(Charles)

  None of this was o Charles. He’d already pieced it together during his versation with Rono and Dreadfang. He could tell Dyn was fishing for sympathy—something Charles would have to attempt, despite his disfort with showing it.

  Charles hesitated, searg for the right word. “That sounds... inve.” Dyn’s questioning look told him he hadn’t quite . “And what happened before all of that?” Despite his ck of social grace, Charles pressed oermio keep the versation going.

  “We climbed to the top of the tallest building and jumped off,” Dyn said, making an exaggerated diving motion with his hand.

  “We?” Charles raised an eyebrow. ‘That’s new.’

  “Yeah, wannabe Christian Bale lied to me. He mated off to Mother knows where, and I ended up in the ke,” Dyn expined. Charles took a deliberate sip of his tea, resisting the urge to interrupt. “I don’t know how to fly this thing,” Dyn added, tugging at the er of his cloak. “So, I overshot the road—by a lot.”

  “Probably for the best,” Charles muttered, uo hold back.

  “Why?” Dyn asked, his curiosity piqued once again.

  Charles knew gliding entments worked by vertiical speed into horizontal, slowing the fall while increasing glide speed. It wasn’t a full version, but enough to reach impressive speeds quickly. He sidered expining, but keeping Dyn on track was harder than managing a theropod pup.

  After a moment of careful sideration, Charles replied, “Hitting a ke is much safer than hitting the ground.”

  Charles had only suspected it before, but Dyn’s description firmed it—he’d been at the Ebonscale stronghold. It was the only logical expnation; beyond the winding road and the guild stronghold, there was nothing but wilderness for miles.

  Willing to risk aa for the sake of crity, Charles asked, “Before jumping off the building, were you at the Ebonscale stronghold?”

  Dyn shrugged nontly. “I don’t know. Do they have a lot of paintings of a perpetually pissed-off princess?”

  ‘Guildmaster Maeve.’ Charles reized her immediately. As the campfire waned, reag to his aversion, its embers cooled. He noticed the fire dying and swiftly checked his emotions. Then the fire fred back to life. He folded a couple of nearby sticks ahem to the fmes; the crackles and pops renewed.

  “Yes, that was Ebonscale,” Charles firmed. Judging by Dyn’s flippant descriptioruly had no idea who Guildmaster Maeve was—or what she was capable of. Everyoher respected or feared her, and those who didn’t simply disappeared. Even here, in the middle of nowhere, the mention of her name made Charles shift unfortably in his seat.

  “Why were you on the roof?” Charles asked, his curiosity piqued by yet araail.

  “We were trying to escape. There were these... terror tubes,” Dyn said with a shutter. “Awful things.” Charles resisted the urge to ask for crification, knowier than to interrupt Dyic process. “So, the guy who was helping me—”

  “Christian Bale?” Charles interrupted. Curiosity lingered in his voice.

  “I mean, I’m pretty sure it wasn’t actually Christian Bale,” Dyn said. “But yeah, that guy.”

  “I’ve got to say, Dyn, you’re quite terrible at expining things,” Charles said dryly.

  Dyn frowned, his expression tinged with frustration. “That happens a lot. Should I keep going?”

  Charles could see the aura of an o migraine approag. Still, he motioned for Dyn to tinue.

  “This guy shows up and murdered everyone,” Dyn muttered, his gaze fixed on his unfinished meal. Charles could see the weight pressing down on him. There was no telling how someone would react after fag death for the first time, and it was clear Dyn was still s that out.

  “First, he took out Abs... or maybe Bronze? I’m not actually sure who died first…” Dyn said, his voice trailing off. “But then he fought White. White lost, and... I watched him die…” He plucked a long bde of grass, staring down at it ily as he broke it apart piece by piece, his hands moving absently while his mind wandered.

  ‘Abs, Bronze, and White?’ Charles mused, his brow furrowing slightly. He didn’t reize any of those names. Even the okamijin didn’t reduce themselves to mere pigments.

  “After White was gone, I found Bronze’s body ierror tube,” Dyn tinued, his words detached. “She’s the one who murdered me before.”

  “She…” Charles paused, narrowing his eyes as he processed the statement. This time, it was Dyn’s turn to wait as Charles chewed over a new cept. “She murdered you?” he repeated slowly, testing the words out loud.

