Taylor once again woke feeling like someone took a rusty pipe and beat her black and blue. She was also once again sticky from sweat and so exhausted she could barely force her eyelids to move. Feeling the comfortable bed under her, for a second Taylor thought she was back in her old bed, when she woke up in the Merchant's Coin, delirious from the fever that affected the previous owner of the body, but then the blinding rays of the sun penetrated her eyelids, forcing her to blink, and upon working out some of the gunk from her eyes, she saw the ceiling of the hospital of Salma District.

Then, at once, the memories came rushing back. The village on fire, the dead people, centaurs, and the fight with the elemental. She could feel the heat from the searing flames on her skin, she could taste the ash on her dried-out tongue, she could smell the odor of the dead bodies, and for a second, her entire body tensed. Ready to fight, ready to sling one more spell, before Taylor forcefully took control of her own body, mind, and magic, and took a deep breath that came out more of a raspy moan than a proper breath.

She didn't have time to consider anything more, because the sound of her moan apparently summoned someone based on what she could hear. More than likely, one of the Priestess of Dwayna was the one who was approaching her, who then immediately began fussing around her bed. By the time the person reached her, she shook off enough cobwebs to realize; it was indeed one of the priestesses. Then, after an agonizing few minutes, the woman, done with her fussing, finally reached under her pillow, helped her sit up partially, and raised a mug full of slightly cold water to her parched lips.

Taylor drank greedily, the cold water soothing her body in more ways than one.

After the third cup, she had regained enough consciousness to look up at the gently smiling healer, and mumble a quiet and tired thank you. The elderly woman, clad in a modest but faded blue robe that was accented with gold, or at least yellow fabric, gently smiled back and helped Taylor sit up further, puffing up the pillow so that her back would be comfortable leaning against the hard, wooden headboard.

"You are welcome, dear. It's the least I could do for such a hero."

With that said, she turned around and moved across the room, but instead of leaving the room, that now that she could properly look around, Taylor saw was empty aside from her. She watched as the Priestess headed for a small cabinet, where she calmly raised a hand which glowed briefly, followed by a small click, and the doors of the cabinet winging open on their own, revealing rows of medicine and a small wooden box. The older woman took that box, turned around while the cabinet locked itself behind her, and, holding the box in her hand reverently, she returned to Taylor's side.

"My dear girl, I'm glad you have woken up," she said, smiling at Taylor. "You made us all worry by being asleep for five days."

"Five days?" exclaimed Taylor incredulously, her voice still slightly raspy.

"Indeed," replied the other woman calmly, still holding the box in her hand. "Captain Thackeray brought you in after the battle at the garrison ended. But you had visitors from all over the village of Shaemoor, and young Petra and her father also visited you."

"Visitors? Why?"

"To say their thanks, young hero!" answered the woman with a chuckle. "You did, after all, save their lives."

"Oh…"

Not knowing what to say about that, and feeling a little uncomfortable, Taylor decided to change the topic.

"Excuse me, but what's with the box?"

The elderly Priestess gave her a knowing smile, but mercifully she accepted her unspoken plea.

"This, young lady, was left here for you by the good Captain."

With that, she slightly leaned over Taylor, gently placed the box into her lap, then straightened up.

"According to him, everything you need to know is in the box, so I will leave you to it." She gave her a small bow. "May Dwayna hasten your convalescence."

Then, with a sharp movement, the old woman turned around and headed straight for the door. Surprised by the sudden movement, Taylor barely managed to stutter out a small reply by the time the Priestess reached the door. But thankfully, the priestess (whose name she forgot to ask) hear her, and before leaving through the door, turned her head, nodded at Taylor with a gentle smile, then tenderly closed the door behind her.

Taking a long look at the unremarkable box, adorned with two thin strips of metal going around it, she reached out with her magic, probing the item suspiciously. The moment she reached for her magic, she, however, winced. It seems even after five days of rest, her mana tanks were practically empty. Carefully gathering up a small amount, she took it and shaping it into a small, delicate probe sent it towards the box laying on the blanket covering her lap. As a response, she got back the same feeling she always got when directing magic towards her pouch, only the feeling was much smaller. Which made sense, as she spent a lot of money to make sure she never run out of space in her pouch…

Her pouch!

