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Her feet were sunk lightly into the soft sand, just close enough to the shore that water lapped onto her toes whenever the tide came in. As the sun sank in the sky, the water was slowly receding; she'd have to move forward soon if she didn't want it to leave her behind. For the moment, though, she was fine sitting where she was.
The breeze in the air was beginning to become a wind; she heard it whistling through the spires of the crystal city behind her. A fragment of Seren's song caught her ear. Doktin winced. She attuned herself with the divine energy woven into her cloak; in seconds, it had changed its composition to block out that sound.
She used to love Seren's song. She'd been in awe the first time she heard it, when first entering the new city. These days, though... too much of a reminder.
She should have gone to the Arc, she thought momentarily; surely there was some tiny island with no connection to world-threatening events that was out there waiting for her. Still, though, the climate there was too hot for her liking. The beach west of Prifddinas was perfect: cool enough to feel familiar and comforting, and just warm enough for the water to be pleasant.
Footsteps behind her -- oddly light ones. She turned her head to see their source: a young human, stumbling along the beach. His clothes were torn; leaves and twigs stuck out of them. Looks like someone got in a fight with dense forest and lost, she thought.
"What are you doing here?" she called to him. Human visitors tended to be there for the crystal city, not its surrounding beaches. It was odd to have company.
"Oh, thank Saradomin!" he exclaimed, staggering closer. He approached Doktin, and it became clear that his ankle was bleeding, leaving a trail of blood along the sand.
He collapsed down behind her, lying on his back on the sand, bringing the knee of his bleeding leg up to his chest and clutching it. "I haven't seen anyone in miles. Not even an elf."
Doktin was direct: "That ankle needs dealing with. Show me."
He let go of his leg, bringing the bleeding ankle near her. It wasn't the worst injury Doktin had seen -- not by far. But it still needed attending to, and so she separated some of the energy from her cloak to wrap as fabric around the ankle. She brushed her fingers over its vibrant threads, altering the structure to compress the wound and pull the skin together.
"There. Now, go back to holding your leg like you were before. That'll do you good -- if it's above your heart, there's less blood flowing there. Less flowing out."
He did so, though slowly, looking at her with a stunned expression: "Are you a diviner?"
She laughed. "You tell me," she joked, lifting some of her gleaming energy cloak for him to see.
He stared. "Can I... touch it?"
"Go on, then," she said, and he nestled a few fingertips into the woven green energy. It gave a low buzz at his touch.
"Wow," he muttered. "Never seen divination this good."
Doktin smiled a little at that, then changed the subject: "What brings you here? If it's the Prifddinas gate you're headed for... wrong way."
He gave a weak laugh. "Nah. Family's hiking in Isafdar. They make you stick to the trails, so there's nothing really interesting. You see one grenwall, you've seen them all!" He paused to pluck a grenwall spike out of his shirt, tossing it beside him on the sand. "So... we were taking a break, and when they weren't looking, I went off to explore."
Doktin tutted. "Risky move. And your ankle?"
"One of those damn stick traps."
"You're lucky it was only that! The forest may be safer than it used to be, but you'll run into a lot of those even now, and they never really get easier to pass." She'd had too many run-ins with the things for her liking.
"Alright, Mum," the man joked.
Doktin was tempted to mention that she was probably old enough to be his grandmother. She left that unspoken, though. Better that she was just the strange diviner on the beach; revealing too much might hint at who she really was.
Instead, she asked: "How old are you?"
"Sixteen," he replied. Definitely grandson age. "You?"
"At sixteen, you should be old enough to know that you never ask a lady her age." She said it lightly, but with enough force to let him know not to press the matter. Young men could be stubborn -- ones who ran away on potentially lethal adventures, presumably even more so -- but he got the message.
There was a brief silence, but he quickly had chatter to fill it: "Alright, how come you're here? You hiking too? Any chance of tips on how to get through that damn forest?"
"Yes -- stick to the trails!"
He rolled his eyes.
"I mean it! I'd have done the same at your age, but really, the only new thing you'll experience outside the trails is a slow and painful death. The Cadarn worked years to map out those paths, and they're far better trackers than you or I. Don't take that for granted."
He nodded a little, still holding his leg. "It was a stupid idea, I know."
Doktin smiled. "Trust me, I'm no stranger to stupid ideas."
The waves had reached the point where they no longer reached Doktin's feet, leaving her with nothing but wet sand. She stayed where she was, though, for the sake of the man and his injured ankle; she couldn't feel the waves any more, but she could still watch them crash against the beach.
The man stared up at the sky. "Guess I should have saved my adventurer fantasies for another day."
"Adventurer fantasies?" Doktin asked -- half curious, half merely wanting to make conversation.
"Always wanted to be one. Going out across the world, fighting evil in Saradomin's name!"
Doktin was silent. There was another reminder.
"You not a Saradominist, then?"
"No," she said.
"Armadylean? They like their divination."
"Do you see wings on this cloak?" she joked.
"Alright, what about Serenist? Would explain why you're out here. You never did answer that question."
"I'm not a Serenist," she replied, ignoring the second half.
"Huh. Godless?"
She decided to stop him there, before he named every faction in existence: "Guthixian."
He sat up, letting go of his leg in the process. "For real?"
"Yes. And bring that ankle back up; it won't be anywhere near healed yet."
He complied, but still spoke: "You know, I don't get how anyone's still a Guthixian. He's dead! There's nothing left to follow!"
There was a time when she would have rejected that fiercely, asserted that he was worth following alive or dead. That time had long since passed.
"There's this," she pointed out, holding up her divine energy cloak once again.
He peered at it more closely. "Wait, is that what divination energy is?"
"It's what's left of him. Ever tried one of those dwarven toasters? Guthix is what browns your bread."
He gaped, as if he'd just been informed that the sky had been orange all along.
"MARTIN!"
A new voice from their left, with a distinctive elven accent. It was one of the Cadarn, running towards them. She caught up, arriving beside the two of them: "Martin, your uncles sent me out to find you. Come with me."
Martin got up, not adjusting too much weight onto his injured ankle. "Alright, party's over. I'll see you around...?" He paused, as if waiting for a name.
Doktin turned her head to look at him. The Cadarn tracker saw her face: "World Guardian!" she exclaimed, bowing.
Martin's eyes widened like moons. "World--"
"My name is Doktin," she said. "Maybe I'll see you again. Don't get into too much trouble adventuring."
His mouth opened and closed like a fish gasping for water, right up until the elf teleported them away.
Doktin turned back to the ocean, watching the waves once more. The wind blew at the divine fabric of her hood, a slight shimmer catching on the breeze. The tide was still receding, moving further away from her feet, but Doktin didn't move forward to meet it. She stayed as she was, looking out to sea.