I clench a fist at my side as I look at the armored leader of the town guard - the one who, by my reckoning, killed those people by his base ignorance and cruelty.

  Giving him the tiniest bit of credit to his mettle, he didn't cower when I approached him. While I never aim to intimidate people it's just a simple fact that at my height and bulk, nearly twice over this man in both directions, I am cursed to be scary when I'm mad.

  And mad, I certainly am. Furious. Utterly, inconsolably mad.

  “What, under the eyes of the Watcher, the old Gods, and every other divinity in the sky, compelled you to turn away starving travelers with a child in tow? And more than that, do so cruelly?” I keep my arms low, every muscle in my body wants to raise them to punish this fool for his actions, but I rationally understand it won't fix anything that happened. Beating him bloody would make me feel better, but it wouldn't bring those two heroes back.

  “I had orders to keep the gate closed, Master Vigil.” He stammers, finally showing a bit of fear of at least consequences.

  I set my jaw and look down at him. “And if you think I believe that was your real motivation, not only are you a coward, you're a fool. I heard your discussion with the father while I was approaching, you ignorant bastard.” The words slide out, cold as ice. “I want you to consider something, and really think about it.” I pause for effect and to see that he's paying attention, and luckily, he is. “Those two who protected your walls with their lives, do you think that scenario would have played out differently if they hadn't needed to separate to protect their daughter?”

  He fails to answer verbally, but I see the most raw shame I've ever seen on a person strike him like a club. He tries to answer a few times but fails to make any meaningful headway into a sentence.

  I decide to answer for him, to save him from drowning in his mistakes. “Those two were probably amongst the most capable warriors I've ever seen, and I've been fighting those monsters for near on fifty years and beating them single-handedly the entire time. I count myself in that measurement. If they'd been able to actually cut loose and support one another like they obviously could have, this disaster could have been avoided in its entirety. Do you, or do you not, agree?”

  I pose the question as an accusation, threat, and demand, and he seems to understand all three. “Yes. I do. We surely don't deserve the sacrifices they made.”

  “You're damned right you don't.” I let out a hissing sigh after his admission, my own rage finally boiling over and beginning to cool.

  There's a long pause afterwards between the two of us as I realize that townsfolk are wandering over to watch the discussion. All the other guards are looking shocked, confused, and scared and not at all attentive. A general daze has fallen over the lot of them in the face of near death.

  Glancing around, the town from the inside looks exactly how I anticipated. White stone buildings braced with dark wood formed out of monolithic slabs of Structura imbued, polished, and carefully etched, rock. It gives all the buildings a handmade feel of uniqueness that is often missing in established towns. Thinking on what may have been lost had I or the other two parents not been around robs the remainder of my anger of its bite.

  Maybe sensing my mood shift, he offers an apology, “I'm sorry, Sir Knight, we'd known the beast was around for a few days and…” he pauses, struggling to say the next part, it seems, “I was scared. I grew up hearing about hellio-” He cuts himself off, seeing the little girl sitting on a bench behind me, and adjusts, “Demonkyn, and how dangerous they are and how they attract bad luck for those around them. In the face of everything else, I…just didn't know what to do.”

  I hear his explanation, and take as an explanation, not an excuse. He's been cowed, and his recognition of risking hurting the girl shows he's not a monster - just a scared idiot. And not unreasonably scared considering the beast at their gates.

  “I don't want you to apologize to me.” I say simply, letting the implication hang in the air for a moment. “My judgement is made, and my actions will be unchanged. I came to defeat the beast and it has been defeated. My goal from here is the same goal the Vigil always has - to limit loss of knowledge and memories, and to bring those displaced by the event to a safe harbor.”

  He looks down at the ground in shame, but, again to his credit, he doesn't balk at what I'm implying. He walks over to the quiet little pale girl with the golden eyes.

  She stares at him with shrewd eyes as he approaches, clearly having been listening to the discussion.

  But as he kneels before her, hanging his head in supplication as he apologizes, her face softens. She peers at me for direction and I'm unsure what to suggest myself so I shrug. What should I even consider suggesting to a newly orphaned girl looking at someone who got her parents killed?

  She makes a decision for herself that breaks me inside just a little bit more. She reaches out and pats his head, gently tossing his hair with her tiny hand.

