Arabess stood at the gate, a silhouette in midnight blue.

She pushed it open.

Inside, the villa glowed with low amber light. Music drifted through the courtyard—strings and reed-thin notes, winding like smoke through heavy, fragrant air. Night-blooming jasmine and damp stone filled the space. Two plates sat at the table: one cleared, one untouched. A half-empty decanter rested nearby.

She found Jataya in the garden, reclining beneath a jasmine-draped trellis, wine in hand.

“You’re late,” he said.

“I said if I had time.”

“I don’t sleep easily,” he replied. “Especially when waiting for someone whose eyes could freeze a heartbeat.”

She sat opposite him. “You dine with strangers. I don’t.”

“Then the question is… am I still a stranger?”

“I haven’t decided.”

Jataya lifted his glass. “Then let me remain uncertain. It suits the evening.”

Arabess took the second glass, tasted. “Expensive.”

“Everything worthwhile is.”

She studied him. “Is that what I am to you? Something to acquire?”

“No,” he said quietly. “You’re something I know better than to chase.”

“Then why invite me?”

“Because some people aren’t meant to be won. Only… observed, when they choose to walk through an open door.”

Arabess stood, draining the glass. “Don’t wait up next time.”

He didn’t rise. “I never do.”

She left without another word, her robes whispering across the stone. The gate creaked shut behind her.

In the garden, Jataya finished his wine and set the glass aside. The night air clung warm and heavy, but he didn’t move.

He only watched the dark and wondered.

The market had thinned, but not emptied. Tavril moved through the last of the lantern-lit stalls, the evening’s heat still clinging to the stones beneath his boots. Merchants packed away bright fabrics and carved trinkets, their voices lower now, softened by the hour. Somewhere behind him, a musician coaxed a slow, winding melody from a reed flute; something meant for the night, not the crowd.

He turned the scarf over in his hands as he walked. Lightweight. Breathable. Dyed a deep blue that caught the lanternlight like still water. Not extravagant. Not loud. Just… right.

Or so he hoped.

He adjusted the fold of it once more, then let it rest over his forearm as he turned onto the quieter street leading back toward the villa.

The Lantern District had settled into its evening hush. Warm air, the scent of jasmine, the soft flicker of green-glass lanterns.

And movement ahead.

A familiar silhouette.

Midnight blue. Unhurried. Alone.

Tavril slowed, just slightly; not out of caution, but recognition.

“Arabess.”

His voice carried just enough to reach her.

She stopped. Turned.

Even in the dim light, she was composed as ever, though there was something faintly distant in her eyes; as if part of her had not yet caught up with the rest.

“Tavril,” she said. “You’re out late.”

He approached at an easy pace, stopping a respectful distance away. No rush. No presumption.

“As are you,” he replied.

He closed the distance at an easy pace, stopping beside her rather than in front of her.

“I didn’t take you for someone who wanders alone at night,” he added, not accusing. Just… noting.

Arabess tilted her head slightly. “There are a great many things you don’t take me for.”

Tavri sensed a faint hint of something; amusement, perhaps.

He accepted that with a small nod. “Fair.”

He let the silence sit for a moment, not pressing.

“Heading back?” he asked. 

Arabess gave a slight nod.

Another small moment passed.

Then, without ceremony, he gestured lightly down the road with his chin.

“Walk with me?”

Not a command. Not even quite a question. An offering.

Arabess studied him for a moment; measuring, as she always did. Then gave a slight nod.

They fell into step together.

For a time, neither spoke.

Their footfalls echoed softly against the stone, the only rhythm beneath the distant murmur of the city. A warm breeze stirred the hanging lanterns, casting shifting light across the street. Tavril didn’t press the silence. Didn’t ask where she had been. Didn’t ask why she had gone alone. Instead, after a few moments, he held out the scarf.

“I saw this,” he said simply. “Thought of you.”

Arabess glanced down at it.

“I’m not particularly good at guessing what people need. But I’ve found it’s easier if I start with what they don’t say.”

Arabess regarded him more closely now.

“And what do you think I’m not saying?”

Tavril didn’t answer immediately.

Instead, he stepped a little closer; not enough to crowd her, just enough to close the distance between strangers.

