“It didn’t have to be this way, Lusin,” Vone said, through the settling rubble and suffocating clouds of dust, “Our world could have known only abundance and peace; your friend Kima would still be alive; and your heroic act of plummeting this city of Yunla into the earth to stop me and my army would have only existed in childrens’ nightmares. If only you had chosen the sensible path and let the Plague Bringer fulfill its purpose all those years ago, perhaps, Joone wouldn’t also lay lifeless at your side. Another needless victim of your naive sense of justice.” Vone emerged from across the clearing where the city's center once stood, his dark cloak blowing and unable to hide the black veins spreading up his neck, his skeletal hand of the dead ever present, gripping his bone-laden staff. Lusin looked around at the thousands of defeated undead with a cold numbness, matching the feeling of his tired limbs. He looked to Joone at his side and balled hard fists, shaking, as he thought Vone may be right. “What, nothing to say?” Vone called out again. His skeletal hand leaked darkness, initiating a hex of symbols at his feet that drifted into the air around him. “My army will return in a minute’s time and your whole act of sacrifice will have been for nothing. I’ve waited to kill you for what you’ve done – for what you would continue to do. Our world would never heal.” “You’re wrong,” Lusin finally said, his voice hoarse from the hours of battle that left him kneeled and breathless on the shattered ground, “we can fix the warring factions, we can solve the famines that ravish our world. Millions need not die to save our future.” Vone looked at Lusin with deep disgrace escaping his eyes, “You’re a damned fool, not a hero. A hero does what is needed for the greater good, like me and the six necromancers that saw the path our world was on ten years ago. I will take great pleasure in killing the Winds’ finest wizard if our world’s most notorious farce falls with him. Justice calls for us all.” Vone slammed his great staff into the ground causing the hex to sizzle underneath. A rush of energy gathered within it and pulsed, rumbling through the cracks of the ground. Lusin’s stomach warped seeing the bodies of undead snap and hiss as they started to move once more. But his urge to keep fighting beat deeply in his heart, for all those he lost, for all those who will die if he chooses death. “How long will you fight your futile cause, Son of Winds. You’ve lost your city, your friends, your lover. Who do you fight for now?” “‘Until my last hopeful breath,” Lusin muttered, “for everyone. . . for always.” A vortex of wind swirled at Lusin’s feet, growing above the clouds themselves and into the painted orange sky. Vone braced behind his sunken staff and faced it all. Where Lusin was kneeled it was calm as flowers swaying in the breeze, but his surroundings thrashed with winds that tore down any of what remained of the ruined city. He could see the undead swirling around him fighting the gusts, letting out virulent screams. Others clawed by the cracks and inched closer to him as he held with all his strength. Luzon saw Vone’s dark veins spread further up into his cheek as he seemed to falter in his stance. “You can’t win!” Vone boomed, a distorted gargle of his voice projecting from the hundreds of undead around Lusin, “Even if you kill me, our world is bound for more death and violence in my absence. You’ve already become what I am in your pursuit to destroy it.” Lusin’s body ached with energy and pain, and the undead slowly clawed nearer; there were so many that they used each other as shields against the winds. Lusin knew whatever time he had was running out. Lusin looked at Joone's still body as he fought the growing fog in his mind, her deep blue eyes still gleaming as beautifully as the day he met her. He always said hope swam beneath them, and she would say, “It's the hope I keep for us.” His heart swelled with anguish and love, guilt and forgiveness, causing the storm to whip faster. A pile of horrors was swept up in its raging current. The still grounded creatures closed in mere feet away and Lusin reached out to squeeze Joone’s in his, his emotions pouring out into the surrounding storms, nevering wavering with her hand He closed his eyes as the groans of undead cleared the outer vortex, and he only thought of the hope in Joone’s eyes as his mind faded out. The undead clawed the dirt at his knees. “I have hope for us,” he said, and accepted his fate. But a pulse rippled through the air and blue light poured out of Joone, flooding Lusin with its hot energy, turning his winds into blinding streaks. A sizzling roared in his ears and undead screams turned to silence. In a moment, his bright storm calmed and Lusin saw the last of the undead fleck to dust in the breeze. Vone was kneeled on the ground, clutching onto his staff as if he’d fade to dust as well if he dared let go. Lusin walked to him, dagger unsheathed, prepared to be the hero Vone wanted him to be, but a gentle voice froze his every thought and spoke. He turned back to see Joone’s body was no longer there. “Hope in us means hope in us all, my love,” she said, echoing. Lusin’s eyes welled with tears and his blade dropped to dirt. He grasped Vone’s head, energy surging from Lusin like lightning into the necromancer’s being. Vone’s darkened veins cured away, and his hand of the dead turned to flesh and blood. He looked up at Lusin in disbelief, his eyes a gleaming blue. “Why. . . how have you?. . .” “Hope,” Lusin said, extending a hand, “it’s the only path our world can take.”

