Tale Nine, a Master of Magic and a Dance of Thoughts

"Ophilia! We need your help!"

The words brought the cleric and Cyrus out of their conversation as the door burst open into one of the two small inn rooms the travelers had rented out for the night in Stillsnow. Upon hearing the rushing of feet, and seeing Alfyn carrying what appeared to be an injured Tressa, Ophilia shot up into action. Holding her in his arms bridal style, the apothecary sat the merchant down on the bed Ophilia had been sitting on.

"Alfyn? What's wrong?" Ophilia questioned as he laid Tressa out on the bed.

"Got a nasty cut on her inner thigh. Ain't infected, wrapped some bandages 'round it, but it's still bleedin' somethin' fierce!" Alfyn hurriedly explained as he slowly pulled up Tressa's skirt to reveal the wound.

Just as the apothecary had said, the bandage was soaked with the merchant's blood. Skin as white as snow could have told anyone that. Sensing his unease at lifting up the young woman's clothing, Ophilia switched places with him. With skilled hands, the cleric unwrapped the bandage, staining her hand even before she fully unveiled the wound. Small, yet deep, this wound would quickly drain Tressa of blood like a vampire if not treated properly.

Knowing she need to act, as well as keep Alfyn's hands busy, the cleric gestured towards the corner of the room. "Alfyn, can you get my staff for me?"

"On it!"

The apothecary hurriedly brought the item to the cleric. It was then that she was able to begin properly treating the wound. Staff a conduit, light gathered around Ophilia like lightning, pouring into the hand she had just inches above Tressa's wound. The merchant's breathing hitched as she felt the new sensation course through her body. Warming and familiar, the light calmed the cleric's patient as quickly as it startled her. If Alfyn and Cyrus weren't watching the act unfold, they would have seen a small smile form on the unconscious woman's face.

As the glowing from Ophilia's hands rose to a blinding shine, the cleric softly commanded, "Let your wounds be healed."

The light engulfed the wound, pouring itself into. Able to see once again, Alfyn and Cyrus's gaze turned again to Tressa. Even though they had been healed by the cleric themselves numerous times, they were always astounded when they saw her work had paid off. Where the wound once was now there was just skin, sealed up by Ophilia's holy light.

Softly smiling, Ophilia stood from Tressa's bedside. "There we go. Tressa should be okay now."

"Wow! Every time I see that, I'm impressed. Nice work, Ophilia!" Alfyn appraised with his usual grin.

Mildly blushing, the cleric waved off the compliment. "I am always happy to help. Those who are wounded, I will heal."

"Whoa…"

The apothecary was stunned into silence, as he had found himself doing more often as of late. His eyes couldn't tear away from the innocent smile and honorable words.

"But I believe it is best we leave now. After all, we need to let Tressa rest."

The cleric ushered her companions out of the room, closing the door behind her as she joined them.

"Is everyone else okay?"

"Everyone else…?" Alfyn replied confusingly before alarmingly remembering where he had come from. "Oh, shucks! That's right, Primrose and Therion are still waiting for me outside of the cave! Sorry, Ophilia, gotta grab H'aanit and get back out there!"

With a quick wave, the apothecary hurried down the stairs before the cleric could even say goodbye. Her and Cyrus worriedly watched as their fellow rushed to leave the inn.

"Be safe," the cleric mumbled.

"Quite the skill, my dear," Cyrus commented, examining the young woman keenly.

Turning towards the professor, the cleric asked, "What is, Professor Albright?"

"Your talent as a cleric, of course! Such magic is extremely powerful, even though it is meant to aid those around you. Whereas mine," the scholar paused, igniting a small flame on the tip of his index finger "is to be used as a means of protection, attack. Nothing as graceful and warming as your light."

"Thank you, but it isn't as difficult as it appears. Plus, if you have a want to help those in need, it makes it all the easier to learn such magic."

"Then perhaps you could show me?" Cyrus inquired.

Ophilia paused for a moment. "You mean… teach you?"

"But of course, even the keenest of intellects must learn to better themselves. Stagnation is the enemy of progress, Ophilia."

