Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The thunder of the drum woke Archie, forcing him to put his head under his pillow. They may have put him in a stone prison with a stack of hay and a bucket, but at least they had let Blanche and Barley come by with a pillow and a stack of blankets.

The Bhantla's Chefs had fed them a horrible porridge, red and sticky, that seemed to seep out of Archie's stomach and infect the rest of his body. His essence was a maelstrom of innumerable and uncontrollable currents.

He fell back into a troubled sleep, his dreams placing him on the edge of Sain. A tree, golden and ethereal, rose from the center of the town, high, high into the air, its yellow leaves darker than its trunk and touching the sky.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The sun began to set over Sain, setting the sky ablaze in orange and purple. The trunk of the tree cast a soft, golden light down on the area around the town. The ramshackle and sparse stone walls had been upgraded, the gaps filled with wooden structures and towers that looked in, not out.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The guards waved Archie through the gate. They would let him enter, but they would not let him leave. Inside the walls, more people occupied Sain than had ever before. Archie felt a faint happiness. The village had been restored.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He couldn't make out the faces of anyone, but he could feel Blanche's presence. As he walked toward the tree, he felt her more. He looked up at the top of the tree and felt her there too. As he walked, a fire walked alongside him, consuming building after building.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

He reached the center of the town, looking in awe at the tree trunk that stood wider than any building in Sain. At the base of the tree, Archie's mother waited, dressed all in white. The gold glow of the trunk caught her hair, making her seem angelic. But she didn't wait for Archie.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nori walked out of the raging fire covered in blood and carrying a bucket of liquid. She ignored Archie, walking straight to Adeline, who smiled and wiped the blood from Nori's face. Nori dumped the bucket of blood onto the soil, watering the tree.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Behind him, Archie heard thousands of screams coalesce into a single piercing note. The wind carried it up the tree, the shrill whistle joining the chirping of birds amongst the clouds. Archie felt the fire catch up to him, licking at his heels. But he couldn't look back. He watched Nori fall to her knees, throw her head back, and try to scream, but the wind had already come and gone, taking her voice with it. No one would hear her suffering. The flames took Archie as he woke up.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Archie sat up and looked for Nori, finding her across the bars of their prison cells. She laid there, unmoving, and for a moment, Archie thought something terrible had happened.

"Nori?"

"I'm awake," she answered, still laying down. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah. Just…don't like jails much. You?"

"Didn't sleep much."

Archie rubbed a sore spot behind his shoulder. "Aside from that?"

"Oh, you know," she stated plainly. "Just wondering what my happiness is worth."

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Archie wondered the same as he tried to make sense of his dream. He walked to the high, barred window in his cell, placing the sound of the drum as coming from the courtyard of the temple. He vowed to speak his mind to whoever kept making that godforsaken noise so early in the morning. But that would have to wait.

Would Sain have to wait as well? If Archie had to choose between Nori and Sain, which would he pick? Which was the right choice? The moral choice? The objective choice? And which choice was best for him?

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

A familiar vision took him. He saw a new Sain. Fields of bountiful crops. A hundred Chefs working in the village. Thousands upon thousands upon thousands of residents that were happy to call it home. A row of restaurants that rivalled even Ambrosia City. And at the core of it all, Petrichor, a legendary restaurant of old that operated at new heights.

And then he thought of his time at the Academy, seeing Nori in all of his memories. He couldn't imagine them without her. He didn't want to think about what it would feel like to go back without her. He couldn't stand to think about what her life would be like back in Uroko. She'd be miserable. Or worse yet, she would be changed. The world would be without the Nori he knew, and he didn't want to live in that world.

Something about the dream of the ethereal golden tree and the burning village and the suffering Nori stuck in his mind. Had it been a nightmare, or had it been a prophecy? The more Archie thought about it, the more he took it as a sign that his two desires could not coexist. Choosing one would forsake the other.

As his mind wrestled, his heart spoke.

"It's worth everything to me."

The drumming got closer.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

Nori did not respond. She just pulled her blanket over her. Archie didn't need to look to know that she was hiding her tears. He had spoken the truth, but he didn't dare to say more. Maybe he wouldn't have to choose. And maybe, when faced with that impossible choice, he would change his mind.

