Kipling led the three mages through the woods, his shade at his heel.

The forest was an expanse of cloying green tendrils that seemed set on slowing them down and making their journey as difficult as possible. Gnarled old trees with wide trunks obscured their view so that they could hardly make out what was ahead. They watched their steps, careful to avoid thick vines, knotted roots, and the deep cracks that ran through the earth like plunging veins, carving lines so far into the earth that the group couldn't see the bottom. Most of the cracks were a few inches wide and easy to skip over—but others spanned several feet across and could easily swallow you whole if you weren't careful.

Each of the four mages—Kipling, Millicent, Nia, and Seth—had heavy packs slung over their shoulders. They carried sleeping mats, a change of clothes, some basic cooking supplies, the last of their food stores, and a few precious coins. They had had little time to pack.

Kipling hadn't stuck around after the Paragon had surrounded Apostas. He knew that the town would soon be crawling with soldiers, and his shade would stick out like a sore thumb. He had sped back to the caves—pausing only to cut himself across the upper arm—and told the others the news: that the Paragon had killed Apostas, and the caves would soon be teeming with Paragon scouts. "They almost got me, too. I only just escaped," he said, gasping, and showed them his bleeding arm.

Now, hours later, he was finally able to catch them up properly—omitting certain key details, of course.

"The soldiers saw Apostas and his shade in plain light," he went on. "I shouted for him to hide, but he didn't seem to hear me. Then I tried to pull him back, but he pushed me away! Maybe he thought they wouldn't attack. He kept saying Emory had finally changed his mind. I don't know...he was lost in his own head. I couldn't help him...the Paragon soldiers were on us in seconds."

"He ran right into their waiting arms," Millicent said, shaking her head. "I can't believe it."

Kipling gave a regretful sigh. "I know," he agreed. "Apostas' mind was fading, we all knew that, but I never thought it would come to this."

"Terrible," said Seth, his watery eyes downcast. "Just terrible. I'm so sorry, Kipling. It must have been so difficult to watch."

"Yes. I wish I could've helped him..." He fell silent, looking off into the distance. Hopefully, if he seemed affected enough, they would let it go. He didn't want to talk about Apostas anymore. He didn't regret that they were finally out of the caves, but...could he have done it a different way, he wondered? It had all happened so fast.

He took a deep inhale. "But we have to adapt. We have to keep going. Apostas would...he'd want what was best for us."

Millicent's freckled brow knitted in sympathy. Nia said nothing—even outside the caves, she was silent and brooding.

"He would've, yeah," Seth said. "Looking at the bright side, at least we're out of that damp cave!"

He beamed at Kipling. For the first time in months, his nose wasn't running, and he wasn't sniffling every few seconds.

Kipling smiled back at him. "Exactly. Out of hiding and onto better things."

There was a growl in the distance. It was barely discernible, but Kipling's sharp ears picked it up. He stopped, holding out a hand to halt the others. Millicent almost ran right into him.

"What is it?" she squeaked. "Why are we stopping?"

"Shush!" Kipling hissed. "I thought I heard something..."

"I didn't hear anything," said Seth.

"Quiet!" Nia snapped, her head tilted as she listened.

There was the soft rustle of leaves, the whistle of the wind through the trees, the buzz and crawl of a multitude of tiny insects...

And then—something hurtled through the undergrowth!

A wild boar charged into view, heading straight for the group. The stocky beast was as wide as it was tall, with knotted fur and angry eyes. It moved quickly, tearing through the vines and branches like they were little more than air.

The others jumped back in surprise, but Kipling held his ground, lowering to a crouch and raising his hands.

The beast was mere feet away. It would be on them in a second.

It leapt, its jaw wide open—

Kipling pulled magic from his shade, conjuring a ball of energy, and slammed it into the boar.

It collapsed mid-leap and fell hard onto the ground, landing inches from his boots. The other mages let out sighs of relief.