"Well… it has been awhile since I have taught anyone how to use light magic," the cleric admitted unassuredly, folding her hands in front of her as her eyes drifted to the floor, thinking. "But, you are already quite skilled in magic, so perhaps I could teach you. After all, it would be better for us as a group to have another person who knows how to use holy light."

"My sentiments exactly. Shall we begin now?"

Eyes snapping to the professor, Ophilia stammered, "N-now?"

"There is no time like the present, after all. Come, let us use the other room."

"Professor," the cleric called out, knowing it was already too late to stop him.

The black-haired man opened the door, humming happily as he entered the room. Following, seeming without any choice, Ophilia sighed good-naturedly before beaming.

"It will be nice to teach someone how to heal again," she admitted to no one in the room.

Following the scholar, Ophilia joined Cyrus in the room opposite the one Tressa was resting in.

Sitting expectantly at the table by one of the windows, the scholar awaited his teacher. The irony of the situation did not escape Ophilia, who found it amusing. Though it wasn't in her nature, Primrose or Therion would most likely tease the man.

Without reservation, Cyrus produced from his pack – which he had grabbed from his bed – two small bottles. Being clear, thus easily able to see into, Ophilia noticed they contained deep, red liquids that resembled wine.

Her assumption was affirmed only a few seconds later as she sat down across from Cyrus who had opened the bottles, placing one in front of his teacher. The smell that rose from the small container was undoubtedly laced with alcohol but contained a bittersweet scent of fruit that Ophilia couldn't quite place her finger on.

"I believe a nice glass of wine calms the nerves when teaching. This a cranberry wine I usually partake in. Quite common in markets in the north with a deep rich taste that plunges those who partake in it into a calming warmth. Perfect for those wising to teach," Cyrus explained happily. He took a sip of the beverage. "Ah, I feel as if I am back at the university."

Ophilia followed suit, reveling in the taste of the wine and internally agreeing with the professor on its calming effects. It was just the thing she needed after healing Tressa's wound.

"Now, I do believe that I have the basic idea of light magic down, couple that with my talent for ice, lightning, and fire, I should be able to reverse engineer your ability quite simply," Cyrus concluded, thinking aloud to himself.

The cleric giggled. "While I do believe light magic is one of the simpler forms of the arcane, being able to use it requires concentration."

"On what, might I ask?"

"A cleric's source of power is Aelfric, we essentially borrow it. So long as His Flame is lit, we are able to produce light magic. But any source of magic will do. You have plenty of that already, Professor. Which brings me to the next step."

From her hand, Ophilia produced a small ball of white light with little signs of concentration on her part. It glowed magnificently, alighting the room much brighter than the few candles lit. Some would say that it was a beacon, beckoning them like moths to a flame. That was how Cyrus believed he saw it.

"You must tap into the thoughts of those you care dearly about. Bringing forth your love for them allows a spark that turns the magical energy coursing through you not into fire, but light," Ophilia instructed. "Try calling upon fire, but instead of focusing solely on the flame itself, think about who that flame burns for."

Absorbing the information like a sponge, Cyrus closed his eyes, trying to think on people he would care about in the way Ophilia described it. For what seemed like minutes, his mind searched relentlessly for anyone who could create such a spark. His family was all but gone, barely a figment of a memory; few, if any, of his fellows would he call friends; but his students created a sense of pride in the professor.

Following that source of emotion, Cyrus eventually came to a handful of students who turned his pride into a sense of warmth. Princess Mary and Therese were the two that stood out the most. The princess was by far one of the brightest students the professor ever had. Teaching her was a gift in of itself, preparing the next queen for leading a wave of scholarly pursuits. Yet there was also Therese. Even though it was her doing that caused him to leave Atlasdam, he still admired her inquisitive nature that just needed a push to be fully recognized. Besides, in a way, the scholar would have to thank her for allowing him to embark on the journey of his life.

Thinking on these students, the professor rose his hand, calling on his magic.

Expecting the heat of fire on his skin, he was surprised when a dimmed light filtered through his eyelids instead. Opening his eyes, a ball of arcane energy similar to Ophilia's reflected against his hazel pupils.

