Storm wind roared and sent my cloak whipping behind me, threatening to tear it away from my back. I looked up, up at the massive torrent of soil. Thousands of tons of it. It crashed down with the force of a tsunami, five hundred meters away. I reached behind my back. To my lute case. I retrieved the instrument as the avalanche shattered the trees.

Four hundred meters away.

My fingers moved over the strings and the song rose. An eternal second. The same as Avnlasce. Time slowed, crawling, and the wind went from a gale to a breeze and the violent torrent of mud slowed to a snail’s descent. The world around us ran through molasses, sparing only the children and myself.

I turned to the kids behind me, baring the Traveler’s grin. A small amarid girl, no older than ten. I met the child's eyes and spoke with the Traveler's voice.

“Heya, kiddo. Found yourselves in a pretty shitty situation, eh?”

Three hundred meters away.

The girl stared at the crawling mud, enough to swallow their village whole. She was a small, short-haired girl no older than eight years old. But instead of the panic and crying I expected, she narrowed her eyes at me in childish indignance.

“That’s a bad word,” she accused. I laughed.

Two hundred fifty meters.

My body copying the Traveler’s mannerisms, I jerked my thumb behind me. Toward the mass of broken trees, boulders, and rain-drenched soil threatening to swallow us whole. “This kind of situation warrants a good curse, don’t it?”

“It’s still bad,” she replied, before pausing. She looked up at me. “Are we going to die?”

“Depends. Do you want to?”

“Not really.”

One hundred fifty meters.

“Atta girl,” I said, grinning. “I’m here to help. But certain annoying rules make sure I gotta do something first, eh? Let’s make a trade.”

She stared at me, and I didn’t wait for a reply. I forced Traveler down and stopped wasting time. I pointed to a familiar bump in her apron’s pocket. The kind all kids had.

“Got a candy?”

The younger kid nodded. I held my hand out.

One hundred meters.

“Gimme that.”

She hesitated, “This is really good candy, though.”

I raised an eyebrow at the little girl, “This candy worth more than your village?”

She seemed to think, much to Traveler’s amusement. Seventy meters. “…Um, maybe not,” she finally said, handing me the candy.

I took it and turned.

Fifty meters. I faced the flood.

“You’re a mercenary, like the ones that come by,” the young girl said, behind me. “I heard you guys were gold-loving scammers. Why aren’t you asking me for any?”

Traveler and I popped the candy into my mouth. We grinned. Thirty meters.

“I’m an immortal, kiddo. Not a mercenary. And let me tell you the thing about an immortal’s trades—”

Fifteen meters.

“—Gold can be sold, but kindness is priceless.”

Stop showing off to children and get to work, I thought, and in my mind, Traveler laughed. As a weave, as one, we lowered the lute. We raised my bansuri as the mud crashed at the base of the mountain with a massive roar. It continued towards us.

Then I played an immortal’s song...

And the world listened.

The village was in chaos. Sahlia heard the adults rushing out behind her, shouting, desperately searching for casualties and damage. But there were none thanks to the pale man from before. The one who’d taken her candy. People were around her, thanking the Ancestors in relief. But Sahlia could only stare ahead.

Her eyes shone.

In front of their village, the mighty tide of mud was split in half. Right down the center. The rocks around it had been cleaved in two, the trees cut as if chopped by an axe, and the mud completely parted. It curved around their force dome, avoiding it completely. There was no damage. Not a hair of misplaced soil on village ground. Not on their fields, or their coops, or their houses.

She heard the chaos behind her settle down as everyone was accounted for. Her uncle, the village chief, approached. He sighed in relief and picked her up, taking her into his thick smithy’s arms. He whistled at the sight of the split mud.

“Ya sure went an’ got a front seat view of the whole thing,” he said, amused. Her uncle planted a kiss on top of her yellow hair and looked down at her with a smile. “Thank the Ancestors the force dome held against that. I’ll hafta pay those arcanists extra when they come in fer maintenance next week, eh?”

He laughed, but Sahlia didn’t respond. She only stared out into the rain beyond the barrier. Her uncle Sabon’s face turned concerned.

“Are ya feelin’ okay, little lemon?”

She nodded.

“There was a man there,” she said. Her uncle frowned.

“Where?”

“Outside the barrier.”

The man froze, before quickly putting her down. He ran to the very edge of the dome, peering outside. “Where? Did he get buried by the mud? Tell me where ya last saw ‘im. I’ll send out some diggers, maybe he’s still alive in there, jus’ buried an—”

“—He already left,” Sahlia said, frowning down at her pockets. “And he took my candy.”

