The night passed quietly, nothing happening as Gwynneth, Kilia and the boy slept. For Hurnith and Martin, the night was long. Neither slept, both stayed awake. Alert and watching through the night, worrying that the creature of the dark that they had faced might return. It did not, and by morning they were both exhausted and stressed, jumping at shadows.

They sat as the forest brightened when the sun rose, unseen through the forest canopy. They waited until they saw the others stir and got to their feet. Gwynneth got up, avoiding touching anything, the mana burns on her hands better but not yet fully healed. Kilia was in a similar position, grimacing as she moved, her clothes rubbing on her bandages as she moved. The only one waking up hale and hearty was the small Fae child who, upon awakening, immediately asked for his mother and then fell silent as he remembered the previous night.

They rearranged themselves for the trip back to the Fae settlement. Hurnith led the way followed by Kilia and Gwynneth, the small child clinging to Kilia’s hand, with Martin guarding the rear. They moved slowly through the undergrowth, the sun low in the sky at the end of the day when they arrived back at the settlement. Relieved, Martin lit one of the flowers at the base, waiting for the ladder to come down. Gwynneth looked at the ladder in despair and held up her hands.

“There is no way I can climb up at the moment.”

Hurnith grunted, looking at her. “Hammer, go up with the boy, then ask them to send a rope down so we can hoist her up. I’ll stand watch.” Martin nodded; a bit unsure of the nickname Hurnith had given him. He preferred his name, but the others seemed to have taken to using it as well and it probably was not worth making a fuss over.

He climbed up, this time expecting the arms that grasped him and threw him down. This time, however, he was let up almost immediately as Dorne came through. He looked at the guards, at Dorne clinging to the leg of one he had addressed as “Uncle”, soft sobs coming from him as he clung on.

“Please, send a hoist down. We have injured that cannot climb on their own.”

Two guards took position around the entrance hole, lowering down a sling. They pulled it up, lifting up Gwynneth who hung on by hugging the ropes on either side to avoid gripping with her hands. Kilia, when brought up, was looking a bit white, blood showing through the bandages and her clothes. Hurnith came up close behind her, entering and giving a toothy grin to those in the post.

They were escorted from the guard post by Dorne’s uncle who introduced himself as Barish. People broke off from their activities to look at the group as they walked past, some breaking off to follow, forming an ever-growing entourage as they arrived at the central tree. Martin looked up, the tree ascending high into the sky, dwarfing those around it. A doorway had been cut into the trunk, a massive iron door, standing open and flanked by a pair of guards on each side, leading into a well-lit hall beyond.

The large hall was well lit by the same lamps that Martin had seen in Sir Finebrook’s home, albeit on a much larger scale. Flames with no source, heat or smoke spreading light across the room. The wood of the trunk was a deep brown and creating a natural vault that was warm and inviting. In the middle stood a Fae, more richly dressed than any they had seen so far and wearing a large gold chain with a gold medallion, a few multicoloured stones embedded within. He was flanked on either side by others dressed in similar finery, each wearing a gold chain though lacking the medallion.

Barish stepped forward, going down on one knee. “The Awakened that went to rescue Dorne have returned.” He turned, beckoning to Dorne to come forward. Dorne did so, slowly, shyly, coming up and standing close to his uncle’s side, almost melding into it as he squeezed closer, intimidated by the room and the people watching him.

The Fae in the middle smiled at him, coming forward and kneeling down, producing a hard candy to give to the boy.

“We are happy you are safe and back with us, Dorne.” He reached out, stroking his face, and running his hand along the boy’s arm where it had been cut. As he did so, the four awakened could all detect a flow of mana, soft and cooling, and they could see the cut on Dorne’s arm closing, disappearing without leaving a mark. He straightened, motioning for Barish to get up. “Take good care of your nephew. All will help. He has undoubtedly been traumatized and it is for all us to help him heal.”

“And now, the Awakened,” he turned to face the four, his face furrowing as he saw the condition of Gwynneth and Kilia. “Why did anybody think it appropriate to march injured people here before making sure they were properly treated!” Angrily he marched to one of the guards by the door. “Get the apothecary and whatever healers are available and bring them here.” Without bothering to turn he shouted out, “and people, get them chairs! They are honoured guests, not prisoners or supplicants!”

Martin watched amused as some of the servants, identifiable in grey livery, almost ran through a door at the back of the hall, bringing in chairs for the four, setting them down in front of a table at the back behind which thirteen chairs sat. The Fae man walked to the back, taking his seat in the middle, three others taking seats on either side of him. Barish came forward to bring the Awakened forward, ushering them to seats, drawn out by servants for them to seat themselves.

“I am Quent, Mayor of Dwelve. Those with me are other members of the village council, though not all are here. I would thank you for helping us. I know who you are, that you have not even graduated the academy yet, but I can only be thankful that you still helped us. We are in your debt.” He stood and bowed, holding it for what was a respectful time before straightening. As he did, the others in the hall, repeated the gesture, a rustle as those present bowed and straightened. “As you have seen, we are a small village, and on the outskirts of Fae. There is little wealth here, but there is a great friendship. Know that you will always be considered as part of us. While you are probably anxious, I would beg of you to stay, feast with us tonight and only leave after that.”

As he finished talking, the servants came out again, bringing with them tall wine glasses, filled with golden wine.

