A loud bang jostled Isla awake. On instinct, she tumbled over the bed's edge, grasping her sword. Her stance lowered and she eyed the noise's source.

"Woah!" Leef spouted.

"Why is it you..." Isla sighed before standing straight and lowering her weapon.

"Oh, sorry." His chubby cheeks reddened and his gaze dropped.

"What do you want?"

"Rydin made food." He pointed towards the door, his finger drooping.

"No need."

"But..."

"I'm fine." She turned, studying the hazed sky and delicate sprinkle wetting the landscape. A weak gust entered her domain, freeing her locks. "Go on."

Her words spurred his soft, quick, footsteps to action, the sound mellowing to silence. She listened one second more then cloaked and booted herself. With the sheathed sword tucked under her arm, she pushed the wooden shutters fully open.

Propping herself onto the sill, Isla tucked and lifted her legs, swinging them outside. Her fluid movements cleared the opening's dimensions and she landed, her feet sinking.

She wiped her hands, cleaning the imprinted dirt. Combing the dull yard, she spotted a recessed clump of trees and beyond the distant smoke streams of Bartez. She walked the muddied path, veering left uphill. A single tree flourished upon the peak with an expansive reach to deflect the elements. Deep scars marked the trunk, delving deep past the bark.

She leaned against the rough surface and sifted through her cloak's pockets. Dampness met her fingers, the delicate map a bundled trap. Slowly, Isla removed the article, an inch forward and the portion ripped clean. "Seriously..." she sighed.

Unfolding the soaked paper wad revealed the water-streaked colors, even more unreadable than the harm caused by Maron's wench. She shoved the piece inside her cloak and scoured the horizon. Her thoughts drifted. Great, now what should she do?

Instigating those fools in Maron had likely quickened her bounty's news. She should have ignored the brute. Should have, would have, but didn't. She shook her head. Still not happening, ever. How could she accept becoming a plaything? Her answer would be the same no matter how many lives she lived. Was this the seventh? She hadn't remembered as the last few blurred together.

Still, even though an accelerated hunt seemed imminent, what bothered her was Skye. How did he find her? Had her aura's seal weakened?

Twenty years. Five less than her previous life. Again, her aura—or magic ability—had heightened.

Any non-God worshipper would be ecstatic. More power, more strength, who would refuse? But did they have a sick and deranged father using that very ability to locate them? Of course not.

Isla sighed, rubbing her forehead. Forget him, forget finding her father and ending this torturous game, he could wait. She needed an improved technique for suppressing her aura. Squash the source, and no more unannounced visits by Skye.

Only problem: an extensive archive on magic theory didn't appear when called. If such existed on Detra, the magic suppressing inhabitants would cry blasphemy. Which meant leaving these water entrenched lands for a warmer and drier place.

Even worse, her current needs required constructing a spell with multiple layers upon her body. Get one layer wrong, and she risked harm worse than death. Tricky and dangerous.

She tilted her head back, shutting her lids. "For once, can't this be easy," she murmured.

"What's the problem?" Rydin voiced.

Her eyes snapped open and she glared. "Nothing."

He frowned, cocking his head. The chilling wind shuffled his dirty blond hair, each strand rearranged. His gray cloak flew wide, showcasing the numerous cloth folds beneath.

He moved closer to the overhead tree covering. "When do you plan to leave?"

"By nightfall."

"That soon. Any idea where to?" Rydin questioned.

Soon? She wasted one day already. "Not yet," she voiced, straightforward and clear. Her gaze shifted, eyeing his quiet and fidgeting form. "What do you want?"

He inspected her, his thoughts front and center. "Are there others after you, like the ones from yesterday?"

She shrugged. "Probably."

"Can I ask why?"

"No."

His youthful face scrunched, but he relaxed a moment later, rumpling his hair. "Then can I help in any way? We're about to leave, but I'm sure there's some way we could help you."

"I don't need your help."

"You don't need, or don't want?"

She paused her retort, his forwardness tripping her tongue. "Both."

"Well then don't listen, but we're planning to head towards Lutenberg in two days. We wouldn't mind some extra company."

Isla faced the distant town. "You do realize the danger I pose, right? Or are you truly a fool."

He laughed. "Maybe a fool. But you have to admit, it'd be better than traveling alone."

What did he know? She never had a good experience traveling with another. Once before, she made the mistake. Not by choice, but what about now? Should she try—no could she?

"Why are you leaving?" she questioned while diverting his own.

"Well, it's a bit complicated. But Leef has an aura degeneration disease. I need to find a cure for him before it's too late. I'm thinking there might be a lead in Arcadia. Lutenberg then off to Arcadia is my plan."

Rydin appeared unruffled and firm, if anything, his clumsy first impression morphed into a strong confidence. Yet, she knew beneath this unwavering disposition, the same awkward young man existed. He would grow. How interesting. Better yet, he sparked her own direction—Arcadia.

"And? Do you think Arcadia will have your answers?"

Rydin scratched his ear. "I think so. It's the only place I could think of to search for a cure. Perhaps worst case, I could beg the Gods protecting Detra. But they probably have their hands full with defending these lands and others, I doubt they would aid a fool."

If anything, she agreed with his assumption. But the Godless hating lands of Arcadia sparked plausible concerns. For one, though they loathed the Gods, the Arcadians isolation and condemnation of Castions and Centurions prompted them to shun outsiders. Still, perhaps those rumors were misguided. Who knew the truth without venturing there themselves.

"You do realize right now your actions will go against Detra's laws, right? Only the underground has the movement sphere transport to Arcadia. Even then, they can only activate the magic for a brief moment to avoid detection. A taboo magic tool per Detra's ruling class."

He nodded. "I know. But I have no choice."

"Do you think they'll let just anyone have access?"

"No, but I have a lead. My parents left us much."

"What kind?" she inquired as her tone softened.

"I know someone who can get me close. At least by name. From my parent's writings, he was an informant, an ally."

"Hmm," she murmured, moving her gaze away. Still, the magic abundant world of Arcadia. Could it be possible? A singular lead, but one worthy of gold. "Are you certain they'll help you?"

"No, but some chances are worth taking, don't you think?"

She glanced his direction, his stare watchful and expecting. "They are, but only if they're doable."

"I think this is," Rydin stated.

Isla snorted. "Your confidence is by far amusing."

"Optimism is my strong suit." He grinned and added, "so want to come, or not? I'm sure your pursuers, or whatever they are, will be at a loss."

Should she accept his hand or continue trudging through the swamp tiers of Detra and face death? The next attack would be far worse. She knew the sequence and experienced the consecutive chases first hand. Forget once, hundreds of times was enough to teach the lesson. Yet, here he stood, providing the perfect opportunity, but could she trust him?

"Fine," she voiced. For a split second, she contemplated her approach. "But instead, you'll help me leave Detra for Arcadia."