Feigned Delusion

Having immediately gone to bed the night prior, as instructed by a certain blonde-headed healer, Oren woke with a fervent hunger, and the faintest pain in his ear. He had overslept but wasn’t rushing to pack. Instead, he headed straight for the cafeteria after freshening up. The long, twisting halls were filled with dozens and dozens of novices, carrying their large backpacks through the hallway. Squeezing through, the halls felt too cramped, even though they were supposed to expand, making the place feel like supper time back in his village: a hot, clustered mess to get through.

“Last time an instructor died… so I heard.” One scruffy-haired novice voiced loudly, seemingly hoping for someone to confirm the story. The crowd was filled with muttering, and mild profanity, some grinned from ear to ear, one fainted. Oren wasn’t all that fond of tall tales, surely Azurael would have told him about something like that. All he ever heard about it was that it was amazing for training, although nothing Azurael could describe as amazing could be good.

“Kah! Quit spreading rumors!” A giant, muscly instructor slapped him cleanly behind the head causing the rest to walk hurriedly past.

A slight comfort came to him, seeing the anxious faces on the passing students. His stomach stirred, he couldn’t tell apart his hunger from his nervousness, quickening his pace in hopes of snuffing out one of his problems without fueling the other.

The PyreBlossom Festival, as Azurael had mentioned to him, was a recent inclusion to the curriculum. One only made possible by the headmaster herself. Held every three years, it was ninety days of traveling to, and experiencing some of the most hostile and inspirational sites she could get permission to visit. (Not that anyone could object to her request.)

The cafeteria called to him, he caught a whiff of his favorite: seafood. It didn’t matter what, fish, crab, lobster, squid, nem, relacks; there was nothing he couldn’t stomach, nothing he didn’t crave for. However, upon approach, a torrent of people flooded out of the doors, pushing Oren back as he hopelessly protested the crowd’s inconsiderate action. Nearly trampled, he managed to pull himself through, his robes had been lost in the stream and was walking around in his undergarments (a dark-gray undershirt and black, baggy breeches.) Not like he really cared all that much, he wore it “for their sake” anyway.

He proceeded into the still-buzzing cafeteria, muttering to himself, “Damn useless people, wasting more of my time, Az didn’t wake me– he better be dead.” But he was not, in fact, he was more lively than usual.

“Ahhh!” A high-pitched, satisfied moan echoed through the half-empty cafeteria. Oren froze, his head snapping toward the sound along with everyone else’s. At the farthest corner sat Kari, slumped over the table, arms shielding her face from view. Azurael was laughing heartily, battling a thick slab of unidentifiable meat. Between them sat Alera, happily dancing in her seat, her fork twirling over a plate of garlic butter shrimp.

Oren made his way toward them, his eyes briefly meeting Alera’s. She tilted her head cutely, her shining, pearly eyes locked on his. He quickly shifted his gaze to Azurael, but she continued to watch him. “Why didn’t you wake me?” Oren asked coolly, his head tilted up in mock intimidation. Kari shifted in her seat, now listening.

“Sha...rry,” Azurael mumbled through a mouthful, struggling as the meat tried to pry his jaws open. With a forced smile, he finally swallowed. “I overslept too. Alera kept me up all night.” Kari glared at Alera, sending a little chill up her spine.

Alera leaned over and whispered something in Azurael’s ear. “Yeah, trust me,” Azurael added with a grin, “he isn’t usually that stupid.”

Oren’s brow twitched. “Hey! Don’t talk behind a guy’s back… while he’s standing right here.” He immediately winced at his own comeback, wishing he could take it back.

Alera stood up suddenly, giving a deep bow. “I’m sorry for the trouble I caused you yesterday. I acted without regard for your position and responsibilities. I am in your debt.” Kari steamed with the memory of the night prior.

Oren blinked, completely caught off guard. He hadn’t even felt responsible for anything, let alone expect an apology. He stared blankly, lost in a search for an appropriate response.

Alera rose slowly, her silver hair cascading over her face. For a moment, Oren caught a glimpse of her lips through the strands—the same image that kept flashing in his mind. Her glowing face, her pursed pink lips, and the warmth of her skin as she had rested on his lap. He couldn’t shake the memory, each step bringing it back as if it had left an imprint he couldn’t escape.

“It’s cool,” said Oren, unable to keep eye contact as his face warmed up. “No debts to be paid.” He made to pull out a chair from under the table, but was quickly interrupted.