Cyrus heard the cleric giggle, garnering his attention. "It seems you will be an easy pupil to teach."

The scholar smirked. "Do not disparage your own teaching, my dear. I would not be such an easy-to-teach student without a knowledgeable teacher."

Thanking the professor, the pair continued their study of light magic into the night, awaiting the return of their fellow travelers who had departed for the Obsidian Parlor to aid Primrose in facing the demons of her past.

Another brisk rush of wind flew past the two travelers standing at the mouth of the cave just outside the Obsidian Parlor. Flowing through the cave, it sounded like a dangerous beast whispering for them to venture further. Promises of jingling coin purses, or of revenge, that mattered to the person that heard the echo coming from the dangerously cold cavern. When the flurried gust of snow ended, Therion pulled his scarf around his neck, hoping to emit a sense of warmth in this freezing wasteland.

Turning his attention from the sole road that wound from a thicket of trees, the thief eyed his companion carefully. Even though her dancer's attire was thinner than parchment, and revealing on top of that, Primrose didn't seem the least bit affected by the below-freezing temperatures. In fact, she seemed to ignore it, honing in on her family dagger, watching it keenly as if it were about to strike. For all Therion knew, that was most likely the case. Who knew what was waiting for them in the cave, and possibly past it.

The thief sighed. "You're going to get frostbite, Twinkle Toes."

Halting in examining her closely-treasured weapon, she sheathed it away. "I think the cold is refreshing." Dagger now hidden, the dancer's words were punctuated by a minute tremble from the chilling air. She had to mentally stop herself from wrapping her arms around her. "After all, it is better than the dry, desert winds."

Noticing Primrose's reactions, Therion made a sound of affirmation, shrugging his shoulders. "If you say so."

Silence fell over the pair once again, neither unsure of how – or even if they wished to – continue the conversation. Their battles of words, usually full of veiled levity, were seemingly unwelcomed here at this moment. It was surprisingly unsettling to Therion. After his years of solitude, ending any budding relationships as quickly as they began, the thief had come to enjoy the talks he shared with someone who had as cunning a tongue as he. Never would he admit to this, but no one in his group could read his mind. Even then, he hardly liked to think about it, almost detesting how he was coming to know the dancer.

Again, he sighed.

This time, Primrose took notice. More to take her mind off the cold than anything, she spoke up. "You've been doing that more and more often as of late."

"If I was to say it was your doing?"

The dancer smirked. "I would ask if it was good or bad."

For a few moments, Therion thought on her words. "Haven't decided yet."

Primrose chuckled, the action helping her feel warmer. "Still as keen a tongue as ever."

"You'd think I'd lose my edge so quickly?" Therion bemusedly asked as he turned towards his companion. "Not going to happen, Twinkle Toes, I play for keeps."

"And what's the prize?" she asked coyly, like a mischievous cat at play. She needed this back-and-forth, now more than ever.

Again, Therion thought on her words. "Haven't decided yet."

The dancer pouted, using this as an excuse to wrap her arms around herself. "Aw… let me know when you do. I am eager to know what this prize will be." For extra measure, she gave her opponent a wink.

All he did was shake his head and chuckle. "Don't think that'll work so easily on me."

"No fun."

A comfortable quiet fell upon the two as they retreated to their thoughts. Eventually, the smirk on Primrose's face disappeared. Therion noticed this immediately, not needing to guess where her mind was headed. A dark place, no doubt, one that could unnerve or possibly break her. Admittedly, all the thief knew of the dancer's story was that it was one of vengeance upon those who had killed her father. While Therion had no recollection of his parents, the idea of wanting to take revenge against those who did one wrong was a concept all too familiar to him. Still unwilling to share that part of his life – yet – he felt a sense of respect for Primrose being able to talk about her past and share her burden with those who would help her.

Therion's burden was his alone…

…but he decided then that wouldn't stop him from being one of the few who would share in Primrose's.

"What are your plans for this man with the crow on his left arm?" the thief intoned, trying to bring her back into their conversation.