It was her uncle’s turn to frown, “Now what’s this nonsense about?”

“There was a Pale Man. He saved us and took my candy.”

Uncle Sabon sighed and picked her up. He hugged her tight, and Sahlia recognized the annoying look on his face. It was the look all adults had whenever she talked to them about something interesting; the one that said they didn’t believe her. Uncle Sabon pat her over the head and smiled, “Well, if ya ever see ‘im again, tell ‘im thanks for uncle Sabon, eh?”

Sahlia rolled her eyes and pushed him away. She hopped down from his arms and dusted herself off, before turning to the esteemed chief. He blinked at her serious stare.

“Can you buy me a flute, uncle? The kind with six holes.”

Sabon tilted his head, “Whaddaya need a bansuri for, kiddo?”

She copied the Pale Man and grinned.

“I wanna try saving the world.”

I looked down over the railings of the ship. Below me, the village disappeared under a patch of cloud, and was long gone by the time the ship traveled far enough to see under again. I sighed and looked down, glaring at my shadow.

“Could you try and make your personality less of an annoyance to deal with?” I asked, knowing he could hear me. “That landslide got uncomfortably close.”

My shadow stood and Traveler grinned, crossing his arms.

“You say that, but I can tell you’re giddy about that looking cool in front of some kid, chief. You’re practically buzzing with excitement.”

“Call it adrenaline. A second longer and we would’ve been buried with the village.”

“The last second’s always been the hero’s best friend, eh?”

“Aami’s my best friend. That other thing just sounds like a pain in the ass.”

“Nonsense, chief. That was something you…” Traveler trailed off, and his grin fell by the tiniest bit. Whatever cheer was in him seemed to evaporate, as Traveler cast his eyes toward horizon. Just off the bow of the ship. “…No, never mind. That was an original quote from me, chief. Treasure it. Wisdom so precious is rare.”

I scoffed, “Next you’ll say that free food is priceless.”

Traveler raised an eyebrow, “Saying of yours?”

“Aami’s. Who else is a foodie here?”

“You’d be surprised, chief.”

I shrugged. “Can you even eat in that form? You’re a glamour construct.”

“Not unless we’re on the other side.”

“I’ll bring you supper tomorrow, then.”

“Make sure it’s poultry, chief.”

That wouldn’t be hard. The ship had plenty of poultry in store. I nodded, leaning forward, staring into the horizon with my would-be mentor. I glanced at him. Traveler was a sketchy bastard. Even looking at him from here, I could practically feel the suspicion trying to bubble its way out of my chest. But no. He’d been nothing but a help so far. And his weave…

I rested my chin against my palm. “For someone so intent on acting suspicious, you sure have a surprising rule for your weave,” I said, the exact words coming to mind. “A kindness for a trade, for only a small price paid. A hand on the road, accepting gratitude instead of gold. Favors between friends, exchanged without end.”

Traveler was quiet for a moment, before he nodded.

“It ain’t my rule, chief. But it’s one I respect.”

“Kindness is priceless, huh?”

“That it is.”

Without another word, Traveler pushed himself off the railings of the ship and sunk, turning into a mass of shadow. He crawled back into mine, disappearing from sight. I stared at my shadow for a moment. I sighed. It was unsettling, talking to the Traveler, who had the look of someone who knew things you didn’t.

But now, for the first time since we met, I was glad that I wasn’t like him.

Some secrets weighed more than they were worth.

I stepped away from the railings and headed back towards the inner ship. I put on Ashran again, my ‘strongest’ name, despite the fact that it drained me of my powers. I felt my control over immortal magic slip as I put it on, weakening me. Dampening my powers to even less than a twentieth of the usual I was capable of using under Traveler’s guise.

But it mattered little. Because this name was good. This name was me. The closest a name ever got to my original. With it, I was a bard, an alchemist, and a smith all. I simply had to choose. And my rule… I smiled.

This weave had none. The strand of Avnlasce I’d used was strong enough to supply me that freedom, at the price of strength.

And what need did I even have for strength?

I was no fighter. Just an immortal bard looking for home again.

I tapped my boot against a nearby shadow and I sunk into it again. My surroundings shifted, and from the staircase leading down, I found myself in the dining chamber of the ship. It was a small space—barely enough to fit two long tables—but it was enough. It was largely empty at the moment, and aside from two crewmen that gave me a quick salute, only the kitchen seemed occupied.