Jolting slightly at the realization that all her items, and valuables, were missing, she looked around in panic, only to immediately calm down as she spied the pouch on the table next to her bed. Her staff noticeably missing a lot of charms, slightly cracked in places and adorned with several fresh scars and a few new charms, was also left next to her bed. Calming her erratically beating heart, she returned her attention to the box in her lap.

With slightly trembling hands and trepidations in her heart, Taylor opened the box.

Inside was indeed bigger than the box this size should have the right, but just as she thought, it was a far cry from her pouch. It had enough space to contain a handful of books, the one on top apparently about healing based on the title, a letter with her name on it, a small but elegant money pouch that she saw countless merchants use over the years, and an elaborately decorated scroll.

Not taking her eyes off the invaluable (to her) books, she reached over the table and took her pouch and placed it next to her, then with even more trembling hands, opened the fancy pouch in the box. Only to come face to face with more gold than Taylor ever held in her hands in her time in Tyria. After a quick count, there were exactly twenty-five pieces of gleaming gold coins, which she hastily threw into her own pouch, then looked around paranoidly. Nobody walked around in the District with that kind of money openly, and she shuddered to think what some of the shadier residents would do if they knew she had that much on her.

Not that she couldn't protect herself, but neither Andrew nor Petra was strong enough to beat back some of the scum that infested the shadowy parts of the great city of Divinity's Reach. Over the years, she had a few run-ins with them, but they quickly learned that the Taylor was not someone they wanted to mess it.

Quickly resolving to never mention it, but glad that she now had additional funds for her mission, Taylor eagerly turned her attention to the books.

The first one on the top was indeed about healing and water magic (finally solving one of her most vexing issues), while the other books covered the other classical elements: fire, air, earth, and lightning. After a brief reading, she realized the books contained the basics of elemental magic. Just briefly skimming them answered dozens of questions that bothered or worried her over the years. Cursing the lack of internet and proper libraries once again, Taylor closed the book in her hand, and with reverence placed all of them in her own pouch. Later she would go over them with a magnifying glass, but for now, she wanted to check what else the box left by her sort-of friend held.

Ignoring the elaborate scroll, next she reached for the letter with her name on it, written with handsome letters.

As she began reading it, unknown to her, a small smile appeared on her face.

It was a letter from Thackeray, wishing her well and a hasty recovery, explaining the gifts (though he was rather vague about the scroll) and contained a rather long and spirited thank you note for helping him defend the land, its populace, and watching his back and it was finished with a hesitantly written invitation for a drink.

Taylor carefully slid the paper back into the envelope and chuckled. Then took out an empty wooden box from her pouch, much worse quality than the box containing her gifts, and placed the letter in it, then she returned the box into her pouch.

Leaning back in the bed, she smiled to herself and took a moment to just watch as the sunrays filtered through the window and as the dust particles danced in the air. Then she shook her head fondly and reached for the last item in the box.

With gentle movements, she unfurled the scroll and began reading.

The text on the scroll was written in a fancy font, was long, using ten words when one would have sufficed, and was absolutely astonishing to her.

Taylor read it in a haze, barely understanding it in its entirety, but a few sentences still jumped out to her.

"… We, hereby confer the name Vaporblade unto thee, in recognition of…"

"… for the extreme willingness to protect the people of Kryta…"

"… We, Royal Majesty Jennah, Queen of Kryta and the Regent of Ascalon… profess Our gratitude…"

Taylor didn't know how long it took to read it, and work through the wordy proclamations, apparently from the queen of the land, but by the time she recovered, the sun rays were a decidedly darker shade of yellow, and her hands hurt a little for holding up the scroll for so long.

Blinking in confusion, still not really understanding what was happening, she quickly rolled the scroll up, then, with a forceful movement, unrolled it and read the important parts again. Then she once again rolled it up, and simply threw it into her pouch, then leaned back in her bed, looking into the distance with a confused expression.

In Brockton Bay, she was a nobody. Even her father was technically a nobody. She could do nothing to achieve anything of importance, and before whatever transported her to this land, she was ready to resign to a life of suffering where she mattered to no one. When Taylor arrived in Tyria, she was in a marginally better position. As at least she had people that took the time to care about her (she smothered the guilty feelings welling up in her about her father after that thought) and, most importantly, had magic.

But even after five years of work, sweat, and tears, the most she could say was that she was moderately friendly with a captain of the Seraph and that she had achieved some level of power with her magic. Thanks to the lack of formal education opportunities and mentors, she simply didn't know where she stood amongst the countless magicians of Kryta.

