The sun’s light casts a soft and enthralling glow over Manny’s scarcely covered shoulders. The tulle wrapped around her biceps does little to protect her skin from the burning light. The young woman sighs, pushing strands of her loose hair off of her skin, which is sticky with sweat. “I wish I had a brighter yellow. This one just doesn’t look quite right.” She shakes her head.

Vahkul lifts his hand to block out the sun, which has taken it upon itself to scorch the very land that he lounges atop. The grass that had long since been burned and mutated by the smaze normally had a deep red color. Today it has browned from the near constant heat. Every winter he wishes for summer to come again, and when it does he can do nothing but beg for mercy.

He would have thought the summer would be milder up north, but of course he was mistaken.

Gods, if he wasn’t so scared of someone from his coven stumbling along, he would have shed his robes hours ago. Why Manny insists on sitting outside on a day like this is beyond him, but he finds it so hard to tell her no.

He looks to the wooden hoop that she holds in her lap. “That yellow looks pretty enough,” He insists before sitting up to take a sip of his drink.

Manduela is a fan of picnics. She demands that they go out to eat at least once every week, no matter the weather. Today, she’s packed brilliantly red apples and green melons, both of which are imported, of course. She also took it upon herself to make small sandwiches and bottle freshly squeezed lemonade.

“Oh yes, it’s a fine color. But it’s not the color of marigolds, Vinny.” His brows scrunch.

“How would you even know the exact color of marigolds, you’ve never seen one in your life.” The girl huffs, nearly stabbing herself with her needle. Veshlind doesn’t have any native flowers, not anymore, and Manny has yet to leave the country or visit any place lavish enough to have live flowers.

“Well I shall, some day,” She insists while giving Vahkul a nasty side eye. He laughs and she swats at him. “It wouldn’t hurt you not to pick at me, we both already know that I’m not as cultured as you, great druid.”

He rolls away. “Actually, that reminds me. Tomorrow we leave for Berford.” This time she actually does manage to hit him. “Ow!”

With her mouth agape, she scolds the druid, “Vahkul! How could you wait til the very last moment to tell me?!” She drops her embroidery tools and pounces on him.

With a strength he hadn’t known she possessed, the young woman manages to flip him onto his stomach and shove his face into the heated ground. “Bad druid, bad!” She taunts as her hand bounces on the back of his head.

“Hey! Ow- stop that!” Had this been months ago, Vahkul would have been mortified with her actions, but he had become so accustomed to her strange physical ways that he takes little notice of the impropriety of the moment.

After successfully making him eat dirt, she rolls off of him and out of harms way. “But what time do you leave tomorrow?” Manny asks after brushing and smoothing the thin layers of her summer skirts. She swats her hair away from her face again as she picks up her embroidery hoop.

If she wasn’t so against the laws of modesty, she would see that having her hair up would actually help her feel a bit cooler, but leave it to Manny to protest society’s coddling of women on a smoldering day like this.

Vahkul spits, reaching for his drink. He swishes the terribly sour lemonade around in his mouth before spitting again. “You’re truly a menace,” He barks out before gargling again. Manny smirks at him, beginning her needlework. “We leave at nine in the morn, why?”

Her eyes roll. “I’ll see you off, of course.”

His tone changes to one of sarcasm. “Oh, but of course, why didn’t I think of that.” Instead of replying to the heated boy, Manduela reaches for a sliced apple and plops it into her mouth, the smallest of smiles lighting up her face.

The sleep still hasn’t fully left his eyes. Today was the first day that he’s been allowed to sleep in for quite a while, and if the blurriness of his eyes and the ache of his head is anything to go by, it probably wasn’t the best decision on his part.

They’re going to be on the road for at least a day though, so the boy will need his energy if he’s to deal with the older druids for hours on end. He yawns, rubbing at his eyes as his fellow healers congregate around him. He has no interest in speaking to anyone. He doesn’t even truly have an interest in going on this trip. Unfortunately, he wasn’t graced with a pardon this time around.

Vahkul feels arms wrap around him from behind. “Found you! Good God, you lot are blinding. I can hardly tell the difference between you all and a herd of bleached sheep.” He turns to face the terribly energetic Manduela.

As she backs away from him, she gives a small squeal and a twirl, holding height of her white skirt in her hands. “Well? What do you think?! I made it myself!”

Vahkul isn’t sure what he thinks. From what he can tell, the craftsmanship is magnificent, with clean lines and sturdy stitching. Manny wears a thin white gown, one that looks strangely close to a night gown, the sleeves puffed with thin tulle and embroidered with small white roses. The bottom ends in three beautiful rows of lace, each layer progressing in intricacy.

The neckline is low and shaped in a straight square.

Under it, Manny has layered a long-sleeved black dress with a collar that secures with a single white button. For once in her life, she has her hair curled and pinned in an elaborate up-do. Her face has been covered with a black veil hanging from a thin silver chain that pins into her curls.

He’s never seen her wear a veil before. He can’t help but think that she looks like a young widower. “You look beautiful.” He blinks at her. “I mean, the dress is great. You said you made it?” He stands taller as she nods.

“I finished it last night actually. Madame Reverona lets me use all of her equipment when she steps down for the night. She even gives me scraps of lace and old patterns. Isn’t that just great?” Her hand travels up to the thin necklace resting just above her collar bones.

“It is. I’m sure you’ll be a very successful seamstress, given time.” She smiles so brightly that Vahkul can see her teeth beneath the veil.

As sudden as a blink, Manny is upon him, her arms wrapping firmly around his waist and her head resting on his chest. He hugs her back. “Please,” She whispers. “Please stay safe and come back in one piece, you hear me.” He nods, his eyes closing as he rests his own head atop hers. “I won’t forgive you if you come back with a single scratch.”

