Rishmond woke early, despite having gone to bed just a couple of hours before. Excitement hummed in his chest, refusing to let him rest. The prospect of the expedition pushed away sleep like sunlight chasing shadows.

His family had walked home from the meeting hall around two in the morning, quiet and somber. Rishmond had been thrilled even then, though exhaustion dulled the edge of it. The day had been a whirlwind of emotion. Now, energy surged again, tempered only by his anxious thoughts about Illiar coming along.

He tried to shove the thought away. She’d be there, so what? It wasn’t the end of the world—and at least he was going. That was what mattered. He would make the best of it and do his best to ignore her.

Toby had been so tired he hadn’t even responded when Rishmond wished him goodnight. He’d be up soon. Then they could talk about the trip—about the wonders Rishmond would see in distant lands. It was a shame Toby couldn’t come too, but this wasn’t the place for someone so young—and without magic.

Rishmond didn’t like to dwell on Toby’s lack of magic. It was a sore spot, for both of them. Toby got into fights because of it. Kids were cruel to those who were different, and Toby didn’t take it lying down. Rishmond had even gotten into a few scraps on his behalf.

Quietly, Rishmond gathered his things. He shoved several changes of clothes into his oversized pack, the one Tybour had given him when Hal and Berti had officially adopted him and Toby. That had been a good day.

The pack already held most of his gear—tools, writing utensils, paper, a mess kit, extra socks and boots, all things he’d learned to carry on trips with Tybour. A survival kit Hal helped him build sat at the bottom in a waterproof metal box. A hunting knife hung on the outside. Travel bread wrapped in waxed cloth lived in the top flap pocket. Rishmond was proud of his travel kit. It was thorough—Hal would approve.

He tapped Torg on the head as he finished tidying up his room. Berti wouldn’t forgive him if he left it messy. Torg came to life with a popping sound, like a boot on wet wood.

"Good morning, Torg! Ready to get underway?"

"Wizard Rishmond. Good morning to you. Yes, though we are not scheduled to leave until late afternoon. Has the timeline changed?"

"No, I’m just excited. Probably not the same for you."

Rishmond smiled. He found Torg’s strange blend of innocence and knowledge endearing. Maybe he was projecting gratitude onto the golem—Torg had, after all, been the reason he was going. But that didn’t change the fondness he felt.

He slipped outside to grab his camp shovel and stool. Better to have and not need. He asked Torg to wait in his room and stepped softly through the house.

The first light of sunrise tinged the sky red as he stepped onto the back porch. Halmond stood at the top of the stairs, sipping from a steaming ceramic mug. The yard below remained in shadow. A rooster crowed in the distance.

"Good morning, Rishmond," Hal said quietly. "Sleep okay?"

"Yes, sir. Took a while to drift off, but I slept well."

"Hmmph," Hal grunted. "You understand what happened last night, yes?"

"I... think so?" Rishmond said, unsure.

"Berti gave in because she had to. She’s not upset about your age, she’s upset she won’t be able to keep an eye on you. She hasn't had you around long—but she’s grown fond of you. We both have. We love you, and we want what’s best."

"Yes, sir. I understand."

And he did. They loved him. But love wasn’t always enough. He still felt guilt—he didn’t want to leave them behind. But he had to go. Something important waited for him out there.

"I don’t look forward to leaving," he said. "But I must. It’s the right thing."

"We know it too," Hal said. "Doesn’t mean we like it. But mortals don’t make time—we can only accept the passing of it and do our best with what we are given."

Hal placed a firm hand on Rishmond’s shoulder. "Promise me now—you’ll do what Bantore and Illiar say. Stay safe. Use your ridiculous luck to come home. Promise me."

"I promise. As all the Gods are my witness,  from the bottom of my heart of hearts—I promise. I will return. I will make you proud."

"Oh, Rishmond," Beritrude burst out from the kitchen door and pulled him into a fierce hug. "We’re already proud of you. You are a good man. Don’t forget that."

Halmond stepped in, wrapping both of them in his arms. The embrace lingered until sunlight lit the yard.

Rishmond wiped his eyes. "I’ll get my shovel. Should I cook breakfast? I could start on sweetdate griddle cakes."

"That sounds great," Berti said, her voice thick.

"Yes," said Hal. "And deal with Toby."

Halmonds tone was hard to read, not amused, but more a warning that something was going on there and he was interested in watching it unfold.

Rishmond knocked gently, then harder on Toby’s door. "Toby! I’m cooking your favorite! Come on!"

No answer. Rishmond opened the door. The room was half-lit by morning sun slipping past shutters. Clothes lay scattered. Toby sat in the corner of his bed, back to the room.

