#wizard tfc

“King Sormena, when should we make the turn into one of the fjords?” Cleo questions, turning to face the monarch. Sor is gripping the railing to the wheel tight, fear and panic evident by the purple and yellow tones of his hair. 

“Search for the one with the frozen waterfall! And just Sor is fine!” He doesn’t really feel like a king right now. Not when his teeth are too frozen to chatter and his knuckles have turned as white as snow from fear. 

“We can hardly even see the shoreline!” TFC’s grey hair traps the snow and ice, forming like crystals. Even he was terrified for his life as they beat on through the storm. 

There was only one other hermit who didn’t fear the freezing temperatures. Stress, though nervous about Cleo’s sailing, was used to the biting chill of the cold. It just gave her all the reason more to bundle up in soft cozy clothes and snuggle under blankets by the fire, drinking warm drinks. She was not immune to the cold, but she welcomed it, and could feel the strength of her powers grow with the blizzard around her. She felt like lightning, full of energy and power. And she can see through the storm, see beyond the white out. “Up ahead! The next finger has a humongous waterfall!” 

Cleo and the other hermits squint, daring to ebb closer to the spiked shoreline. Sure enough, frozen water cascades from the top of a mountain, turning to a solid sheet across an archway over the fjord entrance. In the few warm months, the water must fall freely from the overhang, all the way into the waves, a curtain between the ever rough Ashioll  sea and the supposed city beyond. But for now, it’s suspended half way, half drawn. 

Turning into the thin finger through the mountainous, rocky shores, Cleo bites her lip as they drift under the frozen fall. The peak of her mast scrapes against the blue ice, chipping and scratching with a horrible screeching noise, but never disrupting the jagged teeth of the fjord’s maw. 

Entering the belly of the beast, the waves die back and the wind stops howling. Within the fjord, the hermits and their ship are protected from the elements by the mountains surrounding. The tide pushes them further in, silent as the snow that drifts to the wooden deck. The hermits are slow to recover from the sea, but no one dares think about the fact they’ll probably have to leave the same way. “I can see why the Ancient Ones chose this place.” Doc states. “It’s so well protected. No one in their right mind would sail through that.” 

“Actually this place wasn’t always as frozen as it is now. The harsh cold probably occurred around the same time the magical mist in the lower Ashioll sea appeared.” Sor points out. “According to my studies with my brother, this place was quite lush.” 

“Do you think it had something to do with why the Ancient Ones disappeared? Or did the Ancient Ones cause it, King Sormena?” xB questions, flicking his fins to rid the ice from the scaly appendages. 

“Please, just call me Sor.” The king smiles weakly. “But I’m not sure. We don’t know why, how, or even when exactly the Ancient Ones disappeared. It’s an unfortunate gap in our history I hope this expedition will help fill.” 

“But I don’t even see a city!” Iskall points out. The hermits look across the rocky shoreline, but only find trees and boulders. No sign of the carved buildings and stone aqueducts that the Ancient Ones were known for. Were they in the wrong fjord? Everything looked undisturbed, pristine wild forests. Everything looked normal. 

Except for a crystal, sitting in the center of the water, peeking out from the surface and resting on a stone platform. Every hermit’s hairs stand on end at the sight of a crystal- and some even draw weapons and circles in preparation for destroying one of Dolios’s corrupted gems. But as they dare to sail closer, slow and with bated breath, they realize the gem is blue rather than black. Glowing faintly, rather than absorbing all the light. Cleo’s ship bumps against the stone platform, floating on the freezing fjord, but the platform doesn't move. 

Grian is the first to escape the rocking vessel, praising Stratis for being freed. Basking on the solid rock in the center of the water. Stress, False, and Ren help tie Cleo’s ship to the stone dock while TFC eeks closer. His curiosity gets the better of him, and almost like a child, he can’t help but reach out and touch. The rest of the guild, except Sor, flinch. Preparing for some sort of dark magic attack, or for the crystal to take over TFC like it did so long ago. 

But nothing happens. The only shift in the fog around them is from the wind, only the creaking of Cleo’s ship speaking into the silent air. Bolstered by the reactionless crystal, TFC raps his knuckle against the blue, glowing stone. Gazes deep into its luminescent core. Even licks it. “I think it’s chalcanthite. But what use would a crystal like that have out here?” 

“What are its properties, T?” Ren questions, circumambulating the stone. 

“Uh, give me a minute. This is a pretty unusual gem, and this old mind isn’t what it used to be.” The dwarven wizard rubs his temples, massaging the information to bubble to the surface. “It...it deals in time, removing obstacles within time by…” 

TFC goes quiet, staring out at the waters. The surface is calm, but its nearly opaque as he attempts to search the murky waters. What is hiding beneath the waves, disappearing beneath as time eroded it away? TFC’s thoughts are running a mile a minute, piecing together all the information presented before him like a puzzle. Creating a story in his head. 