Kipling straightened to standing, clearing his throat. He winced and clutched his injured arm, which was throbbing from the sudden movement. Any pain, no matter how small, put him in a bad mood—it reminded him of his childhood.

He prodded the boar with his boot, and it didn't move.

"It's dead," he said, adjusting his pack and stepped over the creature. Its musk stung his nostrils. "What a filthy animal."

"It was only defending its territory," Nia said.

He forced his voice steady. "It could have killed us," he said simply.

"You could have used a protective sphere."

"The next time I have to make a split-second decision, I will pause and consider my options first. Maybe we can have a discussion over tea." He flashed a sarcastic smile at her.

"It's done now," said Seth, sidestepping the boar to join Kipling. "We'll use a protective sphere next time, Nia."

"Is your arm all right, Kipling?" Millicent asked, worried.

He was grateful for the change of subject. "It's all right. Just jostled it." He turned, ready to press on. He pulled magic from his shade and cut through a large vine, allowing them passage onwards.

#

Hours later, the mages stood concealed on the forest's edge, looking at the outskirts of a small farming town. Workers wandered dry fields, their shoulders slumped and their boots dusty.

"There must be a drought," Millicent said. "Look, their fields are parched."

Seth pointed above the town. "I think the river is blocked."

He was right—a massive fallen tree the size of a small airship was blocking the river, reducing its flow to a trickle. The townspeople were hacking away at it with saws and axes, but it was slow, back-breaking work. Their crops would be long dead by the time they managed to clear it. There was already a chill in the air, and there would be no time for a second harvest before fall.

A hint of a smile played on Kipling's lips. This was the opportunity they'd been waiting for. "What do you think? Shall we do something about it?" he asked.

Seth looked at him, confused. "What do you mean?"

"Well, it only seems right to offer our help."

"Don't be silly! They'll shoot at us," Millicent protested. "They think we're monsters."

"They may think that now," Kipling said. "But will they still think so after we restore their river and revive their crops?"

The others, Nia included, looked skeptical. He understood—they'd been hidden away for far too long. They needed to reacquaint themselves with magic. Slowly, surely, through little acts like this, the mages would restore their reputation. They wouldn't hide in the shadows anymore. They would show these townspeople that they were not to be feared.

Kipling stepped out of the thicket and began walking towards the town, his shade low to the ground but still well in view.

#

The town was home to a modest few hundred people. It was poor, that much was clear. The houses were falling apart, and the roads were little more than dirt paths.

The signposts were papered with the usual Paragon propaganda, but Kipling was pleased to see that the posters had been scratched out and written over in big angry letters: Liars! Leeches! Crooks!

Distrust of the Paragon boded well for the mages.

A villager soon caught sight of the group. One scream became many, and doors slammed left and right as the townspeople ran into their homes and barricaded themselves. Flimsy wooden doors will do little to protect you if we really want to get in, Kipling thought to himself.

The street was soon deserted, but he could see the glint of eyes peering out from the windows.

"Kipling," Seth whispered from behind him. "Are you sure this is a good idea?" His eyes darted all over the place. Millicent, beside him, was already backing away, moving to the shadows. Nia was hunched over, her hand poised, ready to defend herself if needed.

"Don't do anything stupid," Kipling ordered them. "Just wait."

He turned back around and addressed the hiding townspeople in a loud voice. "We're here to help!" he shouted. "We're going to remove the blockage from your river and lift the drought from your fields!"

There was a scuffle of footsteps, and an elderly woman hobbled around the corner. A bevy of armed townspeople stood behind her, carrying pitchforks and angry scowls.

"We don't abide mages here! Turn around and be on your way!" the woman barked. She had a hard face and was brave as anything to approach four mages like this. Kipling decided he rather liked her.

He lowered into a bow. "My apologies, hardworking townspeople, we did not mean to disturb. We saw your plight and thought to offer a helping hand."

The woman snorted. "A helping hand, sure! A likely story. First you destroy the Settlement, and now you want our town!" She spat on the ground. "The Paragon said they would help, too, but they only knocked a few heads and stole our ale."