"You okay? Want some breakfast?"

"Not hungry. Go away."

"We’ve got stuff to do before I leave—"

"I said get out!" Toby flung a pillow.

"Hey! What the hell? Don’t be rude! What’s wrong with you?"

"Maybe you have a problem! Just go!"

"Fine! Stay in your room, then!"

Rishmond threw the pillow back. It hit Toby hard enough to knock him forward. Toby leapt from the bed, tackling Rishmond. They wrestled until Toby punched him. Rishmond’s lip split. He elbowed Toby, sending him stumbling.

"Boys!" Halmond’s voice boomed. "Outside if you’re gonna fight!"

They froze.

Rishmond touched his lip. "What is your problem, Toby? I came to wake you, not fight."

Toby turned, his face in shadows. "Why do you always get what you want? What makes you so special?"

"Are you talking about the trip? This isn’t my fault. You’re jealous!"

"You don’t care that I can’t go. You’re glad I’m not coming. I thought I was your best friend."

Rishmond softened. "You are my best friend. That won’t change. Even Hal and Bantore were apart and stayed best friends. We’ll be fine."

"Bullshit," Toby muttered.

Beritrude stood just outside the door, eyes damp. Halmond watched quietly.

"I do want to go," Rishmond admitted. "But if I could bring you, I would. It’s not your time. I have to help find the Gods. I’ll miss you. And Illiar’s coming, so trust me—it won’t be fun."

Toby’s scowl cracked. "You’re still selfish and annoying. But... maybe it’s not all your fault."

Hal snorted approval. Berti muttered, "Gods save me from men’s feelings," and left.

"Clean up and get to breakfast. Rishmond, griddle cakes. Neither of you too hurt?"

"No, sir."

"Ok then. Breakfast, make it quick." Halmond left the room headed to the kitchen.

Rishmond began picking up Toby's clean clothes from the pile on the floor, moving the whole pile to the bed and beginning to fold them. "Sorry for the elbow."

"Hey. You don't have to fold my clothes, I was gonna get to that," protested Toby weakly, beginning to help Rishmond. "Sorry about the lip."

They finished folding the clothes quickly. 

At breakfast, the mood lightened. The specter of the expedition loomed, but for a little while, it felt like a normal day.

Unnoticed, a small rodent crawled carefully from under Toby's bed, listening with twitching ears. Then it disappeared through a hole, headed underground to report to its master.

After the clean up was done, the family presented Rishmond with a gift.

Rishmond unwrapped the soft package. Inside was a dark green tunic that caught the morning light and shimmered a hundred different hues of green. The material was soft to the touch, but tough and waterproof. A hood folded into a pocket in the collar of the tunic. Four large pockets with dark green buttons to close and hold the flaps covered the front of the tunic and multiple small pockets covered the inside front.

The cloth was imbued with glittergreen! This must have cost Hal and Berti quite a pretty penny!

"Thank you! Thank you so much! This is wonderful! You guys didn't have to do this!"

Rishmond blinked hard against the welling tears.

This was exactly what he needed. It would make using magic that much easier with glittergreen right in the fabric. He could feel the build up of lotret already. And it fit perfectly! Well, a little large, but that was just room to grow into.

Torg drew Rishmond's attention with a trilling hum. He turned to see the crystal golem's energy surge in kind with the vest energy.

Toby, still subdued, presented his own gift—a carved wooden horse.

Rishmond blinked in surprise. "Toby, this is from your father. I can’t take this."

"I want you to have it. It’s good luck. Bring it back when you return. Then it’ll be lucky for us both."

Rishmond clutched the horse. "Thank you. I’ll keep it safe."

They held hands around the table, a circle of quiet strength.

"Enough of that," Toby said, standing. "Let’s get you to the boat. Torg—did you pack clean underthings? Oh, wait. Not a person. Right!"

Laughter broke the tension. Even Torg’s deadpan response earned chuckles.

t only took an hour for Beritrude to unpack everything Rishmond had carefully packed, inventory it and pack it all back in—with the exception of one old shirt Rishmond refused to part with. Berti had been trying to get him to throw it away for months.

"You'll take the a new one, the red one with the acradious flower print. No argument." She said firmly.

Rishmond didn't protest, but Toby noted the old shirt missing from where Berti had thrown it when they finally left.

Rishmond was the last to leave, tugging the blanket on his bed one more time to remove imaginary wrinkles and straightening some already neatly stacked paper on his desk.

Soon, they were all in the wagon, heading for the docks.

