Aylen and Olan descended toward Kyrik's Bay. They had been riding a lotusgryf most of the morning, continuing the flight they had started the day before. The lotusgryf, a large petalbeast grown by elfmagic, was a a wide-winged creature with four legs and an owl-like head. Instead of feathers it grew brilliantly colored fern leaves that smelled of acorns and vanilla. For eyes, two large sparkling-amber spheres of hardened resin glistened.

Webs of roads and watchtowers sprawled across the countryside farmland. As they drifted down from the low cloud level the city became clear. Fifty-foot walls shaped a crescent around Kyrik's Bay, with the port in the eastern quarter open to the sea.

“I do love seeing humanmagic move around them,” Olan said, referring to the metal servants of all sizes and styles. “It's so curious. Why do they go through so much effort to avoid doing things they know how to do?” He was a gewt, an amphibious race spawned from the god Nym. Their faces resembled those of salamanders but they stood around three feet tall, on average. Olan was wearing a bulky, plain robe as to stay warm during the flight. He was a faded seafoam color with grey-blue wiggle patterns rolling down his head and back.

Iron horses pulled wagons. Tin birds delivered small packages. Humans, spawned from the god Lo, were given command over lightning. With it they made as much labor autonomous as they could. When needed, they would power great machines like the cranes and railways that moved shipments from the harbor to the rest of the city.
“They believe it gives them more time to play,” Aylen replied. She wouldn't freely give the compliment but she enjoyed quite a bit of music that was produced from humans. As well, Olan understood quickest when things were said plainly. Most gewt felt that the other races hid the truth of matters with long-winded vocabulary. “You like all the fancy food they make, don't you?”
Olan's mind went to the contents of his travel bag. He still had some dried rations but there were a half-dozen empty parchment wrappers from cinnamon rolls he bought the previous morning. “I do. They like to overcook their fish, though.” Gewt ate shrimp and crayfish raw, shells intact. They only cooked on sunny days, leaving strips of fish to sun-bake on rocks oiled by animal fat.

Their lotusgryf dived towards the harbor, a mild gust of wind pushing down as they landed in an empty loading dock on one of the stone piers. Its twelve foot wings curled up, looking similar to gigantic bouquets of multicolored ferns, as Aylen and Olan stepped down from the nest-like riding recess that forms when the lotusgryf is grown. This one reached maturity about two weeks before their trip to Kyrik's Bay.

Clear skies let the midday sunlight warm the streets. A crisp autumn breeze invigorated anyone with the fortune to be outside. The northern half of the docks, where they landed, were mostly clear. A few people were fishing off the ends of the piers. Here and there a couple of friends or lovers strolled happily. The southern half of the docks were packed with ships. Cranes were efficiently moving pallets of material off and crates of payment between the ship and the docks.

“Which way?” Olan asked.

“Oh,” Aylen replied. “We should see Manfried, first.”

Olan stared blankly at Aylen for a moment. “But we're here because Kresh-”

“Asked us to be,” Aylen interrupted. “Please, let us discuss our reasons for being here with Manfried. Privately.” She looked Olan in the eyes and flickered her gaze to people passing by.

Olan frowned for a second and then sighed. “Alright. Which way?”

“There's a trolley stop at the corner there. We'll take it uptown to their house of laws. If he is not there, they will know where he's supposed to be.” She pointed west, where the streets of the city rose uphill to a pointed marble building that reached above the city skyline.

Not much conversation occurred between the pair as they boarded the trolley and rode through the city. Olan fascinated a small group of children and had to answer all kinds of questions about the ocean and the gewt. Aylen absorbed the hustle of life in Kyrik's Bay as she stood at a wide open window of the trolley. Music drifted and faded from passing cafes. Delivery drones zipped overhead to their destinations and then away when paid their fee. Merchants called out their new gadgets priced at amazing discounts.