“I think,” he said carefully, “you don’t like being followed.”

“Is that what you were doing?” She said with a mixture of amusement and accusation. 

“No.” He said with confidence. “But I also think you don’t always give people the chance to stand beside you.”

His tone remained even. No judgment. No edge. Just truth, offered and left where it lay.

Arabess’s gaze sharpened slightly; not defensive, but attentive.

“And you intend to be one of those people?” she asked.

Tavril gave the faintest hint of a smile. “If you let me.”

He extended the scarf; not insistently, just offering.

“For when the nights pretend they’re cooler than they are.”

She looked at it for a moment longer this time.

Then, slowly, she took it.

Her fingers brushed his; brief, incidental, but not entirely unnoticed.

“It’s lighter than it looks,” she noted.

“Seemed appropriate,” Tavril replied. “For this place.”

There was a faint pause.

“And for you.”

She didn’t respond immediately, but she didn’t hand it back either. Instead, she draped it loosely over her shoulders, adjusting it with a practiced ease that suggested she was already accustomed to such things; even if she rarely accepted them.

“Thank you,” she said.

Tavril inclined his head, as if that were enough.

They continued on.

After a few more steps, Tavril spoke again; quietly, as if continuing a thought rather than starting one.

“You don’t have to explain where you’ve been.”

Arabess’s gaze shifted to him, just slightly.

“But,” he added, “if wherever you went leaves you walking back alone… I’d rather you didn’t have to.”

No weight. No accusation. Just presence.

They passed beneath a cluster of lanterns, their green glass casting soft, shifting light across Arabess’s face. For a moment, the usual stillness in her expression seemed thinner; like something just beneath the surface had almost risen, then settled again.

“I wasn’t in danger,” she said.

“I didn’t think you were,” Tavril replied. “Doesn’t mean I wouldn’t walk with you anyway.”

The villa came into view ahead; its familiar shape rising against the night, windows dimly lit, the gate slightly ajar.

Home.

Or close enough.

They slowed as they approached.

Arabess adjusted the scarf once more, her fingers lingering briefly at the edge of the fabric.

“Thank you,” she said; not just for the scarf.

Tavril gave a small nod, accepting it without comment.

“Any time.”

He reached the gate first and pushed it open, stepping aside to let her pass through before following.

Inside, the courtyard was quiet. Still. The faint scent of jasmine lingered in the air.

Safe.

For now.

Arabess didn’t move.

Her eyes tracked the field with cold precision, posture still, unreadable even as Zongo lagged behind the pack in the first stretch, heavy-footed and unimpressive.

A shadow slipped into the empty seat beside her just as the racers rounded the first bend. Boots on wood. A breath slightly quickened but steadying fast.

“Did I miss anything important?”

Arabess didn’t look at him.

“You missed the part where I had to find the betting cages alone,” she said.

Cal leaned back, one arm draping casually over the back of the bench as if he’d been there the entire time.

“Sounds like you managed.”

“I did,” she replied. “That wasn’t the point.”

Only then did she glance at him.

A brief, measuring look.

“You’re late.”

“Timing,” Cal said. “It’s an art.”

She studied him a moment longer, then asked, “Where were you?”

Cal tilted his head slightly. “Setting us up for later.”

Arabess’s eyes narrowed. “You’re very bad at explaining what that means.”

He flashed a quick grin. “If I explained it, it’d sound less impressive.”

Her gaze lingered a moment longer, then flicked back to the track.

“Zongo,” she said.

Cal’s grin was immediate. “Zongo.”

They watched in silence as the race unfolded. Zongo didn’t surge ahead. Didn’t impress.

But he didn’t break, either. One by one, the faster beasts faltered; bad turns, collisions, panic in the dust-choked chaos. Zongo endured. By the final stretch, endurance was enough.

The payout line was chaos. Voices raised, hands waving slips, accusations flying at the bookkeepers who suddenly found themselves very unpopular. Arabess stood at the counter, composed as ever, her winning slip already presented.

The bookkeeper scowled as he counted out the gold.

“Thirty-to-one,” the man muttered. “Should’ve known better than to doubt a fool’s luck.”

