The Summoner had returned, but his work was not yet done. Though his hand and his powers were restored, demons still ravaged the kingdom of Medeva. The capital city, Lenelle, was overrun by hordes of undead, raised by the foul Sorcerer-King, Sornehan. The Queen, who had betrayed her husband, King Bellias, and now ruled over the empty carcass of the once great city with the King's brother, stood at Sornehan's side as his lover, and fellow practitioner of the dreadful art of Nhuvasarim.

But the Queen and her new King were cunning, and great magical barriers ringed the city of Lenelle. If the Summoner were to cross this barrier, it would undoubtedly activate the defenses of the evil rulers of the city.

And so, under the cover of night, two of the Summoner's allies snuck into the city. Their mission was simple, yet unbelievably dangerous: Jehkar and Rosalind, two of Joseph's most trusted companions, would infiltrate the palace, and slay the false King and his traitorous Queen, dispelling the barrier and hopefully taking the first step in putting the Kingdom back to the way it was. Thus, the line of succession would smile upon Fleece, who was revealed to be anything but an ordinary thief, but a love-child of the former Empress of Orenia, and the King Bellias, the last rightful King of Medeva.

As a result, Fleece could not join on the mission either, and would have to wait with Joseph outside of the barrier. As she was the heir to two royal lines of succession, her life was far too important to risk. And so it fell to Rosalind and Jehkar to see this task done.

Rosalind had always had a sharp eye. It was a skill she had honed over many years of identifying people's weaknesses and strengths, and one she put to good use as a friend of the Summoner. So the way Jehkar's face twinged with pain whenever he took a moment to look around at their surroundings was easy for her to spot.

She could see the hurt and anger in his eyes. Lenelle had been Jehkar's home, and he had been a loyal servant of the former King, Bellias, who had tasked him to accompany the Summoner on his journey.

But now Lenelle lay in ruins, its rotting corpse paled by droves of cold winter snow, and infested with skeletons and wraiths. Jekhar hid it well enough behind his veneer of stoicism, but Rosalind could see it clearly: the warrior was hurting.

The only thing that seemed to ease his suffering was destroying the undead that had been raised by the new regime. Whenever they encountered an enemy, Jehkar would approach it slowly, his great war axe held casually in his hand. The enemy skeletons would creak and rattle, turning their skulls to face him. The mummies would groan and shuffle forth, ready to lay a curse upon Jehkar.

And all the same, he would hack through their guard so violently and angrily that by the time he was done, they were often left as a pile of mangled bones and severed limbs. But even taking his vengeance upon these ghouls held little enough significance, for he would quickly turn sour once again, and stalk further and further into the belly of the beast.

"Jehkar, hold a moment," Rosalind called to him, hurrying over to the warrior after he finished cutting down another band of powerful specters.

The warrior froze, turning to scowl at the woman. Something in his expression softened, but his voice remained rather cold.

"What is it?"

"You're hurt." Rosalind replied, somewhat taken aback by the warrior's tone.

She pointed at his forearm, where a gash had been made between his hauberk and gauntlet. Blood leaked from the wound quickly, dripping into the white snow as Jehkar frowned at the wound with pursed lips.

"It's just a scratch," he grunted.

He made to walk away when Rosalind caught his arm. Jehkar, being incredibly strong, could have simply kept walking. There was nothing she could have done to physically stop him from advancing further into the city, but the instant her hand caught his bicep, he was paralyzed.

She had not hit him with a spell, no magic was in play. The warrior simply froze, and Rosalind gently squeezed his arm as she said, "You must let me heal it. There is a curse upon that wound- it will not close unless I remove it."

Jehkar turned to face Rosalind, taking in her stunning beauty. In a place filled with the silent stillness of the grave, and the all the skeletons to go with it, she was remarkable a sight to behold. Her long dirty-blonde hair was bound into a long braid that fell squarely between her shoulders before ending at her lower back, and her Mending Robes hugged her soft features. Her eyes were bright with intelligence that Jehkar could hardly fathom, and contained a quickness of wit that often left him perplexed. All of this and more he noticed in nary a glance as he quickly averted his eyes and mumbled, "Very well then. Do as you will."

"I've already begun," she said, flashing a sly grin at the warrior as waves of heat spread from where she gripped his arm. The magic flowed through her and into him, ebbing into his wound and causing it to heal. Skin mended, and the flow of blood was quickly staunched as Rosalind knit her brow. A few stray strands of hair fell into her eyes, but she brushed them away impatiently, earning a small, poorly hidden smirk from Jehkar.

