Linda was staring at a burning house.
Firelight danced in her eyes, Theodore to her right and Izze to her left, as the trio stood on the dirt below and watched this current horror come to a close.
They had spent an hour hauling the remaining necrotic remains into the center of the living room, piling them high with old furniture and damp curtains to ensure the blaze was hot enough to incinerate the corruption. Now, the house was a roaring chimney of orange and gold, the heat searing the air and turning the night breeze into a shimmering haze. They stepped back in a wide circle, watching the flames lick greedily at the roof, making sure the perimeter was clear of dry brush so the fire wouldn't bleed into the surrounding forest.
The Aelvyn shifted her weight, feeling the heavy, wet weight of the trophies tied to her belt. Five grey, cartilage-heavy Skrat ears dangled from a piece of twine, still dripping a foul, iridescent ichor that stained her leather leggings. In her old life, a "trophy" was a digital badge or a certification in a secure network, but here, success was measured in the grisly remnants of things that tried to eat you. She looked at the ears, then at the crumbling house, and felt a strange, trembling pride that warred with her instinct to hide.
It was a badge of honor.
She had survived her first quest, but also survived something that could've easily killed her.
Linda was even more grateful for Theodore and Izze.
The Aelvyn would make it up to them.
She vowed it, felt the promise burn in her chest like the house burning in front of her.
The embers danced in the wind, casting long, flickering shadows across their exhausted faces.
The silence stretched, heavy and thick, until Izze finally broke it.
The Krithak didn't look at Linda with suspicion, but with a piercing, clinical curiosity that felt like a surgeon's blade.
"That blast back there..." Izze started, her voice cutting through the crackle of the flames. "That wasn't just a lucky strike. That was radiance. Pure, concentrated heat of fucking Solanthe himself. I felt it in my marrow, Linda. That was the kind of power you'd expect from one of the Dawnguard." She stepped closer, her yellow eyes narrowing as she studied Linda’s posture. "But your mark is barely a flicker most days. You’ve spent months pretending to be a novice, yet you just unleashed a surge that would make a priest sweat. It doesn't add up. Nothing with you fucking adds up." She paused, the bluntness of her tone shifting from a question to a hypothesis. "You’re not fighting like a Blessed. You're fighting like someone who has nothing to lean on, and then out of nowhere, you hit us with a miracle. Are you actually marked, or are you just a curseborn who found a way to fake it?"
Linda felt the air leave her lungs, the suddenness of the question sending a jolt of anxiety through her. Her mind raced, instinctively retreating to the safe, structured logic of her brain, trying to calculate the best response without exposing the divine secret of Vael.
And even she didn't know what Vale's power would be.
How could she?
"I... I don't know," Linda stammered, her voice barely a whisper. She looked down at her boots, unable to maintain eye contact with the Krithak. "I just- just wanted to help. I didn't even know it would happen."
It was the truth, though it sounded like a weak excuse.
Linda could feel Theodore watching her, his silence more inquisitive than Izze's bluntness, as if he were reading the lines of her hesitation like a piece of ancient parchment.
The Ardel man stepped forward, the ghostly pallor that had clung to him during the battle now replaced by a steady, healthy warmth. He reached out and gently took her arm, his touch light and reassuring. As he focused, a soft, yellow luminescence emanated from his tattoo again and seeped into the jagged claw marks on her skin.
The Aelvyn felt the sharp sting of the wounds dissolve into a soothing, tingling warmth, the torn flesh knitting back together under the precise application of his Blessing.
She found it freaking fascinating that they could use real magic.
And wondered if she would ever get to this level…
"You can stop the interrogation, Izze," Theodore said, his voice carrying a newfound weight. He didn't look away from Linda, his eyes scanning the spot where the wound had been. "A curseborn cannot mimic that type of power. It is not possible. One would have to... No, no it is not possible. Linda here is a Chosen of Solanthe. I am sure of it."
Linda felt a surge of relief so potent it almost made her dizzy.
She watched the golden light of Theodore's blessing fade, leaving her tan skin smooth and unmarked, but it was the weight of his words that truly mattered.
The Ardel man had just provided the ultimate cover...
By testifying that the blast was divine in nature, he had effectively shut down Izze’s suspicions. Internally, The Aelvyn was cheering, her mind racing with the realization that her lie had just been upgraded to a fact by the most trusted man in the party.
A get-out-of-jail-free card.
This is the best!, Linda thought.
Izze scoffed, rolling her eyes as she turned away from the blaze.
"Fine, Teddy. Whatever. I’m not trying to play inquisitor with the princess over here," Izze muttered, though her gaze lingered on Linda with a lingering flicker of curiosity. "It was just fucking weird, but now I know that Linda's life is just one whole weird shitshow."
Geez..., Linda thought with a frown, but guessed that wasn't entirely inaccurate...
"Theodore," Linda started, her voice still slightly shaky from the adrenaline crash, "those things in the cellar... the Skrats. They weren't like the things in the ruins. They were faster, and their skin looked like... well... you saw. Hollows are gross, but they were on another level..."