Arabess said nothing. The coins hit the counter in heavy, satisfying stacks. Cal stepped in beside her, brushing dust from his sleeve as he glanced at the pile.

“Beautiful,” he said. “I always did like long odds.”

He reached forward and Arabess rested a hand lightly on the gold before he could.

“No,” she said.

Cal paused.

Then slowly looked up at her.

“…no?”

“You don’t take from my winnings,” Arabess said. “You earn yours.” A small smile touched the corner of her mouth; sharp, but not unkind. “You weren’t there when the bet was placed.”

“Wait a minute. Half of the bet was from my own stash. That makes us partners.”

Arabess’s eyes narrowed just slightly. Her fingers tapped once against the coin.

“As I recall you were a little short. Sixty-forty.”

“You wouldn’t have made the bet without me!” Cal protested.

“Sixty,” she said gazing into his eyes. Then smirked. “Forty.”

Cal considered pushing it. You could see it, the instinct, the impulse, the almost. Then he exhaled through his nose and nodded.

“Fine,” he said. “Sixty-forty.”

Then, with a flicker of that familiar grin, 

“But next time, I place the bet.”

Arabess allowed the faintest curve of a smile.

“Next time,” she said, “you show up on time.”

They divided the winnings there at the counter, efficient, unceremonious. Separate shares.

Shared understanding.

Evalise found them shortly after, already muttering under her breath as she adjusted her goggles, lenses clicking softly.

“That shouldn’t have worked,” she said. “Statistically, that should not have worked.”

An’ric arrived without sound, his presence settling beside them like still water.

Tavril lingered just behind, his gaze moving between the two piles of coin… then to the two who had earned them.

He said nothing.

But he noticed.

By the time they returned to the villa, the city had begun to settle.

The heat lingered, thick and unmoving, but the noise had softened; drawn inward behind walls and shuttered windows. Inside, the group dispersed naturally.

Evalise and Equandi  claimed a table, maps and notes spreading outward in careful disarray. Ink, parchment, and quiet obsession. The world narrowed to lines and possibilities only they could see.

An’ric moved to the courtyard. Breath. Step. Motion. His kata carved calm through the heavy air, each movement precise, deliberate; a ritual of control in a city that offered little of it.

The villa had gone quiet. But not silent. It was enough. Enough to slip through.

Cal moved first. Of course he did. He lingered just long enough to make it look like he wasn’t going anywhere at all; leaning back in his chair, one boot hooked over the other, a coin rolling lazily across his knuckles. Anyone watching would’ve sworn he was settling in for the night.

No one was watching. Evalise was buried in her maps, lenses clicking softly as she chased lines only she could see. An’ric’s focus never broke; each movement of his kata as precise as the last, eyes fixed inward.

Cal let the coin vanish into his palm. Rose without a sound. Crossed the room at an easy pace; not sneaking, not creeping. Just… leaving. At the door, he paused only long enough to listen. Nothing. A faint grin tugged at his mouth. Then he slipped out into the night. 

He returned the coin to his pouch and smiled to himself.

“Forty percent,” he murmured. “Let’s see what that turns into.”

Tavril waited. Not long. Just long enough. He stood near the edge of the courtyard, watching An’ric finish a sequence, the quiet discipline of it grounding in a way he respected. His hand rested briefly over the symbol of Helm on his tabard; an unconscious gesture, more habit than prayer. Then he turned. No announcement. A quiet purpose in his stride. He moved along the shadowed edge of the villa, steps measured, deliberate. Where Cal flowed through space, Tavril chose his path; avoiding loose stone, passing through darker pockets of the courtyard where lanternlight didn’t quite reach. At the gate, he stopped. Listened. The night answered back; soft wind, distant voices, nothing more. He opened it just enough to slip through, then eased it closed behind him without a sound.

Arabess was last. She adjusted the fall of her robes with practiced precision, ensuring nothing would catch or betray her movement, then crossed the room in a straight, unbroken line. At the door, she paused only long enough to let the outside air brush against her senses. Warm. Still. Waiting. Then she stepped out into the night.

The villa remained behind them. Quiet. Occupied. Unaware. Three different paths. Three different intentions. All vanishing into the same darkness.  Each certain they had left unnoticed. 

