Vigor Mortis

Chapter 107: Goes Unpunished

Today is the one-year anniversary of the day that I ate my father. It’s an inauspicious day to finally find myself at the island’s edge.

The forest doesn’t grow near the edge, for reasons I don’t know. When I finally found it, I was hesitant to leave the relative safety of the trees. A road runs between the forest’s edge and the island’s, and roads mean humans. Even if I don’t hurt one by accident, they will certainly be inclined to hurt me. I don’t want that, no matter how much I deserve it.

So despite the great dread of familiarity, I craft myself a disguise. A bit of trial-and-error over the course of a few weeks is enough to find a working method of shaping my webs into something I can wear. A silky cloak made of webbing, gloves and thick paddings for my feet, and of course the wooden owl mask that I have held onto all this time. Once again, on this wretched anniversary, I don clothes and step out into the world of humanity.

It’s unlikely to be as good of a disguise as it was a year ago. I’m nearly twice as tall, my body lanky but growing into a somewhat humanoid womanhood… which to some part of my mind is pleasantly welcome but in practice is mostly just annoying. Why do I even have these!? I’ve seen human women attach babies to their chest before, but given that I hatched from an egg and immediately started killing my siblings, I don’t think I want to put any part of my body near the mouth of a baby vrothizo. I have to use webbing to bind up the deposits of fat growing on my chest or they flop around painfully as I move, putting more strain on a back that is already doing its best to accommodate four shoulders and six recently-grown two-foot-long quills protruding from either side of my spine. I am, to put it lightly, constantly sore. Not hurt, at least not really, but whatever method my body uses to slap parts into place is less than perfect. In terms of the disguise, however, the biggest giveaway is going to be my feet, which I don’t really have any more. Instead, I have talons.

I find myself drawn to creatures that are fast, presumably because of how much of a coward I am. For a while, I feasted on two-legged lizard monsters that hunt in packs and ran down prey much like katzels. But then my feet started to morph disgustingly, my toes thickening, the big one moving backwards like a thumb, my claws elongating to tear through anything I might try to grasp with them. The total length of my foot started increasing as well, and I suspect that if I did not stop eating my prey I would have found myself unable to use my heel as anything but a knee. I don’t… like that. I don’t want to be a freakish mash of parts. I want to be a person.

At least the quills I grew can be pressed flat against my back, making them relatively easy to hide. The creatures I feasted on before growing them could shroud themselves in darkness, absorbing heat and light from the surrounding area. I ate them, initially, because I noticed that the creatures didn’t eat anything. They somehow got their power in other ways. I hoped I could find a replacement for my own hunger, but that didn’t work in the slightest.

Still, through trial and error, I think I have figured out when my body alters itself, if not how or why. Two conditions have to be met in order for my form to change: I must eat a single kind of creature repeatedly, and the creature must have some sort of trait that my body does not currently possess in an equal or superior capacity. When I feast entirely on tiny, non-magical mammals, for example, my body doesn’t seem to change. These also happen to be the kinds of creatures that taste particularly unsatisfying, which I do not believe is a coincidence. They still suffice and that is what matters.

Despite the churning of my fears, I exit the forest for the first time in a year, finally making my way to the edge. I glance down at the islands, the mists below them, at the unfathomable distance between us, and I feel… underwhelmed. Still, something about the vaguely novel experience of gazing down instead of up holds my attention, and I start to walk along the edge, part of me hoping the stone I stand on will crumble and send me tumbling off.

Memory is a funny thing. I’m not counting seconds, so I have no idea offhand how long it has been since I started walking. But if I just look up, in a moment I can compare the position of the islands where they were the last time I glanced, compare that memory with the memory of the day’s length three hundred and twelve days ago, and know how quickly the island moves and therefore how long it has been since I last checked. Of course, that takes effort and I didn’t always check the time on a given day a year ago, but whenever I am curious I can usually figure it out. I’m not curious today. I just want to look down and let the novel sights distract me from my own thoughts for as long as they can.

I manage to keep this up for a few days. Day and night, I plod along the edge, occasionally catching and eating small animals I sniff out along the way. It’s a pleasant walk, comparatively speaking, with much to look at and many idle ruminations about the consequences of simply stepping off. On the fourth day, the mists below start to clear. Enormous tendrils of flesh crest above them, writhing without apparent purpose. The more of the creature I can see, the more of its tendrils and eyes and impossible scale I witness, the more of a sinking feeling starts to weigh itself down in my chest.

So. This is god, then?

“If you fall,” a woman’s voice says, “I will be awfully annoyed if I have to catch you.”

I freeze. I had been so entranced by watching the Watcher that I didn’t notice the absurdly powerful, absurdly delicious-smelling scent approaching me, tickling at my urges to eat. Still, I’ve been out on the road for a long time now. I suppose it was inevitable that I would run into someone. I glance in the direction of the voice and behold a flying figure in brilliant white chitin armor, full-plate from helmet to toe, not exposing a single hint of skin. A Templar uniform, although the red accents around the edges of the armor indicate a higher rank. No one ever explained the ranks to me, however, and I’ve never seen a Templar with red.

The presumably-female Templar—judging by the voice, since that is literally all I have to go on—lands beside me. It’s an odd experience, to be this close to a human after so long. I know that I’ve grown, but actually staring at an adult face-to-face without having to crane my neck upward is more than a little jarring.

“Cat got your tongue?” the armored Templar asks, tilting her head. “Or is this a mystery thing? It’s a little early in the season for masks, and I don’t think we’re going to celebrate the Skyhope Festival this year, considering recent events.”

I take a deep breath, and then let it out, trying to force myself to speak. It has been so long.

“Sorry,” I manage to choke out. “You don’t have to catch me if I fall.”