“Cheers to the first free human city,” Aylen thought, echoing a memory of when she was there before. Manfried had moved there a couple years before and they had made that toast at his house-warming party. That was a few months after the Riftscar, when beasts from outside of their world of Grunn tore a hole in the night sky. Legions invaded as the world froze. The sun did not rise for the count of a ten day span. Although such a crisis is what the Gods' Champions were made for, they had lost Dara, Champion of Rils. Of the gods, Kresh, Rils, and Lo survived. Nym perished with Dara in the final push to seal the Riftscar. Vau, progenitor of the elves, was gravely wounded and had since silently slumbered deep beneath Aensilluroth, the First Tree. Peace had returned to the world but much pain lingered.

As the trolley slowed to a stop in front of their destination, Aylen pulled herself from her daydreams and Olan from the ever inquisitive children. “By Sir Olan!” they cheered in unison. The high sun glimmered in Olan's eyes as he turned back and waved farewell. It was the first time Aylen had seen the old toad smile since Kresh sent them on this trip.

The Justicarium, a cathedral-like fortress filled with lawyers and politicians, stood as a mountain before them. Its central structure was a faceted, pointed spire rising from a star-shaped foundation. A seamless obsidian walkway ringed the spire, connecting at the points of the foundation. Park grounds extended one hundred meters from the walkway, showcasing flora collected from all over Grunn. Open to the public, the park allowed for leisure not found in the rest of the city. It was common to see picnics, painters, or people simply enjoying their day off.

A pale blue sky had covered the city for most of the day. An orange twilight of Autumn had begun to take the horizon, with nightfall turning the opposite edge of the sky a warm purple. The weather had not yet turned frigid, though scarves were common fashion.

Sounds of lutes called louder as the Champions walked to the closest point of the star. The monumental structure was composed of polished white granite without a seem to be seen. Higher levels held balconies cleanly cut into the stone with arched glass windows catching the setting sun. A large double-door with a pointed arch opened inward to the Justicarium. Hewn from the mightiest of oaks, reliefs and carvings of humanity and Lo adorned the surface. The interior of the hallway was illuminated by the blue-white of the electric lights that humans were so fond of. Rhythmic transept ceilings accented with lapis lazuli mosaics, gold trim, and obsidian pillars decorated the walk to the Grand Hall at the center. People began to trickle out from the Grand Hall as the work day was ending.

“Where's the lute player?” Olan asked in confusion. “I swear the music was louder near the entrance.”

“They have a machine, a tool, that plays music,” Aylen told him.

“Are they bored with playing music?” Olan asked in bewilderment.

“No,” Aylen laughed. “No, the humans use the ones in this building to measure, to count, their workday. They start at the same time, play about eight hours, and then they end at the same time.”

“Oh,” Olan said with acceptance. “Do they still play on their own?”

“Some of them,” Aylen said with a smile. “We'll ask Manfried to have dinner with us at a public house that hosts a bard.” She patted Olan on the head. “You'll like that.” She remembered all the times in their travels when her little friend ate his weight in fried fish.

At the center of the Justicarium was the Grand Hall, a circular bureaucratic transitway where balconies of the floor above ringed a large light source at the ceiling. Most of the day, the Grand Hall was filled with citizens and municipal officials seeking the city's central authority. At the time Aylen and Olan arrived it seemed almost empty. Most people they saw were happily leaving the stairwells and electric lifts to head out to their friends and families. Here and there a younger clerk raced to finish one last task for the day. After a look around, Aylen noticed there was one directory station with attendants still at their posts.

“The Grand Hall will close soon,” one of the attendants called out as the elf and gewt approached their station. When the attendant noticed the vivid, delicate embroidery of Aensilluroth on Aylen's shawl she stood straighter and added more patience to her tone. “Could we provide some information or help you schedule an appointment?”

“Hello, yes” Aylen replied with a smile. She noticed that the girl's desk was tidy, save for a compact mirror a small makeup bag that were pushed to the side. “Would you know if Champion Manfried has gone for the day?”

