Dad’s hands were shaking.

  I didn’t blame him. My ankle had been bandaged and healed, and I’d gotten safely back home, but I still couldn’t unsee what his scythe had done.

  Neither could he.

  Haddy, fortunately, had been too focused on helping me to see it. Lucky her. I tried to put it out of my mind, and I think I had more success than Dad did.

  “Honey… that talent of yours,” he said softly. Questioningly.

  He paused to take a shaky drink of the tea Mom had made for him.

  “It’s best you don’t ask, Joe,” Mom said as she rubbed his back from behind the chair.

  He turned to look up at her, then back to me. He looked once more at the eerily clean scythe on the table and shuddered before meeting Mom’s gaze once more.

  He nodded, and she smiled. So did he. A whole conversation without a single word spoken.

  “Well done,” he said as he turned back to me. “It… was exactly what we needed.”

  “That’s what I do!” My voice cracked. What came out was a leaky, insincere sort of cheer. I felt cold. I wasn’t sure I’d ever feel warm again.

  What Dad’s scythe could do wasn’t in the realm of elite talents. It actually made me wonder if I shouldn’t be significantly more circumspect with who I gave my crafts to. The hat might already be out of the bag on that one, though. How many more items had I already given out? Were they all equally sinister and devastating? I… didn’t think so. Some people just needed protection. That surely wouldn’t entail anything like what the scythe had done, right?

  But… well. I’d been prioritizing weapons.

  With a legendary talent.

  God, I was an idiot.

  Thankfully, most of the town was attributing it to a last-minute upgrade of his talent instead of the scythe, and nobody was questioning it. Everyone was just thankful they were alive.

  There had been subsequent attacks on all of the roads into town, and quite a few attempts to sneak in elsewhere. None had succeeded.

  I wasn’t sure there would be another large attack either. For every troll and goblin that had died beneath Dad’s scythe, there had been at least one who had seen what he’d done and escaped.

  Trolls didn’t run. As far as most of the veterans knew, they didn’t actually experience fear.

  That was clearly false.

  Even I was a little afraid of Dad after what I’d seen him do. Only a little though. He was my Dad. I loved him and would always trust him. That didn’t mean I wanted to put an atom bomb in his hands.

  “I think I’m going to head back to the bar, if that’s okay?” I asked.

  “Probably for the best. Find Ilhadira and Reid,” Mom said.

  I nodded. There were more words she wanted to say there. Consolations, and congratulations, and admonishments. Still, maybe they didn’t need to be said.

  She knew it was only chance that I’d been there during the attack. She knew I fled as soon as I could. She knew I was as safe as I could be, and she knew Stoutgruff was okay. What more was there to say?

  “I love you, Onion,” Dad said.

  I chuckled. “Love you guys, too.”

  I stepped out the door and began walking towards the bar, thankful for the minimal pain Normuran’s healing magic had made possible. On Earth, I’d have still been struggling to walk.

  Was that it then? The attack had come and gone. We’d survived. We’d won even. So… why did it feel like a loss?

  Nobody greeted me beyond giving shallow nods as I made my way to the bar. I was thankful. I didn’t really feel up to talking much. I couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t over yet.

  Fortunately, everyone else agreed. Patrols were still up, and if anything, Dad’s miraculous save had shown everyone how unprepared we were.

  We’d been lucky, and everyone knew it.

  If you discover this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen. Please report the violation.

  A short walk later, I stepped into the bar and winced at the smell. It wasn’t nearly as rancid as the pepper paste, but the bar had become an impromptu first aid station for anyone who had been wounded.

  Right. This was why it felt like a loss.

  “Mera, oh, wonderful! Could you please take this to Norman? The poor man is going to work himself into a coma,” Edra said as she approached me. “After that, you need to rest! That ankle isn’t going to heal itself! Your spot on the stage is ready if you’d like!”

  “Hello to you too, Edra,” I said with a smile to show there was no heat in the barb.

  “You’re not too old for me to dunk you in a tub, young lady. Git!” she said fondly.

  I laughed and took the tray without further complaint before I headed off to where Normuran was wielding his green healing magic on a patient's forehead.

  “Hey,” I said, quietly grabbing his attention.

  He glanced at me and the small tray with the bowl of soup. His eyes shimmered. He nodded toward a nearby table before returning his full focus to the stream of green magic flowing into the man’s headwound.

  His weirdass need bubble’s requirements all went down by one. The physical ones, anyway.