"And just what do you think is so amusing?" Rosalind asked, peering at Jehkar with those bright, intense eyes.

"I was just thinking about how adorable you look when you focus like that," the warrior said truthfully, staring pointedly into the mage's eyes. "It's like a little kitten trying desperately to look ferocious."

Rosalind's face went from pale and clammy to red in a heartbeat, and she fumbled with her staff for a moment as she struggled to find the right words to say.

"I am not a kitten trying to look ferocious! I am a powerful arcanist, and a top-notch healer-"

"Thank you, by the way."

The healer, who had angrily tossed her braid over her shoulder before starting in on the muscled warrior who stood two heads taller than she, became stock still. Her mouth hung agape like a fish gasping for air as Jehkar turned and walked away from her, leading them towards the docks, which would take them to where they inevitably end up sooner or later.

"Why is it always the sewers?" Rosalind groaned to herself.

She and Jehkar had been trekking through the great sewer system beneath Lenelle for hours. Between the bacites and the smell, it was a normally an unpleasant, lengthy journey.

But now there were not only bacites, but three-headed gorgons, and gargantuan jade golems as well. And to further complicate things, Rosalind and Jehkar were but two members of a four person team. This meant that their attack power was more than halved, and there was only one skilled healer.

Jehkar, of course, took no caution, and did not bother to sneak up on his enemies. He marched towards them with all the deadly calm of a massive storm looming ominously upon the horizon.

He would raise his axe in a heavy, two handed grip, and bring it crashing down upon the heads of his enemies. Watching him work was like watching an accomplished spellcaster work a powerful spell, in that he did it with such effortlessness that it was obvious he had been doing it for years.

But even so, his complete silence was something Rosalind did not expect.

While Jehkar was never very outgoing or friendly, the man did talk. Normally he was limited to blunt observations or single word answers to prying questions, but he would, on occasion, say something that made Rosalind think long and hard about him. Take for example, his earlier comment about her likeness to a kitten trying to be ferocious.

Firstly, he had called the kitten adorable.

'Well, what on earth was that supposed to mean?' Rosalind thought angrily. Did he think of her as an adorable kitten? Was he fond of kittens? And what prompted him to say something so foolish? Or perhaps he had chosen his words carefully, with the express intent of causing her to mull them over for hours, trying to decipher their meaning?

In the end, all she could do was sigh and try to focus on her spellwork, which was being put to the test with every battle they fought.

They were almost to the great lift that would take them to the sewers beneath the palace when Jehkar stopped moving, and signaled for Rosalind to stop.

"Wha-what's going on? Why are we stopping? Is there something wrong?" Rosalind asked, her pale face painted with confusion.

Jehkar frowned, his dark eyes travelling up and down Rosalind's figure. At long last he shook his head and muttered, "You're tired. You should rest here for a bit to regain your strength."

That took Rosalind by surprise. She frowned for a moment before glaring at the large man.

"I don't need to rest! We need to take care of Sornehan and the Queen so that Joseph and Fleece can get through the barrier!"

The warrior at the end of the dark hall they were situated in shook his head once again, "Joseph and Fleece will be fine. You can't keep going like you have been. Your hands are shaking, and you look like you're about to fall over."

Rosalind turned her narrowed eyes downward, and noticed that Jehkar was right.

Her legs were spasming, and her hands were twitching. She felt like she could eat six drums of mutton all to herself, and her head was light and airy.

It only took a moment for her to realize what was wrong: she was out of mana.

In her silent musing of Jehkar and his ways, she had been going on autopilot; healing Jehkar's wounds, curing the curses laid upon him by the wraiths and mummies, and aiding him in battle with bolts of lightning. She had a few mana potions, but she was saving them for an emergency. There was nothing Rosalind could do but take Jehkar's advice and rest. Either that, or….

"We are wasting time!" she insisted, stomping a foot. "The longer we wait, the worse things become! We must defeat Sornehan and the Queen!

"Both of whom are master practitioners of Nhuvasarim, and are responsible for the undead that now roam the streets of Lenelle," Jehkar retorted dryly. "Fighting one of them on their own is dangerous, doubly so if you are practically running on empty. You must rest and replenish your magic. Then we can continue."