The woman barks out a laugh, turning her body to look off the edge with me.

“Thinking of joining him down there, are you?” she asks flippantly. “I’ll give you the same warning I give everyone: the fall is longer than you think. You’re more likely to die of dehydration than you are to die on impact. Terrible way to go, really. I suppose you can aim for an island, but that just doesn’t have the same symbolic value, does it? And if you miss…”

I break my gaze away from her, looking down once more. How long does it take humans to die of dehydration? Four days, five? I can go longer than that.

“I’m more worried about surviving the fall, personally,” I admit.

“Is that so?” she asks. “Is surviving a terminal velocity impact a concern for you?”

I imagine myself crashing down onto the surface of another island, bones broken and blood leaking from all over… but still alive. Perhaps someone would see me fall, perhaps they would check the impact site. And between hunger and injury, would I have the self-control necessary to do anything other than devour my savior all over again? Or would I kill them as soon as I could move?

“I don’t know,” I answer. “Maybe. Probably.”

I should leave, but something in me aches to continue the conversation with this random stranger. I keep my gaze locked on the slithering tendrils of god, trying to let my mind wander rather than focus on how much danger I’m putting her in for my own whims.

“Is it blasphemy to be unimpressed?” I ask.

The Templar looks up, staring at me again before letting out another chuckle. She sits down cross-legged at the edge of the world.

“No, I don’t think it is,” the Templar says. “Abnormal, perhaps, but there’s nothing wrong with that. I don’t think the Mistwatcher gives a shit if you’re impressed, he only cares if you succeed. So no risk of blasphemy here, but if you jump… well, that’s certainly a fucking sin. You can’t just opt out, or what would be the point of the challenge?”

I nod glumly, flinching a little at the Templars’ vulgarity. August always taught me to never swear, but I suppose it is certainly not my place to correct a Templar.

“Industriousness,” I quote, remembering the name of the virtue. “The Watcher smiles on the studious, the strong, the creative, the tireless. We must each do our part to develop ourselves and our community into one we can be proud of.”

“You’ve been to your fair share of sermons,” the Templar says, nodding approvingly. “Yes, sometimes in life we must give up on a hopeless task. But to consider yourself hopeless is to believe you know better than the Mistwatcher, than the very being that created you. Whatever your burdens, they are yours to bear. You do not get to cast them off by fleeing into death.”

I sigh, sitting down next to her and dangling my feet over the edge, careful to smooth my cloak under me to not catch it on the uneven rock. I press down my urge to attack her, to eat her. It’s always there, but I don’t have to listen. I want to believe that. To trust that I can live without fearing myself. Isn’t it just a matter of time, though? I will always be the monster that killed August, that got shown the greatest kindnesses anyone could ask for and ruined them all. How could I ever trust myself not to hurt anyone?

“You shouldn’t be alone,” the Templar says. “You’re clearly a bit caught up in your own head, but I can’t be the one giving you a reason to live. I’m not a Preacher, just a warrior. Do you have anywhere you can go?”

“No,” I answer. “Nowhere.”

“Then go to church,” the Templar instructs. “Even the most heinous of people will find forgiveness if they seek it in the many arms of the Mistwatcher. It won’t always come in the form you want it to, but you will find it. So long as you truly desire salvation, so long as you are willing to work to change yourself, you can.”

I manage a humorless laugh.

“I suppose if there’s one thing I’m good at, it’s finding myself changed,” I answer dryly.

“Good,” the Templar answers simply. “If you stick to the safety of the roads, the first major town is just over a hundred miles that way. A long walk, but you couldn’t have made it all the way out here if you weren’t tough enough to survive it.”

I swallow, hating myself for even considering it.

“…And if I don’t follow the safety of the roads?” I ask.

She laughs.

“Twenty-eight miles that way,” she answers, standing up as she points. “It’s a small village, not even a town. The roads there all got grown over, cutting them off from the outside world. I just tried burning them a path, but we don’t have enough salt to keep the land dead. They’re cut off, but too damn stubborn to move. They could use a protector, if you’re strong enough to make it there.”

“I’m pretty much the opposite of the ‘protecting’ type,” I comment, but my eyes are drawn in the direction she indicates nonetheless.

“Well they could use a killer, too,” the Templar tells me. “It’s the same damn thing on this island.”

“High Templar!” A voice shouts from down the road. “High Templar, please come back!”

“Oops, that would be my minders,” the High Templar says, laughing. “I’d best get going!”

Her fingers flick around in a rapid blur of movement, and then she lifts off the ground, flying away. I can’t help but be jealous of that, at least a little. I’d like to try eating flying creatures, but I’m afraid that instead of wings I’ll just get some other wretched mutation. I don’t really have any way of controlling it. The last thing I want is to replace my mouth with a beak, and find myself unable to speak.

…But wait. Why does it matter if I can talk when I can’t even trust myself around humans?

Before I know it, I’m moving away from the edge, heading towards the village that Templar spoke of. I hope she was accurate in terms of the direction she pointed, because I’m following it exactly. But why? The idea of being with humans again… well, let’s just say that I have no illusions of being able to live like I used to, and certainly no intention of being any kind of protector. How could I be? No, if I’m being honest with myself, there’s only one reason I’m going.

I’m just really, really lonely.

I miss August. I miss Sharif. I miss all the kids I used to play with. I even miss Claretta and Fulvia, no matter how painful those memories are. If I could just apologize… no. No, there would be no point. Seeing me again would only make their life worse, it would be yet another sin. But still, I miss them. I miss everyone. The five-minute conversation I just had felt like filling a hole that was drilled through my heart. I need someone to talk to, or I’ll go crazy. That’s what I’ve been missing.