I engraved the ancient runes I had written in Luharas into the blank stone tablets before me. They outlined the two great stones that together made a crescent moon. It was the closed doorway I sought–one piece like the bed of fingernail and the other its thin curved tip. All my sacrifice, all my grief that I imprisoned to concentrate instead on finding this doorway. It would all be worth it to see Eluvian’s ancient labyrinth open to me and reap its reward. The gates thundered, sliding open seconds after I etched the last rune in the stone door’s center. It sent echoes down the convoluted tunnels I navigated to arrive here. As it slid, darkness crept from its opening into the cave where I stood. A thick black fog. My lantern was the only thing that allowed me to see it envelop the surrounding air. It ate at its light as it continued to leak. Now, I could only see the bottom half of the dim entrance, my heartbeat the only sound I could hear. The eerie silence unsettled me–made my senses elevate and my stomach tighten trying to detect any noise. I prayed I wouldn’t. A metallic scraping pierced the silence–a slow, methodical sound that radiated from the blackened doorway in front of me. I swear I could also hear faint breaths in between the sounds of metal grating along the cave floor. It sounded like whispers drifting into my ear–causing my entire spine and neck to stand in a trembling symphony. I almost dared take a step forward. To see what I had worked for all these years, to fix what had happened to me. But that dream was shattered once the scraping and breathing stopped. The silence was deafening in my ears. Seconds felt like minutes as I stood frozen, contemplating the choices I made to get to this point. Shame and guilt washed over me–suffocating me in the darkness and silence–at the decisions I had made to stand in front of whatever was in the darkness before me. An evil shriek rang throughout the cave, coming from the pure blackness in front of me. My sacrifice,my grief, none of it seemed to matter anymore as I sprinted away from the scream, my dim lantern in hand. As I ran, I stumbled and slammed into the narrow cave walls. Another shriek pierced through the cave into my ears, and along with it, the slow, inevitable scraping continued. It never grew quieter as I ran. I couldn’t remember the paths I used to get here. The cave was now engulfed by the fog, barely letting my lantern light the ground beneath my feet, let alone the correct paths for my escape. The scraping of metal and whispering breaths didn't cease; they echoed relentlessly off every wall and corridor into my ears. I ran until my lungs gasped and my legs burned, feeling like I had passed an identical split of paths dozens of times over. I didn’t dare turn back while I ran, but now, my exhaustion coerced me into checking behind me. When I finally turned, I found myself in the same room I had fled, my lantern still illuminating only the bottom half of the stone doorway. All my running had been for nothing–not able to save me from the truth that stood a few feet away. The constant scraping and whispers now closed in. As they approached, my shame and guilt gripped me again—paralyzing me to whatever loomed nearer. In that moment, the last moment I thought my heart would beat, all my running and terror and sacrifice floated away from my mind, disappearing into the surrounding darkness. The only two things that entered it now were the images of my sweet girls. One is the reason I stand here in this cave. And the other being the one waiting—praying for me to come home, to come back to her. Only now, with the darkness and impending death upon me, did I realize which one I could still save, still love, still hold. The light of my lantern shone brighter just then, making clear the creature that indeed stood feet away from me, bordering the wall. My heart shattered at its sight, and I dropped to my knees as the image of my little girl flooded my eyes. Her metal toy horse sat at her feet, the one that squeaked when she pushed it along the floor–her favorite pastime before her illness overtook the joy in her life. Later, it took mine as well. But now. . . now, she stares back at me, my little girl whom I worked so hard to see again, to take home in my arms. Her face was blank as she stared at me, but she reached out her arms like she always did right before picking her up and spinning her around. My heart’s broken pieces splintered further upon seeing her gesture. I rose, and my feet instinctively stepped toward her to spin her like I had before. And to hear her infectious giggle like my heart had longed to for so long. But my mind and memories stabbed into me, compelling me to hesitate. Her check-to-cheek smile that was always smeared across her face when I went to pick her up was missing. Her blank face didn’t even flicker, and only her longing