So, to have it spelled out so openly that she achieved something noteworthy, that her actions mattered, and were acknowledged by some of the most influential people she knew, confused her. Because she wanted to feel happy that she achieved one of her goals, getting one step closer to having access to a library and hopefully figuring out her situation, but the fact all this happened after she gained the power she wielded, brought forth all those memories of feeling powerless, standing before Emma and Sophia as they hurled abuse at her, before the teachers as they ignored her pleas for help, and standing in the background, watching as her father wasted away in the quagmire of depression after her mother's death.

It was disheartening to know that no matter where she went, power was what mattered.

Seeing as it was getting late, she drunk another cup of water, then with some maneuvering settled into her preferred meditation pose and began her breathing exercise, hoping that meditation would help her work out her feelings. And when that didn't work, she just huffed in exasperation and settled into the surprisingly comfortable hospital bed and tried to go to sleep.


Taylor walked back towards the inn, deep in thought, leafing through the book about air elemental magic. Today, she once again failed to summon an air elemental. Flamy was getting a little big for the streets (having grown with her magical power growth), plus in certain places the dog-shaped elemental's weight would crush low-quality pavement. So, she decided to get another summon, one that would be more maneuverable than her adorable, but enormous, earth elemental.

Sadly, her efforts were in vain because even after having access to the basic books about the elements, they didn't contain anything more than a cursory introduction about glyphs and mentioning something about signets. Still, Taylor felt she was getting close.

Today, when she had tried to cast the spell attuned to air, before heading back for a late lunch, she didn't get an explosion from an unstable core, instead, she could feel some of the air around it moving oddly before the spell collapsed into itself.

It still felt discouraging that after weeks of study, after she got out of the hospital and rested under the watchful eyes of Petra, the only results she could show were being able to heal moderately sized cuts and a spell not exploding.

At least, the centaurs were staying low after they failed to take the garrison.

Plus, it helped that in response to the attack, the number of soldiers in Queensdale increased, and any group of centaurs, no matter how big or small, were met with an extreme response. So far nothing big seemed to be happening, and while Logan told her to make sure she was always ready to move in case they needed more firepower, somewhat disappointingly, nobody came looking for her for that purpose. Though, her once in a blue moon sparring sessions with Thackeray increased to once a week.

Taylor exhaled and with a snap closed the book in her hand. Nodding to the guard standing to attention at the district's entrance, which was returned by the guard with great respect, she continued to head towards the inn and second home.

While she didn't mind that she was left alone, and had enough time to work through the grief and shock after the fight in Shaemoor and at the garrison, she realized that, at some level, she enjoyed the fight.

The rush, the action (the glorious explosions)…

Taylor shivered a little, the memories of that day coming to the surface, but with a quick exertion of will, she forced them back into the back of her mind and refocused on her immediate goal.

Lunch or, as she looked up at the sky and the position of the sun (having learned to gauge time, based on the sun, in the absence of clocks), an early dinner. Humming a little, she quickened her steps, already salivating at what Andrew would serve her today (once again happy that the food culture was way more developed than the medieval society would have suggested).

However, the moment she reached the plaza in front of the inn, she had to slow down because she felt the entire area radiating a weird aura. The plaza was almost empty, with only a few people milling about, and she couldn't see the ever-present presence of the guards anywhere. The inn, which was almost full (ever since people figured out that the Hero of Shaemoor lived there, the number of guests tripled, causing Andrew to make money hand over fist) and full of boisterous sounds, was silent as the graveyard. All in all, it painted a rather grim picture to Taylor.

Cautiously continuing her approach, she reached for her magic, strengthening her arcane skin shield, and attuning to air in case there was trouble and not some weird surprise party was happening. Petra was known for hair-brained schemes like that…

Approaching the inn, she spied a few people with anxious and fearful faces looking at her and at the inn. So, with a sinking stomach, expecting the worst, she entered through the familiar doors.

Inside the homely inn, an unpleasant but not unfamiliar scene greeted her.

The main hall, which was always full of boisterous and happy guests, was almost empty. Only the staff, Andrew and Petra were there. And instead of the cheerful crowd, a band of thugs seemed to be making their best effort to appear the most stereotypical thugs that ever lived.