  Wonderful. Now, someone would only have to kill eight bats for their eyes instead of nine. Weirdass need bubble. I knew I was repeating myself in my own head, but it needed to be said. I still had a long way to go with that one. Still…

  I hoped he enjoyed his soup.

  I sat down on a chair on the stage. It obviously wasn’t an actual stage. Just another of the many round tables in the area that was given a bit of space. I’d stood on it once or twice while telling a story, and Edra had christened it my stage ever since.

  I thought of telling a story, but I just didn’t really have any good ones for this. War stories, happy stories… it just didn’t feel like a good time to create fiction when there was so much real hurting all gathered here.

  No one was happy, and many would probably resent a feel-good tale. Not my usual clientele, certainly. Some were crying. There were kids here who looked lost and afraid, buoyed only slightly by the presence of others who hadn’t lost nearly so much, and having some food in their stomachs.

  They needed uplifting. They didn’t need to drown in the drama of someone else. I could read the room.

  So I began to sing.

  It wasn’t a happy tune, but it was a hopeful one. Lyrics from an artist April had loved, whose name I had never remembered. The tune stayed with me, though. It was a sea shanty about a ship that sank, and the men who brought it back.

  I wasn’t the greatest singer, and the original had been sung by a man, but it did seem to improve the mood of the room. Some smiles wandered across wounded men’s faces as I let the song swell.

  By the time the chorus came around again, a few people were singing with me. None exuberantly. None with joy, but some with at least a slightly lighter spirit.

  Normuran was among them, mumbling the tune as he worked himself to the bone. I knew he must be guzzling down Edra’s mana potions to still be at it so long after this whole mess had started, but it was nice to finally see him pause and eat a little soup.

  Sweeping my gaze across the weary people as I finished the tune, I found Reid standing in the doorway, staring at me with a sharp intensity.

  Just behind him, Korlotom stepped in carrying a heavily wounded Travis.

  I was shocked at his appearance. It seemed like he’d been swimming in the blood of trolls and goblins both. He did not look like he would benefit from a story or food. Even a drink probably wouldn’t help. No. What he needed was sleep. I was a little surprised they hadn’t brought him to his home, but I supposed they didn’t know if he could wait for Normuran’s attention.

  If my guess was correct, he probably needed to cry on someone’s shoulder, too. He looked like a wreck.

  I stood and began to walk towards him, but Edra wagged a finger at me in warning, before looking to Reid.

  I watched the boy’s eyes widen as he noticed my bandaged ankle, and he strode up to my table with purpose.

  “You got hurt!” He exclaimed, worriedly.

  “I noticed,” I joked.

  He scowled. “How!? You weren’t supposed to be near the camps, and I know none of the trolls made it to town!”

  I sighed. “Bad luck. Terrible luck, actually. I was delivering soup when the main attack happened on the east end. The cart broke a wheel, and then I managed to roll an ankle after I got Stoutgruff free.”

  ‘Before I watched my dad… harvest a horde of fucking trolls.’ I thought, feeling my gorge rise.

  “Oh… I’m… I’m sorry. Does it hurt? Can I–?”

  “I’m fine, Reid. Normuran already saw to me,” I said, gently laying a hand on his arm. “I heard you were in that attack, too. Quite the marksman, they say.”

  “I think that’s more down to this bow you gave me than anything I could do,” he said. “I… wanted to talk to you about that.”

  “Later,” I said somberly. I had a sneaking suspicion I knew whose arrows had been behaving more like cannonballs.

  “Okay.”

  We trailed off into an awkward silence as he sat down next to me.

  “I’m sorry you got hurt, but I’m also really… really glad you’re okay,” he fumbled, oddly.

  “R-right back at’cha…” I blushed, noticing that he’d grabbed my hand, though I wasn’t quite certain he’d picked up on that.

  I didn’t pull away.

  “Did you like the song?”

  He laughed suddenly. It was sharper than it used to be. Just a little.

  “Of course I did. It just brings up more questions, though… Like… how could men dive sixty feet, let alone pull up a boat with strings? Some talent?”

  “Want me to tell you about them?”

  He grinned, just a little.

  If anyone else at the bar was still watching us, for once, they were courteous enough not to say anything as I began telling him about suits that were air-tight and steel cables strong enough to lift entire ships from the sea.

  All fiction, of course. All the makings of a girl’s imagination. Nothing more. After all, I’d never even seen the ocean.

  As a treat, you'll be getting a special map chapter today. I just used an online map maker to make it so nothing major or impressive, but I figured some of you might like a view of Pemolar's Hill, as well as a wider view of the surrounding countries.

  MB