Fear and desperation was something that became more common to Piers ever since he left home. First, they met when the open sea grew violent and harsh with storms and the waves bore threats of tearing Piers's ship apart. After that was when an earthquake triggered a tsunami, which thankfully hadn't killed the sailor or badly hurt his ship. Then there was when soldiers barged into his ship and accused him of being a pirate, so he fought them with all of what he thought at the time was bravery. That was what landed him right in jail.

One of the more notable experiences he had, however, was when he decided that spending a month as a falsely accused criminal was enough and that he would escape well into the night. The defenses of the jailhouse were little to none, and its carpenters didn't realize that the windows in the cells should have been higher than a couple of feet.

Escaping was easy. Running was hard.

Piers had been sprinting for what he could only assume were lifetimes, and the sun had already risen when he could go no more. Forest surrounded him on all sides, and the tall trees provided much needed shade. If Piers had taken the time to find the things confisticated by guards when he was first imprisoned, he would have had more than just his clothes and the blisters forming on his feet.

The familiarity of fear and desperation should have given the foreigner an advantage when the growls from the forest were revealed to be growls from a wolf. His lack of weapons were a disadvantage, but his lack of energy was even worse. The last of the world around him faded when his eyes rolled up to the sky and the tranquility of the life draining from him finally settled in.

The aches in his bones were the first senses of his to wake. Next was a ghost of the headache Piers should have had, along with the faint tingle of his torn skin. Light seeped through his eyelids and warmth hugged him gently from all sides.

Piers wanted to expect that when he opened his eyes he would see the walls of his room back home around him, but no god was ever kind to him. Instead, he saw the dark panels of wood forming the walls and a sloping ceiling above him, along with the floor he had been sleeping on since whenever it was that he passed out. A few feet away from him was a dying fire in what was presumably once a grand fireplace, lined with old wooden carvings of the life in the forest, most notably a wolf, which reminded Piers of why he was on that wooden floor in the first place.

He rolled over on his side to see if anyone else was in the cabin, and noticed that he was naked and wrapped in soft furs instead of the old clothes he wore. Whoever's sympathetic hands he was in, Piers owed them a thousand thanks for saving his life.

"Hello?" he whispered hoarsely. No doubt his body had been maimed so badly that talking would have hurt him, no matter how much it didn't seem to hurt. Why didn't his wounds hurt as much as they should have?

Piers's quiet question echoed in his ears instead of the reply of someone else, bouncing off of the walls and stabbing back into him. His bright yellow eyes took in as much information as the dimly lit cabin allowed, to which Piers concluded that he was alone. He rolled on to his back and stared at the ceiling, wondering if that was what death was or if he really was saved.

The door of the cabin creaked open and heavy feet moved across the floor, dragging something that smelled of the forest outside. Light seeped in through the open door, revealing to Piers a sliver of the being that arrived. It wore suntanned skins and feathers, and a mask of some kind. It was tall, however that may have been Piers's perspective from the floor.

The sailor held his breath to try and hide himself from the creature, then settled with steadying it to seem like he was asleep. The being made no indication of noticing the change in Piers's breath, and instead walked around the cabin, searching through shelves and cabinets. Once it had everything it needed, it placed its supplies near Piers's feet. The entire time that Piers should have had his eyes closed to sell the idea that he was asleep he had been watching the owner of the house intently. He hadn't noticed how wide open his eyes were until the creature turned to look him in the eyes through the slits in its mask where darkness stood as a substitute for its own.

It stood up and walked to the fireplace and revealed two dark hands from the large deerskin cloak it wore and threw a log into the nearly dead fire. It turned slowly, shoulders low and heavy, and returned to Piers. The hands appeared again, and the closeness allowed Piers to see that the hands were caked in mud and dirt from the forest. The hands were slender beneath the earthy gloves and moved with aged precision.

The masked creature dipped one of its hands into a jar from the shelves and from it had a handful of a clear balm. The other hand reached beneath the furs and pulled out Piers's leg, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages and sticking to the quickly healing scabs. The being, which Piers decided to be the reigning God of the forest, began to unwrap him and Piers saw just how torn his leg was. Mangled skin hung off of shredded muscle, exposing bone in some places.

The God rubbed balm onto Piers's leg, massaging what still hung where Mother Gaia intended them to, and used an old stained cloth to clear some of the blood away. None of it hurt, which initially scared Piers because he was afraid he had lost feeling in his body, but then he concluded that it must have been the God's doing. Being at his mercy both soothed the young sailor and coldly pierced him to the deepest pits of his stomach, which still seemed to be in the right place.

The God wrapped Piers's leg in clean bandages and moved to his torso to get at the gashes there, which Piers knew was a mess because he could still feel a dull pain on his sides. He rolled his eyes up to the sloping wood ceiling and let the God do his work.

"Where am I?" Piers asked after a moment passed of staring upwards.