Theodore paused, glancing back at the smoldering remains of Mudo's house.
"Those were Frayed, Linda. Tier two. Most Hollows are just mindless husks, shambling along with a void in their chest and a hunger they can't name. But the Frayed? They're a step above. The corruption stops just eating the insides and starts pushing outward. Their bodies literally begin to fray at the edges... Fingers splitting, skin tearing in a way that is different to rot and decay... because the void inside is becoming too volatile for the physical shell to contain." Theodore answered, looking at her with a grim sort of pity. "They aren't just hungry anymore, but also volatile and aggressive. Once a Hollow becomes Frayed, it stops being a nuisance and starts being a predator."
Linda shivered, the memory of the creature’s wet, clicking breath against her skin sending a fresh wave of nausea through her. She could still feel the phantom sensation of those splintered claws scraping against her armor, the way the creature's jaw had unhinged to reveal a throat that looked like a starless midnight. It had lunged with a desperate, jerky speed that defied physics, almost catching her before she'd stepped back...
Izze sighed, glancing at the Aelvyn.
"Stop fucking spiraling, rookie. Yes, they were faster, and yes, they smelled like a sewer in a heatwave, but they were still just Bronze-rank threats. You handled it. You didn't freeze, and you didn't die. In this business, that's a damn good first outing." She stepped closer, giving Linda a firm, grounding pat on her lower back that nearly knocked the wind out of her. "Don't let the gore get in your head. You're stronger than you think, sunshine."
The trek back to Brennale was a long, quiet slog through the thickening mud of the outskirts. Linda walked with a heavy, rhythmic thumping at her hip - five severed Skrat ears, tied together with a piece of rough twine and looped around her belt. The trophies were gray, leathery, and smelled faintly of sulfur, serving as a visceral reminder that she had not just survived, but had actually killed something. By the time the city walls rose to meet them, the adrenaline had fully evaporated, leaving her muscles trembling and her silver hair matted with a cocktail of sweat, soot, blood, and black ichor.
When the trio pushed open the heavy oak doors to Garviss’s office, the air inside was thick with the smell of old parchment and expensive tobacco. The large Brennox looked up from his desk, his massive nostrils flaring as the scent of necrotic rot hit him instantly. He stood up, his bulk and large horns casting a shadow across the room, while Lyra dropped her ledger with a sharp thwack. Both looked at them - covered in grime, blood-spattered and exhausted - with expressions that hovered somewhere between professional concern and genuine alarm.
"Vhat in name of Korath HAPPENED!?" Garviss boomed, but the tone was not jovial.
Theodore went to open his mouth to answer the Brennox's question, but Lyra had already started to move. The Ardel woman stepped over the abandoned ledger on the floor, her professional composure fracturing as she closed the distance between them in a blur of clicking heels. She didn't wait for an explanation, her hands - usually steady and precise when managing the guild's bureaucracy - were visibly trembling as she reached out to grab Linda’s shoulders. Lyra’s piercing purple eyes scanned the Aelvyn’s face, then darted down to the blood-soaked leather of her armor, searching for the deep, jagged rents that usually accompanied a mission gone wrong.
But the Ardel woman found none and exhaled a sigh of relief.
Linda was a little taken aback by the behavior, Lyra usually not one for public gestures or touching of any kind, but she was touched by the concern.
Also when did Lyra wear…
…stockings?
Linda wondered, but put it to the side for more pressing issues…
Like almost dying…
"It was an ambush," Theodore explained, his voice regaining its usual rhythmic composure as he stepped forward to shield the exhausted group. "Mad Mudo was not just an eccentric old man nor was he misunderstood. Mudo was in the process of becoming a Hollow himself. He had curated a nest of Frayed Skrats in his cellar, presumably using his Blessing of Isolde to control them and also possibly stave off the corruption itself... Although his mind was lost." He paused, glancing at Linda with a small smile. "It was a slaughter, but our new recruit proved her mettle. The infestation is purged, Garviss."
Linda felt the weight of the trophies on her hip, the ears slightly swinging with each shuffle of her feet. With a hesitant movement, she reached down and detached the string, holding out the five severed ears of the Frayed Skrats. They were jagged and stained with a dark, iridescent ichor that hadn't quite dried, smelling of ozone and old blood. As she handed them over, her fingers brushed against Lyra’s palm. The administrator’s skin was cold, but her grip was tight, her eyes darting from the trophies back to Linda's face with an intensity that made the Aelvyn want to shrink into her armor.
Lyra didn't let go of the trophies immediately.
The Ardel woman held the grisly prizes up to the light, her silver-rimmed glasses reflecting the flickering torchlight of the office. As a follower of Vessandra, Lyra possessed a keen instinct for the truth, and her gaze narrowed as she sensed the lingering residue of the fight. She wasn’t using her Blessing, but Lyra had enough evidence and even trust in them to tell they weren’t lying.
