Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

It’s a project, Kalina decides. It’s too unique of a situation to pass up doing nothing about. In all of these past centuries, no one has ever been born with her before. 

So she’s curious. And the kid is cute, with his wild tail and fluffy ears and growing fangs and nubbed claws and curious lamplit gaze. Sue her. 

The demons she had conjured sit him on the doorstep of the Owl and Harp with a note: His name is Riz. Short and sweet. She watches as a gnome opens the door, and stares down at the sudden goblin child, reads the note, and takes the kid inside.

She watches as the village folk figure out what to do with the kid. There aren’t a lot of goblins in the area, and they don’t seem to venture close to the village often. In the end, it’s a talking fox that decides on the matter. It was just a kid, after all. No reason to worry. 

Through it all, the kid swings his gaze around to take in these new people, and Kalina doesn’t need to listen to his cries to know that he’s wondering where his mom and dad have gone.

And then, she continues to watch. 

The kid stays warm and fed and clean, and he grows like a weed, green and spry. His claws and fangs grow sharp, and his eyes grow even bigger than they already were. He’s taller than the gnomes and shorter than the elves, lost somewhere in between.

When he’s not doing chores, he’s tearing through something, be it the surrounding woods, or the limited options for reading. He’s got a penchant, it seems, for crime and mysteries. She sees how he devours it all, hungry for the feeling of discovery, and getting his nose into business that isn’t his own. It gets him into plenty of trouble, and yet it never stops him, at least not for long. She supposes he takes after his father, in that sense. 

It’s a partial success, Kalina thinks. There’s enough mistrust in the town, of newcomers and goblins in general, that they never fully warm up to him, but they like him enough to ensure the kid is safe, and that’s all she needs for now. It sucks - she’s had her fair share of that treatment in her time as a foreign agent, and can sympathize - but she can’t help but feel that the isolation will be useful to her eventually. 

And in his sleep, she whispers into his mind as much of a blessing as she is capable of giving. In Arborly, the nightmares linger in everyone’s dream, but she ensures that the kid’s own nightmares become familiar, almost benevolent, to him. After all, fear will only be useful if he’s had a taste of comfort first.

In his waking hours, his footsteps grow lighter, and the shadows around him grow darker. The instincts of a predator are in him as much as they are in her, and her power lends itself to his endeavors, be it hunting or sneakery.

And then one day, Kalina allows the kid to catch sight of her. She’s impressed with how quickly he realizes that he’s the only one who can see this stranger, and she puts a finger to her lips in a quiet solidarity. 

She knows she’s winning when he nods in excitement and mimics her.

Riz isn’t sure if nine or ten, or however old he is, is too old for an imaginary friend. But, she’s nice, and encouraging. That’s more than what can be said for most of the other folks in Arborly.

And eventually, he deduces that she can’t be imaginary, if she knows more than he does. An imaginary friend would be limited by his own knowledge - but it seems like Kalina knows everything.

She appears to him one day while he’s gathering the laundry from the newly vacant rooms at the inn. “The Tillythatch gnome,” she says, examining her claws casually, “has just left for another tour of the continent.”

Riz blinks and thinks as he tears the sheets from the bed, and then turns to her with a grin. “So the house is empty?”

She shrugs, but he can see her smile. “Consider it a challenge.”

Yeah, hardly any of the people here would be supportive of his particular skill set. He’s tried to follow the elves on their training exercises, but they outpace him easily, leaving him in the dust; he’s tried to mimic the gnomes and their projects, but can’t quite follow their explanations, and his attempts always end in smoke.

But Kalina has taught him how to be stealthy, how to be still, and when to strike. And under her tutelage, he’s become very good.

Riz sneaks out of the inn later that night once the innkeeper has gone to bed, leaving his bedroll in front of the hearth empty; he bets that the beds in Holy Hill are much more comfortable anyway. 

(Roll a sneak check.)

He avoids the night watch easily, darting from bush to tree to log. The sounds of the forest mask his light steps. It’s almost fun - the consequences of getting caught here won’t be too bad, just a clip around the head and a warning. There’s plenty of folk who mistrust him anyway.

When he reaches the gates of Holy Hill, he scrambles up and over the fence with ease, and darts to the door on the backside of the large tree, where a large padlock separates him from his goal.

He’s still squinting at the lock, a strange model with buttons and numbers that glow when he presses them, when Kalina materializes next to him. “Do you know the code?” she asks, and he feels as though he’s being tested.

“...nope, but I don’t need to,” he says, choosing instead to grab a large rock at the base of the tree and bring it down on the lock.

(Roll a strength check.)

The lock snaps off, and he brings it inside with him, Kalina’s soft laughter following him.

Holy Hill is a haven of comfort and luxury, and Riz spends almost an hour just exploring the property. There are all manner of technology that he’s never seen before. “Solesian,” Kalina says as Riz rifles through a cold cabinet. “They’re quite a powerhouse, when it comes to tech.”

“If they can do stuff like this? I’d love to go there someday,” Riz says as he pulls a platter of shrimp out. 

“Hm, it’s not all it’s hyped up to be, kiddo. Get the red sauce, I hear it’s good with shrimp.”

Riz gorges himself on shrimp and cocktail sauce, and carefully cleans up the dirty dishes before he finds the biggest bedroom with the biggest bed. He bounces up and down for several minutes, before flopping down to crawl under the covers, warmer and comfier than anything at the inn.

When he wakes the next morning, the sky is lighter - but Arborly is hidden deep enough in the forest that the sun has a hard time peeking all the way through. He does his best to comb through his curls, and spends a few minutes in the kitchen sniffing around.

(Can I make an investigation check?)

Kalina climbs out from the shadows under the table. “Sleep well?”

Riz yawns. “No one sleeps well in this town.” How can they, on the edge of the forest of the Nightmare King? 

“But you?”

He shrugs. He’s never sure how to describe his own dreams, dark and strange and warm and familiar. Not what the elves and gnomes describe in their hushed tones, when they think Riz isn’t listening. Nuathera asked him once, and Riz gathered enough from the fox’s expression to know that his own dreams weren’t normal, comparatively. 

“What’re you looking for?” Kalina asks, sitting down at the table.

“Coffee,” Riz mutters, climbing up onto the counter to search through the cabinets. “I can smell it somewhere. It smells a lot better than the stuff at the inn.”

“Because it’s more expensive,” Kalina mutters.

Riz pulls out the package in triumph. “Yeah, but I’m not paying for it.”

There’s a few minutes where Kalina struggles to teach him to use the coffee machine, giving him directions from her spot at the table, and Riz fucks up the first pot miserably, burning his hand in process. However, the second pot is dark and pungent, better than any weak drink he’s had before.

“Sugar?” Kalina asks in amusement, and Riz just wrinkles his nose at her tone as he settles at the table too, mug in hand. He’s too old for sugar, he tells himself, but it’s so rare that he gets anything sweet. 

He sips his coffee for a blissful minute before she blindsides him with, “Your dad didn’t like sugar either.”

Riz chokes on his coffee. “My dad? You-?” and he stares at Kalina, bug-eyed. “You knew him?”

To be perfectly honest, he’d never thought much about his parents before, other than with a sense of bitterness - what kind of parents just abandon their kid, in a place like this?

Kalina nods sagely. “Yeah,” she says as she stretches, so relaxed for the bomb she’s dropped on him. “We used to work together. And he was pretty good at what he did.”

For the next several seconds, a hundred questions run through Riz’s head, including whether or not she’s lying, but ultimately he asks, “Is he dead?”

Kalina shrugs and nods. “Yep.” There’s no pity, no sympathy. Just a fact.

“Did he love me?”

(Roll an insight check.)

“...yes, he did,” she says, and Riz thinks that she’s telling the truth.

“And my mom?”

“She’s gone too, kiddo. They would be here, if they could, I can promise you that.”

Riz quietly wonders what that’s worth to him at this point, and comes to the conclusion that it’s worth something, even if he’s not sure how much. He eyes Kalina, and finds his own scrutiny mirrored back at him. “Can you tell me more about them?”

“I can,” she says, and Riz narrows his eyes at that playful tone again.

“What’s it going to take?” he asks. He’s read about negotiations before in his dime pamphlets. 

“Quick on the uptake,” she nods approvingly. “A deal, if you’re interested. You want to know more about your folks,” she says smoothly, “and I want an assistant. You’ve proven yourself pretty resourceful, so why don’t we help each other out, huh?”

Riz pulls a knee up to his chest and takes another sip of coffee. “What kind of work do you do?”

Kalina shrugs. “Infiltration and spying, for my boss. I’m good at what I do, but even I have some limitations, and you, rogue that you are, would be very helpful.” 

Riz can’t help the punch of pride that he feels at her acknowledgement - he is a rogue, and he’s good at it! Still, it’s important to be shrewd about this stuff. “Who’s your boss?”

Kalina hums. “Hmm, what a question. My boss is the reason I exist, my patron, so to speak. I help him, so that he can help me. And if you help me, he can help both of us.”

“You didn’t answer my question,” Riz says pointedly.

For a moment, they stare at each other with twin slitted gazes, sizing the other up, and Riz wonders just what kind of shit his imaginary friend is involved in. 

Kalina speaks first, and her tone is different now. More careful. “My boss,” she says, “is the Nightmare King.”

Riz blinks. “Like, the-?” and he jerks his thumb out the window in the direction of the briar wall that has overshadowed every day that he can remember. And Kalina nods, her gaze unwavering.

For all of the time that Riz has practiced at being a predator, this is the first time that he’s felt like prey. 

Riz knows the stories of the Nightmare King, has had the cautionary tales thrown at him to warn him, to keep him in line, to keep him from disobeying. And Riz knows that anyone that has told those tales never really cared about an orphaned goblin boy staying safe - only that he fell in line.

So he asks instead, “Did my dad know?”

Kalina smiles, and Riz cannot tell if it is sad or not. “I wanted to tell him - he would have been great to have on our team.” It’s a regretful smile, he determines. “But no, he died before I had the chance.”

Already, she says our team. As if Riz has already accepted. He wonders if she’s just assumptive, or if he’s that easy to read. 

She holds out her paw. “So, kiddo,” she drawls, “do we have a deal?”

Riz holds back for a few seconds, but it’s mainly for show, and he eventually reaches out. Her paw feels strange and light, and she doesn’t shake it, but squeezes it instead. 

In the warmth of the kitchen, Riz shudders at the sudden chill in his spine that pools at the bottom of his ribs, as if he’s no longer alone in his own body.

Kalina withdraws and nods at the broken lock from the night before. “Now,” she says, “fix it.”

Riz narrows his gaze, puts down his mug to grab the lock. “I have no idea how this works.”

“You don’t need to,” she says, and again, he feels like he’s being tested.

The chill in his chest calls out to him, and Riz tears his look away from Kalina to focus on the lock. The chill moves up his arms and into his fingers, and the lock shudders in his hands and rights itself with a metallic snap.

The chill retreats as Riz’s jaw drops, and Kalina chuckles.

Chapter Text

“Bottoms up,” Sandra Lynn says, and Sklonda follows her lead as they each take a drink of their wine. The sun is starting to set on Elmville, and the two women are lounging on the Faeth’s back deck in the warmth of the dying light.

In the backyard, Gilear is chasing Fig around. Already the man is sweating through his shirt, and perspiration shines on his balding head, but he never stops smiling at his daughter as she practically dances around him. 

She’s a clever girl, Sklonda thinks, not for the first time, running circles around people with her words. She and Riz, she thinks, also not for the first time, would have been friends.

“That rash of hers heal up yet?” Sklonda asks.

She sees Sandra Lynn blanch at the subject before shaking her head. “It’s not bothering her,” Sandra Lynn mumbles. “Not sure what it is.”

They’ve been friends for long enough that Sklonda can tell when Sandra Lynn is lying about something. But their friendship has been built on the foundations of commiseration and enabling.

So she takes another sip of her wine, and watches as Fig practices her cheers, imagining another world where Fig lifts Riz above her head for practice, and Pok sits on the steps of the deck below her with a beer.

Sklonda wakes. She gets up. She makes coffee, always. She has something to eat, sometimes. She goes to work. She works, tired, but tirelessly. She goes to her apartment. She drinks something. She falls asleep, eventually. 

Sklonda wakes up to frantic knocking on the door one night. When she peers through the peephole, she sees Fig. She has eyes red rimmed from crying and two bloody nubs poking out of her temples. The rash has spread up and around her face, coloring it red.

Her motherly instincts may have been asleep for a while, with no child to look after, but they return in full force. She opens the door. “Oh sweetie,” and Fig sobs.

She sits the crying preteen on the couch with a blanket, and gets a few wet wipes to clean off the blood. “Mom and Dad are fighting,” Fig mumbles quietly. “He, Dad,” and she chokes on the word, “said that he’s not my…” She breaks down again.

Sklonda had known that Sandra Lynn had been kind of a wild child. It’s a shock, she decides, but not a surprise. 

Fig eventually falls asleep on the couch with her head curled up in Sklonda’s lap. What a mess it all is, she thinks.

She dreams of Pok lying next to her, of Riz between them. She dreams of laughter and ghosts. It’s wonderful, and haunting, and mundane, all at once.

Gilear ends up moving in down the hall. If Sklonda and Sandra Lynn have enabling in common, then she and Gilear have grief and loss.

“Fig told me what you said,” Sklonda says, over takeout. “No longer a Faeth.”

Fig spends a lot of time with Sklonda these days, hiding from her mom, her dad, her old life. She’s been on good behavior, though Sklonda swears she catches the scent of cloves by the window seat more often.

Gilear’s face twists in an expression of pain and regret, his fork halfway to his mouth. “That was out of line,” she continues, “no matter how angry you were. Are. I know you didn’t mean it.”

“No,” he says quietly, defeated. “I didn’t.”

“So you’re gonna give her an apology, and explain that, no matter what you feel about Sandra Lynn, that you are still her father, and she’s still your daughter.”

She can parent by proxy if need be. 

And then she wakes, looking at the same photo of her and Pok and Riz on the bedside table. Most days are the same. Her grief stays the same.

The Compass Points Library is undoubtedly one of the best places Riz has ever been, even if Leviathan…well, isn’t. 

The place is filled with the white light of a cloudy day at sea, towering bookshelves that threaten to topple, as the place sways gently from its perch at the top of the floating city. A sanctuary of solace among the chaos. From walking in the door, Riz knows he could have spent days upon days between the shelves, absorbing all it had to offer.

But he has been given a goal, as he always is, and he sticks with it, like he always does. But before he does, he gets a library card. 

“Can you tell me where the history section is?” he asks the old man politely as he pockets the card. It’ll be useful to have a compass on hand.

The man grumbles and calls out into the stacks behind him. “Ayda!”

A girl, not much older than him but a good deal taller, pokes her head out from a nearby shelf. Riz is immediately drawn to her eyes, like staring into a deep flame. Her red hair is pulled back into braids, and the tips taper off into droplets of fire. “Yes, Rawlins?”

The man points a decrepit finger at Riz. “Be a dear and escort this one to the historical section, will you?”

The girl purses her lips, and steps out farther, and Riz is amazed to see a pair of talons where her legs would be, and a colorful set of wings folded against her back. “Again, I will not be a deer, but I will escort him.” She turns to Riz with a pointed stare and beckons him to follow her.

The library towers up, but the bookshelves, as much as they seem to tilt and sway, never run the risk of falling. Ayda walks at a brisk pace, and Riz has to jog to keep up with her.

“Can I ask you a question?” he asks.

“You already have,” she says, not turning to look at him, “but you may ask another.”

As Riz opens his mouth, she then stops and turns to face him. “Wait, I would guess what your question will be about.” Riz blinks. “Are you going to ask about what kind of creature I am?” she asks. 

Riz realizes in hindsight that it probably wasn’t the most polite question for him to ask, but he nods anyway. “Yeah, but you don’t have to answer, that was rude of me.”

(Roll for persuasion.)

She nods. “It was, but I will answer you anyway. I am part-phoenix.”

He feels his eyes widen. “Oh, that’s so cool,” he mumbles.

“On the contrary,” Ayda says as she turns and continues to walk, “it is actually very hot.”

Ayda leads him for another minute further up into the library until she stops in a square between the shelves, with a table and chairs. “Our history section surrounds this area. You can choose to search for your resources yourself, or you can tell me what you require, and I will find the books best suited to your needs.”

“Uh, thanks, I, uh…” Riz bunches his lips and chews. “Can you please find any histories of Sylvaire, and, um, biographies of heroes, specifically ones from seven or eight hundred years ago?”

“I will do my best to find what you have asked for.” Ayda spreads her wings and shoots up into the stacks, leaving behind the scent of a dying fire.

Riz sets up at the table while she’s gone, pulling paper and quills out of his bag. He’s just taking a drink from his waterskin when, “Sure it’s alright to let her know what you’re looking for?”

He chokes on the water - even now, after years under her tutelage, Kalina still spooks him sometimes. And he knows she keeps doing it because she thinks it’s funny.

Sure enough, she has her typical expression when he turns to face her, of gentle amusement. “I’ve never been here before,” he says pointedly. “And bookshelves on the ocean are a lot different than trees.”

He’d become very good at scrabbling up trees in Arborly, hunting birds and squirrels in the canopies. But being on a ship, on the ocean, hadn’t been a pleasant experience.

Kalina shrugs. “Whatever you think is best, kiddo.”

Riz doesn’t have time to think of a response before Ayda returns, landing on the floor with a clack of her talons and a collection of books in her arms. “These are the books I think will fit your needs best,” she says as she spreads the books over the table. 

Riz makes a quick look and nods. “These look great, thank you, Ayda - can I call you Ayda?”

She raises her eyebrows. “I would prefer you call me Ayda as opposed to anything else, as it is my name.”

Riz nods. “Yeah, absolutely, my name is Riz,” and because he does his best to be polite, he holds out his hand.

Ayda looks at it for a moment, before taking and shaking it firmly. Riz is pleased to feel that she has claws, the same as him. “Riz, this concludes our interaction for the time being.” And she walks away, with her talons clacking along the wooden floor. 

Riz turns to Kalina, and sees her shaking her head. “Pretty chatty kid.”

He wants to argue, to prove that allowing Ayda to help him had been necessary, but the narrowed slits of Kalina’s gaze silences him. “...sorry,” he mumbles instead.

“What’s sorry worth?” she laughs, and her laughter makes Riz turn away in shame. “Take it from me kid, not much in the face of our king. You should know that.”

She slips into the shadows, leaving her words hanging in the air. Riz sighs, the sour sense of inadequacy spoiling in his chest, sits down, pulls the first book close to him, and begins to read. 

He reads for most of the day, about wars and goddesses and familiars and heretics and heroes, until his stomach starts to grumble too loudly. Through the skylights, the sky changes colors until it becomes a deep burnished orange. 

Kalina checks in once during that time. Riz truly has no idea where else she goes when she’s not with him; she’s never given him a real response. Your business is not my only business, she always says.

He sees her leaning over him in his periphery. “How’s the reading?” she asks.

Riz shrugs, wary of her casual tone. Seems like this could be a peace offering for earlier.. “Kinda interesting.”

“Useful?”

He nods. “I think so.” He points out his notes. “So first I just got familiar with Sylvaire’s history, about the Sylvan War, just for context. Then I got as many details about the adventuring party that took the Crown in the first place as I could find from the history books. The details vary depending on the text. So now,” and he points to the current book, “I’m cross-referencing with biographies of famous heroes of Spyre, see if any of the details line up. Figure that could give some insight to potential locations, depending on where these heroes spent their time.”

He hears Kalina hum in approval.“Impressive work kid,” she says, and Riz lets a relieved and satisfied smile cross his face. “Think you’ll be done soon?”

He shrugs. “Too many biographies to be done quickly. But I got a library card, I can check these out. Return them whenever I’m done.”

Kalina snorts. “Drawing the line at stealing a library book? Seriously?”

Riz finally looks up at her expression - again, it looks like she’s laughing at him. “This is one the best libraries I’ve ever been to, and I don’t want to fuck up my access to it by taking books I can just check out temporarily.”

Kalina raises her paws in surrender. “Alright, alright, you’re the one doing the research.”

She vanishes after that, and Riz rubs his eyes. He hadn’t slept well on the ship he’d been stowed away on, too paranoid about every step that descended into the hold. On journeys like that, Kalina had typically been there to watch his back, and wake him should the need arise. 

But not tonight apparently. Maybe she thinks this place was safe enough? That was probably it, he tells himself. He’s too valuable for her to leave in a dangerous place. 

He doesn’t realize that he’s drifting until Ayda speaks up from his side. “Are you going to sleep in that chair?”

He jumps up. “No! No, no I’m not, I’m…” and he stifles a yawn, “wide awake!”

“Hm. It doesn’t appear that way.” She crosses her arms, and the movement sends a slight wave of heat in his direction. “Why would you say otherwise?”

“Um,” he thinks. Usually people aren’t interested in questioning him further like this. “Because I wish I was wide awake, and I hope that saying it aloud will help me be wide awake.”

“That’s doubtful. But you are welcome to stay here, because we do not officially close. Or I can give you directions to an inn for the night, with good food.”

A bed does sound good right now, even if he only manages a few hours of sleep, and the idea of a good meal is almost to die for, but he’s not exactly rolling in money. “How much is it gonna cost?” 

“Two gold, for a room. I believe a bath is included, which you could use,” and she eyes him with trepidation and wrinkles her nose.

…yeah that’s fair, he thinks. “Yeah, I’d really appreciate that,” he says as he gets up, rubbing further sleep from his eyes as he steals himself for some pickpocketing. “Thanks, and thank you again, for all of your help with finding these books.”

“I appreciate your thanks, and the fact that you got a library card. We need the funding. Desperately.”

So he sets off with his books and his light pockets down to the Gold Gardens, stealing himself to pick a pocket or two along the way. Everyone is so goddamn intimidating here. 

(Can I make a perception check?)

That is, until he spies some boy with silver hair in Gibbety Square. The boy, a half-elf, looks maybe a year or two older than him, and his clothing reeks of money. There’s a little purse hanging by his hip. 

(Make a sneak check.)

Riz skirts the square until he’s in the alley closest to the boy, who looks simultaneously bored and wondrous, as if he wants to give the impression this place is too good for him.

(I am going to Invoke Duplicity.)

Another version of Riz saunters around a corner, clutching his books, and looking for all the world like a schoolboy. The real Riz can’t help a satisfied smirk cross his face as his duplicate stops in front of the half-elf and waves cheerily. The cold that sits in his chest roils in anticipation. 

The boy scowls. “Uh, hello?” he says in some ridiculously affluent accent. “Can I help you?”

As his duplicate does a pantomime of showing off his books, the real Riz sidles up behind the boy.

(Make a sleight-of-hand check with advantage.)

Riz plucks five whole gold pieces out of the purse, and all the while, his duplicate shows off each and every one of his library books as the boy becomes more and more frustrated with the show.

“Alright, you,” and then he steps forward to poke the duplicate, his finger phasing through it. Riz whirls around at the same time as the boy. “Hey!” Riz hears him shout, “You little thief, get back here!”

Riz darts around the corner and climbs a wall, reaching the top just as a crossbow bolt twangs into the wood next to him. He flips forward over the wall and continues running, all the while hearing insults of little thief and fucking ball behind him.

Somewhere, he hears Kalina laughing as he disappears into the shadows, and he laughs too.

Chapter Text

“It…it doesn’t look great,” Riz says, staring at the fort before him from his perch up in the tree.

“You’re not wrong,” Kalina concedes from somewhere to his left. “It’s definitely seen better days. But still, it’s got a decent amount of magical protection. Don’t underestimate it.”

Fort Acarian is arguably one of oldest places Riz has ever seen, and having snuck around Fallinel for the better part of a couple weeks, that’s saying something. Everything and everyone here is so old. The walls are starting to crumble and ivy crawls up the stone, but in an artsy way that Riz might find in a storybook. 

Fucking typical.

He’d reviewed the blueprints fastidiously, found buried deep in an archive in a totally different fort. Elves might be magical as all hell, but everyone needs to use the bathroom, so he’s set on crawling up one of the few drains hidden around the foundation. 

“So, game plan review,” Riz says, and Kalina hums in acknowledgement to show she's listening. “Find the sewer, sneak in, find the abandoned eastern wing, search for storerooms for healing potions, get the fuck out.”

“Sounds about right. No magic when you’re sneaking, remember. They’ll have wards up, either against it or to detect it.”

“Got it. Good old fashioned sneakery, just like old times,” he says, and Kalina chuckles. “Hey, what’s so special about these healing potions?” he asks.

“They’re special healing potions,” Kalina enunciates.

(Can I roll for insight?)

“What kind of special?” Riz hopes his confusion isn’t obvious. Maybe they’re cursed, or drugged, or whatnot.

“The kind of special where, I’ll tell you if you get out of this alive,” she says pointedly. 

Of course, another challenge. He rolls his eyes “Alright, alright. So, shall we get going?”

Only silence greets him, and when he turns, Kalina is gone. “God,” and he manages to keep his curses inside as he scrambles down the tree.

(Roll for investigation with advantage.)

Eventually, he spies a stream flowing out from the underside of a knoll. “Here we go,” he mumbles, stealing himself for what might be the biggest loss of his dignity in his life to date.

An hour later, he emerges into the fort, into an elegant lavatory. “Think you guys are so good,” he mutters to himself, climbing out of the pipes in the floor and shaking himself off, “but all this magical bullshit isn’t going to protect you from me.”

Riz remembers the blueprints he had tracked down and attempts to get his bearings. “Any help you can give me,” he mumbles into the shadows, “would be real helpful right about now.”

And again, there is silence.

It’s been forty-seven minutes before Kalina finally appears, after three narrow misses with wandering patrols that had sent Riz scrambling for cover around corners, and once on the ceiling itself like a green spider. “I think this is it,” she mumbles in his ear, and Riz jumps about a foot in the air.

He hisses his frustration and turns to the door on his left. He’s wandered deep into the fort, down endless hallways with neglected stonework. The door is heavy and solid, but there’s no padlock, and he pushes it open, the door creaking ominously.

As soon as he’s inside, he closes the door and takes a breath. Out of the range of the halls, he casts Find Traps. “Not super well protected,” he says, finding nothing.

“Well,” Kalina says, emerging from the shadows on the other side of the room, “they don’t know what they have. This place was at its relevance, what, two, three hundred years ago?” She wanders around the debris of upturned furniture, gaze unaffected by the chaos. “Elves tend to put things off, hazard of the immortality.”

(Roll for investigation.)

Riz begins hunting around the room. Along with the furniture, there’s a lot of old medical equipment scattered around, rusted - or bloody. Riz can’t tell at this point. Interestingly enough, the room is devoid of any kind of papers or research that he would normally expect. “Feels like there should be more information around here,” he observes.

“Doubtful,” Kalina says. “The place was raided when Landrin was arrested.”

“Landrin?” Riz asks, digging into a cabinet. “Who’s that?”

“Old ally, a cleric, like you. She was our agent on the inside here, a while ago, ‘til she got caught. But, they didn’t get everything of hers.” Kalina doesn’t sound terribly nostalgic about it.

“What happened to her?” Riz asks, deep into the cabinet.

“Executed by the Third Court, for espionage,” Kalina shrugs. “They scrubbed this place of her research for the investigation. But they didn’t take everyth-” Riz hears Kalina hum, interruptig herself. “Hey kiddo, take a look at this.”

He pokes his head back out and sees her brushing her paw over some damage in the wall. It’s in a strange pattern, from some kind of ranged weapon. He reaches out and digs his fingers into the divots in the wall.

“Your dad did this,” Kalina says.

“...really?” She nods. “With what?”

“Arquebus. Solesian weapon.” Kalina makes a face. “Essentially a noisy slingshot, but your dad was real good with it.”

“He was here? Why?” Riz follows the angle of the marks to a darker corner, behind a counter, and sees claw marks etched in the woods. He traces the markings, to see if his own fit. 

“Not sure, honestly. Some kind of infiltration. But this is where we met. I helped him get out of here.”

Riz is quiet, lost in an echo. He wonders how much his dad looked like him. 

“Kiddo?”

“Hm?”

“Under the counter, behind you.”

Riz shakes himself out of his reverie and turns. Sure enough, there’s an empty bottle on the floor, and close to a dozen more behind it. He picks one up and twists it, watching a liquid of unidentifiable color slosh around on the inside.

He pulls out his Pouch of Holding and reaches for the first bottle. “You gonna help me get out now?” 

And again, there is silence.

Thankfully, getting out is easier than getting in; he slips out a window as the moon moves behind a cloud, scurrying into the brush. So, his first real infiltration goes successfully. And he’s only fourteen!

“What makes it a real infiltration?” Kalina asks, emerging from his own shadow as Rid crests the ridge far above the fort, Pouch of Holding secure at his belt. “I’ve definitely had you sneak into places before.”

“Real risk?” Riz offers, thinking back over the past five years. “Any other place, I get into a jail for a night or something if I get caught. I can escape from that easy. Not so much here.” He allows himself a sigh of satisfaction, and stretches in the shade of a tree. “So, where next?”

“Outskirts of Stellemere,” she replies, and she points to the north. “I have someone meeting you there that’ll take these off your hands. You have two days.”

“Really? They couldn’t have gotten these?” he asks. “I think this is the first time I’ve met anyone else in this… career path.” It’s the kindest word he can think of.

That gets Kalina to laugh. “They’re in a more delicate situation than you are, kiddo. More strings attached. But they’ll be able to take the next step with those potions.”

“And what’s that gonna be?” Riz asks as he sets off down the ridge into the thick of the forest. 

Kalina appears to move beside him. “Well, you got this far, so I’ll tell you,” she says, and Riz feels, once more, the weight of progress. “The potions are going to allow me to have some greater perception into what our allies are dealing with, and possibly our enemies are coming from.”

“But you won’t need to worry about that,” Kalina says, an affection of pride in her voice. “You did the hard part already.”

Riz recognizes the contact when he sees her, sitting on a park bench on the outskirts of Stellemere, surrounded by willow trees moving gently in an almost imperceptible breeze, petals dancing through the air, a perfect summer day, everything in perfect synchronicity.

The contact, a young elven woman with long blonde hair, maybe a year or two older than him, seems unaffected by the beauty around her, frowning imperiously at something shiny in her hands. 

(Make an investigation check.)

Nothing seems amiss - no one else is around, as far as his scouting has gone. Riz decides to take the low road and sneak up on her.

(Make a dexterity saving throw.)

Riz jumps as something iridescent snaps by his ankle and he’s hoisted into the air, head over heels, yelping in surprise, catching the Pouch of Holding as it swings dangerously from his belt. Something invisible has him dangling a few feet above the ground.

The girl barely spares him a glance. “That was rude,” she says, in an accent Riz can’t totally place. 

Riz tries to regain his composure, and his dignity, and doesn’t totally feel like he succeeds. “So, our, uh…” he tries to think back to his dime stories and pamphlets. “...our mutual friend sent you?”

The girl finally looks up, looking utterly unimpressed. “Really?” she says. “Yes, the Shadow Cat told me to meet her contact here.” She smiles smugly. “She told me he would try some sneaky bullshit like this.”

Riz rolls his eyes. Of course she did. “I suppose she didn’t give you a codeword, or phrase to say?” 

Her look of disdain is answer enough. “Alright, alright, I’m sorry. Can you please let me down?”

The girl holds out hand. “Give me the potions.”

Riz clutches the pouch tighter. “Put me down first,” he says, more firmly, clinging to his advantage.

“I could just take it from you,” she says snidely, and Riz pulls back his lips to bear his fangs in a hiss, his tail moving in agitation.

She makes a noise of disgust. “Ugh, fine, whatever,” and Riz drops into the ground in a heap. Thankfully, everything here is soft and beautiful, so it doesn’t hurt that much. 

He gets to his feet, and draws himself up to his full height, which is still only up to her chest. “Thank you,” he says, and he puts as much disdain into his own voice as he can as he unties the pouch and hands it over. “You know what you’re doing with those?” he asks.

She rolls her eyes too, as she ties the pouch around her own belt. “Yes, yes, I know.”

Riz narrows his eyes. “Repeat it back to me, so I know you’re really with us.” He is, after all, a senior agent, comparatively.

(Roll for persuasion.)

She smirks at him. “Shouldn’t you already know what I’m doing with them?”

“That’s not the point,” he growls. “I wanna make sure you’re doing this right.”

She crosses her arms, and the sun glints off her hair like armor. “I intend,” she says, with saccharine sweetness, “to distribute these potions into the wells and water supplies in Fallinel and Solace, to ensure that the Shadow Cat can have her eyes on everything she deems necessary to her success." She straightens up. "That enough for you."

Riz nods, as if that’s exactly what he wants to hear though something tickles in the back of his head. “One last question,” and he starts speaking before she can argue, because he can just tell that she is. “Why are you doing this, mm? What are you getting out of it?”

(Roll an insight check.)

She raises her eyebrows, although there’s an almost imperceptible tremble to it. “Uh, power and prestige, in the new world the Nightmare King will create?” she says it as if it's obvious. “Isn’t that why you do it?”

Riz senses that it’s a legitimate question, not just an attitude. He wonders if she’s looking for validation. But, that’s not really why he does it right?

He does it for the stories that Kalina gives him, about a man that seems larger than life, able to take on any challenge. He does it for the satisfaction, the approval, the praise that he gets from Kalina, that, in another life, his dad would have given him.

But, this girl doesn’t need to know that. So he just shrugs, and leaves her with the uncertainty that she’s hiding, and goes to think about his own uncertainty, and about a book that he'd read some time ago.

The Witch Goddess sent visions upon her followers, warning them of the consequences of their actions. She warned them that to follow the light of Galicaea would be to unmake her entirely. As a vengeance upon those she had once loved, she performed five transubstantiations in order to hide away from Galicaea's truth.

Her familiar, a cat unfailingly loyal to its mistress, turned into a plague to spread across the land.

Later, when he's camped out in the hollow of a tree trying to find some sleep, he hears Kalina, but doesn't see her. "So little trust," she says chidingly. "Where's the faith, cleric?"

Riz curls up into a ball, a defense against an invisible assailant, and invisible weapons. "Is it so bad," he ventures, "that I wish I knew more about what was going on? I've been doing this for five years, and I still don't know what your ultimate goal is. I have to find out from a total stranger." He can't help but let his anger slip into his voice.

"Don't pout. Is it so bad," she parrots gently, "that I want to make sure my allies are faithful? That they're not just in it for their own gain?"

"She is," Riz points out. "She told me."

"And she and her allies will serve their purpose to that end. You kiddo, though, I'm pretty much your godmother." She sounds so disappointed. "You're here because I want you to be a part of what comes next. But I need you to have a little faith in what I have planned. Is that too much to ask?"

Riz doesn't have an answer to that, other than the obvious. Instead he asks, "Are you the familiar of the Witch Goddess?"

There is silence in the tree. "Because, she said she was going to pour all of those potions into water supplies, like an infection, and that book from the library said that the goddess in Sylvaire turned her familiar into a plague, and..." The silence is too long and too hollow, and Riz tries to backtrack. "Sorry, I'm sorry-"

"Not anymore," Kalina says, answering his question, and her voice is older, and colder, than Riz has ever heard it before.

Riz thinks back to what he read about the Witch Goddess, whose own followers turned on her, with no company other than a unfailingly loyal familiar. "I get it now, I think. Why you're doing what you're doing."

She huffs. "So glad that the suffering of me and mine has given you the faith you should've had."

Kalina doesn't speak any further - the point has been made. So Riz huffs in guilt and pulls his blanket over him, trying and failing to sleep in the surrounding darkness.

He's not a great cleric, he thinks.

When the cops do come, Fig only consents to talk to one of them, a tired-looking detective that seems to know Fig already. “She’s cool,” Fig says. 

Adaine scoffs quietly. “Already been in trouble with the law?” Her tone doesn’t match the acidity of the question.

“No,” Fig shrugs casually. “I crashed with her when my parents were getting a divorce.”

Detective Gukgak, a goblin woman with bags under her eyes, takes their statements while they’re waiting for their parents. She’s kind and straightforward, and she gently informs Kristen that cops technically don’t have to tell you that they’re cops when undercover.

She sighs when they’re finished. “To think that this happened on the first day of school.” She looks out at the cafeteria, where the spongy remains of corn still remain splattered on the ground. “And your… your freshman year, no less. That’s some luck.”

Kristen watches as the kids nod and agree quietly, similarly exhausted and unwilling to talk anymore than necessary. She wonders if this would be a bad time to set up a group chat.

Detective Gukgak looks tired, in a manner beyond the usual degree of tired for a cop - but Kristen doesn’t have a frame of reference for that beyond procedural dramas that her mother watches.

Kristen nods. “Yeah. I was really excited to be here. I’ve never been to public school.”

Detective Gukgak takes a pull of her coffee. “Really?” she says, but she doesn’t sound terribly surprised.

“Yeah. My folks wanted me to go to Sunpeak, but,” and she rolls her shoulders confidently. “I’m a woman of the people.”

Detective Gukgak chuckles weakly. “Good for you.” Her smile fades shortly.

Kristen isn’t sure what she’ll gain from this, but there’s no harm in asking. “Detective, uh, Gukgak, right? Are you okay? You seem pretty… down.”

(Roll for persuasion.)

Across from her, Fig shoots her a look of urgency, and Kristen hears Adaine’s message in her head. She’s at the scene of a murder-suicide, of course she’s down.

“Ah, I’m alright Kristen,” Detective Gukgak says, without much conviction.

“You super fond of this school or something?” Kristen shrugs.

The detective shakes her head. “Nah, I grew up in Bastion City, never set foot in this place ‘til-” The police chief waves her over and she hops off the table. “Be right back, kids.”

Kristen watches her go with a stoop in her shoulders, and turns to Fig. “Suspicious?” she asks slowly, carefully.

Fig shakes her head. “No, her…” and she sighs. “Her son, this would’ve been his first day here too. He went missing when he was little.”

Ah. That wasn’t what Kristen had been expecting, and the energy at the table deflates even more, if possible. “Yeah,” Fig says, watching them with a heavy authority. “That’s how she and my mom became friends, my mom was on the crew looking for him.”

“There’s girls missing, right?” Kristen asks. “Maybe there’s a connection?” Her suggestion is only met with shrugs.

“I wonder,” Fabian says, “if he got lucky or not by missing this shitshow.” And he yelps as Fig reaches over to smack him on the arm.

Chapter Text

“I really appreciate this, Detective Gukgak.” She can’t tell how many times she’s said it, but Adaine feels like she can’t say it enough.

From the kitchen of the small apartment, the detective calls out, “I told you sweetie, you can just call me Sklonda.”

In the aftermath of the disastrous house party, after taking Aelwyn to the police station - and what a satisfying image that had been, one that Adainew would savor for a long time - the detective had knocked on the door to Gilear’s apartment. Adaine had been concerned at first that she was there for her, but Sklonda had shaken her head, said she was just checking in. Seeing Adaine sit somewhat stiffly on Gilear’s stained and lumpy couch, she’d leaned over. “You’re welcome to crash at my apartment. It’s small, but…” and she had shrugged. “It’s safe.”

Adaine had traded a look with Fig, who had shrugged and smiled. “It’ll probably be quieter there,” she says honestly, if that’s what you want.” And if Fig, notorious for distrusting authority figures, had given it her blessing, it was probably fine.

The detective has been honestly more patient than Adaine feels their group deserves with all the work they give her, especially in the aftermath of the Harvestmen. Adaine had been hesitant to encroach on her space. But Fig had given this her blessing, from her space on Gilear’s floor cuddling Kristen. “She’ll appreciate being able to do something for you,” Fig had said, when Sklonda had stepped out the door. “And she doesn’t fuck around with stuff she doesn’t mean.”

Adaine takes a minute to look around the living room. It’s tiny and sparse, the furniture is old-fashioned, but also looks as though it hasn’t been used much. Beyond a couple of decorational plants, the only signs of life Adaine can find is a photo album underneath a coffee table.

(Roll for sleight of hand.)

Sklonda catches her with it in her lap when she returns to Adaine with two mugs of tea. Adaine tries and fails to return it back to the coffee table before she notices.

Sklonda nods. “It’s alright, go ahead. Won’t lie though, it’s mostly…” and she trails off and sighs sadly, waving her hand vaguely.

Adaine opens the album to a photo of a younger Sklonda - the lines around her face aren’t as pronounced with grief or weariness. At her side is a handsome goblin man, with a perfect coif of hair and a pencil mustache. On his hip is a tiny toddler, with wild curls and a toothy grin, holding a toy magnifying glass. The family looks perfect and happy and utterly adoring of each other.

“That’s Pok, and Riz,” Sklonda says, pointing at each one in turn. “God, that kid loved his dad so much. Wanted to be just like him.”

Adaine remembers the conversation with Fig on the first day of school. “Fig told us that…” and she trails off awkwardly. 

Sklonda nods. “I figured she did.” She sighs. “Riz went missing, when he was two,” Sklonda says quietly. “We never found out what happened to him, but…” Adaine sees her clench her hands together, as if to keep herself from shaking apart. “...they found traces of a demonic presence in our room, from where he was taken.”

“Oh,” Adaine says. “Oh, I’m so sorry.”

Sklonda nods. “My husband, he was a foreign agent for Solace. He and his superiors thought it may have been an act of retaliation, but they couldn’t think of any work he had done having to do with demons. We,” and she drags in a breath, “we ran ourselves into the ground trying to find him. There was a whole investigation, with the rangers and the agents, but… there was nothing. A two-year-old, gone, just like that.

“My husband died seven years after that, out on a mission. And they never found his body. He could never forgave himself for not finding Riz. I’ve… I’ve done my best to continue following up on leads, research on demons, but none of it has been encouraging.”

Sklonda shakes her head. “I’m, I’m so sorry sweetie, I didn’t mean to unload on you like that-”

Adaine can’t help herself. “Can I give you a hug, Detective?”

Sklonda blinks tears out of her eyes and nods, and Adaine reaches forward and hugs her. It’s a mother’s hug, she thinks, warm and protective, something Sklonda hasn’t been able to give as much as she should, and something Adaine knows she herself has never received.

For a while, they flip through the album together, traveling back through time, and throughout it all, Sklonda brings up anecdotes and memories, laughing fondly and smiling. Stories of Riz learning to climb onto the cabinets and growing his first pair of fangs, and of Pok making breakfast every morning after he returned from a mission, letting Riz perch on his shoulders. 

In the many times that Adaine has met Sklonda, it’s the most relaxed and happy that she has been. She realizes, eventually, that Sklonda’s smile matches the joyous smile of her son, in so many of the photos.