  He frowned, w, ‘Another mistranstion?’ Meanwhile, Dyn quietly tinued pig apart another bde of grass, allowing Charles to work through his thoughts.

  “But... you’re alive?” Charles pointed out, still trying to recile the tradi.

  “Yep,” Dyn the drum.

  “I’m not sure you uand how murder works…” Charles said dryly.

  “I told you—it doesn’t make much sense.” Dyn sighed, tossing the bde of grass into the fire befng away.

  “It’s okay,” Charles said calmly, raising his hands to keep Dyn engaged. “What happened when she killed you?”

  Dyn turned ba. “Which time?”

  Charles let out a small chuckle at the absurdity of it all but quickly stifled it, not wanting Dyn to think he didn’t believe him. “How many times have you died?” he asked.

  Dyn held up two fingers. “Twice.”

  “So, you got your revenge,” Charles said thoughtfully, his mind w through the implications.

  “Nope. I’m pretty sure that guy killed her.”

  “Christian Bale?” Charles asked again. Dyn couldn’t help but ugh, the sound of it lightening the mood.

  “Teically, he old me his name. So, sure, for all we know, he could’ve been a Christian Bale,” Dyn quipped, eyeing the fk warily before finally w up the ce to take another bite.

  “You’re difficult to follow,” Charles said, a hint of frustration creeping into his voice. “Your descriptions are vague, and you stantly s details with varying colloquialisms—invalidating text and making you nearly impossible to uand.”

  “Wow, harsh,” Dyn muttered before taking another bite of fk. His face torted into expressions Charles had never seen before, eaore painful tha.

  “Apologies,” Charles offered. “That happens a lot,” he admitted.

  His craftsmaster had alraised him for the effid quality of his work, but his peers stantly pined about his bluntness. It frustrated him to no end. They couldn’t see the direct liween effit work and the efficy of words.

  It took him years to realize that efficy for the sake of efficy didn’t alroduce the best results. There were other aspects to sider and ie. This applied to life as much as it did to crafting, and though he’d been trying to work on it, his iions with Dyn made it clear there was still plenty of room for improvement.

  Dyn coughed, quickly downing the rest of his tea to help keep the fk down. After a rough swallow, he cleared his throat. “Oh, I’m not pining.”

  “You’re not?” Charles asked, raising an eyebrow.

  “Nope. You’re right, and I’ll try to work on that,” Dyn said, as he leaned forward to reach for the teapot. Charles’ pulse quied—he knew what Dyn was about to do, and panic flickered beh his calm exterior.

  ‘The toxin!’ Charles thought. There wasn’t time to stop Dyn without raising suspi, so he took a gamble.

  “Your boots!” Charles excimed, iionally speaking with more energy than he preferred.

  Charles kept his eyes locked on Dyn’s feet, prayiake the bait. Proprioception warned him that Dyn’s hand hovered dangerously close to the teapot. Then, acc to pn, Dyn plied, shifting his attention to his boots.

  “My boots?” Dyn sat up straighter, momentarily fetting about the teapot as his focus shifted pletely.

  “I noticed they’re a size too small.” Charles smoothly took advantage of the distra. He picked up the teapot with both hands and began p. “Would you like them resized?” He asked casually, filling their mugs.

  “You resize my boots?” Dyn asked, his curiosity piqued. “Just like my pants?”

  “Just like your pants,” Charles firmed. “I resize them now; if you’d like?”

  Charles carefully pced the teapot on the edge of the table closest to him. He’d already pnned on s out Dyn’s attire after the interrogation.

  “Oh Mother, yes, please,” Dyn said eagerly, swinging his legs over the campfire toward Charles. Thump, thump—his heels hit the ground heavily in front of Charles, his excitement palpable.

  Charles gnced down at the boots in front of him. “It doesn’t work if you’re wearing them,” he pointed out, mentally noting that he’d o be more specifiext time.

  “Oh. Okay.” Dyn swung his legs back over, narrowly avoiding the fire for the sed time. Instead of setting his loaf down, he jammed it into his mouth for safekeeping as he wrestled with his boots. After a series of grunts, curses, and three ‘ow’s’, he finally hahem over to Charles.