So lost in the gemstone and history, he doesn’t hear Xisuma call for him to return to the present. Not until X shakes the guildmaster, bringing him back. “What does it do, TFC?” 

“Chalcanthite deals in time, the shift from present to past.” TFC continues to ramble, trying to piece together everything in his mind. But explaining time travel through magical crystals is hard, and then adding on the history of the Ancient ones? 

Most of the other hermits aren’t listening. Some are bouncing in place, trying anything and everything to stay warm, while others are talking through chattered teeth. Including Grian, and King Sor. 

“Why in the world did your guildmaster lick the gem?” Sor questions, shaking his head. His frozen locks of hair tickle at the base of his neck. 

Grian shrugs in response, summoning his wings and fluffing his feathers in an attempt to gain warmth. Blue and white ruffled in a cocoon. “Hey, King Sormena. I dare you to hit the stone.” 

“Please, for the love of the gods, just Sor is fine. And why on earth would I do that?” What did the crystal ever do to deserve being hit? Grian’s only response is another shrug, this time matched with a mumbling series of noises. 

“Cause why not? Do it, Sor, I dare ya.” If it wasn’t for Sor getting to hear just his name, his nickname, fall from Grian’s lips, so casual and friendly, but he’s been conditioned by his brother never to say no to a dare.

Sor walks up behind X and TFC, the former much more confused than the latter, and gazes into the crystal. SOmething about the power within it, so strong and ancient, tugs on Sor’s own magic. Not like it’s trying to steal it, but rather- amplifying it. Strengthening him. Sor breaks out of his trance at the whispered encouragement, the egging on of Grian. 

Before Sor, or any other hermit can think about what he’s doing, he smacks the crystal with the palm of his hand. 

Despite being king, Sor is just about as clever as all the other hermits. He probably shouldn’t have hit the gem so hard his hand stings and goes numb, much less make the ringing sound he can hear in his ears. 

It’s not just in Sor’s ears. The low toll can be heard, slowly rising higher in pitch. It echoes across the fjord, silencing the wind, the creaking ship. Freezing everything for one brief second as the crystal glows brighter. 

The blue gem pulses, and rippling from the lattice, a bubble of light engulfs the hermits, the stone circle, the ship, and the entire fjord. Too bright, the hermits are all forced to avert their gaze, closing their eyes and praying for the chance to open them again. No one dares to attempt until the ringing has disappeared, fading off into the mountains and distant snowstorm

Grian, used to the idea of potentially waking up dead at this point, opens his eyes first. 

They aren’t alone in an empty fjord, freezing to death. There is no snowstorm, and the entire fjord is filled- not with ice floes or soft waves. 

No, it’s filled with a city. 

Stone buildings, floating on the water like driftwood, so tall they challenge the mountains to touch the top of the world. Vines, carefully tended, creep down the building sides, and people- hundreds of thousands of people- take stairs, vines, water tunnels- just about any and every mode of transportation to get around the city. The stone and the greenery are one and the same, the people just as alive as their own buildings and streets seem to be. A group of children run by, kipling and naga and human and bacca, laughing and screaming as they play some kind of game within their own imagination. A few people watch the hermits as they stand there, just as confused as the team. 

TFC is so deep in his explanation to Xisuma, he doesn’t even notice time has already shifted around him. At least, not until a leaf flutters past, bright green and broad. Not any of the pines that they saw daring to grow in the rough terrain and even rougher weather. Both X and TFC watch the leaf drift between them, before landing on a roadway a short distance off. Revealing to them where they are. When they are. 

Lucky for Ex, he doesn’t have to choose. One of the hermits grabs him before he gets a mouthful of dirt. Ex opens his eyes, forced to look at the island. And he sees everything. 

It looka exactly the same. It looks completely different. The grounds were the same- the same rocky shores, soft beaches, hills, forest, even the lake at the center on the north side of the island. The grass the same green color, the sky the same blue, the distant mist and waves dancing together. But dotting the island now stood a menagerie of buildings. Where there used to only be the tower of stone he and X built, now a glass biodome rests on one side, a barn on the other. Smoke rolls free from the chimney of a weaponsmith’s house, and just off the island a cloud floats low, the white tower upon it open to the breeze of the sea. 

Ex collects his books, and slinks off to the guild hall. Sor follows Grian to help with Apatia, to make the decision on how to move forward with his recovery. Tris follows behind Ex, taking in the open sea and sky. So unlike Milliara. 