“Hey! Have you packed? The first years have to attend PyreBlossom and the sigil activates in 10 minutes.” Azurael warned as he tore back into the rubbery gray slab.

“But they said Eleven!” Oren rebutted pointlessly.

“You sleep like the dead, y’know? It is eleven, well, ten-fifty.” Azurael noted as he stabbed at his plate, missing the flailing meat. Oren’s stomach sank.

Can I even ask for more time? Who would I ask? Will they not let me go without my stuff? Didn’t Az say he went with nothing but his shirt? Why is today so terrible? Did I use up all my luck yesterday?

Oren stood still for a moment, torn between sprinting back to his room for a futile attempt at packing and the equally pointless idea of ordering food. It would take at least ten minutes to get a meal, and that was time he didn’t have.

“You’ll be fine, trust me. Unless your first instructor is Lemos—you know, the short, bulky one—then you’ll survive.” Azurael nodded confidently, despite Oren flinching at “survive”, and even as the meat on his plate twisted his fork into a mangled mess. “Oh, by the way, I’ll be joining you guys on day three. I’ve got my exam rescheduled for tomorrow, so I need time to prepare.”

Azurael’s expression shifted. He set his fork down, his gaze locking onto Oren’s. “But listen carefully,” he added, his voice growing serious. “You have to look after Alera. No matter what happens, do not leave her side. You’re responsible for her, Oren. Live, breathe, die—for her.” He paused. “Those are her orders.”

Oren blinked, taken aback by the sudden intensity in Azurael’s voice. He’d only seen him this serious when the headmaster was present. It wasn’t a request—it was an order. Oren understood in that moment that he didn’t have a choice.

Azurael’s words further dazed an already disoriented Oren as he stood still for about a minute, shifting his bewildered gaze, aimed at Azurael, to a concerned expression, aimed at Alera. Alera locked eyes with him, calmly dining, oblivious to the weight of her presence as the headmaster’s guest.

From one moment to the next, Oren had gone from a glowing, confident young man to a pale, trembling figure as he shakily took a seat. “Why didn’t you tell me she was the headmaster’s guest?” Oren kept his gaze down, paying no heed to anything else being said, his mind occupied by worry.

She got drunk on my watch! I let her sleep on the floor! I touched her without asking! No one will believe me if she says anything! Az set me up?

Oren slumped forward, letting his head fall onto the table, his arms limp at his sides. The weight of his thoughts pressed him down like a stone.

Kari and Alera exchanged glances, both watching his quiet unraveling. Kari leaned in close to Alera, whispering, “He probably thinks he’s in trouble for letting you get drunk.” Alera looked at him curiously, her fork pausing mid-air. She failed to understand why he would be in trouble.

“Sh–Should I do something?” Alera asked Azurael, holding her plate firmly in her hands.

“No No, give him some time.” Azurael patted Alera on the shoulder, giving her a reassuring smile.

But it wasn’t my fault she drank –whatever that was– so I’m good, right? Yeah, I didn’t have control over any of that! Wait! She thinks she caused me trouble…her debt.

Oren suddenly looked up and locked eyes with Alera over her plate, which she was holding up, and asked curtly. “Did you tell the headmaster anything about yesterday?”

“She’s been with me and Kari since yesterday and the headmaster has been busy since she dropped her off to us.” Azurael had responded instead. “You’re acting wildly suspicious though, what’s on your mind?” He prodded with a teasing smile.

Oren quickly considered Azurael’s comment, “No, nothing suspicious!” He replied, shaking his head furiously, offended by the notion. “It’s just… I’d rather not have the headmaster think I’m incompetent.” He leaned over the table to Alera, just over her plate, “You wanna repay your debt right? To me, remember?”

Alera nodded. “Could you maybe, never tell anyone about anything that happened after the witch? Let’s just say we found you some medicine and sat down near the fire for you to keep warm, yeah?” Oren spouted rapidly.

“Yes!” Alera responded just as quickly. “But…”

Alera broke off as Azurael held her left wrist and tied a ribbon around it. “Remember, three days. I’ll be seeing you, don’t mess up, cuz!” Azurael gave Oren a serious look before turning to Alera with a pleasant goodbye smile. A glimmer appeared in front of their left eyes; a symbol flickered in their vision for a brief moment, and in the blink of an eye, the world around them changed.