Ugh, is this what you meant, Vita? Is ‘being human’ just going to give me more cause to put humans in danger? I can’t get those words out of my head. Enjoy being human. As if I could enjoy anything after what happened that day.

Yet still, I feel that ache to be with them well up in me. My feet continue to walk in the direction I was shown. It’s dark by the time I first smell humans, and despite my sedate pace, my heart thuds rapidly as I make my way towards them. The forest here is dense, the ground damp and soft. Vines curl between the tops of trees, brambles clog the ground between trunks. My silk coverings are tough and don’t suffer damage, but it’s still slow going. I often have to claw or bite myself a path forward. Still, the flora isn’t purely an annoyance. In many places on the ground, I see flowers blooming, though I can’t tell what color they are, due to the lack of light. Beautiful, bittersweet plants that both remind me of the worst mistakes in my life and still fill me with the joy I had collecting them during that time. I carefully step past the gorgeous blooms and continue approaching the smell of humans.

Beholding the human settlement is startlingly similar to my first view of New Talsi, if much closer. Like the city August lived in, this village lies in an inexplicably sudden clearing, a spot where plants, for whatever reason, dare not to grow. The humans, of course, don’t care, their kind thriving in this sort of environment. The stone buildings sit haphazardly around each other, one or two glowing quietly from the fire within, but most are dark, the people inside sleeping. I don’t have the courage to enter the clearing, but I watch and I wait. All night.

Morning comes soon enough, my own torpor speeding along my perception of time. As the humans start to stir I retreat away from them, busying myself with admiring flowers (which happen to be brilliant shades of yellow and orange) and hunting down a fresh supply of rodents to ensure that I am as in control as I can be. It’s okay! It’ll be okay! I won’t hurt anyone. I just have to go over there and say hi, and then… I don’t know! And then I’ll do something else! Cry and run away, maybe? I have nearly died dozens of times in the forest, fighting monsters ten times my size, and I have never wanted to scream more than I do right now.

So I just… watch. The structure closest to me appears to be the home of an adult woman (an adult woman who is shorter than me, which is still weird) and three children, two boys and a girl. I watch them go about their day as I peek through the trees, longing to go greet them. The children are close enough together in height that I assume they are each only a year apart, the oldest of them likely only a couple of birthdays ahead of Sharif. The girl, who is the youngest, shadows her mother as the woman goes about doing chores, from hanging clothing up to dry to chopping firewood out of a nearly-intact dead tree that seems to have been recently felled and dragged next to the house. The boys play together for the start of the day, but after an hour or two their mother yells at them to cook food. They work together to do so, the oldest heading inside and starting the fire while the other runs off elsewhere into the town, returning with an armful of vegetables and a sack that smells like dead meat.

Unexpectedly, he glances directly at me right before entering the house, and the two of us share a moment of frozen terror before I jump backwards, retreating into the forest with a racing heart. He saw me! I double and triple check my mask, my cloak, my other coverings… they are all in place. He didn’t see what I am. He looked so scared, though! But why? Is there something wrong with me? Is my mask okay? After making sure I’m far too deep in the trees to follow, I sit down next to a flower patch and, with shaking hands, remove it. It looks the same as it always has, as intact as the day I first chose it. I breathe a sigh of relief, place it firmly back on my face, and stand back up.

It doesn’t take more than a couple hours for me to find myself staring out from the forest once again. I watch the same house, careful to dodge back into the trees if anyone starts to turn my way. Other villagers occasionally come by, adults chatting with the mother and trading with her, children playing with the children of the house. Enraptured, my stares continue until an island’s penumbra hits, day starting to turn to night. The family returns to their home, the boy who saw me before turning his head towards my hiding spot before he heads inside—but I am fast, far faster than any human, and I am gone before he spots me again. When the light vanishes in the peak of night, I curl up on the forest floor and begin my torpor until day, despite my muscles and body screaming to move, to hunt throughout the night.

My body gets its wish, a dangerous scent filling my nostrils two hours after dusk. A fellow monster approaches, strong enough to start my nose twitching, my mouth drooling. At first, I want to ignore it, but the closer it wanders towards the village the more I worry: will it attack? Will it seek food there?

After some deliberation, I rise, removing my mask and cloak. If nothing else, I won’t be able to torpor properly while I worry about it. I hunt, and a few minutes later the five-legged exoskeletal beast is dead, its meat and blood nourishing me for the night. …As well as, perhaps, its soul. I don’t know for sure, as I barely even understand what souls are, but I’ve heard the word and from what I understand they are quite important, unique to living things. My own observations seem to indicate that some part of me feasts on the ephemeral, and something about death makes the consumption of a body unpalatable. As if my existence needed to be even more horrifying. There is nothing I can do about it, even if it is the case. I’ve already tried and failed to stop eating entirely, and it becomes no more possible merely because my diet is that much more monstrous. Before starving to death, I reach an even worse state. Failing to eat doesn’t make me hungrier—it only reduces my self-control.

A couple tendays pass like this. I watch the villagers during the day, most commonly the house with a mother and her three children, but I take many vantage points from around the circumference of the village, longingly soaking in the vicarious companionship. I’m fairly certain that I am spotted a few more times, unable to watch every possible witness at once, but I am never pursued. The village is built in an almost perfectly circular clearing, and from nearly anywhere it is possible to see the strange obelisk in the center of that circle, sticking upward like a giant needle. I have no idea what it is, and no courage to enter the village in order to investigate.

When powerful creatures get close, I kill them, occasionally eating them when I’m forced to fight with my teeth. It is always possible that I will grow some new and horrible part of my body, but as long as the village isn’t encroached on by the same kind of monster repeatedly I will hopefully be okay. For the first time in a long time, I have even set up a nest, web traps and advance warning systems allowing me to effectively guard the entire forest surrounding the village.