  Her little voice speaks in broken common along with the action. “Ekraas would not want me to be mad or sad. It makes everything worse.” She says sagely, and nods, passing along words of wisdom that only a child could in such circumstances. The man seems entirely unsure of how to respond, though. He wants to be beaten down, made to feel worse. Something to make the shame feel validated.

  Instead of doing any of that, she pats his head again, hops down off the bench and skips over to me, leaving him stunned,and everyone else in the little square speechless — me included. For my long decades of fighting these things, and saving people in the aftermath, the children always impress me with their fortitude.

  Maybe it's the lack of experience, maybe it's the wide eyed wonder and hope of a child, or maybe it's just that people don't give kids enough credit. Whatever it is, our Vigil is founded upon orphans like these — those who lost everything but decided to try to prevent it from happening again. I should know, I was brought to the Vigil in similar circumstances myself and have been doing this for my entire very long life.

  “Ekraas say you are a good man and you help?” She asks when she gets within arms reach.

  I nod, assuming the foreign word must be an honorific of some kind. What little I know of the homeland of the demonkyn is that titles and nicknames are very important to them, so I risk using the same in response as I kneel to get closer to her height(though admittedly I still tower over her even while kneeling and bending. “I think your Ekraas wanted me to, little one. I am happy to help, and can bring you somewhere safe with other children like you.”

  She looks thoughtful for a moment before nodding, reaching an apparent conclusion. “You are like Varaan. Strong, nice. I go with you.” She decides resolutely. I mentally thank her parents for raising such a level-headed daughter, especially at her age. She reminds me a lot of Caeli…

  The thought stings, even two decades later, so I push it aside — not to forget, but to put on a strong face for the living.

  “Is Varaan your father, little one?” The words she seems unable to translate flow out in what I assume must be her natural way of speaking. A slight trill of the tongue on every assumed-vowel. Like someone trying roll an 'R', but sharper with her flicking, forked tongue. It's unlike most things I've heard except for some of the presumed fae named I've heard from sidhe in the past. She nods while I muse. “Then I hope I can be half as strong and nice as he was.” Her face lights up with a radiant smile, before abruptly shifting.

  “I forget. Wait here.” She scurries away through the crowd towards the distant gates. I consider following, but this town is safer than most right now. A calamity being present invariably scares off monsters in a wide area around where they operate, so there's nothing that should realistically threaten her at this point. In the coming days, the release of essence from the monster will try the towns defenses by drawing in more mundane creatures seeking the free power. I will probably stay around — their walls seem capable but I'm not exactly in a rush.

  An older vulpin, many tailed and nearly entirely gray furred with a more pointed face and angular features approaches me as I scan the defenses of the town, taking stock of where I could be most useful. They're wearing a masons smock, carrying tools that gently strobe with enchantments of some kind. They make a half bow as they arrive, “Master Knight, are you the Slayer, Garrick Vigil?” They ask with curiosity plain on their face.

  A little taken aback — as very, very few people know who I am by name — I nod. “You saved my kith long years ago, and they have since taken up the cause of the Vigil. I wanted to say that I can speak for all of us here that we are grateful for your intervention, even if the others perhaps robbed you of your thunder on arrival.” They give me a coy smile, clearly meaning no malice in the light jab.

  Unauthorized usage: this tale is on Amazon without the author's consent. Report any sightings.

  “I wondered if I might ply your memories and that of the girl. As the council leader and an accomplished sculptor, I wanted to capture the efforts of those heroes beyond the walls. From everything I've heard. Their actions were mythic and deserving of eternal remembrance.”

  I nod along, memory sorcery isn't the most common, but I've run into a few practitioners of it in my life. This vulpin shows many hallmarks of long practice with the essence of memories - somewhat distant stares, looking through me while talking to me, and similar traits. “I would gladly. Though I have two personal requests, one I would pay for.” They give me an appraising look before nodding. “If you are to make statuary of them, I think it should paint them as loving parents, not as mighty heroes. One day, this girl will return here, and I should like her to see her parents as she knew them when she does.”

  They nod emphatically, tall pointy ears bobbing aggressively, “Consider it done. And the other?”

  “Anything you can spare as gifts I would appreciate. Not for me, but for other children like her. I will return to the keep before long, and would like to return to our orphanage with presents if at all possible. The Vigil takes good care of its charges, but I like to bring back something special when I can.”