Somehow, despite his poor sleep and the stuffy cell and the dim light and the beating drum, he had an idea.

"If you have to go, I'll go with you."

A little whimper of a cry escaped from Nori's blanket. "Archie…"

The drum got louder, coming from just outside the prison.

Thump. Thump. Thump. Thump.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

The door opened, a Red Jacket stepping through with a pitcher as another beat the drum outside.

"The ritual is beginning," he said. "Empty your cups."

Archie drank the last of his water. Nori unscrambled herself from her blanket, using it to wipe her cheeks as she dumped her cup on the ground. The Red Jacket poured a thick red liquid into each of their cups.

"What is this?" Archie asked.

"Wine. For the ritual. Drink."

Archie swirled his wine around the cup, the red liquid sticking to the sides. He stuck his finger in and felt an intense essence. The Bhantla. A sludgy drop of red stuck to his finger as he pulled it out.

"Drink," the Red Jacket commanded, his voice echoing in the tiny prison hall.

Be cleansed or be killed.

Archie tilted the cup up, the liquid rolling—not pouring—into his mouth. He resisted the urge to chew at the thickness as it tickled the back of his throat, making him gag. As he swallowed, the drums quickened.

Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Thump.

The Red Jacket took them outside, the sun burning Archie's eyes as he adjusted to its brightness. He had been tricked by the darkness of the prison into thinking that it was morning, but the sun had already peaked.

From the top of the village, he could see for miles around. He looked at the mountains, their tips covered by dark clouds. He watched farmers work in the field and herds of goats and yaks grazing in the valley. Eagles and foxes hunted marmots and field mice. As his eyes followed an eagle, he thought he spotted a herd of elk grazing at the edge of the forest. Once the eagle flew out of sight, he looked back at the elk, but they had gone back into the forest.

For as much life as there was out in the fields, there was much more in the village. People packed the main street with pinwheels and colored streamers and strings woven through feathers. The endless streetside tables holding heaps of bread reminded Archie of the Festival of Ambrosia, the Bhantla's Chefs carrying an entire roasted pig on a stick through the street.

Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Thump.

Under the watchful eye of the Red Jacket, Archie and Nori were allowed to rejoin their friends in the street. Barley introduced an endless number of siblings to Archie, their names coming as quickly as the drum, passing by in a rattling blur. Archie couldn't focus on anything except the rhythm and his concern for his friend.

"Are you doing okay?" Archie yelled over the sound.

"Yeah," Barley answered. "It's been good. For the most part."

A voice rang out from the top of the street. "Hala Bhasantla!"

As Archie turned to see the albino Black Jacket lead the chant, the rest of the crowd, hundreds of people, chanted all at once in a deafening echo. "Hala Bhasantla!"

The Bhantla stood at the entrance to the temple, raised over the rest of the village. People pushed each other aside to see her as others poured thick red wine. The Bhantla raised a hand, quieting everyone but the drummers. And then she yelled, the honey in her voice having been burnt out and replaced by a raspiness that rattled Archie's bones with each syllable.

"The wendigo is among us! It resides in our desires. Our greed. Our Gluttony."

Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Thump.

"We see when the wendigo takes control. Their bodies warp. The most foul fragments of their soul sharpen to a point and carve out the rest. But what we don't see is that this process begins long, long before these obvious signs. Where there is a corrupting desire, there is a corrupted soul!"

Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Thump.

"Let us purge these residuals from our spirits!"

"Hala Bhasante!" the Black Jacket yelled.

"Hala Bhasante!" the crowd cheered as applause rippled through the village. Nori grabbed onto Archie's arm to steady him. He hadn't even realized how badly he had been swaying.

The pitchers of wine continued to work their way through the crowd, pouring into every cup—even of those who initially refused. Archie looked at his cup with repulsion.

"Drink! Drink and feel the cleansing of your souls!"

Thump. Thumpthumpthump. Thump.

The Bhantla's Chefs carried burning incense through the crowd, covering the street in a thin red fog. Its touch made Archie's scar tingle.

"Drink!" the Bhantla commanded from high above.