Eventually, there are a brief few pages left where Riz isn’t there at all, where Sklonda and Pok are clearly much younger. At the end of the album, there remains a single photo, the oldest one, of Pok with a flute of champagne in one hand and his arm out in the air, smiling cleverly at someone that Adaine can’t see.

“That’s Kalina, Pok’s former…coworker,” Sklonda says, pointing at the empty space next to her late husband. “She was an agent for Fallinel.”

Adaine furrowed her brow. “...who is?”

“The Tabaxi woman, in the dress?” Sklonda taps the space below her husband’s arm.

Adaine admits, “I don’t see anybody there.”

The Gold Gardens are rife with a controlled chaos that seems to evade the rest of Leviathan, at least as far as Riz is concerned - and so it is one of his only favorite places in the floating city, along with the library. 

The vents that filter in the fresh ocean air to the various buildings of the Gold Gardens, clearing out the scent of smoke - less so.

(Make a sneak check.)

“You know,” Riz mutters into the darkness, trying his best not to cough, “I thought that vents big enough for smallfolk was just a dime pamphlet trope, like,” and he edges himself further along on his elbows, “like, this is so, so obvious!” Somewhere, he hears Kalina agree, a noncommittal grunt. 

He's not even sure why he's in there - just that might need an extra pair of hands in here. Where exactly here is, or why, is still up in the air. 

“Hey,” Riz grunts, creeping further along, keeping his eyes on the vents to see into the lounges below. So far, it's just pirates in various states of inebriation. “Hey, did my dad ever do anything like this?”

From the shadows, Kalina hums. “Probably? I'll be honest kid, a lot of our work together was talking. Exchange of intel.” She's quiet for a moment as Riz inches further through the vents, the walls just closing on his narrow shoulders. “It would've been a liability to talk too much about what we did. But still, he liked what he did, that much was always clear. Thought it was, what, bad ass.”

Though she says it with contempt, Riz couldn't help but agree, even if it was quiet. 

“But yeah, he probably crawled through vents just like you.” Her tone has shifted to that edge of boredom, the tone that signifies the end of the conversation. Lately, Riz has noticed, it comes quicker and quicker when the subject of his dad comes up. 

Sure, it's not like that's why he agreed to all of this in the first place. 

“Oh, right here,” she whispers as Riz approaches the next vent. Riz blinks and peers into the lounge below, the nicest room by far. It's lit with several large candles spreading golden light into the far corners.

(Make a perception check.)

There are only two occupants. One of them Riz recognizes as Garthy O’Brien, the owner of the Gold Gardens, with their gold tattoos and scimitars. While Riz has never directly crossed paths with them in his time here, he’s done enough sneaking and spying to know that Garthy is one of the more sensible pirates in the city, and not to be fucked with lightly. 

Kalina whistles lightly, and Riz looks up to see her peering down on the other side of the vent. “What?” he mouths at her. “Nothing, I just forget how hot they are until we’re here again,” she chuckles. Riz rolls his eyes, but even he can say objectively that Garthy O’Brien is probably the hottest person he’s ever seen.

The other occupant is one that Riz doesn’t know, but strikes him as familiar in some way - a tall elven woman, with blonde hair pinned up out of her face and spectacles perched on her nose. Even through her stately posture, Riz can see that she’s travel-worn and weary.

“...will be difficult,” she’s saying as Riz starts listening. “I’ll need to arrange transportation after this. Very frustrating.”

“Well,” Garthy O’Brien says, “there's no shortage of that here, my dear.” Their tone is casual as they settle down on one of the cushioned chairs. “Now, what is it you've brought me?”

The elven woman reaches into a travel bag and pulls out a nondescript crown, looking rusted and dull. Riz hears Kalina hiss gently in the darkness, as a tether in his own chest begins to tug gently at him. 

“This crown came to me from a set of ruins in Highcourt, with some inconvenient little curse on it. It’s left me unable to trance, hence,” and she shakes her head as she hands the crown over to Garthy, “my appearance.”

“Ah, nasty bit of business that,” Garthy agrees, taking the crown and turning it over in their hands. “Yes, seems like it. You do have payment?” The woman nods, pulling a pouch out of her bag and setting it in front of Garthy. Garthy passes their hand over it and nods. “That’ll do.”

“Be ready to create a distraction,” Kalina says as Garthy focuses on the crown, and the elven woman crosses her arms impatiently. “I have a feeling this isn’t going to go over well.”

It’s just as Riz remembers the elven girl from Stellemere, and sees her in the woman’s impatience, when golden light radiates from Garthy’s hands below, and the rusted crown is enveloped. Riz feels the scent of something noxious and familiar leak into the air, something that reminds him of the forest of Arborly on its darkest nights. 

When the light clears, Riz first hears the elven woman breathe deeply in relief. “That’s much better,” she says.

“Right, glad to hear…” Garthy’s tone trails off and Riz peers down to see that the crown in their hands has changed profoundly. Rather than rusted metal, Riz sees twisted black spires, glinting wickedly, seemingly drawing the light out of the room to make it darker. A chill runs through Riz’s entire body, and he turns to Kalina. “That’s the-!” he mouths, and Kalina smiles widely, showing off all of her teeth - Riz thinks offhandedly that there are more teeth than there should be. 

“...you need to get the fuck out,” Garthy says coldly, dropping the Crown of the Nightmare King onto the table with a sharp clatter. “Actually, no, hold on,” and they hold their hand out towards the woman.

This is the moment Riz was here to wait for. It’s a gamble - Garthy, Riz is aware is a powerful spellcaster, but Riz is hoping that the fact that he’s hidden away will help him out. 

(I cast Blindness.)

Garthy suddenly sways on their feet, and it’s clear that the spell has worked. Riz quietly fist-pumps the air in triumph as the elven woman leans forward and snatches the crown. Then, to Riz’s surprise, she steps up onto the table and pushes her hand up into the vent, grasping his cloak in her other hand.

There’s a terrifying feeling of falling, being sucked into a vortex, and Riz is dragged into an unfamiliar darkness, yelping in surprise. 

The Dimension Door dumps them a short distance away from the Gold Gardens. There’s no time to recover; as Riz falls to all fours on the rough wood of the street, Kalina appears in front of them. “I’d run if I were you two.”

The woman scowls at Riz and clenches the crown tighter in her hands. Riz can see that the look on her face is one of reluctance, an expression he’s been familiar with his entire life. Whatever lady, he thinks as he runs beside her through the Galleyard. Around them, the pirates and patrons of the area continue in their merriment as clouds move over the moon above them.

They only stop running once they reach the Plank, where all of the incoming ships are docked. Riz darts ahead and moves into the cover of crates and barrels. “C’mon!” he hisses. 

He hears the woman follow him, and soon they are out of sight. Kalina steps out from a column of boxes. “Feeling better?” she asks the woman wryly. 

(Can I make an insight check?)

Riz watches her carefully as she forms her response. “Yes, thank you,” she murmurs in deference. They seem familiar, but more in the way of an employee trying for a management position and their much higher-up boss. It makes Riz think of his own dynamic with Kalina, and he shakes away the upsetting thought that he might just be the family member brought on board as a favor. 

“Well, good to have you two meet in person finally.” Kalina waves her paw at Riz. “He’s the one that did all the research in tracking down the crown’s location, which you,” and she waves her other paw at the woman, “found and retrieved.”

Riz feels his shoulders and spine straighten in pride, and he stares the woman down in silent challenge. “Glad to see my work went to good use,” he says, cocking his eyebrows.

The woman purses her lips. “Yes,” is all she says, with no gratitude.

There’s an awkward beat between them before Kalina speaks. “Alright, you,” she points at the woman, “are getting on the Banshee . Manifest says it’s heading for Fallinel, but it’ll take you to Sylvaire.”

“But my daughter,” the woman begins to argue, but she closes her mouth as Kalina raises her paw for silence.

“Your daughter…” Kalina says warningly, “has caused enough delay and trouble for us. If the opportunity arises, we can move to bring her to you, but I wouldn’t hold your breath.”

Riz feels a quiet vindication that the girl from Stellemere wasn’t as useful as him, as the woman backs down. “Now, run along,” Kalina says dismissively, “and I’ll be in contact with you shortly.”

The woman nods at Kalina, and scowls as she passes her glance over Riz one more time before turning and striding down the Plank. Riz leans against a crate and watches her go. When her silhouette disappears, he turns to Kalina. “So it was in Solace, like I said? Where was it?”

Kalina chuckles and nods. “Yeah, it was in Solace. One of your original heroes passed it down to their descendent, who got freaky with the wizard who had it.” She laughs. “It was on a shelf in his fucking office.”

“Seriously?” Riz shakes his head. 

“Seriously.” He feels a pat on his head. “You did good kid. I know she can be a bitch, but you should be proud of yourself.”

Pride swells in his chest and he nods to himself. “Yeah, I am.”

“Work’s not over yet though.”

“Never really is,” he shrugs. There’s always somewhere to go, something to do. 

“But it is getting close,” and Kalina crouches in front of him. “I mean it, kid. I need your trust, more than ever. I know you’ve been… unsatisfied, lately,” and she shoots Riz a knowing look that he has to glance away from, “but we are so close,” and her eyes widen meaningfully, “to the end of this.”

“And the part that’s coming?” She shakes her head. “It’s gonna test you, bud. Are you still up for it?”

“You think I’m not powerful enough to make it?” Riz asks. 

Kalina shakes her head again. “Not about power, Riz. It’s about loyalty.” A pause. “Your dad was loyal to what he did, and I see him in you,” and she reaches out to poke his heart, “every day. I want you with me, and our king, at the end of this.”

Riz takes a breath, an ache moving like a ghost through his lungs. He nods. “I’ll be there,” he says confidently.

And Kalina smiles, and Riz can’t tell anymore whether her smile has more teeth than usual.

Chapter Text

“Did you have any strange dreams last night, Miss Sklonda?” Adaine asks.

Her party is regrouping outside of the Elm Valley Mall. Sklonda and Sandra Lynn are leaning against her cruiser. Gorgug and Ragh have already taken their positions in Gorgug’s new van, while Fabian passes out the disastrous coffee orders from Gilear, handing a lukewarm vanilla latte to Sklonda. Adaine and Tracker stand in front of them, each with a face twisted in anxiety.

Fig and Kristen are nowhere to be seen, having run off in the tour bus apparently. 

Sklonda blinks heavily, trying to shake away her concern for Fig. “Yeah, actually, it was…” She sighs. “I saw Riz, but, he was older? Like, how old he’d be now.” 

He had been almost her height, his curls wild and unkempt, staring at her with a look of sadness and fear that she’d ached to see. He'd looked so much like Pok it had hurt, in the set of his shoulders and the line of his nose and the way Pok had looked at her after Riz went missing. 

Sandra Lynn leans against her comfortingly, familiar with that part of her grief, and Sklonda leans back briefly. “But that’s not necessarily unusual, to be honest,” Sklonda admits. “But what was weird, was that my husband’s old coworker was with him. Do you remember that photograph of Pok at the party?”

Adaine blinks.“The one with the woman I couldn’t see?”

Sklonda nods. “Yeah, Kalina. It was dark and they were both just staring at me, and she looked,” and she scrunches her mouth in frustration, remembering the shadowy form of Kalina from behind Riz. “She looked like she knew something I didn’t. Almost smug.” 

She’d been crying out, reaching for her child, but never managed to get close enough. But the worst part had been when Riz had turned away from her and started walking away with Kalina.

Sklonda frowns, thinking back to moving day at the manor, only yesterday. “What was that clue that Fig found on tour? About the Nightmare King?” 

“The Shadow Cat?” Gorgug offers from his spot in the driver’s seat of the van.

Sklonda nods. “That’s the one, I just,” and she sighs and digs into her pocket and pulls out the photograph of her husband and Kalina, where Adaine had insisted that there was no one next to Pok. 

Kalina's smile in the photograph is the same as the one she wore in Sklonda’s dream. She'd pulled the photo out this morning, feeling the Kalina of her dream practically looming over her. 

Sandra Lynn leans over. “What do you mean you couldn't see it, Adaine?” and Sklonda sees her staring at Kalina. 

“Can you?” Adaine leaned over into their space. “I can't see anyone there.”

This prompts a larger gathering as everyone looks at the photograph, mostly in confusion. But Fabian says, “No, there's definitely someone there; the cat woman, in a black dress,” and he points to Kalina’s face.

Sklonda hands the photograph to him. “If there was ever a shadow cat ,” she says, the words feeling foreboding in her mouth as she watches him put the photo in the pocket of his letterman jacket, “it was her. She was a talented spy, and according to Pok, she was very gifted in illusion magic. Wards and abjurations, forget about them, she could get past them.”

“Did Riz ever meet her?” Adaine frowned. 

She nodded. “On a couple of occasions, but nothing stood out to me then.” Kalina, she remembered, had been fascinated by Riz. At the time, Sklonda had chalked it up to her baby boy being cute as hell - who wouldn’t like him? 

But with the weight of her dream in her mind… that fascination feels malicious now.

She gives Adaine and Sandra Lynn hugs, and waves at them from the cruiser as they drive away, with Fabian on his bike, Sandra LYnn on her griffon, and everyone else packed into the van. She’s one photograph lighter, and yet she feels a hundred times heavier. 

Why would I put pictures of myself here? I don't deserve them, very cocky. Papa wouldn't like it at all…

There’s no time to recover from the horror of his dream as he chokes himself into waking, trying to grasp at where he is, what has happened. There is something sharp at the vein of his throat, resting gently.

“You awake now?” someone asks quietly. Someone that he does not know.

There’s a weight on his chest, and a pair of luminous gold eyes with slit black pupils, staring unblinking at him. Fabian tries to swallow the banana-flavored acidic rise of his stomach, and almost chokes again.

The blade retreats. “Oh shit, are you gonna be sick?”

The bile that threatened to rise up retreats as Fabian tries to breathe, some practice that Gortholax had taught the team for certain exercises. In for five, hold for six, out for seven. In for five, hold for six, out for seven.

“It’s alright,” the voice continues sympathetically. “I get sick when I get really nervous too.”

He abruptly remembers that there is an intruder in his room - and is insulted that said intruder has the audacity to be sympathetic towards him. He reaches out, grasping for the Sword of the Seacasters, only to find his hands restrained, tight ropes biting into his wrists, and his ankles. In his mind, he reaches out for the Hangman, and, for the first time, gets no response. The silence is chilling.

“Sorry about the knots, but , uh, we gotta talk,” the weight says. The voice is plain and pointed. “I’ll cut ‘em when I leave, promise.”

Promise? Fabian clenches down on the feeling of humiliation, and screws his face into the most aggressive expression he can manage, trying to conjure up his father. “There’s going to be great trouble for you if you do not let me go - do it now, and I might be merciful.”

(I’d like to roll for intimidation.)

The eyes blink at him, undeterred. As Fabian’s eyes adjust to the darkness of the room, guided by the faint light from the window, he watches a tufted tail casually wave back and forth. A large hood covers the figure’s face.

“Sorry man, but you’re not the scariest thing I’ve faced. No offense, I know you had kind of a rough night.” The voice, bizarrely, sounds somewhat apologetic. “Besides, your friends are kinda occupied, so I think we can talk uninterrupted for the time being.”

Fabian sneers, feeling the sense of shame curl up tighter in his chest. What could that mean, kinda occupied? “What, are you, some creature, some monster, from the Nightmare King, or, or the Shadow Cat, come to kill me?”

The figure abruptly reaches up and pulls its hood down, to reveal a goblin, shaking out the curls of his hair. “Suppose you could say that,” he says, his ears flickering in what could be amusement, and adjusting so that he’s sitting cross-legged on Fabian’s chest. “But I’m not gonna kill you.”

(Roll a history check.)

Fabian blinks and then his anger increases tenfold. “Are you-? You fucking robbed me!” The goblin blinks again, and Fabian continues. “Last time I was here, what, four or five years ago? You distracted me with your little illusion.”

It had been humiliating - his first time somewhat on his own in Leviathan, while his father had been fighting in the Ruction, making the decisions that would move this city for the better. Mother had stepped away for just a moment, stay there for a moment darling, and I'll be right back, and she hadn’t been back for almost an hour, and he’d gotten duped and robbed by some ball of a goblin.

Fabian had tried to shoot him - he may have been robbed, but if he could kill his robber, surely that would make up for it? And then he’d missed, and the goblin had laughed. He’d only ever told Cathilda, too ashamed to tell his father when he’d emerged from the Ruction bloody and victorious, or his mother when she had reappeared stinking of wine. 

The whole experience, however short it had been, feels like one big shadow over his time here Leviathan, full of arrogance and shame.

The goblin snorts in genuine laughter, and it hurts Fabian in a new way that he feels he deserves. “I remember that! Thanks, by the way, I actually slept in a bed that night, and I don’t get to do that super often in this line of work.”

Oh who cares? Fabian huffs in a pitiful attempt to dislodge the goblin, but the little wretch just stays balanced on Fabian’s chest. “Alright then, you little thief,” Fabian says, still trying to scrounge his dignity. “What have you come to talk about?”

“The crown,” the goblin says, his smile fading. “Can’t have you coming for it.” He shrugs. “Take your friends, and your party, and just go home.”

(Roll an insight check.)

There’s an edge of bitterness to the goblin’s voice, but for the life of him, Fabian can’t figure out why. He shakes his head instead. “Well, um, we can’t do that,” he says. “It’s a part of our final grade for the year.”

The goblin blinks. “Your teachers told you to get the crown for a grade?” he asks, his voice incredulous. “That’s pretty harsh. I’d tell them to shove it.”

Despite himself, Fabian chuckles weakly. “Well, that’s Aguefort for you, and the crown was stolen from him.”

The goblin practically chokes on his loud laughter. “Wait wait, your teacher is the guy who had that crown in his office? That artifact, under so little security, and he sends you guys to go and get it?”

“It was not under so little security, there was - wait, I don’t have to explain this to you!” Fabian says harshly, even as the goblin keeps laughing. “No, no, we will not be turning back.”

The goblin gets himself together enough to answer. “Not even after that tumble you took tonight?” he asks, wiping a tear from the corner of his eye. “I saw that, and it looked fucking rough, man.”

The idea that more enemies have seen his colossal failure of leadership tonight makes him flinch. Fabian won’t lie to himself at least, the idea of curling up in his own bed sounds very appealing. Instead of arguing back, he stays silent, hoping his expression carries enough of a message.

“Hmm.” The goblin scrunches his face up, and then closes his eyes. Fabian watches his expressions contort with concentration, changing on cues as if in a conversation that Fabian can’t hear.

A minute or so passes before he ventures, “Um, you still-?”

“Shush,” the goblin says, holding out his hand for silence for another moment before blinking and shaking his head, as if he himself were waking from a dream. When he turns to look at Fabian, his expression is grave.

“Okay, here’s what’s going to happen,” he says. “This kind of face-to-face stuff is not my specialty, but I’m here now, because I’m probably the kindest of your current enemies, and I got to you before the boss did.”

“...we’re having a perfectly civil conversation so far,” Fabian says, trying to push away the fear of the boss. “You seem perfectly nice.”

(Roll for persuasion.)

The goblin raises his eyebrows. “Nice and kind aren’t the same thing, and I promise you, I’m not nice. But I am gonna be kind about this offer.”

He takes a breath. “If you're so stubborn about that grade, then here are your options. You can tell me everything you know about your quest, about the Nightmare King, the Shadow Cat, anything, and, going forward in your quest, things are going to get a lot worse for you. Tell me nothing, and things are going to get a lot worse, right now.” And the goblin casts a furtive glance towards the door to the room.

Fabian blinks, but it's hard to consider the options with his friends clearly in some kind of danger. “Seems we have different standards of what kindness means.”

The goblin shrugs. “Sure, but that's all I can do right now.”

In the end, Fabian’s not as noble as he thought he once was. Even against a scrawny creature like this, Fabian doubts himself. In the end, he spills it all. Throughout his confession, the goblin blinks, and nods, and encourages.

Finally Fabian closes his eyes and thinks. “That’s about it, I believe.”

The goblin nods. “Alright, awesome. Kind of." His face twists in regret. "Not for you though, maybe.” He blinks and looks up, staring apprehensively at something in the corner, and the whole idea of an invisible person here is really starting to freak Fabian out. 

Except that person isn’t invisible, because the tabaxi woman from the photograph steps into Fabian’s field of view. Her gaze is uncaring and casual, as if Fabian’s a mouse under her paw. 

“When my associate here releases you,” she says casually, “you can have some time to talk with your friends, because I’ll be going to kill Lydia Barkrock.”

Fabian breathes in shock, and he barely clocks the goblin blinking in surprise. “I’d listen to him, if I were you,” she says, nodding at the goblin before stepping away out of his line of sight.

There’s silence in the room before the goblin shakes his head. He shrugs. “It doesn’t have to, you know, be not awesome, if you guys turn around now. If you do, and you say gone, I could convince her to leave your friend’s mom alone.”

Fabian scowls, unable to tell if he’s telling the truth or not. He’s had enough of this little upstart calling all of the shots. “And who are you,” and he puts as much venom into his words as possible, “to be telling me what’s going to be, what, not awesome?”

The goblin shrugs and holds the blade steadily, made of a dark metal that reminds Fabian of the images he’d seen of the crown. “Like I said,” he says, leaning forward, and the blade glints in the darkness.

Fabian can’t help but close his eyes, before he feels the rope binding his right wrist release and the weight leave his chest. When he opens his eyes, the goblin is moving to the closed window, and the tabaxi is nowhere in sight - the goblin raises a hand and the window opens, letting in the chilly night breeze. “I’m your kindest enemy,” and with a wry smile, he drops out of the window.

…how dramatic.

Fabian spends a minute unbinding his other hand, and then his feet, before scrambling up to see the Sword of the Seacasters pierced through the engine of the Hangman. The motorbike, for the first time, is truly still.

He’s frozen for a moment, processing another loss, before the goblin’s large ears poked up through the window, followed by his face. “Sorry about your bike,” he says apologetically. “But that wasn’t me, that was actually you-”

The head ducks as Fabian grabs the nearest thing to him and hurls it at the window. A vase flies through the window and shatters on the street below. “Get out of here, you little dick!” he shouts, rushing to the window. But the goblin is gone, and Fabian takes a minute, maybe two, before steeling himself to face down Ragh. 

Later, when he returns to the room to face the wreckage of the Hangman once more, there are five gold pieces sitting on the table by the window. Fabian leaves them there.

Chapter Text

“The subject of your research is interesting,” Ayda says as she leads Gorgug and Adaine into the shelves. “I have an acquaintance with a similarly narrow focus.”

Gorgug sees Adaine turn and shoot him a look, her eyebrow cocked. He shrugs, and she turns around. “Your acquaintance,” she asks, holding her arms out as Ayda places a book into them, “wouldn’t happen to be an elven woman, would she?” 

From what he knows about Adaine's mom, Gorgug doesn’t envy anyone the experience of dealing with her.

“No, he’s a goblin boy,” Ayda says, handing Adaine another book, “very focused on the history of Sylvaire and the Nightmare King.”

“Huh,” Gorgug says, hearing his tone waver. “Our friend Fabian was threatened in his room last night by a goblin. Probably not a coincidence. Unless that one goblin just has it out for him, which…” and he shrugs again.

Before they had even arrived, Fabian had made it a point to say that he’d been robbed the last time he was here, by some upstart ball of a goblin that had tricked him with an illusion, overly sour about the situation in a way that Gorgug knows means that his pride was hurt. “So watch your pockets,” he’d grumbled, “and poke everyone that tries to talk to you.”

Now Gorgug wishes that Fabian were still sour, instead of so limp and lifeless in the van outside, next to the corpse of his motorcycle. Although, Gorgug has been thinking, maybe that’s not such a lost cause.

“I doubt it was a coincidence, considering the Shadow Cat was there too.” Adaine groans. “So between my mother and the Shadow Cat, we’ve got another person to watch out for.”

“Hm. I hope it would not be Riz - he has never been anything less than kind to me.” Ayda said, her focus on the shelf in front of her, eyeing it thoughtfully before plucking another book out.

“...Riz? That’s his name?” Adaine blinks, turning to look at Gorgug, who furrowed his brow. He knows that name, doesn’t he? He’s sure he’s heard it before. Adaine turns back around. “You’re sure his name is Riz?”

“Yes, I am sure. Why?” Ayda asked, frowning, keeping the book she had been about to hand to Adaine in front of her like a shield.

“Um, we know someone, a friend of our party, in Solace, and her son went missing, when he was little - his name was Riz too. Detective Gukgak’s son.” 

Oh. Gorgug doesn’t know Detective Gukgak as well as Adaine or Fig do, but she’s always been very patient and kind with their group. And he knew her son had gone missing a long time ago. He must’ve heard the name at some point. 

Adaine turns back to him. “That…that would be quite a coincidence, don’t you think?”

Gorgug shrugs and turns to Ayda. “Can you tell us anything more about him? What’s he like?” He imagines a smaller version of Detective Gukgak.

Ayda shook her head. “What I know is that Riz is very private. But, like I said, much of the research he has done here has focused on the Nightmare King and his forest. Many of the books I am giving you now are ones that I selected for him as well, when he first came here.”

Adaine looks down at the history book in her hands, and Gorgug sees her thumbing the edge of the pages in thought. “So, the Gukgaks might have known the Shadow Cat, who works for the Nightmare King. And now, a goblin boy with the same name as their missing son has been here, researching the Nightmare King.” She shakes her head. “I’m… alright. Lots to think about there.”

“You believe there is a connection?” and Ayda heaves a load of books into Gorgug’s arms before beckoning them to follow her. “Between Riz and your quest?”

“Probably,” Gorgug says easily underneath the sudden weight. “That’s not really unusual for us, honestly. Our old vice principal ate Detective Gugkgak’s husband, who was investigating the ship that killed the Elven Oracle, and now…” He shuts his mouth as Adaine shoots him an urgent look, before shrugging. “Anyway. Stuff happens.”

“Please,” Adaine said, moving up to Ayda, leaving Gorgug to catch up, “please, will you tell us what you can? If it is him, then… then he has a mother at home who misses him, dearly.”

Ayda hums in thought. “Riz first came here about five years ago, I believe? I was but twelve, in this lifetime. He was not much younger I think. Mostly polite - he too was curious about what I was, as you all were. He took out a library card, which I greatly appreciated. Since then, I’ve only seen him periodically, but he always stops to say hello, and ask how I am. I…” and she hummed. “I think that he is lonely.”

“Why do you think that?” Gorgug asks.

(Roll an insight check.)

Ayda shakes her head as they approach a square between the shelves with desks and chairs. “A hunch. But I would hate to think that he was up to such exploits as you are trying to prevent.”

Gorgug thinks, seeing Ayda’s face change in sympathy, that she must know a thing or two about loneliness.

Well, he's had too many years of his late that can relate, and he knows Adaine does too. “Well,” Gorgug says as he sets the books down, thinking of Ragh outside in the van with Fabian, mourning his mother, “we’ve befriended our enemies before. We can do it again.”

Adaine’s face clenches, in something resembling anger, but that Gorgug recognizes as injustice. “Yeah, yeah we can.”

“So hang on,” Fig’s mom says incredulously from where she’s icing a bruise on her leg. “You think Riz - Sklonda’s son, her son that went missing - is mixed up in all this?” 

They’re fresh out of the Row and the Ruction, licking their wounds in the Gold Gardens before departing. All of their belongings are gathered, and most of them are there, hovering in exhaustion - except for Adaine, trapped somewhere in Fallinel. The thought of it sends Gorgug’s blood boiling and his heart hurting.

“Seems more like the kidnapping angle,” Kristen shrugs from her place on the couch next to Tracker. “And that the Shadow Cat was involved, or maybe did the actual kidnapping.”

Sandra Lynn leans forward, rubs her eyes with her hands. “That, that tracks, honestly. There was some kind of demonic activity detected when Riz was taken. And we’ve been dealing with demons doing the Shadow Cat’s bidding in all this.”

“So what, he was kidnapped,” Fabian says from where he’s sitting with Cathilda, holding his sword dejectedly, “and now he tricks and robs and threatens people? Fantastic.”

“Well, he only did that to you,” Fig says pointedly, leaning past her mom to look at Fabian. “He never did that to Ayda, she says.”

“Well, good for Ayda,” Fabian says sarcastically. When Ayda, from her perch on the barstool next to Garthy O'Brien, just blinks, he sighs. “I mean, I guess I do mean, that’s good, I guess. That he’s just being a dick to me.” Gorgug can practically hear him say, I deserve it, and he resolves to find Fabian another orange at some point.

“It does make me curious,” Garthy says. “Ayda love, you said you met this, Riz, years ago? Have you ever seen him do magic?”

She shakes her head, but Fabian speaks up again, bitterly. “He definitely has magic, he was able to create some illusory double to rob me, when I was last here. And last night, he opened a window without using his hands. Not quite as impressive, but still.”

Garthy hums in thought. “I was just thinking, when Miss Abernant’s mother came here with the crown, when I realized what it was, I was going to banish her, but someone that I could not see, because it was not her, Blinded me.” They shake their head in thought. "If he's smallfolk, he absolutely could've gotten into the vents."

Sounds like a spy movie to Gorgug. "Are you like, looking for revenge or something?” he asks, anxiously tapping his drumsticks against his sneaker.

Garthy levels him with a withering and affectionate look. “Darling, I’m an adult, and this friend of yours is a traumatized teenager. I’ll be fine.”

“Okay, cool” Kristen says, “but like, what kind of magic would it be?”

“Between the duplicate, and the Blinding, and, what, Thaumaturgy?” Garthy shrugs. “Sounds like clerical magic to me.”

Gorgug thinks. What belief was it that drove Riz, if he was a cleric? He sees Kristen frowning, and imagines that she's having the same thought.

He hated to think that Detective Gukgak’s son was working to bring about the Nightmare King, when she was so devoted to making things right in Elmville. “Okay, so. List of enemies,” and he counts off on her fingers. “Nightmare King, Shadow Cat, demons, Adaine’s mom, and…” and he sighs heavily, “Riz Gukgak?”

Sandra Lynn shakes her head. “Look,” she says, and her voice has become quiet and steely, in the way that mom tone that Gorgug doesn’t get very often from his own mother, but suggests that they all need to listen. “Just… Riz might be an opponent, for the time being, but,” and she glares at them all, although Gorgug can tell it isn’t really aimed at them specifically - just the world. 

“He’s a kid too, just like you guys, and it seems like this Nightmare King and Shadow Cat? They might be all that he knows, not his,” and her voice breaks, “not his mom or his dad.”

She sighs heavily. “When all this is over,” she says sternly, “we’re bringing that kid home to his mom. Nightmare King and Shadow Cat can get fucked.”

The hold of the ship sways back and forth, and Riz, curled in a ball within a broken crate, tries very hard to stay upright with his arms in his cloak curled tightly around his knees. It’s dark, and damp, and cold, and Riz only likes one of those things. Somehow, it feels worse than usual, and a part of him aches for the warmth of the hearth of the Owl and Harp. 

It’s been hours, according to the movement of the sun across the walls, and that in itself is a little unusual. He’d gone straight to the Plank after jumping out of the Gold Gardens, just as instructed, following Kalina’s instructions and sneaking into the hold. 

Normally, she would have appeared just as the ship had gotten underway, with the sailors occupied with their duties, and Riz safely hidden away. She would let him know what his next instructions were, they’d share a joke or two while Riz ate, Riz would ask a question that she may or may not answer. The usual, you know?

But Kalina hasn’t been by, and Riz is starting to worry. If he’s honest with himself, he’s past worrying, replaying her instructions in his head. Get in there, threaten the kid, find out what they know. Don’t say more than what’s necessary.

It had been a test, another test, but not the kind that Riz was good at. He always said too much, and that was why he was relegated to sneakery. The fact that she had to come in at the end and speak instead? Gods, how embarrassing. 

He cringes recalling what he said. It’s alright, I get sick when I get really nervous too. Thanks, by the way. I am gonna be kind about this offer. It doesn’t have to, you know, be not awesome, if you guys turn around now. If you do, and you stay gone, I could convince her to leave your friend’s mom alone

Why did he say that? When has he ever been able to convince Kalina of anything, especially in such a crucial time? And why did he even want to say that? Fabian, that was his name, right? He was a spoiled rich kid finally learning how the world worked. His party was trying to stop the culmination of centuries of plans. Why should Riz be sympathetic to him, or to any of them trying to get in Kalina’s way?

But he’d spied on their party as they had wandered through Leviathan, and something in the way that they had moved around and with each other so easily, and with so much laughter, had set something bitter and lonesome crawling through his ribcage. He didn’t know whether he wanted to nurture it or claw it out. And the tenderness with which they had treated Fabian, in the aftermath of what had to have been a truly frightening encounter, set that little creature crying for some kind of attention.

Instead of caring for it, or clawing it out, he buried it deep down, and elected to ignore it for the time being.

He’s drifting a little, lost in his own shame, when Kalina appears silently. Riz looks up involuntarily to meet her gaze, and she looks so disappointed, with the resigned set of her face, that he immediately looks back to his own feet.

He hears her sigh. “You and your fucking mouth, kid,” and he flinches. 

She lets him sit in the silence, clearly waiting for him to say something. Riz swallows hard, and asks quietly, “Did you kill her? That guy’s mom?”

She huffs humorlessly. “Yeah. She’s dead.” A heavy and lengthy pause. “I don’t know what to do with you kid, really.” Riz chances a glance up at her, hoping that she’s not looking at him. “I mean, egg on my face, honestly, for telling you to do the negotiations.”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and he means it. He’s been in this position before, but not to this severity, he would do just about anything to be out of it, out of the line of her defeated gaze. 

Kalina chuckles. “We’ve been here before, Riz, you know that. What’s I’m sorry worth? Because right now, those fucking kids have learned more about you, and what we’re trying to do, from your bird friend, of all people.” She says the word friend with a dripping acidity. 

Riz thinks of Ayda, alone in the library that sits alone in the city that sits alone in the ocean, and realizes that yes, in all of the years he’s been alive, she has been the closest thing he’s ever had to a friend. And where has it gotten him, he reflects sourly as he sniffs.

“What’s so good about them, huh? You were awfully kind,” she says, mimicking him, “to everyone there trying to stop us.”

Riz shrugs. “I don’t know,” he mumbles, blinking heavily. And he doesn’t, not really. Kalina has been the one that has given him this power and agency, she's taught him and guided him for all of his life. It doesn't make sense. But he doesn’t particularly want to share how he’s feeling - that would probably just make everything worse.

Kalina sighs, putting her paw to her temple as if to assuage a headache. “Okay, okay. Don't get worked up.”

“I’m not getting-” Riz says, pulling in a breath. “I’m fine.”

“Sure,” she says in the voice that means that she’s just humoring him. “Well, no more talking for you. I’ll just take care of that myself. You can stick to what you’re good at.” And she vanishes. 

Riz pulls his knees up to his face, and focuses on not throwing up. With the rocking of the ship, and churning of his stomach, it’s harder than usual.

Chapter Text

It’s disconcerting to see her sister like this, after so much time. Just a simple laughing spell, and Aelwyn had fully passed out. It hadn’t given Adaine nearly as much satisfaction as it used to. 

It was more disconcerting, Adaine thinks as her friends start climbing into the van, to see Aelwyn in the bubble, haggard and exhausted. But she can’t yet tell if this, her sister from nine months ago, is an improvement on the situation or not. 

She keeps flashing back to the tower, to the hot springs, to the utter self-loathing that must still linger in Aelwyn’s mind. We're out of the tower. Did we escape or did we die? I didn't really take care of you. She thinks about another version of her life, where their parents weren’t their parents, and Aelwyn had taken care of her, and the taste of that thought burns too bitterly to pursue it any further. 

It’s her, Kristen, Tracker, Fig, and Gorgug in the van, with Aelwyn in unconsciousness. Fabian is off somewhere with his family, and that had been a relief for Adaine, to see him growing back into a new version of himself, tentative but growing with his confidence. 

“Uh,” Kristen says as she looks Aelwyn over doubtfully. “Do you want me to fix this? I have Cure Wounds, and uh,” and she reaches into her pocket and pulls out the picture of Miss Sklonda’s husband. “Maybe we could see if she can see this?”

That’s a good idea, but not yet. Adaine shakes her head, narrowing her gaze at Aelwyn. “Hold on, I’ve got something different in mind.”

(I would like to cast Detect Thoughts on Aelwyn.)

It doesn’t work the first time around, but on the second try she emerges triumphant in the mindscape that has changed so vastly from the apocalyptic wasteland left behind by her torture, hasitly rebuilt with cheap materials. The thoughts that fill her head are vague and shapeless from Aelwyn’s trance, and Adaine pushes deeper.

Don't keep looking at me, says a voice that Adaine doesn’t recognize. She moves further. Don't keep looking at me. Look back to your sister. Further. Look back to your sister. Your sister's talking. Just a little further…

Here’s what you need to know, the voice says as Adaine sees herself through Aelwyn’s eyes, sweaty from the hot springs, looking lost and angry and worried. Over her own shoulder, a tabaxi woman with black fur and knife-sharp gaze looks intently at Aelwyn. 

Unconsciously, in her own body, Adaine shivers at the echo of the Shadow Cat’s presence so close to her.

Well, there's the answer to Kristen's question. 

“Don't keep looking at me,” Kalina was saying to Aelwyn, “look back to your sister. Your sister's talking. Here's what you need to know.” Kalina’s tone is calm, but quick, as if speaking to a spooked animal. “You've reset your mind and missed a great deal of information. Your mother is working for me. She has the crown, she's brought it to Sylvaire.”

Adaine feels a surge of anger as Kalina says, “Get away from your sister.” How dare she? How dare this woman take and take from the people that Adaine loves? Was taking Riz Gukgak not enough? Was killing Lydia Barkrock not enough?

It’s easier to feel the anger, than the worry that Aelwyn will do just what Kalina says.

Actually? Fuck the Shadow Cat. 

(I cast Scrying, and she gets a one.)

Adaine has never tried to scry before, always out of her reach before. But a surge of power, her power, runs through her and she moves from Aelwyn to Kalina. 

Right?

No, this orcish man in the Red Wastes, he’s not Kalina. The elven person discussing Arthur Aguefort, they’re not Kalina. The ranger with their wolf, they’re not Kalina.

Right?

Adaine moves through dozens of different people in a span of a minute, from all over the continent, in places she recognizes and places she doesn’t, and none of them are Kalina. She succeeded, she knows she succeeded, so… what is this?

And then she sees Miss Sklonda in her office at the Elmville Police Department. She looks tired in her usual manner, her hair pulled up messily. There are at least three paper cups of coffee scattered across the desk as she works at her computer. On the desk, Adaine can see photographs, one of the Bad Kids, one of Sklonda and Gorthalax, and one of Pok and Riz.

“Sklonda?” she says, seeing Sklonda rub her eyes before it moves to someone new, without any sign that she has heard Adaine.

Dozens and dozens more, none of them Kalina. Adaine sees a goblin boy walking through a forest, with weak sunlight breaking through the trees. He’s dressed in dark traveling clothes, clearly wearing the gear of a rogue, and he has unkempt coffee-colored curls spilling over his face. Adaine sees Sklonda in his furrowed brow, his fists clenched at his side as he walks purposefully through the trees. 

“It’s Riz,” she mutters, although she is blind and deaf to whatever reaction her companions have.

Whatever this scry is, it lingers on Riz, and Adaine sees him stop in his tracks, cocking his head at something as if listening. “Just another few hours,” he says, and something in Adaine hurts in hearing his voice. “I’ll be there in time.” He pauses, and then he nods, and he looks and sounds so much like his mother, Adaine thinks, with his expression of exhausted determination. “I know, I know,” he mumbles, before moving a little faster than before. And then it shifts.

Dozens more, none of them Kalina. Adaine sees Fabian walking through a glade with his mother on one side and Cathilda on the other, relaxed and attentive to his mother’s stories.

Dozens more, still none of them Kalina. Adaine sees Ragh sitting uncomfortably under a waving tree, tolerating the attention of that elven guy that’s been hanging all over him.

Dozens more, still none of them Kalina. Adaine sees Sandra Lynn posted up outside of the van they’re in now, with her arms crossed and her lip worried between her teeth. 

A few more. Adaine sees Tracker, sitting next to Kristen in the van, her arms wrapped around her legs, watching something just out of view. Almost imperceptibly, the angle flickers to focus on Kristen, and Adaine can see herself, her eyes aglow with frosty light and her hair floating in tendrils around her face. 

No more. “What?” Adaine hears herself say, and she watches herself move to look at Kristen. And then she flashes to the fallen form of a rotting elf, living through his own decomposition. 

Later, Gorgug offers, “I think it's passed by touch or something. It's like a disease.” When he says it, it feels like it should have been obvious. 

They move backwards, tracing how each person came into contact with it. Mostly through sex, Adaine thinks, wrinkling her nose, with the exception of Sandra Lynn and Tracker. But then… “What about Riz?” Kristen asks, rubbing her temple.

(Roll an insight check.)

Sklonda had always been able to see the picture, Adaine thinks, remembering their mutual confusion almost a year before while staring at the photograph. And her husband had worked with Kalina, for god’s sake. So she had probably gotten it from him, and that means that Riz…

“I think he always had it. He was born with it.” She says, a chill running through her as she remembers Riz in the midst of the forest. “She’s always been watching him.”

There’s a moment of quiet before Kristen says, “Fucking bitch.” Adaine hopes that Kalina can hear it.

Arborly hasn’t changed much in the six or so years since Riz left. The only sound in the early evening comes from the town itself, from the Tinkerer’s Hall and the inn, trying to keep away the pressing presence of the wall with its own light and music and laughter. 

Riz thinks back to his earliest memories here, on the outskirts of the life these people had built. Watching from the inn stairwell, listening at the windows, trying so hard to soak in the community by proximity. Chasing after something that continually left him behind. 

Soon, there will be no more village, he supposes. No more light and music and laughter. No more community, no more proximity. No more chasing. He sighs and presses himself back into the tree line, following his old paths along the edge.

Riz climbs the enormous tree of the Owl and Harp, being careful to stay on the side that faces the dark of the forest - after all, there are no windows in the inn that face that way; it’s always been considered bad luck. It’s approaching evening, and things are starting to quiet down around the village, people turning into their own homes. When he reaches the top of the tree, he scurries around the side, where a small balcony looks down the main path to the mansion of Holy Hill. 

He taps on the small door as quietly as he can. A couple of beats of silence, then the door is opened, and a familiar blonde elven girl sticks her head out cautiously. Riz knows her name now, thanks to Kalina. Aelwyn. She scowls when she sees him. “Oh,” she says with an attempt at disgust. “It's you.”