In one fell swoop, Jehkar had cut through her argument, leaving her baffled by the amount of sense he had made. His words were not nearly as blunt as she had thought, they were actually just as sharp as his axe. She met his steely gaze, her lips pressing together into a thin line as Jehkar waited for her counter argument. And sure enough…

"Fine," the mage decided, looking at her cuticles as she found the cleanest patch of sewer she could and sat down upon it.

"Ah…AAH….AAAAACCHHOOOOOO!"

Joseph blinked hard, sniffling as he tended to the fire he and Fleece set up outside of Lenelle. It was cold now that winter had fallen, and Joseph's light chainmail was not exactly warm in the best of circumstances. As such, he huddled as close to the fire as he could, trying to warm his bones.

"Perhaps we should have gone with them," Fleece said quietly to herself.

"Jehkar and Rosalind can handle themselves. You know that."

"I do, but it is unsettling to be without them."

Joseph shot Fleece a smirk. "Do I make you uncomfortable?"

"Not at all, I just feel… vulnerable. Like I'm missing a piece of armor. The four of us have travelled together for some time, and very rarely seldomly splinter."

Joseph scoffed, poking at the fire with a stick as he shook his head, "You? Vulnerable? You keep a knife in your boot, and are on guard faster than anyone I've ever met."

"I can be vulnerable," Fleece said indignantly, crossing her arms as she scowled at the Summoner.

"Think of one time you let your guard down," Joseph prompted her, his lips curling as he saw her struggle. "Go on, I challenge you to think of one single time you were vulnerable."

He took great satisfaction in the way her face turned pink, and she turned her gaze downward, into the fire, which reflected in her eyes as she pulled her knees to her chest and locked her arms around them. For a moment she was silent, and contemplative, and Joseph wondered if he had upset her.

"In the Tower of Eleh," she said quietly. "When I came to rescue you."

That made the smile melt off Joseph's face like it was made of wax. It had not been very long ago that he had endured that torment, and even thinking of it was like remembering an old wound. He could practically feel the ache as he had so desperately awaited his death. He had wanted nothing more than to give up. And yet, there he was, his powers restored, and his quest not yet done.

But there was something else he recalled as well, something that he had almost forgotten.

In that moment where Joseph had relinquished his desire to die, and his resignation to living the rest of his life as a prisoner, Fleece has pulled him to his feet, slung an arm over his shoulder, and pecked him on the cheek before helping him escape.

Joseph's eyes became unfocused as he too stared at the fire. In the time since the Tower of Eleh, he had restored his hand by completing a ritual in the caves of Wolong. He had travelled Orenia, and fought monsters, and retrieved the Dragon Rings of Summoning. He had gone through so much in such a short amount of time that he had all but forgotten that tender moment between himself and the dark-haired thief before him.

"I remember," Joseph mumbled at last. "You kissed me…"

He put a hand to his cheek, turning towards Fleece, and found her staring at him. Her eyes were still full of fire, though of a different variety. Her lips were slightly parted, and she was breathing softly, slowly, as if she were trying to listen for her own heartbeat.

"So I did." She did not seem even remotely bashful, and the way she looked at Joseph was strange, as if she were waiting for something.

"Why?"

"Why do you think?"

Joseph raised an eyebrow, and Fleece raised one in return.

'This is getting me nowhere,' he thought exasperatedly.

The truth was, Joseph had never really considered himself a ladies' man. Sure, the girls in Ciran had once thought of him as handsome, but they had all been killed years ago by the Demon of Darkness. Since then, he had tried to simply start over, and took no interest in love. He sought only peace- a life without the burdens of being the Summoner, the Sahugani. All he ever wanted was peace, and a place he could live without troubles.

"Fleece…."

"Yes?"

"Thank you. For saving me from Eleh, I mean. I know that we've been busy since then, but… I don't think I ever thanked you for it."

"It was nothing, I'd do anything for you Joseph, you know that."

Her words rang through Joseph, making him shiver in such a manner that had nothing to do with the chill night air. Fleece rose from her place on the other side of the camp fire and circled it until she came to stand before him, whereupon she expertly unfastened her cape and cast it over the Summoner's broad shoulders.

"I'll go get more firewood," she said softly. "You stay here and rest a while."

Joseph could not argue. He felt ill, and his nose was stuffy. Fleece's cape was warm, and smelled like her. He nodded thickly, his eyelids heavy, and his last vision was one of Fleece stalking off into the night, her dagger flashing in the firelight as she slipped between the trees and vanished into darkness.

