Kymalin shouldered the bow she whittled herself, stretching her arms and wincing at the cracks her joints gave. It's a fruitless hunt yet again. The island might have gotten over a war, but its forests needed time to recover from the magic they lost. They'd have to settle for a bunch of fruits tonight as they have done for the past few weeks. It'd be of no consequence.

She trudged the steep incline, noting the familiar trail she carved and traversed since the conclusion of the Virtakios War. All kinds of hoots and caws filled the ravine, but none of them belonged to creatures fairies could eat. The smell of upturned soil hung in the air, as well as a moist veil signaling an oncoming storm.

She should get home before then.

Her boots crunched against the fallen leaves, their dry crackles reminding her of the nest of embers she found herself in when Parkane fell over her. It's been months since the war ended, but even now, she couldn't erase the memories and experiences she lived through from her head. As much as she wanted to, they're to stay for eternity.

Thunder rumbled up ahead, and she quickened her pace. Her breaths turned heavy, a dull ache stabbing in her side not a fortwere later. She craned her neck to the sky, but a storm of canopies obscured most of the gray expanse. A sigh flitted out of her lips. She might have wished for the leaves to part for her to see just a sliver of stars during the night, but the trees with their thick trunks and eerie shadows were what kept them safe. Not that there was immediate danger. Kymalin liked her privacy as much as anyone else.

The path climbed a steeper incline. Meant she's close. She took a deep breath and tackled the short distance. After that, a small shack would be visible, and then, she'd be home. It happened as she predicted, and within seconds, she passed by a small plot of land by the shack's muddy porch and an array of potted xamine flowers.

She ducked inside the shack, dusting her soles against a used rag before continuing to the adjacent room. The shack had a simpler interior, compared to the meaningless grandeur of the Temple of Souls. She couldn't care less about her old room and the paneldoja she was required to wear at all times. It's because of that she grew up hating any sign of tiny bells.

Metal clattered from the kitchen, and Kymalin's guard rose up. What in Pidmena's name was that? Hackles raised, she crept past the ante and came to the wide space shared by the kitchen and the rest of the shack. The first thing she noticed was a wall of white feathers blocking their owner and the small window in line with the pantry.

"Took you long enough," April's face emerged with a swish of her wings when she turned. A bright fire burned beneath a pot, and a savory smell filled the air. "Look, I've finished stew."

Kymalin unslung the bow from her shoulder and hung it by the hooks on the ante. The quiver bouncing against her leg followed suit. She unclipped her cloak from the base of her collar and hung that too. Now dressed in a loose tunic tucked into tight-fitting trousers and fur-lined boots, she strode back to the kitchen.

"Is my house open to anyone now?" Kymalin cocked her head to the side as she approached April.

A smirk spread from the air sprite's lips. "Lucky for you, I'm not just anyone."

Kymalin hummed. "We'll see about that," she said, leaning over to the purple goop boiling inside a charred pot. She had to replace that sometime. "What's the occasion?"

April stuck a lip out. "Nothing. Just dropping by, and when you're not here, I helped myself to some ingredients and made yehzarpe. Been craving some, and it's a long way to Falkirta."

"And?" Kymalin raised her eyebrows at the way April ended her reply. "I'm sensing an and."

"And...well, he arrived," April jabbed a finger in the direction of the living room.

Kymalin whirled and was met with Reksha Janos' smiling face. "Rudik's ass, that's creepy," she cursed, flinching at how her mother's adviser sat in one of the dining chairs without a single squeak. How long was he there, and why didn't she notice him when she entered? Dear Pidmena. "How long have you been there, Janos?"

The Reksha raised a hand in April's direction, never missing their location even though he was blind. "Not long," he replied in his kindly voice Kymalin never thought she'd miss. "I was waiting for you, and your kind lady offered to share some of her...Falkirtan delicacy."

"I assume you're not here for April's cooking, are you?" Kymalin gave April a quick squeeze in the arm before striding towards the table. She settled on the chair opposite Janos and switched to Tevegisla—a dialect of Keijula spoken by the majority of Drodham and Anchester. "I don't have all day. Spit it out."

Blame the language for sounding cruder than necessary. It's in the words and what they meant. If Kymalin wanted to be proper, she'd speak in the universal Keijula or even in Ylanenla.

If the Reksha was offended, he didn't show it. Janos was exemplary at that. One couldn't tell what he felt just by his face alone. Instead, he folded his hands atop the table, and when he opened his mouth, the same dialect flowed out. "I am here to extract a decision from you, High Priestess," he said. "It pertains to the succession of office."

Huh. So it was possible to talk civilly with the dialect. It's not the language's problem, then.

Kymalin noticed how the Reksha referred to her as the High Priestess, making the intention of his visit more real. "I don't want to participate in it," she said. "The succession, I mean. Choose among yourselves on who to replace my mother. How about you, Janos? I'm sure you've been dying to fill in her shoes since you entered the Temple."

A light chuckle shook the old fairy's shoulders. "I have never dreamed of usurping the throne," he said. "But if you are not willing, then, by our ancient laws and tradition, the crown will pass on to Vaeri Iaro."

"No," Kymalin had never blurted something out loud that fast all her life. "I can't have him be shoved into a responsibility and a life he didn't wish for just because he's healed now. He has a whole lot of living to do. I forbid you to even mention anything remotely close to duty and bloodlines to him."

Janos ducked his head. "While I hear you and understand your reasoning, the Rekshais still had to hear the refusal from Vaeri himself," he said. "While you are free to decide for yourself, you are not for others."

A snort flitted out of her nostrils. Was the old Reksha trying to lecture her now? "Fine," she crossed her arms and leaned back against her seat. Unlike Janos, her chair's backrest squeaked against the force of her back hitting it. "Let me know what he chooses. I won't forgive you if you try to manipulate him in any way."