Each correct.

Arabess drifted through it all like a shadow, her silken robes untouched by the press of bodies, deep azure eyes scanning the crowd with quiet disinterest.

It wasn’t until she felt the tug on her belt pouch that her gaze snapped downward.

A boy, no older than ten, barefoot and quick-eyed froze in place, fingers hooked in the strings of her coin purse.

Arabess raised one hand lazily, frost already gathering along her fingertips and another hand caught the boy’s wrist.

“Little brother,” said the stranger, his voice like velvet, “if you want to keep both hands, don’t steal from women whose eyes promise a slow death.”

Arabess turned.

The man beside her was tall, dark-skinned, dressed in a deep crimson vest that shimmered like beetle shell in the sun. Gold traced the edges of the fabric in fine, foreign patterns. His smile was slow, self-assured. His eyes were ageless.

Jataya released the boy with a wink, and the child vanished into the crowd like a darting lizard.

“My apologies,” he said with a flourish. “Port Nyanzaru is beautiful; but even paradise has its rats.”

Arabess studied him, curiosity stirring despite herself. His presence suggested danger; not immediate, but inevitable.

“I am Kavunjataya,” he said, offering his hand. “I know my name can be difficult to pronounce. You may call me Jataya.”

She regarded it for a moment before placing her fingers lightly in his.

“Arabess,” she said. “And I don’t struggle with names.”

His smile deepened, amused rather than challenged.

“Then I’m honored.”

He held her hand just long enough for her to notice the unnatural coolness of his touch, then released it with effortless grace.

“What brings a woman like you to Port Nyanzaru?” he asked lightly, though his gaze searched her as if for something hidden beneath the surface.

Arabess tilted her head, expression unreadable.

“The dinosaur races.”

Jataya’s brows rose. “You’re here for the spectacle?”

“I’m here to wager,” she replied. “I’m looking for the betting cages. I don’t know the way. Can you help me?”

A low chuckle slipped from him, rich as aged palm wine. “I could point you there, but that would be dreadfully impersonal. Let me take you.”

She cast him a sidelong glance. “I didn’t ask for a guide.”

“No,” he said with a grin, “but I’m offering one.”

Arabess paused, then gave the faintest nod. “Very well, Jataya. Lead the way.”

The roar hit her before the gates even opened.

As they passed through the arched entrance to the racing pits, the sound of thousands, cheering, shouting, arguing, crashed over her like a wave. The air was thick with red dust turned tacky by humidity, laced with excitement and the guttural bellows of dinosaurs being led into their pens. Bright banners snapped overhead, painted with bold symbols and names like Banana Candy, Bone Crusher, and Queen’s Talon, each drawing a fervent crowd.

Arabess slowed at the edge of the chaos, eyes narrowing as she took it in. She had read of the races, heard the stories but none captured this living storm of sound and color.

Jataya leaned close, voice low beneath the din. “Impressive, isn’t it? Port Nyanzaru wears its heart openly during the races, passion, danger, greed.”

Arabess didn’t answer immediately. Her attention fixed on a sleek allosaurus with golden-painted claws, handlers circling it while murmuring rhythmic chants to keep it steady.

“Where are the betting cages?” she asked at last.

Jataya nodded toward a shaded alcove of carved stone and heavy iron bars, crowded with shouting gamblers. “There. But without knowing the odds or the stables you’ll be at their mercy.”

She looked up at him, lips curving faintly. “You assume I need your help.”

He smiled, flashing teeth just a shade too white. “Only offering. I’d hate to see a blue-eyed stranger wager on a dud.”

Arabess hummed softly, half amusement, half warning, and stepped past him into the press of bodies.

He followed a step behind, watching with quiet curiosity as she moved with the confidence of someone reading more than odds.

At the bars, the bookkeeper, a wiry man with a gold-ringed eye and a voice like gravel, barely glanced at her.

“Who and how much?”

“Zongo,” Arabess said.

The man blinked. “Trike? Thirty-to-one. Long shot. Most are backing Banana Candy or Bone Crusher.”

She lifted a pouch of gold, the drawstring looped around one elegant finger. “I’ll take the odds.”