Alera fell back onto a large backpack laid behind her, the ribbon tied to it, while Oren tumbled forward onto her legs, his face landing squarely in her plate of shrimp.

The open sky was endless. It stretched over and around them, far beyond the horizon at every turn, nothing impeding the vast, deep blue waters that surrounded them as far as the eye could see. The sun-kissed ground was hard, brittle, barren; the salty, dry air sucked away every drop of moisture from their bodies.

“Mr. Oren,” Alera paused, watching as Oren fumbled, trying to find a place for his hands that wouldn’t touch her as he awkwardly pushed himself up. “Where are we?”

Oren scouted the area briefly. “That was the sigil,” Alera reached for her left eye, trying her best to see it again, “But it should be eight of us.” Oren got to his feet, shaking off the sauce on his face, wiping some away with his dusty hand.

Alera laid still, staring at the ruined plate in her hands. “I was going to offer those to you.” She said in a matter-of-fact tone. Gently placing the plate at her side, she pushed herself onto her feet.

“We have bigger problems right now.” Oren scanned the surroundings carefully, covering his eyes from the glare of the sun, he saw a couple figures in the distance. “There! Something’s moving… something.” He pointed to the shimmering haze in the distance, turning back to grab Alera. “Woah! Don’t eat that.” Oren pulled back her wrist from her face, fingers holding tightly onto a dusty shrimp.

“Aren’t they good?”

“N–No.” Oren said, questioning her sanity, shaking his head in disbelief. Looking around for someone to see his, ‘are you seeing this?’ face.

“Are you certain? I recall you have yet to eat anything. I’ll let you know if it’s good.” A strange sensation washed over Oren, perhaps it was merely the heat getting to his head but he definitely felt light-headed, as Alera gave him a determined, reassuring nod.

Oren quickly dismissed the idea by stomping on the remaining shrimps, burying them into the dust. “You will not be eating dust-flavored shrimp on my watch.” He frowned, Alera tilted her head curiously. His stomach grumbled. He untied the ribbon from her hefty backpack. “Come on– we gotta find the rest somehow. The instructor is probably looking for us right now.” He tied the ribbon to his wrist and spoke to Alera carefully, “Stay at my side. Not in front, not behind. I can’t risk you taking a hit for me or vanishing into thin air.”

Recovering from a near fall as he strapped the heavy backpack on, they began to trek forward toward the hazy figures. Each agonizing step Oren took felt like a battle, the backpack pressing down on him like a weight determined to crush his spirit. The thought of Azurael putting in no effort for the same task gnawed at him, pushing him onward. Through burning feet and a soaked, hot cloak, he pushed on, making sure to keep pace with Alera who seemed to be having a battle of her own. She would pause every few dozen steps, searching for shade in the taller Oren’s shadow. Each time she nearly disappeared from his sight filled him with dread, compelling him to spin around and follow her. Their ceaseless dance continued under the unforgiving sun, which left no place to hide. Yet, despite the heat, Alera refused to let it break her spirit as she continued her search for respite.

An hour had passed before they took a meaningful break. Oren panted like a dog, Alera rubbed her feet. “Why don’t we remove these?” Alera asked Oren, tugging at the collar of her long black robe.

“It’s against the rules—to be in combat attire—outside of the institute,” Oren said through deep breaths. But then a thought flashed through his mind: maybe, as the headmaster’s guest, he could get away with it if Alera was on his side. Oren turned to Alera, ready to persuade her to reconsider, but his words stalled in his throat when he saw her already removing her robe.

“What even is that?” Alera asked, glaring at the sun. Her face was flush, her under- garments soaked, and her body trembled ever so slightly. She tossed the robe over herself, as a makeshift umbrella, nearly taking off with it as a sudden gust of wind blew past. Oren had foregone the rules as well, taking off his robes, his combat attire lay perfectly on every nook and cranny of his body. From beneath her robe-brella, Alera glanced at Oren. His combat attire fit snugly, accentuating every muscle that flexed as he hoisted the backpack once more.

She stared down at her own attire—a tight-fitting dark gray top that comfortably cushioned her chest and hugged her torso. The lightweight fabric extended to her wrists, practically unnoticeable. It transitioned seamlessly into her black tights, which firmly cushioned her legs. Yet, despite the heat around them, Alera felt oddly chilly.