eyes stared back at me. At my hesitation, she finally spoke. “What’s wrong, Dad? No spins anymore? I thought you’d been wanting to see me. You can come take me home now.” My eyes shut in anguish at the sound of her voice and at the words she spoke. My heart trembled at the realization that it wasn’t my little girl in front of me. She never–never once in her life called me that name, for she hadn’t made it long enough to grow out of the phase of saying daddy. This was a trick, a sick, twisted trick that Eluvin had set out to lure me into his lair. I looked over and saw I was inches from crossing the doorway’s threshold. My stomach sank into the ground thinking what would happen if I crossed it. As I stared into the eyes of my girl, the person I had given up so much to see, the ache of acceptance stung through my whole body. The acceptance that she was actually gone, the acceptance I had denied myself in pursuit of dark rituals and malevolent tricksters, the acceptance her sweet older sister had gone through on her own so long ago. It had only now arrived within me, making me fall to the floor again, filling my eyes with emotion I had repressed with lies and delusions. She was gone, and there was nothing I could do to hold her again, to spin her around, or hear her laughter. But. . . I could still love her. I could still love her so much that she never truly disappeared. I could love her as much as I still love her beautiful sister anxiously waiting for me at home. I could do it for her, I could do it for them, I could do it for us. I did not need Eluvian, nor anyone else, for that. And so, with bitter acceptance and all my love, I tossed my lantern at the illusion posing as my little girl. It was my only source of light that guided me here, and it shattered with flames scattering the ground under her feet. No screams of pain, not even a single wince, as whatever stood in front of me remained in the fire. A cloaked figure emerged due to the light given by the blaze. It had been stalking mere feet away, with long arms and thick sharp nails that reached the floor—as if four scythe blades hung between its fingers. Eluvian. The trickster god slowly, methodically stepped forward, its claws scraping the whole way, eventually standing in the fire next to the illusion that stung my heart. He peered into me under the shade of his hooded cloak, never breaking, studying me for seconds that stretched to hours in my mind. Finally, his hood broke from me, looking down at the illusion next to him. He took her hand in between the blades, and they slowly turned and walked away into the darkness. The. . . illusion turned and waved to me with a big smile as she walked, “Bye, daddy. I love you. Tell Efi I love her too. I miss you to the moon and back.” Everything in me screamed to run back towards her, hugging and never letting her go, but before I could decide if it still was a trick, or really was her drifting away from me, both she and Eluvian disappeared in the darkness. The stone doors rumbled and crawled to a close in front of my face. And for a moment, I was clouded in silent darkness–the darkness I had known for years–not knowing if that truly was her, if that was my only chance. But, in fact, I knew it was not, for I now knew she never left, at least not to me, nor to her loving sister. Just then, a faint light painted the cave from the thin tunnel I had sprinted through moments earlier. I followed it, knowing it was my only chance of navigating the darkness. It bent and illuminated the cave into only one path. Its light bathed my face, bubbling up the memories of Yuri’s laugh and her soft, curious voice in my mind. And, for the first time in a long time, a tearful smile graced my face as I thought of her. The grief and shame left me like the fading dark fog as I neared the cave’s exit. I escaped Eluvian’s Labyrinth. The glow of the yellowish moon was raining on my face, its nearly full ellipse shining over the valley of long grass and trees that hid the dark cave. Its dark edge contrasted the brighter side perfectly, letting me appreciate its guiding light even more. I breathed in the valley’s scent of cool dew as I brushed against the long grass, it was the deepest, lightest breath I’ve taken in years. I arrived home before the morning sun rose, only faint orange strokes on the horizon as I opened our door. Effa was asleep in one of the four kitchen chairs, hers facing where I entered. She awoke and wrapped me up in a hug before I could set my bag on the ground. With her face pressed into my torso, she muffled, “I missed you, Dad. D–Did you see Yuri? Did you find what you’ve been looking for?” “Yes,” I said, “yes I did, sweetheart.” I picked her up with a tired groan and carried her outside where the moon was still lingering. I looked up and guided her arm to its beauty. “She said she loves us to the moon and back.”

