Everglim in the morning was really rather a jolly nice sort of place, the air veritably tingling with the lulling drone of insects and the vibrant hum of passive magic, the sun shining warm upon bright gardens and brighter cottages, the leaves of the bushier plants rustling in the breeze, the roots of the livelier herbs stirring the soil, and the irresistibly vivid red flowers of the iora plant causing unwary bumblebees to explode at the approximate rate of three per hour.

Through all of this walked two girls; one short, one tall; one elven, one human; one appearing to revel in the idyllic surroundings, one appearing to have a personal vendetta against 'pleasantness'.

"—don't see why you're even telling me this," the tall human girl was saying. She had on austere (but not unstylish) black and grey robes and small square glasses, her violet hair tied back in something that could not in good faith be called anything so fun-sounding as a ponytail. "If it's not official then I'm simply not interested."

"It's just rumours, Rae!" said the short elven girl. She had big green eyes and fluffy pink hair, her bright yellow and white clothes clashing magnificently. "Rumours are fun! Anyway, this one seems like it could be true, you know there was all that trouble last year with cheating and pay-offs so ACTUALLY it makes sense that they'd change the rule—"

"Rumours, rumours, rumours," Rae muttered. "Do you know, I can't recall a single conversation I've had with you that DIDN'T involve 'rumours'."

"We only just met yesterday!"

"I'm sick of this topic in any case—what are you doing, why have you stopped?"

"I'm saving a bee."

Rae stared at her companion.

"Why?"

"Don't pay any attention to her, Sir Bastion Bumbletone, you listen to me and keep away from those red ones! They're no good for you!"

"Flower..." Rae trailed off, unable to adequately express her disdain. She took a cleansing breath then tried again: "Flower, the others are waiting, we've already wasted at least half an hour with your silly herbs—"

"Herbs are NOT silly you take that back!"

"—you KNOW how Charles gets—"

"I don't! I don't know! I only met him yesterday too!"

"—and the less said about the brothers the better. In fact, I'm beginning to wonder—what are you staring at, necromancer?"

Praetorian Darkcede graced Rae with a brilliant smile.

"In fact my attention was upon your companion," he said, garnishing his smile with an elegant bow as he turned it upon Flower, who reacted with an ambivalent 'ooh'. "In truth I couldn't help but stare, I found myself utterly transfixed by her dress."

"Transfix yourself, deadspeaker, she's taken."

With that and a glare that caused several nearby plants to wilt, Rae took Flower by the arm and led her away, the elf girl waving shyly back as she went. Praetorian returned the wave until he could see her no more, let out a melancholy sigh, then looked across to where a dead girl was regarding him with undisguised contempt.

"Your elf fetish," the dead girl said, "is really creepy."

Praetorian treated Amanda to a cold smile.

"I know what I like," he said. "Why deny it? We cannot choose our desires—nor, indeed, our fetishes—so why not indulge in them?"

Amanda rolled her lifeless eyes as she swept the paved area at the cottage's front, her movements inelegant and stiff. Praetorian watched her for a brief moment, then turned to regard the cottage's garden.

"Do you know anything about herbs?" he asked.

"No."

"Then we have one similarity. Necromancers don't have much use for them, aside from a few flowers of significance. Some favour poison, but my interest has never been in the taking of life. Still, it doesn't take an expert eye to judge this particular situation as an overgrown mess." Praetorian glanced back at Amanda. "Do you remember how you died?"

"I don't remember anything. Nothing before the infirmary here."

"Hm. I suppose that makes sense, your reliance on me does seem rather strong. I wonder why that is ... many bound zombies achieve at least rudimentary independence, you don't seem to have any. If I were to walk away you'd revert to a groaning, lurching husk of a thing. Frankly I'm surprised you weren't killed by undead hunters before coming here—how did a zombie even earn an invitation to Bright Battle?"

Amanda shook her head as she swept, bedraggled hair hiding the irritation on her blue-hued face.

"I could perhaps understand if you weren't—ah, our 'party'." Praetorian smiled and waved at Nala and Tzugakk as they approached. "Greetings of the dawn, fellow low-tiers!"

Tzugakk detached himself to investigate the garden as Nala frowned at Praetorian.

"The others aren't here," she said.

"No, you're all rather late actually—not that I'm complaining, compared to what little I've seen of the academy this particular place is not unpleasant. Where have you been?"

"Researching."

"Ah? Did you learn anything of interest?"