It was exactly that which drew the void twins here in the first place. They dared enter the Ashioll sea because it was quiet, peaceful, unlike Milliara. Back when there were only two- they didn’t need anyone more. They didn’t want anyone more. In the end, Ex got to be alone, moreso than ever. Without even a brother. 

Being back on Eremita was painful, but as a healing wound would be. For the first time in years, his brother reached out to him. For the first time, they were putting aside the argument so long ago and working together. Like they did when they were young. 

At the same time, both X and Ex set out their books on the same table. At the same time, like mirror images of one another, they set out their maps, their inkwells, their quills, even their books ordered the exact same way. The similarities between the two were uncanny, leaving the hermits baffled as they watch them. If it wasn’t for Ex’s white hair, it’d be impossible to tell them apart. 

Ex speaks first, pulling the red fabric of his cloak away from his face so the hermits can hear him. “The last known insurgence of dark magic was over a thousand years ago. Before Lairyon became a kingdom, near the end of the ancient ones’s time. As we all know, Addows is the only place that still has significant and readable history of the ancient ones. Everything disappeared just like them.” 

“And no one knows why.” Tris adds in, sitting down and plucking a book. He flips through the pages. “The ancient ones had magic more powerful than most wizards. Very few forms of ancient powers survive today- including angelic magic.” 

The hermits look at Grian, but he simply shrugs. He knows nothing about the ancient ones, just that they’re… well, ancient. Iskall speaks up, resting his cheek on his hand. “Could it be that it was the dark magic that wiped them out?” 

Both of the void twins and Tris shake their head, and begin to answer at the same time. Ex and X glare at one another, and Tris takes the moment to answer instead. “No, it’s not like there’s a sign of a fight, or a struggle, or anything. Just...one day they were all over this kingdom, and then- poof, gone.”

“But the ancient ones weren’t the only people here. The kiplings have been living in these waters longer than anyone. And if we cross reference the information King Sormena gave me access to in the royal library, and the deep sea libraries of the Kiplings, we can start to get an inkling of understanding.”

“My gods you’re so boring even now.” Xisuma groans. “We dont need the whole story, and Lairyon doesn’t have time. What did you learn and how can we use it to defeat Dolios?” 

“Well…” Ex bits his lip. “We didn’t learn how they defeated the dark magic all those times before. But we did find the location of one of their lost cities. Tris and I believe it could even be the ancient capital of theirs.” 

The hermits groan, some even dramatically flopping back in their chairs. It seems all they ever have are breadcrumbs, leading them around in circles all across Lairyon. TFC speaks up first, though even he seems exhausted. “It’s better than nothing. It’s our only hope at this point. So where is it?” 

“Tris had pinpointed the general location of the lost city in the Ashioll Fjords, but together we were able to determine the exact location.” Ex plucks a quill from the table, dipping the tip in the ink and marking one of the many divots and crests of the northernmost part of Lairyon. All the hermits lean in, peering at the location. It looks no different from any other part of the fjords, or even the rest of Lairyon. 

“If anyone knows how to defeat Dolios’s dark magic, it has to be the ancient ones.” Etho states. “They did it before, we just have to do it again.”

It gives the hermits hope to know this isn’t the first time, they aren’t the only ones in all of history to face dark magic. Ex looks up at the hermits, a question that’s been dancing in his mind finding its way to his tongue before he can stop it. “Why did you guys ever decide to do this? What in the world made you guys think you could take on a dark wizard? Be the chosen few like the ancient ones?”

The hermits look at one another, as if they’d find an answer in the stares and faces of their peers. But no one has the answer. Though Joe is more than willing to come up with his own. “Perhaps, in this story, there are no chosen ones. No destiny or prophesied heroes. Perhaps it is just by the choice of normal man, who chooses to make a difference, who chooses to stand up and fight, that is really what makes a hero?” 

“Is this what I missed when I left?” Ex questions Xisuma, who nods solemnly.

“What will we find in the lost city?” Grian questions. 

“I dunno, it’s lost.” Tris quips, causing Grian to blush when he realizes his question. “But if it’s anything like Addows, you should be prepared for ancient ones magic and the stone buildings they made their cities from. Apart from that- you just gotta look in the right place.” 

The hermits realize they’re going in on this blind. Once again, they have little more than a hope, a thread of a lead, taking them somewhere in search of answers. Whether it was Gildara, or the Champion’s Cup, or even the Forest of Memories, they’ve always been chasing the same specter of knowledge. Hoping to find something more. 

“But you won’t be alone this time.” Ex points out. The hermits turn to face him, his face so familiar, yet so vastly different. “King Sormena volunteered to go along with you, to give aid on your search.” 