The boss, obviously the only one sitting, was a giant of a man, with dark hair and an exceptionally large, red nose, and befitting to the nose he was drinking from a large tankard while laughing uproariously about something. Next to him, leaning against the table, was an equally large warhammer.

Standing uncomfortably close to one of the server girls next to the bar was a slightly younger man, tall and thin, with red hair and an awful burn mark on his face, dressed like Taylor would imagine a teenager would dress up if they gained fire powers. Because while the man didn't carry any identifying source (or weapon) about what kind of magic he liked to use, to Taylor's senses his magic sang with all-consuming flames.

Farthest from the door, next to one of the windows that provided an excellent view of the plaza, was the only woman of the group. Her black hair in a tight bun, and with an old but well cared for rifle in her idly moving hands.

Another man, also lean and tall, with light brown hair, was leisurely playing with two daggers and while the handkerchief covered the lower part of his face, even with a glance, Taylor could tell he was leering at the girls standing behind the bar.

Aside from them, there were a handful of similarly dressed, in black, brown, and red, thugs that Taylor immediately marked as mooks. Done with her sweeping glance, and taking in the situation, she returned her attention to the big man sitting at the table, who just now seemed to notice she had entered.

She waited until the man looked at her, then averted her gaze and looked at Andrew, who was anxiously cleaning his favorite glass.

"Hey, Andrew!" she called out, raising her hand in greeting, forcing a small smile onto her face. "I'm back! What's for dinner?"

Andrew gave her a shaky smile, his eyes darting at the thugs, but still answering her. "Hey, Taylor…"

However, he was interrupted by the big-nosed man, who slapped down the tankard in his hand onto the table and began yelling at her drunkenly.

"Hey, girl! Instead of yapping with the old man, come here and entertain me! Hehehehe…"

A few other thugs laughed with him, but Taylor noted that the woman with the rifle and the fire mage straightened, as if expecting a fight. It seemed not all of them were first-class morons.

She returned her attention to the man, and with the most severe expression she could muster, answered him.

"No. Now leave, you're not welcome here."

To Taylor's complete lack of surprise, this time the entire gang broke out in laughter. She watched calmly as the big-nosed man executed the monumental task of gathering enough brain cells to stand up. And when he managed that, she still calmly matched the glare on the thug's face.

His father's lessons, and her experiences in Brockton Bay, told her what to do in this kind of situation. Never show fear, don't give them satisfaction, and never, ever negotiate.

"Hah, you've got spunk, girl!" exclaimed the man, gesticulating wildly with his hands. "But we can't leave until the old man pays his due!"

Several of his compatriots began approaching her, raising weapons that ranged from rusty daggers to planks with equally rusty nails sticking out of them. Probably not the local talent, decided Taylor. She knew that Andrew, just like all the others in the district, regularly gave some shady people money, but those were always polite, and even if they were late (one summer they had a small drought, and the income fell because of it) instead of breaking legs and tables, they worked with shopkeepers to produce the money. Of course, despite the politeness, the threats were there, and more than once she saw some heavily armed people show their faces, just to make sure people remembered them, but never like this.

So, knowing (at least hoping) that nobody locally would make problems for her second family and would miss these mental giants (they would probably thank her for defending their turf) she replied as flatly as possible, conveying all her contempt.

"I wasn't asking. Leave now, or I will make you."

More laughter was her only response. The big-nosed man reached down and grabbed the handle of the warhammer that he had been using as a crutch to steady his drunken staggering, and raised it threateningly with an enormous, bloodthirsty grin on his face, flush with alcohol and rage.

"Really? Go ahead, because I would like to see that!" His eyes took all of her in, and then he leered at her. "I love nothing more than playing with pretty young things like you! Jake, Johny, and you lot let's show the broad what it means to mess with us!"


Half a minute later, Taylor lightly poked the man's head, to check if he was really unconscious or pretending, as he laid before her on the ground, then looked up and surveyed the room as the staff was already righting the strewn around tables and chairs and moving the unconscious forms of the thugs near the door.

She was about to head out to look for the suspiciously missing guards (and maybe have a polite 'word' with them) when Petra jumped at her. She promptly caught the slightly shorter girl and returned her hug.

Taking a moment to luxuriate in the feeling, she took hold of her shoulder and held Petra in front of her.

"Are you alright? Did those idiots do anything to you?"

