Right

By the time they'd made it back to the palace's garden fountain, Morand was practically thrumming with the need to get back to her idiot. Each tap of her foot on the manicured lawn had Asra sneaking sidelong glances at her. By the fifth one, Morand hissed, "What?"

Sheepishly, Asra let a curl fall into his face. "Are you… feeling alright?"

Alright? Well, let's count the ways. One, she was attached to a man who made deals with demons he couldn't begin to comprehend. Two, the Devil had a real hard on for Lucio's captivity. Three, she was weaker than she could ever remember being. So, no. Alright was not the best way to describe her.

Yet, she didn't chastise her master. Instead, she fidgeted with the smooth tops of her painted nails. In all honesty, she replied, "I'm not sure. I'm a bit faint. I guess."

The words relieved the magician. His lips made a gentle smile that had always soothed Morand. "Let me know if anything changes, all right?"

Nodding, Morand let Asra usher her, Morga, and Jæger into the fountain. Just as before, hands interlocked. The comfortable warmth of Asra was extremely different from the strong grip of Morga.

Years of calluses covered her palms. The ones beneath the initial bend of her fingers were obvious. They were the result of years of training and warfare, but there were others that Morand noticed, some that Morand, too, bore. They were calluses from washing laundry, working in a garden.

From outside their circle, Nadia wished them good luck. Asra inclined his head to her. "We'll need it," he admitted.

Then, everything went back to shadow. Just as it had the first time, the floor of the fountain fell out from underneath them. They slid from warm sunlight into vast darkness.

Yet, there was no howling wind trying to rip everyone apart. There was no tugging coming from one person or another. Morand frowned.

That must have come from Lucio. Some connection that he had to the various realms must have been stronger than anything Asra or Morand could create. Just how many deals had the Count made? Could Morand even begin to fix such a drastic mistake?

Gently, their bodies drifted, and Morand watched a realm come into focus. It was colorful, like an oasis within an expansive desert. Palm trees swayed over a multitude of glittering pools.

"Here we are," Asra announced. "This is where I tried to take you last time. It's my gateway into the magical realms. My own little refuge."

At her master's words, Morand wondered if she'd ever created a gateway of her own. Surely, her magician's gate would be a sunny field. Maybe, filled with all kinds of fruits and vegetation?

Looking around her, she couldn't help but admire Asra's handiwork. It looked so like him. Hues of purple, orange, red, and blue danced around. A few feet away, a fish leaped from a pool. Its scales reflected a rainbow of color.

The absolute best part, though? Morand could breathe here. Just being in this realm refreshed her magic. It allowed the apprentice to draw in a breath of wind that smelled of saltwater and coconut.

As for the warrior beside her… Morga scowled. "Asra, was it? This place is yours?"

"Yes."

"Hmph." She exhaled sharply through her nose. "How do you hunt in here?"

"Hunt? Uh, that's not how I do things." He self-consciously rubbed the back of his head. "See the pools? They lead anywhere in the magical realms. Well, almost anywhere. We can search for Lucio through his connection to Morand."

He moved his focus to his apprentice. "Morand, may I?"

"Work your magic, boss," she replied, slowly feeling as if she were coming back into herself. Soothingly, Asra's magic began to wrap around her. It was a warm breeze against her skin like the first hints of summer.

"Hmm," he breathed with his eyes closed. "The connection is still quite strong. A good sign." Opening his eyes back, he gazed towards the horizon. "It's that way."

Without further ado, Asra took up the lead. He didn't wander around or question his surroundings like Morand and Lucio had. Instead, he walked with purpose. Each footstep had a guidance behind it.

The rest of the group followed in tense silence. With her fingers doing their nervous stroking, Morand tried to ignore the hard stare of Morga's familiar. The bird watched her like she was prey, awaiting every step.

Once they'd gotten a few miles away, Morga finally sighed, "Montag… you foolish boy."

Ever the curious imp, Morand couldn't stop the question on her tongue. "Montag?"

Morga looked at her like someone would study an annoying insect. "Montag Morgasson, a name that my son would very much like to abandon. He never changes. Always dragging others into his disaster. Always unable to save himself."