Tris averts his gaze, his jaw set tight at the mention of his brother joining the hermits. Doc raises his hand, almost condescending. “Won’t Dolios notice the king is gone?” 

“He’s not in Milliara right now. The Wanderers informed me of that- where he is, I don’t know, but this is a rare opportunity that we can’t waste. You’ll need every mind and magic to figure out the puzzles and clues that the lost city may have. I’d best get packing if i were you guys.” 

Groups disperse off, back to their homes, caves, ships, and clouds. Once again preparing, as a whole guild, to go off on another adventure. Even Tris disappears, either to go find and argue with his brother, or get a pint of beer from Cleo. But one person stays behind. 

Xisuma doesn’t ever look directly at his brother, but he always turns his head just slightly to be able to see Ex shuffling papers. His body is aimed out from the guild hall, looking over, across the island of Eremita. After a few minutes of uncomfortable silence, X speaks up. “Will you be able to take care of Apatia while we’re gone? I don’t think he can go back to Milliara with you.” 

Ex raises an eyebrow. It almost sounds like an invitation to stay on the island. Almost. “I guess if no one else will, I can offer my help. And glean information from him about the magistrate. Perhaps I can talk to Ian about engineering a prosthesis… Kiplings aren’t really meant to live without their fins.” 

The void mage shakes his head, listening to his brother continue to ramble on under his breath. So many years apart, and yet the same old Ex. For the first time in years, after so long hating his twin, refusing to talk to him, removing every sign he ever existed on this island, now he’s standing in their guild hall. And for the first time in years, Xisuma feels like he can let go of the anger and tension from that fight so long ago. 

Ex steps up beside Xisuma, and the two gaze over Eremita. They watch as Keralis and Zedaph round up sheep for their midday meal, Iskall, Mumbo, and Grian arguing over what kind of redstone they could possibly need on their journey, Wels and False sharpening the blades of their own weapons and others. 

He doesn’t want to admit it, but Eremita looks more alive than it ever was when it was just the two of them. The colors of all different wizards, from all walks of life. All a part of this guild that Xisuma has found. All this, that Ex was afraid of. “You’ve done a good job building yourself a home. Finding yourself a family. Guess you didn’t really need me.” 

Xisuma turns, and removes his mask. For the first time in years, Ex can see his brother's face. They can both see the scars they left on each other. On their skin and in their hearts. Xisuma’s fingers run along the scratched out marking in the metal. Wishing he could take that fit of anger back and fix it. “I didn’t do this without you, though. When I wasn’t sure what to do, it was always your annoying voice that guided me to the right decision.” 

“We have the same voice.” Ex points out. 

“Exactly. No matter what, no matter what I did, you were still with me, a part of me. But when I didn't know what to do, I thought about what you would choose. And it always led me in the right direction. Even though you weren’t here, I still needed you. I still needed my brother.” 

But it’s not just that Mumbo is from the city. He also knows his best friend's brain will turn his memories, his thoughts, his actions against him. It couldn’t have been any other hermit, one that wasn’t so insecure about their position among the guild, their ability to be a mage. It had to be Mumbo, the newest, the most fearful. It attacked him knowing he saw himself as the weakest link. And it made him believe it, see it. 

“We have to go after that spoon.” Grian states, standing. He wobbles like a newborn shleep, falling to his knees. 

“Hold up, Grian. You literally just had 300 million volts use your body as a lightning rod, I know you’re the guild healer and all but you can’t go running after him.” Cleo holds him down, keeping him from trying to run off into the woods. “Grian stop! You can’t run off on your own, or the Hangman’s Playground will turn your thoughts against you. We’ll go together.” 

“How will we even know where he’s gone?” Keralis questions, reaching out to pet a shleep that had wandered into the clearing. The second the bug mage’s fingers sink into the galactic wool, red bolts of static zap him with a yelp. 

“I think he went that way.” BDubs points, seeing other shleep going to the east, static bolts of red energy dancing between swirls of starry fur. Zed is positively delighted to have the company of the shleep in the terrifying forest, and he makes sure to keep the ruminants spirits high to help with the sanity of the rest of the group. 

Iskall helps Grian to his feet, letting the angelic being rest lean on his shoulder, his friend stumbling along with the group. Joe casts a spell which enchants a compass that Wels had, pointing the direction of Mumbo. Though the poem rhyming ass with compass was a bit much. 

The longer they spend within the Forest of Memories, the longer it’s effects linger and worm their way through their defenses. Stress’s amulet shatters, breaking in a burst of darkness. Immediately, the memories of her life before the hermits flood back in. She ignores the laughter, the empty parties and emptier people, running forward and grabbing another amulet to protect herself. They’re all fighting off their own demons, but the knowledge that Mumbo may be fighting his alone keeps them moving forward. 