"Pfft, as if they have the balls!" answered Petra with a grin and a negligent wave of a hand. "I was about to get Ms. Timber out when you arrived!"

Taylor smiled at her friend (and almost sister), then frowned and looked around.

"Where is Andrew?"

"Oh, he is behind the bar. A stray bottle got him in the head," replied Petra with a little worry coloring her voice. "But don't worry! Dad is strong, he will be up in no time!"

Taylor blinked at the younger girl in surprise.

"Petra! Head wounds are dangerous! We need to get him to a healer right now!"

"Oh…"

With that, both girls let go of each other and raced towards their father figure; Petra was filled with worry, and Taylor was wracked with guilt. However, she barely took a few steps when an unfamiliar voice sounded from the direction of the inn's door.

"By the order of the Ministry Guard, you're all under arrest!"

Her head snapped up in surprise. She saw a group of ministry guards, their emblem gleaming on their armors, stream into the room, fanning out in front of the door. In the middle of them, in even more resplendent armor, was a woman, with long, dark, meticulously cared for hair, and a severe expression on her face as she surveyed the room.

With a sinking stomach, Taylor noted that the new woman's eyes lingered more on the staff of the inn than on the thugs. Knowing now that something was definitely off, she turned around on her heels, steeled herself, and readied her magic once again. Then, with purposeful movements, marched up to the woman, pretending to ignore as the woman's guards tensed their hands on their weapons.

Taylor barely took a step, but the moment her eyes met the officer, the sinking feeling in her stomach intensified because she instantly recognized the look in the woman's eyes. It was the same look she saw in some of her nightmares. She saw the same thing on Blackwell's face whenever the dour woman made an appearance in her nightmares. The one that said that the owner of the eyes already decided their opinion and nothing she or anybody else said or did would change it.

Her first instinct was to cover, just let it go and ride it out, like back in Winslow, but then the more rational part reminded her she was not a scared teenager anymore, beholden to the whims of petty girls and an uncaring principal, but a grown woman, who had magic to fight back if words failed.

Shaking off the cobwebs of those dark days from her days in Winslow, she continued towards the officer and called out to her.

"All of us, really? When they are obviously criminals, while we are the staff of this inn?"

The woman sneered at her.

"Do I look I care or know what an inn staff in this putrid, peasant place looks like? I will simply take you all in, and you can prove at the station who you are."

Taylor's eyes narrowed.

"That doesn't seem to be legal."

The sneer on the other woman's face intensified.

"I'm Commander Serentine of the Ministry Guard, girl. If I decide to arrest you all, then you are all under arrest."

Flabbergasted at the woman's arrogance, Taylor was about to argue back, when another, though this time thankfully familiar, voice joined them.

"Really, Serentine? Arresting the Hero of Shaemoor?"

Taylor let out a quiet sigh as he beheld Logan approaching them with a pair of Seraphs at his back, happy that she didn't have to fight her way out of this mess. He threw a quick smile at her, but his face was set in a frown as he stared at the Guard commander.

Serentine glanced at her, and Taylor saw her eyes go wide a minuscule amount as she seemed to finally recognize her, but then the obnoxious woman's face returned to her haughty, sneering visage.

"I have no time to deal with mere rumors, Captain Thackeray. I was simply responding to a report of fighting."

"The Ministry Guard dealing with a fight, in the Salma District?" replied Thackeray with a raised eyebrow.

"It is the Ministry Guard's job to maintain the peace," retorted Serentine, while puffing out her chest. "Not that you would know much about that, Thackeray."

Not even a muscle moved on Thackeray's face.

"Then, please make sure the obvious troublemakers are taken care of, while I make sure the fair citizens of our city are all right."

Taylor watched as the commander clenched her fist, and was already readying her first spell, when instead of an outburst as she expected, the woman coldly smiled at Logan, and relaxed.

"Of course, Captain Thackeray. As you say!" she called out in a sarcastic voice. "Then by your leave?"

Logan nodded, and they all watched as the Guards took the unconscious thugs and marched away without a word.

Serentine, predictably, was the last to leave. She turned to Taylor and began speaking with the sneer returning to her face.

"You shouldn't make a habit of interfering in the operation of the Ministry Guard." Something dark flashed in her eyes. "So, hero, make sure to keep your hands clean because Captain Thackeray won't be there next time to bail you out."

Before Taylor could reply to that blatant threat, the woman turned around and marched away, head held high.

