“You know a lot about the moons, right, Lili?”
Lilieth was staring at the night sky when Talgerda’s voice called out to her. She was sitting at the other end of the campfire, where all twelve of them surrounded the flame, cinders rising into the air.
“Why is it that priestesses know so much about moons?” Left Rivers, playing with his own tail, asked. “Do they get, like, moon training or something?”
“That makes no sense, Rivers,” Yupanai Nomari said. He whispered the name of a spell, too soft for Lilieth to hear, as he reached out and grabbed a piece of the bonfire’s flame, letting it hover above his hand. “What in the heavens is moon training?”
“You know, like, moon training. All that stuff’s complicated as hell, so there had to have been classes on it.”
“It’s ... really not that complicated,” Mirena Ljutomira added. “Twelve moons, named after the twelve Lesser Gods. That’s it.”
“But they have so much history behind each of them! And there are twelve!”
“Hahaha! The kitty cat has a hard time with numbers above ten!” Alice laughed hysterically.
“Shut up, Alice! I bet you don’t know much about them either!”
“Of course Alice does. Alice is from the most regal of upbringings. For example, the seventh moon, Yellow Seginus, is named after Seginus Venatica. His heroic title is Heretic Hunter, and his deific title is Ruin. He was once a member of Salcaeli’s royal family long, long ago, but he never ascended the Old Throne.”
“She actually does know!” Left gasped in shock. “You actually read?!”
“How rude! It’s basic education!”
“If we’re talking about the moons, then my favorite is my birth moon, Magenta Delere,” Mirena added. “It’s the third moon, named after the Daybreak Witch. The stories written about her are incredible.”
“Then my favorite is Orange Talamohr, the sixth moon!” Talgerda raised her hand excitedly.
“That makes sense,” Roald Isenholt said, scratching his snow white hair. “Talamohr is the only elf among the Lesser Twelve. What was his title again?”
“Light of Revolution,” Lilieth answer softly, remembering what she said that time. She raised her head, and saw everyone around the campfire, staring at her intently. By this point, she was already telling them all she knew about Talamohr the Revolt, one of the Lesser Gods.
This time, though, she didn’t. Rather, it wouldn’t have mattered if she did.
“Another memory,” Lilieth whispered. “Just as vivid as the last.”
They were starting to become more common now. When she slept, she had these vivid memories instead of dreams.
She stared into Talgerda’s eyes. A smile was on her face as she joyfully listened to what had been Lilieth’s ramblings about the lesser gods. She always supported her, no matter what. Even when she ... when...
Don’t remember.
Lilieth hugged her knees closer to her own chest, burying her face into them.
“That’s impressive knowledge, Lilieth,” Olivier Verlaine spoke with a warm, gentle smile that made her feel safe.
But he betrayed her.
“I agree. I read a lot, but even I couldn’t have remembered all that,” Mirena Ljutomira happily went along with whatever Verlaine said. She was strict, but sometimes, she was nice to her.
But she betrayed her.
“Hey, Lasvenn, since you know a lot about these lesser gods and whatnot, do you know which one of them was rich? Maybe they’d have left their treasures somewhere!” Left Rivers leaned forward excitedly. Every so often, he’d converse with her casually, and she felt included because of it.
But he betrayed her.
“Alice can answer that for you, kitty, but you wouldn’t like to know that most of these treasures have already been found.”
But she betrayed her.
“If it’s treasures, then I’m the foremost expert! Hells, I know where ten of them ‘Azalerra relics’ are held!”
He betrayed her.
“...I-I know about them as well. I was raised in Basandre, and there, they—”
She betrayed her.
He betrayed her.
She betrayed her.
They all betrayed her. All except one.
“Lili.”
She raised her head, and saw Talgerda looking at her.
Her face caved in. Her arm severed. Her stomach open, her guts spilling out, her body bathed in red, her beauty marred, her life stolen, her dignity trampled, her blood pouring out. Red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red, red.
Lilieth realized too late that she had made a mistake. A fatal error. She had let her guard down. She had remembered.
And the memory began to pour in.
“—Brgh!”
Lilieth held her hand to her mouth, and fell to the cold hard ground of the stone platform, rubble all around her. The stench of metal permeated through her, violating her, even when she covered her nose. A half-elf’s body laid in front of her, disfigured, defiled. A figure stood before Lilieth, sword in hand. Nine others stood behind him, their faces shrouded in darkness.
