue. "Come on. Let's go find this incredible quest you've decided we're taking."
"We'll take the wyvern one!" Vex declared as she dragged him toward the board. "The dangerous one! With the teeth!"
"Wyverns don't have teeth, they have—never mind. Fine. The wyvern one."
Orion watched them go with the mild interest of someone observing weather patterns. Nera tugged at his collar.
"He's funny," she said. "I like him."
"He thinks you're suspicious."
"That's what makes it funny."
Orion couldn't argue with that either.
* * *
The Millbrook orchards lay half an hour's walk outside the city, a sprawling expanse of apple trees that covered the gentle hills like a patchwork quilt. The farmer who'd posted the quest—a weathered human woman named Gerda—met them at the edge of her property with a pitchfork in hand and suspicion in her eyes.
"You're the adventurers?" She looked Orion up and down, then squinted at Nera. "They sent a man and a bug?"
"I'm a pixie," Nera said, with immense dignity. "We're very different from bugs."
"If you say so." Gerda turned and began walking into the orchard. "This way. I'll show you where the little bastards have been causing trouble."
The harvest sprites, it turned out, had established a base of operations in the oldest part of the orchard, where the trees grew gnarled and close together. Evidence of their presence was everywhere: tools buried in the dirt, watering cans hung from branches, and—true to the quest description—rude messages carved into the bark.
"'Gerda smells like old boots,'" Nera read aloud, hovering near one of the carvings. "Oh, that's not very nice."
"I do not smell like boots," Gerda said stiffly. "Old or otherwise."
"Of course not," Orion agreed diplomatically. "How many sprites are we dealing with?"
"At least a dozen. Maybe more. They come out at dawn and dusk, cause their mischief, then vanish before anyone can catch them." She jabbed her pitchfork at a nearby tree. "I've worked this orchard for thirty years. Never had sprite trouble before. Don't know what stirred them up."
"Have you changed anything recently?" Nera asked. "New fertilizers? Different crops? Insulted any nature spirits?"
"I don't go around insulting spirits!"
"It was just a question!"
Orion crouched to examine the ground near the carved tree. The grass was worn in a pattern—a circle, he realized. Sprites often danced in circles. It was a territorial thing, a way of claiming space.
"There," he said, pointing to a spot where the pattern seemed to originate. "That's likely where they're coming from. Sprites usually have a central point—a burrow or a hollow tree."
Gerda blinked. "You know a lot about sprites."
"I read."
"He reads a lot," Nera confirmed. "It's very impressive. I keep telling him he should read less and nap more, but he says that's not how it works."
"It's not," Orion said.
"See? He says things like that."
Gerda's expression had shifted from suspicious to bemused. "Right. Well. Do whatever you need to do. Just don't damage the trees."
She left them to it, retreating back toward her farmhouse with a final backward glance. Orion waited until she was out of earshot, then turned to Nera.
"You can talk to them, can't you?"
Nera's wings fluttered. "What? Talk to who? The sprites? Why would I be able to talk to sprites? I'm just a normal, regular pixie who definitely can't—"
"Nera."
She deflated. "Fine. Yes. I can talk to them. But I'm trying not to use too much... you know." She gestured vaguely. "Obvious magic. After this morning."
"Talking to sprites isn't that unusual. Pixies and sprites are related, aren't they?"
"Distantly. Very distantly. Like how humans are related to apes."
"So you can do it without being suspicious."
"I mean... probably? It's just..." She fidgeted. "When I talk to them, they might... recognize me. Nature spirits can sometimes sense..."
She trailed off, but Orion understood. Her true nature. The power she kept hidden beneath the pixie disguise.
"Is there a risk?"
Nera considered. "Not really. Sprites aren't connected to the fairy court. They're too wild, too scattered. They wouldn't report anything even if they did sense something. They don't care about politics." She brightened. "Actually, that's probably why I like them."
"Then let's try talking first. Easier than chasing a dozen sprites through an orchard."
"You just don't want to run."
"That too."