"What a pleasant person…" muttered Taylor, as she continued watching the Ministry guards leave with the unconscious thugs on their shoulders and following in Serentine's footsteps.

Logan stepped next to her and looked in the direction where the commander left.

"Indeed." Then he turned his head towards her, and the stony expression melted into worry. "Are you all right, Taylor?"

It was Taylor's turn to raise her eyebrow while silently staring back at the man.

Realizing who he was talking to, Logan began to chuckle.

"Forgive me. How foolish of me, to expect the Hero of Shaemoor to have trouble with a few discount thugs."

Taylor joined him with her own chuckle, but then the memory of why she was worried and what she was about to do before the unpleasant woman turned up, sobered her up quickly.

Thackeray, noticing her abrupt change of mood, also stopped his laughter and began looking around anxiously.

"What is it?"

Taylor bit her lip in worry.

"Andrew. Got hit in the head, and I was heading to check up on him when that… woman arrived."

Thackery marginally relaxed.

"Ahh, a head wound. Your worry is understandable then." He appeared to think for a second, then a smile appeared on his face. "Why don't you take a walk to the Ninth's Company base camp, they should have just received a new shipment of medicine."

"And they will just hand over the medicine?"

"Of course not. But I will write you a note, that will make sure you will get it."

Taylor gave him a warm smile.

"Thank you, Logan. I owe you one."

The man just waved his hand dismissively.

"None of that, Taylor. This is the least I could do to repay the help you have given me."

Taylor was about to argue, and offer to pay for the medicine when the man glared at her.

"Taylor. Just accept it. If it helps, I'm treating you like this, because I want to make sure you remain friendly with the Seraph."

"Fine," answered Taylor with a frown. "But I don't like it."

"So, noted," replied Logan with a wry tone.

Taylor watched as Petra fussed around Andrew, who was laid on a bench, one of the serving girls already placing a cold compress on his forehead, while the rest were continuing the cleanup that the Ministry Guard interrupted.

"Thank you," said Taylor in a small voice, her eyes not leaving her second family that had unknowingly over the last few years had become much more important to her than she expected.


The next morning, after a horrible night filled with vague nightmares that she couldn't remember, Taylor woke the moment the first light of the sun hit the windows of her small bedroom. She quickly washed her face in conjured water, then put on her usual clothing, then grabbed her new staff she had commissioned after receiving the reward money for protecting Shaemoor.

It was a mass-manufactured staff of 'Krytian design' that Taylor chose because this way she could spend more money on the enhancements on it. The fact that it would be relatively useful to her for a long time offset the fact that when Petra saw it, she spent hours ridiculing how aesthetically unpleasant the staff was. According to her dear friend, it looked more like a curtain rod cut into half than a mage's staff.

At least the staff's metal head allowed her to secure her myriad of charms and other assorted stuff that hung from her old staff to it better than to the twisty wooden head of her previous staff. Which was now leaning in the corner, already covered by a small layer of dust.

With that, the mass-manufactured staff transformed from a run-of-the-mill staff to a more personalized one.

Not like that at the moment Taylor cared about any of that. She silently left her room, padded carefully across the hall, and carefully opened the door that led to Andrew's bedchamber. She found him there, laying on the bed with a wet cloth on his forehead, and Petra sleeping on the chair next to the bed with her upper body resting on the bed while sitting on a chair.

Taking in the sight of her second family, Taylor nodded to herself resolutely and closed the door as carefully as she could, and began her journey towards the medicine that would hopefully help Andrew. Granted, they could have taken him to the temple of Dwayna, but it was well known that while they healed as many people as they could, they were much better with flesh wounds than the wounds of the mind. However, Logan guaranteed they had a lot of experience with soldiers suffering all manner of head wounds, and their medicine was perfect for dealing with it.

So, for now, she would put her faith into science as the people in Kryta understood it, and if that failed, only then would she seek the gods out.

Taylor frowned at the uncomfortable silence that permeated the building as she descended on the stairs. Usually, by this time, their patrons were already warming their seats, and the regulars were already halfway finished with their first drink. But now, thanks to her actions, business was suspended until Andrew could get better.

Sure, Petra and she could have run the establishment until he recovered, as he had taught them everything that was needed for that over the years, but neither of them felt like it. It was just not the same without Andrew behind the bar. So, they sent home the staff until Andrew returned to his rightful place.