From the open door, Ashran’s senses picked up the scent of some kind of stew. Raising an eyebrow, I stepped inside, finding Priscia humming in front of a big, black pot. I approached her.

“Stew again?” I asked over her shoulder, and she jumped.

“Ancestors!”

The little amarid chef fumbled with the knife and carrot in her hand, the edge coming dangerously close to my face. I stepped back and raised my hands in apology as she caught it. Priscia adjusted her spectacles and turned to me, looking like she’d just lost a few years of her life.

“I can see where she gets it from,” Priscia muttered, sighing as she leaned against the counter to steady her heart. “I couldn’t hear you approach at all.”

She met my eyes and tilted her body forward. A small bow.

“I… apologize for the clumsiness, Master Ashran. I should have noticed your entry,” she said, and I raised an eyebrow at her sudden politeness. Priscia deflated under my stare. She turned away with a disgruntled huff, “You know, I’ve kissed ass for so long that it’s disappointing when you aren’t screaming at me for the smallest things. Aami told me to just treat you like I treat her.”

“That’s good advice. I don’t really like the courtesy stuff.”

“Never work in a court, Master Ashran.”

Smiling wryly, I approached again. I could see why Aami liked being around her. It would probably be nice to get to know her as well.

“Just Ashran. No need for the titles. And I could start screaming at you now, if you want me to,” I offered. She nodded.

“Try it, please. Maybe it’ll make this stew cook faster.”

Nodding, I plucked a spoon from the counter and jabbed it into the stew. I took a sip. Frowned. I gave Priscia my toughest glower.

“I taste beans in this stew! Preposterous!”

“What is with everyone and beans?”

“Only imbeciles eat beans!”

“Really?”

“No. I actually quite like them.”

Priscia smiled and hovered a carrot over the stew again. She cut it into slices with her knife, no more than a centimeter thick. The pieces sunk into her cooking with a satisfying plop. She gave me a searching, sideways glance.

“Are you sure I can speak to you normally? You’re kind of a big deal.”

“I am,” I nodded seriously, “and I’ll have you whipped if you don’t.”

The cook laughed, shaking her head as she lowered the knife and began chopping potatoes into thick, meaty chunks. She worked with a precision I so often saw with professionals in their field—but there was a strange falter to her work, a sort of uncertainty. A lack of confidence.

I nodded to her work, “You’re good with a knife.”

“Most cooks are. It’s nothing impressive,” she said, dismissing my words. Priscia fixed me with a curious look. “Enough about boring old me, though. I want to talk to the next hero. You made some sort of cure against the blight with miss Kindlebright, right?”

“I did,” I said, tilting my head. “Why’re you so interested? It’s just some weapon.”

“It’ll save lives. My brother’s a Shissavi, you know. He’s out in the northern front fighting the blight. Alchemists like you are the reason he comes home safe.”

“Cooks like you are the reason he comes home happy, though.”

Priscia laughed, her face flushing slightly as I stared on in amusement. I’d met people like her before—mostly apprentices to other alchemists, cowering under their master’s shadow. Always looking for approval, even when they were already skilled. Elanah’s compliments were like a beacon of light to them. I always enjoyed seeing them light up at the praise, looking at how it made their days just a little brighter. And judging from the twitching smile on Priscia’s face, she was much the same.

She held her head up a little higher, her back a little straighter. The small amarid turned to me with a grin, barely up to my chest.

“You’re buttering me up for a bigger serving on your plate later, aren’t you?”

I laughed, “I’m expecting seconds for this, miss chef! Anything less, and I’ll have to take back what I said.”

“Seconds? That I can’t promise,” she said, stirring the stew with an amused look. “Aami would probably eat everything leftover the moment she gets the chance. Tell you what, though…” she said, before scooping up a big portion of the stew. She served it over a bowl and offered it to me, smiling. “Since you’re so generous, I’ll let you have the first bite. In secret, of course. A chef can’t have a favorite among customers.”

“Naturally. Thanks for the food, chef.”

I took the bowl with one hand and dug in, immediately filling my mouth with the taste of her stew. It was venison, red and strong. The flavors lingered well after the first bite, even to my weaker senses. I relaxed as I ate. The tension drained from my shoulders as the pangs of unnoticed hunger disappeared from my gut.

I didn’t know I needed the food so much. Though I suppose I did, with my partial return to mortality and all. Priscia glanced at me several times as I ate, watching for my reaction. I set the bowl down with a thoughtful look.

“…What do you think?” she asked. I looked her in the eye.

“I think you need to teach me this recipe.”