  That gets their sharp features to split with a wide grin. “We will get you more handicrafts for children than you can carry, Master Knight. We recognize the doom that was at our doorstep and will repay the act accordingly.” They wink at me, “I have it on good authority that your lot always deny payment, so I will do this thing for you free of charge or expectation. Once you are free and recovered, you can come to my studio in the center of town and we'll make memoria of the events and important memories.”

  As the mason turns to leave, the little girl comes up as quickly as she can while dragging her mother's oversized traveling cloak behind her. The crowd parts to allow her easy access as people start to go about their daily business. These events are traumatic, but there's only so long that people will usually abide standing around when nothing interesting is happening. I doubt if much else will get done, but people will surely spend most of the next couple days holding those who matter most closely.

  “Ekraas say give you this.” She tries, and largely fails, to lift the bundle, so I reach down and heft it and find it surprisingly heavy for what I'd expected. Frankly, it's impressive she was able to move it at all, even dragging it.

  Delicately, I unfold it and find a stowed satchel inside, wrapped up inside the protective garment. I look down at her and ask, “Are you sure this isn't for you, little one?”

  She nods again with surety and a narrowing of the eyes in clear annoyance. I carefully work through opening it, as it was clearly not made for one of my kind, but inside I find a scroll case, a small journal encrusted with gems and gilded, a signet ring, and a small sack.

  I gingerly take out each item and set them on a nearby ledge, checking the pouch first and seeing that it is full to the brim with lustrous gems that visibly radiate essenceof various types. An inheritance, I suppose. This would be worth no small fortune just by itself. I tuck that one away quickly into the bag and with as little visible reaction to it as possible. It’s absolutely the kind of wealth that would make people act foolish.

  The signet ring looks to be of the highest quality, the sort of thing I’d expect to see on the Sovereign’s hand. It depicts a simple stylized crown with three horns resembling branches curling around and in front of it. Hefting it, it’s heavier than it should be and is likely enchanted if its essence signature is anything to go by. I set it back in the bag.

  The journal is similarly garish and valuable looking, and when I carefully flip the pages open they are filled with some of the neatest and most dense writing I’ve ever seen. All in perfect common, but packed in so tightly that it’s hard to pick out any specific information in it. It seems to jumble and move as I watch -- definitely enchanted, but to what end? Is it a cipher of some kind? Not my area of expertise. I stow it after clasping its cover closed.

  Finally, the scroll case. It’s large enough to sit comfortably in my hand, and has to contain a veritable tome because of it. It’s made of a featherlight black metal with silver filigree and adornments that a cursory pulse of essence reveals must be a magicked item. There’s no locking mechanism, though, so after some fiddling I figure out how to properly remove one side of it to slide out a tightly wound document wrapped in three strings interwound of red, blue, and gold.

  I look down at the girl, “Can you help me with this, little one? I fear my hands are too large to undo the string.” While I’m certain I could manage, I figure that getting her involved would go a long way towards building a rapport and making our journey back to Kharbon comfortable. She’s showing herself to be stoic and taking everything in stride, but I suspect that it’s going to be a facade that breaks down once the excitement ends, and she’s had time to process it all. She won’t be alone for that, at least.

  She reaches up and takes the scroll with a grin and sets to very meticulously undoing each string one by one, taking great care to drop none of them until she returns the colorful collection to me. I give her back the strings, as she seems to be eyeing them jealously as I unfurl and begin reading the scroll.

  It’s…long. After seeing the length, I look around for something I can sit on but find nothing that won't risk me breaking it if I put my bulk on it. So I instead just move off to the side of the walk and sit on the ground with my legs crossed. The girl wanders over and sits on my raised knee, something I imagine can’t be terribly comfortable with my armor being the seat, but she doesn’t seem to mind. She starts to whistle a tune and kick her legs while playing with the string. I watch her for a little while instead of reading, feeling a very familiar ache in my chest as I do.

  But after a few moments, I pull up the scroll and begin properly reading it. It is split vertically down the middle, with Eldaran common on one side, scrawled right to left as normal, and on its reverse is another tongue - that of the demonkyn nation. It's impossible to mistake as anything else. While most nations within at least one step from Eldara's borders use some degree of The God's Common, the demonkyn lnaguage is far more densely packed with meaning. As such, Most of the length of the scroll comes from the very flowery interpretation into our tongue, which is easily three times the length of their glyphic language. I’m unfamiliar with it beyond knowing what it is, though, so I mostly just hope it’s a one-to-one translation on both sides.