“Where the hell did you find this?!” the hooded man croaked, his voice thick, as if he talked through the velvet curtains that line the windows looming over me. Foxes’ Cradle, a name perhaps a little too precise for my taste, but I suppose the tavern owner knows his clientele; the man of the shadows whom I found in Luhara said this was the place to sell, a sanctuary for thieves, transformed from the abandoned castle walls that hide it in plain sight, the last place one would look. “What do you mean, where?” I said, replying to the hooded figure. “Why does it matter where I got it? Are you interested or not?” My eyes narrowed. What kind of buyer is this? My usual back in Kleptos would have taken one look at it and offered me the silver it’s worth. He responds, “I do not know who you take me for. . .” “Stephan,” I replied. An obvious lie. “Stephan,” his raspy voice continues, piercing through the low mumbles of fellow criminals enjoying their wine along the long tavern table, “I do not know what kind of buyer you take me for, but I assure you, I am not your typical customer. I prefer to know where the stolen things I purchase come from, and from whom they were stolen, for security reasons, of course. I’m sure you understand, one thief to another.” “Yes… I suppose I can sympathize with your need to cover your tracks,” I said, “so, if you must know, the ring is from some wealthy merchant’s manor on the outskirts of Luhara. I almost feel bad for the guard who must have been paid to protect the sizable property. It was almost too easy to steal.” Another lie. As a response, the hooded man pulls the ruby-encrusted gold ring close to his eyes, and though his hood shades the colors and creases of his face, I can tell he is deciding if it’s real, he even wafts its aroma in thoroughness. His beauty of a cohort stands over him and verifies its validity as well; her expression is easier to read, for the blush of her cheeks and the shining of her emerald eyes do not conceal as well as the hood. She peers up from admiring the ring and shoots me a promiscuous smirk; my confidence in this deal is restored. He responds, “Well, Stephan, I can see you are not new to this business. The purity and clarity of its gold and rubies are of the utmost quality, and I believe it even has an enchantment that causes it to smell of fresh citrus and rose petals; as if it was picked off the orange trees that surround the Queen’s tomb, or plucked from the flower gardens she tended outside Castle Morrow. I hear the King goes mad for these scents since her passing, due to the trees and gardens having all wilted in her absence.” My eyebrows raise. Is he reciting a poem? Though his descriptions are quite true, his precise metaphors unsettle me. After attempting again to read his shaded expression, I reply, “Yes, the smell is quite strange. The manor was luxurious, but I thought it weird that a wealthy merchant would spare enough silver to have it enchanted. Usually, merchants and their lovely wives only care about the metal and rocks; maybe they share the Queen’s tastes.” He sets the ring on the table, atop the fine silk bag I had also stolen that day. His hand raises, and he flicks his fingers towards me, signaling his partner to walk around the adorned, once-feasted-upon dinner table that gives character to this hidden tavern. My instinct is to look down at the blue glow that radiates from my knapsack laying on the floor next to me. My hand effortlessly changes its position from in the bag to atop it, just in case it’s needed. Amidst my preparation the buyer speaks again, “It is quite something, though it doesn’t possess the usual caliber of magic that I require from my purchases. But, in this case, I think I will make an exception.” My response rushes to the tip of my mouth, but it is interrupted by his partner arriving at my side of the table; she runs her caressing fingers up and down my clothing in search. If her hands could live amongst my clothes forever, it would still be a tragedy for not lasting longer.” But my head turns back to him with a glare, “I’m not that kind of thief, Buyer, I do not kill nor carry weapons intended for it.” My tone is exact, my thoughts scream at me to run from this bizarre deal but I stay motionless, leering into the buyer’s hood that he hides behind. “My apologies,” he replies, “another precautionary measure. I can’t have my clients trying to resteal my purchase with a knife to my throat. However-”, his voice trails but his gaze darts to the woman’s narrow stare while she is relieving me of her seductive frisks. No weapons to be found, I didn’t lie about that one. His pause releases, “-ah, it appears you are a nobleman among thieves Stephan. Usually, this part is much more of a headache.” A thin but viscous drop of mucus appears from the shadow of his hood, creeping towards the table. I nearly gag at the sight of it colliding with the mahogany. I just want this deal to be over with. “A thousand silver pieces and it’s yours,” I say, “I would put up more of a fight but I would like to arrive back at Kleptos by nightfall. I’m sure you can understand.” He replies, “Oh, I understand noble thief. Though, I do not think your journey home is your most pressing matter.” He snaps down his shadowing hood, revealing a slimy, glossed face with curved yellow diamonds for eyes and a