Within the grand palace that lay in the center of Lenelle, a terrible battle was waging.

Dark magic licked against the castle's walls, and turned the stones to dust. Great statues were upended, and undead poured out of the castle's many rooms and halls.

Jehkar did his best to protect Rosalind, but he was getting nowhere fast. As quickly as he could cut down a mummy, or crush a skeleton beneath his axe, ten more would appear. Rosalind was still running low on mana, and with every spell she cast, she grew paler, until her skin was chalk white, and she leaned heavily upon her staff.

Meanwhile, Sornehan sat upon his throne, the Queen standing at his side diligently. They hadn't even needed to lift a finger, and the two heroes were already on the ropes.

Sornehan grinned to himself, using his thumb and forefinger to trace his well-oiled mustache as he mused to himself. "The Summoner must be here in Medeva. I doubt he would hide in Orenia and allow these two to travel here all on their own."

"But how could they have gotten here so quickly?" Queen Galienne asked. "Our spies reported the Emperor's death only last month."

"Summoners are not bound to trek this earth in the way of mere mortals. Surely, he has a spell or a creature that would allow him to travel great lengths at speed. But that is not relevant. After we are done here, we should send another undead horde to collect Joseph," The new King said quietly, leaning back in his throne.

"And the thief," Galienne said, "I want her brought back to me alive. She has much to answer for."

Sornehan turned to grin unkindly at his Queen, "Still sore about that mess with Bellias and the Empress, I take it?"

"That whore seduced Bellias, and birthed a bastard, who now travels with the Summoner. I will not have my claims to the throne put in jeopardy by that lowlife slum-crawler and her little friends. Fleece will pay for what her mother did, and then… I will sacrifice her to Lahara. I will turn Bellias' bastard child into a puppet on my strings."

The Queens eyes lit up with malign intent as she stared at Jehkar and Rosalind, who had been forced to retreat by the flood of undead. With every step Jehkar lost to his adversaries, he swung his axe in a wide arc, felling multiple enemies with each swing. His brow was dotted with beads of perspiration, and his brow was furrowed, his teeth bared in a fierce snarl.

Rosalind was cowering behind the warrior, nursing a cut on her arm that was bleeding profusely. She looked ready to faint.

"Well, Sornehan? Shall we enter the fray?" The Queen asked, drawing a short sword from her belt as her lips parted in a wide, unsettling smile.

Joseph was resting uneasily, but it was nothing to do with the cold. Fleece's cape kept him warm and dry, and the way it smelled reminded him of her. Behind his eyelids, dark visions fluctuated and stretched horrifically, each terrifying scenario leading seamlessly into the next.

First, he saw his friends, Rosalind and Jehkar. They fought bravely, putting everything they had into their battle as Sornehan and the Queen watched from afar, laughing and jeering. Slowly, they were pushed back, into a corner, and as the situation looked ever grimmer, the light began to fade. Joseph cried out to his friends, but they were quickly lost to the darkness, only moments from being overwhelmed. Then his vision changed. He saw Fleece, alone in a dark wood. She was hiding behind a tree, gasping for air as quietly as she could, a dagger clutched to her chest as she shivered. Blood ran from a cut on her cheek, and from somewhere nearby, Joseph heard something huge crashing through the underbrush, bellowing in an entirely unnatural way. The sound made Joseph's skin crawl, and his heart grew fast. Something was wrong, very wrong. But what was it?

Fleece whipped around as a great, lumbering shape slowly stalked past her, using her dagger to great effect. And then, the vision went black.

Joseph jerked awake with a small cry, his eyes wide as he turned his head this way and that. The fire had burned low, and only a few glowing coals remained. That nightmare had felt so real, but why?

And then Joseph heard it: an awful, screeching cry, like some great beast had been injured. It was the same noise he had heard in his nightmare.

Realization dawned upon the Summoner's pale face, and tore his sword from its sheathe as he raced into the woods after Fleece, kicking up snow and dirt as he sprinted full tilt into the woods, her cape flapping behind him.

"Yes, let us waste no more time." Sornehan stood, drawing a dagger from behind his back as he held out an arm for the Queen, and gently helped her down from the raised platform that the throne stood upon. They walked like a couple entering a grand ballroom, arm in arm with false smiles plastered upon their faces. As they approached, the sea of undead warriors began to open before them. Wraiths wailed and skeleton warriors gave a salute as bones crumbled to the floor, and ghouls evaporated into puddles of ectoplasm.