The robe she held up radiated an intense heat, but without it, it was as if her body’s warmth was being drained away, she felt nude. She frowned, confused by the strange sensation, as the desert sun continued to beat down on them.

Meanwhile, Oren seemed in good spirits, as he kept whistling a tune as he walked. His robe was stuffed inside the pack, his sun-kissed skin glowing beneath the bright light. His wild hair, dripping with sweat, glinted like threads of obsidian under the harsh rays.

They kept pace, walking further towards the ever growing figures in the distance.

Another hour had passed before they could hear a response to Oren’s whistling. The sounds kept being lost to the wind, which was now an active threat to Alera as the ribbon had kept her on the ground twice thanks to Oren’s quick reaction.

The hazy figures in the distance were now approaching quickly, evidently eager to meet them halfway. Alera clung to Oren’s backpack, her grip tightening as the wind picked up again. Oren, feeling her weight pull him slightly, couldn't help but smile inwardly, enjoying the role of protector.

“Oren, how ya been?” A young man’s voice cut through the wind as he stepped forward, extending a large hand to pat Oren’s shoulder. His toothy grin was disarming, though Oren struggled to make eye contact, distracted by the man’s acne-covered face and absurdly extravagant haircut. His teeth were pristine, yet the wild hairstyle made it hard for Oren not to think of him as a rooster with perfect teeth. He quickly turned his gaze elsewhere to dismiss the thought, not wanting to disrespect him—especially in a situation like this.

Looking around, he saw another young man scouting the area around them, his back to the pair, along with four young women, huddled together taking inventory. “Arhen, where’s the instructor?” Oren dodged his question.

“I don’t know the guy. New I s’pose. Short, bald lil guy, mean mug though.” He chuckled. “We showed up together with ‘em but he started spoutin’ off,” Arhen got low, scrunched his face, his arms became animated, “‘Ya’ lil bastards don’ like how I run things? Guess what ya’ lil punks, ‘ve permission from top brass to dump ya’ ‘ere and come back for survivors!’” He got back up laughing, Oren joined in awkwardly, but it quickly subsided as another gust threatened to make Alera a human kite again, holding the backpack even tighter.

Oren looked around desperately at the others. “Do any of you guys know how long he’ll be gone?” Alera peeked from behind her cover, staring eagerly at the girls.

The four girls turned to look at him, two returned to frantically rummaging through their backpacks. “Well, he said he’ll be back for survivors, so probably by the end of the week, worst case scenario.” Replied a short girl with her cute blonde hair in a high bun.

“We'll be moving towards the north side of the mesa, Mallo says there’s a cave that leads to a small coast.” Added the other girl, a quiver in her voice, shifting her long black hair out of her face, her pale blue eyes narrowed gloomily.

“Mesa?” Oren said.

“Apparently, Mallo says he knows the rocks or something.” Arhen scoffed cheekily. “Guess what?” he smiled.

“What?” Oren asked, irritated by Arhen’s lack of seriousness.

“This here’s Hopman’s Isle.”

Oren’s heart seemed to stop for a moment. Hopman’s? The Lost Isle? His throat tightened, and his mind raced through every tale he’d ever heard of the cursed place. We’d be three thousand miles from anyone else.

“Ha!” Arhen snickered, “See? I had that same face. Them four still can’t accept it.” He pointed at the four girls who had pulled out and were now scouring through a few small, thick tomes.

“But, that’s just a legend. Some stupid sailor’s tale.” Panic surged through him, and he struggled to keep his voice steady.

“Dunno what to tell ya’, Mallo says it is.” Arhen nodded towards the young man behind him who was bent over looking at something on the ground. Oren stared at Arhen with a look of doubt. “I’d argue with ‘em too but…” Arhen shrugged, “been around ‘em enough to know I’m wrong.” He peeked around Oren, meeting Alera’s glittering eyes. “So, that your lil sis? Dunno if this is tha’ right place for kids mate.” Arhen was older than Oren, his stubble beard and deep voice made that evident.

“I guess I can’t disagree.” Oren debated whether or not to correct him further. “She’s not my sister,” He decided, hoping to avoid some elaborate story down the line. “And I’m pretty sure she’s not a kid.” He turned to his side, Alera quickly grabbed onto his arm, her grip weak and her body shaking.

“You’re cold? Why didn’t you say something?” Oren took her robe from her hand and began to help her put it back on.

