Rusk could immediately tell the girl had power. Ancient power, like the Elva but different. Apparently magic was more common than he’d ever thought back in his home forest territory. Apparently practically everyone he met had some connection to something. Lamenting that would do Rusk no good now though, because the girl was descending the volcano quickly towards him, her teeth grit angrily in a threatening manner, her arms outstretched as if she intended to strangle the moment she wrapped her skinny fingers around his neck.

Rusk dodged.

He expected the girl to go careening down the side of the volcano, but she regained her footing almost immediately, perfectly springing back up to a more advantageous position, and tried again.

Rusk reached for the Elva and found it had forsaken him. What was worse, when he looked at the girl’s fingers he noticed they were boiling the air around them, heat waves coming off her and twisting the air in mirages as if she were part of the lava held within the volcano, so hot he wondered how her hair wasn’t shriveling up with the fire emitting from her soul.

He still had Mandy’s bow. He swiveled it off his back, grabbed an arrow from his quiver and drew.

The girl didn’t stop.

Rusk fired.

The arrow caught her in the shoulder and she screamed, and with that vocalization the volcano they were standing on trembled. It was as if the earth shared her pain and it was furious.

Rusk stumbled back a few steps, drawing another arrow, hoping beyond anything that this girl didn’t have as much power as the sky serpent or the sea serpent or whatever power that necromancer had over Greil. Hers seemed purer somehow, more visceral. Fueled by emotion rather than calculated study. He didn’t know how he knew that until he searched deep within himself and discovered the Elva was still there with him, helping, just not in its usual way. It could only provide insight here, not anything material.

“Did you kill all those Heroes in Sanctuary?” Rusk trained his arrow on her heart.

She was crumpled on the ground, practically folded in half on her knees, and she stared up at him with all the ire in her heart, but not guilt. When she spoke her voice was noble, a development Rusk hadn’t expected. If anything he’d assumed she couldn’t speak, or wouldn’t, or might’ve spoken a different language, but she knew the common language he was speaking and spoke to him in that in turn. And elegantly. Full of deep pride. Confidently. “No. I assumed you were to blame for that.”

“I just got here. I bet the boat’s still in harbor.”

“The boat?”

“Yeah, Captain Arrolg’s ship. He brought me over from the main territory.”

The girl hissed. She yanked the arrow out of her shoulder, and Rusk saw its tip melting, the stone dripping to join the igneous rock on which she knelt. It mingled with the obsidian there as if she’d added it to the volcano itself as some sort of prize. She snapped the wood in half. Her eyes were pure fire when she glared at Rusk. But the odd thing was, he didn’t think she were directing that anger at him. It was as if the mention of Captain Arrolg had made her think of some other person she hated.

This confused Rusk. He lowered the tip of the arrow he had drawn back down toward the ground. Or, volcano. That couldn’t be considered ground, not really. More like solidified fire. “What.”

“That name. It sounds familiar. It reminds me of a person my father warned me to be careful around.”

“And your father would be?”

“Thrunero Daemontra.”

The Daemontra clan. Captain Arrolg had warned Rusk about them. Told him to avoid the volcano too, now that Rusk thought back. Could this be the reason? So he wouldn’t run into this young woman or any of her relatives? If he had the story right, they practically owned the island, and now that Rusk thought about it, telling him to avoid them made no logical sense. According to the scrolls and other written accounts he’d come across in his journey, Sanctuary’s island stronghold had a treaty or agreement with the rightful heirs to the volcano not to go at each other’s throats about territory. It was supposed to be a shared space. Peaceful, if a little eccentric.

The girl sprung to action the moment Rusk’s thoughts were otherwise occupied. She closed the distance like some feral monster and soon had Rusk underneath his own bow, her boiling hands nearing his throat. Rusk shifted his weight, swiveled his hips, got a better angle, and kicked her off. That arrow was trained back on her in a manner of seconds. He groaned angrily at her. He didn’t want to hurt her if she wasn’t the real reason anyone was dead down there, but she was trying his patience here.

He had to remind himself she was under the same assumptions he was. They both thought the other a killer.

“Okay,” said Rusk. “Let’s start over. Nice and easy. Hello, miss. My name is Rusk Veega. And you are?” As an addendum he tacked on, “Without the murder attempt would be nice this time around.”

“Floumeré Daemontra.” She picked herself up, sweeping that white shock of bangs out of her eyes. Her jaw was tight and she spoke through clenched teeth. The wound on her shoulder still bled freely.

“I would appreciate it if you told me anything you know about that mass murder down in the Sanctuary Stronghold. I came to this island with the intention of becoming a Hero, and that puts a damper on my plans. So. Talk.”

Floumeré spat in his direction.

“Any day now.”

Floumeré glared.

“If you talk I’ll treat your wound.”

Her posture changed.

There. He’d done it. Now he could really negotiate.

She took a slow step towards him.

He lowered his arrow ever so slightly. Not enough that he couldn’t shoot reflexively if she came at him again, but enough to indicate to her that he didn’t want to shoot her again if he didn’t have to.

“You. Are not lying.”

“No,” said Rusk. “And I don’t think you are either.”