She’s acting as if he’s going off to war. It’s only an annual congregation for the nation’s healers. Vahkul takes a deep breath. “I-”

“Everyone please proceed to the carriages. It’s time to depart.” He’s cut off before he can even form his last thoughts. Manny doesn’t look at him as she steps away. “Fare well, Vinny.” Manduela bows her head before rushing off.

He feels a hand upon his shoulder. “Should we begin searching for a new healer, young one?” The older man gives him a knowing smile as Vahkul looks after the girl. He shakes his head, his own smile growing at the thought of actions that would prompt him to leave the coven.

He moves forward towards the cars, ready for the terrible ride to come.

The skies are dark and the air around them is heavy with would-be rain. If he didn’t know any better, Vahkul would presume that it was about to pour down, but it hasn’t rained in five decades. He groans, shifting on his bench.

He simply can’t wait to be back in his own bed again. The hours spent sitting on these annoyingly hard benches has definitely led to a new hump developing in his spine. “We’re almost there, young one. Patience.”

His scowl is masked by the dark, thankfully.

Vahkul knows that the coven makes a decent amount of money performing the feats that they do. Why could they not spare some change for decent long distance carriages?

The boy huffs, sliding back in his seat, twitching when his leg brushes up against the man’s next to him. “Apologies,” He whispers into the shadows, bowing his head.

He closes his eyes, just barely lulled to sleep by the rhythmic movements of the wheels under him when they stop moving. Vahkul peels his eyes open, his white brows furrowing. “Why are we stopping?” He turns and leans over the man next to him, moving the thick curtains out of the way of the window.

Someone approaches the carriage. The door opens. “We’re to turn around and head south.” The driver states with a tip of his brimmed hat.

Vahkul stands. “Wait, why?”

“Malseadia has been marked as an extraction site. No one-” Vahkul pushes past the man, almost tripping over his stupidly long robes. With each step he takes away from the carriages, his feet feel lighter and lighter.

He doesn’t want to give his thoughts leeway, but it’s so hard for him to not think the worse. An extraction could mean anything. A natural disaster could have happened, an attack from a neighboring nation, rain .

His chest nearly crumbles in at the thought of it.

So he runs as fast as he can, one hand gathering his robes and another pumping. He runs until the soles of his shoes roll, forcing him to make the decision to discard the ceremonial footwear. He runs until he trips on his robes, forcing him to shrug off the layers.

He runs until his feet bleed and his skin blisters from the heat.

He runs until he sees smoke.

“Manny!” Vahkul cups his hands around his mouth, yelling into what remains of a now desolate and burning ghost town. The dreary and gray village has been overrun with smoke, thick and black, blooming in the sky.

As the young druid steps into the town, he realizes that the ground has been painted in red and black. Mouth agape, he steps back.

What he’s stepped into is blood that’s been dried for at least a day. A tremor runs through his body as he forces himself deeper into this graveyard. His voice no more than a faint whisper, Vahkul calls out to Manduela.

Coughing, the boy turns onto the street that houses the seamstress’s shop. A whimper falls from his lips at the sight. “Wha- no- but.” He falls to his knees, crawling towards the barren remains of the place that Manny had begun to call her home.

It doesn’t take long for him to find her.

Or more specifically what is left of the sweet girl.

She hadn’t even risen from her bed when she was attacked. She wore her hand sewn nightgown to sleep that night. The sleeves were still puffed despite the rancid blood that coated them.

Vahkul crawls to her, pushing wooden rubble off of the bed in which she rests. A gag, hot and foul rushes up his throat followed closely by a momentously wet sob at the sight of her.

“ Manny…” Her face. God her face… She had been slashed and chopped and pierced at least twenty times. What remained of her face was a mushy and dry flesh soup. Chunks, already beginning to decompose hang from where her nose once was.

And the worst part of it all, is that whoever did this had aimed only at her head. They wished her unconceivable agony in her final moments.

Head tilted back and mouth dry with ash, Vahkul lets out a cry. He pleads, his hands clasped as Manduela’s head rests in his lap, staining his now soot gray under-robe. “ Please! I beg of you, Illuitus!” His hand goes to the pouches stationed at his waist as he calls out to the old god of life. He pulls a blade from the assortment of tools and runs it down both of his wrists.

“ It is not her time!” The boy, overrun by the heinous emotions writhing within does not think before he commits to his next actions.

Digging into the blood running rivers down his arms, he paints on his chest, an incantation, a prayer spilling from his lips. Words read in forbidden scrolls coat is tongue as he cuts into Manduela’s arms and searches for just a few drops of warm blood.

Finding it, he draws over the runes burning into his skin, spittle flying from his lips in response to the harshness of the a language not totally familiar to himself.

The frequency of his breathing increases as a scream is torn from him. The runes burn, darkening his skin. “It is not her time!” He yells, his hands going to hold her own. “ Hear me Illuitus!” His hands heat as his blood rolls from his skin to Manduela’s own.

“It is not her time! But it has long since been mine!” Pain strikes his heart, his hands tightening around Manny’s. And he swears her fingers curled around his own.

His eyes close as the air begins to crackle around them. “Hear me Illuitus… ”

Vahkul is heard.

Manduela begins to rise, her fingers locking with Vahkul’s own. A whine, filled with years of torment, breaks the silence. Vahkul’s eyes open, and he finds that he is face to face with the remnants of his first love. His eyes water.

A relieved smile creeps up his face. “Ma-”

Her hands fall from his as an arrow pierces through her chest. Darkness, deep and all knowing, encompasses him.