"Merits are commonly earned for defeating others in combat, monster hunting, tactics battles, volunteering to heal, exchanging gathered or crafted items—"

"Aha, yes, I'll stop you there before I regret pressing you. Anything specifically useful, regarding our particular situation? To get even more specific, my particular situation? Not that I have much hope of ever earning enough to purchase an adventuring license and thus graduate but still, it would be convenient to have a few merits under my belt—our basic needs may be met, but one does feel the need to indulge in a little luxury from time to time. Especially so, were one to find oneself enjoying the company of a forest child."

Amanda made a disgusted rattle.

"Enjoying, I add," Praetorian said, with a pointed look at Amanda, "despite certain unwanted responsibilities that one has been saddled with."

"Bullying is a solid strategy," Nala said.

"I do beg your pardon?"

"Targeting weak individuals. Each defeat rewards combat merits—"

"Ah, I see. No, I don't believe that particular path would appeal even were I to remain in possession of a stave, I'm just not the fighting sort. Indeed, I had hoped to perhaps earn my merits through some form of crafting, did your research turn up anything along those lines?"

"There are workshops for basic crafting."

"Hm. Perhaps there is hope."

"Crafting merits aren't valuable," Nala continued. "The purpose of this place is to create parties of strong adventurers. Fighting is encouraged. Crafting tolerated."

"Ah. Well, I suppose one can't—"

"Where's Gakk?"

Nala stared at Amanda, then looked around sharply. In an instant she was running, changing direction upon hearing a shout—but too late. There was a crack, and a cry, and a pillar of light flashed pale against the sky before sparkling into nothing.

Praetorian caught up to Nala first, Amanda shambling along behind. The dwarf was facing down (or, more accurately, up) a human girl with sharp blue eyes and messy brown hair, her build solid, her robes rough and practical. Of Tzugakk there was no sign.

"—nothing wrong with it," the girl was saying. "Just makes sense to take the opportunity. Being in my position combat merits are hard to come by. If it makes you feel better I wouldn't have attacked if I knew it was in a party. Thought it was just a random monster or something."

Nala said nothing, but her fists were clenched and her breathing was hard, her narrow grey eyes fixed upon the girl.

"What, are you gonna attack me now?" the girl asked. "I am a mage. What are you, a rogue? With default equipment? Out in the open like this? Nuh, you ain't attacking me."

"What is your name?"

The girl stared at Nala, who repeated the question:

"What is your name?"

"...it's Evia, if you really wanna know. Evia Mordein."

"Evia Mordein," Nala said, then she turned and walked away. Evia watched her leave with wary eyes.

"Well," Praetorian said, as he trotted after Nala. "What a thoroughly charming individual she was. I assume she defeated Tzugakk and we're now heading for the infirmary? What of Mist and Sly?"

Nala shook her head, her pace unfaltering.

"Hey, what?" Amanda said. "Maybe one of us should stay here—"

"Don't be stupid," Praetorian snapped. "One of us? Lurch faster, you're slowing the pace—Nala, perhaps you should go ahead?"

"No. Together."

The cottages and gardens of Everglim were left behind, Nala and the others heading towards wide stone streets and enticing storefronts, most students they encountered seemingly uninterested in the trio—although a pair of fighters gave them a speculative glance before shaking their heads and moving on.

"'Safety in numbers'," Praetorian muttered. "Perhaps there is something in that."

Nala said nothing as she led her little party towards a small square, joining the bustle of people around the infirmary.

"It seems to have been a busy night," Praetorian commented, as they entered the crowded waiting room.

"First weeks are always hectic," said a healer as he pushed past. "Until all the low-tiers are weeded out."

"Ah?" Praetorian said, but the healer was already talking to a group of heavily-armoured fighters.

"Tzugakk is on the third floor," Nala said, unstealthing behind Amanda.

"How did you—"

"There's an admissions scroll."

"Yes, I figured that out for myself, thank you," Praetorian said, as he followed Nala through the crowd of outpatients and healers and those who had come to collect their defeated party members, Amanda having some trouble keeping up. "What I had intended to ask was, how did you employ stealth with so many people around? My understanding of the skill is that you cannot use it while being observed."

Nala didn't look back.

"Timing," she said.

The corridors and stairways of the infirmary were less crowded than the waiting room, and by the time they reached the third floor there was barely anyone else around—after the noise and activity of below the change was almost eerie. An exhausted weeping coming from a nearby room didn't do much to improve the atmosphere.

"Rather reminiscent of home, actually," Praetorian said, as he and Nala waited for Amanda to negotiate the stairs. "We have ghosts, you know, the vast majority of them are weepers. I was always a little envious of exorcists, the job security alone—zombie, could you not TRY to move faster? Your party-mate is waiting!"