She stepped through the entrance and looked around, searching for more thugs skulking around or even for more shady Ministry Guards, but Taylor could only see a few early risers as they went about preparing for their jobs or heading out into the city proper. The only interesting thing she could spot was a few more guards than usual and a lone Seraph watching the inn intently from across the plaza. Apparently, Logan shared her suspiciousness about the situation.

Happy that she had a friend who was an upright and just person, she shook off the last remnants of sleep, tightened her grip on her staff, and started towards the district's exit. However, she was waylaid by a yell coming from behind her.

"Taylor, wait!"

Whirling around, she immediately beheld Petra, for once in pants instead of various skirts, hair still disheveled in her trademark pigtails, holding her favorite beating stick she had named Ms. Timbers (and Taylor had secretly had enchanted to be more durable) and running towards her.

"Petra! What are you doing here?"

Her sister for another mother skidded stop in front of her, took a deep breath then started to talk.

"I'm going with you, of course! Who knows what could happen? You need someone watching your back!"

"Petra, I'm just going to pick up the medicine from the base camp. There will be no fighting."

The other girl gave her a beseeching look.

"Come on, Taylor! Maybe those idiots from the guard are gonna try to stop you, or something! Then I could help you knock some heads together!"

Ignoring the grinning blonde in front of her, Taylor frowned.

"You may be right. That woman didn't seem like someone who would let go something like that."

"See? See? You need my amazing mind!" exclaimed Petra, raising her hands in celebration.

"That's why you should stay here," retorted Taylor as calmly as possible. "With Andrew."

Petra immediately deflated.

"But why?"

"Don't whine. It's unbecoming." reprimanded Taylor with a fond smile. "And because I need you to protect Andrew and the inn. I can see them coming back to finish the job."

"But they got arrested. How would they come back?" asked Petra confusedly.

Taylor thought for a second about explaining the realities of corrupt governments and her experience in Brockton Bay reading about how the jails had revolving doors if you were affiliated with certain groups but then decided against it. It was not the time to share something like that.

"Call it a hunch."

"But your boyfriend left some soldiers behind. Isn't that enough?"

Taylor raised a finger as a warning and scowled at the cheeky grin on Petra's face.

"One: Logan is not my boyfriend…"

"Logan, huh? How forward…" interrupted Petra, theatrically fanning herself.

"Two, I trust you more," continued Taylor, ignoring Petra's comment. "At least I can be sure you can't be bribed to look the other way."

Petra scowled at hearing that, but after a second reluctantly nodded.

"Fine. But if you get into a fight, call me." She slapped Ms. Timber into her palm. "I haven't had a good fight in ages."

"The last time you 'fought', we were banned from that restaurant, Petra," retorted Taylor with a scowl of her own.

Petra crossed her arms in front of her.

"He was asking for it, being handsy like that!"

Taylor shook her head fondly and hugged her.

"Be careful, and I will be back faster than a dolyak can fart!"

With that, she turned around, enveloped herself in air magic, and shot off towards the exit of the district. She was fast, but not enough that she missed the brief snort Petra let out because of her parting line. Then the only thing she could hear was the background buzz of the city waking up and the air rushing next to her ears.


According to Logan, the Ninth's base camp was part of the effort to make sure that the people of Queensdale could live peacefully and happily. Several companies were stationed throughout the land and rotated around regularly to avoid problems. Their job was to make sure that no bandits settled in the land (didn't seem to be working) and to be an early warning system in case of an attack aimed at Divinity's Reach (after what happened at Shaemoor, Taylor doubted they could even find their own asses if they were given a map, compass, and a magical tracker) and to help with the logistics of the army.

And that was why Taylor was heading towards them. Based on Logan's information, a regular shipment of specialized medicine should have arrived from Lion's Arch recently, which would contain medicine that would be helpful for Andrew's head wound.

Speeding through the village of Shaemoor, absently noting that there were barely any marks of the horrific attack remaining, and ignoring the cries of surprises or fright at the sight of her clad in an envelope of air running as if her life depended on it, Taylor focused on her goal in the distance.

The base camp was over the bridge that connected the village with the fields, where the big percentage of agricultural work was being done, near a small collection of buildings that served as temporary lodging for farm workers and as a storage for the produce before transportation.

It took her almost no time to rush through the throng of people heading towards the field from their houses, jump on the roof of the bridge, ignore the surprised cries of farmers and delighted laughter of children, and arrive at the exact spot Logan had described.