Ren tips his head up, sniffing the air and wagging his tail. “I smell a change in the air, I think we’re close.” 

“You can’t possibly smell Mumbo, he’s not that stinky.” Iskall jeers, pushing a copse of brambles out of the way. 

“It’s not Mumbo I smell- it’s his magic. It smells like ozone.” Ren disappears through the green foliage, though his tail gets stuck on the way out. He yanks it free a few times. 

“Why would magic smell like oz-” Iskall’s cut off when he gets his answer. A bolt of lightning burns the grass at his feet, red lightning branching and crackling through the sky. 

Grian let’s go of Iskall, stumbling forward. “Mumbo…” 

Hovering in the air, surrounded by bolts of lightning striking at random intervals and places, the multi-mage is lost within his own magic. A power surge, fully realized, and well beyond Mumbo’s control. He was alone, with no one to calm his fears, to help him reign in his magic. Mumbo’s eyes are open, though glowing and crackling with energy. His arms hang limp, his feet at least a meter off the ground. 

Mumbo’s in a power surge. TFC tries to step closer, but with every forward step any hermit takes, they’re forced to retreat two lest they be struck down like Grian was. He’s not even conscious enough to realize what he’s doing. And the surge is getting stronger. Lightning begins to burn the trees around them, setting the wood on fire. The shleep that were following Zed scatter, their wool turning a misty black. 

“He’s going to destroy everything!” Beef warns, jumping back and stomping out a fire started by the lightning. 

“He’s going to destroy himself!” Xisuma adds. “But how in the world are we going to get close enough to talk him down?” 

Iskall and Grian look at one another. They’re Mumbo’s best friends, if there’s anyone that could bring him back to reality, it’s Iskall and Grian. The architechs. Iskall casts his magic, his own radioactive iskallium negates the energy of Mumbo’s magic, and Grian wraps his arms around Iskall and flutters into the air, within shouting distance of Mumbo. He struggles with his wounds, but refuses to drop Iskall. At least, not this time. “Mumbo? Mumbo!” 

Grian’s shouts fall on deaf ears, the hollow form of Mumbo possessed only by magic. Iskall and Grian look at one another, then back at Mumbo. “Mumbo, look! Grian’s fine, it’s not the worst wound he’s ever gotten, you know that!” 

“Mumbo, I know you think we don’t want you.” Grian ducks, his hair standing on end as a bolt of lightning nearly hits him again. “But that’s not true! You’re a part of this family, you’re a hermit! We aren’t like other guilds, we aren’t like your parents were. I asked you to join us because you were fun, and unique, and different. That’s what this guild is for.” 

“You’re so strong Mumbo, because no matter how many times things don’t seem to work out, or your magic is just out of reach, you still keep trying! We all admire how no matter what happens, you still get right back up and try again. I mean, Grian and I have mega thrashed you before, and you just stand up and go for it again!” Iskall notices Mumbo’s eyes blink, and the loud roar of cracking lightning and thunderous roars begin to deafen. 

“Yeah, Mumbo we know you’re strong! You’ve beaten us before, and we’re two S-class mages! But we also understand your struggle. We see how hard you work.” Grian floats toward the ground, following as Mumbo’s feet touch down on the grass. Iskall kneels beside Mumbo, Grian wrapping his wings to coo and comfort all three. “Mumbo, we want you around. You are a hermit and you are a part of this family.” 

“You aren’t our weakest link, man. You’re our best friend.” Iskall breathes. He watches Mumbo blink once, then twice, and on the third time they can see his grey eyes once again. The last of the lightning fades away, Mumbo collapsing into his friends’ arms. 

“I’m so sorry, I hurt you.” Mumbo whimpers, turning his head. Embarrassed to look at Grian. He hurt his best friend. He could’ve killed all the others. 

“You know me, Mumbo.” Grian chuckles. “Nothing can keep me down for long.”

The other hermits join the architechs on the ground, reminding Mumbo how much he means to them. How he’s made their lives better, brighter, more fun. 

And the Forest of Memories can’t hurt them. 

The dark shadows lurking in the foliage instead show the dappled light of the sun through the trees. Rather than focusing on the negative, they see the light. Sunshine burns away the voices of those who wish to tear each hermit down. Doubtful family members, cruel guildmasters, even the voice of Magistrate Dolios himself is eradicated by the group’s sentimentality of each other. 