A spectator barked a laugh. “Zongo? That beast hasn’t placed in months! Slow, stubborn and mean enough to gore his own handler.”

Arabess didn’t flinch. “I like his style.”

The bookkeeper shrugged, marked the bet, and handed her a slip stamped with obsidian. Jataya stood just behind her, hands clasped behind his back, smiling like a man watching a storm from shelter.

“You surprise me,” he said. “I expected caution.”

Arabess tucked the slip into her sash. “Only with people. Never with fate.”

The trumpets sounded, sharp and bright, cut from bone and brass.

The crowd surged forward, pressing against the rails, shouting names and curses. Zongo lumbered into view, a massive triceratops streaked with crude blue paint, his frill scarred from past defeats. At the starting line, he paused, lifted his head and released a bellow that was more gassy trumpet than roar. 

Some recoiled. Others burst into laughter. Arabess’s expression didn’t change. 

Jataya leaned closer, one brow arched. “It seems Zongo suffers from flatulence.”

“Apparently, so do my instincts,” she said coolly.

“Arabess!”

She turned.

Evalise pushed through the crowd in layered, lightweight silks suited to Chult’s oppressive heat, goggles perched on her brow; Tavril followed, Helm’s eye emblazoned on his tabard; and An’ric moved beside them in quiet discipline, his red gi stark against the riot of color.

Arabess lifted a hand in greeting.

Evalise’s gaze snapped immediately to Jataya. “And who’s this?”

Arabess gestured faintly. “Jataya. He helped me find the betting cages.”

“A pleasure,” Jataya said, bowing.

Evalise narrowed her eyes and adjusted the dials on her brass-rimmed goggles. Arcane lenses shimmered faintly as she focused on him.

Jataya raised a brow. “Is your friend measuring me for a hat?”

Arabess glanced over. “I’m not entirely sure.”

Evalise hesitated, then pushed the goggles back up. “Just checking for curses or glamour. Reflex.”

Jataya chuckled softly. “I assure you, I’m quite solid. Only slightly cursed, depending on who you ask.”

Tavril nodded politely, though his gaze lingered with quiet judgment. An’ric said nothing, but his stillness carried its own alertness.

Arabess ignored the tension.

Jataya gave a graceful half-step back, a gentleman's retreat. 

“Then I’ll leave you to your companions. But perhaps you’d do me the honor of dinner this evening. I owe you a better welcome.”

Arabess arched a brow. “I don’t dine with strangers.”

His grin came easily. “Then allow me to become less strange.”

She considered him, head tilted. “Tell me where you live. If I have time… I may visit.”

Jataya’s smile deepened. “Lantern District. Top of the hill, copper roof, green glass windows. Just follow the music.”

Arabess gave a small nod. Nothing more.

Jataya lingered a heartbeat longer, eyes resting on her with quiet interest, then disappeared into the crowd, swallowed by color and motion.

Arabess turned back to her companions.

Evalise was already studying the racing form. “Zongo, huh? Strange pick. You must know something.”

Arabess smiled faintly. “Just a feeling.”

Tavril glanced after Jataya. “And him? Should we be concerned?”

Arabess followed his gaze briefly. “Concerned? No. But I wouldn’t trust him to hold my drink.”

Evalise snorted. “Good. If he smiled any harder, he’d split in two.”

An’ric spoke softly. “He moves like someone used to not being seen, even in plain sight.”

Arabess’s voice was dry. “Yes. That’s what I like about him.”

Tavril didn’t react. “Then I’ll trust your judgment… and keep mine.”

“Can I ask a question?”

“Sure.” The aasimar replied.

“Do you really think my recent misfortune has anything to do with me insulting Helm? I mean… I almost died in a snake pit because I couldn’t find my feet. That doesn’t happen… not to me at least.”

Tavril nodded with understanding. “It very well might, my son. The Watcher does see all. It’s quite possible your attempt at comedic sarcasm went unappreciated.”

“I was afraid of that.” He paused with disconcert in his expression. “I never felt more useless.” The monk lamented.

Arabess had found a spot on the floor near Evalise and leaned her head on her friend’s shoulder.  “I don’t know Ev… useless shouldn’t be such a new feeling for him. And you’d think a god would have better things to do than torment that dope.” The sorceress joked.