And at the end of it, there were Jehkar and Rosalind, packed into a corner like rats, surrounded by dozens of slain undead. Jehkar was wounded in many places, but the instant his eyes fell upon Galienne and Sornehan, all of his weariness was forgotten. His blood boiled in his veins as he recalled all the times he had met with, and spoken to, the Queen, who had been a beacon of hope when the city of Lenelle had first been taken by the Orenians. Now, all he saw was a traitor, and her latest King, a madman who yearned for power to the point that he had killed his own brother.

"Hello Jehkar," Galienne announced sweetly, giving the warrior best smile, "it's been a long time. You've grown quite strong."

"Queen Galienne," Jehkar spat venomously, his fists tightening around the haft of his axe.

There was something in his eyes, a fiery anger that seemed latched onto his very soul. It grew and billowed like a flame in the wind, feeding relentlessly upon some unspoken torment within the warrior. Whatever it was, it halted both Sornehan and Galienne in their tracks, keeping them safely out of reach of the warrior's massive weapon.

"So, the Summoner has sent the both of you to your deaths," Sornehan sneered, "have you any last words before we sacrifice your souls to Lahara? I'd wager your corpses will make some very interesting playthings."

"I do have some things I'd like to say," Jehkar agreed solemnly.

Rosalind noticed how the warrior's arms shook. He must have been so tired, but he remained upright, standing between herself, and two of the most powerful practitioners of Nhuvasarim to ever exist. Rosalind could not thank him enough for that. She was a powerful spellcaster in her own right, but even all of her training on the island of Iona could not hope to match the dark power gained from sacrificing an entire city to the Goddess of Death.

Jehkar took a breath, and began to speak. "For so long, I hated Joseph. He burned down my village, and killed most everyone in it. He single handedly wiped Ciran off the map. For so long I blamed him, and I despised everything about him for what he did that day."

"And let me guess," the Queen asked mockingly, "now you would lay down your life for him?"

"I would," the warrior nodded, "but that is not my point. The fact is, I saw Joseph when Ciran was burning. He fell to his knees before the demon, begging it to stop. He wept tears of sorrow as everyone he knew was destroyed."

Jehkar felt his voice crack, and he took a moment to swallow past the grief that had lodged in his throat before continuing. "What I'm saying is that, even in his darkest hour, Joseph of Ciran knew he had done wrong. He knew that his power was dangerous, and he threw that accursed ring down a well, and vowed to never Summon again. But when I look at you two… I do not see Joseph's remorse. I do not see regret, or grief. I see madness- a lust for power that will never be fulfilled, no matter what you may do!"

"I think I've heard enough," Sornehan hissed, spinning his dagger across his fingers before levelling the blade at Jehkar.

"I think NOT!" Jehkar bellowed, "For if there is one thing I despise more than power being wrongfully used by someone who made a mistake, it's people like you, who willfully do wrong, knowing full well that they are playing with the lives they were supposed to protect!"

Jehkar hefted his axe over his head, his dark eyes filled with tears as he roared, "LENELLE WAS MY SECOND HOME! AND YOU DESTROYED IT! I WILL NOT ALLOW YOU TO SPEND ANOTHER MINUTE ON THIS EARTH! MAY URATH HAVE MERCY ON YOUR SOULS, FOR YOU SHALL FIND NONE HERE!"

And with a grunt of effort, Jehkar brought his axe down in a heavy swing that would cleave a man in two; only he let go of the axe early. It flung free of his hands and chopped through the air before embedding itself in Sornehan's skull, crushing his face, and splattering the Queen with her lover's blood.

Galienne stood there, unable to comprehend what had just happened. Then she drew upon her knowledge of Nhuvasarim. Her steely eyes began to glow with a fell crimson power as she incanted some sort of spell. The throne room grew darker as the torches and candles all flickered and died. Galienne raised her arms at her sides, and the doors of the palace were blown wide as snow and wind whipped into the place, filling it with an almost supernatural chill.

Rosalind, who knew that the length and incantation of the spell Galienne was casting was of enormous magnitude, rummaged around in her bag for a moment before pulling out three vials of strange liquid that seemed to glow bluish-green. One after the other, she downed them, swallowing the concoction as hard and fast as she could as the potion dribbled down her chin.