Instead, the Forest begins to play the best moments of their times together. Mumbo and Grian meeting, Team ZIT meeting TFC on the side of a road, the day Cleo beached her ship on an island that should never exist. Days spent basking in the sun, too hot to train, playing on the beach and in the waters of the Ashioll sea. Cheering on and betting during duels, but always there for both the winner and the loser. Training feeling more like play with the hermits, dinners are bright and happy even in the dark, the island flourishing with life during festivals as the hermits grow excited. Even when it rains, they can be the happiest days on the island. Huddling close to warm fires with mugs of cider, blankets wrapping around friends. Playing in the puddles, dancing in the rain, enjoying every second of their lives. 

Thankfully, the other two are more than happy to visit the forges of Coral Shores. Plus, it’s more time to themselves, and for Stress it’s more time free from the wretched rolling of Cleo’s ship. At this point, she’d rather walk across the water than get sick over the side of the sailboat. 

“So if you’re making more weapons, think you can give a look at my saber? I think she could use some fine tuning, a bit of that good Falsie touch.” Cleo bumps False on the shoulder, rounding the corner into the dry heat of the forgery area. Stress and Cleo recoil at every bang and explosion of fire from the mouths of the forges, like maws of dragons, but False never felt more at home than in the center of the chaos. She watches a bladesmith heat treat the blade of a battleaxe, fire bursting at the oil’s surface, before cooling as the heat travels from metal to grease. It comes out slightly bent, to which the smith races to fix before the metal sets. 

At the center of the forges, a warehouse of alloys operates as the hub. Smiths come and go, picking up all kinds of metals and materials for their craft. False joins the busy bustle, nabbing bars of iron and steel, even a few bearings and sheets. False prefers to make her own tools, and she knows she’ll need some rods and ball bearings to forge a new pair of tongs. The last one she broke when she fell asleep at the forge, and they melted beyond repair. She’d have likely perished as well had it not been for Wels checking in on his friend. 

When False returns, stowing the metal in her pocket dimension for later summoning, Cleo and Stress are staring at the ground. “What did you two find?” She questions, peering over their shoulder.

At the girls’ feet, a wanted poster catches on the cobblestone, the edges of the parchment singed black by wanton flames of the forges. It’s not something they haven’t seen before, a wanted poster of Doc. Even though his days of crime and revolt are mostly past him, every once in a while some arcane guard captain stirs up the reminder that Doc escaped jail, and they print a few new ones. 

But another paper catches False’s vision, this time bearing another familiar, all though very different face. xB. She stoops down, picking up the wanted poster. She flicks the undried paste from her hands, reading it aloud to the others. “Wanted for crimes against Lairyon, treason, political divide between kipling kingdoms and Lairyon, illegal congregation of a guild, and resisting arrest.” 

Stress has disappeared around the corner, but her gasp lures the other two to see what she’s staring at, wide eyed and shaking in her fuzzy boots. 

The entire wall of the tavern is covered in wanted posters. Every last face on each unique poster depicting every last hermit- including Jellie. Mumbo’s depiction is the most accurate, though his mustache is a little off. But whoever designed these sketches got the multi-mage’s constant look of concern down pat. They also notice who carries the heaviest price on their head. Grian, with almost a million rupees more than anyone else, his wings talking up most of the picture. 

False pulls down her own picture, tucking a blonde lock of hair behind the glass and metal of her goggles. She reads of the list of crimes she’s been charged with. Treason, theft, crimes against the Council and government, illegal congregation of a guild, resisting arrest, mercenary activity, illegal manufacture of weapons… the list goes on and on, more and more bullshit than the last. Most of these are laws she’s never heard of, or are so dated she’s sure they were dredged up from the early history of Lairyon. 

And at the bottom of every last wanted poster was the personal signature and insignia of the Magistrate of Lairyon. Dolios himself created these orders, and the Council approved them. She feels her heart stop, her head swimming, a sensation of vertigo as she realizes what this means. 

The hermits are wanted criminals. Not just lawbreakers, but Lairyon’s most wanted. “We need to get back to Eremita. Now.” 

“I knew things were going on with the Council, but I didn’t expect this.” TFC picks up his wanted poster, brushing out his beard and shaking his head. It’s clear the artist that drew this has no clue how to style dwarven hair. 

“I had heard rumors that there’s discord between the guildmasters of the Council. Do you think our work is affecting them?” Xisuma is half perched on the side of TFC’s desk, rifling through all twenty-something  papers in search of his. He pulls it out, looking at the masked face before him. His fingers brush the corner of the rendition where the mark of him and his brother would be, then runs his fingers over the scratched out metal on his face. 

“Perhaps Dolios is putting more pressure on them to maintain their power, to hinder us. Put enough stress on anything, and even a diamond will fracture.” TFC hums. “Well, as bad as this looks on the outside, we can also take this as good news.” 