The docks bustled with motion. Crates were being hauled up gangplanks, horses loaded into slings and lifted aboard. The two ships loomed large—twin vessels of dark wood and silver rigging: the Porpoise and the Emberly’s Pride.

The family wagon pulled up beside a wide warehouse. Halmond dismounted and tied the horses to a hitching post. Beritrude helped Rishmond and Toby down, while Torg jumped from the back of the cart with a solid thud.

A feline beastman in a crisp uniform approached them. "I’ve been asked to escort you to the briefing room. If you’ll follow me?"

Beritrude nodded. "Of course. Boys—let’s go. Hal, bring the trunk when you’re ready."

They followed the Sergeant inside. The warehouse was alive with voices, echoing off high wooden rafters. The group made their way to a stairwell at the far end, leading up to a room perched like a nest against the far wall.

Inside, a long table dominated the room. Maps sprawled across its surface, pinned and marked with figurines and weights. The wall behind it held a vast map of the continent, color-coded and peppered with markers. At one end, the Demonlands were clearly marked by a heavy red line striking across the land from north to south

A beastman of the otter-clan greeted them warmly. "Ah! Rishmond and family. Please, come in. Take a seat. We’ll begin shortly—Tybour and VanLief are on their way. Would anyone like tea? Juice? Raspberry cordial for the young ones?"

Rishmond’s attention snagged on a familiar figure seated near the middle of the table.

Illiar.

She looked so at ease, chatting with a silver-haired wizard. Her coat shimmered with deep russet tones, a tailored waistcoat drawing attention to her posture. She noticed Rishmond, smiled, and stood.

"Rishmond," she said, her voice smooth as polished wood. "I saved you a seat. Come, sit. And bring your little friend—he’s welcome near us."

Torg stepped forward without hesitation. Rishmond followed, wary. Illiar always knew how to get under his skin.

"Welcome, Bar family," said the otter-beastman. "And Torg—it is Torg, yes? I am Wizard Teilmein Hareway. Call me Teil."

They all took their seats. Toby rushed directly to Illiar and practically jumped into her arms. She caught him and they hugged like long lost friends.

Rishmond's emotions churned settling on annoyance. His best friend and brother had the gall to be mad at him for being friends with Tybour but he could be friends with someone who obviously took such pleasure in annoying Rishmond!

"Toby! How are you! I missed you Smushy!" she exclaimed.

Illiar had a million little pet names for Toby, that too annoyed Rishmond to no end.  Just call him by his name, its not like it was all that long or hard to remember! 

Rishmond stepped to the place apparently reserved for him next to Illiar. She pulled him into a tight hug, wrapping her arms around him.

She hugged him much tighter than he would have liked.  He could feel her breasts beneath her waistcoat and shirt, pressing into his chest.

He could smell her, the slight muskiness, the flowery scent of a forest in spring bloom. His arms encircled her waist almost of their own accord.

His heart hammered. He pulled back quickly.

She was only doing this to annoy him, like she'd done since they first met. She was almost a full two turns older and she'd always known just how to make him squirm.

He sat quickly in his chair confused and a bit embarrassed. 

"Hello, Illiar. I hope you're parents are well."

Illiar paused for just a moment before sitting down and scooting her chair closer to Rishmond—too close. Their legs touched under the table and Rishmond became acutely aware of the warmth of her.

She leaned in, their shoulders touching. "Family's fine. I'd ask about yours, but it they're all here."

Her throaty chuckle caught Rishmond off guard and he looked in her direction. Their faces were very close. he could see the golden flecks in her brown eyes and the dark brown spot on her right iris that looked like a small dark brown island in a sea of gold.

The moment seemed to stretch on for far too long.

Teilmein cleared his throat.

"Rishmond, would you share how you found the golem? Some haven’t heard the story. Tybour is delayed, so we have time."

Rishmond nodded and stood.

"Of course," said Rishmond. "Torg?" he gestured toward the little golem, waving him forward into the space between him and Illiar.

"His name is Torg. He’s a golem—crystal, and as far as he knows, the only one of his kind. He once served the Goddess Denisisie."

Gasps and murmurs rippled through the room.

Rishmond recounted the discovery on the beach: the digging, the statue, the magic that reawakened Torg. When he finished, Illiar asked a pointed question.

"So... he was just lying there, with his foot sticking out of the sand? For centuries?"

"Yes," Rishmond said defensively. "The tide was unusually low."

Illiar turned to Torg. "And your last memory before waking?"

"I was in low-energy suspension, awaiting Denisisie’s return. She did not come. Then Rishmond reactivated me."

Illiar frowned. "How did you end up on that beach?"

"Unknown. In deep stasis, I do not record events."

