Once the adrenaline-induced high from the battle finally left my system, I found myself in a somewhat morose mood. After my brief exchange of words with Grisella, both she and I remained silent. The witch was obviously focused on the task at hand, frantically rushing back to the village. And I-

I would be hard-pressed to say exactly what was going through my mind, but it probably wasn’t all that good. And that wasn’t related to my newly discovered connection with what I was starting to think of as an “edgelord’s evil node”. Rather... I guess it had something to do with the silence. Grisella and I were like a shadow, quietly gliding over the otherwise peaceful terrain. It was the kind of lull that always feels somewhat surreal after an intense battle. Doubly so, given the circumstances... And, maybe, that was what might have evoked some shadows of my own.

A blurred mix of scenes from the past, perhaps. Images from all the previous times I’d been out when shit hit the fan, only to come back home too late. Of people I once came to care for, or maybe even love, sometimes looking at me with gleeful relief, and sometimes resentful blame... Both of which, I’ll admit, were better than the glassy-eyed, wordless welcome that was often the only other alternative.

Suffice it to say, I wasn’t paying much attention to our surroundings as we moved.

Not until the acrid smell of smoke pulled me away from my phantasms, anyway.

A quick glance around revealed that were still a fair way away from the hamlet we lived in. But, the flatness of the steppe was finally giving way to the low hills that delimited its outskirts. As we neared the closest one, Grisella came to a gradual stop.

Without making a sound, she bent over, finally letting me stand on my own two feet. Briefly, we exchanged a look. I was somewhat confused at first, but that didn’t last. Her deeply wrinkled brow was set in hard determination, but her sunken eyes seemed to carry a question. I shook my head. There wasn’t any need to speak. Just as she couldn’t have left me stranded, hours away from the village, she couldn’t well charge into battle with a toddler in her arms, could she? Plus, I was still running pretty low on magical juice. There was no way for me to be of much help otherwise. The best I could do was stay out of the way.

The witch held my gaze, perhaps for a heartbeat longer, before turning around and resuming the run on her own. I, for my part, started cautiously heading in the same general direction, doing my best to stay out of sight. Thankfully, there were at least some advantages to still being small.

She now knew that the old thing could fend for himself, at least to some degree, so having safely left him behind, Grisella once again focused on the task at hand.

The sounds of battle filled her ears as she ran, competing with the thunder of her own heartbeat for her attention. She ignored both, focusing only on the way ahead and her Breath.

Necessary as both had been, her initial confrontation with the Necromancers, as well as having called forth the Downfall of Conflagration on that singularly powerful Diabolist, had left her fairly spent. The race after all of that wasn’t helping.

Still, her only choice was to push through old age and fatigue.

A few breaths later, after cresting a final hill, the village proper finally came within sight. Grisella felt no small amount of relief as it did. It seemed like she had made it in time.

Standing far away from the Empire’s border, Jur had been a peaceful place, for centuries, ever since her parents and a few others first came to live in it. It had never before been attacked, nor had there ever been any prospects of its inhabitants having to deal with more than a few tainted Hares, so it didn’t really have any defensive structures of its own.

But it seemed like either Munok or, more likely, the village’s head had led the villagers to improvise. Jur’s sole stone building, a relic from its previous inhabitants that had been refurbished for communal use, was now surrounded by something that could -very optimistically- be called a dingy, makeshift palisade. Thankfully, the few villagers and lone swordsman that stood by it were somehow managing to do a decent job at keeping a sizable group of undead monsters at bay, anyway.

As a rule of thumb, the undead were undeniably hardier and stronger than their living counterparts, true. But, even empowered by foul energies, Tainted Hares and -what seemed to be- a handful of Beryl Boars could only go so far. Well, as long as their numbers remained reasonably low. Really, in a twisted way, it was somewhat of a blessing in disguise that Necromancers needed sapient souls to fuel their abominable rituals...

She dismissed the thoughts with a shake of her head.

Seeing how effective the mix of arrows, torches, and pitchforks -and the single, much faster sword- were proving at holding back the creatures, though, Grisella allowed herself a moment to consider what to do.

...Where are the rest of the rats hiding now?