“Good news? How in the world are we supposed to take being Lairyon’s Most Wanted as good news?” Cleos snorts, waving a green hand at the stack. Her’s is the only one that says ‘wanted undead or dead’. 

“Because it means it’s working. We’re backing Dolios into a corner. He’s threatened by us. It’s not just enough to deal with us on his own, now he wants all of Lairyon to do his bidding.” TFC stands, quite proud. All of their time spent breaking crystals, hunting down husks, and now discovering the monster in the forest is showing results. So much work, and it’s finally starting to crack his resolve. 

“What do we do about this?” Stress whispers. “The arcane guard and most of Lairyon will be after our heads. That’s a lot of money on each of us.” 

“We keep doing our work.” TFC walks out of the cave he calls home, standing in the sunlight and watching the other hermits train. “When isn’t the arcane guard after us? But the more work we do to stop Dolios and whatever he plans to do with that… abomination, the more we help the people of Lairyon, the less inclined they’ll be to turn us in.” 

“We’re already the champions of the Chimaera’s Cup.” Xisuma points out. Would people see their fall from grace as the pitfalls of victory, or would they read more into the lies spread by their leader. 

“And the Asklepions. Shellor, the other teams from the championship.” False straightens her shoulders, thinking of the people they’ve met so far. “They know we aren’t the villains of this story.” 

“You guys said something about taking back Lairyon?” Beef raises an eyebrow, looking over at Doc. “This isn’t your rebellious phase coming back, is it?”

“We’ll explain everything on the way. TFC has a lot to tell.” Etho wraps his arms around Hypno and xB, before disappearing into their shared shadow. 

The kipling laughs, shaking his head and looking around the island. “Some things never change. I see you haven’t fixed the hole in False’s forge either.” 

The hermits laugh, the entire group filled with life as they return to the guild hall. Joe and Cleo regale the missing hermits with the story of their victory at the Chimaera’s Championship. Their battles and challenges in the arena, facing off against the best guilds and winning the cup. They also tell Hypno, xB, and Beef about the heist, the discovery. 

“Why am I not surprised?” Hypno hums, tapping his fingers against the wood of the table that he sits down at. TFC pats the boys on the head, grabbing at Beef’s face and tapping his finger on a scar he sees. Beef shrinks away, concerned for a second, but the guildmaster only chuckles in response.

“I can’t wait to hear that story. It’s good to have you guys back.” TFC pats him on the back. “Treat you to a pint of beer next time we go to town.” 

“Let’s hear about this big job you’ve got planned for us first.” xB raises an eyebrow. In response, TFC rolls out his map.

The paper has changed since they first decided to go after Dolios and his creepy crystals. If there’s one thing an outlaw guild knows how to do, it’s to find new jobs through the grapevine. “Dolios has these tales silenced. I’ve heard of at least six other guilds being attacked or wiped out by unknown magic. Unfortunately, we’re too late to help them.” Team ZIT glance at one another, but focus on the here and now. “But there are places we can make a difference, as well as get information and better ourselves as a group.”

TFC motions to the Evernight forest. “An old friend of mine said there has been stories of familiars and companion animals going missing. No trace of where they went, except for a few patches of charred grass.”

“Charred, or drained?” Mumbo muses. To anyone, that sounds like the signs of a dragon ravaging Foresta, but after Mumbo’s duel with a draconic mage he knows dragons aren’t that dastardly. Nothing is as dastardly as Dolios. 

TFC grins, the newest member and the guildmaster sharing a knowing glint. “There’s also Shellor- which, I believe one of our hermits here knows quite intimately.” Etho gives a two fingered salute, rocking on the back legs of his chair until they fall out from under him, dumping him on the floor. Doc, Beef, and BDubs laugh at him. “There’s a few spies who’ve seen things Dolios has done, but the hard part will be earning their trust.” 

“Hmm, yeah. I don’t think I really left Shellor on a good note.” Etho grimaces. 

“That’ll be you, Keralis, and Grian’s problem. Meanwhile, we also need some help in the magical beings department. And if there’s one group that has mysterious, arcane magic on lock, it’s-”

“The fae!” Stress slams down her hands, a bright smile on her face. Iskall jolts upright and nearly hits the table again on the way down. “But where will we go? The fjords? The mountains? Heartbreak Trench?” 

“The flowerfruit fields. While you’re there, you and BDubs can gather ingredients that we’ve been running low on.” TFC glances at the map, running a finger over the lime green patch on the map. “We do have two confirmed crystal sightings, as well as Gildara. Edenswell seems to be falling ill to dark magic, and there’s reasonable belief that Dolios isn’t getting these massive rocks from nowhere- he’s using gems from the mines.” 