Cantor entered with an older man—muscular, tattooed, eyes like ice. He took a corner and crossed his arms. Cantor took the seat beside Illiar and winked at Rishmond.

Torg said flatly, "Wizard Rishmond, your heart rate has increased—just as it did when you embraced this other young lady."

Cantor blushed slightly. And Rishmond thought for just a moment that perhaps Illiar had to. 

Rishmond flushed. "I'm fine. Just annoyed at the interruptions."

Rishmond looked down at his hands on the table as if trying to think of where he'd left off in the story.

"You had just begun to tell everyone how you found me." Torg's emotionless voice calmed Rishmond's mind and he looked at the golem and placed a hand on his square shoulder.

"Yes. As I was saying, my friends and I had planned a little adventure at the cove north of the city where we and others have found interesting things washed ashore or caught in the tide pools there. We got there in the early afternoon started to explore, not finding much at first. We did find a small turtlehorse stuck in a tide pool too small for it, so we all pitched in and helped carry it down to the water and let it go free. It was a big female and we think it was loaded with eggs."

He realised he was rambling and resume the story.

Rishmond finished telling the lie he and his gang had concocted. 

"So, he was just there... on the beach... with a—foot was it?..." Illiar asked, looking at Rishmond for confirmation that it was a foot. "A foot, sticking out the sand? And he'd been there for 300 turns or so?"

"Yes. that's what happened," replied Rishmond just a bit defensive. "The tide was lower than normal, so I'd say he was in a place that would normally be under water most of the time."

"Interesting," Illiar mused. "Odd to say the least. Very lucky you found him then. Of course with your luck Rishmond, I suppose that is to be expected."

Illiar turned slightly toward Torg. "So, what's your story?  What's the last thing you remember before Rishmond woke you up?"

"Hello, I am Torg. What is your name?" Torg's response surprised Illiar.

"Illiar."

"Ah, yes, Rishmond spoke of you shortly last night."

"My last memory before Rishmond awakened me was me suspending my operations for an evening over 300 turns ago. I had completed my inspection of the compound and the island and returned to the entry alcove to await my Mistresses return."

"The next thing I was aware of was Rishmond and his friends standing around me on the beach.  At that point my instructions took over and I became aware of the Wizard Rishmond's worthiness and that Denisisie had not yet returned. I became beholden to Wizard Rishmond at that point."

"Right," said Illiar suspiciously. "So how did you get from this island to the beach where Rishmond and friends found you?"

"How is he supposed to know that, Illiar, if he wasn't operational," Cantor said, voice calm and measured.

"How is he supposed to know that, Illiar, if he wasn't operational?" Cantor said, his voice calm and measured.

"I don't know. But maybe Torg has a guess? Or maybe he can remember what happens around him while he's not operational?" Illiar turned her head from Cantor back toward Torg.

"I have multiple offline modes, Mistress," Torg replied. "Some are like light sleep, during which I remain aware of my surroundings. But the mode I was in that evening is a deep sleep, meant to recharge the magic that keeps me operational. I must enter this state periodically to maintain my functionality. I have no way of knowing how I came to be where Wizard Rishmond found me."

"So, you mentioned an island and a compound?" Illiar began a new line of questioning, one that hadn’t come up the night before. "What island—"

Before she could finish, the door to the briefing room swung open and Tybour, Haningway, Bantore, and Norft strode in, mid-argument.

"I don’t care what else has to be moved—put it on the Porpoise," Tybour said firmly. "Stack something on the Emberly’s Pride if you have to. This is the perfect opportunity to test it."

Norft looked like he was about to argue, but clamped his mouth shut when he saw the room full of eyes fixed on them. After a beat, all he said was, “Yes, sir.”

Tybour moved briskly around the table and stationed himself between it and the large map on the wall. He didn’t seem to register the assembled group or the fact that they had been waiting for him. He launched straight into the briefing.

“Everyone should have arrived by now. Soldiers and Wizards from Phoenix Company are already aboard, along with nearly all the supplies and horses. Wagons are secured on the Porpoise. Military equipment and the rest of Phoenix Company will travel aboard the Emberly’s Pride. We don’t expect trouble, but it’s better to be prepared than not.”

Tybour picked up the map pointer and stepped aside, tapping its end against Retinor on the wall map.

“We’ll sail north and east from Retinor, out to sea by roughly a hundred miles—far enough to safely pass the Salt Marshes estuary. From there, we’ll continue north, hugging the coastline for almost a thousand miles until we reach the small coastal trading town of Swarve, on the edge of the Reaches. We’ll disembark there and begin our overland journey to the Glittergreen Mountains.