He snorts humorlessly, trying to channel Kalina. “Nice to see you again too. You look tired.” It’s rude, but she does, honestly. There are hollows under here eyes, and everything about her seems worn thin and fragile.

She wrinkles her nose. “Fuck you too. Have you grown at all? That’s a legitimate question.”

“Yeah I have actually, c’mon, let me in,” he says, stepping forward.

She opens her mouth as if to argue, and then, another familiar, colder voice, comes from within the room. “Aelwyn,” she says, in a warning tone. 

(Make a perception check.)

Riz sees Aelwyn , flinch ever so slightly before she steps aside, muttering something about him being a little bitch, and allows Riz to climb into the room. 

He remembers it as the nicest one, at the very top of the tree, with the comfiest bed and the biggest fireplace and the best view of town. He’s spent hours in here pulling off sheets and sweeping and dusting. 

It doesn’t look nearly as comforting now though. Riz takes in his surroundings as he pulls off his hood. There are candles illuminating the room all over, casting flickerings shadows across the wall. The elven woman, Arianwen, is standing hunched near a desk, passing glances between a scroll and a spellbook, seemingly apathetic to Riz, her daughter, or the man that has been anchored to the floor with dark manacles.

Riz recognizes Killian. One of the rangers, mean and antagonistic and more overtly racist than the other inhabitants - Riz has had to dodge his boots as a little kid on more than one occasion. But right now, those boots aren’t moving, and the man appears to be out cold.

Kalina is sitting on the edge of the bed looking on with mild interest. “Hey, there he is,” she says smiling, as if Riz has just arrived at a party.

“Uh…yeah,” he shrugs, unable to think of anything else to say in this situation, because while Riz has snuck into a few parties, he knows enough to know that this is not exactly the vibe that a party should have.

Kalina pats the spot next to her. “Take a rest kid, and let the wizards do their magic.”

Riz does try to help at first, because Aelwyn looks ready to drop at a moment’s notice. But it becomes clear that he would be more of a nuisance in this space than any kind of help. So he sits next to Kalina with his head in his hands, and actually manages a quick snooze, listening to the sound of Kalina giving instructions, and Aelwyn moving carefully around the room.

When he does wake, he can see through the window that dusk has fully fallen over the village. He blinks, rubbing his eyes, and realizes what has awoken him.

The manacles drag across the floor as Killian comes to wake as well. Riz watches as his head jerks back and forth between Arianwen and Aelwyn, the only two he can see. He begins to spit out curses.

“Oh, Aelwyn, shut him up,” Arianwen says absentmindely. “I know your sanctum is secure, but really, it is annoying.”

“I’m out of slots, Mother,” Aelwyn says from across the room. Kalina nudges Riz as Arianwen begins chiding her daughter, and gestures at Killian. 

The meaning is clear. Riz grimaces, and reaches into his pouch for a rag. At his quiet approach, Killian looks and sees him for the first time. “You,” he practically spits, “knew we should’ve left you to the forest, gobby, better off dead than-”

Riz stuffs the cloth into his mouth as quickly as he can and steps back, avoiding Aelwyn’s look. From the far corner, Arianwen produces a large ruby, glowing in its redness, from her pocket. “Almost there,” she murmurs. “Just the unsavory bit to go.”

“Unsavory bit?” Riz mumbles, turning to Kalian, who nods at Killian and draws a claw across her throat. 

“Well, go on,” he hears Arianwen say, and he turns back to see her thrust a large crooked dagger into Aelwyn’s hands. “You don’t need spell slots to assist me in this.” She doesn’t wait to see Aelwyn’s reaction before turning back her books, but Riz watches Aelwyn’s grip on the handle tremble. 

She approaches Killian, only narrowly dodging his attempt to trip her. Aelwyn looks up to Kalina, but Kalina just shrugs. “Mother knows best,” she says unsympathetically. 

“...yes,” Aelwyn says, mostly to herself, before she looks at Riz. She blinks, and Riz can see the slightest hint of disgust and desperation in her face. 

(I’ll cast Calm Emotions.)

Riz extends the spell to Aelwyn not as a command but as an offering. There’s an near imperceptible beat where her eyes widen, and Riz feels it when she elects to fail her saving throw. She draws in a deep breath, and turns to Killian, flexing her grip on the dagger. Riz keeps his eyes on her, rather than meeting Kalina’s intrigued gaze.

She tries to make it quick, but it’s clear that she’s never done anything like this before, and the pungent smell of iron begins to spill into the room, seeping out of Killian’s spasming body. Aelwyn can’t seem to tear her gaze away, and her hands are stained with the blood that has spurted out of the jugular vein. 

Riz feels a familiar churning in his stomach, and he swallows audibly. “Nope,” Kalina says without missing a beat. “Don’t even think about it in here, go outside.” 

He stumbles past Aelwyn, stood frozen in place, to the balcony, and he drags in a breath, trying desperately to clear his lungs and calm his roiling stomach. He sits as close to the edge as he can, and leans against the railings, letting the wooden bars cool his temples. 

A moment later, the door opens again, and someone steps out. He sees Aelwyn in his periphery as she sits down next to him, and sticks her legs through the railings to dangle. Her hands, he sees, are still bloody.

She reaches into her pocket. “Are you still going to be sick?” she asks vacantly.

Riz shakes his head. “Don’t know.”

He watches as she slowly pulls out a cigarette. Her hand isn’t trembling, but the spell lasts for a minute, the longest minute in the world. "Squeamish?" she asks. Riz shrugs. Aelwyn lights the cigarette with a cantrip. "I've killed before, but..." She takes a drag as the scent of clove filters into the air. "Not like that."

“Power and prestige worth it?” he asks as he feels the chilling fog of the spell being pulled away.

Aelwyn blinks heavily, as if coming out of a dream, and her hand starts to shake again. "Yes," she says, but it's not the tone she used years before when they first met, with its scorn and obviousness. To Riz, it sounds like a stone, dull and worn from how often it's been turned over in thought and convincing and justification. Riz tries not to dwell on why it feels familiar.

Aelwyn takes another hasty drag and offers the cigarette to Riz. He’s never smoked before, but there’s a first for everything. He does his best to mimic her, but he mostly ends up coughing. At least it clears the nausea. Next to him, Aelwyn huffs in what could be construed as laughter

They only sit for a minute, listening to the ruckus coming from Holy Hill, before Arianwen calls out imperiously. Aelwyn breathes in, and prestidigitates the scent of clove from their clothes, and the blood from her hands, flexing them as they clear away.

Riz casts one last glance down the road, listening to the celebration, before he follows Aelwyn back inside.

Chapter Text

It’s off-putting to walk next to Killian. The cut where Aelwyn had struck was left jagged and dark against his skin, and the blood remained dried and cracked. The ruby in his chest pulses regularly in what could be a heartbeat of some kind.

It’s probably the creepiest thing Riz has seen in this line of work, and that’s saying something. So he hangs back, bringing up the rear of their group as they walk. In front is Arianwen, shoulders straight, scars stark on her face. Behind her right is Aelwyn, clearly trying to emulate her mother in some manner, but weighed down by her exhaustion. The vacancy hasn’t left her look. 

Arianwen had teleported them straight from the inn after the ritual was complete, leaving behind a crime scene gory enough to rival anything that Riz had read in his stories before. There was no point, Arianwen had said, in wasting time cleaning it up. Unwilling to argue about it, Riz pities the innkeeper. 

Arianwen had brought them to the outskirts of the briar wall, about a quarter mile beyond the village, with all of their supplies and materials and ritual paraphernalia. The wall remains as intimidating as it had been in Riz’s youth, and just as prickly. There is no birdsong, no animals scurrying through the undergrowth. 

“Well,” Arianwen says, breaking the silence. “Go on.”

Riz isn’t sure who she’s talking to for a moment until Killian steps stiffly forward towards the wall as if to impale himself on the thorns. But instead, the thorns burn away slowly at his approach, crackling, leaving a hole the size of a door, into the Forest of the Nightmare King. 

For a moment they all stand there, and Riz is suddenly hit with a wave of meaning as he gazes up at the thick tree trunks, growing with brackish bark and winding vines. This is it, he thinks. This is what he’s been working towards for all these years. But it is getting close, I mean it, kid, Kalina had said months ago. Now, it’s closer than close.

Kalina steps out from the edge of the doorway, looking as pleased as Riz has ever seen her. “C'mon everyone,” she smiles. “The water’s fine.”

Riz waits for Arianwen and Aelwyn to go first, before he steps into the domain of his patron. 

Immediately, there’s a feeling that surrounds him, rushes through him, and he feels his spell slots refill and grow. An impression of solidity and energy and acknowledgement. A sense that he belongs in this place. 

No, not in this place. To this place.

As the briar walls regrow, closing up the hole behind him, Kalina steps up next to him. “Welcome home kid,” and she ruffles his hair with her paw. 

After years of her being air, being an illusion, the act of affection sends him into shock and panic for a moment. When he looks at her, that shock must be evident, because she laughs, long and loud, rupturing the empty air of the forest with its bite.

Eventually the laughter ends, and Kalina waves her paw at Arianwen and Aelwyn. “Mind giving me and my associate a minute?”

Arianwen clearly wants to scowl, but she nods and steps back, Aelwyn following suit. Kalina beckons Riz a little further to the wall.

“So, Riz, feeling good?” she asks casually, clearly trying to clock something. 

Riz nods. “Yeah, I, uh, I think I leveled up? Just by stepping in here.” The chill lingers in the marrow of his bones, reminding him of its presence. 

Kalina nods confidently. “Figured that would be the case. This place has a lot of love to give for all you’ve done.” 

Is that what love feels like , he wonders. Instead he asks, “Has it changed a lot? From when you were…?” A familiar? “...last here?” 

He weighs his words carefully, remembering the last time they had spoken of the true nature of their patron. 

She clocks his meaning, and shrugs thoughtfully. “Not terribly. Life goes on, even in darkness.” She gazes around the forest, a little wistfully, a little bitterly. “It's good to be back, but there's no point in dwelling. What’s done, is done. And you and I, we’re doing what we can now to make it even.

“I’ve got a special assignment for you, actually.”

Riz raises his eyebrows, and she waves at the wall. “I need you to stick around here, unfortunately. Keep an eye out for any intruders.”

Guard duty. That’s…well, that’s disappointing.

“Ah ah,” she says chidingly, “hang on, before you get that look on your face, c’mon.” She peers at him searchingly. “Think I’d give this job to anyone?”

Riz shrugs. “Not like you have a lot of options,” and he nods at the wizards that are clearly trying to listen in on the conversation and doing a poor job of hiding it. 

Kalina shrugs unsympathetically. “Thing is, I’m going to have my hands full keeping them alive. They don’t belong here like you or I do. This place is gonna fuck them up, honestly.” She chuckles at thought.

“And it… won’t fuck me up?” he can’t help but ask. 

She shakes her head. “Nah. This place, it’s alive, in more ways than a forest usually is. It won’t seek to do you any harm. You’re a part of this ecosystem, just like me.”

Hmm. He’s not sure how he feels about that honestly. 

“Hey, what’s up?” Kalina asks. “Talk to me, kid.” 

“It’s stupid,” he says, scuffing his boot on the ground. 

“Kid, I need your head clear right now,” she says impatiently. “So cut to the chase.”

“Is this, ugh, is this good? Is what we’re doing here… going to help anyone?” He trails off, unsure of what he would’ve said next.

He gets it, he thinks, putting himself in Kalina’s paws. Trying to help the person you care about most. The Nightmare King would never have existed if it weren't for Sylvan War, of everyone trying to convince the goddess that her very existence was a paradox, a hersey. That much makes sense. This is just a matter of justice. 

But instead, he thinks about Aelwyn’s haunted gaze and shaking hands, about Killian’s death rattle as he bled out on the floor of the inn, about the mother of someone he doesn’t even know burning to death inside of her home. It doesn’t feel great. And he knows that the current nature of his patron was not what they were, that Kalina is not what she was, and not through any fault of either of them.

He thinks to himself, not for the first time, that he’s not a great cleric.

“You choose this moment to have a crisis of faith?” Kalina’s tone is cool and confident, voicing his inner thoughts, making Riz feel smaller than he already is.

Then she sighs, and crouches down to be at eye-level with him. “Remember Riz, your dad was a spy.” She sounds almost gentle. “And he loved you, so much, but do you think everything he did was good?”

And… Riz can say that he’s never thought about that, honestly. 

His dad has always been haloed in golden light in his thoughts and dreams, a man who could do such great deeds, but who died without giving Riz a face or a name. A myth more than a memory of any kind.  

“Your dad worked for a government that had him serve its own interests. And I can promise you kiddo, all governments are selfish, and the people that do what your dad and I did? They protect that selfishness, enable it even. Your dad was ordered to do terrible things, for that selfishness. And your dad still did it, because he wanted to take care of you, more than he wanted to do what was right.”

She shrugs. “Honestly kid? Good is overrated. The question is, what are you willing to do for what you care about, hm? Because I know what I care about.”

Riz feels himself struck into silence, grappling with everything that she just said, calling into question, what does he have to care about?

Kalina huffs in laughter. “You know, I was impressed with you earlier.” At Riz’s questioning gaze, she continues. “When the little miss over there didn’t want to get her hands dirty.” She nods in approval. “You made a good call at that moment, casting that spell . Kept things going smoothly.”

“...ah,” is all he can say, because he just knows that she hasn’t clocked, or didn’t mention, the real reason he had cast Calm Emotions. “Me almost getting sick didn’t ruin it?”

She shakes her head fondly. “At this point in our working relationship, Riz, that’s just something I’ve learned comes along with you.” She shrugs. “Hey, any time your mouth doesn’t get in the way,” she says pointedly, “you’ve done a great job. Which is why I can trust you with this.” 

Kalina raises her eyebrows. “Right?”

(Make a persuasion check.)

Riz takes a breath, steadies himself. “Right,” he says, and he tries to make it sound confident, like her. 

Kalina smiles with too many teeth that Riz knows are real now, and probably very sharp.

She leaves him with instructions to keep an eye on this area of the briar wall. To Send a message if anything should occur, because that’s a thing he can do now, with a third level spell slot!

“And, uh,” Kalina adds, “make sure you send it to mommy dearest over there, huh? Between the ennui and the squeamishness, I’m not super confident in her daughter right now.”

He nods. “When everything…happens, will I be able to come find you guys?” He won’t lie, he’d be a little peeved to work this hard and come this far only to miss the big finale, whatever that looks like. 

Kalina nods. “I’ll make sure you won’t miss it. Our patron wouldn’t want to miss meeting you. That wouldn’t exactly be fitting for our best cleric, huh?”

“I’m your only cleric,” he says wryly, trying to hide his apprehension at meeting his patron.

She waves her hand in dismissal. “Tomato, tomahto.” She stands to her full height, which, while not much taller than him, still manages to intimidate him a little. 

“One last thing,” she says, and her voice has dropped to something serious. “There’s a very slim chance that those adventurers from Aguefort will find their way in here.”

“You think they can find an archdevil that easily?” he asks.

Kalina shrugs. “Been around a long time, and I’d prefer to not be taken by surprise. That’s why you’re here, so I can focus on getting this ritual going. I won’t need to go back and forth between everyone, because if something goes wrong, you message Arianwen, and get my attention when it's needed.”

“If they get in here,” he asks. “Do I engage?”

(Make an insight check.)

Kalina’s eyes narrow in on him, and Riz thinks, in the few seconds it takes for her to answer, that it’s the longest she’s ever thought about something he’s asked her.

After a few seconds, she says, carefully, “You run.”

“...run? Like, not even hide?” 

She nods, more assured of herself now. “Yep. You’re one cleric, and they have a team. This forest will fuck them up eventually, sure, but it won’t exactly take any orders from you either, even if it doesn’t hurt you. And I want you in one piece. So yeah,” she stares him down. “You message Arianwen, and you run.”

He blinks, processing, before he nods. “If you say so.”

She nods as well. “Exactly what I’m saying, Riz.” She laughs and taps him on the head, and it feels solid, neither warm nor cold. “See you on the other side, kiddo,” she says teasingly.

Riz watches as she vanishes, and knows that she’s visible only to the wizards now, seeing them focus on something that he can’t see. The women gather their bags, and even manage to put a pack onto Killian with great difficulty, before trudging deeper into the forest.

Aelwyn turns and casts her gaze, exhausted and fearful, on Riz as she brings up the rear of the group. Riz watches her hand, clean and pale, reaches out from her cloak to point at him, and her voice echoes in his head with her Message. 

Please don’t hurt my sister. Please don’t let her get hurt.

“Two nights ago,” the fox says, “Killian and both high elves vanished.”

Of course they did, Fabian thinks. It’s much too early for this, to be talking with a fox and to have forty arrows pointed at him, and he’s far too hungover and bloated with crab. At his side, Fig asks, “Into thin air?”

“Can’t be sure.” The fox shrugs, as much as a fox can shrug.

“Was it just them?” Fabian asks. “Was there maybe a goblin that was with them as well?” He’s looking forward to throttling the guy, whether he’s the detective’s missing son or not. Nonlethally, of course.

(Make an insight check.)

Fabian sees some of the surrounding rangers shift and look at each other in confusion. The fox, Nuathera he thinks, furrows its brow. “No, we did not see anyone else. But it is interesting that you mention such a person.”

Fig has clearly clocked the uneasiness as well. “So do you know who we’re talking about? His name is Riz.”

At the name, Mira Silverbow frowns and speaks in Sylvan to Nuathera before looking back up at them. “There was a goblin boy that lived here in Arborly, some six or seven years before, of the same age.”

“He would’ve been two or three when he first appeared here, right?” Sandra Lynn asks pointedly. 

Mira raises her eyebrows in surprise. “You’re familiar with him?”

“His mother is a friend of mine, in Solace,” Sandra Lynn says coldly. “My squad and I were part of the investigation when he went missing as a toddler. We’re hoping to bring him back with us, when our quest is over.”

Fabian sees Mira shift uneasily on her feet. “So if he lived here,” he asks, “what happened? Did he just, what, leave?”

“Well, we weren’t sure,” Mira says. “People do vanish here, from time to time. It’s part of the risk we take by living here, so close to the Forest of the Nightmare King.”

There’s an undercurrent of something in her voice that Fabian thinks he recognizes, of someone that knows they could have done more. Goodness knows he’s been familiar with that feeling lately. Except Mira is still trying to hide it, and he's trying to be done with hiding. 

“Why would he want to leave though?” Kristen asks. “If this was his home? You all took care of him, right?” There’s an undercurrent of an accusation in her tone that feeds into Fabian’s thoughts. Given the kind of welcome they’ve received, he can’t imagine it was much different, or better, for a goblin.

“So you don’t know if he vanished or left. Did you even bother looking? You, and your rangers?” Fabian waves his hand at the elves still standing beside her, and sees them bristle. “Or was a goblin not worth looking too hard for?”

Mira begins to raise her bow, her face contorting, but Nuathera holds up a paw patiently, and she stops. Fabian can’t help but smirk a little, for hitting the nail on the head.

The fox sighs and shakes his head. “It was I,” he says sadly, “when Riz first came here, that convinced the town to keep and take care of him. We are wary of outsiders, but I could not think of what harm a child would bring to us.”

“What was he like, growing up?” Adaine asks.

Nuathera hums thoughtfully, but Mira scowls. “Sneaky and nosey, always getting into business that was not his own, chasing after anything and everything that caught his interest for a-”

“Mira, please,” the fox chides before turning to them. “Well, she’s not wrong, Riz definitely had the makings of a rogue, but he was a good kid. He did his chores, and he read a great deal, of what limited materials we have here.” He hums again. “His dreams though, those were interesting.”

“Dreams, like nightmares?” Fabian asks.

Nuathera nods. “It is a blessed night here, when we sleep dreamlessly. But Riz never had a nightmare here, for as long as I can remember. Well,” he chuckles humorlessly, “the things he described to me, they would normally be nightmares. But he was never scared of them.”

Fabian remembers his latest nightmare, and wonders how anyone could not be scared of what the Nightmare King sends them in their sleep.

Mira shakes her head. “Riz, he saw things that we could not. We would hear him talking to people that were not there. He-” and she stops herself with a huff. “There was just something not right about him.”

The image of the Shadow Cat by his bedside returns to Fabian’s mind unbidden, and he shudders, thinking about how that would have looked to a kid.

“So, you’re the adults here,” Sandra Lynn says. “Did any of you do anything about it?” It’s clear from her tone that she already knows the answer, and she scowls as Mira holds herself uncomfortably.

“Well, we’re going to do something about it,” Fig says determinedly, as if they haven’t made that point very clear already. At least, Fabian notices, the declaration makes the rangers look ashamed of themselves. Good.

In her scrying, Adaine’s eyes go milky white for only a second before she blinks and huffs, looking at all of them in concern. Abruptly in his head, Fabian hears her. I think Kalina might, can you see Kalina right here? Is Kalina here?

Fabian glances around, suddenly paranoid at what warranted that question. No, no I don’t see her, he says. 

“Fuck you!” Kristen shouts suddenly at the trees ahead. Fabian just about jumps out of his skin when she yells. “We know who you are.”

Well, fuck Fabian then. 

It’s disconcerting to watch Kristen have a conversation with herself - Fabian can’t see the Shadow Cat where Kristen is looking. But she continues, smug and smooth, and he admires her confidence in this moment.

He catches Adaine looking at him, and sees her looking meaningfully between where Kristen is shouting at and himself. The meaning is clear. Can you see her? He shakes his head helplessly.

There are pauses for silence, where Kristen laughs apropos of nothing they can hear.  

“Gosh, that's so crazy,” Kristen drawls, “because you've been hiding in the shadows for literally forever. Crazy that you came out in time just to make a couple threats. But I guess we’re doing something right, since you’re not sending Riz to do it for you.”

Still listening, she reaches into Adaine’s jacket and pulls out a coffee cup. “So he doesn’t mean that much to you, huh?” she says, taking a sip. Another long pause. “Go on.” 

Fabian feels like he’s losing it. “What do you want?” Kristen asks. 

Three seconds later, the coffee cup spills from her shaking hand and Fabian reaches out with Tracker to hold and steady her as she almost collapses out of sheer fear.

He gets the feeling.

Kristen ends up throwing up in a nearby bush, and it takes a couple of minutes of a dogpile to calm her down, before she tells them what the Shadow Cat had said. 

“She, uh,” Kristen says, clearly trying to find her words. “She said if we got into the forest, she’d kill us. Said she’d take Tracker out first,” and she reaches out to squeeze Tracker’s hand. “Said either we would be dead, or Riz would be dead, before we got a chance to tell him about his mom. And that,” and she scowls. “We’ve only ever been a nuisance to her.”

Fabian reaches out to pat her between her shoulders before he turns to Adaine. “Your scrying, what did you see?”

Adaine blinks. “I saw my mother and Aelwyn, and the ranger they told us about. With Gortholax’s ruby in his chest.” She shakes her head. “I know they couldn’t have spotted my sensor, it was too fast. So she was watching.”

“No Riz?” Sandra Lynn asks from her spot kneeling next to Kristen with a water bottle.

Adaine shakes her head. “Not as far as I could see.”

“So the Shadow Cat didn’t seem terribly attached to him, it seems?” Fabian asks. “She said either we’d be dead, or Riz would be dead before we told him about his mom. So that implies that she’d kill him herself, before we had the chance to tell him the truth.”

Adaine scoffs. “Not very sentimental it seems.”

Fabian thinks back to the Gold Gardens. It doesn’t have to be not awesome, if you guys turn around now. Riz had sounded earnest, of all things. If you do, and you stay gone, I could convince her to leave your friend’s mom alone. 

In retrospect, that doesn’t sound like someone totally confident in what they’re doing. Fabian waves his hand. “Actually, there is one good part of it, I think.” 

When everyone looks at him in confusion, he opens his mouth to speak before Adaine abruptly hushes him, and casts Message again. What could possibly be good about that?

I mean to say, he thinks pointedly, that she wouldn’t need to kill him if she were confident in his faith in her and the Nightmare King. She wouldn’t need to kill him if she thought he wouldn’t switch sides if he knew about his mom. 

He sees Adaine’s eyes widen in realization and relief, and it feels good to see it. I hope you’re right, she says back. 

Fabian’s learned recently that there are plenty of things that he’s not right about, but he hopes for the sake of his friends that he’s right about this. Even if it means no throttling.

“She thinks we’re a nuisance?” he asks. “We’re about to become a real fucking problem for her.”

Chapter Text

Fig only vaguely remembers Pok Gukgak, her memory of him more an acknowledgement than any kind of image. He was there, sometimes, with Miss Sklonda, when she would come over for updates from Fig’s mom, but not often. But when they were, they each wore the same shroud of frustration and loss. 

(Make an intelligence check.)

This guy, bloodied and knocked out and tied to a chair in the Bottomless Pit… could maybe be him?

Tracker’s nose twitches. “He doesn’t smell right,” she murmurs.

There’s no time for discernment, or to ask Tracker what the fuck she’s talking about. Gorgug fully lifts the chair with the goblin man tied to it over his head, in spite of his many bleeding injuries. “Let’s go!” 

And they run out of the building, back onto the Goldenrod, parked perfectly against the outside walls, by a perfectly pleased Fabian Aramais Seacaster. 

It was a real game changer, finding Pok’s name among the bottomless (heh) scrolls that littered her dad’s home. Gorthalax had really gotten behind on his work, and Fig has… mixed feelings about that. 

On one hand, Fig is familiar with guilt, particularly when it comes to her parental figures. Guilt over her existence rupturing Gilear’s life, guilt over pushing her mother away for so long, and now guilt for pulling her father away from his work, which he’d already been pulled away from for fifteen years after being stuffed into a ruby by Arthur Aguefort. And now he’s been stuffed into another ruby by Fig herself, and she’d allowed him to be taken by fucking Aelwyn. 

So yeah. Fig doesn’t feel great.

On the other hand, Gorthalax has really seemed to hit it off with life on the Prime Material Plane. He gets along with Sandra Lynn and Gilear, he’s been having fun coaching the bloodrush team at Aguefort, and he’d even gotten together with Sklonda, which was something that Fig definitely hadn’t seen coming. 

Not that that was a bad thing. Sklonda deserved to be happy, and, as far as Fig could tell, Gorthalax was good at making her happy. And vice versa, it seems. That’s what matters, and Fig would be more than happy to call Sklonda her stepmother in the future, for how often she has shared that role with Sandra Lynn. 

…how’d she get to that point again?

Her mom’s eyes widen when Gorgug sets the chair down in the captain’s cabin, generously lent to them by Captain Seacaster while he and Fabian get the ship back on course. “It be perfect for interrogation,” he had said with a wicked grin.

“Shit, that’s him,” her mom murmurs regretfully, pushing a hand through her hair. “I know we need to talk to him, but part of me was hoping…” She sighs. “What the hell was he doing in hell?”

“I mean,” Fig shrugs, “Not everything secret agents do is good.” She imagines that Bud Cubby might have some stronger words to say about the subject.

Her mom shrugs. “I suppose, I just,” and she sighs. “I’m not sure what I’m gonna tell Sklonda.”

The man tied to the chair groans at her words, shifting a little. Fig wonders if her dad had even noticed, and, if he had, if he had told Sklonda or not. 

Fig turns to Kristen. “Do you have like any smelling salts or something? To wake him up?”

Kristen grins. “I have something better,” and she reaches out and smacks the man across the face. 

…well, it works.

“Goddamnit, Kristen!” Her mom pulls Kristen back, a look of consternation already crossing her face, but the man in the chair straightens up, eyes flying open, breathing fast. Kristen must have cast Cure Wounds with her smack.

“Wha…” the man heaves, gaze flickering around the room, taking in the group of battle-worn teenagers before he finally focuses on Fig’s mom. “...Ranger Faeth?” he asks in amazement.

“Pok,” she greets, and Fig recognizes her tone as one of bemusement, like she’s just not quite sure of what to say next. “Been a while.”

Pok Gukgak blows a breath out, in a manner startlingly reminiscent of Sklonda, taking in the details around him before settling on, “Alright, I’m -  I’m lost here, and that doesn’t happen too often, so, can someone tell me what’s going on?”

“We’re asking the questions here,” Fig says, turning one of the chairs around and straddling it, settling her arms across the back of the chair and trying not to pay attention to the way her mother turns to look at her, her expression screaming, what are you doing?

Pok blinks at her. “Fig, right? Is that you?” 

“That’s the Lady of the Bottomless Pit to you mister,” she says, pointing at him. In her periphery, she can see her friends all nodding and crossing their arms. 

Pok raises his eyebrows, seemingly not too intimidated. “That just raises more questions,” he says gently. 

“Let’s start with this one,” Fig says. “Why are you in hell, huh? Miss Sklonda thought the fucking world of you, but,” and Fig shrugs, “maybe she was wrong.”

(Roll an insight check.)

Pok’s face shifts at the mention of Sklonda’s name, and Fig recognizes it from seeing on Sklonda’s own face many times before. It’s of grief and longing, and she’s starting to second-guess her approach to the situation. She’s opening her mouth to speak again when she’s interrupted. 

“Holy shit,” Tracker says softly, breathing in slowly and deeply. Everyone turns to look at her and sees her eyes widen in amazement. “You’re not supposed to be here, are you?”

Pok chuckles, as Tracker continues. “That smell earlier. Meadowgrass and honey, like a celestial.”

There’s a beat of silence before Fig’s mom turns back to Pok, who has an impressed smile across his face. “You just don’t stop do you? Goddamn, you and her were made for each other.”

Pok laughs a little louder and a little sadder at this, and Fig feels the tension in the room break a little as everyone relaxes. “Okay, hang on, let me back up,” she says, and she gets up to untie him from the chair. “You’re a celestial?”

“Well, I wouldn’t go that far,” he says, rubbing his wrists. “But I do work for a celestial task force made up of good-aligned souls.”

“...yeah, that’s pretty cool,” Fig admits, standing back. 

“Appreciate it, Lady of the Bottomless Pit,” he says in thanks. “Although I still have to say, I would appreciate some insight on this situation.”

“Well, we were hoping to get some information from you,” Fig says, “about the Shadow Cat.”

Pok’s face darkens visibly, and his mouth twists into a sorrowful grimace as he looks at them all. “What are you all doing getting mixed up with her?”

“Shadow Cat working for the Nightmare King, got the Nightmare King’s Crown, and Principal Aguefort assigned us to stop it.” 

“You’re all, what, sophomores?” Pok asks in astonishment. “And this is an assignment?”

“Yes, and we’re going to get a fucking A,” Adaine murmurs threateningly from the back of the room.

Pok raises his hands in surrender. “Hey, I’ve been down here trying to get a lead on Kal- the Shadow Cat. You know her other name?”

“Kalina,” Kristen says. “Fabian and I, we’ve met her. Got infected,” and she grimaces, no doubt remembering that terrifying encounter with Kalina outside of the forest.

“Infected?” Pok says, his eyebrows raising. “Like a disease?”

“Yeah,” Fig says. “We think it’s transmitted through like, body contact, and that’s how people can see her. Like, people here have mostly gotten it from…well,” and she makes an inarticulate noise meant to convey her meaning.

“Yeah, like Garthy got it from Sandra Lynn,” Kristen says, with groans accompanying her, “and we figure that Sandra Lynn got it from Gorthalax, Fig’s bio dad, but Gorthalax probably got it from your wife, because they’ve been going out, and she got it from you, right?” 

Now the energy is just so fucking uncomfortable, as Pok’s face drops in incredulity. “What?” He doesn’t even sound mad, just so confused

“But Tracker,” Kristen barrels on, trying poorly to make it better, “got it from giving Sandra Lynn a blood transfusion, and Riz was-”

Pok’s eyes widen and his pupils dilate, and Kristen stops in her tracks. “Riz?” he asks, and his voice has changed, to something far more vulnerable. 

Fig looks to her mom for help. Sandra Lynn shifts uncomfortably. “Pok, we found him,” she says.

“...you did?” Her mom nods. The energy in the room shifts once more, and Fig can’t identify how it’s changed, but it just doesn’t feel good. Pok’s tail swishes in agitation against the stained floor as he stares down Sandra Lynn. 

Pok swallows. “Kalina had something to do with it, didn’t she?”

Sandra Lynn nods. “It seems that way.”

Pok nods, wiping his eyes in the process of rubbing his temples. “And demons, my gods. I had a hunch, when my agency, we discovered that demons have been mostly been able to see her, and work for her. And you know,” and he gestures at Sandra Lynn, and she nods. “Demonic presence where Riz was last seen. That’s why I was down here, actually. Devils have been able to keep her at bay, and we wanted to know why.”

“I knew that he was alive,” he says hoarsely. “He wasn’t in the Upper Planes, he… I looked, I checked, everywhere , as soon as I was able to. But my agency, we’re not omniscient. I knew was alive, but I didn’t know where. And if it is a disease, then he was…” and he trails off in horror. 

Pok looks up at everyone, and Fig can see the desperation etched across his face. “How is he, what, what happened to him?”

Sandra Lynn takes the lead in the conversation, something that Fig is immensely grateful for. She shifts into a chair, and folds her hands leaning forward. “It looks like he’s been working for Kalina, in getting this Nightmare King thing off the ground.”

Pok groans in pain, and his head falls into his hands. The silence now just one of grief, mourning something that could have been; an elegy, Fig thinks. 

“If it is any consolation, and I don’t know if it is,” Ayda speaks up from the back of the room, “I have met your son, on a few occasions.” She shifts on her talons. “And he has always been kind to me, when many others have not. In addition to that, he looks a great deal like you.”

After a moment, Pok wheezes out a laugh, smiling weakly. “...thank you,” he says, nodding meaningfully at Ayda. 

Fig nods, feeling another familiar rush of admiration for Ayda as she turns back to Pok. “Yeah, we’re thinking that he’s not totally sold on the Nightmare King thing, so yeah, hopefully telling him about you and his mom, that’ll bring him over to our side.”

That’s the best case scenario, Fig knows, but when it comes to matters that don’t directly involve herself, she tries to be an optimist. 

Pok nods, folding his hands together. “I’ll tell you everything I can.” He grimaces in pain and pleading. “And please-”

“We’ll get Riz,” Sandra Lynn promises. “We’re going to get him and bring him back to Elmville with us.”

And Fig knows how this mission had taken a personal turn for her mom, bringing up the cold case of the missing Gukgak boy that had forged the friendship between her and her closest friend. Fig knows the steel in her voice, recognizes it from when she had gone to get the maidens from the mouth of Kalvaxus’s lair, recognizes the passion that drives her mother to do what she does best, and feels another rush of admiration.

Pok nods. “Thank you,” he says, “all of you. This… I don’t think I can properly say how much this means to me.”

Fig smirks. “You’ll be thanking us by telling us how we can beat the Shadow Cat.”

Pok Gukgak nods, and Fig sees his jaw set in determination. “Whatever you need to know. But, if possible,” and he takes a deep breath, “can we circle back to, Fig’s dad is dating my wife?”

In the best case scenario, Riz reflects, the Aguefort adventurers can’t find an archdevil, and can’t access the forest at all. He gets summoned for the final ritual and all goes well.

Of course, that wouldn’t have happened, because his life is something that he cannot fully describe, but it borders on inconvenient . 

But he has to say out of all things that he didn’t expect, it wasn’t for one of the adventurers to become an archdevil.

High in the trees, curled around a branch, he observes the group entering the forest through the same archway of burning thorns. He’d seen them in Leviathan sure, but they’ve changed some. Leading them is the tiefling girl, with an infernal insignia on her forehead; Riz thinks that she’s related to the devil trapped in the ruby, so he has to respect her tenacity, however much it aggravates their plans. He’d do the same for his dad, he knows.

He recognizes Fabian, looking a lot better than he was in Leviathan, and Riz can’t help but feel better about that, and immediately feels bad for feeling better about it. And there’s a…bedsheet, wrapped around Fabian. That’s new, and Riz doesn’t like that he cannot even fathom what it could be for. 

There’s the elven girl that must be Aelwyn’s sister; they share the same blonde hair, some of the same fine features, but this girl carries herself differently, with a relaxed steadiness to her that is nowhere on Aelwyn. She’s also holding that absurdly round owl that Riz feels himself melt at, just a little. He wishes he could ask her if he could hold it. 

There are the human girls holding hands, the clerics that Kalina had warned could pack a punch if needed, and the two half-orc barbarians casting uneasy glances around. There’s the elven ranger, with her gryphon padding along in the back. All the people Riz had been expecting to see, if they had made it through. 

Who he hadn’t been expecting was Ayda on the right of the tiefling girl, her blazing presence casting warm light through the darkness, gazing around the trees in curiosity, as if she just knows that Riz is up there somewhere. And she’s a divination wizard, and part-phoenix so her senses are probably sharp, so Riz doesn’t doubt it, actually.

How long has it been since he’s seen Ayda? Months he thinks - there was no time to say hello while he was last in Leviathan, although given what had happened, that was perhaps for the best. 

What’s I’m sorry worth? Because right now, those fucking kids have learned more about you, and what we’re trying to do, from your bird friend, of all people. He pushes the feeling of guilt down and tries to concentrate. 

(Make a perception check.)

He almost misses what they’re saying and he curses himself. “...need star moth chrysalis. That's gonna be growing up in the canopy.” The elven ranger is speaking, pointing in various directions. “We need Harrowgray nectar. That will be in deep foliage, vines, ferns, things like that. And then we also need Lungreed pollen. That's gonna be near water, usually stagnant water.”

Riz frowns. What are they talking about?

Abruptly, he remembers Kalina’s instructions. You run. You message Arianwen, and you run.

He reaches for the cold that lives at the bottom of his ribcage, channeling his thoughts towards Arianwen and praying this is how Sending works. They made it inside, he thinks. They’re looking for plants. Do I still go? 

When he opens his eyes, he hears something climbing up the tree. Riz doesn’t take the time to see who it is; he turns and runs up further the branch. 

(Make a sneak check.)

“Pretty large squirrels in these forests,” he hears one of the half-orcs shout down to the forest floor as he leaps off into another tree, and Riz hisses in irritation as he moves into the deeper foliage.

For a few minutes, as he maneuvers himself carefully from branch, trying to stay quiet and hidden rather than trying to move too fast, praying for a response as he listens to the group disperse into the area. 

He gets a response when he glances up and sees a familiar pair of glowing yellow eyes staring at him from a few yards away. 

Kalina winks. “Good on you, kid,” she says. “We’ve got it from here.” She jerks her paw behind her. “Head that way, towards the water. Keep going northeast, towards the temple. You’ll figure it out from there.”

And she vanishes, leaving Riz to wonder what she means by we as he scrabbles along the bark. Around him, he hears movement, as the gryphon flies further into the trees. 

Minutes later, closer to the water with the panicked sounds of the adventurers filling the air, Riz abruptly feels someone’s gaze, fiery and hot, on him high up in the trees. 

A moment later, his gaze is drawn to the glowing aura of Ayda as she emerges from the understory of the forest, her eyes like a searchlight. “Riz?” she calls, her tone strained. “I can sense that you are up here.”

Fuck, fuck, fuck.

(Make a hide check with disadvantage.)

He scrambles to get away, but Ayda lands in front of him on the branch in flaming celestial glory and there is no place for him to hide from her pained expression. For some reason, it hurts in the same way as Kalina’s disappointment.

“Riz,” she says, upfront as ever. “You were one of my first friends in this life, and now I have learned that you have been working for the Nightmare King this whole time. This is very upsetting to me.”

Riz opens his mouth to respond, and finds that his words have failed him. He's never done well with face-to-face after all.   

She steps forward and he pulls himself back farther as someone calls faintly from the forest floor, “Did you find him Ayda?”

“But, you don't have to do this anymore!” Ayda says pleadingly. “I feel somewhat betrayed by this turn of events, but we have also learned new information that I can share with you, that I think will-”

And she stops, raising a hand to clutch at her chest, her expression one of true fear. She blinks, looking between herself and then looking at her surroundings as if they were new.

They don’t belong here like you or I do. This place is gonna fuck them up. 

Riz knows what he should do. He should turn and keep running, keep going towards the temple, just like Kalina had said.

But, he can't tear himself away from Ayda’s forlorn face. “ I’m-- Why are we in a house?” she asks desperately. “Is this normal? ”

In the last moment, she reaches out for him, and, without thinking, he moves to reach back, to try and keep whatever this is as bay, to keep the first friend he’s ever had safe in a place where even he's not totally safe, with the same magic that’s hurting her now.

But she flickers and vanishes before he can reach her. 

Propelled by his own momentum, Riz tumbles from the limb of the tree and falls, failing to catch himself on the stinging branches, with a rancid splash into the water below.

Chapter Text

Kristen is determined to not be caught off guard again, to keep her cool for the entirety of however long this lasts. Well, most of it. 

So when Kalina’s reflection appears in the murky water when Kristen leans over, looking for lungreed pollen, Kristen is ready. “Bitch,” she smirks as she whips out her crystal and snaps a photo, doing her very best to keep her knees bent, not locked and shaking, and hoping that Kalina can’t feel it. In her periphery, she sees Tracker tense up, clearly clocking the situation. 

Kalina doesn’t seem fazed, unfortunately. “Nice, photographs,” she says, wholly unimpressed. 

“How does it feel to be the Nightmare King's little lieutenant?” Kristen asks, just trying to find something that’ll get under this stupid cat’s skin.

“How does it feel to be in a forest where dreams are real?” Kalina replies smoothly, before her reflection moves to seemingly glance over Kristen’s own shoulder. “Oh, you see something you don't like, Tracker?”

Kristen can’t help it; she whirls around to see her girlfriend glancing frantically between the reflection and the dark canopy above. “No, I can't even see the sky,” she says, and Kristen has rarely ever heard her sound so scared as she hunches forward, her eyes bulging. 

Behind her, Kristen hears, “Full moon, tough break,” like a dealer presenting a losing hand. Kristen lunges forward to do something she’s not sure of yet, maybe just to hold her girlfriend, but Tracker, in her full wolf form, disappears into the trees with heavy footfalls, accompanied by the flutter of moth wings,

Something heavy and desperate sits in her chest, and all she wants to do is sit down and have a cry about this whole fucking situation, but Kristen swallows it down farther. 

When she blinks, Kalina is in front of her, and she steps closer. Kristen takes a step back, fumbling with her crystal. “Tracker is chasing you down to kill you,” Kalina says, her face betraying nothing. “What she thinks is you. She's gone. Ragh's gone, Sandra Lynn's gone.” Another step forward, another step back. “I told you if you came to the forest I'd kill you.”