Even as she took stock of the situation, the witch stretched her senses, both mundane and arcane, ignoring the puppets in front of her, in an effort to find their puppeteers. However, no matter how much she tried to attune herself and open her mind to Prophecy, it was in vain.

Either the undead before her had been raised by the mages she had already dealt with, or their creators had somehow found out about the fate of their peers and chose to flee.

Or they are plainly strong enough to hide from me...

Not like there was much she could do about it, if that was the case.

With an internal shrug of her shoulders, the witch casually raised a hand. Without her even speaking a word, her Breath nimbly formed a simple pattern around it. Then, the Weave came to life, and half a dozen cabbage-sized fireballs were sent hurtling toward the furthest end of the undead group, where most of the boars were.

It was a comparatively low-power, basic spell. One that she wouldn’t waste her Breath on, was she facing a Practitioner. She knew from experience that the flames would harmlessly splatter against even the most basic of arcane defenses that a dark mage could rise. Against unprotected undead, however? The oversized pigs went ablaze like tinder.

corrupted creatures didn’t really know pain, of course, but they were universally known to be terrified of both deep waters and fire. As soon as the first boar turned into a running pyre, chaos erupted among the monsters. The pigs ran completely amok, crashing into their peers and stomping more than one hare under their powerful hooves in the process.

Her flames may have looked mundane enough, but they most certainly weren’t. With some effort on her part, they spread among the creatures with fury, almost as if possessing a mind of their own. All the while, the fire ignored everything else, including the wooden houses and the ‘palisade’ that some of the flaming monsters crashed into.

A predatory grin curled her lips

Among the chaos, Grisella slowly made her way toward the group of men, who were now wildly cheering. She moved with deliberate poise, using judicious applications of Breath and her attunement to Prophecy to either stay out of the moving obstacle’s way, or surreptitiously move said obstacles out of her way. She knew full well that the outcome had to look quite fancy from afar. An old lady, calmly walking amid a group of frenzied, burning monsters, yet preternaturally remaining untouched by them, despite an apparent lack of effort on her part. It ought to have quite the impact.

And, indeed, the cheers soon died down, giving place to gaping mouths and other expressions of silent awe. Usually, Grisella wasn’t one to care much for shows, of course. Vanity was better left for younger Practitioners, or the few that were actually powerful enough to warrant some bragging rights. But, sometimes, it wasn’t a bad idea to make the brats remember exactly who they were dealing with when they spoke with her. And seeing how, for whatever reason, Necromancers were freely roaming so deep into the Empire yet somehow remained completely unchallenged... Well, it seemed like a little boost to her perceived authority could be coming in real handy real soon.

At the thought of the bastards, Grisella’s eyes unwittingly -absolutely so!- glowed with an intense golden radiance, cowing the men that were coming to welcome her. The witch, of course, had the mercy of feigning she was too preoccupied with her inner musings to notice.

Let’s see, first, let’s make sure no one’s hurt... Though no one seems to be about to pass away any time soon.

Still ignoring the men, she considered the ‘palisade’ she had just intruded into. Suffice it to say, up close, it looked even shabbier than from afar.

And let’s get the brats to build actual defenses. At least something that isn’t liable to fall over at the lightest breeze...

Oh!

That, and let’s also send a letter to the Order!

She hadn’t really stayed in contact the last century, but if the Owls didn’t know yet that there were dark mages around, they’d be having a field day! ...And if they did know, she’d be sure to get the head of whoever the fuck had forgotten to notify he-

”...re’s my son?”

“Hmm?”

Slowly, the witch turned to face a disheveled, but still rather handsome swordsman. Watching a drop of sweat trail down his brow, she decided she had to grant it to that silly girl Lina. Grisella had initially failed to see the appeal, but maybe the girly did have somewhat decent taste, after all.

Munok seemed mostly relieved, but there was still some unease hidden in his expression.

“Thank you-” He vaguely gestured in the direction she had come from, where most of the monsters had already been reduced to ashes. “for everything. There are many things we need to discuss,” Munok frowned. “I know you are not that fond of us, but I’ve notified my Order. A unit should already be on its way.” The man took a deep breath, as if steeling himself. “But first, I need to know. Is my son safe?”

Ah.

It was impressive how old age sometimes made her forget about a few little details.