Twenty-Sixth Entry

“Awright, all. I’m heading to the Miner’s Exchange.”

She had already told us that she intended to be more outspoken with us. To try and communicate in a way that would benefit the team and not just her own agenda. But even with that warning in place, Ragar’s declaration still had us raise our sights. No slipping away without a word, no vanishing into shadow. She spoke her intentions plainly.

It felt so new. I hoped this would stay.

I’m unsure whether my earlier suggestion nudged Jack into it or if he was simply fed up with being excluded from whatever secrets might unfold there, but he stepped up.

“I’ll go with you,” he said immediately.

Back straight, shoulders broad, maw clenched in a way that would make any common humanoid shrink away. But us who knew him saw it was the most idle he could naturally be while speaking earnest business.

She only slightly lifted her brows in response before she motioned him to follow.

Progress, as I’ve come to see, rarely announces itself with fanfare. It often shows itself like this—so awkward and unpolished. But it always followed intentional steps.

In that spirit, I thought about my own next steps. The funds recovered from Wave Echo Cave had yet to be tallied and I yearned to know how close I was to affording that Legend Lore ritual. Would that mean more time with Raph’æl, as he taken ahold of the gems and gold as our treasurer? I ignored the tug in my chest. Yes, I wanted to remain near him. The road constantly seemed to press us close again. But I did not want to remain in this image of something clinging and small. Only one of those is one I can’t help.

Either way, he went his own way. North of the square. Past the Shrine of Luck.

Stop.

Yes. It was best I used this time to aid someone. Just as they had done for me.

Super, meanwhile, muttered about the declining state of his pickle reserves.

“I shouldn’t buy them,” he said gravely to no one in particular. “Making them is part of the process.”

Part of what makes them special to him, I suspect.

The memory surfaced easily—the farm I had once dowsed for components.

“I know where we can go,” I offered.

And so I led him to the Alderleaf farm.

The walk was pleasant. Super was not often one to talk unless caught in a tangent about his interests or exploits. So the distant barters of the townsfolk filled the silence until the southern outskirts led us to nothing but bird calls, bovine song and our own footsteps. Honest dirt beneath us. The smell of tilled soil and early harvest.

I hung back by the fence while Super negotiated a barrel’s worth of cucumbers from Mrs. Alderleaf with surprising competence. Out the corner of my eye, I saw little Carp repeatedly running to and kicking off a post.

I hummed a laugh. A future little rogue, I imagined.

He spotted me.

His face lit like sunshine.

“Oh! You’re back!” he cried out as he ran over. I had tried not to bring attention to myself, but I suppose that was too much to ask while wearing a shining brass mask and bright, repurposed vestments against the backdrop of a deep wood. “You did that magic last time! You said you’d show me more!”

I had promised. So I did.

A child did not require a grand or dangerous gesture. Simple, playful Prestidigitation brought him the greatest of toothy grins. Bursting lights, shifting colors and the faint illusion of butterflies made from dust motes and sunlight. The kind of harmless tricks I used to practice alone when my magic first awakened.

Before it was forced into ritual.

Before it became my burden.

Little Carp cried out like I had conjured the heavens.

For that lovely and brief time, I remembered what magic felt like before I had no choice but to weaponize it.

Super bounded up to us eventually. “Hey, uhh… can you pay for me?”

I blinked. Surely I looked like nothing more than a statue. But I had forgotten that the monk never carried a purse. “Oh… of course. How, uhh—?”

“Four gold. And a copper.”

I hesitated only briefly. I had been saving for that ritual and Sister Garaele’s assistance did not come cheaply. But coin returns. Answers do not always.

I’ll manage, I thought as I handed over the payment. It seemed that part of the payment arrangement was for his purchase and brine to remain on their premises until they were properly pickled.

We said our goodbyes and walked back toward the square. Super seemed more at ease. Maybe now that he was in a better mood…

“Super,” I ventured gently, “Gwynn— ah, Lady Oresong… she seemed to know you from the past. She’s a studious sort, maybe part of a team with a directive once, right?”

He seemed to be looking past me.

Not uncommon. Still frustrating.

“Do you… still have a directive?” I had to know. That moment in Wave Echo Cave, absolutely carefree after all the carnage, still spun inside my mind. This felt like an opening. One that seldom came about.

He paused mid-step. Belched into his hand.

“Oof. Felt that one. You know when it’s those kind of burps that feel like they’ve been sitting on your chest for a bit?”

“Yes, but—“

“I actually thought it was gonna go down the other end for a minute there. That would have been pretty bad with you behind me, huh?”

“S-Super—”

“Anyway, I’m hungry,” he said brightly. Then bounded off.

I stared after him. Should I really stop trying to learn anything about him?

An unexpected presence approached me as I stood there, stupefied. But I didn’t recoil from it. It was a familiar one.

“Don’t mind him.” Raph’æl, having heard part of the exchange, stepped closer. His voice was low and kind as he placed his weight upon his staff of adornment. “Sometimes people with difficult pasts aren’t very direct with their answers.”