shining, hairless scalp. A malicious smirk replaces the once darkened lips I had peered at before. My heart tightens and I reach for my glowing blue savior, I do not wish to remain with this demonic amphibian any longer. My eyes stay locked on the slimy horror now in front of me, but my hand finds nothing atop my bag. My stomach sinks into the floor, and I avert my gaze to see that my magic cube is gone, as if it grew wings and fluttered out of this abandoned castle. My gaze swivels back only to see it reappearing in the hands of my seductress as she beholds it in front of the viscous creature. He gives a restrained laugh, almost as if he’s impressed I had an escape plan to evade whatever he is about to do to me. The woman pulls it back into her full possession and gazes into my very soul; I’ve been duped. His skin begins to shift, and his words turn to gargles as he croaks, “King Morrow does not appreciate thieves, Stefan, especially those who rob his departed Queen.” His skin begins to expand, stretching and bubbling as his body amasses in height and width. My breath stops in its place watching him grow, his limbs cracking, his cavities oozing mucus as molten metal flows from the ladle. The gorgeous woman’s erie cackle bursts through the curtain of disbelief that hangs over my senses. Her fair complexion sags to wrinkles, her gleaming black hair to a frizzled gray, but her cackle remains throughout it all, causing my very soul to tremble to its core. Once my heart resumes beating, I scan my surroundings in search of something that can save me, but all I find is nothingness. No criminals sipping their wine, nor adornments lining the table, nor velvet curtains hanging along the windows, it must have all vanished with the witch’s fair complexion. Damn illusions. The amphibian bellows a croak and rears its horrifying head. I know what is about to come next; there’s only one way that a frog consumes its flies. As my body sheds all my remaining hope, my eyes find the ring that smells of rose and citrus, still lying on the table. It is my only chance. My eyes flick up and lock with the hag’s; her’s jump to the ring and back to mine. We both lunge for the ring as the snap of the monster’s glistening, thick tongue zips towards us. The slimy tongue adheres to my back and my weight shoots upward like the steam of a boiling kettle. I close my eyes and stiffen each of my limbs; half in preparation of my death and half in overbearing disgust from the slime coursing over my skin. I slide through its mouth and into its throat. The pulses of the monster’s gulet ripple over my body as the cackles of the witch still muffle through the membranes that separate us. But I have the ring. My unyielding fist still clutches the golden ring and I slide my other arm across my body, compressed by the monster’s gulping throat. I transfer the ring to my pinching fingers that are kissing my now opened palm, and then slide it on the only place one would think to try. The smell of citrus and roses grow, even amidst the vulgar saliva that coats every inch of my skin. At least I will die with fair aromas to comfort my last thoughts. One of those thoughts being to twist the ring on my finger, in a desperate but familiar attempt to save myself. With a simple twist, the aromas develop into tastes and then to textures, as if roses and oranges were cradling my limbs, hugging my entire being. Only after my plummet and the sunshine refracting into my eyes did I realize those textures had been real. Fresh oranges and plush rose petals canvas the entire castle floor, along with the ropey mucus and bloody entrails of the frog creature that had just exploded from their pressure. I turn the ring again and the flow of fruits and flowers cease at once. I push my mucus and blood covered body off the ground and find the once cackling witch unconscious or dead on the ground, crushed under the half of the amphibian still intact. However, one of her arms hangs about, her palm up as if gently guiding the bud of a rose to her nose, or rising up to pick a ripened orange hanging from a just short enough branch. And a mere foot away from it was my magical cube, its blue hue shining vibrantly in between the sea of orange and red. I walk over to her, my feet squishing in my shoes, and pick up what is rightfully mine. I find my knapsack hidden under a dismembered slimy chuck and sling it over my shoulder. I am ready to leave this place. But, before I do, I survey the sorry bounty hunters strewn about the floor; I do not kill nor carry weapons intended for it–I look down at the beautiful shining ring still snug around my finger –I suppose I’m a bigger liar than I thought. I grip my glowing cube, and with a single ninety degree turn of each of its halves, I flash out and back into reality within one snap of a frog’s tongue. Lucy greets me as my reappearing body settles and I set my cube in my sack. I kneel down and pull off my new ring to show her, dripping blood and mucus on the floor of our bare kitchen all the while. Her eyes shut after admiring its beauty to instead take in its enchanting scents. Her pools of sapphire reopen and I follow them while they curiously move down to my feet and back to my face. “Where did you find this Daddy?” she says, her voice as smooth as the illusory velvet curtains within what wasn’t Foxes’ Cradle.