A glass was placed before each of them and each council member. Quent raised his glass in a toast, drinking it, and was followed by the other council members. Martin watched as each of his friends did likewise and followed their lead. The wine was sweeter than he was used to, a fruity flavour behind it. He found it pleasant, but still preferred the ale from his own village. He wanted to leave, to graduate so he could go home, see his parents, his brothers, and, of course, Jenny. But none of the others seemed to be quick to leave. It was not long before they were shown out, taken to hut nearby on a broad platform.

“Should we not be going?” Martin looked at the others, especially at Gwynneth’s hands, swaddled in bandages and more salve from the village healer. The healer had looked at them and shaken his head pronouncing that they had insufficient magic in the village to cure mana burn. He had, however, bowed, touching his head to the ground, and pronouncing her as close to holiness. He saw the act of accepting mana burn, potentially crippling herself, to save another as the ultimate act of sacrifice. So he had argued with the apothecary, forcing him to hand over his strongest healing and anti-pain herbs, ones he had no immediate use for.

For all that her wound had been far worse, Kilia’s wound was far easy to heal. It was a natural wound, already mostly healed through Geynneth's sacrifice. He had sat opposite her, entering into a healing trance. The others could almost feel the tendrils mana reaching out, caressing her body, then digging in, spreading like a web when they encountered the wound. With his eyes still closed, he waved Martin forward pulling him down to whisper to him to remove the bandages.

Martin did so, doing his best to avert his eyes as he removed her top. Beneath, she wore just a plain shift. She reached up and cut a slit into it, to open a way to the bandages beneath rather than remove it and expose herself.

The tendrils of mana flailed out, centring themselves into the wound, front and back. The healer was humming; a slow, monotonous tune endlessly repeating. The tendrils settled down, attached to the wounds, pulsing in rhythm to the humming. And the wounds finished sealing, the damage visibly repairing itself, the miscoloured skin and bits of dirt caught in the wound despite the attempts to clean it, pushing it, leaving fresh, new skin in its place. Smooth and unblemished, skin that had never faced the sun or the environment. The healer got up, swaying on his feet as he did so.

“Farewell, may your days bring you strength and safety”. He tottered out the door, his apprentice coming up to help him, knowing him to be exhausted from the healing.

***

Martin found a soft chair to sit on in a corner. A bowl of fruit sat nearby, and he took an apple, biting into it. He knew he had gained experience from their latest encounters, so he decided to check his status.

Name: Martin Race: Human Class: Awakened Smith Level 4 (XP 6100/5000)

Str: 15. Con: 15 Dex: 12 Int: 12 Cha: 12

Skills:

Blacksmithing 10 (Journeyman), Weaponsmithing 10 (Journeyman), Armoursmithing 5 (Apprentice), Smelting 10 (Journeyman), Geology 5 (Apprentice), Hunting 5 (Apprentice), Read/Write 10 (Journeyman). Weapon Skills (Warhammer) 6 (Apprentice), Dodge 1

Stat points: 0 Skill point: 0 Hit Points: 40/40 Mana Points: 20/20

Rune Skills: Basic Scribe 7(Apprentice), Etch Leather 5 (Apprentice), Etch Metal 5 (Apprentice)

He was happy, he saw that he could raise a level, all that was needed was time for contemplation, to understand and absorb the lessons he had learned. He settled into the chair, concentrating, entering into the meditative state he had been taught. He ignored the light snoring of Kilia, in the deep sleep of one recovering from healing magic. He ignored the grumbling of Gwynneth, complaining of not being able to do anything with hands bound, and the sounds of Hurnith eating, ripping into the almost raw meat he had asked for.

He concentrated, allowing his mind to relax, to unravel is experiences, the sensations, the record of what had happened. It flowed into him and he heard that feminine voice telling him he had a stat point and two skill points to spend. Given all that he had experienced he felt his strength and constitution high enough. What he lacked was speed, agility, the ability to move as he wished. As such, the stat he felt would benefit him most at this point was Dexterity. Plus, it could only help him when he inscribed runes!

Skills. He had two points and contemplating his skills he could feel his shortcomings and his temptations. On one hand, he was tempted to just become an ever better blacksmith, achieve his dream of becoming a Master quickly. The reality of his situation held him back. What he really lacked at the moment was twofold. One, being able to avoid getting hit in combat and two, improving his crafting of armour. The reality of his new life was that it was a martial one, he was not going to be having the comfort of life as a village blacksmith, and these two issues reflected the changed reality of his life. He gave a small, wry smile, as allocated his points, calling up his status to review them, and his advancement along the path of Awakening.

Name: Martin Race: Human Class: Awakened Smith Level 5 (XP 1100/6000)

Str: 15 Con: 15 Dex: 13 Int: 12 Cha: 12

Skills:

Blacksmithing 10 (Journeyman), Weaponsmithing 10 (Journeyman), Armoursmithing 6 (Apprentice), Smelting 10 (Journeyman), Geology 5 (Apprentice), Hunting 5 (Apprentice), Read/Write 10 (Journeyman). Weapon Skills (Warhammer) 6 (Apprentice), Dodge 2

Stat points: 0 Skill point: 0 Hit Points: 50/50 Mana Points: 24/24

Rune Skills: Basic Scribe 7(Apprentice), Etch Leather 5 (Apprentice), Etch Metal 5 (Apprentice)