Curiously glancing at her companion, the dancer answered easily. "I will make him pay as he made my father pay."

"His life, huh?"

The dancer nodded her head.

Now came the question they were thinking. Though Primrose had waited all her life for the opportunity, it was still something she needed to prepare herself for.

It was silently decided on that it would be Therion to voice such a question.

"Can you do it?"

Even after having thought on the question repeatedly, an answer still hadn't come easily to Primrose.

"I must."

"You must, but can you? There is a difference, Twinkle Toes."

Her gaze turned into a venomous glare, eyes lighting up instantly. "Do not toy with me now, thief."

The white-haired man rose his hands up placatingly, but kept his voice strong. "Whoa there, just trying to get your bearings. Let me tell you this: what we're about to do feels like a heist, and all thieves need their heads set on their target for it to be a success. Otherwise, things will go wrong."

"Speaking from experience?"

"…yes."

Silence. Primrose's mouth hung open, wanting to respond, but finding no words. She couldn't believe that Therion had revealed even a portion of himself just then. A small minute and vague detail, but a part of himself nonetheless. Taking her lack of response as a hint to continue, Therion intoned once more.

"Can you do it?"

This time, the answer stuck in Primrose's throat, seeming as if it wasn't good enough. Eyes fell to the ground, hiding the unsureness from plain sight, something she had yet to confront.

Of course, she had killed men before, her "master" in Sunshade wasn't the first. Over the years, she unwantedly killed her fair share of selfish men that she had encountered on her journey to avenge her father and reclaim her family name. Never had she enjoyed it, relishing only in the death of Helgenish and his men. But that was because it avenged Yusufa and returned the bar in Sunshade to the dancers and barkeep. That was not for solely personal reasons.

Now, however, it seemed her moral compass had finally appeared, bringing with it the stark realization that she was, possibly, mere minutes away from killing one of the men that murdered her father. Minutes away from taking the first step towards the end of her long journey. Minutes away from relishing in a selfish murder of her own.

In that way, would that make her any different from them?

What would her father think?

Would he understand?

Would she be following the words laid down by her ancestors generations ago?

Why did these questions have to appear in her head now?

None could she answer with assurance.

With the questions parting into more questions and into even more questions, Primrose collapsed onto her knees, tears prickling her eyes and indecision plaguing her thoughts.

Could she do this?

The crunching of snow and shaking of her shoulders brought her back to reality.

"Hey."

It was Therion, she realized, trying to snap her out of her stupor. Hesitantly, she lifted her head up to meet his gaze. What she saw nearly took her breath away.

In his eyes, his usually-dulled green eyes, shined a sense of compassion and understanding that made them appear as emeralds. With them came a sense of warmth. It was comforting.

Unanswered, the thief sighed, shrugging off his thick, purple shawl. Before Primrose could ask what he was doing, Therion securely placed the article of clothing around the dancer's shoulders, bringing a physical warmth to match her slowly warming emotions. Having slightly relaxed and regained her breath, the young man answered the question he had posed to her.

"You can. Trust me. You have worked for this moment. Any thief worth their salt who would put that time into a heist, with your speed and skills, would succeed easy. Every time. So, you can."

The words rang true within Primrose, seemingly causing her to shrug off her doubt as a tree branch would shrug off snow. Vibrancy returned to her, and a small smile – not a smirk – highlighted her face. She nodded confidently to Therion.

For once, she was afraid to speak.

Seeing that was all the thief needed to know that Primrose would be able to accomplish her journey and avenge her father. Standing from his squatted position, Therion extended a hand to help the dancer off of the cold ground. She clasped his hand tightly, and he in turn helped her to her feet.

In more ways than one.

Never are these companions alone.

In the darkest of times, in the most incredulous of instances, the Master Thief had proven that to the Dancer from Sunshade with but a few actions and words.

They would then realize that many times would this happen amongst the Octopath Travelers in their adventures.

Soon, they will be joined by the others who will face their own demons, their doubts, and, most importantly, themselves.

But, as with the magic Ophilia had taught Cyrus, counting on the bonds one shares would bring forth a light to shine at the end of the darkest tunnels…