(Roll an insight check.)

In glancing between Kalian and her phone, Kristen recalls Pok’s parting words of advice, before he’d been beamed up the Upper Planes. After that photo, some of her illusory capabilities were lessened a little bit.

Well, what’s better than one photo? Thousands of photos strung together in the space of a second, for sure. With a little dink, the phone starts recording. 

Kalina stops in her tracks, and Kristen sees the slightest flicker of something in her eyes. “Did that hurt you?” she asks, unable to stop herself from trying to get the last word in. 

Kalina vanishes, and a moment later, there’s a kick to Kristen’s ribcage, sending her flying back towards the edge of the pond. Her crystal flies out of her hand and into the undergrowth, and she feels damp pond water rush into her hair and onto her shoulder.

When she looks up. Kalina is looming over her. “I'm gonna kill you here, and now,” she says with a vicious smile, and Kristen can see a hint of her fangs. “I'm gonna keep tearing you apart from the inside. And I don't think you can stop-”

There’s a big splash from behind Kristen and another wave of foul water rushes over her, obscuring Kalina from her view. Kristen chokes and scrambles to get on her stomach, to get up and away from Kalina, and from whatever new threat has just appeared.

She lifts her head and comes face to face with a goblin boy, with duckweed and water trumpet tangled in his dark curls, lifting his own head and spitting out the same water that he’s just fallen into.

For a split-second, she just stares at him, and he stares back, his expression one of utter bewilderment, before she remembers exactly who this is. “Riz, right?” she asks, a plan baking in her head, like a tray of cornbread just gone into the oven.

Riz opens his mouth as if to say something, and then he glances up behind her, no doubt where Kalina is telling him something that Kristen can’t hear.

The oven goes ding. Kristen reaches out to cup Riz's face. “You’ll thank me for this, I swear!”

(I cast Greater Restoration.)

She feels her magic flow through her fingertips, senses the virus winding through his nervous system, like worms, like strings, anchored into the cornerstones of his body, and she pulls. In the next moment, she watches Riz pull in and choke on a deep breath, tears welling into his eyes, as the anchors release their hold on him.

His eyes, large and golden, meet hers and he looks utterly horrified. “What did, what’d you do?” he asks, and he sounds so frantic, so scared, like Tracker was scared, as he jerks back from her farther into the pool. “I can’t…”

“Ooh ho,” Kristen hears Kalina behind her, her voice low and jagged. “Clever trick. But he’s smarter than that.”

Kristen tries to get to her feet, and is doubled over as pain lances across the back of her knees, sharp and hot and bloody. Off to the side, Riz is moving off to the side in an effort to get out of the pond, scrambling up the muddy bank. His gaze flickers back and forth between Kristen and the empty air around her, unable to settle on one thing.

“Please, Riz!” Kristen shouts, holding her hands out and praying to someone that her friends find her soon. “Look man, we have to talk to you, we’re not your enemy!”

“I don’t even know you!” he shouts in frustration, thrusting out his hands as if to cast a spell. 

Oh shit, he’s a cleric too, she thinks, and she doesn’t want to be on the receiving end of the Nightmare King’s magic anymore than she already is, wincing as something in her stomach flashes in agony.

Well, clerics draw their power from faith in something, right? So what’s the thing that’s going to break his faith?

“Yeah, but we know your mom!” she says hurriedly.

(Make a persuasion check.)

Riz freezes, and Kristen knows immediately that, whether he believes her or not, he wasn’t expecting her to say that. 

His tail whisks nervously on the grass behind him as he searches her gaze in disbelief, his hands still held in midair as if to shield himself from her. “Is that some kind of joke?” he chokes out incredulously. 

Ah shit, she didn’t think about it like that. “Not this time,” she says.

The whole exchange buys her a few short, but valuable, seconds. 

“I’m sorry!” There’s a thunk! Riz’s eyes roll back into his head and he flops forward onto the ground in front of him, unmoving.

Behind him, Gorgug stands nervously with his axe in hand, the flat of the blade pointed out towards Riz. “Was that okay?” he asks nervously as the rest of their friends gather around to stare down at Riz, facedown in the grass. 

Ragh's gone, Sandra Lynn's gone. “Where’s Ayda?” Kristen asks, looking around.

Fig shakes her head tearfully. “She cast Locate Creature on Riz, and saw that he was close, so she flew up to try and talk to him, and now she’s not responding-!” and Fig looks down at Riz with a mixture of anger and desperation. 

Fabian steps out from behind Gorgug and kneels down towards Riz, scrutinizing. “Where’d this pile of shrimp come from?” he asks, holding up one of Riz’s limp hands and moving as if to take a bite of his finger.

(Roll an insight check.)

“Stop!” Kristen shouts. “She’s trying to get him reinfected!” 

Gorgug fully throws his arm between Fabian, shoving him back. On the grass, Fabian blinks and looks down at Riz again. “Oh for the love of,” he curses, moving to bind Riz’s wrists and ankles. “Stupid forest, stupid Shadow Cat-” and then he cries out in pain, clutching at his stomach.

Somewhere, Kristen hears a hiss of frustration, and feels blood bubbling up her throat. “We have to leave,” she chokes, letting Fig help her to her feet as Gorgug heaves the unconscious Riz over his shoulder like a sack of potatoes. “She’s gonna tear us apart. Pollen, we still need the-” and Fig and Adaine move towards the pond to keep looking. 

“Ah ah ah, hold up there,” and Kalina whirls into Kristen’s vision, standing between her and Riz. “I’ll kill you before you make it back to Arborly, maybe Fabian too. And we don’t want that, right? So let’s make a deal.”

Kristen glances between her friends, Riz, and Kalina, and clocks Fabian staring at Kalina in horror. “...okay?”

Kalina smiles and holds up a claw. “Your crystals? On the ground smashed.” Another claw. “That lovely old photo, ripped in half, on the ground.” A third claw. “Riz, here, unharmed. You guys walk out of here with you alive, that's the deal.”

So, any evidence of her gone? Any chance of saving Riz, gone? Kalina cocks her head at Kristen, looking so very much like a curious housecat that it almost breaks through the shroud of fear that has threatened to envelop her.

Well, almost.

“Run!” she practically screams. “Everyone run!”

The next few minutes are the most terrifying of her life. She clings to Fig and closes her eyes, trying to ignore the ripping sensation through her body, worse than anything she’s felt before, worse than dying, even. She guesses that she’s dying, again.

“You think you guys can save him?” Kalina hisses in her ear as they go, as she rakes her claws down Kristen’s back. “You’ve known him, what, two minutes, and you knocked him out. I’ve been with him his whole life. What real difference do you think you’re gonna make with him?” She chuckles darkly. “He’ll find his way back to me.”

Kristen buries her face in Fig’s neck, and can’t bring herself to respond. Maybe it’s because of the pain, and maybe it’s because she can’t answer Kalina’s question with any confidence.

Then again, lack of confidence in something has been her confidence for a while now. Hopefully it’ll carry her a little longer. 

Riz can honestly say, and be proud of the fact, that in his ongoing career as a rogue and a cleric, he’s never been surprised in a sneak attack. 

But, there’s a first time for everything.

The irritation of the thought is the first thing in his head as something pulls him from unconsciousness, and he grasps at his senses. His hands are bound behind his back, feet bound in front of him - a nuisance, but nothing that a minute of fiddling won’t fix. Whatever surface he’s on is cushioned, but his head rests back against something hard and cold. There’s a familiar smell in the air that he can’t identify.

There’s a strange echo pulsing through his limbs - he recognizes the effects of magic, but has only ever been familiar with his own, the magic of the Nightmare King, which moves like cold water. This magic feels similar in its texture, malleable and liquid, but warmer somehow, and smoother. 

Alright then, he thinks. He’s been captured and brought to enemy territory.

And…communications are down, he realizes, recalling the agonizing moments in the pond, his joints screaming in pain, the horrifying feeling of something cold squirming through his veins and nerves, being pulled out of him. But the thing that makes him shiver now is remembering the look of panic on Kalina’s face before she vanished from his sight.

She’d be here now, if she could, he knows - right? He reaches for his magic, finds it still there, but trembling, in his chest. He must be outside the Forest now, for how strange it feels, or maybe he’s just that nervous.

Something else had happened, something that the red-headed girl had said, right before he’d been knocked out - it must’ve been important somehow, otherwise he wouldn’t have been distracted, but the pain increases in his head when he tries to remember.

His gaze is still heavy, pain arcing behind his eyelids as he twitches. Only when the conversation around him stops does he realize it was there in the first place. He keeps his eyes closed, in an attempt to hear.

(Can I roll for deception?)

“I can’t believe you used your Greater Restoration on him.” That’s Fabian for sure, scornful and doubting. “Seriously, she wouldn’t have hurt him, but she was actively hurting us.”

“It was an opportunity!” That’s the red-headed girl he thinks, with the strangely colored shirt. “He literally fell in front of me. Call that divine intervention or whatever.”

“She’s not wrong.” This voice sounds similar to Aelwyn with its affects, so it’s probably her sister. “This whole time, we’ve been saying that we’re gonna get him on our side, and we never actually thought about how we were going to do that. We might not have had another opportunity.”

There’s a light kick to his bound feed. “Hey, I’ve faked sleeping enough to know when someone else is doing it, man.”

So much for deception. Riz cracks open his eyes and can’t help but flinch a little at the bright white light.

“Oh shit,” and the light dims with a click. “Sorry for knocking you out, but, I guess I’m not? I’m sorry that it hurt you.” Riz’s gaze focuses on one of the half-orc barbarians, looking a little apologetic. Across from him, he can see the archdevil, the tiefling girl, staring him down with a clove cigarette between her fingers. That explains the smell.

Just to be contrary, he coughs a little, staring her down. She only narrows her own gaze in response, but the elven girl reaches over and snags the cigarette. “We’ve told you a thousand times, don’t smoke in the van!”

Riz uses their squabbling as an opportunity to look around, and finds that he’s been placed on a cushioned bench, facing another one just like it. Behind him there are a set of gray doors, and in front of the other bench he can see faint daylight and greenery through a pane of glass. He’s probably in that weird vehicle they brought to Leviathan. 

Around him is a fraction of the adventuring party he’s only become familiar with through long distance observation - and hold-ups. Speaking of which, Fabian is across on the other bench, his arms crossed in front of him. Next to him is the red-headed girl from the pond, leaning forward and resting her arms on her knees. Both her and Fabian look rough, with recently-healed scratches and welts crossing their skin. Riz feels a moment of satisfaction seeing them, knowing that there’s only person they could’ve come from.

Next to the red-headed girl is Adaine’s sister, now holding an adorably round frog in her lap as she stares him down intently through her glasses. The frog is also staring him down with a skeptical look, and Riz guesses she won’t let him pet it. On the floor between them, stretched out in the space is the half-orc barbarian with a white streak in his hair, with his legs drawn up casually. And across from Riz on the same bench is the tiefling girl, her hands now devoid of her cigarette. 

(Make an insight check.)

They’re all staring at him with the same expression. There’s hesitation, and doubt, which Riz understands. But there’s also…pity? Which he definitely doesn’t.

“Why are you all looking at me like that?” he can’t help but ask.

The red-headed girl hums nervously. “Why don’t we, uh, do introductions first, huh?” She taps herself. “I’m Kristen, and this is Adaine.” She jerks her thumb at Aelwyn’s sister. “This here is Gorgug,” and the half-orc waves his hand, “and that’s Fig,” and the tiefling only raises her eyebrows at Riz. “And of course you know Fabian already.” Fabian scoffs, looking away.

“And, uh, whooo,” Kristen breathes out, pitchy and agitated. “I did not think about how this conversation was gonna go, did any of you guys?” She looks around for commiseration.

The other kids avoid her gaze or grimace, but Fig groans and pulls out a square piece of paper from her jacket. “First things first,” and she holds up the paper in front of Riz. “What do you see in this picture?”

(Make a perception check.)

Riz stares at the picture, like an image from life reproduced in front of him. It seems old, the colors leeched. On the left side of the photograph is a handsome goblin, dressed smartly in a well-tailored suit holding a flute of champagne as he smiles at something Riz can’t see. He can’t help but reach out and take the picture from Fig, and she releases it easily. 

Riz doesn’t look at himself in mirrors often - five minutes at the most when his hair grows too unkempt and he needs to cut it. And seeing this man, suave and confident, doesn’t feel like he’s looking in a mirror, but there are still aspects that Riz recognizes, in the shape of his cheekbones and the angle of his nose. His tongue dries up in his mouth, and his heart starts to hammer like a rabbit in his chest. There’s only one goblin that could be.

“He can’t see her,” Fig says, leaning back. Riz looks up at her, seeing the fading glow of magic in her eyes, and then around the van. The other kids relax visibly. He looks back at the empty space, and realizes who should be there.

“So like,” Kristen says, “I was saying before, we know your mom?”

… that’s what she had said. That was what had gotten him distracted, what had gotten him here in the first place. 

Riz has never really thought about his mom, honestly. Kalina hadn’t known much about her, had said as much when he had asked, and because she’d only ever worked with his dad, Riz hadn’t asked any more. All he knew was that both of them had loved him, and now both of them were gone. 

(...I’d like to make an insight check.)

Riz reluctantly tears his gaze away from the picture to search Kristen’s gaze, and finds it open and genuine. Around her, the other kids nod and agree. Whatever she’s saying, she believes in, but whether it’s actually true or not…

And the part that’s coming? It’s gonna test you, bud. It’s about loyalty.

That’s what this must be. He’s being tested. That has to be it. He shoves the picture back at Fig and pulls his knees up to chest, as much as he can with his bound legs. Captured in enemy territory with no communication? No more talking for him; time to keep his fucking mouth shut, no matter what they say. 

“Seriously, nothing?” Fig practically shouts, and Riz can see the other kids startle in his periphery. “Your mom is like, one of the best people I know, and you have nothing to say?”

Don’t say anything, this isn’t real. The best illusions are realistic.

“They’re all gone,” Fig says, and Riz can hear something creeping into her voice. “Ragh, Tracker, my mom,” and the something breaks. “Ayda too, after she went looking for you, huh? What happened to her?”

Ayda’s fearful expression as she had reached out to him returns to Riz’s mind unbidden and he flinches away from Fig’s voice. That much was real, he’s sure.

“She called you her friend, what did you do to her?”

Don’t say anything. Riz curls up into himself, trying to make himself less of a target. It’s trying to get you to react, to make a mistake. His heart beats faster and faster, and his chest is starting to hurt as he tries to drag in a breath. 

“Okay, maybe we take a break,” he hears Adaine say carefully. “Why don’t we step out for a few minutes, I’m sure this is a lot for Riz right now.”

Fig makes a noise of consternation and Riz feels her move off of the seat. There’s a clank and he feels the sudden rush of fresh air as several pairs of shoes hit the ground outside. He stays where he is. 

“Here,” Adaine says, and suddenly something is shoved into his lap. He blinks heavily and looks down at the little round frog, which blinks up at him in curiosity. He looks to Adaine, who shrugs. “His name is Boggy, and he helps me to calm down when I’m anxious.” 

She sighs. “Riz, I know it’s a lot, but I promise we’re not lying. We just want to help you.”

It’s convincing. He shakes his head. “It doesn’t matter. None of this is real anyway.”

He feels Adaine draw in a sharp breath, and then she sighs again. “It is, but, we can come back to that.” She smiles tremulously, trying to be reassuring, before moving and stepping out of the van, partially closing the door behind her, leaving behind a ray of weak sunshine and a breath of air.

Without them surrounding him, he finally manages to pull in a deep breath, and looks down at the frog, who croaks in the most adorable parody of a real frog. “Well, real or not, you’re still pretty cute,” he admits. 

He only allows himself a few moments to sit with the frog before he starts struggling out of his bonds.

Chapter Text

After a minute of fiddling, Riz gets his hands and arms free first, and carefully places Boggy onto the seat beside him. The frog has started to eye him skeptically again as he moves to cut the ropes around his ankles with claws. 

“Shush,” he whispers, matching its gaze, shaking his legs free. The frog squints and ribbits, but nobody appears from outside. Still, Riz knows that wizards can see through their familiars, and he doesn’t want to be here when Adaine decides to take a look. He stretches and takes stock.

The best thing to do would be to get back into contact with Kalina. Fabian can see her, and Kalina was talking to Kristen when he had fallen, so perhaps biting one of them would do it? He makes a face at the thought, but it would do the trick. At the same time, he’d be greatly outnumbered outside of the source of his power, so maybe not.

He could also try and get back into the forest, but he’s no archdevil, and the only one that he knows hates him, so that probably won’t happen. He wonders how painful it would be to climb the briar wall, if he even could, or how long it would take. If it could be climbed, someone would’ve surely done it already.

And then, there’s the path that involves opening his mouth - playing along with them, and agree with whatever they say. They’ll go into the Forest again, he’s sure of it. Once inside, he just has to break off and find his way to Kalina. 

And that plan just doesn’t feel good. And he doesn’t know, or maybe he doesn’t want to find out, why. He groans, and presses his head back into his knees again, before moving to the door that Adaine had left cracked open. 

He can hear the murmur of voices farther away, but can’t quiet discern what they’re saying. Just as he reaches out, the door swings open, and Riz comes face to face with an elven man.

He’s unlike any elf that Riz has seen before, in the fact that he actually looks middle-aged and heavyset. The blond hair on his head is faded and thinning, pushed into a combover, and the shirt he’s wearing looks stained by something old and a little sour. He looks just as surprised as Riz when he opens the door. 

Is he with their party? Is he just being a creep? 

“Ah, my apologies,” the man says, drawing his hand back from the door, before attempting to peer inside. “I was just, gonna get a yogurt from the cooler, under the seat.'' He points past Riz. “Maybe you could get it for me? Or, I can just climb in…”

Riz wonders how he didn’t clock this guy in Leviathan - did he? Maybe he did, and just didn’t see him as a threat? He truly doesn’t know. But he can take this guy if need be, sure.

So he steps back, and the man climbs with a groan into the van. Riz takes a seat, and thinks, wondering how a hostage negotiation would typically go, as the man pulls up one of the seat cushions and hisses as his finger gets caught in a latch, revealing a hidden storage compartment. He pulls out a dripping container - “Ah, the ice has melted,” and then he turns to Riz.

“Would you like some yogurt?” At Riz’s bemused expression, the man continues. “My daughter, Fig, she was kind enough to pack some flip containers, with bits of candy and crunchy things, but whenever I have tried to eat them before, the bits get stuck in my gums and the roof of my mouth, and any attempt I make to get them out just wedges them in deeper.”

Riz doesn’t have a fucking answer for that. “You would be doing me a favor,” the man says, and he holds the package out to Riz. 

Utterly bemused, Riz cannot think to do anything but accept the package, and then a spoon. He is hungry. 

He takes a seat on the floor, as the man settles next to his old seat. He eyes the strange lid - “You can just peel it-” and Riz stabs it with his spoon, “-or that, that’ll work too.”

Riz dumps the little bits of what look to be candy into the yogurt and digs his spoon in. It’s good, more sugar than he usually gets. “Mm,” he hums through his mouthful. “Th’nks.” 

The man nods, and Riz notices warily that he doesn’t take his eyes off of Riz. 

He finishes his yogurt in a few seconds, and the man hands him another one, this one a different type of sweet, but still good. It’s as he’s shoveling another spoonful into his mouth that the man says tentatively, “You are Riz Gukgak, right?”

Riz blinks, and looks at him. The man shrugs, looking apologetic. “...Gukgak?” Riz asks. He’s never heard that name before.

“Well,” the man begins, “if you are Riz, then is your last name.” He holds up his hands. “I apologize for my staring. But you look a great deal like your mother.”

This again. Riz wants to groan. These illusions are something else.

(Make an intelligence check.)

Riz thinks about illusions, and his deductions so far. He’s outside of the forest, probably. So he’s not sure where these illusions would be coming from, unless the illusion has put him outside of the forest. So that bit is inconclusive, he decides. 

But the most convincing illusions use what you have already seen, not anything otherworldly or ridiculous, hence the use of the party he’s spied on as a means of convincing him. But, not only has Riz not seen this guy before in the past week, he has never seen anyone like this guy in his entire life, damaged by candied bits in yogurt containers. Even an illusion can’t make up someone as impossible and ridiculous as this. 

He purses his lips. “You know my mom?”

The man nods. “Yes, rather well.” At Riz’s expression, he hurriedly shakes his head and hands. “Not that well, no, no! We did think to try it out a relationship once, but she is a very formidable woman, and-”

“So she’s alive?” Riz cuts to the chase before whatever this bit is can go further.

“Yes, she is,” the man says relievedly. “Alive and well, in Elmville, getting ready to quit her job, I believe.”

“Elmville?”

“Our hometown, in Solace. Your hometown too.”

Elmville. Riz has been to a lot of places over the years, but Solace has always been out of his reach. Kalina didn’t have enough eyes there, she had always said, to guarantee his safety. Oddly thoughtful, he thinks now. “What's her job?”

“Oh she's currently a detective.” Now that just might be the illusion pandering to Riz, because the only thing that could match a spy dad would be a detective mom. “Although she recently asked to borrow some of my old law textbooks, I had to get them down from the high shelf and three of them fell on me, and one even gave a paper cut on the way down somehow.” 

“Did you believe that she was not?” the man asks. “Alive, I mean.”

Riz is the one asking the questions here. He will not become a hostage before the hostage negotiation even begins. “How do you know her?” he asks instead of answering.

The man takes it in stride. “Hmm, well. I first met her when you went missing. This would have been fourteen, thirteen years ago, right?” He waves his hand as he talks. “My ex-wife, Sandra Lynn, was a part of the team investigating your disappearance. Your mother and father met frequently with her to discuss any leads.”

Missing? Investigation? Disappearance?  “My dad, too?

“Yes, although I'm afraid I never really got to know him. He was often away with the nature of his work, and then he passed away some years later.” The man huffs sadly. “I’m sorry.”

Suppose that would be too good to be true. The illusion keeps things balanced - good, but not too good. “Do you know how?”

The man furrows his brow. “I believe he was eaten by the dragon that was the vice principal that hired me as the lunch lad, and then that dragon was slain by my daughter and her party, and then sent to hell and turned into a boat, on which I died twice.”

Riz blinks. “What?”

The man sighs. “It was a whole thing last year, and even though I have now taken his place as the vice principal, she and her friends still insist on calling me the lunch lad.”

Riz stews in silence and attempts to process all of this. Despite the situation, and everything that has happened and is happening - it’s kind of funny, in a truly ridiculous way that he's never experienced before.

Finally he gets it together enough to ask his next question. “And you said I look like her?” The idea is strange to him. Kalina had always said that he looked like his dad. With the photo, he knows which parts actually do, and which parts clearly came from someone else.

The man nods. “Yes, you have the, um, same ears, the same freckles. Same hair color, although hers is straight.”

Dad’s nose and cheekbones. Mom’s ears and freckles. “Can you prove it?”

The man hums, and reaches into his pocket, pulling out a flat, rectangular crystal, small enough to fit in his palm. At Riz’s expression, he taps it and it lights up with a screen, revealing a picture of the man smiling with Fig, along with the current time. “It’s a crystal, arcanotech.” He taps at the screen, eventually pulling up an illusory gallery, and handing the crystal to Riz for him to hold. 

RIz looks at a picture of the elven ranger who had directed everyone in the forest, presumably the ex-wife and Fig’s mom Sandra Lynn. But next to her, with their arms around each other, is a goblin woman in casual workwear. Sure enough, the shape of her ears matches Riz, and freckles dot her face and what Riz can see of her arms. Her hair hangs over her head in a faintly frizzy curtain. There are lines around her face, crinkling with a smile. Her eyes are creased with weariness. 

Well, Riz can’t deny that between the picture that Fig had shown him, and this… yeah. It's almost a perfect combination. Too good to be true. 

“That could be an illusion,” he says, handing the crystal back.

The man frowns at Riz, and then at the crystal. “...would you like to talk to her?”

Riz doesn’t come up with a response before he continues. “I am only realizing now that our party has been discussing the fact that you are alive, and the plan to bring you back to Elmville, without actually informing your mother that you were alive at all.” The man pales at this realization - Riz wonders what kind of woman his mother would be to warrant that reaction. “Now that we have connected to the satellite, my signal may be able to reach her, although my minutes are running low.”

Riz doesn’t even bother to question what a satellite is. He feels like he’s teetering on the edge of something, that this decision, no matter how it turns out, is something that will change everything he knows. And he already knows deep down what choice he’s going to make.

“Yeah, I would. Like to talk to her, I mean.” In his chest, his heartbeat quickens, and the pool of magic sits heavily, nauseatingly, in stark contrast. 

The man nods, and taps on the crystal a few times before holding it out between them. On the screen, Riz can see a little icon selected that reads Speaker. There’s a strange buzzing sound coming periodically from it, and then-

“Gilear?” someone asks, and Riz’s mouth goes dry as he listens. “Is everything alright? How are you even - is everyone okay? How do you have signal?”

She sounds bemused. She sounds tired. She sounds like nothing that Riz has ever imagined before, and yet like everything he would have if he had.

“Hello Sklonda, I am…” The man, Gilear, clears his throat as Riz mouths the name to himself. Sklonda. “Uh, first off, Gorgug managed to build a crystal tower, I am not sure how, but we are all now connected to his parent’s satellite, and, well.”  Gilear shrugs. “But I am calling to inform you of something that, in retrospect, we should have found a way to inform you about many days ago.”

“...freaking me out, Gilear,” Sklonda says warily. “What’s going on?”

“Well, some days into our quest, in the city of Leviathan, it was brought to our attention that this Shadow Cat had someone else working for her.”

On the other end, Sklonda mutters an expletive. “Okay, and? Someone else I might know?”

“Yes, actually, it's, uh.” Gilear swallows nervously. “It was Riz.”

There's a few very long and heavy moments before Sklonda says, her tone low and dangerous. “Gilear, I swear, if you are fucking with me-”

“Sklonda, do you truly think I would lie to you about this?” Gilear points out. “The kids actually found him, in the Forest, he’s here with me now, in the van.”

There's a pregnant pause, several seconds long now, and Riz imagines what the illusion may conjure next. On the other end, he can hear the woman breathing heavily, as if trying to regulate it. 

“...Riz?” she asks delicately, as she’s afraid she’ll break something by speaking too loudly. “I, uh…” and she trails off. It would be most unlike an illusion to not be prepared. Riz opens his mouth to speak, and finds that he can’t. 

Gilear catches on. “He’s a bit overwhelmed too, Sklonda. I’m fairly certain that he’s only learned the truth of all of this in the last twenty minutes or so.”

“...hey, hey bug,” the woman says, sniffling. It becomes clear to Riz that she's crying as she continues to speak. “I’ve, uh, I’ve missed you. So, so much, I can’t-” She cuts herself off, and there’s a sudden scuffling on the other end. “Where, where are you guys? You said you were at the forest?”

“We are currently,” Gilear says, “in the village of Arborly, outside of the forest.” He grimaces as he speaks. “They lost Sandra Lynn in the forest, but most of the kids got back out with Riz.”

Riz can hear the bustling of a workplace on the other end, before there’s a bang and it disappears. “Arborly, outside the forest,” Sklonda mutters, sounding hurried. “I’m gonna get there, somehow, as soon as I can, okay? Riz?” She pauses. “I’m gonna be there soon, bug, I - I love you, more than anything else in the world, and I’m gonna come find you, okay?”

Riz tries to speak again, and finds his throat empty and his eyes full, pins and needles sitting in his limbs. His magic rushes sickeningly through him, as if panicked. “It’s okay, sweetie,” the woman says kindly, as if she can sense him. A ghostly echo that he doesn't fully process washes over him - the memory of being a sick child, with a mother there to comfort and soothe him. “It’ll be okay. We can talk later, you don’t have to say anything right now, just-”

A tinny voice cuts her off. “Your minutes have expired. Please contact your service provider to add more. Goodbye.” The line goes dead with three blank beeps. Gilear sighs heavily. “I’m sorry, they always seem to run out just when…”

Riz doesn’t hear him speak, thinking about the image of the woman who might be his mother, of her face and her smile, matching it to the voice he’d heard. His magic sways angrily within him. She’s gone too, kiddo. They would be here, if they could, I can promise you that. 

Even if this wasn’t an illusion, that technically wasn’t a lie.

Gorgug means this in the nicest way possible - he never thought he’d see the day that Gilear would be the most competent out of all of them in a situation. May

It had startled all of them when Riz had jumped out of the van, and Gorgug had thought for a moment that the guy was trying to run away. Instead, Riz had gone straight to the nearest bush and promptly been sick on his hands and knees.

Gilear had emerged after Riz, holding Boggy - and how had none of them noticed that he was in there, with someone that was technically their hostage? 

He had sighed, and looked over to them. “Well, we just got off the line with Sklonda.” They had all watched with trepidation as Gilear went knelt down beside Riz and handed the frog to him, patting him on the back comfortingly. Gorgug decided to take it as a good sign that Riz took the frog without question. 

Fabian waves his hands dramatically. “See? He is the Chosen One.”

“No,” Fig had said. Her anger at Riz seems to have drained out of her, leaving her sad and anxious, as she watches them. “No, he’s just a good dad.” 

So they regrouped on the other side of the van, giving Riz and Gilear some space while figuring out what to do next. 

“We got all the stuff for the tincture, right?” Gorgug asks. They can’t have gone through all of that, and lost so many of their friends, only to not have what they need. He shifts anxiously, thinking of Ragh.

“We got everything, yeah,” Kristen says. “At this point, I think I’m the only one left that still has it. Everyone else that did,” and she sniffs, letting the rest go unsaid. “Yeah, we’ll make some tinctures…” 

She looks back up at where Gilear is still talking quietly to Riz. “How do you think that conversation went?”

Adaine shakes her head. “Well, he first seemed to believe that this was an illusion of some kind, so, best case scenario, he believes us, and believes Sklonda, and he helps us out. Worst case scenario, he…attacks us? Which he still hasn’t, so.”

“We could do with a rogue,” Gorgug adds, shrugging. They can be kinda loud as a collective, and often as individuals. 

Fabian scowls and says, “Yes, but does it have to be-?” before abruptly shutting his mouth.

Gorgug, following his gaze, turns and sees Riz, holding Boggy. Riz is staring at the ground, and Gorgug can’te tell if it’s just an awkward avoidance or an I don’t trust you avoidance, but he decides to take it as another good sign that Boggy seems relaxed like normal. 

Gorgug didn’t really get a good look at the Riz until the van. He looks like the kind of kid that his parents would sit down at the kitchen table and feed until he’d had thirds and maybe fourths, with a hot bath and a long nap in their comfiest bed to follow. He just looks lost.

Riz reaches them, and holds Boggy out to Adaine wordlessly. “You can keep holding him if you want to,” she says kindly. “I’ve found that squeezing him is very good for my anxiety. It’s very grounding.”

“Honestly, that frog has been, the best part of this whole trip,” Fabian says bluntly. “He’s just good.”

Riz’s gaze flashes between them before he nods. “Thanks,” he mumbles. He sits down cross-legged in the grass with them, squeezing Boggy lightly.

“Of course,” Adaine says. “How are you doing?”

Riz visibly chews on his lips. “I’m, mm. I’ve been better,” he says evasively, although Gorgug supposes that he’s not lying.

There’s an awkward pause before Kristen sighs. “Look,” she says. “I’m sure this isn’t easy for you, your faith in something you believed in your whole life has been shattered."

Gorgug sees Riz flinch as everyone else grimaces a little bit at her grand wording.  “But I really think you could help us defeat Kalina, and the Nightmare King to boot. Like, insider knowledge and all that.”

Riz doesn't get a chance to respond, only opening his mouth before Kristin continues. “And before you say anything, I’m gonna go take a rest, since now I’m the only one that still has this plague, and we don’t need you-know-who knowing anything else other than what she might’ve already seen.”

“But the tinctures,” Gorgug says. “We need someone that knows medicine to make them, right?”

“Tinctures?” Riz’s brow furrows.

“As a cure, for the plague,” Gorgug offers.

Riz’s eyes bug out. “I… never considered that there was a legitimate cure. Really?”

“Greater Restoration is one option, you’re welcome, by the way” Kristen says breezily, “but yeah, that’s what we were looking for in there. The main ingredients grow in the forest. We got all of them.” She cocks her head. “How good are you with medicine?”

“Are you sure that’s a good-” Fabian begins to argue as Riz nods seriously and says, “Actually, pretty good.” In the ensuing silence, he shrugs. “It’s easier to know first aid than to depend entirely on your spell slots.”

Kristen points at him. “Riz makes the tinctures. I’m going to take a nap.” and with that, she raises unsteadily to her feet and walks towards the van. 

After she disappears inside, Fig says, “I don't have a problem with you making the tinctures, if you’re on our side now,” 

“I will be honest,” Riz says carefully. “I’m not sure who’s side I’m on right now. But, no matter what, getting back in there is the next most important thing.”

“And how do we know that you're not just gonna make a break for it when we get in there, huh?” Fig asks, though there's distinctly less venom behind it than there was earlier. “Go running back to Kalina?”

Riz shrugs, although his expression contorts with pain. “You don't, I guess. I don't have anything to offer you as collateral. But if it makes you feel any better,” and Gorgug sees him swallow nervously, “my magic isn't, there, not really. I think, somehow, it knows, that I…” He trails off, leaving the rest unsaid. “Don’t think I could even cast a cantrip right now if I wanted to.”

(Roll an insight check.)

In a rare moment of insightfulness, Gorgug sees the anxiety etched in lines across Riz’s face, and just knows not only that he’s telling the truth, but also how much that truth scares him.

I think that he is lonely, Ayda had said, only days before. 

There's a moment of quiet before Gorgug decides to speak up. “Well, even though you don't have your magic, you still have us.” 

Riz looks up at him in disbelief, but he doesn’t argue immediately, and neither does anyone else, so Gorgug keeps going. “We never really thought of you as our enemy, in all this. You just didn’t have the whole picture, and now you do.” He shrugs. “Honestly, we could use a rogue.”

Riz’s face softens faintly. “...well, I’ve always been good at that,” he admits, a small smile finally appearing.

There’s another moment of quiet until Fig says, “So? Are you with us?” 

Riz takes a short, but deep breath, continually squeezing Boggy. “...I’m with you guys,” he nods. 

Fig nods too. “Good. We want you with us. And Riz?” Riz looks up at her. “Don’t fuck us on this. There are…” and she swallows, “too many people on this side that love you, for you to do that to them.” Her tone leaves no room for anything else.

It's the most caring threat Gorgug has ever heard. 

It’s clear from his expression that Riz doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he lowers his gaze back down to Boggy.

Fig asks, “What happened to Ayda? She said she cast Locate Person on you.”

Riz sighs, and Gorgug detects an undercurrent of pain. “Yeah, she found me. I think she was gonna tell me the same thing that you guys told me, but then,” and he shakes his head. “It was weird, she asked why she was in a house? And then she vanished.”

Gorgug thinks back to the gem. “On the gem that Zaphriel was in, I saw a cottage, like a spider-webby cottage.”

Riz doesn’t ask who Zaphriel is, but he still seems to understand what he’s talking about. “There’s a cottage somewhere in the forest, but it’s cursed. I'm not sure exactly where.”

“It is a curse, right?” Adaine says. “One of the transubstantiations?”

Riz looks impressed. “Oh good, you know about that.” He nods. “Makes explaining what I know easier.” He turns to Fig. “I… Ayda’s like, my only friend.” He nods at Adaine, “Unless I’m counting your sister too, which might be a stretch. But, I don’t, I never ever wanted anything bad to happen to her.” He turns back to Fig. “And I’ll do whatever I can to save her.”

Fig nods, closing her eyes, but doesn't say anything, so Gorgug steps in.  “Good. That’s good to know. She, uh, she cares a lot about you too.”

“...did you say my sister was one of your friends?” Adaine asks incredulously. 

Riz shrugs. “Kinda, yeah. I don't have a lot of opportunities to make friends. And it's better than being friends with your mom.”

Adaine matches the disdain in Riz’s voice. “Oh gods, you met my mom, I’m so sorry. She’s the worst, just, absolutely the worst.”

Riz actually chuckles a little. “Yeah, she’s a piece of work. It’s okay though. But Aelwyn seems, eh, not great right now.”

Adaine shrugs. “I, I want to get her out of this. But I’m not sure how well that’s going to work.”

Riz shrugs. “For the record, she seems pretty wary of all of this. Not sure the temptation of power and prestige is still worth it to her anymore. And, I think if anyone can convince her, you can.” He continues, somewhat earnestly. “Before she and your mom left, she messaged me. Asked me not to let you get hurt.”

“But she still went with my mother?” Adaine sighs, seemingly already knowing the answer, and lowering her head in thought when Riz nods slowly. 

Gorgug tries to think of what else Riz should know. “We met your dad.” That seems like it would be important to him. 

Riz snaps his head up. “Like, in Solace? I know he's dead. You mean before he died?”

“No, actually, in hell,” Fig continues. “Like, yesterday.”

“...in hell?” Riz exclaims, and there's a note of betrayal in his voice. 

“Yeah, but he was there undercover,” Fig waves her hand. “Turns out he's a super secret angel spy. He gave us a lot of intel on Kalina.”

Riz is silent, choosing to focus his gaze on the patch of grass between the five of them. “...do you wanna know what he said about you?” Fig asks.

Gorgug’s insight carries over into this moment, seeing that, however much he wants to know, Riz is afraid of whatever truth is coming. “He was relieved to know that we found you,” he says, recalling the conversation. “Said that he looked for you in the Upper Planes, when he died, but obviously you weren't dead, so. He wanted us to help you.”

Gorgug sees a tear leak out of the corner of Riz’s eye as he sniffs. In Riz’s lap, Boggy croaks in sympathy. “He wasn't mad at me?” he asks hesitantly. 

Fig frowns. “Mad? Dude, no, that would be crazy.” She waves her hands in emphasis. “You got kidnapped as a baby, and you grew up with all these racists. And the Shadow Cat was…” She trails off. “I, uh, actually don't know the rest, really.”

Riz scrunches his face in some kind of emotion Gorgug can't identify. “Kalina,” he says, “has always been around. I thought she was like, an imaginary friend at first, but she always knew things I didn't, but that I’d find out were true later. She actually taught me how to be a rogue. It's as why I'm as good as I am." He voice cracks a little. "She was nice to me."

“But was she kind to you?” Fabian interjects for the first time in a while. Gorgug doesn't quite catch what he means, but Riz clearly does, his eyes widening before looking away from Fabian, not saying anything. 

“But she told me that she used to work with my dad. That she and my dad were secret agents.” Riz shrugs. “She said that I was a lot like him, and that she wanted my help. With her god. And I…” Riz falls silent. 

“You wanted to be like your dad,” Fabian finishes. Riz doesn't face him, but he nods slowly. 

Fabian groans, tilting his head back. “I… ugh, I get that. I do, really. I…” He sighs, with nowhere else to go but to let his empathy spill out. 

They fall into silence again, as Gorgug searches for the thing to keep them going. “You know, when all of this is done, there's a life for you, in Elmville, right? It's not over here.”

Riz blinks, and Gorgug can see that he doesn't entirely believe him, but he keeps going. “You'll come back with us, and you can, like, go to school with us, and we can be your friends. You can find a hobby, and live with your mom - you talked to your mom, right?”

Riz nods unsteadily. “Yeah, she, uh, she said she was gonna find her way here. Somehow. But I'm guessing she's not a wizard, right?”

Fig shakes her head and chuckles. “No, but when she puts her mind to something, she gets it done.”

“We might not be able to wait for her,” Adaine says, frowning. “With everyone in there. And she's infected too. That's a liability. We may need to save our tinctures for who's at risk right now.”

They all think for a moment, and Riz speaks up first. “Let's do the tinctures first. And go from there maybe.”

It's the first suggestion he's made as a part of their team, and Gorgug takes the initiative in agreeing, before everyone else follows suit. Riz turns to him, and Gorgug is sure to smile encouragingly at Riz’s quieter relief. 

He hopes Riz likes oranges. 

Chapter Text

Just a few days ago would’ve been Riz’s birthday. He would’ve been sixteen years old. Sklonda had bought a little cake with sprinkles - Riz had always liked chocolate - and she had lit a couple of numbered candles, and she had cried before blowing them out and leaving the cake untouched on her counter, crawling into bed before the sun had gone down.

Sklonda gets to the car, her crystal pressed tightly to her ear. “It’s okay, sweetie. It’ll be okay,” she says to the silence on the other end, wondering if her boy, if he’s truly there, can sense the tremble in her voice. “We can talk later, you don’t have to say anything right now, just-”

The line goes dead, the white noise on the other end cutting out, leaving her alone with the sounds of the city center. 

She pulls the phone away, mumbling, “No, no, no.” The phone rings, endlessly it seems, until it picks up with Gilear’s voicemail message. “Fuck,” she exclaims, and then louder, “fuck, fuck!” as she repeatedly kicks the wheel of the car, tears rising unbidden to her eyes, uncaring of anyone who might be watching.

All of the pain and all of the loss of the past fourteen years stir uneasily in her chest, as she pulls herself into the driver’s seat, tears starting to flow freely down her face. 

Just a few days ago was Riz’s birthday. He is sixteen years old. He’s alive.

…this Shadow Cat had someone else working for her, Gilear had said.

The memory of Kalina’s cruel smile from her dream days before returns unbidden to her mind, as she had looked over her son’s shoulder. All of the pain and all of the loss mutate in Sklonda’s chest, an endless rain shower turning into a roiling tempest. 

For the longest time, she had blamed herself for Riz, and later for Pok. But now there’s something, other than her own body and her own mind and her own future, that can take the brunt of that blame. 

She tears out of the precinct parking lot. 

Sklonda stops at home first, and shoves her way into Pok’s office. It still smells the same, like his aftershave, for all the years it has sat unused and unoccupied, but for the first time, she doesn’t let herself linger in the past. She goes straight for the chest that holds his arquebus.

She slings the bandolier over her shoulder and inspects the arquebus - it’s still in good condition, and will only need some basic maintenance. She’ll have time for that later.

When she turns, she sees her favorite picture of the three of them, sitting on the desk, next to the perpetual ring in the dust where her glass always sits. She gives herself a second to linger on the angles of Pok’s face, that Riz so clearly inherited even when he was little

She doesn’t waste anymore time. Pok wouldn’t want her to anyway. 