  Charles watched as Dyn struggled with his sensitive pate. The chubby man removed the fk from his mouth, spitting out the taste as if he’d actally gotten some on his tongue.

  "I’d like to hear more of your story,” Charles said calmly, pulling out his needle. “Boots take a while,” he lied.

  Charles didn’t miion, but preferred to avoid ht lies—they only grew more plicated with time. Omission was simpler. Using Keen Eye, he gathered the proper dimensions for the boots.

  ‘That’s unfortunate,’ Charles thought, iing Dyn’s feet. They were a mess of blisters—some f, others already broken. With barely any calluses, it was clear Dyn had pushed himself far past his limits in those undersized boots. Still, Charles khe blisters would eventually harden into calluses, and Dyn would be better off for it.

  Charles sidered his stash of emergency healing potions. One could easily take care of Dyn’s blisters, abrasions, and likely cussion. But they were expeo repce—especially when finding an alchemist who could brew them was a challenge.

  The gems weren’t the issue; he could always make more. The real cost was in lost experieruggling, persevering, and learning—those were the opportunities Dyn needed if he was to grow. Xel’oria wasn’t a fiving pce. If Dyn wao survive, he’d have to toughen up quickly.

  Charles stitched ohen paused, lifting his gaze to give Dyn his full attention.

  “Uh... I was...” Dyn trailed off, thinking back to where he’d left off.

  Without looking up, Charles said evenly, “There’s no rush. Take your time.” He said, serving as a reminder for both Dyn and himself.

  “Right, so everyone had just been murdered by…” Dyn sighed. “Christian Bale. They—I mean, White and Abs,” he corrected himself, trying to stay sistent. Charles noticed and gave a small nod of appreciation.

  “They took me dowerror tube to what I think was an interrogation room,” Dyn tinued. “There was a crystal ball oable, and the whole pce had this silent ‘there are fhts’ vibe.” He paused to take a sip of his tea.

  ‘Terror tube?’ Charles wondered, his mind w to decode Dyn’s jargon. ‘Does he mean the geolift?’

  Everyone knew about the subterranean incarceration floor, accessible only by geolift. He’d also heard whispers of more specialized floors beh it, but the Old Elf’s policies kept suformation strictly on a o-know basis. Charles erfectly tent with his ck of clearance for anything below incarceration.

  “I think they were trying the good stable, bad stable routine. Only, it was more like bad stable, silent stable—and I couldn’t uand them. This was before I had—” Dyn smacked his palm against his forehead, cutting himself off. “Sacred excrement, they were trying to give me a transti…”

  He leaned back, staring at Charles as the realization fully sank in. He shook his head, then took another bite of fk, wing as tremors of disgust rippled through him.

  Charles gripped the toebox of Dyn’s boot, giving a small, precise tug to widen it. He returo his work, carefully adding superfluous, decorative stitches that only he would truly appreciate.

  Dyn washed down the fk with an of tea before tinuing. “Then Bronze showed up and started arguing with White. That was my ce—I bolted for the terror tube. I might have gotten away with it too, if it weren’t for that pointy-ear, shirtless, bow-hiding elf guy.”

  Charles paused mid-stitch, gng up from his work. “Dyn,” he asked, fusion evident, “why do you keep mentioning pointed ears?”

  Dyn pressed his lips together, his brows furrowing in fusion. He blinked a few times, clearly not uanding the question.

  “It’s redundant; all ears are pointed,” Charles expined matter-of-factly. After a brief pause, he added, “I apologize if that upset you. I didn’t mean to make you self-scious about your… deformity.”

  Every word he spoke seemed to make things worse, or so he thought. This was exactly why he preferred to avoid people—social iions were always difficult for him. But to his surprise, Dyn didn’t appear upset or embarrassed, just mildly fused.

  “My deformity?”

  Charles sighed inwardly. ‘He’s going to make me say it.’ Clearing his throat, he hesitated before finally saying, “Your ears.”

  “What’s wrong with my ears?” Dyn asked, instinctively running a finger along their short, blunted shape.

  The possibility hadn’t even crossed Charles’ mind until now. His eyes narrowed slightly at the idea. “Wait… are you not elven?”