A cacophony blared in Lilieth’s ears, a discordant sound she could only describe as regret, fear, panic, and death, given melodical form. The figure raised his blade, and—
Lilieth awoke with a scream. Her entire body pulsed with fear and panic, her blood rushing backwards, and all the hairs on her body stood on end. She clawed at her chest, trying desperately to stop the blood from seeping out, only to find no wound at all.
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Cold sweat trailed down her skin as she tried to calm herself down, taking too-deep breaths so quickly it strained her throat. After a few seconds, she was finally calm enough to notice where she was. A warm bed, a soft blanket, an unfamiliar wooden ceiling, a window peeking out into a dense, calm forest. It wasn’t a place she recognized.
“Where...?”
“It must’ve been one hell of a nightmare, yeah?”
Lilieth turned sharply, seeing a girl sitting by her bedside. Her appearance immediately stood out to her: tanned skin, bright orange hair that seemed to blend into red, and clothes that covered too little for Lilieth’s liking. She looked to be around Lilieth’s age, though she was much taller than her—though it was more that Lilieth herself was a bit lacking in the height department.
The tanned girl’s round eyes looked at Lilieth curiously. “Awake now?”
“Who are you?” Lilieth asked, subtly backing away from her. She scanned the room, looking for her bag and swords.
The girl, however, simply kept staring at Lilieth, tilting her head and narrowing her eyes. “You look ... very much still alive, yeah. Mm.”
Lilieth blinked. Then she recalled the last thing she remembered before blacking out. She had crossed paths with a bear, and ... well, she’d rather not remember that.
She looked down, seeing herself wearing clean new clothes. Not the bloodied, tattered dress she wore. She breathed out a sigh of relief. Those were in such bad shape that they barely covered anything at all.
“What ... what happened to me?”
“That’s what I wanna know,” the girl replied, shrugging. “I saw a mutilated corpse just fix itself in front of me.”
A chill ran down Lilieth’s spine. From her perspective, coming back to life was just like waking up from a long nap. But at least she knew now how she was coming back to life.
Her body fixing itself. Regeneration, then? So, some form of Healing magic, perhaps. But she’s never heard of any Healing spells that brought someone back to life. Perhaps, there were Fourth tier spells that could do it. Not much was known about the Fourth tier magics, and the Fourths seldom ever told anyone their spells. But even if such powerful Healing spells existed, why would Lilieth’s body heal itself?
The most straightforward explanation was that a god was responsible. Greater or Lesser, any one of the Twenty-Four, with their divine powers, would be able to do it. Probably. But Lilieth didn’t want to accept that conclusion. The gods were not her allies. There had to be an answer out there somewhere, an explanation as to what was happening to her.
“What’s the last thing you remember?” the girl asked.
“A ... bear. There was a bear, and...” Lilieth couldn’t go on, not without remembering the details of what happened to her.
Thankfully, the girl nodded, satisfied with that answer. “That tracks. I’m Sibeiya, by the way. Just Sibeiya. You have a name?”
“...Lilieth,” she replied. “Just Lilieth.”
She decided not to give her full name. Thankfully, “Lilieth” was a rather common name in Krysanth, so it should be fine. And it wasn’t like she was particularly famous, anyways, hero or not.
“Where am I?” Lilieth asked.
“Artemest. Or, well, the outskirts of Artemest. Master likes to live in seclusion, yeah? So he built his house all the way out here. The city proper’s just a jog away, though.”
Lilieth felt her shoulders relax when she realized she had finally made it. After all she went through, things would be ... less painful from now on. At least, she wouldn’t have to die to arborhounds anymore.
“So, are you gonna explain?” Sibeiya said. “You know, the whole ‘you coming back to life’ thing.”
Lilieth shook her head. “I wish I could. I just ... I don’t know what’s happening to me.”
Sibeiya sighed. She didn’t seem satisfied, but she didn’t press her on it either. “Right. Well, I’ll get you some water, for now. You look a bit pale. Wait right here, yeah?”
She stood up and walked out the door. For the first time, Lilieth noticed the striking amount of plants and flowers in the room. Potted plants in every corner, vines creeping along the room’s edges, flowers hanging above the doorway. Though it didn’t feel like the room was “overgrown” with vegetation. That would portray an image of desolation and abandonment.
No, the room felt cozy, more than anything else. The greenery around her serving as added decoration to the room, which was mostly made of wood.
“...Huh?”
She heard the sound of steel clashing against steel. A flurry of clangs and swings that seemed far too fast. She looked out the window, seeing two figures in the distance.
