Qapla - 18th Harvestwatch 1383
Wolvsbane, Trifectorate Confederacy
"The strong are never free. Each victory leaves a scar that does not heal, only hardens. The gods give us strength not as a gift, but as a test. To see how long we can hold the blade before it cuts our own hands."
- Bishop of the Concordant Church
I ran the city streets before dawn, my boots striking the cobblestones in rhythm with my breath. The air was sharp, clean, and cold enough to bite at my lungs. I welcomed the ache in my legs, the soreness from the past few days of drills. Pain was easier to carry than memory.
But memory has a way of keeping pace.
In the dream, I was back with them. My old unit of expeditionaries. The fire crackled, laughter carried, and for a moment it was as if nothing had changed. She was there, our commander. Human with short dark hair, arms crossed, that knowing smirk tugging at her lips.
"Qapla," she said, leaning toward me, "after all these years, your cooking is still terrible."
I barked a laugh. "Terrible? It's efficient. It fills the stomach and keeps us moving. That's all a soldier needs."
"Efficient?" She wrinkled her nose. "You could boil leather and call it efficient. Food should bring comfort. You've never understood that."
She let out a light refreshing laugh. I loved the way she laughed.
"I understand it well enough," I shot back, smiling despite myself. "But comfort slows you down. On the march, it's better to eat quick and keep moving."
She shook her head, chuckling with the others. For a heartbeat, it felt real again—the warmth, the camaraderie. Then her eyes met mine, and the firelight shifted into something colder.
Her smile faded.
"Tell me, Qapla," she asked quietly, "why did you leave us? Why did you run?"
The laughter died in an instant. The fire hissed in my ears. The smell of burnt flesh filled my nose.
I woke up before I could answer.
When I finally got back to the house, the air inside was still heavy with sleep. The broken table stood there, patched back together somehow. Last night we had worn ourselves out trying outthink any potential doppelgangers.
Annalise had decided to prove her plan of using a signal by doing a backflip and ended up driving herself and half the soup straight through the table. As I got closer, I realized the wood merged seamlessly where a crack once was. Magic. I still didn't get how it worked, but it was useful. It was able to most anything, but magic users had three ways of doing it: studying runes to contort mana to their will, making a deal a higher power for magic, or in rare cases born with the ability to use mana to their will.
Cokraden, the old bastard who taught me to cook fell into the last category. I brushed away the memory of that cowardly, and stupid kobold who saved me, the cracking of fire still hissing as I reached into the pantry.. The sizzle of bacon filled the little kitchen, soon joined by the sharp crack of eggs against the pan. A dash of spice, a quick stir of the wrist, nothing fancy. It wasn't much, but it was enough.
Nox was the first to stumble in, rubbing her eyes, tail dragging lazily behind her. She dropped into a chair without a word, muttered something about the smell and let her head rest against the table. A few minutes later Annalise dragged herself in, hair tangled, grin still half-dreaming. I left them with their plates and went to wake Velyan. She had a tendency to sleep in more than should be legally allowed.
She answered the door slowly, still wrapped in soft linen, her short hair down framing her beautiful hazel eyes still hazy from sleep. For a heartbeat, I froze. She looked so much like her, my old commander. The same steady brown eyed gaze, the same curve of the jaw. Almost a perfect match.
I cleared my throat and forced a smile. "Breakfast is ready. If you don't hurry, Annalise is going eat it all."
Velyan let out a low yawn as she stretched, her movements almost catlike, slow and loose. Her voice was husky, still half-trapped by dreams, "I'll be down there in a second, I need to get dressed."
"Where were you yesterday?" I asked as she leaned against the doorway. The thin linen shirt was too large for her, hanging loose about her well-endowed frame. I kept my gaze on her eyes, anywhere else was dangerous.
"I went to go find a teacher. It took longer than I thought." She said.
"Glad you made it back safely." I replied turning away, "I'll see you downstairs."
I walked into the kitchen, where the smell of bacon and spice clung thick in the air. Annalise was talking to Nox, who sat guarding her cup of coffee.
"I'm telling you; the table had it coming. One backflip, that's all it took. The table just… couldn't handle my grace."