  As I read, I feel my face pale as I progress down its full length, a growing pit in my stomach. It’s detailing circumstances more dire than anything I think I’ve personally encountered or even heard about in history books. The girl's parents were diplomats. Of a kind, at least. Important people with grand titles with both martial and political significance if their Eldaran translations are accurate. Nobility of the highest order in their more martially inclined society.

  They were coming to Eldara on a mission of seeking an alliance -- something their country had denied time and time again from any other peer states around the world in favor of their more individualistic and isolationist policies. It hadn’t been a contentious situation on any side in centuries, but the situation needs to be incredibly dire for them to turn their back on centuries old cultural keystones.

  The farther I get, the worse it becomes, The nation is under serious risk of collapse under a breakout of calamities, their term being Harakai, translated as 'The Monster of Monsters'. A cascade of worsening situations where if one of their people falls — being so much more capable than an average citizen here — their absorption leads to massively more dangerous monsters far faster and has led to a situation that is, within the document itself, described as apocalyptic.

  This was a last ditch effort to avoid destruction of their people and way of life, and it was on a wing and a prayer. If I'm to assume the dates are accurate, then this near-total collapse is described as happening within about a years time before this missive was sent — which was itself about a month ago thanks to the vagaries of international travel.

  My heart feeling heavy, imagining what the people there must be dealing with, I drop the document from now limp hands. This debacle is much worse than I could have ever imagined. “I certainly can't stay here. I can’t return to the keep, either. I need to go to the capital and deliver this with no delay.” I look at the girl, blissfully unaware of everything, tying the fine strings around my a segment of my plate, having found a small point she could loop them around.

  “One delay. A few minutes, that’s all.” I make to stand, picking her up from my knee as I do. “Would you like to ride up high, little one?” I say, choking back a bit of emotion as I do. Holding the tiny girl in my huge hands, she looks at me with a radiant smile and visibly glinting golden eyes and nods.

  Her now on my shoulder and gawping at everything around, we both set off towards the center of town to meet the vulpin sculptor so they can take their memoria to pay respects to the fallen. The process is painless, and the girl seems to enjoy it quite thoroughly, as the sculptor gets her to recall her fondest memories with practiced ease. She smiles the entire time, and it’s a joy to see, even if I have the weight of a nation sitting on her and I's backs.

  I will remember that smile of this day for the rest of my life.

  — — — — — — — — — — ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? ? — — — — — — — — — —

  I find, when I finish my tale, that I'm standing in amongst the town I'd been describing. I failed to recognize it as I was telling the story, but thinking back now, at some point I think I started…re-enacting it? But more than re-enacting, as I watch various townsfolk reveal themselves to be the littler critter-fae who had been watching, with the dryad apparently taking on the role of the mason.

  Little Nyssa wears away to nothing but nacred dust on the wind after giving me one more smile. The whole scene felt so real and natural that I couldn't really tell when my story stopped and started, which is pretty alarming.

  When I refocus, it's just all of us sitting in the grove, though the trees are vibrant, if melancholic, and the omnipresent music has turned hopeful.

  "Was I just…" I hesitate, trying to think of the right word so as to not offend. "Bewitched? Under an illusion? Or something similar? I saw my memory with near perfect clarity like I was reliving it."

  The dryad, whose name I'm realizing I still don't know, smiles warmly at me.

  Here in the lands of Tale and Song words make.

  Even not being of the fairfolk, the forest approves of you

  So your story is told and seen in full

  "I see. I think, at least. So, the magic here weaves word into illusions and spells? Should I be more careful with my words, then? I wouldn't wish to describe a terrible monster and put any of you in danger — if I even can."

  Naught which is made by the woods

  Is a threat to those within

  You needn't worry

  Though your mindfulness is noted

  "Very well. The remainder of our journey to the capital of our nation, Asu, was uneventful until a monster decided to rear its ugly head. It was the first time I got a good look at who Nyssa was in the wake of those terrors…"

  As I open up my description, I make conscious note of the area around me starting to shift and twist. The figures in the trees, the dryad and I, and the area itself turning amorphous in my mind until I find myself walking along the road in the Hearthlands of Eldara.