"Osenia." The God's voice was deep and soft, much like the tranquil days in the forest that Piers would never know.

"Osenia? This is a town, then?"

"No. It's a continent." His voice held no emotion, and definitely no surprise at Piers's lack of knowing where he was. "You came from Madra, did you?"

"That's the town I was in, right? To the west?" Piers heard the name during his excuse for a court hearing, something about committing injustices towards the "sacred town of Madra", and he knew he had ran east because of how brightly the sun greeted him once morning rose.

"Yes. You're the pirate they caught?" Apparently news spread to those in the forests, too.

"I was falsely accused of being a pirate. They knew I wasn't one, too, but they still held me there." Piers was still bitter about that whole ordeal. The mayor himself admitted that they couldn't find the actual pirate who stole from them, but his excuse was that the people "needed something to comfort them", whatever that meant. What it didn't mean was imprisoning someone who was clearly innocent.

The forest God chuckled, flipped Piers gently onto his back, and said, "That sounds about right. The mayor of Madra is quick to do whatever he needs to look good in front of his people, even if he knows it isn't the right thing."

The absurdity of his situation settled into Piers at around that point. There he was, conversing with a God he had no business knowing about how he had been jailed, all while the God tended to his wounds. At least he would have interesting stories for when he got back home.

"So, Lemurian," the God said with more interest. "Tell me about this symbol on your back shoulder."

"Ah, what? How do you… you know what that is?" And that was where Piers remembered that Gods were terrifying creatures that had no time for domestic conversations. This one had a goal, and for some reason Lemuria was part of it.

"Are you kidding? Every witch in Weyard knows about that ancient magic, of course I know about it." Oh. So not a God.

"There's no… ancient magic in Lemuria. Witches don't live there, they never have."

The witch stopped to place a dirty, bloody hand on his chin and jeered, "How old do your people live?"

"About 280. Why?"

"People here live to 70. If they're lucky." He put his supplies back into their respective jars and stood to put them back on their shelves.

"70? That's it?" No wonder his family begged him not to go to the Outside, dying was too easy for these people.

"Fortunately, yes," The witch set the last of his jars down and heavily landed in a large chair that matched his deerskin coat and sighed inwardly. "We don't have the same magic you do. Apparently there's a theory going round that your air is infused with that healing water everyone wants."

"What water?" Why was he asking? It wasn't like Piers needed any of it if he lived longer than the people on the Outside. But the magic, the witches, and the witch in front of him had grabbed the sailor by the heart and tricked him into being interested. A witch's hut was a dangerous place, indeed.

"The healing water," the unnamed witch began, delighted with the chance to talk at someone about something so elusive, "is supposedly hidden in the palace of King Hydros, not even spoken about to his own people. It's said to grant immortality to those who frequently drink it, but the magic of Lemuria stops all travelers from getting there and stealing it." A faint glow seeped out of the slices in his mask in his excitement.

Piers couldn't believe a word of what that witch was saying, even if it seemed slightly possible. "So how does anyone know about it if no one in Lemuria knows?"

This made the witch sit even taller, and Piers could hear the grin in his voice when he said, "Many years ago a man was aided by the last Venus Guardian to break into the ancient city. The Guardian had been powerful enough to bypass the magic and the man had been able to steal some water for himself and the witch, but once they left Lemuria the man pushed the Guardian over their ship to drown and he kept both bottles of healing water for himself. People still believe him to be alive to this day."

Piers rolled back over to get a better look at the excited man. "So this is entirely based on a story? Witches believe this?"

"Oh, it's no story. It's a legend among witches. Entire covens devote their studies to finding ways into Lemuria, much like I have."

A sharp breath stabbed through Piers at that statement. "You've studied how to break into Lemuria?"

"Who wouldn't? The only reason why you're still alive right now is because I want to study that hex symbol on your back that gave you away." The ease with which the once believed generous witch said those words sent chills down Piers's aching spine. "I haven't used any of my magic on you yet because we still have to settle the deal."

"W-what deal?"

A hand went back to the witch's chin, "You poor Lemurian boy. Don't you know that witches, even I, only work on deals? I may be the current Venus Guardian but I'm still a regular witch at my core. I'm still bound to the same rules of exchange this universe lives on. So, will you allow me to use you to get into Lemuria in exchange for me to keep you alive? Or will I have to let that wolf finish the job?"

No wonder he was so obviously powerful. No wonder Piers was still torn apart. No wonder those eyes had glowed so brightly. But he had no choice, no matter how many children's stories told him not to trust those fictional witches. There, on the floor of Weyard's Great and Powerful Venus Guardian's cabin was where Piers had to decide between treason and death.

His bones ached. Pain was settling back into his skin. Fear and desperation soaked in the pits of his stomach. And he inhaled a painful breath to answer the witch's question.

"Yes. I'll accept your deal."