“You were talking, it would have been impolite.” Alera said frankly, pushing her head into her robe.

“Y’look more like a nanny than anything, so I’ll assume ya’ll ain’t an item.” Arhen chuckled as Alera stuck her head out, the robe was backward. “Did she start with us? I ain’t seen her for any lessons, didn’t even see ‘er for the first with ya’.”

“I found a better teacher,” Oren lied. In fact, he had avoided all his lessons, though they weren’t mandatory, in order to watch Azurael train. He couldn’t bear the thought of asking Azurael for lessons—not after years of watching him excel at everything. It would just confirm what Oren already knew: he could never measure up. And Kari would only make it worse, constantly drawing comparisons between them.

“Mallo, ya’ met this one before?” Arhen called to the young man behind himself. The girls began to trace out shapes on the dusty ground.

Mallo stood up slowly, pulling a small, dark-metallic rod from the ground, slipping it into his robe. He turned to look at Oren scanning him with a drowsy look, then turned his gaze to the graying clouds in the distance.

“Oren, we’ve been here attempting to get a reading for the past two hours. The sun is overhead, and Hopman’s Isle is the closest land near the meridian. We had to burn time, and Arhen saw you two, so we decided to wait and make sure where to go. No sticks around, so I used my ferro rod. It’s not perfect, but now I’m sure.” Mallo pointed toward the gray sky. “That’s north. Our best shot at survival.”

Oren could make out a hint of contempt in Mallo’s voice. He pulled Alera in front, holding her arms firmly. “Then, should we get walking?”

“I do not permit that,” Mallo replied, his voice steady, unmoved.

Oren raised an eyebrow, feeling a jab of amusement in his gut. He puckered his lips, trying to suppress the urge to laugh. “And why’s that?” A grin crossed his face. “A little rain’s gonna catch us? That’s what the robes are for.” Oren began to walk away from the group, nudging Alera ahead. Her eyes glittered, as she stared wide-eyed at the vast expanse of gray swallowing the horizon, slowly blackening.

“That’s no rain, that there– that’s a storm.” Mallo pointed dramatically, Oren paused abruptly. “I had expected it to change direction, but the winds are getting stronger.” He turned to look at the group of girls. “We don’t want to get caught up in that, so our best bet is to dig in and wait for it to blow over.” The four girls stood around a large symbol scraped on the ground, barely visible as the hard, tacky ground had refused to cooperate. With a single, unified voice, the four yelled out, “Vis!”

With a burning glow, the sigil shook the ground, kicking up dust and then it was gone. A fraction of an inch of the ground had been displaced in the outline of the sigil. The girls worked as a unit, heaving larger chunks together and scooping out fragments by hand. “With eight people, the trench will have to be wide rather than deep. They volunteered for this, Arhen will take care of the hunting.” Oren turned with Alera, he stared at Mallo quietly, appalled at the lack of reaction from the others at his conclusion. A storm? Storms are myths! No, Azurael witnessed one when…

“I’ma crazy fast swimma’!” Arhen interrupted, beaming, his large comb seeming ever more extravagant. “Yo, Mallo ya’ met…”

“Don’t storms follow catastrophes?” Oren asked abruptly, Alera’s head perked up, turning her head to gaze at the storm once more. A flash of light came and went as a bolt of lighting ripped through the approaching clouds.

“No.” Mallo spoke expertly, “A catastrophe is surrounded by their respective disaster. The last reported catastrophe, Erodax, landslides, was terminated by the headmaster six years ago; he brought heavy rainfall.” He contemplated, “There hasn’t been a reported catastrophe for storms, but...” A crash of thunder boomed over them thirty seconds later as Oren handed the backpack to Alera, who sat down with it, anchoring herself to firm ground. Oren made his way to help the girls. “There is a record of Typhoon.” He looked back at the encroaching storm, “Though it hasn’t been seen for the past century.” Caught in his view was a mousy-looking Alera, sitting on the ground backpack-strapped, quietly listening to their conversation.

“Ya’ ever met this one Mallo?” Arhen asked irritably. Mallo’s eyes scanned over Alera, her white-blonde hair whipped in the wind, mirroring the turbulent clouds above; her eyes were silver mirrors reflecting his astonished gaze.

“Not formally, no.” He blinked away his surprise, and kept quiet for a moment, lost in thought, then asked Alera. “You’re from the north, are you not?”