There’s a lot the Sklonda doesn’t understand about the way that her precinct works. There’s the fact that many of her coworkers are utterly incompetent; there’s the fact a majority of them, incompetent or not, will always move to serve and protect each other before serving and protecting Elmville. 

All that she doesn’t understand has led to the stack of Gilear’s law books at home, to her poring over them in her little spare time, asking herself, can I do this?

The one thing she understands completely is the precinct’s total aversion to any case that involves Arthur Aguefort. After all, it seems to be his fault that many of them are utterly incompetent.

For a woman with a loaded gun, it had been horrifyingly easy to get into the school once it was let out. There’s a conversation going on when she practically kicks down the door to Aguefort’s office. Aguefort himself, looking bruised and battered, is unfazed by her entrance, stirring his steaming tea casually, but Jawbone O'Shaughnessey, from where he had been sitting in front of Aguefort’s desk with his own tumbler, jumps a little. 

“Oh hey, Sklonda,” Jawbone says affably, clearly trying to clock what is going on. Sklonda doesn’t know him super well, but the kids have always spoken highly of him.

But at the moment, Sklonda only has eyes for Aguefort. She points at him. “Can you take me to the Forest of the Nightmare King?”

Aguefort furrows his brow. “It’s a little late to hire hirelings, but…”

Sklonda doesn’t let him finish. “My kid is there, with Fig’s adventuring party. Place called Arborly. And you’re going to take me to them.”

(Give me a persuasion check.)

Aguefort seems to consider this for a moment, before shrugging. “Eh. Sure,” and he tilts his head back to dump the rest of his scalding tea down his throat. When he finishes, he sighs contentedly. “This’ll be great, actually, I have a daughter to reconnect with.”

“Wait, wait, hold on,” Jawbone says, turning fully in his chair to face her. “Your kid, like… Riz? I get that right?” 

Sandra Lynn had probably told him. Sklonda nods, gripping the back of the unoccupied chair with a white knuckles. “He’s, he’s alive. Gilear, he called me, and Riz was with him on the other end. He’s there, with them. They’re going back into the forest, and we need to go, we need to…”

The events of the past hour hit her in a wave, and distantly, she realizes that Jawbone is helping her into the chair. “Hey, head between your knees,” and he gently pushes her between the shoulder blades. She drags a breath in, but doesn’t feel it hit her lungs.

It goes like this for several minutes. 

When she comes back to herself, she vaguely registers Aguefort moving around the office, mumbling incoherently to himself. Jawbone has continued to pat her back, and at some point had pushed his warm tumbler into her hands for her to hold.

She breathes in, and lifts her head. “Thanks,” she mutters.

“Of course,” Jawbone says easily. “So, what’s your game plan? The kids probably already have a plan, strategy or whatnot, in place for this.”

Sklonda nods. “I just, I just need to get to Riz, I…” She laughs, on the edge of hysteria. “I haven’t thought of anything else!”

“Hey, hey, I get it. I do.” Jawbone sighs sympathetically. “They’ll be better off having you there with them, and Riz…” He trails off. “Look,” he continues. “I’ll, uh, get my hands on some resources, stuff that’ll be helpful for you, and for Riz, when you guys get back.” 

He squeezes her shoulder, and finally Sklonda turns to meet his warm gaze. “How does that sound?”

She nods. “I…” she whispers, “I’d appreciate that, a lot.” Gods knows they’ll both need it. 

In the hour that Aguefort takes to prepare himself, Sklonda methodically cleans the arquebus. It had been Pok’s weapon, sure, but they didn’t have their first date at a shooting range for no reason. 

Jawbone nods and toasts her with his tumbler. “Good luck,” he says. “Say hi to my kids for me, will you?” 

Aguefort puts a hand on her shoulder, and then they are whisked away.

Sklonda has never traveled by Teleport before. Before she lands, she knows she never wants to travel by Teleport again. Her feet hit dirt and her knees follow, and she dry heaves as her head slowly stops spinning.

“Oop, yes, that’ll happen,” Aguefort says apathetically from somewhere above her. There are several unnerving cracks as he stretches.

When she looks up, they’re standing in the middle of a modest village within a dark forest, with trees standing in as the buildings. Around them, Sklonda sees gnomes and wood elves gape at their sudden appearance.

(Make a perception check.)

She whirls around, and clocks a towering briar wall to the west - that has to be the Forest of the Nightmare King. But what gets her attention is a familiar, beaten-looking van, parked outside of a massive boulder with a door frame built into it and smoke pouring out of multiple chimneys. 

She rushes up and peers into the van, finding nothing, seeing no one. She turns, spots the nearest gnome walking by with a load of supplies in her arms. “Excuse me, hello?”

The gnome squeaks in surprise at her appearance. “The kids that were with this van, where are they? Where are they now? Where did they go?”

The gnome grimaces. “Oh, I’m sorry ma’am,” she says apologetically. “But after that lovely young man sold us this van, I think those kids went back into the forest.” Her gaze turns towards the wall.

No, no, no. Sklonda chants it to herself out loud and in her head, as she turns and sprints down the crude road, leaving Aguefort behind to talk to a wood elf with a bow, not Sandra Lynn, and… a fox?

She reaches the edge of the wall at the end of the road, high as a skyscraper, but at the very bottom is the front of a tiny chapel, the only visible interruption in the landmark. Sklonda runs up and pushes open the wooden door, to be met with a blast of heat, and an intolerable voice.

Ahead of her, beyond the rotten wooden pews, is a fiery archway, and beyond that, a burning landscape. A woman wearing a porcelain doll mask and a horned helmet stares down at a familiar red motorbike. 

“-let me in please!” the woman is sneering at the motorbike, what was its name?

“Hangman!” Sklonda calls, and the motorbike, as much as it is able to do so, does a three-point turn in the aisle with great difficulty.

You are the detective that assists my master and his friends sometimes, it says curiously. What are you doing here?

“Hangman, was there a goblin, with you guys? In the last day or so?”

Ah yes, the bike growls. In the forest, my master and his compatriots captured the goblin that had rudely robbed my master in his youth, and accosted him just days before now. I volunteered to run him over to pay for his wrongdoings, but my master did not allow me to do so.

Sklonda feels her eye twitch at the bike’s threat. “That’s my son, Hangman. That kid you wanna run over is my kid.”

(Make an intimidation check.)

Sklonda feels the energy change between her and the Hangman as the bike seemingly cowers. Yes, well, it seems to stammer, my master told me that this goblin was now their ally. And they, my master, and his friends, and this goblin, ventured back into the forest only hours ago.

She reaches up and grasps her hair, pulling in frustration. “God dammit!”

“...uh, and who are you supposed to be?” the woman in the flaming archway, forgotten until now, says meanly.

“Shut up!” Sklonda shouts, pointing at her without regard. “Just, shut the fuck up, Hangman, how, how do I get in there?”

Well, I was going to make a deal, the Hangman says pettily. I was asked to keep an eye on the yogurt man, but he has vanished, and I have failed in my duty. So he must have gone into the forest, and I will go there to find him, and my master!

“Yeah, so… you done?” the woman asks snidely. 

Sklonda has to walk away and pace in the back of the shrine before she slugs the woman, tuning out the conversation that the Hangman has her, a devil from the Lower Planes, she now fully realizes.

He was so close! Her baby was hours, hours, away from her. She presses a hand to her mouth, and her tears spill out over her fingers.

Aguefort steps into the shrine behind her. “How quaint,” he says pleasantly before turning to Sklonda. “Detective Gukgak, you are aware you are about to enter the Forest of the Nightmare King, right? Our students have spent this whole week, and then some, preparing for this endeavor.”

Sklonda nods, and doesn't bother to wipe her tears away. “Yeah, I know.”

Aguefort looks with interest at the back of the shrine. “It is a deeply cursed place, said to make you live your worst nightmares. Are you sure you’re prepared for that?” 

There’s nothing that Sklonda wants more than to throttle this old man, so she gives herself a treat and comes close, yanking him down to her level by the lapel of his jacket. “I,” she says through gritted teeth, “have already lived through my worst nightmare, twice. I will find my son, and all of those kids.”

There’s a flash of fire, bright and smoky and smelling of motor oil, that has them both turning. The motorbike is gone, and in its place is a hulking hairless beast, with a slumping spine and a burning skull in place of its head. It turns to face Sklonda. Detective, the Hangman’s voice echoes sullenly, I have exchanged my mechanical form for my natural one, and so I have gained passage through the forest.

Behind him, the devil sighs. “Yeah, yeah, groveling piece of-” and she vanishes along with the red plane behind her. The archway stays though, and through it Sklonda can now see the outlines of twisted, dark tree trunks.

She releases Aguefort and strides forward. Let us go, the Hangman says, lowering his front legs to the ground. We will seek out my master and his party, or die trying!

Sklonda supposes that that’s true as she reaches up and swings herself up on top of the Hangman like he’s a small horse before turning to Aguefort, who salutes her. “Good luck!” he shouts.

Sklonda has never been lucky a day in her life, and that probably won’t start now. “Thanks for the lift,” she calls out to Aguefort, gripping the hump of the Hangman’s spine before he turns and bounds through the archway and into the Forest.

“Hey, can… can I ask you something?” 

In the firelight that doesn’t reach as far as it logically should, Riz sees Kristen perk up. “Yeah, of course,” she says encouragingly, a thin blanket wrapped around her shoulders.

Adaine had pulled them out of her jacket, yards and yards of fleece fabric out of a tiny pocket. There’s a whole city in there, she had said eagerly, giving one with a flannel pattern to Riz. 

Riz shifts from where he’s seated a few feet away from Kristen. Around him, the rest of the party are spread out with their own blankets. Fig is leaned up against Gorgug, whose snoring drowns out any possible sound from the forest. Fabian is up against a tree with his blanket - no, battle sheet, as he’d corrected Riz earlier - wrapped around him. Across from Riz, Adaine sits with her legs stretched out, in a trance. 

They call themselves the Bad Kids. 

We all got detention on the first day of school, Fig had said proudly as they made their way through the forest. That makes us bad kids.

What’s detention? Riz had asked.

Fucking ineffective, Fabian replied. 

The first day into the forest had gone better than expected, all things considered. Entering it again, crossing the threshold, without his magic, without his…faith, whatever it was…

He had felt an acknowledgement, similar to when he stepped in for the first time, the forest’s eyes turned to look upon him, but no longer in welcome or approval, but in scrutiny - like finding a spider suddenly crawling along your arm. 

He’s no longer a part of the ecosystem, and the ecosystem knows it. 

He blinks, shakes himself. “Where, um, do you get your magic from? Like, what god?” 

Kristen huffs in quiet laughter. “Well, for most of life, up until freshman year, it came from Helio. God of corn.” She shifts to relax against the tree. “And then, on our first day of school, I died.”

Riz raises his eyebrows. “Fully dead?” 

Kristen nods. “Yep. Gorgug too. We were killed by a corn monster, ironically. Conjured partially by my bible.” She blinks. “It’s funny, we actually talked about you that day. Your mom came to take our statements about what happened.” She turns to Riz with a gentle smile. “Fig said it would’ve been your first day at school too.” She laughs a little. “It’s like, you’ve been with us in spirit this whole time.”

Riz can’t keep her gaze, and looks down at his feet. The idea that these kids, and the woman that is his mother, were thinking of him, years ago and miles away, in a place he could have been, is too… too much of some emotion that he can’t figure out. 

“Anyway, I went to Corn Heaven, and I met Helio, for the first time. And he told me it wasn’t my time yet, yada yada, but before he sent me back, I asked him, why is there so much suffering in the world?” Kristen shakes her head. “And he didn’t answer me. Not even, he didn’t know, he just didn’t answer. And that, it fucked me up. A lot.” She waves her staff at her sleeping friends. “These guys will tell you how much a mess I was that year.”

Riz hums sympathetically. “So, who’s your god now?”

“Now? None.” Her tone is far too casual, and her mouth twists wryly. 

“None?” Riz turns to face her, and he’s sure his incredulity is clear across his face. “...how? How is that even possible?”

Kristen shifts, bringing up a hairy knee to her chest. “Well, maybe not none. At least, not like a singular being, or a pantheon or that. But, more like a concept.”

Riz isn’t sure how far off a god and a concept are from each other. For a cleric, he’s never thought about too much, unwavering in his goal. But maybe that’s clerical too - to be unwavering. “Concept of…?”

Kristen shrugs. “Doubt. Faith through doubt, I guess. That feeling has been the only consistent thing throughout all of this whole thing for me.”

Riz furrows his brow. Faith through doubt. “Kind of a paradox.”

She laughs softly. “Yeah, it is. But it’s working. It’s why I… I’ve just been kinda fascinated with the Witch Goddess that we’ve been learning about. This was her kingdom.”

At the title, Riz feels something shift in the air around them. Kristen seems to feel it too, looking around without fear, before turning back to him. “What about you, huh? Did the Nightmare King just… what about it was appealing to you?”

Riz shrugs. “To be honest, it was never about the Nightmare King. I didn’t really do worship of any kind. Never communed with him. It was all Kalina.” He huffs in laughter. “We shook on it. I don’t know why I wasn’t a warlock, honestly.”

Kristen hums strangely, and Riz snaps his gaze to her. “What?” he asks, a little sharply. It’s clear from her tone that she has her own theories.

Kristen looks at him, and her expression is a little too honest. “If it wasn’t faith in the Nightmare King, it would be faith in Kalina, wouldn’t it?”

Riz feels something turn in his chest, another shift towards a truth he hasn’t fully wanted to face. Kristen continues. “I mean, you said that she told you about your dad. And you didn’t have any idea of him, and, like, here’s someone who knows, and says she’s going to tell you about him, and that you’re like-”

“Stop,” Riz says hoarsely. “Just stop, please.” He’s such an idiot, to have not questioned it before, but that must be what makes him an idiot. That’s why his magic had practically vanished when it had - after the phone call. It had just wanted to hurt him on the way out. 

“...I’m sorry,” Kristen murmurs heavily. “Losing faith, betrayal, or just not being who you think they are. Whatever the situation calls for, it’s… it’s different, when it comes to people we care about. Compared to gods. I think it hurts more.” 

Riz curls up into a ball, winding his arms around his knees. “Can we stop talking about it?”

Kristen shrugs. “Yeah, sure.” She pauses, before saying, “How about a story, huh?” Riz glances towards her. “How about, the time that I decided to fly? Like, a few days ago?”

It’s a good story, one that has Riz gaping at the absurdity of the situation, wondering at the miracle that allowed her to be with him. And only hours later, Riz is staring at Kristen’s skeleton, crumbled into dust and cobwebs. 

His constitution when it comes to eating things that he probably shouldn’t, things gone sour or bad, is pretty good. But as it turns out, that doesn’t carry over to drugs. 

What is he afraid of?

Well, within the past few days, he’s developed a lot of new fears. There’s the fear of not living up to his father, the standard that Kalina had expected of him - now revitalized, and shifting to not being good enough for his father at all. After all, the man’s an angel, in the Upper Planes. And Riz, well, he knows he hasn’t exactly been on good behavior.

There’s the fear of the woman on the other end of the crystal line, of her voice soft and gentle in a way that Riz has never heard before, and he’s so afraid of what it means, and how it makes him feel. The idea of meeting her, of her becoming more than a sense, an abstract, sets him shaking, because if they all get out of this alive, that’s a real possibility. 

There’s the fear of these kids. What they have done for him, and how they have treated him, after all that he has done against him, that is terrifying too. Even now, moments before, he had held his hand with theirs and chanted, as if he had belonged with them all along. It’s like feasting at a table, rich and decadent, from which he’s only been allowed scraps and crumbs before.

And then there’s…

“Hey, kiddo,” someone calls softly, freezing his blood. 

Riz turns away, from where Fig has pulled a flagon of whiskey from somewhere, from where Adaine has put something small and orange on the ground, from where Gorgug has lit the dusk moss, from where Kristen never will be again, from where…was there someone else there next to him? No, he doesn’t think so.

He turns and sees, at the edge of the clearing, Kalina watching impassively in the shadow of the temple, looking the same as ever. She’s leaning against a tree, as if they’re seeing each in passing on the street. She raises her eyebrows expectantly, and in the line of her yellow gaze, he feels trapped, his heartbeat quickening in his chest. 

He’s become a far better predator in these past years, but, Riz realizes now, he never fully stopped feeling like prey. 

Gods he doesn’t want to do this. But there’s nowhere else to run. The point is to face your fear, right? 

So he turns, and begins walking away. Someone says something behind him, but he can’t tell who, and there’s a whisper of someone trying to grab his shoulder but it might’ve just been a breeze. They all have to face this on their own, don’t they? 

He walks across the clearing towards her, and as he gets closer, she nods at him. "I knew you'd find your way back to me," she says coolly, before she turns and walks deeper into the forest, her footsteps silent on the ground, like she knows he will follow her. 

Maybe he’s still easy to read, he thinks as he flexes his hands and curls them into fists, claws digging into his skin, or maybe she’s just the best at reading him.

Riz follows Kalina for… gods, he doesn’t know how long. Every time he thinks to speak up, she turns her head to give him that same look of faint disappointment, and his tongue dries up in his mouth. 

He can feel his legs trembling with exertion when she finally stops. There’s nothing extraordinary about the space she stops in, but the muted sounds that had surrounded them as they had walked are gone now, leaving Riz alone with his heartbeat in his ears as Kalina finally turns around to face him.

(Can I make an insight check?)

Riz scours her face, and finds that disappointment still lingering on her impassive features, but there’s a softness to her eyes that he’s never seen before.

“My question is,” she says - and the fact that her tone isn’t any different than usual might be the most unnerving thing - “do you think I’m actually here? Or is this conversation your nightmare?”

Riz thinks about it. He would like to think that it's actually her, but realistically, he has a lot on her plate right now. “Tomato, tomahto,” he says tiredly.

After a short pause, she hums sadly in response, and Riz thinks he knows what that softness is now - pity. No wonder he didn’t recognize it. 

“You can ask your questions,” Kalina shrugs, turning as if to walk away, but keeping her eyes on him. “I’ve never lied to you before, and I’m not going to start now.”

That's the thing, Riz has realized, that makes all of this so much harder. “I think lying by not saying anything,” he says carefully, “is still lying.”

“If you say so,” she shrugs, and she goes to walk slowly, as if inviting him to walk beside her. His instincts move him to lift his foot to follow, like they had before, like he always has before.

But he stops, and plants his foot back on the ground. “So, everything they told me, that I was kidnapped, that my mom is still alive, all of that, it’s all true?”

She just raises her eyebrow in response, and he laughs harshly. “No wonder you wanted me to run from them.”

The silence sits between them loudly. 

“Just, why me? What was the point, huh?” he asks, and he feels his emotion rising up in his throat. The question, and its answer, is close to the core of the fear that pushed him to this point, close to the desire to know.

Normally, she would tell him not to get worked up, and he’d do his best to push it down, but Kalina doesn’t say that this time. “Truthfully, kiddo? You were just special.”

Riz must not be able to hide his confusion very well, because she goes on. “I’ve been around for hundreds of years, in this form. But still, in all that time, you were the first one I’ve always been with.” She shrugs. “And even when you were little, I could see you got the best of both of your folks.”

“So I was, what, a project?” Riz practically shouts. “My parents were alive! They loved me! And you took that from me!” He draws in another breath. “You sold out my dad, got him killed! My mom has been alone this whole time, and she…” he trails off.

Kalina nods, undisturbed. “I know, kiddo. I know just how much your mom loves you.”

“Don’t call me that,” he hisses. “I don’t want you to, you don’t get to call me that anymore.”

Kalina huffs in disappointment. “So, what, that was your fear? That I did what I did for no reason?” She shakes her head. “You are either with me or against me, and I meant it when I said it, Riz, I still want you with me at the end of this. You’ve helped me to get this far, and I am so proud of what we’ve done, and we are so close.”

“So close to what? A world of nightmares and horror?” Riz spreads his arms out in emphasis. “The only reason I did all this was because of you!”

“And because of what I offered you,” Kalina says pointedly. “There was never a moment you didn’t want to hear about your dad.”

“You know,” Riz says plaintively, “I think that you never had to tell me about my dad in the first place. Because you were there for me, when no one else was - even if you’re the one that put me there.” He huffs angrily. “I was willing to do so much for you, because I cared, but what were you ever willing to do for me?”

Kalina doesn’t have a quick response for that, and Riz reflects on what he just said, finally at the core of it all. “I think that’s my fear, actually. Whether you never really cared about me beyond what I offered you, or that you do care, and you’re still doing all of this anyway. And I don’t know which answer is worse.”

Kalina sighs deeply, closing her eyes for a moment as if finding her patience. “Think, Riz. Would I still be talking to you at this point if I didn't care?”

A chill runs up his spine. "I don't know at this point," he says. "Maybe it's just another project."

Kalina rolls her eyes.

Riz straightens his shoulders defensively. “Why are you doing this?” he asks faintly.

She huffs in frustration. "You know the answer to that already - because I know how far I'm willing to go for something I care about." The edge of her voice is laced with venom.

“I know you care, but, that’s not your goddess anymore."

Faster than he can blink, her own claws are under his chin, digging into his neck, and her face is very close to him, and he’s reminded very sharply of the fact that she’s real in this place. “Watch it,” she growls, her breath hot, but there’s an edge to her voice that wasn’t there before.

His fear spikes, but he reaches up and grabs her wrist. “I know you care about her, but she’s gone,” he says hoarsely. “But for some fucking reason, I still care about you, even when I have a thousand reasons I shouldn’t! I should be trying to kill you! But I’m still here!” 

(Make a persuasion check.)

For a few long moments, Riz makes himself look Kalina in the eye, rather than looking away like he so badly wants to. Her brow furrows in anger, and for a brief second the claws dig in deeper, and Riz thinks she’s either going to tear his throat out or strangle him to death, and he holds her wrist tighter.

Abruptly, she lets go, and he falls to the ground. She steps back, her eyes closed, sighing heavily, her paw at her temple warding off a headache, a motion he's seen many times before.

After a few seconds, she speaks. “Here’s what I’m willing to do for you,” she says, and her voice is strangely quiet as she points to her right into the darkened trees. “Go straight that way for a bit. I'm sure you still have your compass."

“...and?” he squeaks out.

“And you’ll know what you’ve found when you find it.” Kalina blinks at him slowly. “Riz, make no mistake about this - you keep coming after me and my king after that, I’ll kill you and I won’t hesitate.” Her tone is clear, and the threat is visible.

Riz sighs, ache mixing with anger in his chest. “...okay,” he says simply. “Is that it?” He imagines what she might say next - it's a shame it had to end this way.

It must be, because she vanishes, the imprints of her paws left in the ground. Riz looks at them for a moment, chiding himself - of course she wouldn't be that sentimental - before a strange boom echoes, from the direction in which Kalina had pointed.

Chapter Text

“Is it any stronger?” she asks, again and again and again.

The hellhound huffs as he sniffs around on the dirt of the clearing, where Sklonda can see the remains of a campfire. She walks around herself, trying to catch her own scents, but the smells are unfamiliar. Before the quest, she would have been able to recognize Fig, and maybe Adaine, but there’s nothing here that recognizes after days that they’ve been in unfamiliar territory.

The realization that she might not recognize her own son hurts the most. But they were here recently. Riz was here, she thinks as her hand passes over some disturbed dirt at the base of a tree, crumbling it in her hand.

Somewhat stronger, the Hangman admits, but not by much. Come on, Detective, lest we fall behind even further.

No arguing with that. She climbs back on to him, and he runs off into the forest, leaving the ruins of the campfire behind.

(Make a survival check.)

The Hangman had been navigating the forest on what little leftover scent he could pick up from the kids from when they had entered. The sun can’t be seen through the thick canopy of the trees, and Sklonda’s crystal had run out of battery faster than usual, so she has no way of telling the time - but it has been hours, hours, since they first entered the eerily quiet forest. 

Thankfully, the Hangman was as eager to stop and rest as her, and so there had been no stopping. His sense of smell is better than her own, and he has some kind of connection to Fabian, so she’s been trusting him to take the lead in the search.

Shadows had jumped and flickered at the edge of her vision, but when she had turned, there’s nothing there. Twigs snapped in the far distance, and her ears perked up, but no other noise followed it. There were no birds singing, no wildlife to be seen or smelled - just the choking verdure that had surrounded them on all sides; she couldn’t help but feel like she was being swallowed down into the stomach of something huge and unthinkable.

It would be worth it though, to find her son, to find the kids, to keep them safe, to get them out.

When she hears the scream, short and sharp, Sklonda knows instinctively, in a feeling that raises her hackles and pierces some hibernating part of her brain, that it is her son.

“Did you hear that?” she asks as she slips off of the Hangman, craning around to catch a sound, a smell, something that would be familiar to her in the midst of this strange place.

The Hangman paws at the ground. I do not hear anything, he growls impatiently. But the scent is still there, Detective, we must-

(Make a wisdom saving throw.)

There’s another cry, and it casts Sklonda back into the past.

Riz is born earlier than expected, and is smaller than he should be. He’s quieter than Sklonda had thought he would be when he’s awake, all happy chirrups and squeaks, but when he does cry, he wails in a way that makes her want to cry with him for how lost and how sad he sounds. 

But he’s easily soothed, when she cradles him in her arms. He’s a handful to get to sleep, fussy and irritable and hissing, but she sings an old lullaby, something her parent’s parents had brought with them from the Mountains, in some dialect of goblin that she can no longer understand, but its meaning is clear when Riz eventually falls asleep against her. 

She comes back to herself, eventually, as rain slides through the leaves and onto her clothing. There are twigs and leaves in her hair, and scratches up and down her arms from where branches have torn through her jacket. Her feet might be bleeding through her shoes, her lungs burn and ache with overuse, and every muscle in her body is trembling with exertion. 

When she looks around, she doesn’t recognize her surroundings - the Hangman is nowhere to be seen, or heard, or smelled. Even the path through the trees that her destruction and her desperation has wrought is hard to find.

Riz’s cry echoes around the trees, even though the rain, as if ripped directly from her memories and she spins, trying to pinpoint where it could be coming from, where he could be. “Riz?” she calls out, and she can hear the strain of anguish in her voice. “Riz!”

(Can I make a perception check?)

There, on the breeze - the scent has long since faded from the apartment, but Sklonda knows it in her heart, and she runs again.

She breaks into another small clearing, and her eyes focus on the lone figure in the center, standing between two simple headstones facing toward her. The figure, holding Riz’s yellow baby blanket with that familiar scent, with a lovingly stitched pattern of frogs and mice, a last gift from Pok’s mother before she had passed, turns and raises her head.

Sklonda meets her own eyes, shining wetly. She looks the same as she does now, but she’s wearing the same black shirt and trousers that she’d worn to Pok’s funeral, on another rainy day years before. The expression on her face is one that Sklonda has come to be familiar with, when she wakes up with it every morning, and falls asleep with it every night. 

The double moves the baby blanket to one hand and pulls a flask out of her pocket with the other, holding it out as Sklonda steps closer, in a gesture of commiseration. “C’mon,” she says tiredly, “what’s one more drink going to matter?”

It’s a thought that she’s had many times before, but not for a while, and that had been a point of pride. Something screams at her from deep in her brain that she needs to fight, needs to run, needs to grab Pok’s arquebus from her back and destroy whatever is wearing her face.

Her hand twitches and she pulls the arquebus to the front. Her double chuckles dryly at it. “Finally going to do something, huh? Took you long enough. Question is,” she takes a swig from the flask, and the light in her eyes is dead and gone, if it was ever there at all, “which one of us is it going to be?” 

That’s another thought that has been dormant in her head for a long time, but only thanks, she believes, to Sandra Lynn, and Gilear, and little Fig. Sklonda takes a deep breath and lets go of the arquebus.

The double hums, takes another drink, and turns back to the headstones. “Join me, why don’t you? We’ve only got each other now.”

“...that’s not true,” Sklonda says shakily as she takes a step closer. “Riz is out there, he needs us.”

“You sure about that?” the double asks, and she looks so defeated. She takes a step to the side, to let Sklonda read the inscriptions on the headstones. 

On the left is one that Sklonda is intimately familiar with. Pok Gukgak, Loving Son, Husband, and Father. How many days has she spent sitting there in Cravencroft, in silence, or pouring her heart out, all love and bitterness, longing and anger, to someone that isn’t even buried there?

The other one is new, and it makes her heart stutter in her chest. Riz Gukgak, Adored Son. Gone But Not Forgotten. The soil in front of the stone is overturned and fresh. 

Riz doesn’t have a headstone in Elmville. It had felt too much like giving up entirely. 

“He’s not gone,” she says hoarsely, falling to her knees in the wet dirt. “He’s here, he’s here somewhere!” 

The double gives her a look of utter doubt, and looks back to the grave. “Better start digging then.”

(Make another wisdom saving throw, with disadvantage.)

There’s no shovel, so she uses her hands. Dirt and mud fly past her as she claws her way into the grave. 

“Some mother you are.” The double leans against Pok’s grave and talks bitterly. “Fourteen years he was out there on his own, and what were you doing? Well, I know what you were doing,” and Sklonda hears something sloshing in the flask. "Maybe it's work, maybe it's booze, and it doesn't matter how much both of them suck, because it's better than thinking about your own failure." 

Sklonda doesn’t bother to answer; every second spent talking is a second she could be spending digging.

“And what kind of wife too, huh?” Sklonda imagines that the double is shaking her head. “He did his best, tried to keep you together, and what did you do in return for him? No wonder he kept leaving, because you wouldn’t let him help you.”

“Shut up,” she growls, the taste of metal and petrichor heavy on her tongue. 

“Maybe if you had, he wouldn’t have gone and gotten himself eaten. And then,” the double continues, “he doesn’t even have the decency to give you a body to bury. Only one thing left to ruin now. It’s a wonder you didn’t finish the job before we got to this point.”

She’s dug down a foot or two into the grave. “Where, where is he?” she says, struggles. 

“You came here with that, that hope.”  The double says it like it’s a dirty word. “That Riz is alive, that he’s here-”

“I know he’s alive!” she shouts. “I know he’s here! I heard him!”

“Wouldn’t even say anything on the crystal, to his own mother. What kind of kid do you think he is now? Hardly a kid anymore, really. You think you know him, but would you really? And honestly, would he even want to see you? Who are you to him, but the woman that gave up looking for him?”

“I, didn’t, give, up!” She heaves each word out like an act of labor.

“Didn’t you though?” The double’s voice is infuriatingly gentle. “It’s hard to have hope, I get it. It takes strength, and you just didn’t have it.”

Another foot down into nothingness, and Sklonda sobs. 

“What’re you going to do with yourself, when this doesn’t turn out the way you hope?”  Sklonda feels the dirt shift, watches in her periphery as the double sit down on the edge of the grave, still holding Riz’s baby blanket in one hand and the flask in the other. 

“Maybe he rejects you, wouldn’t blame him. Maybe you watch him die, rejection or not. Least you have some closure then. Maybe he’s already dead, and you’ll never know. But we both know how they’d all end, right?” The double leans down and drops the blanket into the grave in front of Sklonda, and it immediately stains with mud. “You, alone, again. Because you just weren’t enough.”

Sklonda feels every part of her trembling in abject fear and horror as she reaches out and grasps the blanket. Her baby is here somewhere, he has to be, she just needs to find him…

“What will be worse, do you think?” the double asks quietly. “Going back with nothing because he didn’t want to come back, or because there will still be nothing left to bury?”

“I…” she sighs, dragging her breath into her aching lungs, her tears mingling with the rain on her cheeks. “I don’t know. I don't fucking know."

There is silence, finally. The rain lightens into a sprinkle as she kneels alone in an empty grave and cries for what could still be lost.

The double chuckles, and her tone has shifted into something dark that Sklonda doesn't recognize, even from herself. “You might think this is harsh, but trust me. This is a mercy.” Her voice has changed, and Sklonda feels her heartbeat quicken from recognition. “Especially compared to your friend Sandra Lynn.”

When Sklonda looks up, the double is still there, but her eyes have changed, from gold to a sickly yellow green, and she wears a cool and calculated expression. 

Sklonda doesn’t hesitate, pulling the arquebus around to fire at the double, but she vanishes into black mist as the boom of the gun echoes around the confines of the grave and Sklonda feels pain explode in her head and a sharp ringing begins in her ears. “Fuck!” she shouts, her sorrow morphing quickly into anger. “Get back here, you fucking bitch!” She tries to stand but sways and falls back into the dirt, clutching her head. 

(Make a perception check with disadvantage.)

She’s not sure how long she’s down there - not long, she thinks, but it’s hard to tell through the pain ricocheting around her skull. When she manages to open her eyes, the baby blanket is gone. She looks up and sees that the headstone itself has vanished.

In its place is another goblin, with damp, unruly curls and large golden eyes, staring at her with abject wonder and fear. She can see the shape of her ears, the smattering of her freckles, the lines of Pok’s face, reflected back at her.

Sklonda feels tears well up in her eyes at the sight. As if the graves weren’t bad enough, as if her own fear, her own guilt, wasn’t bad enough. “Don’t,” she pleads, “don’t do this to me, please. Haven’t you done enough?”

The illusion pretending to be Riz furrows its brow in a way that reminds her painfully of Pok, and she tears her gaze away to glare into the dirt. “You just want to take him from me again, is that it?" She laughs, on the edge of hysteria. "You took Riz, you killed Pok, why are you still doing this?"

“...your ears are bleeding.” When he speaks, he doesn’t sound like her, or Pok. He sounds like someone new, someone nervous trying to put on a brave front. 

When she looks up, the illusion of Riz is holding his hand down into the grave, in an offer to help her out. “I, uh, I heard your,” and his big eyes flicker to the arquebus, “...gun.”

“...yeah,” she says dumbly, and she reaches out to grasp his hand. It’s warm and alive, and it grips hers tightly as he stands to pull her out. She’s grateful for it being the only thing holding her together when she feels the rest of herself rapidly unspooling as she climbs out of the grave and immediately falls to her knees. 

Riz gets down on his knees too; he’s wearing the gear of a rogue, and there’s a dark sword that she vaguely remembers Fabian having at one point strapped to his back. He untethers a bag at his hip, and Sklonda can see that his hands are shaking. “I’ve uh…” he mumbles, “I’ve got some medicine in here somewhere-” 

She reaches out to grab his wrist and he stills immediately, before looking at her hesitantly, and she pulls her hand back before she makes contact. “I’m sorry, I, uh…” she stammers through her tears. "I just... are you real?"

Riz smiles, wavering. "I think so."

She nods as he brain moves to catch up.

“...it’s okay, I get it,” he says, swallowing something before he holds his hand out for a handshake of all things. “You’re… your name is Sklonda, right? I’m, uh…” and he shrugs shyly. “I’m Riz. But, I guess you already know that though.”

Her tears spill out over her cheeks. “It’s okay,” she says, and she reaches to hold his hand with both of hers. “Hi, Riz,” she says hoarsely as she tries not to hold his hand too tightly, fighting the urge to scoop her son into her arms and never let him go. 

He’s more beautiful than Sklonda could have ever imagined, she thinks as he reaches into his pouch with one hand and pulls a bottle of medicine from it. “Here,” he says. “Just a drop. It's the good stuff."

She releases him long enough to take the medicine, honey flavored and heavy and grounded in reality. “Thank you,” she says. 

Riz nods, and his eyes flicker to the hole behind her. “Why were you digging?” he asks softly.

Sklonda pulls in a breath as the pain in her head and ears starts to wane. There's so much she wants to say and ask, but in this moment, all she's capable of is following Riz's lead. “I thought,” she says, before faltering, and starting again, “it was your grave. I thought you were in there.”

“...I’m sorry,” he says softly. 

“What?” she shakes her head, but he’s shaking his head rapidly. “Oh bug, what are you sorry for?”

The nickname spills out unthinkingly - she doesn't want to overwhelm him - but when it does, she sees Riz’s eyes well up with tears. “This place,” he says, clearly trying to keep himself together, “it preys on your fears, and you came here to get me, but I-”

Sklonda remembers what Gilear had said on the crystal. This Shadow Cat had someone else working for her. “Shh, shh,” she murmurs. “It’s okay, Riz,” and she slowly reaches out to hold his hand in hers and his shoulder in her other, trying to be comforting without startling him. 

He doesn’t startle, but she watches his gaze move between her hands as if he’s afraid to meet her eyes. “I thought,” he mumbles, “I thought you, and Dad…” He pulls in a ragged breath. “I was afraid you’d be disappointed in me.”

She feels her heart break again. “Never,” she says honestly. “Gods, I could never be disappointed in you, Riz.”

Whatever he was holding back breaks, and he falls forward into her arms. She holds her son to her as tight as she can, pets his hair and pats his back and rocks him like she hasn’t done for years, and she feels both of them crying profusely. “And neither,” she murmurs into his hair, “would your dad.”

Again, she loses track of time, but she allows it to happen.

Eventually, Riz peels himself away from her, his cheeks stained and his eyes bloodshot. She reaches out and ruffles his curls as he breathes in deeply. “I think,” he says shakily, “I think I need to go.”

Her heart skips a beat. “What?”

“They’re trying to bring the Nightmare King back, and…” He sets his shoulders. “...and I helped to do it, so I need to help stop it.” 

There’s nothing Sklonda wants more than to haul her child bodily out of this forest back to their home. But, she remembers, they’re not the only ones in the forest. Somewhere in here is Fig and Sandra Lynn and Gilear and all of the other kids. 

This is a mercy, especially compared to your friend Sandra Lynn. Sklonda shudders.

“Is there any chance,” she says tiredly, “that I can convince you to stay out of this fight?” If he’s a Gukgak, then she already knows the answer to this question. 

Riz raises his brow in bemusement, and that says enough. She sighs. “Just like your father. Okay,” she says, groaning as she gets to her feet, tugging Riz along with her. “Let’s go then.”

When Riz stands up, she realizes that they’re the same height, and she almost breaks down all over again when she looks him in the eyes. “What do you mean?” he asks in confusion.

“You don’t think I’m going to leave you here, do you?” she asks seriously. Riz blinks, and opens his mouth as if to respond, but nothing comes out. 

There’s so much she wants to ask him. Where have you been? What have you done? What did she make you do? What did she make you do on your own? What did you not want to do? How did you handle it? How do I handle it now? What do you need me to do? What do you want me to do? Who have you been? Who are you now?

She swallows the questions down, and asks instead, “Do you know where we need to go?”

Riz sighs and scrunches his mouth in a manner startlingly reminiscent of her own when she thinks. “Not really,” he admits, and he pulls a card from his pocket that Sklonda realizes is a compass. “This place is meant to confuse and reroute people, and, well, it doesn’t really like me anymore. I don’t know how well I can-”

There’s an explosion, and they both turn to the west. The sound echoes off of the trees, and, distantly, Sklonda hears the screech of a griffon. 

“I think that’s our best bet,” she says, pointing to the west. Riz steps up beside her, and he draws his sword from his back as she settles the arquebus comfortably into her arms. 

“Hey, is that…?” he starts to ask, before he quiets. 

Sklonda looks down at the arquebus. “It belonged to your dad,” she says. “Hasn’t been used in a while, but I know my way around it.” 

“...can you teach me how to use it?” he asks, and she catches a hint of eagerness in his voice. 

She chuckles. “We get out of this, I will absolutely teach you how to use it.” Firearm safety and training with her son, she thinks, absurdly happy.

There’s a quicksilver flash of a smile on his face, and he still has his dimples, she realizes. “I’m sorry,” he says, and gods she hopes she can help him out of that habit, “but… you just seem really badass.”

She smiles, and it almost hurts her face to do so. “You'll be happy to know, Riz, that you are descended from a line of badasses.”

This time, his smile lasts longer than a flash, and every second she sees it is precious to her. 

“Mr. Gukgak?” the spirit asks before it appears, a ball of soft light next to Pok’s desk.

Celestial spirits are the norm by which most missives are sent in the Upper Planes, but only urgent matters require direct contact, such as this - most of the time, papers drift to him in the form of paper boats that unfold without creases into his paper tray.

Pok sighs and puts down his pen. “Yes?” he asks. “Can I help you?”

The spirit seems to clear its throat nervously. “Yes, um, I believe you signed up for the Loved One Alert Program when you arrived here?”

Something familiar and awful stutters in his nonexistent chest. “Yes?”

“Well, per your initial paperwork, you signed up to receive an alert should the spirit of a loved one, from a list which you provided, appear in the Upper Planes-”

He’d written down two names on the paperwork. “Who is it?” he interrupts, turning fully in his chair. In his periphery, he can see the other agents turn in curiosity. 

The spirit shifts nervously. “This is an alert,” it says shakily, “that the spirit of your son, Riz Gukgak, has entered the Upper Planes.”

His superior was more confused than anything when Pok had been extracted back to the Upper Planes, after being kidnapped from the Iron City of Dis by a group of teenagers on a flying pirate ship made from the body of the dragon that had eaten him.

Pok had mentioned that last bit to the captain, a narcissistic archdevil who had offered to allow Pok to take a piss on the deck as recompense before leaving - a petty act that Pok isn’t ashamed to say that he had taken.

“Well, that might take the cake for the strangest thing that’s happened on a mission,” Mike admitted. “But shit, that’s some valuable intel you got out of it.”

She was a fucking disease, in more than the literal manner. Pok rethinks every interaction with Kalina, and it all lines up with what the kids had told him. When he thinks of it, he thinks of how she had wormed her way through their lives, pulling and tugging them along at her whim and convenience. But what chills him most of all was thinking of how she had looked at Riz, when she had first met him as a baby - all fascination and curiosity. 

Well, he thought to himself darkly, we know what curiosity did to the cat.

“He’s almost through,” the spirit says, and it seems like it’s trying to be reassuring. “Seems like a difficult transition.”

A difficult transition is a euphemism for a violent death, Pok thinks anxiously, pacing on the billowy grass under an idyllic tree on an idyllic hill. He’d moved from his desk for a semblance of privacy, running through how he’s going to handle the following situation. 

How long has it been since he ran into Sandra Lynn and the kids, since they told him the truth of what had happened to Riz? Time passed strangely up here, but they were headed for a confrontation of some kind - and Riz, he knew, would likely be involved in it somehow, on one side or the other.

“And, here we go,” the spirit groans, and a sputtering, staticky light appears in front of him, slowly taking shape.

A voice comes through, stuttering and scared. “H-hello?” it asks hoarsely. “Where, where am I?”

That’s his son, Pok thinks incredulously, tears already starting to swim in his eyes, and he reaches out to the light. “Riz? Riz, can you hear me?”

“Hello?” the voice asks again. “Who is that?”  The light shifts and starts to solidify, grainy, but visible. Pok reaches out again and holds what he thinks is Riz’s hand, and it warms and forms in his own. 