Incredible power rushed through her veins as the potions took effect, but she was not quite done yet. She found another useful item in her bag: a scroll bound in a light blue silk sash, which she quickly untied before stepping around Jehkar, who was still sheltering her in the corner.

"What are you doing?!" he bellowed over the sound of the rushing wind.

"Just trust me!" Rosalind cried, ducking beneath the warrior's arm and coming to stand before the Queen.

Rosalind unfurled the scroll, aiming the arcane rune painted upon the page at the woman who had betrayed her King and country. It only took a moment for the Queen to realize what was happening, but it was already too late.

Ice burst from the ground beneath her feet like a geyser, quickly encasing the Queen in a shell that could not be broken out of easily. She was frozen, trapped with her arms held out at her sides, fingers curled into wicked claws, and her foul red eyes still fixed upon Rosalind, burning so fiercely that the mage feared she might break free.

The screeching wind died down, and the pervasive chill that crept into Rosalind's bones faded. She frowned, and wiped the cold sweat from her forehead, only to list over sideways as exhaustion took over.

Jehkar caught her before she could hit the floor. His eyes were filled with concern, and they bored into her like drills as he searched for her malady.

"Rosalind! What ails you?! Can you speak?!"

She coughed and shook her head, "Just cast… one too many spells. The Queen…"

Rosalind turned her head towards the frozen necromancer, and Jehkar followed her gaze. The ice was melting, cracking as Galienne tried to break free. And once she did, her wrath would be terrible. Jehkar gently laid Rosalind upon the floor of the palace, and placed her bag beneath her head for a makeshift pillow before getting to his feet and marching forward. As he stepped over the body of Sornehan, the warrior wrenched his axe from the man's bloody, ruined face.

He stopped before the Queen, looking at her with eyes that burned with even more hatred than hers. His fists shook, though it was not because he was tired or sore- the anger within him was like a fiery poison, burning its way through his limbs. He could resist all he wished, but what he was about to do would most assuredly mean he was giving in to his hatred. It wouldn't make him any better than her.

Or would it? He had spared Joseph, helped him to right the wrongs of the world. People like Galienne and Sornehan needed to be stopped. Whether it happened by his hand, or someone else's, there was nothing to be done but…

He raised his axe, and brought it down. The Queen crumbled into chunks of steaming, icy flesh at his feet.

A noise from behind him made Jehkar turn, and he found Rosalind sitting up. She still looked sickly and pale, but she was moving of her own volition.

"Are you alright?" the warrior asked, kneeling at Rosalind's side as the mage dug through her bag once more.

"I'm fine. I just-" Rosalind twitched involuntarily. "I drank three mana regeneration potions… Drinking two is usually dangerous, but three…."

She hiccupped, and quickly turned the shade of a strawberry as she held a hand over her mouth. Jehkar couldn't help but laugh. After all of the intense emotions he'd felt, and how close to death he had become, it was a miracle he could still find it in himself to laugh.

"Oh… my head," Rosalind groaned, putting a hand upon her head as she swayed where she sat. It only redoubled when Jehkar slung his weapon over his shoulder, and swept her into his arms before making for the doors.

"What-what're you-"

"We're done here, we should go and find Joseph and Fleece."

"But why are you carrying me?! Put me down or I'll-"

Jehkar raised an eyebrow at the arcanist, but carefully put her down feet first. She immediately wobbled, and very nearly fell over before he caught her again. She held onto his armor for dear life, their faces inches from each other as their breath steamed in the cool air. Rosalind wasn't quite sure why, but the intensity of his eyes made something stir in her stomach, like butterflies were tumbling head over heels in her gut.

"Please carry me," she breathed, wrapping her arms about his neck.

And with that, Jehkar smirked, lifted Rosalind into his arms, and proceeded to carefully leave the palace, stepping out into the cold, snow-ridden night.

A/N:

I wrote the first chapter of this fic and thought 'Well, that was a nice change of pace.'

And then instead of working on literally anything else after I got my computer all sorted out, I just sorta sat down and banged out another eight thousand words of this. Which means you get this chapter, and one more that I'll post once I finish editing it.

Thanks for reading. I need to stop getting sidetracked.

!Music!

beside you-keshi

wonder-eden

breaking the exosphere-sewerperson ft. dree rivers