* * *
Nera found the sprite burrow beneath the roots of the oldest apple tree—a hollow space that smelled of earth and growing things, decorated with pilfered buttons and bits of colored glass. She hovered at the entrance, took a deep breath, and let out a series of sounds that were almost, but not quite, like tiny bells chiming.
Orion couldn't understand the sprite language, but he could hear the responses—rustling from beneath the ground, high-pitched chittering, and then a head poking out of the burrow. The sprite was small even by sprite standards, with skin the mottled brown-green of tree bark and eyes like polished acorns. It stared at Nera with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity.
More chittering. Nera responded in kind, her tone friendly but firm.
The sprite's eyes went wide. It ducked back into the burrow, and Orion could hear a commotion below—urgent chattering, the sound of tiny feet scrambling.
"What did you say to them?" he asked.
"I introduced myself and asked why they were causing trouble."
"And they panicked because...?"
"They might have sensed something." Nera shrugged, trying to look innocent. "Just a little something."
Before Orion could respond, the sprites emerged—not one or two, but dozens of them, pouring out of the burrow like ants from a disturbed hill. They formed a semi-circle around Nera, chattering frantically, some of them actually bowing.
"That seems like more than 'a little something,'" Orion observed.
"Shush." Nera waved him off and addressed the sprites again. The conversation went back and forth, too fast for Orion to track even if he could have understood it. But he watched Nera's expression shift from friendly to sympathetic to determined.
Finally, she turned to him.
"I know why they're angry."
"The farmer?"
"Not on purpose." Nera gestured toward a section of the orchard they hadn't explored yet. "When she expanded her planting last spring, she dug up part of their ancestral dancing ground. It's where they hold their seasonal celebrations, where they welcome new sprites into the colony. Without it, they can't complete their rituals."
"So they've been acting out."
"Wouldn't you?"
Orion looked at the assembled sprites. They stared back at him with their acorn eyes, some defiant, some frightened, all of them clearly desperate.
"Can the ground be restored?"
"That's what I asked them." Nera nodded. "The trees that were planted there—if they were moved somewhere else, the sprites could reclaim the space. They'd even help with the transplanting. And in exchange, they'd stop causing trouble. Actually, they'd actively help the orchard—sprites are very good at encouraging healthy growth when they're happy."
"That's a better deal than just driving them off."
"Much better. But it has to be the farmer's choice."
Orion sighed. Negotiations. Diplomacy. These were not his preferred forms of problem-solving. But they were usually more effective than violence, and significantly less tiring.
"Let's go talk to Gerda."
* * *
The negotiation took the better part of an hour.
Gerda was initially resistant—those trees had taken years to grow, and moving them would mean lost production. But when Orion explained that the sprites would actively help her orchard in exchange, her mercantile instincts kicked in. A helpful sprite colony was worth more than a few apple trees.
"They'll really do that?" she asked, eyeing the sprite delegation that Nera had convinced to join the discussion. "Make the trees grow better?"
"Nature sprites live in harmony with the land," Nera said. "When they're happy, everything around them flourishes. You'll have the best apples in the region."
"Best in the region." Gerda stroked her chin. "And all I have to do is move some trees."
"They'll help," Orion added. "Sprites are stronger than they look."
The lead sprite chittered something. Nera translated: "He says they can do it tonight, under the moonlight. By morning, it'll be like the trees were always in the new location."
Gerda looked at the sprites. The sprites looked at Gerda.
"Alright," she said finally. "We have a deal."
The sprites erupted into celebration—dancing, chittering, a few of them actually cartwheeling through the grass. One of them approached Nera and pressed something into her tiny hand: a perfect apple seed, polished until it gleamed like a gemstone.
"A gift," Nera said, showing it to Orion. "For helping."
"What does it do?"
"If we plant it with intention, it'll grow a tree that bears fruit all year round." She smiled. "Sprites give good gifts."
Gerda paid them the promised silver—plus a bonus for the peaceful resolution—and loaded them down with apples as promised. Orion's bag was significantly heavier as they made their way back to the city, the afternoon sun warm on their backs.