The girl hesitated for a moment, possibly wondering if the elf and gewt before her were also Champions. “I'm not aware, ma'am, but we can send a note to his office.” She pulled open a drawer and retrieved a directory book. With a click, she turned a nob on the device in front of her. A small blue square of light pulsed on the surface of the large polished black stone on her desk. In front of the black stone, which was angled to slope down so it was easily viewable for the attendants, there appeared a few rows of letters and numbers in a constant blue light. Each symbol was boxed by a square of the same blue light. After flipping through the directory book and finding the right page, the attendant quickly pressed on the static glyphs and then symbols organized on the black stone as if being writing by magic. “And what is the name of the party requesting the honorable Champion Manfried?”

“SEND: 000027” the black stone read.

“Oh, some old friends. Please tell him that Aylen and Olan are here.” Aylen glanced down at Olan, who was too small to see over the counter. He was looking up at her with his big dark eyes, practicing his patience.

“AYLEN & OLAN REQUESTING AUDIENCE” appeared as a second line on the black stone, as the attendant typed on the glyphs. Then she pressed a glyph made of a green rectangle, sitting at the far right side of the glyphs. In front of the word “SEND:” appeared a green check mark.

“If he is not, oh-” the attendant began and then paused. An small image of an open envelope appeared under the green check mark. “Looks like he read the message.”

“FROM: 000027
AT HONEYED HARE” appeared on the far right of the black stone, in green light.

“Wonderful!” the attendant said happily. “That inn is not very far. Would you like a map?”

“A map would be lovely,” Aylen answered.

With a type of a few lines and a press of the green button, a whirring sound came from the desk. A type of parchment slid of the desk, towards the assistant. She lifted the end close to her and tore the bottom edge against the desk. “Here you go,” she said as she handed it to Aylen. “This maps out the turns and street names. Follow the dashed line from the circle to the star.”

Aylen looked over the small map in her hands. Small enough that it could fit into her pocket with a fold or two but very clear to understand and read. “Could I have another of these for my friend Olan, here?” she asked.

“Oh of course, I should have thought of that.” With the push of a glyph shaped like an arrow and a press of the green glyph, the printing repeated. “Anything else I can help you with?” the attendant asked. She reached over the counter and handed the second map to Olan.

“No, you've been so helpful,” Aylen warmly answered. “Have a good night.”

With a click, the words on the black stone and the glyphs on the desk disappeared. Aylen and Olan joined into the fray of politicians and clerks hurrying out to the streets.

Crisp air came with the setting sun. Electric lampposts dotted the streets, providing soft amber light for the crowds. Conversations overheard were patient and joyful and often directed towards coming holidays in Kyrik's Bay. No one lingered. Most shops had closed for the day. The chilly air pushed the people to hearths, either at home or at a pub.

“Let's not fight for a spot on a trolley, Olan,” Aylen said. “Honeyed Hare is only a few streets away.”

Olan had his map pulled wide open, using both arms. “But I don't see a dotted line painted on the streets anywhere,” he replied with a bit of confusion.

Aylen smiled because she understood. Gewt were used to coding their paths with specific colors or patterns of shells. “This dotted line is imaginary. We probably won't find a star painted on the destination, either,” she clarified.

Olan sighed and stood for a moment, staring at Aylen. “I wonder if I will ever understand them.” He folded the map unevenly and shoved it down in his satchel. “Seems like everything they do is about playing pretend.”

Aylen stifled a giggle but it grew and she let out a laugh. “That may truly be accurate, my friend.”

Turning to their right, out of the gate to the Grand Hall, the garden grounds were quiet and nearly empty. A artist that had lingered to catch the setting sun was packing his paints, the half finished sky of his canvas showing the deep purple but lacking the bright band of orange. Farther off, a young woman stepped into the shadows of the trees to meet a young man. Trolleys rang from the streets as they arrived and departed. Footsteps of the crowd filled the air. Conversations picked up at street corners, mostly quick comments and jokes that kept the spirit warm.