“I don’t know,” Alera replied, her voice soft, her eyes flicking to Oren as if hoping he might answer for her. But he was too preoccupied, discussing plans with the girls.

“Sirzia north or Parmsa?” Arhen gave Alera a look of concern.

“Sirzia. The headmaster would never allow another Parmsien into the institute.” Alera felt a shiver run up her spine, whether it was due to the cold breeze whipping her neck or Mallo’s menacing glare, she couldn’t be certain.

“She don’ look much like tha’ sun peeps.” Arhen said doubtfully. The group behind them yelled “Vis!”

“You’re saying I’m wrong?” Mallo challenged. The ground shook violently behind them.

“Nope.” Arhen threw his hands in the air and backed away, declining the confrontation.

Oren, who had been watching them with growing irritation, finally spoke up. “Guys, if we all chip in, we can make the hole comfortable without wasting half our manpower.” His voice was edged with annoyance, his eyes narrowing at the pair. These bastards would really stand around watching four girls struggle? Oren’s jaw tightened. I’ll have to teach ‘em some manners when we get back to the institute.

“Don’t give me that look, it was their plan.” Mallo hissed back.

The black-haired girl, drenched in sweat, spoke up as she scraped the sigil into the hard ground with an earring. “He got the direction in twenty minutes,” she whispered, glancing toward Oren. “Said we should start walking immediately. We didn’t think it right to leave you two behind, especially with a storm coming.”

She glanced at Alera, then chuckled softly. “We really thought she was a kid from a distance. I’m just glad she’s okay.”

Oren smirked and shook his head at the idea of Mallo’s “leadership” starting with the decision to abandon what they believed to be a child. Though it wasn't like they were completely off the mark. Alera had been keeping pace with Oren, who was a head taller, and fighting against cold, turbulent winds, holding onto her robes tightly, walking for miles with little rest, rationing what water and snacks she had left.

The minutes passed with little progress. The lack of tools to break through the layers of compact dirt was much too frustrating, as Oren kept glaring at Mallo who was busy with the girls’ tomes. The wind howled fiercely, now threatening to carry off Alera backpack and all. The work became considerably more bearable once the sun overhead became obscured by the rolling dark clouds, but, of course, this was not cause for celebration. The air around them became saturated by misty droplets, and soon after came the first drops of cold, hard rain.

Mallo clicked his tongue in annoyance before he jumped into the ankle-deep crater. The ground, having sponged up every drop that fell, began to crumble at the edges. At this, Mallo ordered the five out, they begrudgingly complied as he began to carve a small sigil, in the shape of three little balls tied to cords, into the damp dirt. “A proper spell would get this done in an instant,” he muttered to himself, “Can’t do much with a crowd like this… don’t even know the incantations?” He quietly judged.

“The ground is getting softer.” He announced, drawing a circle around the sigil and scraping tethers from it, like rays from the sun. “Everyone touch a line, and continue Vis.” The five rejoined at the outskirts of the crater, Arhen jumped in as well, and touched a line in the dirt.

“Vis!” They shouted once more, but the ground remained firm. Mallo crouched in the center, his thumb plunged into the middle of the sigil, his frame shook. Alera gazed at their ritual from under her hood, the warmth of the cloak only went as far as it could cover but her shivers were not from a chill, she stared at Mallo expectantly.

The rain plummeted and whipped at them, helping Mallo stay low into the dirt. His heart raced, the crater filled with water and he prayed to anything that this would work. “La!” He uttered, in an instant the ten minutes of continued chanting seemed to be released threefold as the dirt and mud blasted high into the air. Mallo lay sprawled five feet inside the crate over chunks of debris, gasping heavily.

The group, having been blasted outside of the crater, was panicking and frantically searching for each other. “Connie, you okay?” Shrill voices pierced the now raging storm. “Vai! Get this thing off me!” Alera sat quietly watching them run around, getting their bearings. Oren felt a surge of pain throughout his face, a feel of his nose immediately discovering the cause as he could feel a distinct bend that was not there before.

The next instant lightning ripped into the nearby ground and a sudden chill tore through them, through their enchanted robes, their frenzy died off as the instinct to survive took over. With no hesitation, the four girls, Oren and Arhen jumped, slid and rolled into the crater, nearly crushing the still wheezing Mallo.