Tavril turned his head toward Arabess, his face wearing a stern look of disapproval. “You shouldn’t mock my god. I don’t look kindly upon it and neither will he.” The cleric chastised with reproach.

Arabess narrowed her gaze, her eyes illuminating with an icy blue glow. The desert heat was oppressive yet the room filled with the chill breeze of a late fall evening.

“What in Helm’s name?” Tavril asked, wondering what was happening.

Evalise jabbed her elbow into Arabess’s ribs and just as quickly the heat washed back into the room.

“It’s nothing, Tavril. Bess over here is like our own personal air conditioner, her breath is cold as her heart.”

“Is that so?”  Arabess scowled.

“I know. We were as surprised as you that you have one.” The monk added sarcastically. “Everyone but Cal at least.”

“That’s enough An’ric.” Cal warned him. “Keep poking Bessie and you’ll wake the dragon and if you… You’re on your own.”

“Heartless is better than brainless red gi. I’ll remember that next time you’re getting your ass handed to you by a gnomish lycanthrope.”

“Relax Bessie. I’m just having some fun with you.”

“And don’t call me Bessie.” She hissed.

“Fine.” An’ric grinned as he turned toward Tavril. “How’d I do?” He asked as he motioned with pride to the carved candle.

“Well… Umm… I mean… I know what it is… It’s good I guess.”

“Calligrapher.” Bess pointed at An’ric with her thumb then smiled widely at Tavril as if she were expecting a second admonishment. The cleric fought back a grin and bowed slightly but didn’t retort.

“Thanks.” An’ric said to Tavril as he bent down to light the candle. “I’m hoping maybe I can make amends if I dedicate my forms practice to him today.”

“It’s a start my son.” Tavril clapped him on  the back and edged toward Cal. “Did you see what her eyes did?” He asked in a whisper. “It was kind of hot.”

Cal raised an eyebrow. “Yeah. I’ve seen it once or twice.” He smiled at Arabess. “Don’t let her cool exterior fool you. Bess has a warm side she reserves for those she actually cares about.”

“People like you?” Tavril asked curiously.

“Well yeah. Me, Ev, even that buffoon An’ric. We trade barbs like Calishite porcupines but make no mistake we have been and always will be looking out for each other. We grew up together in the Esoterica Magica. We’ve been friends our whole lives.” His eyes found Bess who had leaned into Evalise and was snickering quietly again. “Maybe longer…”

“I see. So you and Bess are just friends?”

“Yeah. I mean… what?”

“It’s nothing my friend, was just curious that’s all.”

Cal wasn’t sure if in that moment he felt confusion or jealousy but Arabess, who had been keeping half an eye on him as always, winked at him and all was forgotten.

I can't remember anything
Can't tell if this is true or a dream
Deep down inside I want to scream
Tavril’s chastising stops me

Now that the snakes are through with me
I'm waking up, I cannot see
I’m not sure but I think I peed
Nothing is real but pain now

Draw my breath as I fight off death
Oh please, Helm, save me

Lying in the sand it's much too real
Prayers restore life that I can feel
Now I look forward to reveal
Look to the future since I'll live

My friends laugh mocking me
Just like a carnival novelty
Clinging to Evalise as she pulls me free
I pull this snake off from me

Draw my breath as I fight off death
Oh please, Helm, save me

Now the Weave is gone, I'm alone
Oh Helm, help me

Draw my breath as I fight off death
Oh please, Helm, save me

Venom imprisoning me
All that I see
Absolute horror
I must live
I cannot die
Trapped in in the sand
Desert my holding cell

Vipers have taken my sight
Taken my speech
Taken my hearing
I twisted my arms
Twisted my legs
Risking my soul
I feel like I’m in hell

“Cal!” She whispered rather loudly. 

He didn't stir. 

“Cal wake up!” She violently shook his shoulder.

“What?!” His eyes opened in obvious confusion. “Bessie. What’s the matter? Are you ok?”