The area was full of soldiers just waking up and crawling out of tents or even some hastily built huts, and soldiers returning from patrol or some other task with their backs hunched and black circles under their eyes.

Taylor had little time to play sightseeing because as soon as she arrived, one of the more alert guards started walking towards her.

"Greetings, miss!" saluted the man as he took her in. "I'm afraid this is a military establishment, so you can't go further."

"I know, that's why I'm here. Looking for Lieutenant Francis."

"I'm afraid that's not how it works, miss…" started to answer the man with a frown, but he faltered seeing Taylor's glare. Taking another look at the staff she was holding and how the air around her seemed to crackle with invisible magic, he seemed to think it over in his head, then shrugged. "Fine. If you are looking for him, just follow the road towards the center of the camp. He is there handing out today's assignments."

Taylor nodded in thanks, and without saying goodbye, started walking towards her goal.

Not soon after, she was standing across the Lieutenant who was a few seconds ago gazing at a map on the hastily put-together wooden desk next to a dying bonfire.

"Greetings citizen! How can I help you?" greeted the man jovially look up from the table upon her approach.

"I'm here to pick up some medicine," answered Taylor, not wanting to waste any time. As she watched the man open his mouth, probably to refuse, seeing as she was arguably a nobody to him, she quickly took out the authorization note that Logan wrote for her and handed it over to the man. "Here. Straight from Captain Thackeray."

The man closed his mouth and wordlessly took the note and read it. After a few seconds of apparent thinking and some slight humming, the Lieutenant looked up from the note and gave her a sad smile.

"I'm sorry. I would like to help, especially with what Captain Thackeray wrote, but the medical supplies that we were supposed to get were stolen en route here by…"

"Bandits?" finished the sentence Taylor for him.

The man frowned but nodded.

"Yes. They have been causing trouble recently, but this was too brazen even for them. I already put in a request for reinforcements, so given a few days we will be routing them out for good."

Taylor looked around the camp and noted the several dozens of well-armed soldiers and looked back at the man.

"Why not now? You seem to have enough manpower…"

"That may seem so, but with bandits, the numbers are needed not for fighting them but to prevent their escape," answered the Lieutenant with an embarrassed laugh. "They are rather slippery, you see…"

She nodded at hearing that and frowned in thought. The few days' delays didn't seem too long but based on what she saw there was a significant chance that if they waited too long, the information about the operation would leak and the bandits would flee with the medicine. Then something the Lieutenant said brought her up short.

"Wait a second. You are saying you know where they are?"

"Sure, they are hiding in a nearby cave system," responded the man with an uncaring shrug. "Long ago it was a mine, but nowadays it's empty. Sometimes bandits try to settle there, but that's usually short-lived because we have better maps of the cave systems…"

Taylor felt very much like facepalming at the sheer stupidity she had heard. But then she grit her teeth and took a deep breath. Letting out a long sigh, she called out to the soldier, who was intently staring at the map on the table and not looking at her after realizing what he had just said.

"Lieutenant Francis, why don't I go? I could retrieve the medicine and scout out the caves for you?"

Her only answer was a quiet hum. He looked down on the note, then at her, her equipment, then her staff, and the visible air magic surrounding her. Then, after a minute of deliberation, he nodded.

"Very well, citizen. That will help us tremendously and will also allow you to retrieve the medicine that you seek." He motioned towards the map, and Taylor stepped closer to see what he was showing her. "We are here, and if you follow this road, then you will arrive there and then…"


Half an hour later, she was crouching behind a bush that she arrived at after she followed the Lieutenant's directions to the cave's entrance that the bandits supposedly used.

And lo-and-behold, half-hidden behind a much bigger bush, stood a man dressed very obviously as a thief (sometimes Taylor wondered about the people of Tyria) sleeping soundly in a small chair. Nodding to herself, Taylor scooted carefully back until she was a far distance away from the entrance, then sat down next to a tree.

She would wait until lunchtime (based on their previously demonstrated competence) and strike when they were distracted. Until then, however, she had nothing better to do but watch a half-wit snore, so she instead chose to meditate a little. Settling into her preferred meditation position, she couldn't help but feel that this was much bigger than some small band of bandits getting lucky…

Hopefully, she could finish this quickly, then return to the inn with the medicine.