“At this point, ah almost wish we’ll get attacked by somethin’, just ta cut the damn suspense.”

I’m listening in on a conversation between two of the men of the village, named Jae and Myung. My hearing is very good, after all, and while I know eavesdropping is rude it seems less rude than inviting myself into the village and maybe eating someone.

“It’s right odd ta have this much peace from the forest, but yer not gonna hear me complain about it,” Jae says. “Mebbe tha High Templar actually fuckin’ did something, wouldn’t tha be swell?”

The people of the village have somewhat of a strange accent, but I don’t find it very difficult to interpret them regardless.

“Oi!” Myung snaps. “Ya’d best be respecting the High Templar, Jae. She came all the way out here fer us, thas more than we thought anyone would do. Especially with the capital how it is.”

Jae grunts.

“Well, either the High Templar did somethin’, or it’s that ghost Eun’s boy keeps harpin’ on about.”

I twitch my ears a bit at that. Eun is the name of the single mother of three I watch so often, which means the ‘ghost’ is probably… me.

“Mmm. Don’t know what manner of thing tha boy saw, but he ain’t the only one. Something’s been creepin’ about our forest, though the old preacher insists it can’t be a ghost.”

“And what does he know about ghosts? Ah’ve seen stranger things in the forest.”

Well, here’s what I know about ghosts: absolutely nothing. I’ve never even heard the word before today, so I’m not really sure what this all means. A very quiet snapping noise yanks me away from those thoughts, however, and I quickly twist my head around to see one of my early warning threads drooping slack.

Time to hunt, it would seem.

I don’t smell anything, which matches what my threads tell me, namely that the monster is approaching from the opposite side of the village. That is a bit of pain, even as fast as I am. I retreat from my eavesdropping spot and quickly start to run around the circumference of the village, heading back towards my main nest.

I smell it much sooner than I expect to, hearing the crashing of branches and, soon after, a scream. Panic filling me, I rush back to the treeline only to see a pitch-black beast with a thick, barrel-like body charging mindlessly into the village. It has four twisting horns jutting from an abnormally small head given its size, and it runs on four equally disproportionate legs: hooves in the front, needle-like feet in the back, all of which are far too small for a creature with such a massive frame. Sharp spines coat its back, chitinous armor covers its belly, and dark fur shrouds its face. Even before I see it open its maw to reveal curved, black teeth, it’s easy enough to recognize my kin.

Vrothizo. And it’s rushing straight into the village, its first target a woman I have never met yet seen so much of. Eun.

Honestly, I don’t know what else I should be expecting from my life.

With a flex of my feet, my talons burst free of the foot coverings I’ve bound them in, wicked claws gripping deep into the soft dirt as I blast myself forward. I have mentioned, previously, that I am fast. Even when I was half my current size, I could cover ground unlike even the quickest humans I knew. Now? Now I am at speeds where any more strength to my legs would be less of a boon than if I was just smaller. I’m all but forced to bend forward as I run, my body low to the ground to present as little resistance to the air as possible. This is not a technique I was taught, not something I saw someone else do and memorized. This is a lesson learned from trial-and-error, from feeling the wind itself try to crush me at the height of my speed. I am on the far side of the village from my target, still, but I cross the distance like an arrow, leaping past the screaming woman that flees at what may as well be a standstill to me. It is midflight to my enemy that I realize I am still adorned with my cloak and mask, the disguise hampering some of my greatest weapons.

But not my speed. Still in midair, I wrap my arms around my brother’s undersized head and hold firm as my momentum carries me ever forward. I curl my body, letting that speed transition into rotary motion, and feel the satisfying crunch as I twist his head hard enough to break his spine. A resounding clap thunders behind me as I come to a sudden stop, the air itself finally catching up to my blitz of movement.

Then he bites me, because an injury as pedestrian as a broken spine is hardly enough to take out a vrothizo. I hiss with fury as his teeth slide through my cloak and my arm, stealing a sizable chunk of flesh from my body where it immediately vanishes down his twisted throat. I gouge my talons deep into his shoulders before kicking off him, landing on three limbs in time to see him charging directly at me, the humans forgotten. My brother roars furiously, and I feel a roar of my own bubble up in my chest, unleashing itself as I rip my mask off and meet him tooth to tooth.

Battles between my kin are messy. A mouthful of flesh can be all we need to regenerate damage dealt to our bodies, and the mindless bloodlust that comes naturally to us tends to prioritize offense over defense. As a result, multi-vrothizo combat tends to dance in nigh-incestuous cycles of feasting and regenerating as they tumble over one another in a furious hunger.

I, however, am not an idiot, so I leap past him and bite both of his back legs off, using my superior speed to ensure that I never get within range of his mouth. The black blood whets my throat as glorious meat slides down it, though I’d prefer even a squirrel to this abomination of uncomplimentary, disparate traits. He may be powerful, but any meal would be better than one of my own kin. Not for any misplaced sentimentality or compunctions against cannibalism, but for the simple fact that fellow vrothizo just do not taste very good. Still, meat is meat.

It takes many bites to finally feel one taste like ash, but then it’s done. My head snaps towards the villagers immediately, instinct driving my eyes to search for my next meal. I spot them clustered together, weapons pointed my way and children moved far from the scene of the battle.

Very, very carefully, I resist the urge to devour them all. I close my eyes, take a deep breath, and calmly stand up, chin dripping black. They watch me, faces hard, every muscle in their body tense and ready to fight for their lives.

I stare at them. They stare at me. A few of them actually smell quite powerful, but not powerful enough to pose me any real threat. Based on the look on their faces, I think some of them know that.