Heads peek over one another in an attempt to see the map. The charcoal diamonds and swirls. Gildara still sits untouched, and every hermit looks at one another. Do any of them want to return to the beginning of this all? Even to put an end to the dark magic plaguing the land, the memories of what they saw, what they experienced, still remain. 

Except for those that weren’t there. “I don’t think I’d mind checking out this hokey little town you guys keep talking about.” Beef grins, glancing over at Hypno and Wels. “We’ll have that place brimming with flaxen fields and green gardens all over again.” 

TFC grins, dipping his head in thanks to the returning hermits. He leans back, looking at the filled guild hall. “It’s been so long since we’ve all been together. If only it were on good terms.” 

“It feels good to return home.” xB ruffles his hair with a scaled hand, looking around for a second, then returning to speaking. “Even if it’s just for a short time, we should enjoy everyone being together again.” 

“What I’m hearing is we need to have our signature hermit celebrations.” Tango’s face splits into a devious smile. All around him, other hermits get a similar smirk on their face. Before TFC can agree to the idea, the hermits are gone. Cleo rushes to her wrecked pirate ship, hefting kegs of ale with the aid of Stress. Wels commandeers False’s forge to begin baking his favorite sweets, while Mumbo, Grian, and Iskall work together to fix the pennants, lanterns, and flags that decorate the guild hall in a myriad of colors. 

Tango snaps his fingers, and a small flame dances at his fingertips, jumping from his nails to the wicks of the lanterns. He ducks out of the way just in time to avoid being smacked in the face by a massive fish, tossed from the sea by xB and grabbed by Grian midair. The whirlpool mage disappears back underwater, back to hunting in the realm he was born in. 

The sun begins to inch towards the western horizon, turning the sky ablaze in a mosaic of pinks, oranges, yellows, and reds. A blue flag flutters against the ancient oak tree, catching on a branch. BDubs reaches out from his seat near the food platters, hardly even glancing away from the fresh baked goods, and with a flick of his wrist the branch bends away and the flag flies free again. 

False appears beside Wels, grabbing a brownie from the hot pan and sticking her tongue out at him as she passes. When Wels objects she’s quick to retort. “You used my forge. It’s rental payment, paladin.” 

Beef sets out plates, which are promptly ignored once Impulse and Zedaph have finished cooking the tuna xB caught. Music swells from a music box the creation of Ren, with the help of Mumbo, the upbeat songs written and composed with Joe and requests from the other hermits for their favorite tunes. 

The music thrums against the low roar of talking, the sound only broken by the common lilt of laughter. Hermits tell their stories, whether they be heard for the thousandth time or a new tale to tell. Beef causes Hypno to flush as he recounts the prank he pulled on the dream mage. Hypno turns bright red, quiet voice cracking over the tale. “I smelled like centaur shit for a week! It was awful, I’ll tell you that.” 

A raucous laugh erupts from that table, overshadowing the story of Mumbo’s duel to xB. “I swear on my life, I thought she was gonna swallow me whole. Or burn me like coal.” Mumbo shakes his head. “I don’t think I ever want to go up against a draconic mage ever again in my life.” 

“I’m surprised a kipling, a draconic mage, and a desert wizard were one team. That’s a strange group. I don’t think I’ve even met each of the others.” xB takes a bite of his fish, marinated in fresh fruits that Cub plucked from nearby islands. “But I’m sure that kipling gave you guys a run for your money. That magic she had… it’s rare beyond imagination. In kipling legend, it means a legendary hero is about to arise.” 

“He definitely kicked Ren’s ass. I don’t think I ever saw so much water moved at once.” Mumbo shakes his head, and stuffs a red jelly tart into his mouth. 

Keralis stands, tossing his woven hat from the brown curls of his hair, and inviting himself onto the open floor. “I love this song! Come on, my wonderful friends, let’s dance!” 

The setting sun casts a golden glow, bouncing off verdant leaves, twisting along the waves of the Ashioll sea. Laughter and music dance in the gilded light, playing in the curls of Zedaph’s hair as he joins Keralis. The two bumble around, drunk from Cleo’s ale but enjoying themselves immensely. 

Only one hermit wasn’t taking part in the festivities. Atop the canopy that protects the guild hall below, Xisuma watches as the stars appear in the sky. For a few moments in the day, the void and the sun share the space above. And he always thinks of the one person he knows he should forget by now. But he would’ve loved this, even if he’s constantly worrying about being caught doing something wrong. 

“Hey X, you gonna mope up there all day or join us?” Jevin grins below, one hand placed on his hip and the other waving Xisuma down. “Just because you’re a void mage doesn’t mean you have to a-void everything!”