“‘Kin’ nose’s broke.” Oren complained as the six of them huddled around a dazed Mallo. He could hardly make out the blood flowing from his nose as the torrent of water swept any sign of it away.

“Here.” The short, blonde girl gripped his nose and tugged hard to the left. With a crack his nose straightened out, but not before sending a current of electricity throughout his body. Tears welled in his eyes, thankfully, he thought, the rain would cover that up. Then, as another flash of lighting crashed in the distance, he felt a horrible sensation in his gut, as if he’d forgotten something.

As he made an attempt to remember, not a thought, not a single one excluded Alera; he had not forgotten, he was simply not thinking. In a panic that made him forget his injured nose and the raining bolts of death from the sky, he heaved himself out of the crater and made a mad dash for Alera who was goggling at the sky.

Why didn’t she jump in? Why is she just sitting there? Is she insane? Is she…smiling?

Her wide smile could convince you that she felt no danger, in fact, for a mere moment, Oren felt a deep unease at her apparent lack of fear. But, regardless, he reached her not fifteen feet from the crater, surrounded by debris, put his arms around her and the backpack and heaved them both to the edge of the crater, sliding together down the crumbling edges.

“Are you insane?” Oren shouted at Alera, who recoiled ever so slightly. “You could have died…” Oren began mumbling to himself, cursing and pleading with Alera to ‘get a sense of danger.’

“It’s just like Miss Asha’s show!” Alera chirped, her face lighting up in innocent admiration as though the chaos around them were a spectacle meant for entertainment. But before Oren could tell her off again, a shout rang out.

“Give me your robes!” Mallo stood holding his shoulder, “Take them off.” He shouted through the deafening torrent. The crater filled, rising to their knees within minutes. The cold water overwhelmed the warmth the robes could provide but even still, from the numbness of their exposed hands and faces, they knew it was working far better than nothing. Still, they were standing in a crater Mallo had made in a couple minutes, as reckless as his method was, they would surely not survive to the morning without a gamble, so, hesitantly, they took the robes off.

Mallo took hold of the eight robes and bundled them together, twisted and tightened. He shoved his fist into the bundle and pulled it out, and in an instant, the bundle sprang to life; nine were now standing in the crater. The robes had formed a short silky torso and four limbs, two uneven legs and a pair of stubby arms, its head, a bundled bit of cloth, was hidden under one of the many hoods. It stared at Mallo awaiting orders.

“Be a tarp, keep this damn water out!” Mallo commanded the bundle. With a salute, it sprang upward, before it could be blown away, its many fibers shot deep into the edges of the crater and the robes fell apart only to be rewoven into the proper shape of a circus tarp.

Everyone except Arhen, who was busy berating Mallo for his use of a storage and amplification sigil, were looking up at their newly constructed roof, many a mouth agape. The thunder shook them but the light could not pierce the structure of the cloth roof. Alera tried to look upon it but the darkness was uniform, instead, she resolved to touch. She poked and felt the silkiness of the cloth closest to her causing it to jump back and wriggle at the touch. A tiny opening appeared, she could peer at the lighting through it, and there stood a little bundle of string resembling a stickman that seemed to be shaking a finger at her actions. Alera smiled with glee at the little figure who proceeded to tickle the tip of her nose.

The seven others were focused on tending injuries, the girls had found themselves and were now in a huddle doing their best to calm the long, black haired girl who was in tears. “It’s okay Lil… We’ll be okay Lil.” But to no avail.

Her voice broke between sobs as she gripped her friends’ hands. “We’re gonna die… Vai! Connie! Dalli! I love you…” She gasped between panicked breaths, her chest rising and falling in jagged motions. The sound of the outside winds appeared calm but the occasional roar of colliding and crashing currents violently shook the tarp. Still, Alera peeked through a tiny gap.

Mallo sighed at the sound of the panicked girl, calmly commanding. “Get this damn water out.” A tiny string formed a tight straw from Alera’s peephole, and siphoned the knee deep water until all that was left was sticky, slippery mud. Throughout the ordeal, Oren had focused on holding Alera firmly around the waist with absolutely no intent to let her out of his sight again.

From her peephole, the little string-man fought back the incoming water with great success, she could see a figure. A tall, lanky figure in the far off distance. Unafraid of the raging winds and undeterred by the shaking ground caused by the indiscriminate bolts of lighting falling around it. As she stared, a single thought flashed through her mind, Azurael’s words.

Never approach a humanoid.