“Oh my fuck,” says Jubilee, looking out over the ocean. There isn’t anything to see, but the storm is clearly still picking up once again, the waves out on the distant waters crash and churn with violent intensity.

“Should we be worried?” asks Basil, sitting down on a chair at the balcony table, her leg stretched out. “I feel like we should be worried.”

“Good fucking instincts,” says Jubilee. “We all knew this day would come,” they state. “When you’d do something fucky and we’d have to leave again.”

“But Jubilee,” argues Fresh. “Nothing’s happened yet. Uh… I think,” she says, looking around. Though, in truth, she isn’t sure if that’s entirely true. Nothing has happened yet, here. But if this item was really capable of drawing in wind monsters from literally anywhere in the world, then where did they have to travel through on their way to her beacon? Homes? Villages? Cities?

“Do you think it’s already that time of the year?” asks Basil, sighing. “I was just starting to get used to the heat.”

“No!” argues Fresh. “Everything is fine, guys. Besides, I don’t think that we’re…” she looks around, rubbing her arm. “You know? Allowed.”

Jubilee takes in a deep breath, staring out over the ocean, as if waiting to get some response from it rather than from her or from Basil.

“Where are wind-monsters from anyways?” she asks. “I don’t think I’ve ever seen an elemental monster?” she ponders.

“Ice-golem,” says Jubilee, looking over their shoulder.

“Oh, yeah.” Fresh blinks, looking back at them. “I forgot about that.”

Jubilee rolls their eyes and beckons for them to come inside. Fresh helps Basil up and they walk back in, closing the door behind themselves.

“So?” asks Basil, limping next to Fresh as they wobble to a chair by the inside-table.

“So,” starts Jubilee. “Wind monsters are either high up as fuck on the western mountain. Or…” they say, closing the curtain.

“Or?” asks Fresh.

“Or they’re coming from the top of the central-tree,” says Jubilee. “They fucking like it up there. Or…”

“Or?” asks Basil.

Jubilee sits down at the table, moving to a different chair as Basil is sitting on their usual one, closest to the balcony. “Or, from the other side,” they say, nodding their head back to the balcony.

Basil stares for a second. “You mean…?”

“I do.”

Fresh crosses her arms. “Can you guys not speak in secrets?” she asks. “I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she pouts, puffing out her cheek. Basil lifts a finger, poking it and deflating her face.

“It’s not a secret that you’re dumb as fuck -” barks Jubilee.

“- Hey!”

Jubilee lifts a finger. “Which is why we’re in this mess to begin with.” Fresh frowns. She can’t argue against that, she supposes.

The door opens, Shamrock comes inside, looking at them, carrying a bag of loot over his shoulder. “Windy,” is all that he says, as he closes the door behind himself and heads to the table.

“Oh boy, do I have news for you,” says Jubilee.

Wanting to cut them off and spare herself the shame, Fresh lifts a hand. “It was me. It’s windy because of me. I messed up,” she admits. Basil rubs her back consolingly.

Shamrock stares at her and then shrugs and nods at the same time as he comes to the table, setting his haul down on the floor. “Acceptable.”

“No it fucking isn’t!” snaps Jubilee. “Do you have any idea what a storm would do to us? We live right on the ocean!” they argue, tapping against the table. “If a big one comes from out over the water, it’s going to take the fucking ocean here with it!” they explain.

“Do you think that could happen, Jubilee?” asks Fresh.

They sigh, crossing their arms and leaning back on their chair. “I don’t know,” they say, their shoulders dropping. “I’m worried.”

Fresh blinks, staring at Jubilee for a second, not sure if she heard right. She turns her gaze down to Basil and then to Shamrock, seeing if they feel the same, but they seem to be thinking too.

“Wind monsters are one thing,” says Jubilee. “Fucking wyverns and some odd dragons and shit like that is fine and dandy, but wind-elementals could be a big fucking problem.”

“How come?” asks Fresh, finally sitting down on her chair.

“Because, they only live in one place in the world and guess where that is?” asks Jubilee.

“Across the ocean?” guesses Fresh.

“Across the ocean,” nods Jubilee, raising an eyebrow, perhaps feeling surprised that she got the question right for a change. “And guess where they’re going?”

“…across the ocean?” guesses Fresh again. “To us?”

Jubilee nods, lowering their head and thinking.

She looks around the room. She feels like this is bad in and of itself, but she also feels like it is bad in a way that she doesn’t really understand yet too. Deciding to let her friends think for a while, she gets up and steps over to the kitchen, making them a pot of tea and four cups ready.