"Understood," the Reksha said.

Kymalin waited for him to stand up and leave her shack, but none of them moved from their perch. Silence coated the room to the point of it being awkward. Then, Janos unfroze from his smiling stance and leveled his gaze at Kymalin. The angle was so spot on Kymalin doubted he was blind at all.

"Earlier, I came as a Reksha of the High Priestess," he said. "Now, I come as a friend of your mother."

Before Kymalin could ask what he meant, he stuck a hand in the folds of the vest he wore over his gray, long-sleeved tunic. Metal clinked against each other in shrill echoes, and Janos laid a set of rings hanging by a thin chain on the table. They glinted against the small shaft of light bleeding from the forest and through the windows, rivaling the golden flash of the Reksha's pin. Raiel, the two-faced god of crossroads, choices, and scribes, seemed to wink at Kymalin as Janos fixed his collar and his cloak.

"These are priestal artifacts entrusted to you by your mother,"Janos explained. "Pick one, and I will personally deliver the other to Vaeri."

"Why would she give us an artifact?" Kymalin ventured aloud, pointing to the first one she set her eyes on. No need to overthink this, anyway. Both of them were of the same size and decoration. "Didn't she have a strict rule on using these?"

Janos slid her chosen ring off the chain, leaving it in the space of the table between them. He tucked the remaining ring back into his vest. "Consider it as her last gift," he replied.

When he moved to stand up, Kymalin lunged to catch the Reksha's sleeve. "Aren't you going to explain what this is?" she asked. "Or why is this important?"

The adviser stared down at her as he rounded the table and paused beside her. "As I said, it is a priestal artifact," he said. "That's all I know about it as Ezril didn't explain either. Now, if you'll excuse me."

Janos sauntered unhindered towards the door long after Kymalin let him go. He gave an acknowledging nod in April's direction—which was correct again—and disappeared down the ante. By the time Kymalin reached the door to see him off, the adviser was nowhere to be found. Not even a trail of paulsare hooves peeled off her doorsteps. It's as if the Reksha vanished into thin air.

Well, not like she could do anything about it.

She retired back to the dining chair just as a shadow fell over her.

"You're going to tell me what that was?" April's blond locks rippled at Kymalin's periphery. "It seemed like a serious talk."

Kymalin blew a breath and reached up to twirl the ends of April's hair around her finger. It had become a habit she couldn't erase since they became...well, what they were. Doing so helped her think and process the thoughts rumbling inside her mind. "Janos came to talk about the succession," she said. "I refused, of course. I'm done with that stuffy Temple and the slew of tradition and responsibilities."

April took her hand on her way to perch on the edge of the wooden table. "You'd rather be homeless and poor instead?" she prodded, her fingers drawing lazy circles around Kymalin's palm.

"Hey, I'm not homeless," Kymalin defended. "This shack is a house, isn't it?"

"You can always come with me to Falkirta," April offered. "I've got a suite in my name there. You'll be the farthest from this hovel."

Kymalin jerked her chin over her shoulder. "Have you seen wings on me?" she said. "I'd die if someone pushed me from the edge."

A wince crumpled April's features. "Yeah, let's not do that," she said. "I can still get you out of Carleon, though."

"It's not about getting out of this place," Kymalin said with a soft tone. "I just...don't want to make the same choice my mother did. I want to live my own life, and the Temple isn't what I want."

April raised an eyebrow. "And this is?"

Kymalin craned her chin up to meet April's eyes. "Is it bad to not know what I want?" she said. "Even that council position...I don't know."

"Hey," April drew her closer with a tug to the hand she held. A feather-like kiss pressed against Kymalin's scalp, shattering every train of thought away. "No one's rushing you. For once, you can take your time. I'll be here all the way."

Kymalin snorted. "When did you learn to become this cheesy?" she asked. "You used to be as straight-laced as a rod."

April pecked Kymalin's cheek, driving more heat up the banshee's face. "Hmm," the air sprite said, amusement thick in her voice. "I wonder."

"Whatever," Kymalin rolled her eyes, pushed away from April, and fished the ring Janos gave her, brandishing it in the space between them. "The adviser also gave me this. An odd gift, but he claimed it's a priestal artifact."

"Try it, then," the air sprite encouraged.

Kymalin flashed April an uncertain look before turning back to the ring. April peeled off the table to check on her boiling stew. How long did she plan on burning Kymalin's pot, anyway?

She turned her attention back to the ring and held it up to what meager light spilled through the shack. It's not anything special. Bland was the closest word Kymalin had for it. A ring of gold, void of any embellishments, glinted against her nails. A priestal artifact, huh? Let her see if it's good at the one thing it's made for.

Her magic rushed to the surface, wrapping around the ring's frigid exterior. Once she connected to it, she aimed to write her first contract with a spirit. The artifact answered by snorting a cloud of green smoke into her face.

"What the—"

The world tumbled when she recoiled backwards and her butt slipped off the chair. Pain shot up her spine as the smoke coalesced to column before taking the familiar shape of a spirit. Except it wasn't a type of spirit she was used to. No. This one was taller than an average fairy, with leaner and well...more proportionate features. And the ears...

They resembled dagger points which happened to be slapped at either side of the spirit's head. It wasn't normal for fairies, not when the most distance their tapered ears go was a few inches off the helix.

April rushed to Kymalin's side, but the air sprite couldn't see what Kymalin could. The spirit's lips widened into a gentle smile, staring down at Kymalin with hollow eyes. It wasn't a spirit, alright. She hasn't seen one who could express emotions other than a passive frown.

The spirit trained his eyes down at her, and without her prodding, he said, "Hello, my daughter."