Over the next agonizing minute, the rest of Riz’s spirit takes shape in front of him, moving up from his jerking arms and shaking legs and ending with his face. When his mouth forms, he drags in a harried breath that he doesn’t need, and stumbles. 

Pok is there to catch him. “Hey, hey, take it easy,” he soothes, lowering Riz onto the grass and patting his back. “You’re okay, Riz. Deep breaths.” 

Riz looks up at him, and he looks so much like his mother, and he looks so much like himself, and he looks so scared. “...Dad?” he asks incredulously. 

Pok nods - keep it together, Gukgak. “Hey kid,” he says, trying to smile. 

Riz blinks and he looks around. “Where am I?” he asks again, his brow knit in confusion.

“You’re uh,” Pok starts and stops, “you’re in the Upper Planes. Bytopia, to be precise.” He cranes his head to get a better look at Riz. “Do you remember what happened, before you came here?”

Riz stares at the beautiful landscape with utter abandonment. “We were fighting,” he says slowly. “Me and, and… Sklonda, and the Bad Kids…”

Part of Pok is overwhelmed with relief that Sklonda is there for Riz, even if it pains him to hear Riz call her by her name and not Mom, even if it renews his anxiety to know that she’s still down there fighting whatever has just killed their son.

“Kalina was there too," Riz says, and Pok feels fury stir in his ribs "...and Killian, he’d turned into a pit fiend, and… and he grabbed me.” Riz furrows his brow. “And… I died, I think.”

“...yeah, kid, I think you did,” Pok says softly, moving to sit fully on the grass and trying to move Riz with him.

Riz finally turns from the view of the land back to Pok, and his eyes rove over him like he’s memorizing every detail. He’d done that as a baby too, Pok remembers fondly.

“How am I here?” Riz asks plaintively. “I thought, for sure, with what I’d done, that I’d go…”

He thought he’d go to hell, Pok thinks indignantly. “No, no, Riz, of course not,” he reassures him. “Whatever metric,” he waves his hand, “that judges us, it takes into account why you did what you did, and you, kid…” Pok sighs. “Well you had some,” and he chooses words carefully, “unprecedented circumstances.”

Riz doesn’t respond for a moment, and Pok gives him space to gather his thoughts. When he does speak, he sounds nervous. “Can I ask you something? It’s kinda stupid.”

“Anything Riz,” he says.

“...how do you drink your coffee?” he says carefully. 

Pok blinks. “My coffee?” Riz nods insistently. “Usually just a dollop of cream,” he shrugs.

“No sugar?” Riz asks, and there’s something in face that makes Pok want to backtrack, to say whatever he needs to reassure his son. 

But he sticks with honesty. “No, not really a fan of sugar.” Riz’s face contorts with anger. “Why, what’s up?”

Riz huffs. “Kalina,” he says cautiously, “that’s what she told me. That you didn’t like sugar. I guess I was hoping that she was lying to me.”

Pok feels his anger stir within his chest at another mention of Kalina, but he pushes it down for the moment. “Do you like sugar in your coffee?” he asks instead. 

Riz’s mouth clenches together, and he nods shamefully. “That’s okay, you know,” Pok says. “There’s… plenty of sugar out there. You don’t have to drink it like I do.”

Riz looks away from him, and tears up some of the grass that instantly regrows. “Did Kalina tell you other things about me?” Pok asks.

Riz nods, and he seems to gather himself a little. “She said she used to work with you, that you were a secret agent.”

“That's true,” he admits, and he feels himself angering over the fact that it was the truth. 

“She said,” and Riz hesitates again. “She said that you loved me, a lot.”

Pok softens. “I do love you, Riz. Me and your mom, more than anything else."

Riz huffs and rubs his eyes. “I wish she'd lied to me,” he growls. “Would make this whole thing easier.”

Pok can't begin to dissect Kalina’s reasoning for anything right now. Instead, he reaches out and ruffles Riz’s curls. “Yeah, kid, can't argue with that.”

Riz sighs, and looks around again. “So, now what? You're like a, secret agent angel, they told me?”

Pok laughs weakly. “You got it, kid.”

“Could I do that too?” Riz asks, an edge of desperation in his voice. 

Pok sighs too. “Well, honestly Riz, I'm hoping you get revived here soon. And, if everything goes okay, I won't see you or your mom here for a good long while.”

Riz’s face contorts with anxiety. “But,” he argues, “I don't…” He returns to ripping up pieces of grass. “I don't know what's going to happen if I live,” he admits quietly. 

Pok feels his chest ache. “Well, if I know your mom,” he says, “she'll want you to come home with her, to Elmville. And I'd be lying if I said I didn't want that for you too.”

“I know,” Riz says. “Gorgug, he said that too. That I could go to school, and have friends, and be with… Mom,” he stutters, more in amazement than anything else. “But, I don't know how I'm going to do that.”

He looks around again at the sky, in a perpetual state of dawn or dusk, with the wispy clouds. “Staying here would be easier than that.”

“Ah, Riz,” Pok says quietly, and he reaches up to put his arm around his son, and to his relief, Riz leans into him and Pok presses a kiss into his hair. 

“Well, for starters, you can still talk to me, even when you're down there.” Riz frowns, and Pok elaborates. “My grave, in Elmville. I can hear your mom every time she comes to visit, and if you come, I can hear you too.”

Gods, that might be the most painful thing about being here, he thinks. Listening to Sklonda and not being able to comfort her, or support her. He listened to so many musings and tirades and ached through all of them. 

He continues. “But gods kid, you're too young for this life - well, afterlife. There's still so much out there for you to do, and see, and be.”

“...I just wanted to be like you,” Riz whispers hoarsely. “That's all I wanted. Kalina, she told me about how cool you are, and how I could be like you too, if I helped her.”

“Kid, you were already better than me,” Pok says easily and passionately, squeezing Riz’s shoulder. “You still are, because you're you! You're the person that your mom and I love most in the world! You survived everything the world has thrown at you, and I am so, so proud of you.”

“...well, I haven't, actually. Survived, I mean.” Riz laughs weakly, and Pok realizes what he said. 

But before he can say anything, Riz admits shamefully, “I don't think I know how to be just me.”

Pok sighs. “Well, I think there's only one way to find out," he says encouragingly, and Riz lowers his gaze. 

There's a low sound wave that rushes through the air, casting Pok to his college days at underground concerts in Bastion City. Fig, if he remembers correctly, plays a bass guitar. 

A wave starts in Riz’s chest and expands outwards, disrupting the image of him into particles of spirit, and he looks up, panicked.  

“I think that's your cue, kid,” Pok says, feeling equal parts of relief and fear and grief mingling in his chest. 

“Yeah,” Riz nods, clearly trying to hype himself up. 

“Hey, look at me,” Pok says, holding Riz's shoulders. “Can you trust me, when I say that making it through this will be worth it?”

Riz’s face twists in doubt, but he nods shakily, as his legs start to dissolve as the rhythm kicks up around them. 

“And can you trust your mom,” Pok says, “to love you, and help you through what comes after this?”

He nods again. “I’ll try.”

Pok nods. “I know you will,” and he brings Riz into a hug. For a brief moment, he feels Riz’s arms around him before they too start to dissolve into light. 

“I love you, Riz, more than anything else,” he says, and Pok feels his voice coming faster - there's still so much to say. But he feels Riz nod into his shoulder. The rhythm vibrates in the air. 

“When you go home, come and say hi, and - tell me everything, about you, about your life, whether it's important or not, I wanna hear all of it.” Riz’s chest starts to disappear, but he nods again. 

“You are Riz fucking Gukgak,” Pok says furiously. “And no one gets to take that away from you, ever again!”

“I love you too, Dad,” Riz mumbles into his shoulder. 

A moment later, Riz’s spirit stutters apart in his arms and vanishes into the cool air along with the rhythm of the bass, and Pok finally lets himself fall apart in its absence.

Chapter Text

Growing up, no one had ever held Riz’s hand. (He never thought about how he knew, instinctively, that someone should be there to hold his hand, because there had always been someone at some point. But everyone around him had their hands full, with tools or bows or arrows - and, well, even if their hands were empty, their palms were usually raised in annoyance rather than affection. Just his luck, he supposed, to be the lone goblin in Arborly. 

Sometimes, there were hands raised in healing, or in commiseration - Riz can think of an ink-stained hand accepting his handshake from years ago, or bloody fingers offering him a cigarette a few days before, as such examples. Gestures he appreciated, but tried to keep at a professional distance. Maybe he didn’t do as well as he thought.

Riz wonders, selfishly, indulgently, unconsciously, if Kalina would have held his hand if she could, at least in the early days, when he was just a lonely child wandering the outskirts of the Arborly, under her tutelage. Until she had entered the forest, until only a few days ago, all she had done, all she could do, was provide the illusion of her comfort and support, a ghost of her affection for him.

He tries not to think about how Kalina had taken the first opportunity to ruffle his hair with pride, how she had nearly snapped his neck when he had pushed back. 

But as they move together under the canopies of the ancient trees, this woman, Sklonda - Mom, he reminds himself - hasn’t let go of Riz since she had held him while they both wept, the walls that he’s built his entire life finally crumbling after the duress of the past few days. Being sick is something he can tolerate from time to time, but crying?

He’s trying to rebuild those walls, just a little, just enough to not feel so seen. 

But now they walk together, clawed hand in clawed hand, as she clutches the arquebus that she promised him she would teach him to shoot. Every few seconds, she glances back at him, as if to reassure herself that he’s actually there, and her gaze is twisted with longing and desperation and love, the likes of which Riz has never seen before. 

Here’s what I’m willing to do for you . You’ll know what you’ve found when you find it.

Kalina had pointed the way to the mother she had taken him from. And Riz could not figure out why. 

What was Kalina trying to prove to him, if anything? That his mother wasn’t who he thought she would be, even though Riz has only known her for all of an hour? That she didn’t care if he went back to his mother, even after all of their years together? That she could still bring the Nightmare King into this world, with or without him? That he needed her more than she needed him? 

It’s too much again, that same stuttering emotion that struck him when he was sitting with Kristen at their campfire, and he abruptly remembers that Kristen, who had healed him of Kalina’s plague without hesitation, is dead.

(Make a perception check.)

Riz tries to focus on his compass, on guiding them through this forest that had once seen him as its own; every so often, his Pouch of Holding jostles at his side, but nothing seems amiss when he takes a closer look. Sklonda has taken the lead, walking with a tenacity that he has to admire. It seems as though the worst of the forest is behind her - after all, Riz helped Sklonda climb out of the grave that she said was his own. It’s hard to imagine worse than that, he supposes, before remembering abstractly that she’s already gone through it. 

As for Riz, he’s not so sure that the worst is behind him. 

“Hey.” Sklonda squeezes his hand, and Riz comes back to himself in time to see her grimace. “You okay?” Riz blinks, unable to reply before she shakes her head at herself. “Sorry, dumb question.”

“I’m okay,” he reassures her.

(Roll a deception check.)

“It’s okay if you’re not,” she says gently before looking him up and down again. “I, uh… gosh, bug. I just,” she blinks and sniffs. “I want to know everything about you.”

Riz has to look away this time, unable to meet her gaze, and barely catches the flash of regret on her face from having said it. “I’m sorry,” Sklonda apologizes again. “That’s a lot, I know.”

Riz shrugs, and focuses on the wavering compass. “I’m…” and he grimaces. “I just don’t know what to say.”

“How about, I answer a question from you, and you answer a question from me?” she offers. “Will that be easier?” She shakes her head. “And you don’t have to answer anything you don’t want to, I know that I’m not…” Riz sees her swallow with difficulty. “I’m not someone you really… know.”

“...I can do that,” Riz says carefully, because they have to start somewhere, and this seems as good an idea as any. “You can go first.”

A watery smile crosses Sklonda’s face, and she squeezes his hand again, warm and reassuring. “Alright, um…” She worries her lip between her fangs as she thinks. “Where did you…grow up?” she asks, with an undercurrent of wistfulness to her tone. 

Well, at least that’s an easy question. “Arborly, the village outside of the forest,” he says. “Did you see it? Actually, how did you get in here to begin with?”

“Ah.” Sklonda chuckles a little. “Well, after we talked on the crystal, I…went home, and got your father’s gun.” She waves the arquebus briefly. “Then I told Arthur Aguefort that he was going to bring me here, so I could find you. I was going to hold him at gunpoint if needed, but I didn’t have to.”

(Can I make an insight check?)

He remembers her last words over the crystal line. I’m gonna get there, somehow, as soon as I can, okay? I’m gonna be there soon, bug. I love you, more than anything else in the world, and I’m gonna come find you, okay? 

He knows, objectively, that she came here to get him, but Riz feels his mouth go dry again, at this woman and her utter commitment to her word and to him, a boy she hasn’t known in years, and yet loves enough to throw away everything at a moment’s notice for a chance to find him.  

Sklonda continues. “When we got here, Fabian’s motorbike was trying to get in as well, and it, I guess it was actually a hellhound? I’m not sure honestly, but it bargained with a devil for a way into the forest, and I just tagged along.” She shrugs. “We were tracking you guys for a time, and then…” She trails off. 

Riz makes a guess. “Was it an illusion? That got you off track?”

She blows a breath out through her lips. “Yeah, suppose it was,” she says, her voice dull, before she shakes her head. “Anyway, you were saying? Arborly? How was… Who took care of you?” There’s almost a pleading note in her voice. 

Riz shrugs again, unsure of just how much to divulge. He can’t imagine that it’ll be helpful to her. “Well, everyone, kinda. But no one in particular. They made sure I was okay.” That’s not technically a lie. “I kinda, helped out around the inn, ran errands for people.”

“Were they kind to you? Was there anyone…” Sklonda huffs in frustration. “Like a parent?”

Riz scoffs. “No, just-” He snaps his mouth shut, realizing who he was about to invoke. 

He sees Sklonda’s face screw up into a painful scowl. “What…” She shakes her head again. “I just don’t understand why-”

A wave of triumphant screeching cuts her off, and both of them twist to look in its direction. Sklonda growls in frustration. “We’ll talk later,” she says, as much to herself as to Riz, and she clenches her jaw as she looks at him. “You ready?”

Riz finally lets go of her hand in order to pull the Sword of Shadows in both hands, warily given to him by Fabian on Kristen’s insistence, almost grateful for the interruption. It’s not that he doesn’t want to talk to her, this woman that happens to be his mom. He just doesn’t know how. 

But the only way he can get out of that conversation, he realizes grimly as he adjusts his grip on the sword and watches Sklonda click the safety off on the arquebus, is if he’s not around to have it.

He won’t deny that it would make things easier.

As the noises grow louder, Sklonda puts a finger to her lips, and Riz silently nods in agreement. They creep through the undergrowth, and it isn’t long before they almost fall into the path of demons - an army’s worth.

Riz, through Kalina, was no stranger to demons and how they operate - infuriatingly chaotic, he’s come to know. He’s always had to prepare accordingly. That being said, he doesn’t have Kalina at his back now to ward off any unwanted attention. 

He catches Sklonda’s attention from where they’re hidden behind trees, and points up into the canopy. She catches his meaning immediately and nods, and they both scramble up the trunks as quietly as possible to observe the march below. They move towards the head of the line, at which strides…

“Fig?” Riz hears Sklonda whisper in shock. “Oh sweetie, what are you doing?”

(Roll an insight check.)

This Fig doesn’t look the same as she did when Riz last saw her - she looks far too perfect to have been wandering through a forest for however many hours. And her posture has a steadiness and confidence that she didn’t quite carry herself with before. 

He turns to Sklonda, and finds her expression twisted in fear and concern. Your mom is like, one of the best people I know. There are too many people on this side that love you, for you to do that to them, Fig had said protectively.

Clearly his mom has still been able to do some mothering while he’s been gone, he thinks, unconsciously and bitterly, as he waves his hand to get her attention. Illusion, he mouths while pointing at Fig, and he sees her expression relax a little. 

“Hi, so,” Fig says as she stops, and Riz can see the faint light of a clearing that she’s stepped into from where he’s perched, “I'll be happy to continue this little deal we've got going. Should I keep the disguise on for now?”

A voice, cold and grating as a gravestone, answers her from where Riz can no longer see. “The time for trickery is over. Bring forth your brethren.”

As the demons spill out into the clearing around Fig, Sklonda waves Riz over to her and they move closer to the clearing itself. Riz watches as the being wearing Fig’s skin sheds the illusion, and a marilith unfolds herself into her snake-like form. 

“Keep her here.” As Riz and Sklonda creep across the branches and approach the clearing, Riz can see the creature that’s speaking - the great skeletal unicorn, pawing at the ground impatience, its horn colored dark brown with Kristen’s blood. “Soon her friends will join.”

Her? Riz angles his head, watching the marilith to see where she looks, and follows her gaze through the leaves to the real Fig, bound and gagged with vines, watching the scene unfold with a look of anger and terror, her cheeks stained with dried tears. She looks a little worse for wear, but she’s not dead, so Riz counts it as a win. 

“So, no fun?” the marilith asks, pouting, and some of the demons hiss and cackle at her words.

The unicorn stamps its hoof in irritation. “By her orders,” it warns, “no further harm is to come to these beings. What greater show of the king’s power, that those that fought against his reign are now bound to him? When the King returns, they shall walk in the world, hidden as his servants.”

As the unicorn strides out the glade, leaving the marilith and her demons to surround Fig, questions rise like smoke through Riz’s mind. 

Riz, make no mistake about this - you keep coming after me and my king after this, I’ll kill you, and I won’t hesitate.

He has to wonder, was that only a promise because she hasn’t won yet? Does that mean she isn’t as confident in her victory as Riz initially thought? If she does win, would she still kill him, or keep him alive as her agent, again? 

And he can’t help but wonder…would that be so bad?

Riz feels Sklonda’s hand on his shoulder, firm but gentle, bringing him back to the present. She mouths silently, you with me?

Riz doesn’t have the chance to respond before her eyes are drawn to his Pouch of Holding, and they widen exponentially as it jostles of its own volition. What’s in there, she mouths.

Riz shakes his head - he has no idea what could’ve crawled in there. But he gets his answer when a pair of golden gauntlets reach up through the pouch and pull it open, far wider than it should fold. He curses as a golden suit of armor tumbles out and lands on the ground below in what would’ve been a perfect heroic crouch if it didn’t stumble and narrowly catch itself on its halberd before faceplanting entirely.

“What the fuck?” Riz and Sklonda whisper at the same time.

“The Armor of Pride?” the marileth hisses as the demons around her begin to howl and laugh in anticipation. Riz sees Fig’s brow narrow at the suit of armor, clearly recognizing it, before following its path up into the trees, and her eyes widen as she clocks Riz and Sklonda in the trees. “It will latch on to whatever pride you have and destroy you.”

The armor, glimmering with a sheen of red light, stands to its height and reaches up to pull up its visor. “In my haste to put the armor on,” the person in the armor says shakily, “I buckled the leg plate and I think I've clipped the tip of my penis against one of the leg plates, and every time I move, it feels like it might come off, the tip of, so let me assure you, demon, I have no pride!”

“Oh, what the fuck?” Sklonda says incredulously, no longer whispering. But there are no demons who clock their presence as the armor, with the yogurt man inside, surges forward into the crowd of demons and begins to utterly annihilate them.

Riz acts on the opportunity and scrambles to the ground, staying low and hearing Sklonda follow behind. He moves to free Fig’s wrists from the vines while Sklonda frees her face. “Hey sweetie,” she says comfortingly. 

(Make a thieves tool check.)

As soon as Riz has cut her arms free, Fig reaches forward to hug Sklonda tightly. “How are you here?” she asks incredulously. 

“Long story,” Sklonda says as she pulls back to start freeing Fig’s ankles. 

Fig turns to Riz, and her eyes are bright and her grin triumphant. “I can’t believe it, you found each other.” She sounds so truly happy that Riz feels himself soften a little, the edge of his bitterness smoothed over with her genuinity. 

He shakes it away by looking up at the scene of chaos and violence seemingly coming to an end as many of the remaining demons scream and begin to flee into the forest. Fig cups her hands to hoot. “That’s my dad!”

“This might be the coolest goddamn thing I've ever seen,” is what he ends up saying. Sklonda laughs, a little hysterical. 

A lot happens after that. A bloodied griffon lands in the clearing, with Fabian and Gorgug astride it, neither of them looking particularly good. The armor vomits out Gilear, fully dead, and Fig rushes forward to revivify him. Adaine emerges from the forest with a sword, teeth gritted and muscles clenched. All of the Bad Kids are alive and here, save for one. 

But throughout it all, Riz mainly has eyes for Sklonda. He watches as she goes with Fig to help Gilear get on his feet, and he hears her thank him for the phone call. He watches as she checks in with Adaine, with the same air of comfort that she had with Fig. He watches as she approaches the griffon with an air of familiarity, and asks Fig about her mom.

And Riz doesn’t know what to do with himself. He stands on the edge of the clearing and watches as the Bad Kids move to hold each other, and he watches the woman that’s his mother, sharp and determined, move around them with ease, distributing encouragement and kindness in equal measure, and he doesn’t know what to do with himself. 

“I found Aelwyn.” Riz blinks, and looks up to see Adaine there, gripping her new sword with ferocity. “Figured you’d want to know, since you two are, friends.” She says the word not with distaste, but with wry amusement. 

“How is she?” he asks. Gods, what he wouldn’t give for some solidarity in all of this. Having Aelwyn here to commiserate with would be a blessing - never something he thought he would say. 

“Not great, but I’m going to go back for her. I’ll need a healer.” Adaine grimaces, her eyes wrinkled with unshed tears, and Riz knows she’s thinking of Kristen. “But she’s with us, and no one else is going to hurt her.”

Riz figures the last sentence is more symbolic than anything else - he can’t imagine anyone getting out of this unscathed - but he sees the flecks of blood scattered across the woundless Adaine, and he nods, unsure of what else to say. 

Adaine fills the silence. “So, did you find her, or did she find you?” When Riz frowns, she gestures at Sklonda, who is stroking the griffon’s beak while talking to Fabian about his motorbike.

“Uh, I found her,” he says, shrugging. “Kalina actually pointed me to her.” He huffs. “I don’t know why.”

Adaine scowls. “That’s surprising,” she says boldly. “She told Kristen that you’d be dead before we got a chance to tell you about her. I figured that meant she’d kill you herself before giving you up.”

Would I still be talking to you at this point if I didn't care? 

All he can think is, but she didn’t kill me. She had her chance, and she didn’t. Why didn’t she? Anxiety keeps the questions running through his mind like water on a prayer wheel.

Adaine follows his gaze to Sklonda. “You’re really lucky, you know,” she says pointedly. Riz feels his brow furrow in disagreement, but before he can open his mouth to argue, Adaine continues longingly. “She’s so cool, and she loves you so much. She’s always helped us out, but it was obvious from the moment we met her, how much she still missed you. And the fact that she’s here? My parents dropped everything to leave me behind with nothing. Your mother dropped everything and found a way across the continent in a matter of hours, just for a chance to find you.”

It feels almost like she’s chiding him, even though he knows she’s not. You should be grateful. Your mother is wonderful. You should consider yourself lucky. But all Riz can think about is his faith in Kalina lost, and her lost with it. All he can think about is his doubt in his mother, and just how little he knows about her, and just how much he’s missed. 

He remembers what Gorgug said, about returning to Solace with the rest of them, living with his mother, going to school, getting a fucking hobby, with no purpose but to live and the idea is unimaginable to him. Is it even possible to catch up with her at this point? Is he too far gone? Did she make this journey for nothing? Did she relieve her suffering for nothing? 

Guilt twists in his chest when Sklonda turns to check on him, her smile both sad and relieved. 

“Just trust me,” Adaine says smoothly. “Elven Oracle, you know-?” 

She’s cut off by her own shock, as a single old finger bone rises up out of her jacket on its own and begins to glow with a brilliant light. 

“That’s it right? The ritual place?”

From their place hidden on the edge of the spire, Riz, Sklonda, and Kristen - breathing, living Kristen - watch over the ocean of mist. Riz sees the tree, the tree, towering above it all in the center of the ocean. Somewhere over there is Arianwen Abernant, with the crown. Somewhere over there are the Elders that Kalina had told him of, watching and waiting. Somewhere over there is the Nightmare King, ready to emerge into the world. 

Somewhere over there is Kalina. 

He nods unsteadily. “Yeah, just up the stairs. That tree there, that’ll be the broomstick.” He turns back to her. “You don’t happen to have any other means of stopping this now, do you?”

She’s changed, but Riz supposes that death will do that to you. There’s a serenity to her, that he would not have expected after what she’s been through, but there’s something to admire in that, in going through an experience like that and coming out stronger for it. 

Maybe she can give him some advice, if he can bring himself to ask. 

Kristen shakes her head. “I mean, I have, we could go up there and see what they're doing.”

Sklonda hums in disagreement. “Nope, not yet. We should get the others before we go any further.” She reaches up to hold Riz’s shoulder. “I’ve got a flare I can use, I’ll go signal the others.” She gives him a squeeze and a comforting smile. “Both of you stay here until the signal goes off, see what else you can see.”

Riz smiles weakly in response and watches as she slips away. He turns his gaze to his hands, clenched into fists on his knees, and grits his teeth against the sour feeling swaying in his stomach.

“Oof, I know that look.” 

Riz looks over to scowl at Kristen, who’s crouched next to him with a composure and confidence that he envies greatly. “What?” he growls.

“It’s weird, isn’t it?” she says, pulling no punches as she nods towards where Sklonda has gone. “Having her here all of a sudden. For most of your life you don’t think she exists, and then bam, there she is.”

Riz grits his teeth, and nods jerkily. “Yeah. Yeah it’s weird,” he says in a rush.

Kristen nods. “Let me tell you something Riz,” she says, and she leans in close; she smells of foxglove and lilac. “How much do you know about Helioism, and the Church of Sol in general?”

Riz grimaces - he’d forgotten that that was how Kristen started out as a cleric. “Nothing good, honestly.” Any time he’s had to interact with someone who worships Sol, mostly humans, he’s been met with either hatred, disgust, or pity. So he’s done his best to avoid them if he can. “Seems overbearing.”

Kristen nods. “Yeah. It’s easy to say that from the outside, but I grew up worshiping Helio. All that overbearing shit was normal to me, and it wasn’t until I got to Aguefort that I realized that it wasn’t the case. And I broke away from Helio that year, I already told you about that, but in doing that,” and she sighs heavily, “I left my family, and the community that raised me. I spent all of my life up to that point being their Chosen; they had expectations of me, and in retrospect of course, those expectations weren’t fair, especially since I never agreed to be Helio’s Chosen in the first place, but they took care of me. 

“But it wasn’t because of me, it was just because of what they wanted me to do. So when I wouldn’t do what they wanted me to, because I lost my trust in Helio, they turned their backs on me, and it wasn’t even hard for them. They act like it’s such a burden on them, me leaving, and maybe it is because I’m not around to do things for them anymore, but in the end, it’s easy for them to stand by and not actually think about why I left.” She huffs incredulously. “I’ve pretty much been couch-surfing with my friends since then, because I don’t have any other family outside of the church.”

Riz twists his mouth in sympathy. It was easier for him to go, he knows, because Arborly had made it clear that he wasn’t necessarily welcome. Clearly that wasn’t the same for Kristen. But something itches in his ribcage, that tells him that that’s not what she’s talking about.

I think that’s my fear, actually. Whether you never really cared about me beyond what I offered you, or that you do care, and you’re still doing all of this anyway.

“And that was,” Kristen swallows. “Breaking away from it was tougher than I like to admit, even to my friends. Because, it’s like, obviously my church wasn't preaching or doing good like they thought, or like I thought. And when it became obvious to me, it was hard to admit that, even with all the awful shit, that it was still comfortable to me.” She purses her lips and gives Riz a meaningful look. “I joke around a lot about Helio, but it’s easier to do that than to admit that there were times since I left when I really considered going back to my family, and just trying to forget or shut up about what I’ve learned about the world, because doing something like that alone? It’s scary. It’s so scary, because you’re leaving behind the world you knew, where it was safe and comfortable and familiar even if it was killing you in some way.”

You are either with me or against me.

Riz doesn’t realize he’s crying until Kristen puts a hand on head - damn it all. She’s crying too, her tears shining like drops of silver starlight. “But I put my faith into something new and unfamiliar, into the potential of things actually becoming different, and better than they were before. And, you know what I realized? A couple of things. One, even if I did go back, it never would have been the same, you know? Because I’ve learned so much about the world, and what it really is. My faith never would have been faith again, it would have just been fear. And once your faith and trust in something, like a god or an institution,” and she pauses carefully, “or a person, is broken, like that, like what we’ve been through, there’s no going back to the way things were. Not really.”

I think lying by not saying anything is still lying.

“And two,” she emphasizes while Riz continues staring at his fists, where he can feel a bloody warmth as his claws dig into his palms, “I was never really alone. I have my friends, and their families, even your mom, who was just Sandra Lynn’s friend, were there to support and guide and help me too. And they didn’t expect anything like the church, or my family, did from me - they didn’t make me feel guilty for fucking up, and trust me Riz, I’ve fucked up plenty. They were just there for me, even when it was difficult.”

Gods, I could never be disappointed in you, Riz.

“So believe me when I say that this isn’t my first rodeo, Riz. I get it,” she says, chuckling a little, and Riz watches in his periphery as she cranes her head to look out over the island where the clouds are gathering, heavy and ominous. “And I promise, that if you do choose to have some faith in the unknown, there’s a real possibility that things will get better for you. And it’s going to be new and unfamiliar and fucking scary, but you won’t be on your own for it. You’ve got your mom, and you’ve got us too.” 

Kristen pulls Riz into her for a side hug, and Riz allows her to, even if he doesn’t hug back. As the tears keep spilling down his cheeks, Riz reaches up and wipes them away furiously with the heel of his hand. Never in his life has he cried as much as he has in the past hours. 

There’s a high whistle, and above them, a red flare spirals out above the canopy, leaving behind a trail of smoke, and Riz hears with it the screech of the griffon. 

“Alright,” Kristen says nodding and grinning and clearly trying to hype him up. “You ready for this?”

No, no he’s not fucking ready for this. Riz nods. “Yeah, yeah, ready. So ready.”

(Make a deception check.)

“Hey, Riz?” Kristen puts her hand on his head, and Riz feels a wave of her magic wash over him, like an evening breeze. 

(She has cast Vigilant Blessing on you.)

“We believe in you, okay?” she says reassuringly. “Spring break, I believe in you.”

He’s heard the Bad Kids say that phrase incessantly in the short time that he’s spent with the Bad Kids, and he can’t figure out exactly what it’s supposed to mean, but it’s encouraging nonetheless. He stands up, and Kristen pulls herself up on her staff to accompany him back down the cliff. 

At the bottom, Sklonda is already waiting and watching for them when they return, and she smiles that same nervous, relieved smile that she’s worn this whole time. Riz moves to be by her side without thinking. “You okay bug?” she asks kindly, looking between him and Kristen.

He can’t imagine how many more times he’s going to be asked that today. Maybe if he’s honest, people will stop asking, he thinks. So he shrugs. “Not really?”

“That’s okay,” she says, nodding. “I wish I could just take you home.”

“It’s alright,” he says, but it’s clear that she doesn’t agree, so he takes a moment to look around at everyone and meets the gaze of Aelwyn Abernant. 

She looks marginally worse then when he last saw her, trekking off into the forest after her mother. She’s practically shaking where she stands next to Adaine, and Riz can see the faint patterns of lightning damage across her skin, but he sees her looking between him and Sklonda with a look of surprise. 

He gives a little wave, and rather than wave back, Aelwyn raises her hand to point at him. Is that your mother, she asks, her internal voice weary but interested. She arrested me at a house party once.

Riz can’t help snorting at this, the mental image of it too good for no reaction at all. Sklonda squints at him, and looks between him and Aelwyn. “Do you know her?”

Riz nods. “Yeah, she’s a friend of mine. Kind of.”

Sklonda blows a breath out through her lips that speaks of exasperation. “...alright,” is what she ends up saying as she looks at Adaine helping to patch up Aelwyn, and how Aelwyn looks at her sister with such love.

The griffon screeches and lands, with Fig and Gilear and Gorgug on its back, and with them lands a battered and bloody Ayda Aguefort. Riz breathes a quiet sigh of relief. Her arms are covered up and down with cuts and scratches, but her tired gaze is no less piercing as it finds Riz. “Riz Gukgak!” she calls out as she strides towards him. “I must have words with you!”

“Is she your friend too?” Sklonda asks, and Riz doesn’t get a chance to answer before Ayda is in front of him. 

He won’t do Ayda the disservice of not looking at her, however much he wants to look away. “Yes, in spite of everything that has happened,” Ayda says, “I still consider you to be one of my friends.”

She holds out her hand, and Riz is cast back to their first meeting in the Compass Points Library, where he held out his hand in greetings to her. She looks at him expectantly, and Riz braces himself and puts his hand in hers. 

(Can I make an insight check?)

Immediately she clasps it warmly between both of her hands and smiles, and with it, Riz knows that he is forgiven for all wrongs he has done against Ayda. “My darling paramour Fig has told me of your intent to defeat the Nightmare King, alongside us, and your mother, who has come here to find you.” 

Ayda turns her full attention to Sklonda. “Hello Missus Gukgak, my name is Ayda Aguefort, and your son is one of the many friends I am so lucky to have made.” It’s clear that Sklonda is a lot more charmed by Ayda than Aelwyn, and she smiles as Ayda shakes her hand as well. 

She turns back to Riz. “Nothing has given so much hope, as my Fig coming to my rescue, and of her news of you.” She smiles confidently. “And I want you to know how much I am looking forward to continuing our friendship when the Nightmare King has been defeated. There is so much of the world to see and learn about outside of Leviathan, and to see it with you and Fig and Adaine will be a privilege.”

Thunder begins to rumble in the sky overhead, and Riz feels a cold rain begin to fall through the canopy of the trees. Flashes of lightning begin to light everyone in a piercing light, and a wind blows through, as if ushering them towards the islands within the ocean of mist, as if it’s inviting them to take their shot. 

I meant it when I said it, Riz, I still want you with me at the end of this.

As they move towards the rope bridge, ready to make their way to the island in the middle, Riz realizes, for the first time, that this is going to end with either him or Kalina dead - and that the ending where both of them live is the ending that dooms the world, and everyone here that has held his hand and given him comfort and promised  him a new and unknowable future. 

He swallows against the sour lump in his throat and walks alongside his mother, clawed hand in clawed hand. 

Chapter Text

In the brief moment when Riz isn’t looking at the staircase, taking stock of their motley crew, weathered and worn and beaten and bloodied, trying to ignore the rushing cold in the bottom of his ribs, Kalina appears. 

Briefly, he imagines himself up there with her, on her right side. Maybe, in another world, he is.

“Well, well, well,” Kalina says, looking down on all of them. “Looks like you all came out to play. Very exciting.” Her sickly eyes rove over them and alight on Riz and Sklonda. She looks the same as ever, her expression calm and composed and coy, as if she’s getting exactly what she wants. A familiar expression. 

As he hears Fig scramble to get her crystal recording, Riz remembers a time when he was much smaller than he is now, and seeing her blink into existence around him, like a magic trick, smiling secretively, like it was a game, like they were sharing a secret. He supposes that they were, and to him it was the greatest secret of all - that even in the middle of nowhere, where everyone was either ambivalent or disdainful towards him, he had someone who cared about him. 

“Riz, good to see you again. You too, Sklonda,” Kalina says smoothly, a hint of a smile in her voice. 

Riz grits his teeth and flexes his grip on the Sword of Shadows - at least she didn’t call him kid. He feels Sklonda growl as she puts her arm out, as if to push Riz behind her, and cocks the hammer of the arquebus. 

“And to the rest of you,” Kalina continues, “I am so glad that you will be the first to join the retinue of the King of Nightmares.”

A cold shiver runs up Riz’s spine with her words; there will be no release in death for any of them if they are defeated. But surely it would’ve been easier to leave him for dead, he thinks again, to leave him a crumpled heap in the woods until the work was done to bring back to life later. 

She had her chance - why didn’t she take it? 

Riz isn’t spared any more time to think about it before Kalina says, “Court of Elders, time to do your work.” 

The sight of the Court of Elders sends a spear of sickness into Riz’s heart as they surround Kalina on the edge of the staircase like an honor guard - the rotting elf, the shredded sprite, the stone centaur, the bound tree. But along with them are three figures that Riz did not expect, whose appearance sends a palpable ripple of unease through the group - a half-orc with a glaive, a hulking wolf, and an elven woman with a bow, all of whom stare down at them with blank expressions.

“Mom,” he hears Fig whimper.

In his periphery, he sees Sklonda reach out and hold her arm in comfort. “We’ll get her sweetie,” she promises with an edge in her voice. 

“Actually,” Kalina says casually, “I think your mom could really use a friend right about now, Fig.”

Fig cries out, and Riz turns to see that Sklonda’s grip on her arm has turned sharp. Sklonda’s expression is screwed up in pain and fear as she groans.

“Sklonda?” he asks, feeling his mouth go dry as he reaches out to steady her arm, trying to figure out what’s wrong. Sklonda shakes her head, and when she opens her eyes, her gaze is glassy and still.

We never gave her one of the cures, Riz realizes coldly. 

“...Mom?” he mumbles unconsciously, looking for some of the warmth she had been giving him from the moment she had seen him, and failing to find it. 

(Make a strength saving throw.)

He barely manages to grab her arm as she swings it around. The shot from the arquebus goes wide, bullet gone, just like her, taken from him again.

Things devolve into chaos from there. 

Riz decides to focus on taking out the Elders and dodging their possessed allies - which now include his mother, from whom he failed to take the arquebus, despite his best efforts. 

A part of him is grateful for that, because then she would be coming after him with her claws - Riz isn’t sure if he’s afraid of the act itself or its familiarity. 

He loses her on the staircase that has become their battlefield - she must be good at hiding as well, because he hasn’t seen her since she’d slipped away from his unsuccessful grapple. 

He wants her to live. He doesn’t want her to get hurt. But he has to admit that seeing that warmth disappear was almost a relief.

Early on, he’s with Fig on the staircase, back to back, as her mother fires on them. “Bring it on!” Fig chants desperately, seeming as if she’s trying to psych herself up, as an arrow whizzes past them. “Bring it on, Mom! You'll only make me stronger, huh?”

“It’s not her,” Riz reminds himself as much as her, remembering the impassivity in Sklonda’s eyes as she no longer recognized him. “It’s not her!”

“I know!” Fig shouts back. “This shit happened to me too! We can dispel it, or if we do damage, they might have a chance to snap out of it on their own.” 

If Riz is going to try and hurt his mother - and his stomach lurches at the thought - he needs to find her first, and do something before she can hide again. 

Fig hisses and looks up towards the edge of the staircase, where Riz can see the tiny form of Arianwen Abernant in the middle of the whipping winds, and the burning figure of Killian lurching forward to the edge. “I’m gonna get up there, get eyes on what’s going on!” she calls out to him. “Whatever we can do to distract Kalina from holding this spell on them!”

Kalina is exactly what Riz has been trying to ignore during this battle, however dangerous that might be. So to him, Fig is welcome to try something.

Fig pauses to look him in the eyes for a moment before bizarrely throwing him a wink. “Believe in you!”

A surge of adrenaline and determination surge through his limbs, and Riz realizes that she’s given him inspiration. “Make it count!” Fig says, and then she’s gone, and Riz watches her surge up the stairs.

There’s a bang, and Riz twists in time for the bullet to only graze across his arm as he sees Sklonda, out of hiding, behind him, the smoking arquebus in her hand, her fangs bared and face twisted into a snarl even as tears fall freely from her eyes. 

“What have you done with him?” she practically screams in anguish, staring him down with a look of utter hatred. “What have you done with my son?”

Listening to her, a part of Riz thinks that he deserves this, that this is how it should be - what has he done with her son, but replace the Riz that should have been, the Riz whose potential ended when he smiled and waved at his imaginary friend. 

“I, I’m your…” He trails off, unable to finish as he holds the sword up as if to deter her, as if to strike her, if he even can bring himself to do so.

(Make a perception check.)

And then the other part of Riz realizes that he hasn’t been paying attention, as a swell of heat rises along his back, and something casts his shadow across the twisted angles of Sklonda’s face.

The nature of the last six years, enacting the will of the Shadowcat, and by extent the Nightmare King, meant that Riz had ended up in plenty of sticky situations, but he was clever and quick and small, and that had almost always been enough to get him out. And if there was ever a time when he wasn’t, and those times became fewer and fewer as he got older, Kalina would be there to help, with a biting word of advice. 

But today it seems, faced with his mother as she aims his father’s gun at him, Riz is not clever enough, or small enough to evade this attack. And his Kalina, his friend, his godmother, is not there to help.

He is only quick enough, it seems, to twist in time to see Killian, a burning force of fiendish strength, the ruby in his chest glowing and pulsing with red light, reach out and grab him. 

There are a few seconds between when Riz is lifted away from the staircase to dangle in the air with a searing fist of pain around his throat, and when that fist snaps his neck, and in those few seconds, a few things happen.

First, he thinks that it would be a blessing to not be revived. What would happen to him if he was bound to the Nightmare King, and to Kalina, not through faith but through fear and force? What would happen if he was raised out of the kindness of someone’s heart, to give him an opportunity that he can’t handle, that he doesn’t deserve?

Second, he sees his mother, watching him with that same hatred, impassive to what is happening to him. It’s not her, he thinks, but maybe she will still be relieved if he dies, that she does not have the burden of caring for the thing that her son has become.

Third, he sees Kalina on the edge of the stairs, also watching him.

It is only because he had a chance to recognize it before, in a quiet moment in the forest, does he recognize the expression of pity in her face. But with it is something else, something that he recognizes easily, before the pain of the fire overwhelms him. 

You are Riz fucking Gukgak. And no one gets to take that away from you, ever again!

The pain overwhelms him again when he gasps in a breath, from a body that has evidently been broken and burned badly in the short time he was not occupying it. Above him, Fig is playing her bass, the same riff he had heard drifting through heaven, a relieved and triumphant smile on her face, as Ayda looks between her and Riz with a warm expression. 

“Am I interrupting something?” he chokes out, unsure if they can even understand him. He can feel tears spilling down his cheeks, only partly because of the pain. Every part of him is in pain, but within him is renewed with reluctant determination.

However difficult getting through this will be, it’s going to be worth it. It has to be. He would like to think that his dad wouldn’t lie to him. 