After a few streets and another turn, the duo came to hear fiddles and drums under loud laughter and louder cheers. Light gleamed from wide glass windows of a building near the center of the shop row. Above the doorway a post jutted out towards the street with a painted sign hanging from it. Getting closer, the painting on the sign was revealed to be a large rabbit with an overturned pot of honey on its head with the honey dripping down. Pulling open the right side of the double door brought a blast of warm hearth air that wrapped around them. Scents of wine and spiced meat and bread stirred their hunger.

Aylen scanned the main room for their friend Manfried, across the hundred faces sat around twenty or so tables. Olan's gaze jumped between the roasted hens and meat pies and baskets of biscuits. “Do you see him?” he asked.

“I don't think so,” Aylen replied. Last time she had seen Manfried he wore light but sturdy armor for traveling and had his coarse black hair grown wild. This crowd wore fine cloth and were clean groomed.

At the bar, a plump woman with grey twinged auburn hair was managing customers and staff from behind the counter. She was as joyous as her patrons but far more focused. Her blouse and skirt interwove light and dark shades of green, overtop her black trimmed leggings and shirt made of pure white linen.

As the bards called for cheers the floor opened up some. Aylen pulled Olan along as patrons moved to drop coins in the entertainers' hands. “Merrymaker's Coinpurse, next!” shouted a man with a raised ale mug, which received hearty approval from the crowd.

“Aye! Merrymaker's Coinpurse!” the bard with the lute confirmed. The one playing with a drum moved his instrument to his side and pulled out a wood flute. They tapped their feet three times and began a bright melody.

“Merry man, merry man, play me a song,” sang the lutist.

“Come now, come now, the day has gone!” the patrons replied, on time.

“Make merry, make merry, as we drink our thirst,” continued the bard.

“Play now, play now, as we fill your purse!” the crowd sang back. Nearly everyone was participating which meant nearly everyone was asking the serving maids to refill their ale or wine.

When Aylen and Olan neared the bar, the woman in green greeted them. “Welcome dearies!” she called over the boisterous crowd. “What brings yah in from the cold night?”

Aylen, who was a tad over six foot tall, leaned down towards the shorter human woman as not to shout. “Our friend told us about this place,” she said with warmth, “It's quite lovely and your bards bend beautiful tunes.” Around them, the merriment blending artist and audience continued into further verses. “We're looking for our friend, though. Manfried?”

The woman in green seemed to gain some ease in her stance. “Ah, thought so. Follow me,” she said as she moved from behind the bar towards a door at the end. Along the way she grabbed a heavy bottle of wine and two clay cups.

Past the door, the air was cooler and the song became softer behind them. They had entered a hallway that led straight back and turned to the right. An open doorway they passed on their right housed the kitchen, where a few chef and a couple young apprentices crafted the mixtures of spices and meats and vegetables.

“You must be Aylen and Olan, then?” the woman asked as they walked. “My name is Margerie. So good to see Manny have some true friends show.” Olan gave a short half-chuckle when she said Manny. As they turned the corner the hallway held three doors on either side and then a sturdier one at the end.

“Very nice to meet you, Margerie,” Aylen said.

“Yes,” Olan added. “Very nice to meet you.”

Without hesitation, Margerie opened the first door on the right. Inside the walls were a polished dark oak with finely carved moulding. Flames crackled in the grout and round-stone fireplace that was on the wall opposite of the door, throwing light to the corners of the room the hanging candles did not reach. Book cases lined the left wall. On the right was a broad desk with a hutch of small drawers and a terminal like the one the clerk had used in the Grand Hall. A heavy rug covered most of the floor. At the center, around a tea table, sat cushioned armchairs and a couch. Sounds of the bards singing “Merrymaker's Purse” came from a small box on the fireplace mantle.

