Stryga Veres held the pressed blue flower close and walked with a spring to her step as she made her way through the campsite that had become the home of Captain Nalindor's company over the last two years.

Many refugees had come to Vulture Woods after escaping Lunis and its surrounding lands over that time. Some found shelter with their camp, other refugees had joined with the camps made up of the other splintered Lunisian armies, none managed to make it inside Evenfall, which had kept its path closed off ever since the fall of Lunis.

Most of the refugees never made it far enough to find one of the camps and fell prey to the monsters lurking among the scarlet woods. Even now, as Stryga walked through the provisional camp, she spotted several destitute faces, eyes filled with the grim acceptance of despair. They had lost everything, their homes, friends, and family.

The sight dimmed Stryga's happiness and she found herself slowing down. There were more sad faces today than usual. Dinner was being served and most were already in line, waiting for the cooks to cut a few slices of roasted bear meat and serve it to them in wooden bowls.

Stryga reminded herself that Sevryn was waiting for the herbs. She needed to find the herbs before nightfall. Reaffirming herself with the need of her task, she turned away from the dinner procession, but her eye caught sight of Lenore.

The old woman was a priestess of Lunae and many a refugee and soldier had sought her council since the fall of their city, in hopes of finding some comfort among all the tragedy. Stryga hadn't dared do the same, but she had come to appreciate the old woman's gruff, but kind attitude. Lenore was wise even for one her age and when it came to decisions for the camp, Nalindor always sought her advice.

But what caught Stryga's attention was the infant in the old woman's arms. "Good evening, Lenore."

Her yellow eyes slowly looked up from the child and took in Stryga. There were dark bags under her eyes and she moved with the heaviness of age. "Ah, Stryga, hello. I heard you were the one who killed that urseid today."

"Not quite. My team helped. I couldn't have done it without them."

"Don't be modest. I've seen your skill with a blade during the mornings when you train. I bet you could kill an urseid without breaking a sweat."

"You flatter me. I'm not what I used to be." Stryga held up the stump where her left hand and half her forearm used to be.

"Maybe, maybe not. In any case, thank you. Fenwyn and I appreciate your help." Lenore held up the little baby girl. Her green, pudgy face was in a pout, as if disagreeing with whatever words the adults were saying that were clearly taking attention away from her.

"Someone doesn't seem happy?" Stryga made little faces at the baby. "I bet she wants to see mom and dad. Where are they anyway?" They usually left Fenwyn in Lenore's care as they went about their duties as soldiers, but they should have been back by now this late in the day.

Lenore's grim silence said more than any words could.

"No…" Stryga whispered.

"They were both assigned to hunting duties today. Hunting teams one and two. Both teams took losses."

"I'm so sorry."

"It's not your fault. This forest is cursed." Lenore glanced around at the ashen trees surrounding their camp, as if some monster were about to jump out and attack them.

"What will happen to Fenwyn?" Stryga asked.

"She isn't the first orphan this forest had made. But she is definitely the youngest… I'll look after her for now. Once the path to Evenfall opens back up, I will take her to the orphanage. This forest is no place for a child."

"You're a good person, Lenore," she said warmly.

"Shut up." She slapped Stryga on the arm. "I am a priestess of Lunae. Just as she is our Mother Moon, it is my duty to be a mother to those in need around me. I am only doing what is expected of me."

"Have you ever had any children of your own?"

"No. Our oaths to Lunae require us to give up the possibility of having our own families. We dedicate our entire selves to her divine lunar eminence."

"I'm sorry."

"There is nothing to apologize for. I am honored to serve. It is the way of things."

"Still, it seems… lonely."

"We have our goddess, we need nothing more."

"But you are the only priestess in the camp..."

"I do not expect a vampire to understand. I have served Lunae my entire life and I will gladly continue to do so."

"Forgive me, I misspoke." She bowed her head.

"Take care of yourself, Blue Rose." Lenore carried the infant away.

Stryga grimaced once the old woman had left. She regretted speaking out of turn. Stryga had met Lunae and felt the goddess's wrath, but that did not mean others felt the same way about the Watcher.

Stryga had always felt different. A vampire-drow hybrid in a House full of vampires. Her surname had carried weight that had dissuaded others from bothering her, but she could still always feel their eyes watching, judging. But here, her last name was a stigma, and her blue skin and fangs only marked her as different. Any mistake she made here would be judged all the more harshly.

The truth was that Stryga was greatly responsible for their current situation. Lunis was gone and their people had lost everything. And now, what little remained of the goblins were dying out in the woods, hunting for food. Stryga thought of Sevryn's suggestion. Perhaps, she should take over the training of all the hunting teams. If she could teach them, then maybe they could survive out there in the woods. The only question was, would they even listen to her in the first place?

