The carriage brought Arn to Nysaros three days later. During the ride, Ossagar attempted to pry as much information as he could from him. However, something held back Arn’s tongue, and he didn’t say a word about De’al or the forbidden scroll that Rana let him read. He’d also hid the fact that Rana destroyed his Tjoreal - of all the troubles that befell him, this one was the worse.

After the excursion with De’al, he felt a new presence within himself. Though the more he considered it, the more he realized that this presence wasn’t new, not entirely. He’d always felt slight hints of it, faint as they may have been. Now, however - now it became brighter and active. Whether awoken by De’al himself, or the shimmering light, or the darkness, he couldn’t tell.

A counterbalance to the loss of his Tjoreal was his new ability to channel and control Esarel. He’d learned of it during an overnight stop at an inn on the way from Kalarhan. Ossagar insisted Arn slept in his own room after the ordeal he suffered. Arn didn't need convincing. The less time he spent with the man, the better.

He’d gotten into bed, arranged the pillows and covers just right, and then realized that he had forgotten to turn off the candle - on the other side of the room. It was nearly as far as that damned candle in the cell. Anger flashed through his mind, and a sudden desire to extinguish the flame took over his thoughts. Before he knew it, Esarel rushed from his outstretched hand and enveloped the candle. The flame sputtered and winked out. He hadn’t consciously channeled his energy. It acted more like an extension of his will than it ever did before. He tried to light the candle again, but the excitement prevented him from concentrating properly. He’ll have time enough to practice in Nysaros, he decided before falling into the best sleep he had in weeks.

The prospect of recounting his tale to his family filled Arn with dread. His stomach was in knots, and his heart thumped in his ears. For most of the past day, they rode in silence after Ossagar had finally given up on his questioning. They’d finally entered the town, and Arn heard voices come in and out of earshot as they went. He kept the curtain over the carriage’s window, knowing full well that soon he’ll have to be out in the open and answer everyone’s questions.

Could he not? Could he say nothing? Judging by the intensifying smell of horse and the clopping of many a hoof, they had finally reached the coach house. His heart raced faster than before. Arn held out a hand in front of himself and watched it tremble. What is the matter with me? I’m just going home, he thought and clenched the hand into a fist. It still trembled. The door of his carriage opened, and he saw a large group of people - most were his relatives and some of the city constables, trying to keep the peace.

Great, this is great, this is so great. Great. Could Arn stay in the carriage until they all left? How long would it take for them to give up? Hours, days? Who am I kidding? They will never leave. I will starve to death first. Arn took a few deep breaths and stepped out of the carriage.

“I won’t have this! Let me…,” he heard his mother’s voice, “let me through, right this moment!” A city constable tried to stop her. The man moved to block her passage but stopped short of physically restraining the woman when he saw Arn’s father’s glare.

She harrumphed and charged him with the intensity of a mother bear - the constable, having never seen such behaviour before, jumped out of the way and then glanced one last time at Arn’s glaring father.

In moments, Arn’s two parents were upon him - his mother hugging the lights out of him and his father shooting death glares at any who dared approach - including the other relatives. I can do this, he thought. He saw tears in his mother’s eyes.

“It’s ok,” he said “can we go? It’s ok,” he tried to calm her.

“I knew,” she whispered. “I should never have let them. I knew something would go wrong!”

“Nyra, everything is well now. We are whole again. Come,” his father comforted her, “come, let us leave this noise,” he said, pushing people out of the way as they passed.

Arn glanced about and watched his cousins, aunts, uncles - the entire extended family. They ogled and whispered and pointed. When he spotted his uncle Doren and aunt Vena, the two avoided his gaze. Arn watched them briefly as he and his parents passed through the crowd. His grandparents were absent - thankfully. They will probably ambush me at home, he realized.

Arn and his parents had finally reached their clan house. To Arn’s relief, the crowds had thinned quickly, and none bothered them most of the way home. News travels fast in Nysaros, but thankfully this news at least took care not to overtake Arn. His home’s familiar sights, smells, and sounds overwhelmed Arn, and he followed his parents mechanically the entire way to his room.

Arn walked in, saw the bed and the armoire, the small wooden desk in the corner, and a pile of his old toys. He felt dizzy and sat down. His parents remained in the room. His younger sister Sarhaa briefly peaked into his bedroom, but Arn’s parents sent her off.

The three of them sat in silence for several minutes, and Arn thought perhaps they’d just let it all get back to normal. They might ignore it all, and life could continue as if nothing happened. No Rana, De’al, or even Ossagar.

“Nyra, we should give him time. Let him feel at home,” his father said.

“He may need something - do you need anything, Arn?” his mother said as she turned to him.

Arn shook his head and laid on his bed, his legs still hanging off its edge. “Look at him. We must do something. I can’t watch him like this,” his mother said. Arn covered his eyes and concentrated on his breathing. Maybe they’ll leave, he thought.

“I know Nyra, but believe me, he needs time.”

Arn’s mother stood up and looked at him. He felt her gaze upon him. He wanted them to leave, but they stayed anyway. Arn was happy that they did.

“Mom?” he nearly whispered.

“Yes, Arn?”

“I never got to finish the mushrooms you gave me. Do we have any left?”

“Yes, yes, of course, we do! Move, Atrel, let me get the mushrooms,” she pushed past Arn’s father, who smiled, though Arn still lay with his hands over his eyes and didn’t see it. Soon Nyra returned with the mushrooms and a few other things besides - she brought biscuits and other dried foods and a pot of aromatic tea. Then, as though she could read his mind, and with great difficulty - he could tell - she let him be.

“Come, Atrel, let’s let him rest and eat. He will feel better soon,” she said, and together with his father, they left the room, leaving the door partially open. Arn took a deep breath and observed his own room. It seemed entirely too cluttered now. Too much of everything. Did he ever need these - things? Just then, the aromatic tea drew his attention back to the food. The scent reminded him of Rana’s fruity tobacco smoke. A small part of him missed that scent and even the relief at seeing her in the dark cell, at no longer being alone. He reminded himself that he was back home now, that his family was all there.

He couldn’t get her words out of his mind. Despite all she did, he couldn’t ignore everything he’d learned. And then there was De’al. Arn didn’t have the energy to think about De’al just then. He couldn’t bring himself to parse the bizarre speech, nor the man’s strange powers.

Was De’al real? Did he dream of seeing the strange man? He knew Rana was real. With great effort, Arn wrestled himself away from that particular bucket of wrigglers. He picked up a mushroom in one hand and a biscuit in the other and looked at them for a long moment. Memories flashed in his mind. He recalled looking forward to returning from the mission and telling everyone how safe the border towns were. Arn laughed despite himself. Nothin was ever going to be the same, that much he knew.