A man, broad shouldered with dark hair and a busy goatee that ended in two stout braids, sat in the armchair directly facing the fireplace. He turned from the letter in his hand to see who pushed into his room, initially looking disrupted then excited.

“Right,” she said as she moved to place the clay cups on the table and uncorked the wine. She took the letter out of the man's hand as she poured the wine one-handed. “Manny, your friends are here.”
“I see!” he said as he stood and came around the chairs to greet them. “Aylen,” he said with a wide smile and then gave her a hug. He lifted himself on his toes as he was about half a foot shorter than her. “If you had sent word earlier I would have prepared such an honorable ceremony.”

“Another time,” Aylen said with a comforting tone. “So good to see you, Manfried.”

“Olan!” Manfried said as he knelt down and opened his arms. “Would you dine at my table tonight.”

Olan stepped forward into Manfried's arms for a brief hug. “Gladly, if it includes the pleasure of your company.”

“Who is this man that has become so formal?” Aylen teased as she gave a quick brush of Manfried's hair with her hand.

He caught her hand with his and answered “The man guiding the Second Age, the people say,” he answered with a laugh. “Come, sit.” He moved them towards the furniture. Olan took the other armchair and Aylen rested on the couch. “Have you met Margerie? Margerie, this-”

She interrupted him, “Yes yes, introductions have been made. I'd love to be more formal but there're a hundred men mad with delight up front and most of them have an open tab.” She folded the letter she took from Manfried, with the rest of his papers from the table, and placed them in a stack on the broad desk. “Anything I can send you from the kitchen?”

“Two house roasts with carrots and a pot of potato stew? Thank you,” Manfried asked.

“Heard, dearie,” Margerie said. She stepped out to the hall and gently closed the door behind her.

Manfried turned a nob on the box on the fireplace and the sound of the common room faded just below the sounds of the fireplace. He took took a seat in his armchair, leaned forward, and poured wine into the clay cups. Then he placed the cups in front of his friends and poured wine into his stein, which had already been on the table. “How was your trip?” he asked.

“Windy,” Olan said before he took a large gulp of wine.

Aylen gave a slight roll of her eyes. “We flew a lotusgryf from Aensilluroth. I thought we had quite enjoyed the travel.”

“It was fun. There was a nice bakery yesterday,” Olan added. “I like your city.” He smiled wide and looked up at Manfried. Firelight glossed over his eyes, dark as black pearls.

Manfried leaned back into his chair's cushion and drank from his stein. “Thank you. What were you doing out in Aensilluroth?” he asked Olan.

“Elves asked the gewt for things from deep in the ocean,” Olan said. He paused and took another sip of wine. “And for a scale of Great Mother,” he added with a somber tone.

“Which we appreciate and will honor most holy,” Aylen said with reverence as she closed her eyes and bowed her head toward Olan. She then turned to Manfried. “Our highest weavers grew curious about life in saltwater. A highly corrosive substance but holds the most fantastical organisms. Cephalopods, on their own, defy elven logic.”

“And they're delicious baked with some olive oil,” Manfried said. “And why the scale from Nym?”

“Oh, they want to compare it to one from Vau,” Aylen said. She fidgeted with her cup, tracing its carved patterns with her finger tips.

“Hmm, and how is Vau these days?” he asked softly.

“She is well when I see her,” Aylen said with cheer. “Though she talks at length on leaving the future to her children.” Then she took a deep drink from her cup. “She had a visitor, very late, the night before we began our way here.” She paused, looking down into the dark wine. “I don't know what they talked about at length but when Vau summoned us to her sanctum she seemed distressed, almost angry.”

“Who was this visitor?” Manfried asked tensely.

Aylen hesitated and so Olan answered, “Kresh.”