Nori knocked Archie's cup with her own. "Bottoms up," she said. She tried on a familiar smile, but her nerves shone through. As he swallowed, someone somewhere in the village started clashing cymbals together. From the other side of the village, the sound of tambourine bells joined the cacophony.

Chchchthump. Chthumpchthumpchthump. Chchchthump.

Villagers with their own hand drums walked through the street as they added to the music. There was no melody, only rhythm—a rhythm that seemed to infect the villagers one by one as they started to dance, hopping on one foot and throwing their hands into the air.

Hawthorn danced freely. Blanche bounced her weight from one foot to the other as she wiped the muddy red liquid from the corner of her mouth. Sutton rocked his head. Barley put his kid sister on his feet and started stomping around.

Somehow, everyone seemed to enjoy the clashing noise. Archie and Nori looked at each other, neither feeling the rhythm. He only felt a headache, and judging by the way Nori raised her hand to her temple, so did she.

The Bhantla's Chefs danced through the streets with ritualistic items. They clinked pairs of knives together over the villagers' heads. They whipped the faces of the villagers with the white flowers of a leafy magnolia branch. They carried rings with bells and ribbons that they shook in the villagers' faces.

They gathered in front of a woman that wept mournfully and a baby that roared and cried, agitating her with their ritual. She cried and covered her baby, but the Chefs did not relent.

"Who are they?" Archie asked.

"The wife and child," a stranger answered. "The boy's not even two and now this happens to his father…"

Archie thought of what would happen if the exorcism failed. He thought of a mother and son having to continue their lives without the father. He thought of how that would feel for him. His heart hurt nearly as much as his ears.

Chchchthump. Chthumpchthumpchthump. Chchchthump.

The sound bombarded Archie. His head pulsed with each beat of the drum. He felt an empty tingle in the scar on his leg. The colors of the crowd bled together and swirled around him. The wine dissolved in his stomach and spread, making his own body feel foreign to him.

A Purple Jacket wiggled his way through the crowd and found Nori, pushing her away from Archie. He jangled his ring of bells in her face, causing her to squirm. Her head rolled from one shoulder to the other as her discomfort intensified.

Archie thought of going to her defense, but his legs wouldn't move. Like they belonged to someone else. With tremendous effort, he took a step toward Nori.

A Red Jacket took notice. He came at Archie with a white hand fan, shaking it high in the air before bringing down a gust of wind on Archie.

Chchchthump. Chthumpchthumpchthump. Chchchthump.

The wind stung Archie, but not as much as the unknown spice that the Chef threw in his face a moment later. As Archie recoiled and brushed at his nose, he felt the sensation of his body invert. His scarred leg no longer felt empty. It was the only thing that felt alive. A wailing trumpet sent a piercing sensation through his numbed body, entering his ear and making its way down to his leg.

He saw Nori nearly faint and grab onto others for support. The Purple Jacket moved on from Nori and approached Archie, pulling out two long ceremonial knives. Archie felt the urge to lunge at him and take the knives. To sink them into the soft flesh of his neck. But something inside him—something deep and pure—held him in place.

Chchchthump. Chthumpchthumpchthump. Chchchthump.

The knives clanged together next to Archie's ear. The reverberance made his muscles tense. Made him squirm. The hand fan came down again, the air like acid to Archie's skin. He convulsed, nearly falling to the ground. He completely disconnected from his own essence.

A third Chef emerged from the crowd. Archie raged against the constraints of his own body. He wanted to break free. To shed his skin. To smash the Chef's head against the stone walls of the buildings that surrounded them. She would kill him, he knew it. He imagined a dozen ways to kill her first—none of which involved essence.

And then she dipped her fingers into the wine and flicked it in Archie's face. His essence roared back to life. It started in his chest, extending through his body with each beat of his heart. He felt the familiar sensation of his scar blocking the flow of essence. One of the Chefs clanged his knives together again. Archie was struck with the vision of the sound penetrating his scar like an arrow, coming clean out the other side. His essence poured into the new passageway, soaking into the rest of his scar. The essence burned as it touched places that had been undisturbed for nearly a year.

But Archie didn't fight to subdue the pain. He welcomed it. Embraced it. A flame cleansing the rot.

He blacked out, but he still heard the music.

Chchchthump. Chthumpchthumpchthump. Chchchthump.

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