No wonder these people were reluctant to accept help. They thought mages and the Paragon were cut from the same cloth.

"Here's what we're going to do, Madame," Kipling began.

"Mayor," she corrected him, eyes narrowed.

"Of course. What we're going to do, Mayor, is fix your river. And then we will salvage your crops so that your town can survive the winter. We will not ask for anything in return—only that you remember this kind act from the mages of Meraki."

The mayor glared at him. "As I said, we do not abide mages."

He bowed low. "When we are through, I hope your mind is changed." Then he turned on his heel and walked towards the fields. The other mages followed quickly behind him.

#

Soon, Nia, Millicent, and Seth were sweating with effort.

The townspeople kept their distance, watching in awe as the mages lifted the massive tree from the river. It floated up and off to the side, landing hard on the soggy ground.

The town's river flowed freely once more. Townspeople cried out in relief and clapped.

Kipling watched from a distance, pleased. So far, so good.

"Sir?" said a small voice.

He looked down to see a young boy, his hair neatly combed, holding a small basket of food. It held freshly baked bread rolls, root vegetables, some meats, and cheeses. "It's from all of us. Thank you, sir, for saving our village."

Kipling knew the townsfolk were watching, waiting to see if he would accept their gesture. Well, he lived to please—and the humble basket was making his mouth water.

He leaned down with a smile and took it from the boy. "What a generous gift. Thank you."

The boy nodded and raced off.

"Is that food?" Seth asked, coming over. "I'm famished!"

The mages converged on the basket, digging into the offerings of food.

"Festoon cheese!" Millicent exclaimed. "This was my favourite..." She bit in, eyes closed with pleasure.

Seth had gone quiet, already tucking into a round of sausage. Nia raised a chunk of bread and cheese to the townspeople before she ate.

"Leave some for me," Kipling told them, then walked out to the fields. Now it was his turn to get to work.

Trying to ignore all the eyes watching him, he focused and felt deep into the earth. He found tens, hundreds, thousands of parched seeds in the ground—and used his magic to coax life from them.

Time to come alive, little ones.

Tiny green sprouts emerged from the soil. They shot up, up, up, growing big—until the entire field was teeming with life.

And nestled amongst the crops were small, colourful blooms of chrysanthemums. A little something for himself.

Kipling staggered back. He seldom exerted himself with such a significant act of magic, but he managed to stay upright. He couldn't fall, not in front of everyone—not when the mages were so close to commanding their respect.

The ringing in his ears slowly faded away, and was replaced with cheers and applause. The townspeople and other mages were standing together, clapping. Kipling turned and bowed.

The Mayor walked over and held out her hand. "It seems we misjudged you," she said. "Forgive us?"

"There is nothing to forgive," Kipling replied, and they shook.

Emboldened by the mages' kindness, the townspeople pressed in closer.

"Our roof has fallen in, kind mage! Could you lend us your services?"

"My son, he is very ill, he can't stop coughing—"

A man pleaded with Millicent. "Please, miss! My leg! Help me!"

"I, uhh, I don't think—" she started, but was immediately overwhelmed by other requests.

Kipling cursed silently. People were never content! You gave them a fingernail and they asked for an arm. He needed to find a way for the mages to take their leave, but they needed to do it properly.

"Thank you for your incredible generosity," he said to the Mayor. "You have been the most magnificent hosts. Now our help is needed elsewhere. We will take our leave and tell the next village of your good harvest."

"Of course. Can we give you anything for your journey?"

He glanced at the peoples' threadbare clothes, shoeless feet, scrawny limbs, and sunken eyes. These people had nothing more to give. "No, no. Your delicious basket was more than enough."

"I'm glad," the Mayor said, and Kipling knew she was relieved. She turned to the townspeople and raised an arm in the air. "To the mages!"

The people followed her lead, pumping their arms in the air. "To the mages! To the mages!" they chorused, as Kipling and the others shouldered their bags once more and disappeared into the woods.