Anger flashed in Manfried's eyes. He let out a heavy sigh, finished the wine he had, and set his stein on the table. “Let's hear it,” he grumbled as he poured more wine. “What song of prophecy do we have to dance to, this time?”

“Ler'khal must die,” Olan stated plainly.

From the metal box on the fireplace came soft cheers and claps and whistles as the bards ended their tune. Manfried stood, walked over, and switched it off. The room was silent save for the crackling coals in the fireplace. He picked up two pieces of split wood at the side and set them on the coals. “Why?” he asked with a harsh voice as he used an iron poker to stoke the flames.

“Kresh said he's become a very bad man,” Olan answered with a hint of sadness.

“When we were summoned for an audience, Kresh told us two things,” Aylen said. Manfried, holding his left hand on the warm mantle of the fireplace, turned toward her. She took a breath, straightened her posture, and met his gaze. “First, Ler'khal has been attempting to obscure the Paths of Time from Kresh. Second,” Aylen hesitated for a moment and continued, “Ler'khal has been experimenting on humans to do so.”

Rage filled Manfried's eyes. “Where?” he asked with a deep, cold tone.

“Here,” Aylen replied firmly. “In Kyrik's Bay.”

Manfried moved towards his desk and turned on the terminal. “And why won't Kresh come here to do his own dirty work?” he asked as he began pressing the glyphs in rapid succession.

“He did not say,” Aylen replied.

“Maybe he'd be too sad to kill his child,” Olan suggested.

Manfried sighed. “If only we could believe he had such emotion.” The terminal screen began to fill with words and dates and times. “Kresh would have annihilated Ler'khal and never told us there was a problem if he could have,” Manfried surmised. He paused and then turned toward his friends. “Did he say Ler'khal was successful at obscuring the Paths of Time?” he asked.

A knock came at the door.

“Yes?” Manfried called to the knocker.

“We have the dinners you requested, Mr. Manfried,” a soft voice replied, muffled through the wood.

Manfried quickly pressed some glyphs and then turned off the terminal. He stepped to the door and held it open as a few servants entered with covered dishes. “Make some room on the table, please,” he asked Aylen.

Quickly, the elf moved the wine and cups to a cluster in the center. She shuffled the loose papers into a stack that she then held in her lap, with a blank page on top.

At each end of the table, the servants place a large covered platter that revealed a roasted rabbit when the lids were removed. Next to the platter placed closer to the fire they set a ceramic pot they they left covered. The last servant placed a small stack of plates with bowls and utensils stacked on top, next to the platter placed closer to the door.

Olan's eyes were wide and fixed on the roasts. Fire light shined across the thick glaze that clung to the meat.

“Require anything additional, sir?” the lead servant asked to Manfried.

“No, no,” he replied. “We've more than enough here.” He handed a silver coin to each servant and slightly bowed his head as he said “Thank you.” As they exited, they shut the door softly behind them.

Manfried picked up a plate and ripped two thighs from a hare and placed them on the dish. Using the ladle that was hanging from the soup pot he scooped roast vegetables from next to the hare on top of the thighs. Along with a fork and a linen napkin, Manfried handed the meal to Olan. “Be careful, it's sticky,” he told the hungry gewt.

Then Manfried removed the lid to the soup and ladled a large portion into a bowl. Using a knife he cut three small strips from the side of the hare to place on top of the soup bowl. This meal he handed to Aylen with a spoon. “Don't fret,” he said as he rubbed her upper back with his right hand. “We'll find Ler'khal and make sure everything is alright.”

Aylen leaned her head against Manfried's arm for a moment and then picked up her spoon to swirl her soup. “I know,” she replied softly.

“Try some, you'll feel better after we eat. They cook down those herb dried tomatoes you love, into the cream sauce,” he told Aylen. With a little bit of excitement she took a bite and a smile suddenly warmed her face.