Despite her harsh words, Morga's voice was soft. She looked more regretful over the situation rather than angry. It was the face of a tired mother, ever chasing after an unruly toddler.

Yet, Morand didn't believe her words. Lucio hadn't been unable to save himself. He had saved Morand from the wyrm. He had saved her from the Devil when her magic had begun to run low.

Morga continued, "He's been this way since he was young. Fleeing from prey, losing his fights." She bared her teeth. "Hiding from a damned musk bear."

Head shaking, she peered beyond the world around her. More to herself than anyone else, she added, "Nevermind. It's a tale from long ago. You wouldn't care about any of that."

After checking to see how far Asra had gotten away from him, Morand peered up at the taller woman. She took a few careful steps, making certain not to touch any of the pools at her feet. Once standing beside Morga, she admitted, "Actually, I would."

A single eyebrow arched. For a long moment, no one spoke. Morga stared at Morand. Morand stared at Morga. Just when Morand was sure the warrior wouldn't latch onto the conversation starter, she broke the quiet.

"Hmph. You wish to hear of how I failed Montag and myself?"

Well, that was certainly not how Morand would have worded it, but if that was what Morga could offer her…

"Very well," Morga sighed. "Do you know much of the South, Morand?"

As someone who knew little beyond the walls of Vesuvia, Morand couldn't rightly say that she knew much of anything. Shrugging, she said, "It's cold?"

The words had Morga's face stretch into a grin of sarcastic humor. "Ha. Yes, the South is cold." Then, her face resumed its stern stance. "More than that, it is unforgiving. Only the strong survive in such a place, and Montag… he was never strong enough."

Given how determined Lucio was in keeping Morand alive, she almost doubted the other woman. Again, though, she didn't speak. She bit her tongue and watched.

Unconsciously, Morga tightened her hand on her spear. The knuckles turned pale. "When he was born, a fever almost took him. When he was six, he nearly drowned in a stream. Each time he had a brush with death, I swore to let him face the next on his own, so he could grow stronger. And each time, I saved him instead."

Morand's upper lip raised in perplexity. Wasn't taking care of your child part of being a parent? Had Morand come upon her child drowning, she would have dropped everything she had to scoop him from the water's clutches and bring him back to life.

Unable to remain silent any longer, she asked, "Saved him? Isn't that a good thing?"

Instantly, Morga's face hardened. Bitterness stained her words. "No. Though, perhaps, I hoped so at the time. Once, when he was old enough to know better, he refused to clean his training weapons. He threw a tantrum at his father and ran off into the snowy woods, alone. I was hunting far from our village. When I returned Montag was still missing."

And there was the spoiled brat Morand knew Lucio to be. Regardless, she continued the conversation. "Had anyone else looked for him?"

She scoffed, "Not for long. He was always good at shirking his chores, if nothing else. So, I left to find him on my own."

The more she spoke, the colder the oasis grew. At her feet, color faded from the sand. Her memories were painting the landscape, shaping it to her emotion.

"It was snowing heavily, and his tracks were gone. I listened and watched for anything that might pursue a foolish boy for a quick meal. Soon enough, I found a musk bear, growling at a cave entrance buried in the snow. I knew Montag had to be inside. I should've walked away then."

Morand leaned back. Her eyes went as round as the saucers Nadia served her tea on. "Walked away?!"

"The bear was old, limping, half-starved. Montag could have fended it off easily. I should've given him the chance to do something for himself. Instead, I lured the bear away and slew it."

On her sigh, the realm's coldness strengthened. Morand could almost see the snowy woodland the warrior was describing. She could nearly feel the cold bite of a southern winter.

Story not yet complete, Morga kept on. "When Montag finally left his hiding hole and came home, he boasted of scaring away a monstrous musk bear." Her eyelids settled over her gaze, nearly closing off her vision in a downcast expression. "And I said nothing… I did not want the villagers to know my son for the coward he was. In time, his lies grew larger and more outlandish. I didn't believe them, but Montag did. He lied to himself more than anyone else."

After a moment's pause, Morga looked at Morand. She softly explained, "I knew I had failed him. I knew a day would come when no one could save him from his own delusions." Resolve passed across her body, and the soft look dispersed. "That was then, but it has been many years. Tell me, what is my son like now?"