Ayda smiles and reaches down to help him up, handing him his sword, and Riz sees that they’re standing in what must remain of Killian, who clearly met an explosive end. The cottage has appeared on the ledge, so now two curses are broken, after the coin. In Fig’s hand, a familiar glimmering ruby dissolves into dust, and above all of them, an archdevil hovers, evidently exhausted, looking at Fig proudly before he turns to Riz.

Riz is expecting him to bestow a vow of vengeance on him, but instead he smiles too. “Hey there Riz, your mom has told me a lot about you.” The archdevil jerks his thumb. “Can’t wait to talk to you both after this.” And with that he launches himself into the sky on leathery wings.

“Oh yeah!” Fig snaps her fingers. “Forgot to tell you, your mom and my dad are dating!” She points at the archdevil. 

Riz, only seconds out from being revived, is unable to fully process the statement as he watches the devil fly straight at the growing form of the Nightmare King, taller than any tree or building that Riz has seen in his life, withered and skeletal and spectral. 

Looking at the King, Riz feels a familiar chill, one he’d become accustomed to after so many years, on the bottom of his chest like a weight, tugging at his heart and soul.As his gaze falls from the King to the staircase, he sees the other approaching them. Fig’s mom, Sandra Lynn he thinks, with her bow drawn and face cold, flanking…

“Why don’t you introduce her to your mom, Fig, and give me a moment with my godson?” Kalina taunts Fig even as she flinches from Fig’s crystal, her features set in a determined scowl as she approaches, her eyes on Riz. 

“Go, Riz!” Ayda shouts, pushing him away, and Riz, fear spiking through him at the sight of Kalina, scrambles out of the crater that was made with his body. 

(Make another perception check.)

Too late, he realizes that he’s essentially backed himself onto the edge of a cliff, as the stairway falls away without warning into the mist below. He turns back just in time to see Ayda drop unconscious; Kalina steps over Ayda’s body towards Riz, leaving Fig on her own to fend off her mother.

“Riz, c’mon,” Kalina says. “Getting a little close there.” She reaches out a paw to him, but her claws glint in the rain and he can’t tell what she means to do. “No point in leaving nothing of you for any of us, is there?”

He hadn’t considered that possibility until then, and he clenches his jaw, unsure of whether to be grateful or not that he only considers after he’s already-

His foot slips on the ledge. 

Kalina lunges forward and reaches out. 

He flinches and brings his sword up. 

Kalina stops just short of its blade, and it rests at the hollow of her throat, her reflection glinting off of the blade. Her paw hovers over his shoulder - whether to push him off the edge, or to pull him safety, Riz can’t tell. 

“...did you think I was going to push you?” she asks pointedly. Her gaze is both soft with hesitation and drawn with frustration. 

(Can I roll an insight check?)

“You had your chance, to kill me, in the forest, and you didn’t take it.” Riz huffs, feeling his own face contort in realization as a familiar chill runs down his spine and pools at the bottom of his ribs. “You told me you’d kill me. But I think that was another lie.”

She doesn’t react to his statement, neither confirming nor denying.

Her first lie, by her definition, and her second, by his. The question he’d wound himself in knots over since it had first been raised, had a far simpler answer than he had expected from Kalina. 

She didn’t kill him because she didn’t want to. 

“What would you have done?” Kalina eyes the sword. “You know that one strike wouldn’t do it alone, right?” Her eyes flit past him to the edge. “And it would take all your strength to throw me over.”

She raises her eyebrows. “Or was that the idea? Throw us both over?”

“It’s a tempting thought,” Riz grits out, imagining it. It’d certainly put an end to his problems, both current and future. “But I just promised Dad that I’d try to make it through this.”

Kalian grins openly, her fangs glinting. “It’d be a shame to make Sklonda come all this way for nothing, wouldn’t it? But at least you’ve got your dad waiting for you. I hope you told him that I said hello.”

The battle behind them rages on, and the storm in the sky grows. He can see his allies still fighting against the Elders, but with the King summoned, it would take nothing less than a miracle to stop them now. 

“But maybe it would be easier!” Riz admits in a rushed fury. “Because I don’t even know if I can live that life with her, after everything you’ve done to me!”

“You mean, everything you’ve done for me,” Kalina corrects. “But I can’t argue with your logic, kid.” She raises her paws innocently. “Doesn’t have to be that way, though. I told you I wanted you by my side at the end of this.”

She cocks her head, and her tone is almost pleading when she says, “Wouldn’t that be better? Doesn’t it mean anything to you, after all we’ve been through?”

Riz thinks about Kristen. It was safe and comfortable and familiar even if it was killing you in some way. 

He knows she’s right. But it’s easier to admit to himself than to say it out loud. So instead, he asks, “What’s the point in giving me a choice, huh? Wouldn’t it have been easier to just kill me, and bring me back when I can’t argue with you?” He lets his bitterness seep into his tone. 

Kalina huffs, eyes flashing with indignancy. “You mean like Killian?” she says disdainfully. “What would be the point? I don’t want a shell of the kid that I raised, I want you, Riz!” 

Her brow is furrowed in anger once more. “And more than that, I wanted you to want to join us! Is that too much to ask of my kid?”

And Riz doesn’t know what to say to that, other than that. “I told you not to call me that. I’m not your kid.”

Kalina sighs bitterly. “Sklonda can stay too, if you really want. But you know she can’t offer you anything that I can.” 

Riz thinks about Sklonda’s words. I could never be disappointed in you. You don’t think I’m going to leave you here, do you? I wish I could just take you home. 

And he says truthfully, “...I know that.”

Kalina’s expression closes off, her usual look of composure ruined by the stiff lines of hurt and rejection. 

Then it contorts with pain as a wave of energy moves over them both - another curse broken, Riz guesses, the treant. With each one, she becomes weaker, he realizes. 

It’s hard to imagine Kalina as weak, much less to see it.

As if sensing his thoughts, she looks up and hisses, “So why don’t you end this then?” She steps back. “Because if anyone here is going to try to kill me, I would rather it be you, kid.”

(Can I roll an insight check on myself?)

Riz looks between Kalina and his sword, the only weapon at his disposal, he thinks. He hates that she’s right, that even though he knows that she needs to die in order to stop the ritual, he doesn’t want to kill her, and he doesn’t want anyone else to try either. 

“That’s a shame,” Kalina says, disappointed and smiling all at once, as she reads his expression clearly. “I thought I taught you better than that.”

“And I thought you’d never lie to me,” Riz says blankly, thinking. Guilt twists in his heart as that deep, familiar chill twists in his ribs. 

Kalina gives him a face of ambivalence and acceptance as she straightens up and starts to take a step back to move back towards the battle. Most of the curses are broken, but the Nightmare King has been summoned, and he can give her the power to hurt as many of them as she can as much as she wants.

“I can’t kill you,” he says as he drops the point of his sword between them. Kalina raises her eyebrow, looking unsurprised and amused. 

Riz raises his hand and digs deep, and leans into the last bit of faith that he has left in her. “But I can’t let you hurt anyone else either.”

(I want to cast Hold Person.)

The spell shouldn’t work, being used against its own source. The spell is a contradiction, channeled by Riz’s last bit of faith in Kalina, and powered by her lie. I’ll kill you and I won’t hesitate. 

He sees her eyes widen in sheer surprise, pupils narrowing, as the spell takes hold and her limbs freeze. 

In all of his years with her, Riz thinks, he’s never been able to truly surprise her until now.

He’s not even sure what he’s waiting for as he concentrates on the spell, leaning into its power. You told me you’d kill me. But I think that was another lie. He can’t kill her, but he just needs to stop her. 

Riz sees Kalina’s face soften in barely perceptible satisfaction. Her muscles work against the spell and she says, quiet enough that Riz has to strain to hear it. 

“My kid after all.” She makes a noise low in her throat that could be a chuckle. “Proud of you.”

Riz doesn’t have time to react, only to feel a surge of repulsion and yearning, before there’s a brief movement in the sword between them, and both of their eyes dart down to see Kalina’s reflection in the blade, and then a flash.

There’s a familiar bang, and Kalina’s reflection flickers and shatters into a black mist. The chill in Riz’s ribs abruptly disappears, almost painful in its absence, and Riz drops to his knees with it, looking up from the sword, feeling a nauseating warmth fill him, watching the mist swirl in the air.

Above him, Sklonda scrambles down the stairs, throwing the smoking arquebus over her shoulder. “Riz!” she calls out in an anguished voice. Her cheeks are stained with dried tears as she throws her arms around Riz, the caution she had shown before thrown to the wind. “Oh Riz, I’m sorry, I’m so sorry!” 

She cups his face and smooths her fingers over it, looking at the burns and cuts sustained from his death. “Are you okay?” Fresh tears begin to fall. 

Riz is unable to answer her, staring instead at the black mist, moving like a murmuration of black birds through the air, until his gaze is drawn to Aelwyn Abernant, haggardly standing back to back with Adaine.

She looks between him and the mist, points to him, and says, You’ll thank me for this. 

Then she raises her hand, and snaps her fingers.

The mist dissolves as she dispels it, and another ripple of energy moves out, rushing over Riz like a biting wind, ruffling his hair. When he opens his eyes, it’s completely gone.

The only thing he can think to say is, “I couldn’t do it. I couldn’t…”

“It’s okay, Riz,” Sklonda sniffles as she holds him against her, her touch warm and grounding and secure. “It’s okay, I understand.”

Fig can think of no place she’d rather be. 

Well, she can. But given what they have all been through, she’s grateful that it ended like this. 

Under one arm she has Ayda, and Ayda’s fiery wing shields her from the chill of the air. The other arm is wrapped around her mother, who still hasn’t stopped crying from the moment that Ayda removed the curse from her and Sklonda; Fig can feel her tears in her hair. 

“I was just there,” Sandra Lynn sobs, hunched over so much that she’s practically in Fig’s lap, shaking with exhaustion that breaks Fig’s heart. “I-I was, was seeing…”

“Mom, it absolutely,” Fig stumbles over her words; she’s seen her mother in some pretty poor situations, but never one that needed her comfort. “...water under the bridge!”

This just makes her cry harder. But on her mom’s other side is Sklonda, her arms wrapped around both Sandra Lynn and Riz. Sklonda had managed to stay fairly unscathed during the battle; Riz was not so lucky, with barely healed wounds from the pit friend evident across his body. On top of that, the poor guy looks utterly haunted after his encounter with Kalina. Fig hadn’t heard any of it, and she doubts the livestream picked it up. But Riz lets Sklonda hold him, so Fig figures that must count for something.

But they’re all alive, and they’re all together, watching Kristen walk out of the shimmering night sky, which is growing and blooming like a nebular against the clouds that had commanded the sky. Fig would almost be inclined to fall to her knees at the majesty of it if she weren’t already on her knees.

“I am Cassandra,” the sky says, and her voice sounds like what Fig imagines the stars sound like. “I am the divinity of mystery, and life and death are all beyond our understanding.”  

The goddess looks down at Gorthalax. “All rules may in their time be broken, and I say let this be reversed.” She reaches down to touch his chest and he gasps awake, and Fig lets out a relieved and wretched sound she didn’t know she had been holding. 

Around them, their allies who have not yet fallen to their knees do so, and Cassandra looks between a beaming Kristen and the rest of them with sympathy and kindness. “You've all been very hurt in my forest. I want to make that better.”

With a wave of her hand, a warm evening breeze flows over them, and Fig feels every ache and pain in her body ease and fade as all of her injuries repair themselves in a matter of moments, and the wave of her returning magic washes over her soul. The briar wounds across her mother and Ayda’s skin vanish, and the burns and cuts on Riz’s neck and collarbone grow away to new green skin.

“Are all of you, um,” the goddess hesitates, “the beloved of the blessed saint who has brought me here into this new age and new life?”

Adaine huffs in quiet laughter. “Well, I'm not gonna call her a blessed saint to her face.”

Kristen gives her a playful sneer. “I love them all,” she says, and her gaze moves over all of them. When she meets Fig’s eyes, Fig can see that they are shining with happiness, and she grins with pride. “These are all my best friends.” She looks at Riz too, and Fig sees a look of melancholy written across his face. 

Cassandra ushers them all forward onto the ledge, and they stand before her as her figure shrinks from mountainous to just big. “You faced many nightmares in this forest,” she says regrettably, before reaching out and putting her hand across Kristen’s shoulders comfortingly. “Kristen's resurrection journey in lands beyond.” 

She turns to each of them in turn. “Gorgug and the sphinx. Adaine and the cliff and the carnival. Fig, yourself, the end of the sleeping village, and Fabian—”

“Let's skip over it. Let's skip over it, we don't need to dwell.” Fabian says hurriedly, and it’s easier for Fig to laugh than to remind herself of the demon that wore her face. 

Cassandra moves her gaze to Sklonda. “Sklonda, and the graveyard,” she says sadly, and out of the corner of her eye, Fig sees Sklonda’s arm around Riz tighten a little. 

“Graveyard?” Fig hears Sandra Lynn murmur quietly, swollen from her tears.

“Tell you later,” Sklonda replies tiredly. “Over mocktails.”

Cassandra’s gaze finishes at the last person in their line. “And, Riz.”

Fig watches the goddess kneel before the Gukgaks, and sees Riz blanch at her act, and she remembers that, in a way, this is Riz’s god too. Or maybe not. Maybe she can ask him at some point.

“I owe you, Riz, a…” Cassandra trails off in doubt, before continuing, “I do not believe there is anything within my power to truly right the wrongs that were done to you, and to your family, on my behalf.” 

Her expression twists into grief. “For what my familiar has done, I am truly sorry. But if you feel that there is something I can do, you need only ask.”

Riz nods very slowly and says in a voice sapped of emotion and energy, “...okay.” Sklonda just nods in acknowledgement, and Cassandra nods as well, before standing. 

“Well, I think it's high time that all of you were on your way,” Cassandra says, and Fig thinks of home, of the bed she didn’t even get to spend one night in, and of falling asleep safe and surrounded by the people that she loves. 

She catches Riz’s wary eye and gives what she hopes is an encouraging smile. It’s a good thing, she thinks, that he’ll get to do the same thing. 

Before she leaves them at the edge of the forest, Cassandra stands before them and raises her arms, and the briar walls of the forest rumble as they crumble into the earth, and the forest seems to fully breathe the fresh air. 

Around them, the villagers of Arborly cheer and rejoice. A few of their party join in, but Fig sees a small number of them look at Riz in recognition. She sees him scowl, looking to the ground and pinning his ears back in irritation, and she remembers what they had all had to say about Riz.

She scowls too. “Why don’t we hang out over here, huh?” She gestures towards the little chapel, now split in half with sunlight leaking through. “Least ‘til Gorgug gets back with the van. Get away from this crowd.”

Ayda nods. “I would appreciate a moment of rest.” She turns to Riz and smiles. “Riz, would you join us?”

Riz looks between them doubtfully. He’d warmed up to them somewhat while they had been traveling through the forest, but it looks like whatever progress has been made in becoming his friend has…not vanished, but definitely been shaken.

Then again, it’s been the longest day of their lives. There’s no telling just how much time they lost in the forest.

Eventually, he turns to Sklonda and mumbles something to her as he waves briefly towards all of the people, and her ears pin back in a mirror of his own irritation. But she nods encouragingly, and Riz moves to follow Fig and Ayda. 

The chapel is a lot more welcoming now, with the sound of birdsong filling the air and shafts of sunlight poking through - just enough to give the building a little light. Ayda promptly sits down on the floor against one of the side walls, and spreads her wings out so that they catch the rays of the sun, sighing.

Gods, she’s gorgeous, Fig thinks, not for the first time. She slumps against the wall too, tucks herself against Ayda’s side, and pulls out a cigarette as Ayda gestures to Riz on her other side. He raises his eyebrows, but lowers himself so that they’re sitting side by side.

Across from them is the mural of the witch goddess, worn from centuries of neglect, with her broom and book. Across her shoulders is the black cat, with eyes narrowed in a protective gaze. Both etchings seem to stare down at them in the gentle, observant silence. 

Surprisingly, Riz is the one who breaks the silence.. “...I used to come in here to hide,” he says, “when I was little. None of them liked coming in here anyway, so. It was an easy way to be alone. Even if it was lonely.” He huffs a cynical laugh. “And to talk to…” 

Riz trails off before he can finish, looking up at the mural.

(Make an insight check.)

Fig realizes that this would be the last image of the Shadowcat - or, what she used to be - that any of them would be able to see. Maybe that’s why Riz keeps looking at it. 

Fig decides to change the subject. “I think you guys are really going to like Solace. I can’t wait to show you guys everything - the ice cream parlor, the diner, the mall…” She smiles. “I can even drive us around - I do have some sick moves at the wheel.”

“It will be intriguing to see what the modern world has to offer,” Ayda agrees. “And if your driving is as good as your skateboarding, I have only confidence in you.” She turns to Riz. “If I may ask, how much of Solace do you remember?” 

Riz shrugs, not as reluctant to answer as Fig would’ve thought. Maybe that’s just for Ayda though. “Nothing.” Fig hears him swallow. “...Kalina was careful about keeping me out of there. Said it was harder for her to protect me there.” He sighs. “Guess I know why now.”

Silence pervades the air. Outside, the sound of celebration continues, and Fig is suddenly grateful that they have privacy for this moment.

She remembers, as a little kid, asking Sklonda once why she didn’t have a kid, and seeing the poor woman’s face turn pale. She doesn’t remember what Sklonda said, but she remembers what her mom said when Sklonda had gone in a hurry. 

Miss Sklonda did have a kid, Fig. But he’s gone now, and she misses him a whole lot.

You mean that he died?

Yes, sweetie, he did. And it still makes her really sad. 

And Fig remembers her own mother hugging her, and choking up when she said that. The moment had established one of the few precedents in Fig’s life that she had not broken at this point - don’t bring up Riz around Sklonda, unless Sklonda brings him up first. 

He was a ghost in her life, and Fig feels an ache in her chest for what was taken from him, by the Shadowcat, and all for what? And now here he is, with his mother right outside, and he’s mourning the woman that kidnapped him. 

She doesn’t get it. But, she decides, it’s not worth arguing if she wants to be his friend. Hell, in another world, and maybe still in this one, they would’ve been siblings. 

So she says, “I’m sorry.”

Riz chuckles humorlessly. “You can’t mean that.”

“I do though,” she argues gently. “I mean, I’m not sorry that she’s dead, but it’s clear that she still…” She fumbles. What’s the right thing to say here? Is there a right thing to say? Jawbone would know.

Jawbone’s going to have his work cut out for him when Riz comes to Elmville, she realizes. 

“You are my friend,” Ayda picks up for her. “And I believe Fig considers you to be her friend as well. And friends should support each other when one of them is suffering.” 

“And while the Shadowcat has done wrong unto you, it is clear that her death is causing you suffering. So for that, I am sorry.” Her wing moves to curl around Riz. “But we are friends, and with our friendship, I will not allow you to feel lonely again.”

Again with the rush of admiration for Ayda, Fig’s girlfriend, taking the lead like she did with Pok - nothing less than amazing.

Riz lets out a huge sigh, as if he’d been holding it for a while, and murmurs softly, “...thanks.”

Fig breathes a sigh of relief as well.

The next few minutes are peaceful. It would have been too easy to fall asleep, but soon the raucous honking of the van horn disturbs the peace. 

Fig moves to stand up and stretch. “That’s our cue,” she says. “You guys ready?”

Ayda smiles joyfully. Riz takes a deep breath. “As I’ll ever be, I guess.”

“That’s the spirit,” Fig says, and means, as she leads them out into the light. 

Chapter Text

Sklonda is too exhausted to care about, and just awake enough to be thankful for, whatever magic brings them back to Elmville. 

But it doesn’t matter whether it was Arthur Agefort, or Cassandra, or whoever - teleporting still makes her sick. She crouches down with her head between her knees, feeling gravel shift underneath her feet. 

“Well, hey there everyone!” She hears Jawbone call out jovially, and there are immediate greetings and shouts from everyone.

She pushes the heels of her hands into her eyes to alleviate the wave of nausea, breathing in the sweet familiar smell of spring, and feels Riz tentatively pat her back. “I get sick when that happens too,” he says shakily.

She feels a rush of relief and affection. “Runs in the family,” she grumbles, before straightening up. 

They’ve all landed on the roundabout driveway outside of Mordred Manor, with the sun, warm against Sklonda’s back, starting to sink lower into the sky, and the birds twittering in the trees. Jawbone is there with an arm around Adaine and Fig, while Ragh is on the porch crying into the arms of a half-orc woman with a warm smile in a wheelchair.

Beside her, Riz turns slowly in a circle to take in his surroundings, and Sklonda watches his wary eyes dart here and there, taking in the details. From here they can see the school and hospital and most of the town, even Strongtower in the distance. 

Riz turns and looks farther up the hill to the cemetery, and before she can think to tell him the significance of it, she’s struck with the horrifying vision of her bringing him there to bury with his father. 

Cassandra’s magic may have wiped away his burns and wounds as if they were never there, but in her mind’s eye, she can still see the fiend lift him as if he weighed nothing, can see his limbs stopped twitching, and his head fell limp, can see him being crushed into the stairs while she…

At least it would have been better than coming back with nothing at all, her own voice whispers to her, in a tone that isn’t her own. 

A firm hand on her shoulder brings her back, and Sandra Lynn turns to look her in the face, Jawbone at her side. Her own tears are still evident on her cheeks, even if she’s managed to pull it together for the time being. 

“It’s good to see that everyone came home safe,” Jawbone says kindly, his eyes moving over to Riz, who has wandered over to Aelwyn Abernant on the steps of the porch while the rest of the kids hug and celebrate. 

That’s right, she realizes. He’s home. I brought my son home. 

She sniffs and nods, determined not to cry again so soon. From the way Sandra Lynn wraps an arm around her shoulder, she’s not doing very well. 

“You guys should stay,” Jawbone says. “Turns out Lydia’s a whiz in the kitchen.” He gestures at Ragh’s mother, still on the porch. “You guys can clean yourselves up, and we’ve got plenty of places to sleep. Don’t think it’s a good idea for you to drive in your state right now, if you don’t mind me saying.”

Sklonda can’t even remember what’s in her fridge or cabinets right now. “Is my car still at school?”

Jawbone gestures, and Sklonda turns and sees her police cruiser parked on the lawn. “Not the first time I’ve hotwired a car.”

She huffs a laugh. “Appreciate it.” She looks back over at Riz to see him sitting quietly and watching the kids wave at Gorgug and Fabian as each of them drive away, Gilear clinging to Fabian in fear. Riz’s lips are pursed together and his hands flex and clench methodically in his lap, as if itching for something to do. 

“I’ll talk to him,” she nods, before shaking her head. There’s so much to do, to think about, with him here now. “Gods, I have to get him a bed, and clothes, and-”

“Don’t worry about that,” Jawbone waves his hand. “I did some shopping after you left. Some bedding and toiletries, and I did my best with the clothes-”

He’s interrupted by Sklonda throwing her arms in gratitude around him. He responds in kind. “Told you I’d help out, didn’t I?”

Jawbone releases her and begins to wave everyone else inside, inviting them to shower and change and relax. Aelwyn murmurs something to Riz that Sklonda can’t hear, and follows Adaine. 

Riz watches them all go as Sklonda sits on the step in front of him. “So, we’re invited to dinner,” she says. “How long has it been since you’ve eaten?”

Riz shrugs and his stomach grumbles loudly.

She huffs a laugh when he glares at it for betraying him. “Same. If we stick around, you can clean up, and we can eat. But if you’d rather not, we can leave, and I’ll get us some food on the way home.” As nice as the opportunity to eat and clean up, she won’t take it if he’s not comfortable. 

Riz casts a look inside at where noise and laughter have started to emerge, looking doubtful before he wrinkles his nose. “Aelwyn said I could use a shower,” he mumbles disdainfully. 

“Yeah, well, she can say that about almost everyone here and it’ll be true.” Sklonda chuckles ruefully. “So is that a yes?”

Riz nods slowly, looking lost. “Something on your mind?” she asks gently. She can imagine that a lot of things are, in particular one thing that she’s not sure how she would handle. “Is it something you want to talk about now, or later?”

“Later,” Riz says quickly, looking relieved. 

Sklonda nods. “Okay, later. That’s alright. In the meantime, let’s wash up, huh? I bet we’ll both feel better after that, and some food.”

Riz nods again, looking a little sturdier. “Yeah, yeah okay,” he says.

In the dining room, Sklonda can see Adaine, Aelwyn, and Ragh sitting together in mismatched chairs around a worn table with their plates, along with an elven ghost sitting upside down on the ceiling. In the kitchen, Lydia has put out a spread of cold sandwich ingredients and picnic foods. 

“Since we weren’t sure when exactly you guys would be back,” she shrugs, leaning back in her wheelchair. “Figured you’d want something fast over something hot. And I think there’s a bathroom open somewhere.”

“Thank you so much,” Sklonda sighs with gratitude, before turning to Riz, who looks oddly hesitant. “You want food, or to clean up?”

Riz purses his lips, eyes flickering between Lydia and the food for a moment before Ragh speaks up from the dining room, his tone deliberate. “You should have some,” he states, his gaze piercing. “My mom makes the best fuckin’ food in the world.”

Riz narrows his eyes in suspicion and doubt, and Ragh nods encouragingly.

“...thank you,” Riz says to Lydia warily, stepping forward to get a plate. He hurriedly scoops a little bit of everything onto it before going to step back out onto the porch. 

“Uh, no you don’t, come here!” Aelwyn shouts imperiously. “If I can’t brood on my lonesome, then you can’t either.”

Riz makes an endearing noise of frustration and turns back to the dining room where he sits down next to Aelwyn in an indignant heap and digs into his food, with the typical manner of gusto that accompanies goblin consumption, to Sklonda’s relief. 

Gods, she’s going to be so paranoid about letting him out of her sight now - something she’ll have to deal with sooner than she would like. 

No better time than the present, she thinks as she goes off to raid Sandra Lynn’s closet for the spare set of her own pajamas she keeps for when Sklonda drinks too much to drive home safely. 

The shower feels close to heavenly, and it’s only the desire to eat and to check on her kid that pushes her to finish in ten minutes. Everything’s fine, she reminds herself. We’re safe, we’re home, we’re surrounded by people. 

Still, she can’t help but walk briskly back to the kitchen,  and as she goes, Ragh’s voice carries out of the dining room. 

“...what happened with my mom? Not cool,” he’s saying seriously. Sklonda slowly comes to a stop in the hallway. 

(Make a hide check.)

“But, she’s okay, and… I’ve been there, you know?” Ragh pauses. “I did some shady shit for someone that turned out to be pretty evil, and I did it, because I trusted him when he told me to do it, because I wanted his… approval, you know? He was there for me when times were rough with my mom, but he made it seem like he was… the only one there for me.”

A profound silence follows Ragh’s monologue, and Sklonda aches for what he’s gone through, what Aelwyn and Adaine have gone through, what Riz has gone through. 

“But like, here I am,” he continues. “Year and a half of therapy under my belt, and things are better. Genuinely. I’ve got my mom, and Jawbone - and my friends now are a lot better than my friends from before.”

Sklonda feels something rise up in her throat, and she swallows it down. Stop hiding, she scolds herself and she keeps walking. As she passes the doorway, she peeks in. 

Riz is sitting stiffly in the chair across from Ragh, his plate cleaned off. His eyes are cast downward into his lap. Sklonda clears her throat and he looks up. “Bathroom’s free if you want to…” 

Riz takes the chance to escape and join her. It turns out Jawbone has a whole suitcase packed full of clothes for Riz, who doubtfully takes a flannel pajama set to consider before sneaking off to the bathroom while Sklonda goes to the kitchen

The remaining adults are all crowded around the kitchen island. Sandra Lynn’s hair hangs damp across her shoulders. Jawbone sips at a mug of tea. Lydia rests her hand in her palm as she keeps an eye on the kids in the dining room. Gorthalax sits with his shoulders slouched to avoid bumping the ceiling.

Sklonda blows out a breath and goes to sit on the barstool next to Gorthalax, leaning against his stupidly large arm as he slides a full plate of food over to her. “How’re you doing?”

Gorthalax smiles wearily.“Well, my daughter’s alive, and she’s got a girlfriend. My girlfriend’s alive, and she’s got her son. And I’m not dead, so all in all, not my worst day.”

She chuckles weakly with him, and basks in the relative peace of the kitchen for a few minutes, listening to the creaking pipes and the joyous laughter.

Gorthalax hums. “No, I wanted to ask - are you okay? I mean, when Fig told me, I just couldn’t believe it.”

“No kidding,” Sklonda agrees. “Don’t know what I would’ve done if…” 

“But he’s alive,” Jawbone reassures her, picking up where she left off. “He’s alive, and he’s here.” 

“Yeah,” she breathes, reminding herself. Her eyes find Sandra Lynn’s, and she reaches across to hold her hand, her oldest living partner in this pursuit. “Thanks for helping bring him home Lynn.” 

Sandra Lynn sighs. “Not sure you have much to thank me for,” she says quietly. “I was…I…” She trails off, closing her eyes. Her poor friend looks utterly exhausted, after days at Kalina’s whim. “Gods, Sklonda, I hurt Fig, I thought she was…” 

The last statement pushes her to tears again, and Jawbone puts his arm around her. 

Sklonda nods, feeling herself shiver, and Gorthalax puts a weighty and comforting hand on her back. “I came so close,” she murmurs. “I could see that it was Riz, but I thought, that he was…”

She remembers screaming at Kalina, who she thought was Kalina, what have you done with my son? She remembers firing the arquebus, each one just a narrow miss, and she’s never been more grateful for each missed shot.

Well, there was one shot she hadn’t missed. 

She steeples her fingers and rests her forehead on them. She’s starving, and yet the food seems unappetizing. “I wonder if he hates me, for what I did.” 

Sandra Lynn is the only one to catch her meaning, and she makes a noise of consternation and grips Sklonda’s hand securely. “She fucking deserved it, Sklon-”

“I know!” Sklonda grits her teeth. “It’s not like, I regret it, because I don’t. I’d do it again. But like it or not,” and something fiery and angry and indignant burns within her, because she definitely doesn’t like it, “she was important to him. And I killed her.”

She closes her eyes, thinking of Riz’s haunted look as what remained of Kalina dissolved into the air. I couldn’t do it, he had said. 

So she had done what he could not, preventing him the pain of the act, but perhaps, in turn, costing the small steps that they had managed to take in their limited time together.  

The idea of Riz hating her is not nearly as bad as the idea of Riz dead, but that dDoesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt like hell. 

No one at the table seems to have a good answer for her, so she moves on. “And, after everything, I just…I’m not sure what’s going to happen now. How do you just…?” she waves her hand, implying normalcy. 

Jawbone hums. “Well, does he want to go to school?” 

Sklonda shrugs. “Maybe. I don’t know if he’s ever been to school, honestly. And even if he wants to go, I’m not sure just dropping him there is a good idea.”

“Got an idea,” Jawbone says easily. “Let him do some independent study until the next year begins. See where he’s at and work from there. It’ll give him a chance to adjust to life here in the meantime, so school won’t be too big an adjustment in the fall.”

“Would Aguefort agree to that?” she asks.

Jawbone snorts. “Better to ask what he wouldn’t agree to, and I haven’t found the answer to that yet.”s

But she still has to work. Gods, the idea of returning to work after all of this is unbearable, even if she is planning on quitting as soon as she passes the bar. She can’t just leave Riz alone all day, but she also can’t let the bills go unpaid. Not to mention, she can’t coddle him, as much as she wants to; if he doesn’t resent her now, he probably will then. 

So she asks, “Is there any chance that, when I’m working-?”

a“I’ll be here most of the time,” Lydia says easily. “And Aelwyn probably will be too. Seems like Riz gets along with her already. The three of us and Zayne can keep each other company.”

“Not to mention Ayda,” Sandra Lynn says with tired affection. “With that key Aguefort gave her, she’ll be here plenty too.” She chuckles. “You both may as well just move in too.”

Gorthalax presses her against his side comfortingly. “See? He won’t be alone. He’s got all of us, and he’s got you.” 

(Make a perception check.)

Sklonda breathes out, deliberately trying to relax, until the barest hint of a creaky floorboard from the hallway catches her ear. She can’t help but smile, as Riz walks out from the hallway, face schooled into a carefully neutral expression; wearing not the but a relatively clean set of clothes. 

Like mother, like son, she thinks involuntarily before catching herself. Does she have the right to think something like that at this point?

“Just like both of you,” Sandra Lynn says, shaking her head as they watch the kids set up for a sleepover in the living room, the sun casting a warm glow over the room. “Not good at relaxing.”

“No,” Sklonda agrees, watching Riz sit stiffly in an overstuffed recliner, watching the ongoings with a doubtful eye. “Not exactly something either of us were good at.”

“...speaking of whom,” Sandra Lynn says hesitantly. “We met him, when we were traveling between planes.”

It’s not a shock to Sklonda; death is a thin barrier between loved ones in their world. But it does surprise her. “Take a wild guess what he was doing,” Sandra Lynn tells her.

“His job, still, somehow,” Sklonda shrugs, and an affectionate smile crosses her face when Sandra Lynn toasts her success. In the living room, Kristen has swooped a blanket around Riz’s shoulders and popped a bowl of popcorn and candy into his lap. 

“Handsome son of a gun is an agent for the Upper Planes.” Sandra Lynn shrugs. “Ran into him while he was undercover in hell - Fig saw his name on her files. Oh,” and she turns to Gorthalax, “Fig’s the Mistress of the Bottomless Pit now.”

Gorthalax chuckles, seemingly unperturbed by the idea of his domain being both infiltrated and overtaken. “She’ll be better at it than I ever was.”

“But he helped us out, gave us some info. And he said to give you all of his love,” Sandra Lynn says meaningfully, patting Sklonda’s hand when she sees her starting to tear up. “Also said to drop him a line at his grave, because apparently he can hear you there.”

Oh, and that is…equal parts shameful and comforting, for various reasons. But, ultimately, there’s solace in the fact she can let him know that Riz is okay, and a strange melancholy at the fact that even in death he’s still working, even though she knows that she shouldn’t have expected anything less. 

When she’s done wiping her eyes, she looks up to see Riz looking at her, his eyes wide with concern. In front of him, Fig has started painting his claws. 

(Can I make an insight check?)

She sniffs and smiles, waving his concern away, and instead mouthing, you okay?

Riz shrugs, making a face that is somehow both a smile and a grimace, before turning back to Fig. He seems okay, all things considered.

“Don’t suppose you could give me a crash course in therapy before tomorrow, could you?” she asks Jawbone, only half-joking, drumming her fingers against the counter for something to do.

He shrugs. “And I think you need to give yourself some more credit, Sklonda. The fact that he’s still here is worth a lot, and it's thanks to you, and those kids.”

Maybe he’s right, but only time will tell, she thinks, watching her son eat a handful of popcorn and dive back in for more.

The thing that wakes Riz up from his dream, almost a nightmare, of proud eyes and a satisfied smile is the tantalizing smell of coffee. 

He doesn’t remember falling asleep, but someone had apparently covered him with a blanket when he had. He vaguely remembers a popcorn fight - and popcorn is pretty good, especially with candy - followed by the girls prank calling an indignant Fabian, and then someone had put on a movie, although he doesn’t remember what it was about. 

He sniffs before his eyes are even open. In the graying light that comes before dawn, everyone is scattered around the living room, in varying positions of comfortability, but no one stirs as he sits up. In the kitchen, he can see the werewolf man that had welcomed them yesterday - Mister O’Shaughnessy, he thinks - humming to himself. 

It’s a comforting thought to know that, even with life as he knows it completely changed, coffee is still around. 

So he gets up, quiet as he can, wondering if he can just sneak a cup, until the man turns around and startles, smiling toothily when he sees Riz. “Oh, um, sorry, Mister…?”

“Ah, you can just call me Jawbone, Riz.” He gestures at the coffee machine behind him. “Can I interest you in a brew?”

Riz nods. “Please.”

Jawbone shakes his head. “Should’ve guessed,” he murmurs fondly. When the coffee is done, he asks, “Should I leave room for cream and sugar?”

Riz purses his lips, and thinks, and nods.

Jawbone gives him a worn mug that reads My other gryphon is a car! and steps out of the way. “Cream and sugar over on the right. Oh and, your mom’s on the porch if you want to talk to her.”

Riz remembers looking over at one point yesterday evening to see that Sklonda had fallen asleep at the kitchen counter, still eating her food. How many times has he too fallen asleep when he could not deny it any longer, slumped over his work? 

How many times had Kalina woken him to urge him to continue working?

He shakes his head, and adds a dollop of cream and sugar for the first time in years, and goes out to the porch. He’s not sure what point there is to thinking about her any longer, even as Ayda’s words echo in his head. It is clear that her death is causing you suffering.

Sklonda is sitting on the swinging bench watching the sun rise. She turns when the door creaks open, and her eyes crinkle when she sees that it’s him. “Good morning,” she says, her voice a little raspy. “Sleep alright?”

Riz nods, and eyes the open space next to her. “Can I sit with you?” he asks tentatively. 

She blinks. “Of course,” and she pats the seat; they’re both short enough that their feet don’t touch the old boards of the porch. She glances at his hands. “I like the colors.”

“Oh.” Riz looks down at his claws, alternately painted in glittering black and gold - it’ll match your eyes, Fig reassured him with a smile that implied that they were sharing a secret. “Thanks. Fig did them.”

Sklonda sniffs. “Is that coffee?”

“Yeah. It’s my favorite.” He takes a drink. 

“...is it?” she says, her voice strangely affectionate.

Riz hums in affirmation and looks at her drink, which appears to be black. “Do you drink yours plain too?”

“Hm? Oh no, you could drown in the amount of sugar I put in here,” she chuckles, before pausing. “What do you mean, too?”

“Oh, uh, Dad…” and he gulps, “Dad said he drinks his black.” She’s quiet as she takes this in. “I, uh, talked to him, when I…” He shrugs.

She sniffles, and when he looks over, she’s wiping her eyes. “Gods, I haven’t cried like this in years,” she mutters. “I’m sorry, Riz, I let you - I didn’t know it was you-”

“No, I know!” he exclaims. “I know you didn’t know, it’s okay!” 

Sklonda shakes her head, smiles wanly. “It’s not, bug, but…” She pulls in a breath and composes herself. “But I appreciate it.” She purses her lips. “Is it okay that I call you that? You can tell me no, I’ll stop.”

Riz thinks about it, and how she’s used it, and how it stacks up when compared to how Kalina used kid. He nods. “It’s okay, I don’t mind it.”

Sklonda smiles and nods. “So, you talked to Dad?”

Riz nodded. “He was really cool.”

She chuckles fondly. “Yeah, he left that impression on people. Which, to be fair, was an accurate impression.” She gestures up to the cemetery. “His headstone is up there - and, apparently, he can hear us there. Did he tell you that?”

Riz nods. “Do you want to go talk to him?” she asks.

He thinks about it, and shakes his head. “Not yet.” He wants to have something substantial to tell his dad when he does.

“That’s alright,” Sklonda says, leaning back in the swinging chair. “So you met him, and you asked how he liked his coffee?”

It’s clear from her gentle tone that she means to tease a little, but Riz shrugs. “It’s, uh. Complicated.” He’s not sure how to bring Kalina up, or if he should bring her up at all. “Kalina told me that he drank it black. I wanted to see if she was telling the truth.”

“...ah,” Sklonda says eventually, and it’s clear from the way she chews on her lip that she wants to say something, even if she’s choosing not to, another quirk of his that’s strange to see echoed on another face, especially one so similar to his. 

It was easier to talk about this with the Bad Kids, Riz realizes, for any number of reasons, but mostly because, he thinks, of the degree of separation. Sklonda had known Kalina, and even now that Kalina is gone, Sklonda has a very justified and very personal reason to hate her. 

That reminds him. “I don’t hate you, by the way.”

Sklonda is quiet. Riz holds the mug of coffee tightly, leeching its warmth, remembering what he overheard yesterday, listening to her air her anxieties about him. “For killing her. I know it was the only way we would’ve won. The curses had to be broken.” 

He takes a sip for reassurance. “And I know that she hurt you, and me, and she was… bad, and wrong-”

“Riz,” Sklonda interrupts, gentler than Riz expected. “You don’t have to say that for my sake,” she says. “You’re allowed to feel however you want about it.”

Riz closes his mouth. He’s been avoiding these thoughts ever since Ragh had talked to him yesterday, putting up a fragile wall in a place he’d never thought he’d have to, a place he could never have predicted would exist. 

Riz has always enjoyed putting pieces together, drawing connections and parallels, but there are too many similarities between himself and Ragh, or him and Aelwyn, for him to be okay with thinking about. So he decides that that’s enough. 

He’s said what he wanted to say, only the truth; he feels a lot of things about Sklonda, his mother, but he knows he doesn’t hate her, and he knows he doesn’t want her to think that.

But then comes the part that there’s no way to avoid, that scares him the most. “What now?” he asks.

Sklonda blows out a breath. “Well,” she says, and it's clear she’s just holding it together, “would you like to go home? It hasn’t changed much.”

Yeah, that seems like the next logical step, doesn’t it? He wonders what home is.

Riz nods. “Okay.”

Jawbone insists that they stay for waffles, which are undoubtedly one of the best things Riz has ever eaten in his life. He eats three before they leave, placating him enough to allow Kristen to tie a braid into his hair.

She leans in and smiles. “Remember, you’re not on your own anymore.”

That phrase has been feeling less and less like a threat, Riz realizes, thinking of the sleepover antics and the inside jokes. 

“You’ve got us, the baddest kids in school, and a smoking hot mom to boot,” Kristen adds, ruining the moment.

Everyone waves from the porch as Sklonda and Riz get into the car, stuffed with a suitcase and bedding and shopping bags. He watches Sklonda buckle the belt, and follows her example, and then she’s driving down the lane and through Elmville. 

Riz watches the buildings pass slowly, sees the people walking on the sidewalks and living their own lives, and imagines the version of himself that grew up here, without Kalina’s influence, with his parent’s encouragement. What would that Riz be doing on a day like today?

Lucky son of a gun, he thinks to that Riz. What I wouldn’t give to have your problems right now.

Eventually, Sklonda drives the car into the worn parking lot in front of an equally worn building. The faded sign reads Strongtower Luxury Apartments, but it doesn’t exactly look luxurious.

“I know,” Sklonda says as she sees his face. “Your father and I moved here when I got my promotion. Short notice. This was, what, four months or so before you were born?.” 