“S-sorry,” I manage to choke out.

There’s no response. My body tries to blush, but my skin and blood are the same color so it isn’t at all visible. Oh no. I can’t believe I took off my mask. I just didn’t think I would be able to win without— ah! My mask! I quickly look around, relief flooding through me as I spot my mask intact on the ground. I rush over, leaning down and putting it on with shaky hands.

“Sorry,” I mumble again, not sure what else to say. “Sorry.”

My talons are showing. There’s a huge mouth-shaped hole in my cloak, revealing my extra pair of arms. They can see me. They know what I am. I screwed up, I screwed everything up. Tears welling up behind the wood covering my face, I turn and sprint back into the forest, leaving the terrified villagers behind. I run and run and run, finally collapsing next to a ring of red flowers. I just… I’m just so stupid! I could have fought without my fangs, I could have kept away from his head, I just… that woman was so close to getting eaten, I didn’t have any time to think, and I had to get it away from her, and…

And I’m pretty sure she’s alive.

She’s alive. I saved her. That… that’s worth it, right? It doesn’t matter if they hate me, it doesn’t matter if I can never talk to anyone or have any friends ever again. I saved a life, instead of ending it.

I… did something good.

I shudder out a few more tears, peeling my cloak and coverings off so I can stretch my aching back. I extend my quills perpendicular to my spine, letting them vibrate and feeling heat flow into my body, watching light twist unnaturally to render everything I see as warped and distorted. The heat is soothing, a balm on the layered, crisscrossing muscle groups under my skin. I stretch all four of my arms, rotating my shoulders slowly as I splay my toes. I’ll be okay. No one got hurt except me, and I healed it right off. That’s a victory.

I imagine, in my head, August smiling down on me, telling me I did a good job. I start to cry again.

The next day, I find myself heading back towards the village against my better judgment. I just… I need to know that she’s okay. I need to see with my own eyes that it wasn’t for nothing. I peek out from my usual vantage point, and I’m surprised to not only see Eun and her children, alive and well, but right next to the edge of the forest there is a small basket. Hesitantly, when I’m sure no one is watching, I grab it, lifting the cloth draped over it to check what’s inside. A variety of dried and salted meat, a couple vegetables and mushrooms gathered from the forest. I don’t understand why someone would leave this here.

That night, I swiftly rush over to Eun’s house, leave the basket on her doorstep, and retreat back to my nest. The next day, I find it by the edge of the forest again, this time filled with different varieties of meat and vegetables. I’m not really sure what to do about this, but on a whim I pick some of my favorite flowers, put them in the basket, and then return it that night, still leaving everything else that was inside it where it is.

The third day, Eun stands with the basket in her hands by the edge of the forest, alone. Even her daughter, who always seems to be clinging to the hem of her dress, waits by the house with her two boys. She’s scared of me, but she’s looking for me too. I, of course, watch her from a completely different part of the clearing, trying to figure out what to do about this.

“Hello?” Eun calls out into the trees. “Are ya there? Do ya understand me?”

Yes and yes, not that I have any intention of saying so.

“Hello?” she says again, and then steps into the forest.

Oh, shoot. I dash around the edge of the clearing. I have a lot of webs set up around here, but they don’t catch everything. If she gets stuck, and then something else comes by, she’ll die.

“Hello?” she repeats yet again, right as I jump in front of her, halting her advance into the forest. She jumps in surprise as I stand up, looking down at her.

“Get back,” I tell her. “Stay out of the forest and stop leaving me those baskets.”

Eun is a bright-looking woman, with tightly curled blonde hair and a generous smattering of freckles. Her eyes go as wide as saucers as she stares at me, making me glad I have my mask and cloak on securely.

“Ya can talk,” she remarks in surprise.

“I—I mean, yes, I can talk?” I stammer. “It’s not safe here. Please leave?”

“Ah need ta thank ya,” the woman says. “Ah don’t have much, but ah thought ah could maybe find something ya like. But then… did ya leave me those flowers? Do ya eat flowers?”

“What?” I manage, dumbfounded. “No. Look, you can’t give me any food, I don’t… agh. Can you just get out of the forest?”

“Why have ya been watching us?” she asks.

“I… I don’t know, because I’m creepy!”

Her eyebrows raise a bit that, and then she suddenly snorts with laughter.

“Thas such a funny answer!” she giggles. “Look, we’ve all seen ya around for a while, and it seems like ya’ve been helpin’? Ya haven’t just saved me, right? Yer why we haven’t been attacked lately.”

I step back a little, my heart beating a mile a minute.

“I… I’ve been killing monsters, yeah. But look, I’m dangerous, Eun, I—”

“Ya know my name?” she asks.

I swallow nervously.

“I have really good hearing,” I explain.

“Okay, so maybe yer a little creepy, but ah still want ta make it up ta ya!” Eun insists, stepping forward. “Come on, please? Ah know it’s a little selfish, but ah just won’t feel right unless ah can do something for ya.”

“Just… get out of the forest,” I insist. “Please?”

She taps her chin.

“Hmm… arrite, but only if ya come with me. My boys really want ta meet ya.”

I blink. Wait, I thought she wanted to make this up to me, not make more demands!

“I… what?”

“Come on! It’ll be fine. Do ya have a name?”

“I… Lark. My name is Lark.”

“Nice ta meet ya, Lark!” the woman says, grinning and holding out her hand to shake.

Carefully, hesitantly, I reach out my own hand and clasp it in hers. She grabs me firmly, and instead of shaking she pulls my hand up close to her face and starts poking at my fingertips.

“Oooh! Ya got claws, don’t ya? Fascinatin’. Almost thought tha men had wax in their eyes when they told meh.”