One of them was a young man. Tall, bulky, with prominent lower fangs that jutted out his closed mouth slightly. A highlander. A race of blue-skinned people from the north. Though, he didn’t have blue skin. Half-highlander, then? He wielded a blade about the same size as Talgerda’s longsword.
The other was smaller than the half-highlander, and nowhere near as bulky, his body bordering on lithe than anything else. He was older, maybe around thirty if Lilieth guessed. Pale skin and gray hair, the man held two shortswords in both hands, clashing with the other man’s longsword.
The two fought. The half-highlander was strong, swinging that longsword with ease. The force of each swing could be seen by how it compelled the winds to follow, leaving behind gusts in its wake. The older man didn’t nearly pack as much power, but he was much more agile, able to swing two or three more times with each of the highlander’s attacks.
And both of them were fast. Much too fast for regular swordsmen. Lilieth could only watch in awe as the two danced, each swing unwasted, each dodge narrowly missing the blade, each parry leading into the next rondo. Lilieth wasn’t a swordsman herself, but she knew what beautiful bladework looked like.
“Slow, aren’t they?”
Lilieth jumped. She turned to see a man standing by the door, leaning against the wall with his arms crossed. Messy, short auburn hair, slightly tanned skin, and harsh, dark brown eyes. Lilieth hadn’t even heard the door open. Was she so engrossed in the fight that she simply didn’t notice?
“They’re strong,” the man continued, a thick Basandran accent on his words. “But not nearly as fast as I hoped. With the tournament coming up, I am filled with nothing but unease—eutsi, no, that would imply I actually give enough of a damn to worry about them, so let us scratch that. I am filled with ease. No, that’s not right, either...”
“And you are?” Lilieth asked.
To that, the man’s eyes widened ever so slightly, before going back to that listless look he had before. “It looks like things haven’t been easy for you. What do you call yourself?”
“Lilieth.”
The man grunted. “I am Guillem Spearman. Just call me Spearman. This is my house. So, you got yourself mauled by a bear, died, and woke up here. What’s the plan now?”
“The plan?” Lilieth asked.
“Obviously, I’m not just going to let you stay here. Now that you’re awake, I’m kicking you out. I’m only asking you where I should kick you out to.”
Lilieth frowned. “You’re ... not going to ask?”
“Ask what?”
“I mean, it’s like you said. I died, and came back to life. That should seem strange to you, does it not?”
Spearman shrugged. “Am I supposed to care? It does not involve me. Things that don’t involve me don’t matter. It would do you well to learn that, neskatxo. Nothing good ever comes from poking your nose into other people’s businesses.”
The Basandran man pulled out a pouch from his back and threw it at Lilieth, who barely caught it. It was far heavier than she expected, and her hands sunk into the soft bed as it landed. She heard all those clinking noises, and she didn’t even need to open the pouch.
“Three hundred platinum vals,” Spearman said. “Take it and leave.”
Lilieth’s head jerked up at his words. “Three hundred platinum...?!”
At that point, she couldn’t help but peek inside. And sure enough, she saw a pile of platinum coins, more than she’s ever seen in her life.
Spearman scoffed. “What, looking a gift horse in the mouth?”
“It’s too much! Three hundred platinum ... that amounts to three million silver vals. You could buy a castle with this much money!”
“Then go buy one, if it makes you leave my house faster. Go. Shoo.”
Lilieth furrowed her brow at him. “You’re just going to ... give this much money to me?”
“Why not? Don’t have any use for them now.” Spearman moved to open the door, but then turned his head to her and spoke, “a word of advice, neskatxo. Use that money to buy a castle, or a house, or hells, buy a kingdom if you have to. Settle down somewhere, and mind your own business from now on.”
“Uh, pardon?” Lilieth said.
“You seem like an idiot. The kind of idiot who’d get herself involved in all sorts of shit. Gut feeling, and my gut is almost always right. I feel like the world would be better off if everyone just kept their hands to themselves.”
Without explaining further, Spearman left, closing the door behind him and leaving behind a very confused Lilieth.
She looked down at the bag of coins in her hand. An enormous fortune that she didn’t know what to do with.
“Settle down...”
Perhaps she could return home. To her hometown of Hesperus, and just live a quiet life as a priestess. No more adventures. She could even use the money to help all the villagers. Renovate their houses, have the roads fixed—
Her stomach growled.
Her body could come back to life, but it seemed like resurrection didn’t fill the stomach.
There were too many things for her to think about right now, so perhaps she should just go to Artemest and splurge on a good restaurant. Since she could afford it and all.