Her face twists, and she continues sadly, “We weren’t intending to stay here for long, just enough to build our savings and buy a home.” She sighs. “After you were gone, we just, didn’t really have the motivation to find somewhere else.”

“Did you think about moving after Dad…?” Riz asks as he gets out of the car and grabs the suitcase full of comfortable clothes that he might not wear. 

“Not enough to do anything about it,” Sklonda admits regretfully. “Wish I had something better for you to come back to.”

“It’s okay,” Riz says, because Riz has been essentially homeless ever since  he had left Arborly at the tender age of eleven, and any shelter since then has been only temporary. 

The building doesn’t look any better on the inside. Sklonda leads him past a set of metal doors that read Out of Order and up a narrow staircase, each of them hauling multiple bags and cases. Eight flights of stairs later, she digs into her pocket to pull out a set of keys, and opens the door to the apartment.

Riz isn’t sure what he’s expecting - maybe in a perfect world he’d glance over the room and have a miraculous recollection of the short but loving time he spent here, with two affectionate parents, with tasty food, with a warm bed, with all the stories he could read. 

But he looks around the apartment, with tired furniture and worn carpet, and he doesn’t recognize any of it. 

He feels like something is hovering over his shoulder as he turns and looks around the place. She can’t offer you anything that I can.

“There’s not much here,” Sklonda admits as she puts the bags down. “But I think you’ll like this.”

She moves to a cluttered desk next to the couch, and carefully moves it away from the wall. She runs her hand along the panel of the wall, and Riz hears the faintest click as she moves the panel to reveal another room.

“Oh, that is cool. I do like that,” he agrees, and Sklonda chuckles, standing aside so he can step through.

It’s an office, with dust laying over most of the surface of the desk and various cabinets and chests. Riz sniffs, and catches not only the scent of dust, but a faint and unfamiliar cologne. “This was Dad’s office?” he guesses.

Sklonda hums in affirmation. “He’d bring you in here sometimes when he was working.” She smiles. “Had to keep you on his lap because if you weren’t, you’d be in every nook and cranny of this room. Was a miracle you never found any of his weapons.”

She leans against a cabinet while Riz sits at the desk. “We could turn this into your room, if you want.”

Riz imagines it; not that long ago, it would have been a dream, to be so close to his dad’s legacy, to hold it close to his heart in hopes that he himself lived up to it. If it hadn’t been for a certain conversation the other day, he would be saying yes. 

Kid, you were already better than me. You still are, because you're you!

Riz isn’t sure how to be himself; maybe he knew once, or maybe he never knew. The answer doesn’t actually matter. He thought he wanted to be, was working to be, like his father, a man he’d only come to know through dashing and daring tales. But he’d grown up in more shadows than just that of his father, enough that finding himself outside of them might very well be impossible. 

How many choices has he made to see Kalina smile with pride, to hear Kalina’s approval? How many choices has he made attempting to be like his father and ending up being like her? Enough to loop back around and use her own magic, his own faith in her, against her - and that seems worse than staying just loyal to her. 

“Riz?” Sklonda asks gently. “What’s up?”

Riz opens his mouth to speak and finds himself unable to at first. “...I don’t know if I can be…” He swallows. “...the son you want me to be.”

“...what?” she asks. “What do you mean?”

He bites his lip. “I don’t…” He groans, and slides to the floor to put his head in his hands. Why is this so hard to say? He doesn’t want to say it, but he owes it to her, for everything she’s done. “I just want you to know. I don’t know what you’re expecting of me.”

He hears Sklonda move to sit down next to him, close enough that he can feel her presence. “Riz, you’re already more than enough, and you know why? Because you’re alive.” Her voice shudders as she speaks. “You don’t need to worry about being anyone else other than yourself.” She chuckles darkly. “You’ve already surpassed any expectations I had just by being here.”

“But, Kalina,” he chokes out her name. “I think there’s… too much. Of her. In me.”

My kid after all, Kalina had said, because neither of them could bring themselves to kill the other, but could stand back and pull strings and watch them be killed, because they were too weak to do it themselves. 

And Riz promised that he would try to live this life that his dad had wanted for him, that Kristen had assured him was worth it, but he just doesn’t know if he’ll make it, Kalina’s claws digging in, leaving wounds too deep to heal before she was torn away from him - and he doesn’t want to give Sklonda any real hope that he can. It’ll just hurt her more when he fails.

“Oh, Riz,” Sklonda says sadly, and Riz feels her hand on his shoulder. “There is not a part of you that I don’t love. I loved you when you were born, and…” She sniffs. “...and I still love you now. And there is nothing in this plane, or any other plane of existence, nothing that you could say or do, that would make me not love you.”

And Riz doesn’t know how to respond to that, so he buries his head in his arms and chokes on his own sobs for a few minutes. All the while, Sklonda holds him, never moving away. 

Eventually, she says, “You don’t have to say it back. It’s alright.” Riz blinks and looks up at her, and she smooths a stray curl out of his face with a watery smile. “Just need you to know that, okay?”

He nods shakily, and mumbles, “...okay.”

They sit in silence for a spell, and Riz uses it to think. To think about Fabian and the difference between nice and kind; about Kristen and having faith in the unknown; about Fig and Adaine and their faith in Sklonda; about Gorgug and his encouragement; about Ayda and her promise of friendship; about Aelwyn and her camaraderie; about Ragh and their similarities.

He thinks about his father and legacies and identities and promises and trust. 

But mostly, he thinks about Kalina, and his mother; about the world of difference between them; about love without expectation; about fear, and doubt, and faith, and every nuance between them, and where each of them lie on that spectrum. 

How many choices? Hopefully not enough to ensure that this life is impossible. 

So Riz makes the first choice for himself. “And if I don’t? Want to make this my room?”

His mom doesn’t look entirely surprised. “Well, you can see there’s not a lot of room here,” she says. “And, we did get an unofficial invitation to move into the manor, if you’re interested.”

Riz feels his ears perk up. “Really? Just like that?”

His mom smiles. “Noticed that you got on well with most of them.  And I’ll be honest, I hate the idea of leaving you here alone when I have to go back to work.” 

“Would you want to do that?” he asks. “Haven’t you lived here for-?”

“Too long,” she says abruptly, as if forcing herself. “Losing you, and then losing your father? It br-” She cuts herself off. “It was bad, for me, for a long time. And I spent that bad time here, because frankly? I’m not good at letting other people help me.”

She says it unflinchingly, and maybe that makes it a little easier for him too. 

“Maybe it would be good for us,” she says. “After all, we’re lucky to be friends with such generous people. It’ll be something new for both of us.”

You’re not alone in this, echoes once more in his heart, but for the first time, Riz feels some faint faith that it might actually be true. 

Chapter Text

It was a blessing, Pok knows, that neither Riz nor Sklonda’s spirit appeared following their battle with the Nightmare King - now going by Cassandra, according to their reports, an eager and fragile deity of mystery and night, with only one cleric to shoulder the responsibility.

Time passes differently here, slow and syrupy when compared to the everyday rush of life. Even in the office, surrounded by other workaholics, there’s a confidence and ease and relaxation in the work and interactions that Pok can’t remember from life. He still hasn’t gotten entirely used to it. 

The point being, Pok isn’t entirely sure of how much time has passed between when he hears the voice of his son. Of his own choice, he’s stuck around the office, spending his time under the reflection of the ash tree that grows over his grave in Elmville, completing paperwork and drinking coffee, both endless. 

He hears Sklonda, not long after Riz’s spirit had appeared there. The echo of her presence on the Material Plane crouches before his grave, clearly exhausted, and her gaze wanders around, as if hoping to catch his own - but it passes over him, and he aches.

“Just wanted to let you know,” she says softly, “we’re safe.” She frowns, that familiar wrinkle appearing in her forehead. “I think Riz is waiting for something, before he comes to talk. I’m not sure what. But he’s okay. We’re okay.” 

Her voice trembles with her last word, and she drops her head and says shakily. “I wish you were here with us.”

There’s very little Pok wouldn’t have given in that moment to hold her. 

But his desire to see Riz is tempered by his relief in the knowledge that at least he knows that Riz is safe, for the first time in years. 

Finally, after a truly agonizing amount of time, he hears ghostly voices drifting across the air. He no longer has a heart that skips a beat, but the phantom feeling pulses across him nonetheless. 

Slowly, Riz appears as if from a mist. There are some differences since Pok last saw him. For one, he’s not wearing as much gear as before, seemingly more relaxed. He’s had a haircut, curls cut shorter to his head, and is wearing a pair of black glasses. Pok is relieved to see that he’s filled out some. His clothes are different - trousers and a button up. The casual yet formal style is strikingly reminiscent of Pok in his younger days, but Riz has made it his own with bits and baubles. 

His expression is hesitant, which breaks Pok’s heart, and his hands rhythmically clench and unclench. “Hey, Dad,” he says, moving to sit on the ground. Pok sighs in relief, and puts his paperwork down to lean over, resting his arms on his knees.

“...Mom will be here too.” He sounds like he’s been practicing saying the word, unsteady but deliberate. “Sorry I haven’t been here sooner, I, uh…” Pok sees him swallow. “A lot’s happened.”

“We’re actually living in the manor now. I think Mom is happier here with everyone, and I actually like it too. I have my own room.”

When it comes time to choose his room in the Manor, it’s a little overwhelming, especially for someone that has never had his own room before. 

“You have a lot of room to be picky,” Jawbone says, putting down a box in the foyer. “This place didn't exactly come with a map, but I can already tell you there’s a lot more hidden away here that weren’t listed.” 

It’s only been a week, albeit a busy one, since their return from Sylvaire. Most of it has been spent helping Sklonda pack up her apartment. It feels good to make himself useful, to have a task to do again. 

Sometimes it was a slow process, because with the packing comes memories. Early in the process, he finds a small book under the coffee table. When he opens it, he’s confronted with himself. 

His father is holding him, and the man doesn’t look much different from when Riz saw him in heaven, collected and smooth. His other arm is around Sklonda, younger, her eyes crinkled with happiness. But his eyes are drawn to the image of himself, much smaller, much happier, conceived with perfect clarity. 

He slides the picture of its pocket; the edges are worn with use, and the colors have faded with time. Any lingering doubts that he had that this wasn’t real are chased away. 

“Keep it,” his mom says when she sees him with it. “If you want.” She smiles, and her eyes crinkle. “Maybe another time we can go through the rest of them.”

Riz doesn’t have anything of his own to pack up, and there’s no point in unpacking the meager belongings of his pouch in the apartment. So on the day that they move in, Jawbone tells Riz to go pick out his own room before he grabs any boxes.

“When you find what you’re looking for, let us know,” Jawbone says amiably. “The girls have some magic they can use to get the furniture wherever you want.”

(Roll an investigation check.)

In the end, Riz doesn’t go far. Following the flow of air leads him to a hidden passage off of a hallway, and he creeps up and around through the house until he finds an adequate space with a small door that, when cut open and crawled through, leads out into the upstairs hallway. When he peers out the small window, he realizes he’s not far above the kitchen, and he can hear the comforting noise of the other kids.

It’s as good a place as any.

By the evening, thanks to several uses of a Reduce spell, there’s a bed set up, as well as a dresser, a nightstand, a desk and chair, a rack for hanging clothes, and a bookshelf stuffed with his dad’s old mysteries and thrillers.

It’s more than Riz has ever had in his life.

Late that night, he lies in his newly made bed, and listens to the crickets sing and the house creep. It’s similar to how he lived in Arborly, except this time there is no crackling fire, and no soft humming to lull him to sleep. 

It doesn’t matter, he tells himself. Kalina had never done that again after he had joined her cause. So he turns on his side and looks at the picture that he’s propped up on the nightstand. 

Obscenely early in the morning, he sniffs and smells coffee before he fully wakes up. Creeping downstairs, he finds his mom in the kitchen, and she already has a mug waiting for him, prepped with cream and sugar. 

“...there was…I guess you’d call it an adjustment period. I think she was having a hard time with the fact that I’ve had a life before I came here.”

“Don’t miss me too much,” Ragh laughs as he claps Riz and Aelwyn in a bear hug that lifts them fully off of the ground, and over his shoulder, Riz smirks at Aelwyn’s bug-eyed look. Zayn floats above them.

Riz has gotten used to sudden displays of affection from Ragh, even if he doesn’t always return it, but Ragh doesn’t seem to mind if Riz returns it - but he is careful about making sure Riz was okay with it, after he clapped Riz on the back once and sent him practically shooting up to the ceiling.

Ragh sets them back down, next to his bag, and solemnly holds out his forearm. Riz grins and holds his out, and together, the four of them call out, “R, V, S!” as they mime their handshake. 

Later, when Ragh and Tracker have gone, and they’re all gathered at dinner, Lydia asks, “By the way, what does RVS stand for?”

On the ceiling, Zayn doesn’t miss a beat. “Reformed Villain Squad.”

It had started as a joke, but it's become something that Riz has found a surprising amount of comfort in, owning the life he had before this - it’s better than pretending that it didn’t happen, creeping around it like it was a slumbering beast, when it has shaped him so thoroughly. 

And Ragh, Aelwyn, and Zayn felt the same way. So, the Reformed Villain Squad was formed. Solidarity in similarity.

Riz sees the faces of the adults shift. Sandra Lynn frowns, and Jawbone and Lydia look concerned. But Sklonda just looks sad. “I mean, you’re not…” She looks as though she’s learning an uncomfortable truth, even though it’s something she should have known, right?

Riz shrugs. “I kind of am. I’ve robbed and stolen, I’ve hurt people who’ve gotten in my way, and I was helping the end of the world along.” 

With each bit, Sklonda’s face falls more and more. “But isn’t this a good thing?” Riz says pointedly. “It's a Reformed Villain Squad, not Currently Practicing Villain Squad.” 

Aelwyn snorts. “Would it make you all feel better if we just shut up about it?” she asks the table. 

“That’s not what we’re saying,” Sandra Lynn says, but everyone begins to talk at once, and Riz decides that he’s had enough. He sneaks away to his room after putting his dish in the sink, avoiding looking at his mother.

Later, while he’s sitting in his room wondering if he should go find Sklonda rather than wait for her - because that’s all he could ever do with Kalina - there’s a tentative knock at the door. “Can I come in?” Sklonda asks.

Privacy is a novel thing nowadays. “Yeah,” Riz says, sitting at his desk with his current project, a master blueprint for the manor, and she opens the door. 

Kalina never exactly punished him - her words and her disappearances were enough to keep him in line when he stepped out too far. Riz wonders what Sklonda will do differently.

She holds herself and says, “I’ve never thought of you as a villain, is what I meant to say. And I never will. It’s tough to hear you say that about yourself. But I am glad that you have people you can bond with. Honestly.”

Riz feels bad for his snark at the table. “I’m sorry that it happened. All of it. But it happened,” he says as he slumps back in his desk chair. 

Sklonda sighs heavily. “I know. And no amount of wishful thinking is going to change that. I guess I got caught up in having you back. It’s hard for me to imagine you going through everything that you did when we weren’t there to protect you.”

She moves to sit on his bed. Riz turns to face her. “I’m sorry. I won’t say anything about it if you don’t want me to.” He’s been doing well with her so far; he doesn’t want to do anything to make her mad or resentful.

Her face is drawn with guilt as she shakes her head. “I never want you to feel like you have to hide anything from me. You’re my kid, and if you want to tell me something about your life, I will always want to hear it, and that includes the parts that’ll make me sad or uncomfortable.” 

Riz wonders if that includes Kalina, and decides that he won’t let it. “Okay.”

Sklonda nods and looks past him. “What are you working on?”

“Blueprints.” Riz turns back to the fledgling map of the manor. “I would study them when I was trying to break in somewhere. Or combine them if there were multiple sets. Here, I’m starting from scratch.” He waits to gauge her response

Quietly, Sklonda leans over his chair to look. “...sounds like a useful skill for a rogue,” she says eventually, patting his shoulder. “I think they look really good so far.”

“...thanks,” he says. “I think so too.”

"...but others have been pretty cool. All things considered. Kinda surprised they were happy to have me there. Fig actually helped me set up my room.”

“We’re going shopping today,” Fig proclaims as she emerges from her room, surprisingly early in the morning.

Riz is at the kitchen counter with coffee and toast. He squints at her. “For what?”

“You!” she says, grinning. “You’ve got a whole room to decorate! And we need to find some different clothes for you.”

Riz’s current wardrobe is an eclectic mix of the stained traveling clothes he had often worn with his rogue’s gear, the casual clothes that Jawbone had gotten for him that leaves him feeling exposed, and his father’s old suits that hang just a little too big on him. 

“C’mon, you, me, Ayda, and the mall,” Fig says pleadingly. “She’s never been either.”

Riz has rarely ventured anywhere beyond the manor at this point, but he knows he’ll have to eventually. It’s selfish, but comforting, to know that he won’t be the only one going in blind.

The mall is wild, yet structured, filled with loud people and bright colors and strong smells, unlike anything Riz or Ayda has ever seen before. Fig is all too happy to take them on a tour.

“Perhaps there is a bookstore,” Ayda says hopefully, and Riz would be more than happy to start there.”

“Bookstore last,” Fig says. “You two will spend hours in there.”

There are various clothing stores to start. “Anything that you even think you might be interested in,” Fig instructs, “you grab it. You won’t know if you don’t see yourself in it.”

Ayda starts picking out pieces that sparkle and shine and catch her attention, but Riz doesn’t see himself in any of the clothing geared towards teenage boys. Clothing was for practicality and affordability. 

He says as much to Fig as Ayda collects an armful of things to try while he still has nothing. Fig hums thoughtfully. “I have an idea.” 

Riz provides commentary to Ayda as she tries on her own selection until Fig returns with an armful of clothes that she gives him. “Try these.”

In the dressing room, he finds neat button-ups and pressed trousers, suspenders and sweaters and vests.

“There you go,” Fig says approvingly when he finally emerges, straightening it all out. “Practical, with some style. How do you like it?”

When he looks at himself in the mirror, he’s reminded of the pictures that he has slowly been looking through, of his parents, purposeful and elegant. Still though, he puts on some of his gear, just to see how it feels - he never wants to be caught unawares.

“You look dashing,” Ayda says reassuringly, and Riz nods in agreement.

Eventually, Riz realizes he can’t possibly have enough money to buy everything, so he goes for his pouch, but Fig catches his hand. “C’mon, this day was my idea, so it's my treat. Besides, I have uncursed residuals that can be put to good use, and I’d rather your mom not pick us up for shoplifting. She’ll be…” and Fig shivers, “disappointed.”

Riz doesn’t get a chance to protest, not when she sees him try on a ring at a gothic store and insists on getting him a set, not when she grabs a big bulletin board and supplies and various stickers for his desk, not when she takes them to the bookstore for an hour and spies him lingering on Practical Magic for the Discerning Rogue, and not when she insists on getting ice cream afterwards. 

“Why are you doing this?” he asks, watching his cookie dough ice cream threaten to drip. He doesn’t understand why she would be so kind, after everything that’s happened. 

(Can I roll an insight check?)

Fig hesitates, clearly picking up on the weight of his question. “You know, I’m a tough nut to crack, and all…”

“Oh yeah?”

She continues. “But I’m, like, genuinely glad that you're here with us. Feels like something worth celebrating. I just,” and she sighs a little. “I just want you to know that you’re welcome here. And making a space where you feel welcome is a big part of that.”

Riz’s insight detects nothing but honesty from her, and while it still feels strange to accept, it doesn’t feel as dangerous as before. 

Both Fig and Ayda smile, and Ayda says, “You will need to tell me how you find your book. I look forward to seeing what your magic is like. Oh, it’s dripping!”

Riz goes to save his ice cream before it can be wasted.

“...and I’m planning on going to school in the fall. I spent most of this summer catching up on stuff I missed. Gorgug was a big help.”

“What’re you working on?”

Gorgug’s sitting on the floor of Fig’s bedroom with a notebook, writing down whatever lyrics or melodies she’s come up with in the past hour, while occasionally tapping out beats to said melodies. 

Riz is here too, by Fig’s invitation. He frowns, looking down on the work in his lap. “Arcane Geometry,” he mutters.

The plan is for Riz to go to Aguefort in the fall, but he hasn’t been enrolled yet. Something about an adjustment period. So he’s been slowly working through the gaps in his education. 

He’d mostly taught himself to read. The elves had taught him some survival skills, and the gnomes had taught him some math. Kalina had filled in whenever it was relevant. So yeah, it’s spotty.

Gorgug grimaces. “Yeah, I had a tough time with that too. Want me to help? I’ve gotten a lot better with it.”

It would probably be in his best interest, RIz thinks reluctantly, if he practiced accepting this kind of thing. At least Gorgug asks, instead of swooping in like Fig. So he purses his lips and nods. “Yeah, thank you.”

So Gorgug takes a break from songwriting and scoots to sit next to Riz. He gives examples on how each strategy is supposed to work, and insists that Riz talk through the strategy when it's his turn. By the time the work is done, Riz feels a lot better about it.

“By the time school comes around, you’ll be fine,” Gorgug reassures him. 

Riz sighs. “Maybe with this stuff, but I’ve never actually been to school, so.”

“Oh, idea!” Fig shoots up. “It’s the last week, and no one’s doing anything, come to school with us, so you can see what it’s like. And then when you go for real, you’ll know what to expect.”

Riz blinks in surprise, but Gorgug shrugs. “You could hang out in my backpack if you want. You would probably fit, and you wouldn’t have to talk to anyone you don’t want to.”

The offer is tempting, and he offers it so easily. “You sure?” Riz asks - surely a high school would be easier to canvass than a fort.  

Gorgug nods, unperturbed. “We could make a game, see how long it takes Fabian to notice you’re there.”

That’s what seals the deal. 

So the next day, Gorgug pulls up with his van and gives everyone a ride to school. True to his word, Gorgug’s backpack is big enough for Riz to sit in if he curls up into a ball. “Get comfy,” he says, leaving the flap partially unzipped so Riz can peer out.

High school is probably the noisiest and smelliest place Riz has ever been, but Riz has always liked learning, so he can get over that. And while some of Gorgug’s teachers are better than others, they all value practical application of the skills they teach, which Riz appreciates.

“Rogue class,” Gorgug whispers to Riz, slumped down in his chair in his barbarian class, “is just trying to find the rogue teacher apparently.”

Riz hums, That doesn’t sound too bad. He can find someone. He looks around the room and locks eyes with an elderly halfling woman peering in the door - when she sees him, she winks and dissolves into fog. 

Weird.

What he can’t get over is how almost everyone, in class or in halls, has someone to gravitate towards, friends that laugh and tease in equal measure. He’s not sure how he’s going to find that.

At lunch, Gorgug puts his backpack on the table. “Ready to eat?”

Riz scrambles out and Fabian yelps in surprise, almost falling backward, while everyone else laughs. When he recovers, he splutters, “Have you been in there all day?”

“If you’d known me last year,” Riz says, sitting on the bench, “I could’ve fit in your backpack.”

He scarfs down the meal Gorgug sits in front of him, and Gorgug chuckles. “So, what’re your thoughts?”

Riz shrugs. “Seems alright. Everyone already has a party though, so I’m not sure where I’d go.”

Gorgug frowns. “I thought you’d be with us.”

Riz blinks. “Oh.” He suddenly realizes that the rest of them have stopped talking to look at him expectantly. “You meant that?”

Gorgug nods as if it were obvious. “I think that’s what we were all thinking,” and the rest of them nod and murmur assent, “but I’d understand if you-”

“Yeah,” Riz says, nodding, before he can think about it too much. “Yeah, I’d like that.”

Gorgug smiles contentedly. 

“...I’ve been learning some magic too. I’ve used it before, but it’s different now. It’s mine, not… not hers.”

Riz concentrates on his hands and the effect he wants to see - a shower of sparks, a puff of air, a bad smell, anything at this point.

“It’s alright,” Adaine says reassuringly from her spot on the carpet, with Boggy the Froggy in her lap. “It’ll take time. Give yourself some credit.”

He’s been invited up to the wizard’s tower to practice some magic - after all, Adaine said, rogues typically learned spells in the same way that wizards did. Not that Riz is having much luck with that.

“You’re going about this wrong,” Aelwyn says in a sing-song voice from her spot on the bottom bunk bed, writing in her own spellbook.

“Oh?” Riz says snidely, unable to help himself after so many failures - if there’s anyone he can give this attitude to, it’s Aelwyn. 

She flips onto her stomach to stare at him. The exhaustion that had lined her face and broken her body has slowly been vanishing over the past month, with time and rest. 

“Learning magic like this is different from having it granted to you,” she says pointedly. “You’re trying to pull it from the fabric of magic itself, and not someone that’s already done that bit for you.”

Aelwyn is the only one in the manor who references Kalina, and she does so without being sensitive to him. It’s almost a relief to Riz, to know that Kalina existed at one point, that she hadn’t totally vanished from the world like the mist itself.

Adaine quiets at her speech, her lips pursed in thought. “She has a point. You’ve only had an indirect connection this whole time. And you’re trying a spell that you’ve never used before. Between all of that, of course you’d be having trouble.”

“So, what would you have me do?” he asks, rather than attempt to find an argument.

Aelwyn furrows her brow. “Why don’t you try it with a spell you already know? So some part of it will be familiar, even if finding it is more difficult.”

There’s one spell in particular that clerics and wizards have in common, but Riz doesn’t know if he can bring himself to ever try and cast that again. 

So he reaches out and punctures a hole in his new pair of trousers with his claw. Adaine, picking up on his intention, reaches into her bag of components and hands him a pair of lodestones. 

(I’d like to try and cast Mending.)

He rubs the lodestones together on either side of the tear and concentrates, reaching out to pull from something. In his ribs there is no longer that familiar pool of cold, but there is something - maybe that pool can be filled with something else, or maybe there’s a way to dig through it to grasp whatever is on the other side. 

She’s gone, he thinks, but I’m still here.

The soft rustle of fabric makes him realize that his eyes were closed, and he opens them to watch the fabric knit itself back together again. 

Adaine squeals in delight, and Aelwyn smiles in satisfaction. “See? What did I tell you?”

“...but I don’t want to just rely on magic either. If I’m ever without it in the future, I want to be ready. So I’ve been learning some swordplay.”

“You ready?” Fabian asks as he finishes shining his sword, a lithe and beautiful weapon seemingly made from starlight. “Just to be clear, I won’t take it easy on you.”

“Don’t know why you’d think I’d expect that,” Riz says wryly, the Sword of Shadows sitting in his hand in stark contrast to Fabian’s brightness. It feels good to hold something tangible. “Are you sure you’re not projecting?”

Fabian stutters a little, a nervous quirk Riz has come to associate with being caught off guard, which, for all of Fabian’s bluster, happens a lot. 

They’re on the pavilion of Fabian’s house, another manor with far more unnecessary luxury and loud emptiness than in what has become Riz’s home. The other kids are lounging around the swimming pool in various states of undress, trying to escape the heat of the summer. At various points, they whoop and cheer Riz on while drinking slushies.

(Roll for initiative.)

Riz readies himself and nods at Fabian, who twirls his sword artfully, nods in return, and lunges forward while Riz dodges.

Within the minute, Riz is knocked on his ass, the breath knocked out of him. Fabian grins, swings his sword under his arm, and reaches out to give him a hand up. “Not bad,” he says. 

Riz only hesitates for a moment before taking the offering, to the jeers of the other kids as they rag on Fabian. 

That night, they camp out on the lawn, and Riz and Fabian are the last ones awake, as the fire dies down and the stars shine above and everyone snores around them.

“I appreciate you helping me,” Riz says, flipping on to his stomach to rest his chin on his arms. “Kind of you, considering everything.”

Fabian snorts. “Oh, I’ll never live that down. Hosting the guy who robbed me at my own home? But you’re welcome.”

Fabian’s only delicate in his movement, and certainly not with his mouth - it reminds Riz of Aelwyn, although Fabian is certainly less acerbic. But the fact that he also doesn’t try to step around how Riz has come to be a part of their group is something that Riz appreciates.

And that’s strange, but slowly, and surely, it has happened. The kids are deliberate in their invitation towards him, in their welcome, and Riz has been deliberate in accepting it for what it seems to be, one choice at a time.

“You have money,” Riz shrugs. “I could tell, even then. Wouldn’t hurt.”

“Only my pride.” Fabian shakes his head. “But you’re right. My papa was nothing if not successful.”

He’s quiet for a moment. “At one point, I thought being like him was the only thing I ever wanted. But the last few months have been, well, enlightening as to how I really feel about that. Fabian cranes his head to look at Riz. “How’re you doing with that?”

Riz is suddenly reminded of their conversation outside of the forest. “…I’m learning,” he says eventually. “Spent my life being told how great he was, and tried to live up to that. Then I meet him and he says that I’m better than him because I’m me.”

Fabian chuckles darkly. “My papa said the same thing when he died. Hard to reckon with.”

For a moment there’s nothing but the sound of crackles and crickets, until Fabian sighs. “But, I’d like to think we’re both doing fairly well on that front, considering everything.”

His tone is a peace offering, a handshake, and Riz, like he has before, chooses to accept it.

“...it’s all new, and it’s different, but, it’s going well, most of the time. I’ve been trying hard to lean into that. It’s the only way I’m going to get anywhere. Even when it’s tough.”

Riz wakes up from dozing to the smell of something sweet drifting up from the kitchen, despite the fact that it's the middle of the night. 

When he sneaks around the corner, he finds Kristen in the kitchen in her pajamas, with her hair hanging and flour dusted across her cheeks. Her face is drawn into consternation, one of the many emotions that he’s seen since her girlfriend had left for Fallinel. 

He decides not to spook her by sneaking any more and quietly clears his throat. She blinks. “Oh, sorry.” She blinks again as if to wake herself. “Did I wake you?”

“Not really,” Riz says, shrugging. “My sleep schedule is pretty fucked anyway. What are you making?”

She turns back to the oven. “Cornbread.” She sighs heavily. “It’s a…habit, I guess. Hardest one to break. But it’s… comforting, kind of.”

When the corn bread has finished, they sit at the counter together and slice it up. “Butter’s a classic,” Kristen says flatly. “But you can’t go wrong with really any kind of jam or jelly.”

The bread is warm and crumbly after coming out of the oven. Even through the jam and butter, the sweet taste of corn is strong enough to be almost cloying. Riz eats it anyway. “So, this is a habit?” he asks eventually.

“The cornbread is,” she admits. “I used to make it all the time when I lived with my parents, doing Heloic stuff.” She puts a small piece in her mouth and talks while she chews. “I still bake a lot, because I do actually enjoy it, but I only end up making this when…”

She shrugs and sighs and says reluctantly, “When I doubt my doubt.” A pause. “Nothing’s linear.”

Sometimes he thinks there are two sides to Kristen - one where she provides the most insightful pieces of guidance or reassurance that leaves him reevaluating his worldview, and another where she tells him through a mouthful of hot chips that he has a smoking hot mom.

But this moment in the kitchen is definitely from the first side, and feels like something of a confessional. Riz chews his lip and admits, “Sometimes I miss her,” he admits. 

Kristen is quiet, but when he looks at her for judgment, she only looks patient. The level of patience that Riz has received from everyone is so stressful, he almost wishes that she had a biting comment in return, that they were all a little meaner because that would be easier, and then…

“And then I feel guilty about it, because I think about my mom, and everything she’s done for me, and what you guys have done for me, and…”

And he wishes the guilt were enough. He wishes that everything that everyone does was enough. Enough to make him stop betraying Sklonda by missing Kalina. But maybe he’s always meant to betray - isn’t that how he helped kill Kalina in the first place, using her own power against her?

“Hey, hey,” Kristen says, and her warm hand covers his own cold hand on the counter. “It’s okay. I get it. It doesn’t make you bad, or weak. It just is.”

She absolves him so easily - every one of them does this so easily. Nothing in Riz’s life has ever been easy.

“What’s gonna happen is this.” Kristen picks up another piece of cornbread. “We’re gonna finish the cornbread, and we’re gonna go to bed, and digest it. And then tomorrow, we’re gonna move on and keep living. These kinds of moments will happen less and less, but when they do, we can make cornbread, and do it all over again.”

Riz sighs, and eats another piece. Kristen is a good baker, he thinks. And a good friend. “Yeah,” he nods. “Yeah, okay.”

She insists on showing him a movie afterward, and he wakes up across from her snoring on the couch while they share a huge blanket, and he hears his mom making coffee in the kitchen.

“...but, maybe not too hard. I don’t want to be a cleric again, despite the offer. My magic is my own now, and I want it to stay that way.”

The air is cool and crisp, just enough to be refreshing rather than uncomfortable. Riz opens his eyes and stares into an endless night, filled with stars and nebulas. Around him, he can hear the swaying and rustling of the trees. He might be dreaming, but if he’s not, this isn’t so bad.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” someone says next to him, voice earnest. Riz turns and sees a figure with a purple shirt and denim shorts, seemingly made of the same material as the sky above. 

“Hi there, Riz,” Cassandra says, quiet and nervous.

“...hi,” he says, feeling something tighten in his chest at the sight of them. He wasn’t ready for this. He didn’t think this was a thing he needed to be ready for. Maybe that was foolish, in hindsight.

Cassandra turns so that she’s facing him, with her arms around her legs in a way that is reminiscent of Kristen, but a little more reserved. “I, uh, I wanted to talk to you, if that’s alright. About, you know…” and she waves her hands, “everything that happened.”

“Okay. But I’m not…” Should he not argue with a goddess? “Sorry, but I don’t know what there is to say.”

Cassandra grimaces. “Well I, I know I said I was sorry before, but, I wanted to say it again. For everything Kalina did.” They look down shamefully. “Everything she did was in my interest, even if it wasn’t at my behest.”

Riz swallows, remembering claws at his throat. He had told her that her goddess was gone. In a way, she still is - or at least, Riz doubts she’ll ever be the same as Kalina remembered her. 

I know how far I'm willing to go for something I care about. How far had she gone for him? Farther than he had thought once her manipulation had been revealed, but had it been out of affection or possession? 

He’s coming to accept that he’ll never know. Probably.

“I do have a question,” he asks. “Is there any chance  that… that Kalina could come back? Since your other curses reverted.”

Cassandra blinks, looking interested. “Yes,” they say. 

Riz feels his jaw drop, just a little. “When she was dispelled,” they continue, “she returned to her original form as a familiar spirit. But I have not summoned her - although her interests would be aligned with my own, I understand that presence would not be welcome after everything that she has done. And besides,” Cassandra says, “I have Kristen to be my friend.”

(Make an insight check.)

Riz can hear a little strain Cassandra’s voice when she speaks, but with his own thoughts swirling, he can’t figure out why. He wonders if Kalina would be the same, or how she would be different. He wonders if he should ask. 

“Would you like for me to summon-?”

“No,” he says quickly, giving himself away. His heartbeat picks up at the idea, before he can even visualize it. The idea of facing her again after everything that happened is nothing short of terrifying, even if she’s different with Cassandra as her goddess. 

He’ll stick with drinking coffee with his mom every morning, and eating cornbread with Kristen when the craving hits. “No,” he repeats, steadier this time.

They nod sadly, pursing their lips. “I understand. But I suppose this means that asking you to join my retinue is out of the question as well.”

“Huh?” is all he can think to say.

“That was the other thing I came here to do,” she says. “You were a part of it before, using my magic through your faith in Kalina. And I wanted to offer it to you as I am now, with no lies, or expectations, or fear, for you to use however you want - as a cleric, or a paladin, or a warlock, the choice would be yours.”

“That’s…” Riz sighs. “That’s very generous of you. And I appreciate what you stand for.” He does, truthfully. With help from Kristen, he’d leaned into the faith that even in the face of the unknown, things would be okay, and they have been. 

Their face falls with his words, already knowing what he will say next. 

“But I don’t think I can do that again.”

Cassandra sighs, disappointed, but she nods. “I understand,” she repeats. “Thank you for hearing me out.”

Riz doesn’t have a chance to respond before she waves her hand and the dream dissolves.

"Mom was grabbing us lunch. She has the day off, and she took me to the shooting range today. She’s… honestly, she’s been awesome.”

“Tell me,” his mom says, pulling the arquebuses out of her bag, “what are the rules of firearm safety?”

She’d insisted he know them by heart before bringing him here. The range is quiet, and the shade provided by the wooden canopies is a blessing in the late days of summer. 

“Assume every firearm is loaded,” Riz says first, leaning against the counter. “Always check it for yourself.”

“Good.” She pulls out a box of ammunition, and brushes her hair behind her ear. She looks different from when Riz pulled her out of the grave she had dug, healthier and happier. 

Is that why he looks different? He’s been around more mirrors in the past few months than he has in his entire life, and slowly, he’s watched himself change.

There are obvious changes, like his clothes, and the glasses, which Sklonda had taken him to get after noticing him squinting, and the hair, which Fig had fixed up in the bathroom last week with a pair of scissors and an electric razor. 

But there are other changes too that aren’t as obvious - he only knows that he looks very different from the kid that arrived in Elmville during the spring. 

He shakes his head. “Don’t shoot until you know your target and what’s around it,” Riz continues, looking at the weapons. His mother’s arquebus is worn with time and age and care. His father’s arquebus has more bells and whistles, sleek and dark. 

His mom nods. “Halfway there.”

“Keep your finger off of the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.” Riz looks at his father’s gun as it glints, and remembers the last time that he saw it glint like that.

“One more,” she encourages.

He closes his eyes, hearing the shot and watching Kalina shatter into mist.“Don’t aim it at anything you’re not willing to destroy.”

“Got ‘em,” his mom says. “You okay?”

Riz takes a breath. “Yeah, yeah I’m good.”

She eyes him with some concern, but he nods reassuringly. “Alright,” she says. “Which one do you want to use? Your dad’s is a little fancier-”

“Yours,” he says quickly. “Is that okay?”

“Yeah,” she nods, and he thinks she understands why, even if she doesn’t say, and he’s grateful for it. He smiles to show her as much, and she smiles too.

Sklonda walks him through the different ways to hold it, with one or both hands. When she’s satisfied with his position, she shows him how to load ammunition properly. 

“Inhale, exhale slowly,” she instructs as Riz raises the arquebus. “Pick your target, take your time.”

Riz does just that, keeping his finger off of the trigger like she had taught him, and picks a spinning target. He takes a deep breath and flexes his feet in his shoes, grounding himself, reminding himself of where he is and who he’s with.

When he squeezes the trigger, the bullet clips the tree next to the target. He hisses in mild frustration, but his mom chuckles. “Not bad.” 

By the time they’re done, he’s fired a few dozen shots and hit more than a few targets. “It’ll take time,” Sklonda reassures him. “We can come again another time. Or maybe set up something in the backyard if the others don’t mind.”

She walks him through basic cleaning and maintenance. “So, you feel badass?”

He shrugs. “On my way at least.”

She hums, and they work in silence for a minute. “I just wanted to say,” she says eventually, “that I’m really proud of you.”

Riz quiets while she speaks. “These last months have been, well, a lot. For both of us, but especially for you. And you’ve…” His mom sighs. “I know it hasn’t been easy, but I see you trying, and I think you’ve handled it really well, all things considered. And I’m so grateful that you’re here.”

She turns to look at him, and her gaze is gentle. “And I don’t just mean that you’re alive, but that you’re choosing to stay here. I was… I thought that, after everything, that you wouldn’t want to come back here with me, and, I’m… I’m just really glad that you did.”

His mom sniffs, but she doesn’t cry, steadier and more confident in her words than she was when they had first met. 

It’s strange to receive pride for just being rather than doing, for just living rather than acting. Kalina’s pride in him, however much he had craved it, had been rare, and conditional, given on her terms with her satisfaction in him.

Riz had thought, initially, that he would try his best to just not think about Kalina. Surely that would help, and he thought it did, until the smallest thing would strike him with moments of sudden grief and longing and anger and guilt that twisted his ribs until it was hard to breathe.

There would be no stopping those moments, he realized, but they could be managed, and they did not mean that he was unworthy of the people around him. 

She would remain a part of him, he’d accepted, in the way he crept in the shadows, in the biting wit and sarcasm that slipped out, in the general mistrust with which he approached the world. But, she was no longer the only one that he could rely on. And he knew that, whether she returned or not, he did not want to return to the life he had lived. 

His mother is proud of him for just learning about himself and reaching out to others. She’s gracious to him just for choosing to stay. She loves him just for existing. And accepting that, he finds, is easier now than it was months ago. 

“I’m glad I did too,” Riz says, honestly, and her eyes shine. 

He carries the bag back to the car, and when they get in, he asks, “Could we uh, go see Dad, when we get back? I think I’m ready to talk to him.”

She smiles. “Of course we can.”

“...so between the magic, and the sword, and the arquebus, and everyone, I’m actually looking forward to school in a couple of weeks.” 

Pok watches Riz smile to himself at the thought, and feels utterly grateful that his son has something so mundane to look forward to. 

Riz picks at the cuticles of his claws. “I guess I was waiting to do this because, well.” He sighs. “At first, I just wanted to be able to tell you something more substantial beyond the fact that I lived. But honestly, I think I was afraid of letting you down.”

Pok works his jaw as Riz runs a hand through his hair. “You asked me before to trust Mom, and to trust that things would be okay, and I knew I was going to try, but I wasn’t sure if I could do it.” 

His son looks up, gazes around at the landscape that Pok can’t see. “But I guess I’m doing it. It’s not done - don’t know if something like that can ever be totally done, honestly. But I’m doing it.”

Riz falls quiet, but he looks proud and relieved, and once more, there’s very little Pok wouldn’t have given in that moment to hug his son. 

Riz’s eyes fall on something Pok can’t see yet, and he watches Sklonda walk into view, ruffled by the outdoors and grinning, carrying a lunchbox. “Perfect day for this,” she comments, and Pok is privileged to see the sun of the Material Plane shining off of her hair and fangs. 

She settles down on the other side of the grave and says casually, “Hey honey.”

“Hey sweetheart,” he murmurs, feeling his heart swell with happiness as he watches her settle onto the grass comfortably and pass a sandwich from the lunchbox to Riz. 

They stay for a while, as the sun moves across the sky, and even in heaven, Pok finds himself crying, quietly so as to hear them talk. Sklonda tells them about law school; Riz demonstrates his new knowledge of Prestidigitation; they talk about getting school supplies next week, and they talk to Pok as well, including him in conversation without the expectation to answer. They talk together with new familiarity and old affection and conscious connection. 

It’s the closest that the three of them have been in the last thirteen years, and it's the closest they’ll be until the far day in the distant future when they’re all together again. 

Pok will happily wait for it - he imagines that they’ll have even more to tell him about the lives they’ve led when they arrive. He looks forward to listening.