Biting on the inside of her lip, Morand felt the strongest urge to defend Lucio. Wyrms, worms, and Arcana had all been in their faces during their travels. Lucio had saved her all on his own. He had saved them, not just Morand but himself.

Confident in her reply, Morand didn't flinch from Morga's harsh stare. "He's changed since then."

Thin eyebrows threatened to vanish into the older woman's hairline. When her sarcastic grin returned, Morand felt herself warming towards the warrior. "Hmph. Is that so?"

Shrugging, Morand elaborated, "Well, he admitted he was in trouble to me. It doesn't sound like he wouldn't have done that before."

"I hope you are right, Morand. For my part, I will believe he has changed when I see it." And with those words, the silence returned to the oasis. All of the warmth and color that had been stolen by Morga's stories rushed back.

Only the crunching of sand beneath Morand's sandals and Morga's boots made sound between the two women. They fell into companionable silence. Every now and then, Morand's attention would be drawn to a prismatic reflection against the surface of the oasis's pools or a leaping fish.

On a frown, she studied her master's back. He was a few meters ahead of them. The golden fringe on his fuschia sash ebbed in a soothing breeze.

Morand could only wonder what Asra really thought of her situation with Lucio. She could admit that it wasn't the most normal. Asra had been her flatmate for years, longer than she could remember. They shared meals together. They sometimes shared a bed, especially on those nights where memory threatened to scald away at her very consciousness.

She hadn't been lying to Lucio when she'd said she loved Asra, but it wasn't a romantic sort of feeling. Never had Asra made any romantic notions towards her, said any compliments that were more than platonic. They'd gone to bars, and he'd only laughed when Morand had pulled over a fellow reveller for a hard, sloppy kiss.

Yet, he felt distant to her now. He felt further away than he ever had before. Lost in thought, Morand had to shake herself when she saw Asra turn towards her and Morga.

The magician had one hand in the air. He waved it to get their attention. Once they were looking his way, he cupped his hands around his mouth and called, "Morand! Morga! I've found something."

Eager for anything that would rescue Lucio, Morand charged forward. She hastened until Asra stopped just in front of a shallow pool. She peered down.

Instead of reflecting the star scattered sky of amber and sangria, Morand stared into a wasteland. It was utterly barren. Craggy stones jutted from the earth in harsh angles. The color of vermillion stretched mile after mile.

Eyes scanning for any sign of life, Morand asked, "Where is that?"

Stray blades of yellow grass twisted around Asra's tall boots. He explained, "Time and place are both a bit fuzzy in the magical realms. Think of it more like… a mindset than places on a map."

Morand's brows drew inward. If dry earth and desolate stone were a mindset then whoever's realm this was seriously needed to rethink their life choices. Who in their right mind thought in such a way that their existence could be interpreted as emptiness and a dusty, red haze?

Thoughts thrown to the back of her mind, Morand watched in surprise when Morga tramped straight between the magician and apprentice into the pool. She wasn't wasting any time to get back to her son. Was she?

Following the warrior's lead, Morand put one foot after another into the water until plummeting. The second she reemerged in the new realm, the air coiled heavily in her throat. It laid there like layers of ash and dust, thickening every breath on dry heat.

She had to gasp to breathe. On a rushing intake, she hissed, "It's… getting worse." Morand laid her hands against her throat, taking short comfort in the coolness of the rings she wore on nearly every finger.

Ahead of her, Morga clicked her tongue. When she turned her head to the sky, her eyes glittered a pure gold. She stated, "Then we must make haste. Jæger, jægde."

Screeching, the eagle erupted from Morga's shoulder. It soared straight to the rust-stained sky, and the warrior set off in the direction it led. The magicians weren't far behind her.

Strangely, with each step she took, the strangling sensation drove Morand forward. The direction Morga led was accompanied by an invisible chain wrapping tighter and tighter around Morand's throat. It slowed her pace. Steadily, Morga grew further away from her.

