Landing on his rump, Ben wondered what the big deal was. That didn’t last long as he traced a mortified expression to the now violet shaft of an arrow. He paled as he saw the tri-tone green fletching of the arrow.

“Blastit,” came an all too familiar sniveling voice, “y’almost got’em Chedwick!”

There was only one Chedwick who used those colors. Almost apprehensive to see his fears with his own eyes, he turned to the source of the voice. His blood went cold as saw Them. This wasn’t just any party of heroes or adventurers, it was Them.

They all stood atop a particularly large dune. At the front was a handsome Elven man with long blond lochs, holding up a bow and already notching another arrow. Chedwick. At his side was a scruffy Ratman with a vibrant red cloak and a pair of daggers around his belt. Oslow. The heavily armored one behind them was their leader and had things gone correctly, Kinsoriel’s love interest. Chedwick’s twin sister, Nela. Most distressing was the last member, who he could only barely make out thanks to his gigantic hat. Where all the others shouldn’t be anywhere here, this was even truer of him. Alister.

“Lord Fayten, something’s wrong…” Moira whispered into his ear with worry.

He couldn’t help but agree. Why in the hell were they here? Why was Alister with them?! Why did they shoot THE BLOODY PROTAGONIST!?

Rushing between them and the injured dragon, he shouted, “Stop, stop it right now! This is a big misunderstanding!”

The only response those above him had was a hearty laugh from Oslow. “Hahahaha, oh that tickled my sides it did. Did you guys hear that?”
Alister stepped out towards the front, whispering something amongst the group.

An unsettlingly guttural noise came from behind Benjamin. It didn’t take much to know what, or rather, who it had come from.

“How dare you!” Kinsoriel roared, his voice holding the air oppressively.

“Master,” Ben said as appeasingly as he could while looking back, “please don’t kill them. Let me try to talk this out. Please.”

Alister’s aged voice raised to audible levels. “Did you all hear that? He called it Master. It’s true then.”

The already hot air of the desert felt like it had grown even hotter, and for good reason. Kinsoriel was breathing in and out rapidly, to the point that his breath reached Ben. Though in the grips of an anger Ben hadn’t seen in person, the dragon wordlessly motioned his head toward the group. He had to fix this. Now.

“Alright,” he said as he looked back up to the group, “let’s go about this in a nice and peaceful-”

He stopped, squinting. One, two, three… one of them was missing. With a start, he realized too late who it was.

“Hello there” whispered an unseen voice as he felt himself hefted off his feet. “Blink Step.”

Everything shimmered around them as they changed location instantly. The motion of it was smooth enough to not make Ben queasy, but still disorienting. They were still in the desert, but he couldn’t tell where. A nearby roar told him it wasn’t that far away.

“You’ll be safe over here mate,” he heard from the voice he now recognized as Oslow. He was laid down face first, feeling his hands being bound by a thick rope.

“Are you a moron? Why, why did you do this? We could have talked this out if you had just list-” Benjamin was cut off by a rag being roughly stuffed into his mouth.

“Geez, that thing really did a number on ya, didn’t it? Don’t worry, we’ll get you nice and unscrambled soon enough mate. For now, we’ve got some business with tall, dark n’ ugly.”

Looking to his left, he saw footsteps briefly appear in the sands, likely returning to the rest of the party. A shimmer revealed the near-invisible form of the Ratman briefly before disappearing once again.

They poured gasoline onto the situation and hadn’t even realized it. After seeing him get spirited away like that, Kinsoriel wasn’t going to be on any sort of speaking terms with them. Everything was going to fall apart beyond repair.

No. No, that wasn’t going to happen. Not while he was still around to do something about it.

He struggled around with his bindings as best as he could. His efforts proved to be a waste. Even if he had the raw strength for it, this wouldn’t work. They were tied too well for him to loosen from here, especially with his big backpack in the way.

His next thought went to using mana to free himself somehow. That hope was dashed very quickly. After casting Lightning, it had left him so drained that he doubted he’d have enough juice for anything useful. Even if that weren’t the case, he couldn’t think of how he could use mana in such a position anyway.