As the sun began to dip below the horizon, Stryga pushed the question to the back of her mind. A contemplation for another time. She needed to get those herbs.

~~~

It didn't take long for Stryga to find the herbs she needed. There was a grove full of herbs and roots not too far from the camp, near a pond. She had already collected seven of the eight plants she needed, save for a yellow flower with flecks of dark green interspersed between the petals.

She could have sworn she had seen some a few days ago, but now, no matter where she looked, she couldn't find it. The sun was already below the horizon and the last traces of light were fading away. "Where is it?" she muttered in frustration and scanned around the grove, hoping for a small miracle.

"Looking for this?"

Stryga stiffened in fear as the melodic voice sent a shiver down her spine. Slowly, she turned around and saw a pale youth, sitting cross-legged on a small rock protruding above the pond's surface. She didn't recognize his face, but those pale purple eyes she'd never forget.

"Stjerne," she whispered.

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

"Is this not what you need?" He held up a handful of the yellow flowers.

She nodded warily.

"Well, take it." He gestured the flowers towards her.

She swallowed, slowly reached out, and grabbed the flowers, before quickly pulling back as if his touch might burn her.

"It's good to see you, too," he said.

"What are you doing here?" she finally worked up the courage to ask.

"I'm not going to kill you if that's what you're worried about," he said flatly. "I'm simply checking up on you. Like I said before, I'm betting on you."

"To do what exactly? You never told me."

"To survive."

"And do what?"

"My, you're full of questions tonight, aren't you?"

"Only if it does not bother you. If not, I'll hold my tongue." The last thing she wanted was to offend a god. She had done so already and it had cost her everything.

"No. No, don't do that. Relax. I rather enjoy conversation, at least with those I'm interested in. To answer your question, I need your bloodline to continue."

"Yes, so that one day when you come back, my descendant's life will be forfeit, I remember. But what do you want with them?"

He cocked his head to the side, so much so that it reminded her of an owl. "Does it matter? You already made the deal. I could simply kill that descendant one day and you'd have no say in the matter. You struck a divine bargain, remember?"

"I thought you said you'd answer my questions?" she said slowly, accepting the risk that her words might annoy him. If they did, she wouldn't ask another question.

He cracked a smile. "Not what I said, but I suppose it could be inferred. She'll help me save the world, but there is a good chance she'll die in the process. Satisfied?"

Stryga felt her face grow pale, but she pushed on. "So you need a woman?"

"What I need is a perfected one. The woman is simply a potential way to get there."

"What is a perfected one?"

"Perhaps one day you'll live to see it. Or perhaps not. Your species live such short lives."

Among the Ebon kin, none lived longer than the vampires; few among the other Realms' kindred could match their lifespan, either. The idea that someone thought their lives short, felt ludicrous, if not outright insulting. And yet, there was no such malice behind Stjerne's eyes.

His eyes were a swirl of purple light that seemed to lull her into a dream. She could practically fall and—

"Focus," he snapped his fingers and brought her back.

"Sorry, I— what was that?"

"Don't stare too long. My eyes aren't meant to be gazed upon by mortals."

"Oh. I, uh, okay." She nodded slowly, somewhat dazed. But this time, she made sure to keep her eyes downwards.

"So, any more questions for me?"

"You don't mind?"

He laughed. "Not at all. I enjoy the conversation. I have very few interesting ones these days. I'm quite busy. Being here is like a break of sorts. Ask me whatever you like, though I can't promise you'll like my answers."

Stryga didn't know if she could believe him and had a gut feeling that he was here for more than just conversation. He was up to something, but she didn't have the luxury of knowing what that might be. So, instead, she did the only thing she could. "Who was it that took Gwyn?"

"The Gale girl?"

"Yes. Who took her?"

"That would be my little sister, Fear."

"Her name is Fear?"

"As is her nature. It is a part of her, as much as her flesh and bones."

"And who were the others at the hot springs?"

"My siblings. Agony and Desolation."

"What sort of names are those…?" she muttered.

"Primordial ones. Gifted to us by our mother, the soul of this world," his words took on a solemn tone.

"And your name is Stjerne?"

"I have many names. But the one my mother gave me is Death."

Stryga felt her stomach turn. The thought of dying tonight no longer felt like such a far-off possibility.

He noticed the worry in her eyes and gave a disarming smile, "You may call me Stjerne. It is what your paternal ancestors called me when they first set their eyes upon my visage."

"My lord Stjerne," she said carefully, "if I may ask, what has happened to Gwyn? Is she… does she still live?"

Stjerne closed his eyes for a long moment. "Yes, she lives still."

"Is she alright? Is she hurt?"

"I do not know. Fear drags her toys somewhere deep and far away, where no one can steal them. I blame the habit on Agony."

"Are you saying Gwyn is a toy?"