“Once we reach the mines, a small team will enter, equipped with protections against the mind-bending forces that radiate through the mountains. Even with those protections, we’ll only be able to remain inside for around five or six nights at most, or risk madness.

“The party entering the mines will include myself, Rishmond, the golem, Haningway, Bantore, Captain Unto, and several Altemen from Phoenix Company. We estimate the entire trip to take about thirty days—assuming favorable weather.”

He lowered the pointer and looked around the room, clearly not expecting anyone to speak.

“Questions?”

There was a beat of silence—until the older man by the wall, the one Rishmond had guessed was of Uhl tribesman descent, pushed himself off the wall with a casual grace. He gave Tybour a small, respectful bow.

“Do we expect to accomplish the mission after just five days in the mines?” he asked, voice measured but skeptical. “And are we certain the mines are necessary at all? After that—do we return directly to Retinor?”

He gestured faintly toward the map, then folded his arms.

“Seems like a simple thing—for a company of soldiers and Wizards and two ships worth of cargo and supplies.”

Tybour paused for a long moment, clearly weighing his words.

“We’ve made provisions for the unexpected,” he said at last. “But we won’t know if we’ll have accomplished our mission until we’re there—until our friend Torg asks his questions and searches for whatever it is he needs to find.”

“Ah,” the old man said, with a sly smile, “then perhaps I should be directing my questions to Mister Torg. What exactly are you looking for, and how long do you think your search will take once we reach the Glittergreen mines?”

It was obvious he took some perverse pleasure in needling Tybour, and Haningway, standing nearby, made a valiant but not entirely successful attempt to hide a grin.

Torg responded without waiting for Tybour's leave.

“I will not know until I arrive,” he said, his tone precise and without defensiveness. “What I do know is this: Denisisie was seeking a holfin crystal with specific properties. Given the nature of the Altemen miners, such a crystal would have been documented—its characteristics, its request by an outside party, even a God, and the exact details surrounding its discovery and location.

“These records are what I expect will contain clues to Denisisie’s current whereabouts. If she had not procured the crystal, then the Blessing would not have occurred—and none of us would be in this situation.

“How long it will take to uncover those clues, or to decode what Denisisie did while among the Altemen, I cannot say.”

“So, First Mage Tybour,” the old man pressed, clearly intent on drawing out a truth yet unspoken, “can we assume, then, that you anticipate delays—or perhaps some other reason this expedition might take longer than you've said? I’m fairly certain I saw supplies for well over two months, and some equipment that doesn’t exactly scream ‘day trip through civilized lands.’”

“Thank you, Ueet,” Tybour replied tersely, the edge in his voice unmistakable. “Yes, as I said before—fortune favors the prepared. And we are going prepared for whatever may lie in our path. Things in Malminar may be civilized, as you put it, but beyond our borders the world is neither safe nor simple. We’ll be ready. I expect us to be back in Retinor before the first day of the Eats and Feats Festival, two months from now.”

Lieutenant Norft, the broad-shouldered lion-man, had quietly worked his way through the gathering to stand beside the man Tybour had addressed as Ueet. He placed a heavy hand on the older man's shoulder and leaned in to whisper something in his ear.

“Right,” said Ueet, straightening. “I do apologize. Prepared is good. And First Mage Tybour is nothing if not thorough in his preparations. Let’s hope he’s right, and that we’re all back here, safe and sound, by midsummer—in time for the festival, and not still gallivanting across the countryside chasing hints of the Gods.”

Tybour didn’t rise to the bait. Instead, he raised his voice for the room.

“Let’s go and board our vessels. Everyone here will be traveling aboard the Emberly’s Pride. The Porpoise will carry military personnel and select support crew. May the Gods bless our voyage—and may Luck keep us in his back pocket all the way.”

He winked at Rishmond, making a subtle OK sign with his fingers, followed by a slight nod toward Illiar.

Rishmond blushed. Tybour never missed a chance to tease him—that Illiar got under his skin because he secretly had a massive crush on her. Which, of course, wasn’t true. Absolutely not. Even though… she did affect him in strange ways.

That spring evening, at precisely six o'clock, the two ships of the Malminar Navy—the Porpoise and the Emberly’s Pride—set sail. A massive crowd had gathered to see them off, lining the docks with cheers and flowers and hopeful songs.

The sendoff felt more like a festival than a departure. It was a celebration, a declaration: this was the expedition that would find the Gods and return them to the mortal realm.

The revelry lasted deep into the night, well past the ships’ vanishing on the horizon.

More than one pair of sinister eyes watched from hidden vantage points—plotting, scheming—already thinking how this information might be twisted to serve their ends… or those of their masters.