I freeze, not wanting to accidentally cut her. From behind her, back in the village, I smell a pack of the village’s stronger inhabitants approaching our way.

“Eun!” A man’s voice snaps. Jae, I think. “Oi! Are ya in there? What are ya doing, ya fool woman?”

“Oh!” Eun says brightly. “Come on, let’s go introduce you!”

“Wait—” I manage, but she’s already pulling me towards the clearing.

I could stop her, but I don’t. The two of us exit the forest together, meeting four men and another woman from the village, all with weapons drawn.

“Don’t worry, everyone!” Eun says cheerfully. “Ah’m perfectly fine! Ya should all meet Lark!”

“Watcher’s saggy tits, Eun, that’s tha fucking vrothizo!” Jae snaps. “Get away from it!”

I blink. That’s quite a swear. I’m… pretty sure the Mistwatcher doesn’t have those.

“Don’t get yer dick in a twist, Jae, she clearly ain’t. Do ya see this lady trying to bite mah throat out?”

“Ya didn’t see it fight, Eun, tha ain’t a fuckin’ lady! Get over here!”

“Um, sorry, is it okay if I speak for myself?” I manage to say.

The gathered warriors all stare at me in surprise as Eun grins smugly.

“Ah told ya fools! Maybe she ain’t human, but she ain’t no vrothizo!”

“I, um, am actually,” I say. “A vrothizo, I mean.”

Eun laughs nervously, glancing up at me.

“Odd sense of humor, but ya clearly aren’t,” she argues, a bit of that joviality to her voice slipping away. “What with the whole talking and the flowers and the not killing anybody. It’s not a joke in good taste, ya understand? We’ve had quite a bit of trouble with tha black creatures lately.”

“Um, it’s not a joke,” I tell her. “Sorry.”

I reach up to my face, hands shaking slightly as I remove my mask and hood. What’s the point of trying to hide it? A bunch of them have already seen me, it’s not like I would be able to keep the ruse up. Lying is a sin anyway, I ought to at least be honest about it.

I flick my triangular ears, letting them perk up to their full height now that they are free from the tyranny of my hood. Without the mask, I can see a lot better, though my vision is generally good enough for that to not make a difference. My eyes glance over the villagers, warriors tensing to spring into action while Eun… she just stares in horror. I expected this, but I still feel tears threatening to form in my eyes.

I suppose they’ll drive me off, as is only sensible. I shouldn’t even be here. I should have ran the moment they knew what I was. No… I should have never approached this village in the first place, never put them in danger of getting close to my fangs. Eun steps away, finally doing the smart thing and slowly backing towards her village warriors. …Although she does not do the smarter thing and just run.

“Ya fuckin’ believe me now, Eun?” Jae growls. He holds a small axe in each hand, which looks kind of odd to me but the one axe fighter I’ve seen didn’t really seem like he was great at it so maybe two is the way to go.

“Ah… but she saved meh,” Eun breathes. “She gave meh flowers, Jae! She can talk!”

Despite her protests, she still retreats behind the others.

“If ya ask meh, tha makes this thing more dangerous, not less. What do ya want from us, Hiverock beast?”

“I… nothing,” I answer. “I’m not… I’m not going to eat you or anything, if that’s what you mean.”

Or at least I don’t want to eat you. Who knows if I will.

“Then what are ya doing here?”

“I… I just, uh…”

I clutch my two hidden arms close to my chest, trying to seem smaller as my other hands fumble with my mask. I should not be here. I know that. I knew that, and yet…

“…I just wanted somebody to talk to,” I admit quietly.

“Well, we talked,” Jae snaps at me. “Now leave our village alone. We don’t want ya.”

“Now Jae, don’t go speaking for everybody,” a voice from behind the warriors insists.

They glance backwards, spotting the older man approaching us. Just looking at him makes me think of August, which is less than pleasant, but I still immediately recognize the distinctive hat on his head, emblazoned with the human eye. I bow my head respectfully.

“…Hello, Preacher,” I murmur.

“Greetings, young one,” the old Preacher says, nodding back before addressing the other humans. “Friends, I don’t see a monster before me. If you do, your eyes are worse than an old man’s. People come in all shapes and sizes. Is this the first time you’ve all spoken to someone that isn’t human?”

“Th-they’re right,” I blurt out before anyone else can. “I’m dangerous. I should just… I should just go.”

Hands clasped behind his back, the Preacher smiles ever so slightly.

“No one is stopping you. And yet here you still are. Tell me, how old are you, child?”

I feel myself blush again, but it wouldn’t do to lie to a Preacher.

“I… I’m just over a year old, sir,” I answer honestly.

That certainly gets a round of surprise. Most humans my age would still be crawling in diapers, whereas I’m taller than over half the people here.

“Well, you’re certainly the politest young woman your age I’ve ever met. What is your name?”

“I… thank you, sir. It’s Lark, sir.”

“Lark,” he repeats. “A beautiful name. Do you have any use for an old Preacher, Lark?”

I swallow. Am I really doing this? Am I really making this mistake again? Am I going to put these people in danger? And yet… this is what I was told to do. August trusted the church. Rather than a mistake, maybe this is me finally listening.

“A, um… a Templar I met on the road told me to seek one out,” I answer. “Um, she thought I was human, but… it still seemed like good advice, I guess.”

The Preacher nods pleasantly.

“All people are welcome in the embrace of the Mistwatcher. No matter how far away you’re from or how odd you look. Come along.”

“Gregory, please,” Jae presses, though he and everyone else still steps out of the way as I approach the Preacher, almost in a trance. “Ya can’t bring that… ah mean, the kids are all…”

“Perfectly fine, and liable to stay that way,” Preacher Gregory insists. “I told you there was no ghost. And now we see it’s just a young lady that has already spent twenty days with us very much not hurting anyone. The opposite, in fact. The church of the Mistwatcher welcomes all, Jae.”