"Gwyn's life belongs to my sister. Gwyn is whatever Fear says she is. Whether that is dead or a toy, neither of us has a say in it." Stjerne noticed her clenched fists, "You disagree?"

Stryga released her clenched fists and exhaled deeply. "...We are not toys to be played with by gods. We are people, not objects."

"A toy isn't so bad, they can be cared for, protected. The right object can hold more value than the right person. How many have been killed in pursuit of your precious Krikolm over the centuries?"

"Many, people are greedy. That doesn't invalidate my point."

"True, but even among people who aren't greedy, there are those who would die for an object, even a small one." He pinched his fingers together. "People aren't as valuable as you think."

"Are you implying life is cheap?"

"Life is cheap, Stryga."

"Is that so?" She found herself holding back a scoff. He reminded her of so many arrogant nobles from back home. The kind that sent thousands of soldiers to die on their behalf to destroy a city full of innocent goblins. He didn't care what happened to those at the bottom, he had never seen what it felt like to struggle to survive. Neither had she, until recently. He was just a god, playing with the lives of mortals.

Stjerne stared at her in silence and she suddenly felt exposed as if he could somehow read her thoughts.

"People will kill each other over anything, even a scrap of bread. You should have realized that by now, general." Stjerne held his hand over the pond from where he sat on the rock and wiggled his fingers as if manipulating the strings of a puppet. A glob of water arose and formed into the shape of a loaf of bread. "We had very little growing up. The world was not as it is now, or what it was before then. At the time, the land had been— fractured. Whether it was from the fiery blood of the earth splitting open, the poison miasma seeping into the air, the destruction of food leading to starvation, or what desperate people always do when they have nothing, the end result was the same; countless people dying.

"The lucky ones were those who died in the initial shockwaves of space ripping open as the world fell apart in ten jagged splinters. But we few, the children of a Primordial, were immortal. Even when hunger ate at us, even when thirst threatened to drown us, we did not die."

As Stjerne spoke, Stryga's eyebrows furrowed, until finally a horrible thought of realization struck her. "You were born in the Sundering Age…?" If that was true, then he was as old as the Realms themselves.

His lips curled in a slight, bittersweet smile. "I was born the day the world was Sundered. My siblings were still in the womb. They were born a few months later, all to different mothers who died not long after, but we were each infused with a fragment of our true mother on that fateful Sundered day.

"The five of us were scattered across the Realms. Hope and I found each other first, or rather, she found me. Somehow, we knew, the moment we laid eyes on one another, we knew. She was a part of me, just as I was a part of her."

"Hope?" It was the first time Stryga had heard the name.

"The only other born on the same day as I. We were four years old when we met. We had no one but each other. Our powers were only beginning to develop, but Hope somehow managed to lead us to the others not long after. Agony was relieved to not be alone. Des was skeptical, uncertain, as if having a family was too good to be true.

"And Fear, well, she was the most sensitive of us. She was sweet, kind, and she was scared at the sight of all that ruin and death. The people that were left turned on each other, blaming my kind for what had happened. Dragons hunting down and massacring what remained of my kind didn't help." Stjerne sighed, "All those things haunted Fear for a long time. She bore it quietly, but it affected her more deeply than we realized— until eventually, it became a part of her."

Stjerne wiggled his fingers and the loaf of bread turned into a little girl made of water who danced to an invisible tune. "At the time, I understood so little, I just wanted to cheer her up, so I made my sister a doll from what bits and pieces I could find in the remains of the land you now call the Ashen Realm. I wasn't very good with my hands, I was only six. The doll was misshapen, crude, really.

"But Fear cherished it, more than anything. She didn't let anyone touch it, not even when Agony asked to play with the doll. One day, when Fear was sleeping, Agony borrowed the doll just for a little bit. Unfortunately, Agony's abilities were beginning to manifest, and her power responded to her emotions. She accidentally incinerated the doll. It could have happened to any one of us, but it happened to her."

Stjerne snapped his fingers and the watery sprite fell back into the pond. "Agony was mortified. It made no difference. Fear was heartbroken. I still remember holding Fear as she cried herself to sleep that night. She didn't speak for weeks after that; she only held my hand. You see, when you have so little, you realize that an object, even a small one, can mean the whole world to you." He glanced pointedly at the pressed blue flower hanging from Stryga's pocket.

Without realizing it, she had placed her hand over the flower protectively.

"Ever since then, Fear has kept her toys away from others. You will never see Gwyn Gale again, I doubt any of us will," Stjerne said.

"Then how do you know she's alive?"

"Because I know she's not dead."

"...What does your sister want with her?"

"What indeed?" he mused.

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