I exhaled slowly. Then nodded.

I should know that better than anyone. Maybe it’s best to leave him be.

Silence followed us for a stretch. In my rumination, it did not truly strike me that we were actually having a moment together… until he brought it up himself, just before we reached the populated section of the square.

He asked me, almost bashfully, “Fanesca, I must know… how are you able to see without any aperture in your mask? I’ve… been meaning to ask for so long, but… we’re rarely alone and I didn’t want to put you on the spot in front of the others.”

I hoped I wasn’t visibly trembling. A multitude of realizations hit me at once. We were alone right now. He must have been holding onto this question for so long as he’s even hushed Jack from speaking of it. They’ve wondered this among themselves without addressing me. Out of fear? Respect? We’ve known each other for a few months and this is the first time anyone had bothered asking.

And it had to be him.

“I suppose it’s just how it was meant to be,” I said noncommittally.

“…I don’t understand.”

“I can’t explain it any other way.”

His brow furrowed. “As in… you don’t know? Or you refuse to?”

“I… really don’t know. Like The Spectator said… it’s a part of me. And I really don’t understand how.”

In retrospect, I could have told him how the mask came to my possession. He would understand why I needed one. He already knows there’s ruthless people searching for me. He knows that my very visage could spell their deaths. But I was so fearful. Fearful of creating more questions. More doubt. So afraid of that any sort of additional information could be divined.

I can’t let The Messengers find you.

I can’t lose you.

“Then I’ll make it a mission,” he said firmly, tapping his staff and standing as tall as he could muster. “I will help you find the answer.”

“Why?”  No.

“Why not?”

“You don’t have to.”  Don’t do this.

“Who said I had to? You and I are friends, Fanesca,” he shrugged his shoulders and smiled so effortlessly. “I don’t wish to help you out of any sort of obligation, I just… care about you.”

I stood there. just lost for words. If this was any sort of common virtue of the surface world, why was he the only who had spoken it to me so plainly?

One gesture gave me respite. His eyes were earnest—they always were. But the way he nervously fiddled with the holy symbol beneath his pauldron… the bound hands of Ilmater… they told another side of the story. The side that I needed to hold onto for dear life: this is his doctrine. Even if he felt unclean and unfitting to declare His name, Raph’æl was still an Ilmatari. He was just being a good cleric.

The gods are testing my fragile heart.

We reached the southern end of the market district and sat upon an open bench. I took in my surroundings gratefully, even if just a bit uncomfortable.

Over the course of our spelunking and return to the town, I somewhat successfully convinced myself that I could not learn more of my past or properly plan for my future without going through that ritual first. It would help me embrace the present for what it was. It’s what’s here… and I would need to nurture it for as long as I possibly could.

And maybe still ending up with a seat next to Raph’æl before twilight’s arrival was proof that I didn’t need constant tethering to be close to him. Maybe we weren’t ending things at the rate that I feared.

But we shall see.

I watched as Raph’æl unwound a length of copper wire from around his wrist and began fiddling with it, eyes distant.

“I want to send a message to Finnegan,” he said. “Could you help me talk through something concise?”

He asked me.

Such a simple request.

But it felt like an honor.

“Well… we could ask him to meet us here in town,” I suggested. “Let him know there is no hostility against his departure. Just concern. And we can explain terms fully as we lead him to Wave Echo Cave.”

He nodded, but his hands trembled slightly.

“You’re casting Sending,” I reminded him. “He can reply.”

“Yes, but… what if the message doesn’t arrive?” His voice dropped. “It would mean he’s perished. Or if he chooses not to respond… that would just—”

Quiet swallowed the rest. The true test of this message was their friendship. They had traveled together for so long just for the wizard to up and leave. The last thing one would wish to face… is the possibility of a broken bond being one’s fault.

“I understand,” I said. I really did.

I wanted to say I’m here for you. But the words stuck in my throat. I had a feeling that if I said them out loud, they might be misconstrued.

Or worse; perfectly read.

Instead, I placed my hand gently on the armored length of his forearm. A small, supportive pat.

A deep inhale. His face was obscured to me by his posture. But no more than a moment passed before he sat up straight and sharply pulled the wire taut. From end to end, it glowed in amber splendor. The spell was cast. Now he just needed the message. Twenty-five words.

“Hey, Finnegan. It’s Raph,” he rasped. “We miss you. Are you okay…?”

With every word the spell deciphered, the wire strummed and the glow contracted. It was coming to a center-point.

I motioned for him to continue.

“H-How are you doing?” An uneasy smile crept upon him. “Please tell me if you need any help…”

The amber glow was nearly reduced to a shining bead.

Room for three words left.

He swallowed. “…Love you, man.”

And with that, the light twanged right off the wire, dispersed into the air like fireflies. It’s a precious spell to watch unfold. Nearly as precious as seeing this informal, youthful side to Raph’æl that he personally reserved for his dearest friend.

Ten seconds.

His shoulders went rigid.

Ten more.

Then he exhaled a soft, breathless laugh.

Relief transformed him.