“I don’t know.” She answered nervously. “I had this dream… or nightmare… I don’t know. It seemed so real. We were trapped on this forgotten island, beset upon by hordes of skeletons and giant ants. It was terrible… for every one we killed two more would appear. It was as endless as it was meaningless. Kinda like being trapped in mud in the middle of a windstorm. Things were happening but I was getting nowhere. It was maddening with no conclusion in sight. We tried to find our way out of the accursed place but every step forward was met by another nonsensical obstacle. It was as if some greater power was forcing us to play along in some tedious game with no purpose or goal other than to keep us from any future happiness or enjoyment. You study… Is there a god of boredom who we may have offended? Anyway it looked like you were suffering from a similar tormented sleep so I wanted to wake you and save you from it.” She smiled. “You can thank me later.” 

He blinked. “I think we were stuck in the same dream.” He lurched up and for a moment stared at their other two companions. “Quick. Wake Evalise. I’ll rouse An’ric. This ends now.” 

Hurriedly they woke their friends to find they had suffered similar nightmares, though oddly, An’ric believed they may have been some reason for it… some story to be told, but none of the others seemed to agree.

“Well if there is some power trying to tell us something I guess we’re only a dream away from returning.” The monk posited.

Arabess paled as her eyes grew wide. She looked at Cal. “Oh hells no. If there’s any chance we might have to revisit that horrible place, I’m never sleeping again.”

“Yeah cause that’s what we need. A sleep deprived and irritable Bessie.” Cal chuckled.

“I’m a delight to be around and you know it.” She glared at him, eyes frosting over again. “And don’t call me Bessie!”

“Careful Cal.” Evalise smirked.

The bard smiled. “Let’s head topside and have a look at where we are.”

They emerged on deck and saw the captain, Jirelle, speaking to her first mate. They could see land in the not so far off distance. The sun was low and slowly rising indicating it was early morning.

“Well hello. I trust you rested well enough?” She was cordial but her tone held a hint of attitude. “Haven’t seen or heard a word from any of you since early last evening. I suppose you needed a break after your island escapades?” She took a closer look at her guests. For the extra hours she presumed they had laid about doing nothing, the lot of them certainly looked worse for wear. 

“I wish I could say that was the whole of it, Captain.” Cal said. “I can’t rightly explain it but we seem to have fallen victim to a tormented dreamscape. Not sure why anyone would put us through that. I didn’t think we had any enemies, none nearby at least.”  

“It’s not unheard of for the spirits of the sea to accost unwary travelers. Let’s hope whatever caused your nightmares is gone from your lives forever.”

“Thank you, Captain.” Cal bowed.

“Yes, let’s hope.” Arabess emphasized.  

“I suggest you pack your things. We’ll be docking within the hour. Be ready to disembark. I’m told Zylem would like a word with you all. He asks you to meet him for lunch at the Selemchant compound.”

“As you say Captain.” Cal nodded.

“Oh and Cal… Should you or friends ever be in need of some honest work, you’d be welcome to return.”

“Much appreciated Jirelle.” Arabess answered for the group.

The Captain nodded and went back to the business of running her ship.

Below deck again, the four friends gathered their belongings and packed their travel bags. Arabess had just rolled up her bedding and was stuffing it into a backpack that looked much to small for what she was packing.

“How do you fit all that stuff in that little backpack Bess?” An’ric asked.

“Magic.” She answered with a flourish of her fingers.

He laughed. “Great wanna help me pack mine?”

“Nope.” She smirked. “Besides, don’t you monks take a vow of poverty or something? How much stuff can you have?”

“Ha. Ha. Hilarious.” The monk snarked.

“I find her funny.” Cal grinned.

‘Yeah well… you have to.”

Cal looked at Arabess who shrugged a shoulder at him.

“Children.” Evalise cut in. “Just get your crap and let’s go. “I have a weapon to collect.”

“Oh yeah. Let’s not forget about that.” Arabess said with shared excitement for her friend. “And the sooner we hit the city the better I’ll feel about never having to relive that nightmare of an adventure ever again.”

Agreed. Plus we have an appointment to keep, so if everyone’s ready…”

Cal’s companions nodded. 

“Fresh start then my friends!”

They disembarked the ship, saying their goodbyes as they did and melted away into the crowded city.