"I will go ahead," Nala muttered, disappearing before Praetorian could reply. He clucked his tongue, then looked down at Amanda again.

"Do you need help?" he asked. "Should I guide your movements? Left foot up, left foot down, right foot up, steady with your left hand—it's not exactly complicated, is it?"

Amanda said nothing, her mouth tight as she struggled to force her body into cooperating—she knew what to do, she knew exactly how she should be moving, but her limbs were always one step behind—

"No. Let go. I can do this."

Praetorian did not release his hold upon Amanda's arm. "Eventually, perhaps," he said, half-guiding half-lugging her up the remaining stairs. "But I'd like to get this over with as quickly as possible. What is WRONG with your legs, are you doing this on purpose? Honestly, you're—"

"That's Mist."

"I do beg your pardon?"

"That's Mist," Amanda repeated. "That crying, that's Mist."

Praetorian stared at Amanda, then released her bandaged arm.

"Ah," he said. "Ah, perhaps ... yes, you may be right."

Without her armour Mist looked tiny, her homespun dress and leggings an ugly off-white, unflattering against her dark skin. She was sitting on a bed in a room, alone, knees drawn up to her chest, hands in fists before her face, her eyes puffy from crying. Every few seconds she let out a weary, frustrated sob.

Outside, Praetorian and Amanda drew back from the doorway and looked at each other.

"Well?" Praetorian whispered.

"Well what?"

"You should do something about all that!"

"I should? Why me?"

"Well I don't want to! You're technically female, you should use your instinctual bond to comfort her!"

"I barely know her!"

"And I have any more intimacy with the wretched girl?"

Praetorian glanced at the doorway, then fixed a tight look upon Amanda.

"You know," he said, "I could simply command you to do it."

Amanda glared at Praetorian. In response he gave a victorious shrug.

Inside the room, Mist looked up at an awkward knock. In the doorway stood Amanda, stooped and hesitant, her long straggly hair covering her face.

"Um. Um. Should I come in?"

Mist let out a small sob.

"Um," Amanda said, shuffling past the door. "Are you okay? No, that's stupid, I didn't say that—you got, um, defeated? Argh, stupid again, why else would you be here—"

"They, t-they, I, they, I—"

Mist cut herself off with yet another sob, then her face became pinched and she began to wail.

Her mouth tight and her movements awkward, Amanda shambled closer, reached out ... then drew back her bandaged, blue-hued hand.

"It's, um ... I was going to say 'it's okay', but I don't like lying ... I'm here, anyway? Is that better than being alone?"

Mist managed a big earnest nod through her sobbing. She sniffed as she wiped her sleeve across her nose.

"There, there, t-there was a c-competition, and they said, they were p-pushing me a-and saying things, I tried to d-do, to f-fight but, but..."

"The, um, the other fighters?"

"I'm not a fighter!" Mist wailed. "I'm a valkyrie!"

"Sorry! Sorry, I didn't mean—did they steal your armour?"

Mist shook her head and pushed her hands against her face, futilely trying to wipe away her tears. "They couldn't, they can't, it's here, this room, they said I had to rest without it, the magic in the armour messed with their h-healing—"

"That's good then!" Amanda said, desperately. "You still have your armour!"

"Mm, mmm, n-nobody can take it, a-away, f-from, m-meeee—"

"Um! That's good! It's magic, right! Special valkyrie armour!"

"It, was, my, mother's—"

"And you'll get to put it on again soon!"

"B-but t-they s-said, they all, they all just..."

Mist collapsed into tears again while Amanda looked on helplessly. Eventually, somehow, she got the girl calmed down enough to piece together what had happened; the previous night, caught on her own while returning to her apartment, Mist had been ambushed by a group of fighters. They beat her and jeered at her and spat on her, then dragged her to one of the arenas in battle quarter. There dozens of them had surrounded her and held a competition to decide who would get to deliver the final blow and earn the merits for her defeat.

"T-the competition was, it was who, w-who could make the w-w-worst insult about valkyries—they said, they s-said things about my m-mother—"

Mist stopped, and through teary eyes she stared down at where Amanda's blue hand clasped her own.

"You're so cold!" she said, shock cutting through everything. Amanda jerked her hand away.

"Yes," she muttered. "I'm dead. It kind of comes with the territory."

"I, I, s-sorry—"

"It doesn't matter. Who cares. Not me. I don't even remember being alive."

Now Amanda looked down, to where Mist had reached out to take her hand.

"It's okay." Mist managed the weakest of smiles. "It, it's okay."

Amanda's mouth went tight, then she smiled back.

"Yeah," she said. "Maybe."