That seems to end the conversation, as there are no more protests while I silently follow Preacher Gregory towards the center of the village. There, next to the ever-present obelisk, is a large wooden building, easily the biggest in town. It’s not difficult to guess why, considering the carved tentacle motifs: it’s the local church, and it is designed to seat the entire village inside it at once. The Preacher takes me inside, and I’m a bit surprised to see how different it is to the only other church I have entered in my life. It’s very humble, containing very little other than wooden walls, pews, a podium, and two side rooms that I can only assume the contents of. Only once we are inside, the door shut behind us, does the Preacher address me again.

“So what brings you to me, Lark?” he asks.

I don’t have an answer for that, not really, so I stay silent as the old man slowly sinks himself into the nearest pew, relaxing considerably as he rests his old bones. I remain standing, not really sure what else to do other than try to control the nervous twitching of my quills. The last thing I need is them ripping open the back of my cloak. Which, despite the strength of my webs, they can absolutely do. Another fun fact about my quills: they make sitting down a pain in the ass, almost literally. I have to splay them out a little or they poke into whatever I’m sitting on.

Gregory seems to notice my hesitance to answer, so after a bit of an awkward silence he speaks up.

“Stop me if you know this already,” he says agreeably, “but a Preacher has many duties. The first is of course to guide their community as a whole. We lead sermons, gatherings, and so forth. We handle the affairs of the church in places like this, where we are small enough that one man can do the job. And these things are what most think of when they think of a Preacher. But to me, I think there is a more important duty we possess. We are not just someone that preaches, we are someone that listens. It is our job to guide, not to judge. Any sins you admit within this hall are not forgiven, Lark, but neither will they be held against you.”

I remain quiet for a while, but this time Gregory does not offer any other words to fill the gap. Which… is what I need. Because I already know what has to be said. I know what August would want me to do. I just have to stop being a coward and do it.

“One of the five virtues,” I say softly, “is forgiveness.”

“That is so,” the Preacher agrees.

I chew over my words for a bit, before coming out with them.

“That seems horribly wrong to me,” I tell him firmly. “I know that’s… I know that I’m not even remotely in a position to question the Mistwatcher’s teachings, but I just… I can’t see how that’s true. I can’t see why that should be true. There are so many things that no one should be expected to forgive me for! It’s wrong. It’s wrong to think about the fact that those people could meet me in a supposedly perfect place, if I just… what? Learn my lesson? Try really hard? That’s not perfection. That’s unfair to them. I don’t…”

I trail off, putting my mask back on out of instinct more than any real reason. I want to say more, but the words escape me. Preacher Gregory waits patiently to ensure that I am done, and then he answers.

“Why?” he asks. “Why is it unfair to expect people to forgive you?”

I stare right at him, steeling myself for this.

“I have killed eight people,” I admit to him, “by eating them. My method for this involved biting their limbs first, in an attempt to keep them alive for as long as possible while I did so. Two of my victims were a married couple. They had a six-year-old son. I forced the man to watch me slowly kill his wife before eating him as well. Another… victim was a man that loved me like a daughter, that I fooled into thinking I was someone I’m not while I killed people he knew. Two more people I managed to keep alive, because one of them was a biomancer that could regenerate limbs. I held her captive along with one other victim, ate their arms and legs, waited for them to regrow, and then ate them again over the span of multiple months.”

I watch him throughout my explanation, keeping my eyes glued to his face. The old Preacher is good at not showing emotion, but there’s slips of it that get through. Fear. Disgust. It’s a confession that I’ve rehearsed before, in my head, trying to figure out the best way to emphasize the way I see my own crimes. Good luck trying not to hold this against me. Yet his voice is still calm and measured when he finally finds it.

“And do you intend to do these sorts of things here?” he asks. “Why do you admit this to me?”

“Because the last two are still alive. And I can’t think of a single thing more horrible, more undeserving than the idea that they might be expected to forgive me. I… I don’t understand it.”

Immediately, his face softens.

“…Just a year old, you said? Well, let me ask you this then. Why did you do it?”

I frown. What does the reason matter? It was still done.

“Well, at first it was instinct,” I answer anyway. “I was hungry. But some of my earliest victims taught me how to speak, and from that point on… I have no excuse. I knew that they were people, that they could think, that they could be hurt, but I just didn’t care.”

“Yet now you do,” the Preacher confirms.

I swallow.

“I do. But it’s too late. I can’t take back what I’ve done.”

“No one can. But anyone can be redeemed. You are making a common mistake, young Lark. Your victims have been irreparably harmed by you, but the forgiveness you seek is not from that of your victims. The forgiveness you must earn is that of the Mistwatcher. They may hate you until the end of time, and that is their right. But you may still be forgiven, nonetheless.”

I sigh through my nose.

“I don’t… I don’t deserve that, though.”

He shakes his head, that faint smile still on his lips.

“Lark. You misunderstand the nature of forgiveness. It is not a mercy granted to you that you may cease to regret your past. It is not a set of weights you can acquire with good deeds and place on a scale. The promise of forgiveness is an obligation placed on you, an expectation that you will earn your salvation despite your failings. Following the Mistwatcher is not a balm on your wounds, it is a duty that is liable to give you more of them. It is about work, it is about struggle, and it is about grinding away at this dark world we have been given so that we can make it just a little bit brighter. That is forgiveness in the eyes of the Mistwatcher. You are strong, child. From your strength you have built horrors and graves, but if you wish to walk a new path that strength will be tested far beyond the lengths to which your evils have strained it. Is that what you desire?”