"Mudo is dead, thank Drevan," Izze stated flatly with a huff. "That fucking shack was a breeding ground for corruption. We didn't leave the site until the structure was a pyre, ensuring the carcasses couldn't seed the surrounding woods. It was a necessary precaution."
Garviss let out a booming laugh that shook the floorboards, his massive chest heaving as he leaned back in his reinforced chair.
"Hah! Burn it all! Yes, yes, I like this style!" Garviss replied heartily. He slammed a meaty palm onto the desk, the impact sounding like a thunderclap. "Requester is dead, so quest payment is void, but I do not let my varriors starve after such bloodbath. I pay this one out of own pocket. Generous, no?"
Izze smiled wide at the Brennox's words and Linda knew what was coming...
"The only thing generous about Garviss is the width of his— " Izze shot back, her voice dripping with characteristic sarcasm.
Before the Krithak could finish the thought, Theodore’s hand came down in a swift, rhythmic smack against the top of her head. Izze let out a sharp, undignified "Ow!" and leaped nearly a foot in the air, clutching her skull and glaring at the Ardel man.
"Calyx’s Mercy… Behave, Izze," Theodore chided calmly, his expression as serene as a still pond. "Gratitude is a virtue, even when the benefactor is... oversized."
"I was gonna say pockets, you pervert!" Izze huffed, but Linda saw the twitch of Izze's lips and knew that wasn't at all what the Krithak was going to say.
Garviss didn't seem bothered by the insult. He simply shook his massive head, a low rumble of amusement vibrating in his chest, and slid open a heavy oak drawer with a screech of wood on wood. He reached in and tossed a small, bulging leather purse toward Theodore.
The Ardel man caught it mid-air with a fluid grace, the clink of coins echoing through the office.
"Go, go! Get out before I change mind and charge for air you breathe in my office," Garviss boomed, waving them away with a meaty hand. He paused, his eyes locking onto Linda. "You do good, little Aelvyn. One more quest like this, only one because of incident, and you take the test for Bronze rank. Then you truly part of Tarnished Blade."
Linda felt a surge of warmth that had nothing to do with the climate of Brennale.
She beamed, nodding with an enthusiasm that almost made her silver hair whip across her face.
"I will, Mr. Garviss! I'll make you proud!" Linda exclaimed, her voice clear and devoid of the hesitation that usually plagued her.
As Linda turned to leave, the weight of her shortsword at her hip and the bow slung across her back felt less like burdens and more like extensions of her own body.
The trio began to pivot toward the door, but a sharp, clicking sound of heels on hardwood stopped them cold.
Lyra stepped forward, the silver-rimmed glasses perched on her nose catching the light as she peered at the Aelvyn with an unreadable intensity.
"Theodore, Izze," Lyra said, her voice a cool, commanding melody. "Leave the Aelvyn. I need Linda to accompany me to my office for a private meeting."
The request was abrupt, leaving no room for argument.
Izze opened her mouth to protest, but Theodore placed a calming hand on the Krithak's shoulder, sensing the shift in the room. Linda felt a sudden prickle of anxiety - the familiar, old shy version of herself whispering that she had done something wrong - but the curiosity won out. She watched Lyra turn on a dime, those long, sculpted legs eating up the distance toward the hall as the Ardel woman gestured for Linda to follow, leaving the others behind in the heavy silence of the office.
"I'll be okay!" Linda whispered, giving a quick, tentative nod to Izze and Theodore.
She fell into step behind Lyra, the rhythmic clack-clack-clack of the woman's heels echoing through the corridor like a countdown. From this angle, Linda felt dwarfed. The Ardel woman moved with a predatory grace, her towering six-foot frame and long, sculpted legs commanding every inch of the hallway.
The Aelvyn struggled to keep pace, the shortsword at her hip and the bow across her shoulder rattling with every hurried step. She felt the old, familiar prickle of social anxiety crawling up her neck, making her wonder if she had inadvertently stepped on a social landmine.
Was this about the mission?
Or perhaps the way she had handled the trophies?, Linda asked internally.
She kept her gaze fixed on the sway of Lyra's hips, trying to ignore the way her own heart hammered, and the unfortunate boner she now sported.
The office door was heavy oak, smelling of wax and old ink. Linda pushed it open, the hinges letting out a low, muted groan. The room was a sanctuary of order - shelves of meticulously cataloged scrolls and a desk of polished mahogany that looked like it cost more than Linda's old apartment in New York.
Lyra glided past her, the scent of expensive perfume and sharp ink trailing in her wake. Instead of taking her seat, the Ardel woman perched herself on the edge of the desk, the wood creaking under her weight as she crossed one long, stocking-clad leg over the other.
The silence in the room became oppressive, heavy enough to make the air feel thick.
Lyra didn't look at her at first, but simply adjusted the silver-rimmed glasses on the bridge of her nose, her purple eyes scanning Linda with a clinical, predatory intensity.
The Aelvyn gulped.
"Close the door, Linda…" Lyra commanded, her voice a smooth, low velvet that flowed in the small space. "...and lock it."