Asra stayed close to his apprentice's side. His eyes grew heavy upon the desert soil. "This is all my fault. If I hadn't lost you earlier…"

Barely able to speak, Morand shook her head hard. Her voice was a scratchy growl, but she was determined to speak to the man who had done so much for her. "It's not," she gasped, snarling at how difficult speech was becoming. "It's not your fault, Asra."

The pained look in her master's eyes didn't recede. On the contrary, it deepened. His lips parted to show off white teeth on a frown of discomfort. Looking into the depths of his apprentice's eyes, Asra continued, "Morand, it was my idea to bring Lucio to the magical realms."

Memories of what she and Lucio had gone through in Asra's absence danced in her head. The biting cold that followed Lucio somehow made her shiver despite the dry desert she stood atop. Still, she didn't let up.

"I think trouble was going to find Lucio one way or another." She paused to catch her breath. A rock appeared from seeming nowhere, and she stumbled on her feet. Asra was quick to catch her. With his strong arms around her, Morand added, "No matter what we did. It would have found us."

"True enough…" Asra settled Morand on her feet, yet he never let her go. Weaving their arms together, he supported her with his shoulder. "I just wish I'd been there to help. That's all."

Sharp canines flaunted themselves in a weak smirk. "Please, Assra. When have I ever needed your help to get into trouble?" Her attempt at humor was rewarded. Asra smiled faintly back at her.

Morand hugged his arm tight before pulling away from him. Asra's forearm followed, but she patted him on the shoulder. The look of confidence she gave him was better than any words. Catching her hint, the other magician released her, so she could stand on her own.

There was something coming into view on the horizon. Morga had already found it. Her eagle circled overhead, giving a cry to announce the fruits of his labor. The closer Morand got to it, the more curious the object became.

Long, spindly arms stretched overhead. They were dry, brittle, and the result of a tree long since starved of water. Its base was coiled tightly in red-hot chains.

The chains called to Morand more than anything else. Lucio had been chained. The Devil's gate had been wrapped in them. They were getting close.

Peering closer, the apprentice saw hints of a doorway against the tree's massive roots. The thick entities crawled up from the desert around the travellers and dug deep into arid soil. They cradled the doorway in an embrace that could have been loving were it not for the trunk's charred state. As things stood, the golden doorway looked guarded by a looming husk of a sylvan.

Morga gestured to the chained doorway with her spear. "This is it. He's caged in there, on the other side of the door."

Asra pursed his lips in skepticism. "In there? Are you sure?"

Before anyone could do anything, Morand stepped between warrior, magician, and gateway. She warned, "Be careful. Those chains…" She had to pause to catch her breath. "I've seen the Devil use them before."

The first to approach the door was Asra. He cautiously moved around Morand to study the chains and tree. Unlike what Lucio had done, the magician kept a safe distance from the writhing chains.

After some brows drawn thought, Asra stated, "This is another magicians' gate. Why would Lucio be in a gate that isn't his own?"

Morand cocked a brow. "How do you know it isn't his?"

"Trust me. Lucio would never have a gate as elaborate as this."

Morand would have observed the gate in more detail had Morga's cutting tone not stopped her. The warrior ordered, "Enough talk. Move."

After waving the magicians away, Morga's eyes began to glow in that strange gold color once more. The whites of her eyes became encased in a hue of yellow not unlike that of the glowing eyes of a night creature. Hefting her spear in two hands, she eyed the serpentine chains.

Her focus was that of a trained hunter, someone to whom killing prey was second nature. In a single, fluid motion, she threw her spear. It struck lengths of chain, slicing through cleanly.

When the metal speartip hit the door, the gateway rang like a struck gong. Upon impact, the door opened. Morga admired her handiwork with a smirk, seemingly satisfied with the dumbstruck expressions Asra and Morand gave from the sidelines.

Her teeth were exposed in a shark's grin. "Well?" she asked. "Are you coming?"

Respect glittered in Asra's gaze. Any skepticism regarding the warrior seemed to have been vanquished along with the Devil's chains. He commented, "Huh. Lucio was terrible at magic, so I assumed…"

He looked to the side like he was discomfited. "Well, I shouldn't assume things."

His sentence was ended by a bright of brilliant light pouring from the crack Morga had opened. As if moved by instinct, she rushed forward to lock a hard grip on the door. As she pulled, she looked from Asra to Morand.