Where did that leave him? He might try getting back on his feet by moving back and forth. The backpack would leave him like a turtle though. Ugh, why hadn’t he gotten that damn Pocket spell yet?

“Are…are you in need of help m’lord?” Moira chirped with concern.

Yes! He could still get out of this in time.

“I would like that, yeah. Undo the bindings.”

After giving her permission to do so, she left Ben’s back and shifted into her bipedal form. He could feel her fiddling with the rope at a frenzied pace. For someone nearly as old as the entire world, it didn’t seem like she had much experience in untying knots. She was muttering annoyedly in that ancient language when a burst of light erupted from a distance.

“Uh, is there any way you could hurry this up?“ he said with his nerves starting to get the best of him.

“Sorry m’lord, I’m going as fast as I can!”

As fast as she could was going to cost him so many subplots that it made his head spin. There had to be something else she could do. An immense rumble rocked the ground beneath him.

“Forget about me for now then. Nobody there is to die today. Go, take them away from here, and keep yourself hidden if possible.”

The urgency in his voice must have been easy to pick up. She took off without any other words between them, speeding towards the site. Ben continued to struggle with his bindings, finally making progress with them being loosened a little. He managed to get an arm free a few minutes later when he saw foot claws land in front of him. Pushing himself back upward, he saw the look on her face and instantly knew what she was feeling: shame.

After an uncomfortable silence, he finally managed to get out, “How bad was it?”

“Three of them are dead, one is missing. I… couldn’t revert it. Every time I attempted to, I was pushed out of the past. My powers have failed me again, failed you again.” Bringing her head low and kneeling, she added, “I will accept my punishment, no matter how dire.”

He had finished getting himself unbound when she dropped that bomb. His stomach tied itself tighter than he had been prior and his knees felt weak. It couldn’t be, not like this. He had to see this for himself.

Before he did that, he had to set her straight. Kneeling to meet her, he put a hand on her shoulder. “It wasn’t your fault Moira. I don’t blame you, and neither should you. You did your best, and that’s all I ever could ask.”

Her head shot up, looking at Ben with watery eyes. “Lord Fayten,” she trailed, choking up.

Not used to consoling others, Ben's hand continued to sit on her shoulder awkwardly for a time. This was all the comfort he could give right now, but she seemed to appreciate it. Taking a deep breath, he walked over to the epicenter of the action. Moira eventually joined him again as a bird on his backpack.

Once he had climbed the last mound, the massacre lay before him. Kinsoriel had his back to him and seemed to be talking to himself. He was battered and looked to be in bad shape, but he was fine enough to remain standing. Ben turned his attention to those who couldn’t say the same.

Three bodies, all easily discernible. Chedwick was pounded into a crater with his limbs being the only thing that went past its edges. Nela’s skin wasn’t exposed, but the melted form of her full-bodied armor painted a grim image of what lay beneath it.

Alister’s body was surprisingly intact. Ben couldn’t tell what had happened to him until he had gotten closer. He was missing his gigantic hat, revealing that a knife had been lodged into his forehead, splattering reddish-purple blood around it. It wasn’t just any knife he realized with a start; it was a scalpel.

“Hmm? Oh, here’s my servant now.” Kinsoriel turned to Benjamin, revealing someone who was standing beside the dragon. “Come here Benjamin, I’d like for you to meet this exemplary deathbound.”

The man was wearing light armor, clothed with a white coat like that of a doctor. He had the mask of a surgeon over his mouth and a short dusty blonde haircut. A row of variously sized scalpels, with one spot noticeably vacant, ran along his bracer. A canvas bag presumably filled with medical tools hung over his shoulder.

He extended a hand. Shaking it more out of obligation than anything, the ex-Author said, “Benjamin. You?”

He knew who he was already, but let him say it for himself. In a smooth as silk voice, he responded, “Carthex, traveling surgeon and mercenary.”