"That was a good quest," Nera said, munching on an apple from her position in his pocket. "No fighting. No running. Just talking."
"My favorite kind."
"You're such an old man."
"I'm twenty-four."
"Old man energy." She threw an apple core into the grass—it would decompose and feed the earth, returning what was taken. "What should we do tomorrow?"
"Sleep in."
"After that."
"Sleep more."
"Orion."
"Fine." He adjusted the apple-laden bag on his shoulder. "We'll find another quest. Something easy."
"Something interesting," Nera countered.
"Something easy and interesting."
"I'm holding you to that."
* * *
They returned to the guild as evening fell, the crystal lamps along the streets flickering to life. The crowd had thinned, most adventurers having either departed on quests or retreated to taverns. Mira was still at her desk—did she ever leave?—and accepted Orion's completed quest report with something approaching approval.
"Resolved through negotiation," she read aloud. "No casualties. Ongoing positive relationship established between client and local spirits." She looked up. "This is unusually thorough."
"I aim to please."
"You aim to fill out paperwork correctly. It's nearly the same thing." She stamped the report and added the completion to his record. "Payment will be processed by morning. The apples you can keep."
"We noticed."
The guild doors burst open.
Vex Thornwood stumbled in, covered in what appeared to be a combination of mud, blood, and some kind of purple slime. His armor was dented in several places. His hair stood up in wild directions. Behind him, Denna limped through the door, looking only slightly less disheveled.
"Wyverns," she announced to no one in particular, "have acid spit. Which certain people would have known if they'd read the quest details."
"I read the details!" Vex protested.
"You read the reward amount."
"The reward is a detail!"
Mira closed her eyes briefly—the expression of someone counting to ten in multiple languages.
"Form 9-C for quest completion," she said. "Form 14-A for medical reimbursement if needed. Form 7-B for any dungeon anomalies encountered."
"We didn't find any anomalies," Vex said. "Just the wyvern."
"And the wyvern's mate," Denna added. "Which we found out about midway through the fight."
"Nobody mentioned a mate!"
"It was in the quest details, Vex."
Vex caught sight of Orion standing at the counter, clean and uninjured and carrying a bag of apples, and his expression cycled through several emotions before settling on indignation.
"You!" He pointed, slime dripping from his gauntlet. "How was your little sprite quest? Did they write mean words at you?"
"We negotiated a peace treaty," Orion said. "Got some apples."
"Apples." Vex stared at the bag as if it had personally offended him. "We fought two wyverns."
"I can see that."
"We were heroes!"
"You smell like acid and regret," Denna said.
"That's the smell of victory!"
Nera emerged from Orion's pocket, holding out an apple. "Would you like one? They're very good. Honeycrisp, I think."
Vex looked at the apple. Looked at his slime-covered hands. Looked at the tiny pixie offering fruit with genuine kindness.
All the fight went out of him.
"...yes, please."
Orion watched the exchange with something like amusement. Nera handed over the apple with a smile, utterly unbothered by Vex's earlier accusations, his rivalry, his general Vex-ness.
That was the thing about Nera. She didn't hold grudges. She saw the best in people even when they didn't deserve it. Even when they'd called her suspicious and chased her down the street demanding explanations.
It was one of the reasons he loved her.
"Come on," he said, adjusting his bag. "Let's go home."
"Home," Nera agreed, settling back into his pocket with a contented sigh. "I like the sound of that."
They left Vex standing in the guild lobby, holding an apple in one slimy hand, looking profoundly confused about how his day had turned out.
Denna patted his shoulder. "Let's get you cleaned up."
"She turned into a human," Vex said quietly. "I saw it."
"Sure you did." Denna steered him toward the tavern. "Let's discuss it over drinks. Several drinks."
"I'm not crazy."
"No one said you were."
"Everyone keeps saying that, but they clearly think it."
"Drink now. Existential crisis later."
Vex went, because Denna usually knew best. But he took a bite of the apple as he walked, and it was—against all expectations—the best apple he'd ever tasted.
He wasn't sure what that meant.
He wasn't sure of much anymore.
— End of Chapter Two —