“Yellow or red?” she asks, looking over her shoulder. But nobody responds. She stares at them for an awkward moment, before turning her gaze back to the tea-kettle. Maybe she should learn to read the room better.

Blue it is.

Boiling some water, she gets it ready and sets everyone a cup down a few minutes later. By the time it’s done steeping and everyone has their cup poured and she sits back down in her spot, it’s still as quiet as before. Nobody has yet to say a word, as they are pondering some deeper implication. Or maybe they’re just ignoring her?

Fresh sits upright. Are they ignoring her? Are her friends pretending she doesn’t exist now? She looks around the table. Are they that mad at her?

There is a clinking of glassware, as Basil lifts her tea-cup and takes a tender sip. Somehow, this seems to break the spell and the others, having come to their own conclusions, look up again.

“Pretend we don’t know anything about it?” asks Basil.

“That’s the tradition,” replies Jubilee, shaking their head. “We’ll just have to keep that tradition alive when we start walking past the graves.”

Shamrock shakes his head. “It’s done,” is all that he says and the other two look at him, nodding.

“Yes,” says Basil, rather glum. “There’s nothing we can do now. Here we are.”

“Here we are,” says Jubilee, taking a sip of their tea.

“Here we are,” nods Shamrock, affirmingly.

Fresh blinks, wanting to say the line too, but she still has no clue about the situation. “Here we are,” she says, sounding unsure. “But, uh… I don’t get it. What’s the problem, guys?”

“Well…” starts Basil.

“- The problem is, that you might have just started an international incident,” says Jubilee. “A war.”

“Huh?” Fresh blinks, her posture tightening very quickly. “Aren’t we already at war?” she asks. “The crusaders?”

“The crusaders still haven’t left the fucking harbor, in case you haven’t noticed,” says Jubilee, glaring at her.

Basil nods. “They’ve been here too long. Something happened. Maybe their orders to embark were canceled?”

Fresh scratches her cheek. “Do you think that…” She shakes her head, stopping herself. “No, never mind. It’s dumb.”

“Actually,” says Jubilee, seeing where her thought was going. “I do think that.”

She lifts her head. “Huh?”

Jubilee points at her. “Remember when you cursed the hero?” they ask. “That priestess you talked to?”

Fresh tilts her head. “From his party?”

They nod. “She was the big-boss,” says Jubilee. “The mother-hen herself.” Basil fidgets, clearly being uncomfortable. “I can’t tell you why. But I think she listened to your ‘suggestion’.”

Fresh gasps. “Wait! Jubilee!” she leans in, clearly excited. “Did I stop the crusade?!”

“You sure fucking did. Well, at least until now,” they say. “Though, a ‘crusade’ doesn’t really capture the scope of it anymore.”

“When the wind-elementals cross the ocean,” says Basil, seeing that Jubilee’s explanation isn’t helping. “They’re going to land right on the shoreline. On the harbor.”

Jubilee takes a sip of their tea and then goes on. “Right in the middle of an idle army in waiting, full of unsuspecting young men and women, bright eyed and ready to pack their bags and go back home so that they can worship their cult-gods in peace.”

“A preemptive strike,” says Shamrock.

“That’s what they’ll assume,” says Basil, agreeing. “With the crusade canceled, there were likely peace talks that have already happened. Treaties have already been signed. Those are of course going to be invalidated and the church, as well as the central-authority will feel like it has been betrayed.”

“Welp,” says Jubilee. “I think it’s time we started making weapons again,” they state. “Come a month from now. There’s going to be a war. A real one. On both sides of the ocean.”

Basil gets up, grabbing a hold of the flying-broom to get to the workshop. “I’ll start making medicine.”

“I guess I’m fucking learning to make robes for battle,” sighs Jubilee. “I really liked the whole swim-suit and dresses thing too,” they say, sounding almost disappointed.

Fresh turns her head, looking at Shamrock who is getting back up again, heading to the door. “Dungeon.”

She sits there, looking as they disperse. To say that she feels unsure about herself in this instant is the minimum.

“Hey,” says Jubilee. She turns her head, looking at them with worried eyes. “We don’t blame you,” they say, surprisingly consolingly. “But you need to get ready. Because this is going to get ugly. People are going to die.” Fresh blinks. “A lot of them.” Jubilee puts on their mask and lifts their hood. “I know you don’t like it. But I’m going to the thieves’ guild. We need them.”

Fresh scoots her chair back, slowly getting up. “I’m going with you this time, Jubilee.”