Olan was already down to the bones of the hare when Manfried began to fix his own plate. A new bard song came from the speaker as they sat and ate. A song that was melodic and told the story of a mountain and a river fighting over a forest's love.

Emptying the bottle of wine into his cup, Manfried took a seat on the couch to be positioned between Aylen and Olan. He gulped down half of his pour before picking up his plate. “Do either of you remember when we first sat 'round a campfire with Ler'khal?” he asked with a smirk. Then, with his fork, he took a bite of rabbit that he had dripped the soup onto.

Aylen let out a short laugh. “Oh my gods, it was horrific,” she replied. “When he bit the head off a squirrel? The crunching as he chewed down the skull was so unnerving,” she said through a stifled giggle. “And then he looked so confused when he saw us staring at him.”

“I didn't think it was that odd,” Olan added. “Gewt do that to fish.” He jumped down from his chair and began refilling his plate.

“But you don't drink the blood through their neck like a wineskin!” Aylen's giggle escalated to a proper laugh.

Manfried chuckled. “He asked me what had been so offensive, later that night. I told him we were used to treating animals we eat with a bit more respect. That's when he then looked puzzled. “But does not Lo himself teach that the soul is the observer? That a soul leaves a being the moment it dies?” he asked me. I had to think about it for a moment. Then I told him he was right but that respecting death helps remind us to appreciate life.” Manfried let out a sigh. “I think he understood our viewpoint but I don't think he ever believed it. And the day we sealed the Riftscar... he ate so much desert lotus that his mind should've shattered.” He looked to his friends, his eyes somber but determined. “Maybe it did... finally.”

Chewing on a rabbit leg, Olan nodded. “Ler'khal did start talking about Kresh being wrong about something after that. He never told me when I asked.”

Aylen scooped roasted vegetables from the platter into her bowl and then filled it to the top with more soup. She sat up and took a deep breath. “Odd feeling to think of those days as simpler times.” Then she looked at Manfried and asked, “Well, this affects your city, your people. What do you want to do?”

Setting his plate down and then standing, Manfried answered “Open another bottle of wine.” He moved to his desk to pull open a bottom drawer. From it, he pulled a large bottle that glowed a pinkish ruby in the firelight. For a moment, he clicked on the terminal. A list of messages filled the screen. After pressing a few keys he clicked the machine off and sat back down. Pulling a small drawer from the tea table, he retrieved a corkscrew. “This one is made from peaches and honey,” he said. Pressing the point of the screw into the wax seal, he twisted and twisted until most of it was in the cork. “Might be a bit closer to mead but you'll both like it.” With a grunt he pulled the cork free.

They all finished what was left in their cups before taking a new pour. This nectar like wine helped to clear away the heavy earthiness of the meal.

“Rest here tonight,” Manfried told his friends. He placed the corkscrew back in its drawer and pulled out two keys. One had the number eleven worked into its handle and the other had the number twelve. “Then I'd like you to depart from Kyrik's Bay tomorrow. I'll handle this with my Justicars.”

“So you've decided to kill him, then?” Aylen asked. She sounded sad but not mournful.

Manfried looks down into his stein. The sweet drink looked pitch black. “Aye... Likely we'll have to.”

With that answer, their conversation stopped for a while. Song did not come from the speaker on the mantle but a rosey mixture of lute, flute, and fiddle held the minds of the listeners.

A tear rolled down Olan's glassy eyes. “We were as close as kin,” he muttered as he stared at the ceiling. He sat up and reached for the tray of rabbit they had picked the most meat from. “I miss Dara and now I'm going to miss Ler'khal.” Opening his mouth as wide as he could, Olan slid the carcass and remaining vegetables into his gullet. More wine helped to wash it down.

Aylen teared up when Olan mentioned Dara.

“What curse it is to be a Champion,” Manfried said sorrowfully, “to know the gods know not.”

Both Olan and then Aylen let out hearty laughs. The rest of their night held more joy. Though it felt like they were holding Ler'khal's funeral, they were able to grieve and love the time they had all shared.

