Everyn’s skin recognized the grip around her wrists before her eyes adjusted to the light. Valan’s grip loosened as Everyn found her footing.

  Before her was a man entrapped by a ring of white flame held in place by Sterling. The stranger held a fading crudely made torch.

  Ryala had been revealed by the bright light as she held summoned thorns hovering ready at her fingertips, ready to lose them if this man so much as twitched.

  The quivering man wore the clothes of a peasant, a dirty brown tunic and slacks. Old bruises and scars coated his face and hand where they were visible, but fresh wounds remained unhealed.

  If he was a Demon, he was frighteningly good at concealing it.

  Everyn pulled a vial of a combustible formula from her pack, holding the container of shimmering yellow ooze tightly in her palm.

  Sterling was the first to speak, “What are you doing here?” He asked the stranger sharply.

  His eyes darted around frantically looking for an escape, “I should have listened to her.” He stuttered under his breath.

  “Listened to who?” Ryala questioned calmly, drawing her thorns higher, so their shining barbs caught the light of the flame.

  The man bit his lip, eyes widening somehow even further until he looked like a sodden owl. He was either a phenomenal actor, or he really was just a frightened man.

  They were so far away from anything of consequence, it was unlikely a Demon spy would be sent this far and if it was, Everyn doubted it would bother toying with them like this before dispatching of them.

  “Okay,” Everyn asked gently, tucking her vial away. “What if you start by telling us your name?”

  The man recoiled at her words, nearly slipping into Sterling’s flames, “My masters and mistresses called me Mason.”

  “Mason?” Everyn echoed, eyes moving to his clay caked boots. “That was your profession?”

  He nodded in response.

  “You were named for your profession?” Sterling’s eyes narrowed before softening into deep understanding. “Good gods…You came from the Fae.”

  The mason’s knuckles whitened around his torch, but he didn’t speak.

  “How did you escape?” Valan questioned, suspiciously.

  He didn’t reply, his eyes staring through Sterling’s flame.

  Everyn approached the bright ring, holding her hands up for him to see, “Sterling, we don’t need that.”

  The mason’s eyes flickered up upon hearing a human name as the flame dissipated around him.

  Everyn’s splintered hands were only illuminated by the mason’s waning torch as she approached him, “We are from this world,” She lowered her hands, digging a bloodied scrap of wood from between her fingers. “We aren’t planning on sending you back to them. But you have to understand, we can’t know for sure if you are too.”

  The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

  She drew her small blade slowly from the cuff of her boot as she knelt before him.

  The man’s eyes scanned the still molten earth around him, looking for a safe way out.

  “There’s a simple test,” Everyn said gently. “To prove to us you’re who you seem. We’ll put a small nick in your palm,” She traced the tip of her blade lightly against her starshaped scar. “It doesn’t hurt much, we just need to ensure your blood is red and that you don’t heal too quickly. If you pass, we can discuss this somewhere safer, alright?”

  He extended his hand reluctantly, toward he, clearly feeling as though he had no choice.

  Even before her blade met his flesh, she knew he was telling the truth. If he were a Demon, his attack would have come by now.

  As her honed blade pierced the heel of his palm, red welled up around it, spilling a single drop into the dirt as she withdrew it.

  The wound stayed fresh, slowly leaking blood into the dry soil as they all stared expectantly.

  Valan was the first to make a move, offering a hand up, “How’d you do it?”

  The man took the help, carefully avoiding smearing Valan’s palm with blood.

  “Same way as anyone, I'm sure.” Sterling replied darkly, crossing his arms tightly in front of his chest.

  Ryala retracted her thorns, “We should go. We know what kind of attention this hysteria has drawn?”

  “She’s right,” Sterling added. “Let’s go before we encounter a real threat.”

  -------

  The journey back was blessedly uneventful, though tedious.

  After snuffing his torch, the mason was slow, frequently tripping over minutia that anyone who’d been doing this for as long as they had would never miss.

  He didn’t speak as he was taken back to their base, not even daring to comment as Ryala vanished into the dark.

  The shift of guards as they arrived back was less than enthused to see yet another refugee in their midst, “Hand,” She demanded impatiently before Valan even reached the door.

  “Long night?” Valan questioned dryly as he extended his hand toward her waiting blade.

  As her blade pierced roughly through his flesh, the tiniest of satisfied smiles flickered at the corner of her lips as she continued with the required entry..

  “Step aside,” her compatriot ordered, hardly waiting to see the blood flow freely from Valan’s palm before setting his sights on the next in their party.

  When it came time for the mason’s turn, Everyn placed a hand on his shoulder, “We do this every time we return home.” She assured him softly.

  He gave her a nod and a forced smile, as he approached the guard.

  She released a long, frustrated breath, “Each new refugee must be registered.” he began her thousand time resided speech with about as much enthusiasm as if she were eating sand. “Upon entry you will be assessed and assigned a work detail based on your skill set. If you are in need of medical attention, you may proceed to the front of the line and inform the receptor of your condition. She will determine the urgency of your admittance to the medical ward. If you require immediate medical attention, a medic will stabilize your condition as best as they can prior to your proper admittance into our camp. Do you understand what I have just told you?”

  The mason nodded sheepishly, “Yes, Ma’am.“

  “Have you anything on your person that may cause harm to our denizens, including but not limited to: weaponry, toxic substances, or known infectious diseases?”

  “No, ma’am.”

  “Good. Name?”

  He glanced at Everyn nervously for confirmation.

  “She’ll want your birthname.” She told him.

  “Mertin. Mertin Geist.” He responded so softly, Everyn could barely hear him.

  Sterling’s bitter look wavered, sympathy breaking through for this man. He never talked about what happened to him, and none of them dared to ask, but he too sometimes still recoiled at the sound of his own true name.

  “Extend your hand, so you may be tested.” The guard’s blasé tone, unaffected.

  The mason offered her the palm coated in dried blood from Everyn’s own test.

  The guard glanced up at their team leader, giving him an almost imperceptible nod of approval, before carefully piercing a new line crossing the old one.

  As the blood pooled, the guard brushed him aside, reaching for her final charge, Everyn.

  “Evergreen. Route 0. Hare’s fleet.” She said before any prompting as the blade pierced her own palm.