Something about the way the two looked had her making an unspoken decision. To the white haired magician, she spoke, "Asra, help me."

The warrior's struggle was soon remedied. A single touch from Asra gave them both the power to pull it open further, but Morand could only frown. Again, she couldn't help. Guilt at her predicament had her rubbing her fingers together.

Was she dead weight to them right now?

Before her eyes, the door creaked open. The wider it went, the colder the realm became. Biting wind and puffs of overlarge snowflakes blew her hair from her shoulders.

On the other side of the doorway, a blizzard howled. Snowflakes blended together until they made streaks of white on white. There was nothing to see beyond layers of frozen precipitation.

When Morand shivered, Asra put a hand between her shoulder blades. "At least, it's not a real blizzard. We won't freeze to death," he informed.

"But it'll still feel cold," Morand grumbled. Her commentary earned her an affectionate pat on the head.

Animal hide boots left imprints in the snow beside her, and the apprentice watched Morga lean down. Her pale hands moved snow until she could find the solid ground. "How strange. Sand and snow."

She moved her palm to reveal her truth. Pale amber sand laid beneath the collective snowflakes. When Morand moved deeper into the gate, she could see a few sparse bits of uncovered sand being pelted by flakes.

Amidst them laid a geyser. It was frozen in a state of permanent eruption. Icy lengths of still water glittered and reflected the endless whiteness.

Morga curled her lip. "Hmph. Montag could be anywhere." There was a woosh and a crunch. Jæger swooped low before rising from the doorway. Morga marched directly into the blizzard. Her eagle stationed himself on her shoulder as they moved.

"Wait!" Asra cried. He might as well have been trying to make water stop being wet. Roaring winds ate up his words, and he turned to Morand with a sigh. "How are you feeling now? Any new symptoms?"

The apprentice shrugged at her master. "I'm cold, but my magic feels a bit more normal. I can breath better."

"That's a relief. If you're feeling better, why not try to sense Lucio by magic?"

Morand's entire body lightened at the prospect. Finally! Something she could actually do. She refused to be dead weight, dragging down the others because of her mess.

She mentally began prepping her power. Smiling at her, Asra added, "I'll do the same."

Morand barely listened to him. Eyes closed, she focused on something far beyond howling wind and chilly snow. She searched through all the connections in her life.

She could feel Asra, her connection to him strong and secure. She could feel Morga, a distant tug that read as indifference. Then, she felt something else. It was a presence off to the right.

Third eye seeking, she zeroed in on it. Her magic toyed with the strand of the connection. It was convoluted, mixed in a myriad of magical webbings. Truly, she couldn't be certain if it was Lucio or not, but it was a lead.

Asra broke her concentration by speaking. "There's a lot of really strong magic to our left."

Morand held back a hunk of her blowing hair and blinked at her master. "Odd. I sensed something in the opposite direction." She nodded behind herself, towards more infinite white bullshit. Gods, she hated winter.

Brows drew deep to crease along the bridge of Asra's nose. He exhaled, "I don't relish the thought of splitting up… But I'm not thrilled about spending hours in this blizzard."

Interestingly, Morand felt that there was something more to the expression on Asra's face. She doubted that her master was lying about a presence to his left. He never joked about things of a magical nature, but she did suspect that he wouldn't want to be around when Morand rescued Lucio.

It made her think two things. Either Asra's hatred of the Count really went that deep, or he didn't like the idea of Morand in any kind of relationship with the nefarious Lucio. Morand worried her bottom lip with a canine. Why did the latter thought make her feel so dirty?

Catching the curls that had slipped from her fingers, Morand tried to ease Asra's concerns. "I'll be fine if we split up. I'm not completely weak, you know?" Shyly, she peered up at him through thick eyelashes.

"All right. At least, we'll search faster that way." Just as Morand turned her feet in the right direction, Asra reached out to gently clasp her wrist. Smirking at her, he said, "I'll never think of you as weak, either."

Morand dipped her forehead at him. "And you damn well better not change that thought. You hear me?"

"I hear you."

"Good. I'll let you know when I find something."