Late into the evening when the bards thanked the lingering patrons and only the sound of the crackling embers filled the silence, Manfried ushered his old companions to the rooms he provided for them. Olan he had to carry, as the wise sage of the gewt was nearly asleep.

Aylen lingered at her door. She pulled Manfried close and swept her fingers through his thick, soft hair. “You change people, you know. You make them grow,” she whispered in his ear. “I hope you know you can grow humankind beyond what Lo dreamt of.” She squeezed him tightly, close to a point they could feel each other's heart beats through their skin.

“I don't know about all of that,” Manfried replied with a smirk, “but I could sure change you out of that dress.”

“Such a lech,” Aylen replied as she pulled her favorite human into her room. The lech did not resist.

Early in the morning they awoke. Manfried was restless with the problem that lay before him.

Between dawnlit kisses Aylen asked “Why do you want us to go?”

“I want you to go so all this gods and champions stuff can be behind you.” Manfried took her hand and kissed it. “From what you described, Vau will soon pass on. Shame, as she always seemed the best of them. But then you can live free. Lead your people. Without this memory of bloodshed to scar your soul.”

“What of you?” she asked as she held his face. “It's not fair for you to bear these scars.”

He squeezed her hand as it pressed against his cheek. “Compared to what I've been through, this is barely a scrape. Besides, I have the duty to my people to shield the worst of it.” He pulled her hand free and splayed his fingers against hers. He was far more muscular and his palm was broader. Her fingers were a bit longer and less calloused.

“But...” Aylen begam though interrupted by Manfried's kisses. Her protests ended as they became lost in each other again.

Soon, morning bells rang in the halls. Patrons stirred and started their days. Even the city outside came alive. Through Aylen's window came the sunlight and the sounds of a new day.

When they roused Olan he was groggy and worse for wear. Before leaving the inn, they made sure to treat him to a breakfast of eggs, potatoes, and tea. Margerie patted the gewt's head when she dropped off some complimentary sausage patties. He accepted the trade happily. Manfried grabbed his sword from his hosting room before they left.

A bright blue sky spanned overhead. Big white clouds streamed by. Standing in the warm sun balanced the cool breeze. On the trolley, people were quiet. The first few stops felt packed as citizens shuffled to work. By late morning traffic became sparse.

Scattered autumn leaves tumbled through the city. They danced in the wind against the polished sandstone streets. The diligent machines of the humanmagic never slowed to notice.

At the dormant lotusgryf a handful of people had stopped to admire its beautifully extravagant flowers. As Aylen approached her pet, a young man called out “Careful miss! It will lash you if you get too close!”

The fair elf laughed to herself. “Only if you try to pluck its petals!” she called back. She gave a deft tug to a thick frond as she made a cooing sound, like that of a dove. Suddenly, the head of the lotusgryf popped out of its plumage. When it opened its eyes, the amber caught the sunlight and shined like glass. The stunned onlookers gasped when it unfurled its massive wings to stretch away its stiffness.

Olan hugged Manfried tightly. “Good luck,” the gewt said. “You are my kin and I hope to see you again.”

“Aye,” Manfried replied as he knelt down and embraced his dear friend. “We have many meals left to share.”

Keeping her formal presence, Aylen clasped her hands in front of her waist and made a deep bow towards the man she had spent the last night with. “ High Justicar Manfried, Champion of Lo, Heir to Humanity, thank you for your most gracious hospitality and unending warmth. The bond between our peoples only grows stronger while humanity is under your stewardship.”

Manfried snapped his heals together and stood straight. After a rigid bow he said “Lady Aylen, Champion of Vau, Queen of the Everlasting Tree, it is forever an honor and pleasure to be of service to you. If ever you need of me, I am loyally yours.” While still bowed, he took her right hand, kissed it, and then return it to where it was clasped on her waist.