Nox, tail flicking lazily behind her chair, arched a dark brow. "Grace? Looked like you were attempting to swat a fly with your forehead."
I let out a chuckle as I sat down. At least everyone was loosening up. I took my first bite and found it was delicious. She taught me well.
"Did we ever decide on a password or some signal we use in case we think someone is a doppelganger?" I asked between bites.
"I think we decided on a backflip." Annalise said while sipping at her coffee. She did not need that. "Did I tell you that Adrastos and I found a blacksmith yesterday?"
"No, you failed to mention that." Nox replied, her voice dry. "You were busy recounting you vast and grand adventures at the granary."
I chuckled. "How many doppelgangers did she catch again? Was it four? Three?"
"I think it was six." Nox said, a small smile tugging at her lips.
"I thought it was one." Velyan's soft voice called from the stairwell as she came down.
Annalise groaned and dropped her face into her hands. "It was just one. I got excited when I told the story, all right?"
I hummed my amusement as I served Velyan a plate. She sat with an unhurried grace, her voice gentle as she asked, "Did you and Adrastos end up finding that blacksmith?"
"Yes, actually. He was a Pangolian called Go-Go. He had a good stock, but all of it came with a heavy price."
I frowned into my food. "We were paid with this house for dealing with those mirror-skins. Helena gave us more than our share then. I'm not sure we should go begging for money to buy gear."
"Not begging." Nox cut in as she reached into her satchel, producing a rolled parchment and spreading it across the table with care. "Dalia and Aarson are building something of a system. Like a bounty board, but for helping around the city instead of chasing fugitives. I picked this one because it paid the most and it was close to home."
"Where is it?" Annalise asked, brightening at once.
"The sewers." Nox answered flatly.
Annalise groaned, and Velyan's nose wrinkled in sympathy. No wonder it paid well.
"All we have to do is investigate." Nox continued, her voice practical as she unfurled the parchment fully. "If we encounter any creatures that don't belong down there, we eliminate them. We keep whatever spoils we find, and there is extra pay for eliminating anything unwanted."
The paper promised twenty crowns for combing through the sewers. A fair start, though hardly enough to outfit us with the gear we needed. Still, better than nothing.
I looked around the table, meeting each pair of eyes in turn, "Listen. We are shaping into something solid. Two strong fighters, an archer, a magic user, and a healer. All the pieces are here, but what we lack is practice. Fighting together as one. The last skirmish was messy, and messiness will get us killed if worse comes. Do we agree?"
The rest exchanged glances before nodding.
"Where is Adrastos?" Velyan asked.
"He went to go study potions under Humperdink this morning." Annalise answered.
"That is unfortunate," I replied as I pushed myself away from the table. "But potions are vital. I am ready when you all are. Meet here in an hour and we will set off."
"Yes, sir!" Annalise saluted with a mock solemnity before bounding upstairs with a laugh. Nox shot me a lingering look before she followed, her tail swaying as she climbed the steps. Leaving just me and Velyan alone.
The kitchen settled into stillness, morning light cascading across Velyan as she sat eating. Her gase was steady, brown and sharp; it pressed into me in way that felt too familiar. Too close to her. I tried to meet it, but it was like staring into a blade's edge.
"You think we are ready for the sewers?" She asked finally, her voice low and husky, still carrying the morning's softness, though her eyes gave nothing away.
"Ready enough," I said, forcing my tone to stay even. "Messy or not, we fought together and survived. That counts for something."
Her head tilted slightly, a strand of hair falling across her cheek. "Survival is not the same as being ready."
The words hit harder than they should have. I felt the weight of them sink, pulling at emotions I had not spoken aloud in years. I pushed back in my chair, trying to steady myself.
"You are right," I admitted, the words tight in my throat. "It will not always be enough. But that is why we keep moving. We learn. We grow stronger. Or we do not last." My voice faltered at my own words.
For a long breath she studied me, her eyes searching as if she were trying to strip away the armor I wore, the kind that had nothing to do with steel. My hands itched for something to do.
Finally, she stood. She walked towards me and leaned in close. Her linen brushed my arm and said in a tone only I could hear.
"See that you do not break before then."
Her footsteps carried her upstairs, leaving the kitchen quiet again. I stayed where I was, alone again.