Cane dug in silence. The ground was soft and rich—good for crops, bad for safety. Building too close to swamplands always carried risk.
Fergis: Should we carry them over?
Dhalia: It's a working farm. There's bound to be a pushcart in one of the sheds.
The grave took shape—broad enough for two, nearly finished—when Fergis arrived with the cart. Both bodies were wrapped in sheets and settled side by side, the pushcart creaking under their weight.
"There's a pile of rocks behind the house," Cane said quietly. "Probably picked from the fields when they first plowed. Fill the cart and bring it back."
Without further comment, he helped Fergis lower the corpses gently onto the grass, then returned to the shovel.
Fergis: What are the rocks for?
Cane: Covering the grave. Keeps scavengers from digging it up.
By the time the cart returned, Cane had smoothed the dirt, deep and wide. He climbed out, wiped his brow, and helped lower the bodies one last time. He was just starting to fill in the earth when the rumble of an approaching wagon turned every head.
Brammel handled the reins, the horses steady and quiet. Ignasius rode beside him. Both wore grim expressions as they pulled up.
"This was the Yazlo farm," Brammel said, voice low. "Good people."
He slid down from the bench, staring at the grave.
"Sealing them with stone," he murmured. "Where'd you learn that?"
Cane shrugged. "Just makes sense."
He kept working, methodically filling the grave. When the last of the soil was packed down, he reached for the first stone.
"I'll help." Brammel moved beside him, placing stones with care.
Ignasius returned at a slow canter, nodding once. "Turned the banshee to ash," he said. "It was a tough one—probably middle-aged. I'm going to reward this group 100 mission points for taking it down."
Cane knelt beside the grave. He took a handful of soil and held it still in his palm, voice soft:
"We are born in darkness and walk in the light… when our grace is fulfilled, we return to those who've already passed."
He let the soil fall.
Brammel and Ignasius stared. Cane didn't notice. He swiped his ring and pulled out a small tin of salt. Twisting it open, he sprinkled it slowly across the stones, until a thin sheen lay over the grave.
"You alright?" Brammel asked, placing a hand on Cane's arm.
Cane managed a tired smile. "Yeah."
"What about the child?"
"She's got kin in the capital," Brammel replied. "The Archmage is notifying them."
Cane nodded, then reached into his ring and withdrew a pouch, tossing it gently to Brammel. "From the four of us. Make sure she has a proper dowry."
Brammel caught it and nodded, voice thick. "I'll see to it."
Without another word, Cane turned and walked toward the house.
Ignasius waited until he was out of earshot.
"Did you hear the words?" he asked. "They sounded… familiar."
Brammel nodded slowly. "And he salted the grave."
The two men stood in silence for a long moment.
"I'm going to ask the Archmage," Brammel said. "I think he'll know."
The team rode back to the Academy in the wagon, nestled among the few valuables salvaged from the farm: three pieces of well-crafted furniture, an old family sword, a weathered registry, and the deed to the land.
The four sat side by side on the open tailgate, legs swinging gently above the road.
"This was tough," Clara said quietly, her usual brightness dulled.
"Yeah," Cane agreed. "But think about it—banshees have sharp senses. It would've known the baby was there. My guess? It sensed us and changed course."
"So we saved her?" Clara leaned into Fergis, rubbing her eyes with the heel of her hand.
"Twice," Fergis added. "She wouldn't have made it through the night. The temp drops fast out here."
Dhalia finally spoke, her voice thoughtful. "I've said it before, you two are amazing… I've got a lot of work to do if I want to catch up."
Clara nodded, straightening. "Same. I'll work hard."
Cane exchanged a glance with Fergis. "You notice how sweet Clara is when she skips a meal?"
"Absolutely. From now on—one meal a day during training."
"What?!" Clara gasped, one hand flying to her stomach. "You know I need to eat every few hours! My thoughts get fuzzy and I feel weak. You better catch me when I faint."
Fergis shook his head solemnly. "I can't promise that, Good training requires regular fainting."
Cane chuckled, letting the rhythm of the wheels and the warmth of the team settle around him. For all the darkness they'd seen, there was still light—stubborn, resilient, and theirs to carry.
**
The dream remained the same. Wholly alien, yet eerily familiar.
A young boy with dark, curling hair walked between two figures. The man's body shimmered with etched metal—runic veins of silver crawling across bronze-toned skin. The woman beside him gleamed like a living statue, her skin cast in soft platinum.
Two humans, fused with metal.
"You understand memory infusion?" the man asked. His voice was deep, resonant. Not cold—but strong, anchored with the quiet weight of a father's love. "This is like that."
The boy frowned, eyes drawn to the block of cold iron ahead.
"But you said… the runes will take all my memories."
"They will," the man admitted.
"I want to stay."
The woman wept. Tears streamed down her polished cheeks, falling onto the golden floor tiles that rang faintly with each drop. "This is a dangerous time," she whispered. "The world buckles beneath the weight of feuding archmages. We'll return, if we're able."
"No," the boy cried. "Then come with me…"
"My son…" The woman knelt before him. Her touch was gentle, warm despite the sheen of metal. "It will take both of us to send you into the cold iron. You must do your part and await our return."
She kissed both cheeks. Then his forehead.
"I don't want to…"
—
Cane bolted upright, drenched in sweat.
The room was still dark, shadows long across the ceiling. His breaths came in short bursts, chest tight. He didn't need to reach for the psi rune, but he did—tracing a familiar symbol before whispering softly.
Minutes passed before a gentle knock came at the door.
"It's open," Cane said, managing a tired smile.
Sofie stepped inside. She didn't ask questions. Just removed her shoes, crossed the room, and curled beside him. Her arms wrapped around his shoulders, one hand gently stroking his damp hair.
"Is this about the farmers?" she asked.
Cane shook his head. "No… I've had the same dream for as long as I can remember. But this time, something was different."
Sofie kissed his forehead. "Tell me. But only if you want to."
He did.
As he described the metal-clad adults, the boy, and the cold iron, Sofie listened quietly.
"I feel the anguish in the dream," he said. "It's palpable… like I was there."
"Do you think the boy is you?"
Cane shook his head. "How could it be? That kid was seven or eight. I remember growing up on a farm. Watching my Da till the land. Besides that…"
Sofie leaned close, lips brushing his. "Besides that?"
"It's something Telamon told me. He said this is the second rise of Man. The first was long ago—before we met the elves. That world ended in fire… Archmages brought it down."
Sofie pulled his head gently to her shoulder. "And the couple in the dream said the same."
"Yeah."
"Then maybe it's not just a dream. Talk to the Archmage," she whispered. "Tell him what you saw."