I knew my answer before he asked the question.

“Yes,” I whisper.

He smiles wider, creases bending deeper around his eyes as the expression blooms across his face.

“Then welcome to our community, Lark.”

Those words were not met with approval when they were shared with the rest of the village, but to my surprise they were not gainsaid either. For the next few days, I was a constant bundle of panic, afraid to get close to or talk to anyone. I attended church, and after church I retreated to the forest. I killed monsters that got close, sequestering myself away until the next day, the next time all the villagers gathered in that one room and I tested my ability to ignore my instincts. And I… I’m afraid to fool myself with arrogance, but in those times I barely felt them at all. It’s always there, in the back of my skull, but I don’t think about it. Not when the Preacher is talking, not when lines of people glare at me as they exit the wooden place of worship, and not throughout the night as I guard the sleeping village, sitting next to the obelisk in the center so I can smell an approaching threat from any side. The obelisk is such a curious structure, feeling smooth and hard to the touch like glazed pottery or crystal.

The fifth night, I don’t smell a threat, but I do smell something I never expected to approach me. Eun’s middle child, the boy who saw me before anyone else, sneaks out of his home. Hyeon is his name if I recall correctly, and I always do. I debate leaving, but… I don’t. Again. He walks directly up to me, though he keeps a solid eight feet of distance. Which is almost funny to me, considering how absolutely pointless that caution would be if I actually intended to hurt him, but even the thought of intending to hurt him is enough to ruin any amusement.

“Does your mom know you’re out here?” I ask him.

He winces a little at the question, but quickly puffs out his chest to give his counterargument.

“Ahm as old as five of ya,” he asserts. “If yer old enough to be outta tha house at night, ah am too!”

“I suppose that makes sense,” I agree, smiling behind my mask. “But in my defense, I don’t exactly have a house.”

“Oh,” he says.

An awkward silence stretches between us for a while, but soon enough the boy blurts out what he came here for, with a bluntness I rather appreciate.

“Mah pa was killed by a vroth,” he says. “Last year.”

I nod slowly.

“Did they get ’em?” I ask.

“Huh?”

“Did people kill the vrothizo that killed your dad?” I clarify.

“Oh,” he says. “Yeah.”

“Good,” I say.

Again, quiet stretches between us, punctuated only by the occasional absentminded scuffs of Heyon’s boot against the dirt on the ground.

“Yer a vrothizo,” he says eventually. “Right?”

“Yeah,” I confirm.

“So… why do ya think it’s good that we killed one?”

“Well,” I answer, “if a human killed your dad, would you want them dead?”

He frowns, thinking.

“Yeah,” he decides.

“Well there you go then,” I tell him.

Again, we stare at each other for a while. I glance up, not that there’s much to see with the solid stone of the island above us dominating the view. Nighttime is so much more boring than the day. I’m about to say something else when a dangerous scent tickles my nose, indicating that I have work to do.

“Hey, I’ve gotta go,” I tell the young boy—who is five times my age—as I stand up, ready to rush off and kill the monster that had the unfortunate idea to wander too close to this village.

“Thanks for saving mah mum,” Hyeon blurts out. “I thought ya were creepy when I first saw ya, but yer not really.”

I smile at him, then I turn and run away. Things start to pick up from there. I get a little… bolder. A few days later, some of the men are taking axes to trees at the periphery of the clearing to knock them down. It’s a long and careful process, by the looks of it, and I watch them for a while before working up the courage to do something. When the two of them take a break to drink some water, I approach the tree, lean down, and bite through the trunk.

Obviously, I can’t eat trees, and they taste terrible. But my teeth slide through the bark and wood as effortlessly as they slide through flesh, and soon I have a big block of the tasteless crap in my mouth which I spit out to quickly take another bite. In a fraction of the time, the tree is ready to fall, and I ease it down in my arms before setting to trim the branches. The woodcutters gape open-mouthed at me throughout the entire process, which I can’t help but be a little bit amused by.

Slowly, over the course of months, my reputation starts to improve. People start to get used to me. And I… I start to get used to them. I still wear my cloak and mask almost everywhere, but I have normal clothes as well, and people don’t always react with fear when I remove my disguise. When I hunt monsters, I don’t just kill them and take the corpses deeper into the forest, I bring them to the village, letting the butcher prepare what’s left for others. I can hunt a lot, all day and all night if I choose to, allowing me to build a surplus of food for a village which has always struggled with that. Eun apologizes to me, ashamed of being afraid, and as time passes I let myself believe she’s a friend. A very silly friend, who works hard to raise her children more or less alone, who insists on repeatedly pulling my hood down to play with my ears, and who once kicked Jae in the testicles for saying rude things about me. Which… was mostly embarrassing, and I wish she hadn’t, but is certainly charming in a very Eun way.

The months continue to roll by, and after I’ve been part of the village for over a year, their murderer turned protector, I sense one of the most powerful smells I’ve ever sensed before… and it’s familiar. With a wave of scorching heat, a dozen trees vanish into ash in front of my eyes.

A High Templar walks into the village, over thirty other Templars and twice as many workers marching behind her with carts, laying down stone and salt and poison to stop the obliterated bits of the forest from returning anew. It’s a road. A clear path through the treacherous forest, a bridge between this village and the rest of the world.

It’s the most terrifying thing that could have happened to me.

My disguise fully on, hood up and mask firmly attached, I am the first to greet the High Templar, in part because I am the first to know she’s coming. She waves as I approach, a smattering of other villagers gathering behind me.

“Well hey there!” The High Templar greets me. “You’re the owl mask girl. I see that you have not even remotely changed your fashion sense in the last year.”

“The mask has sentimental value,” I tell her. “Greetings, High Templar.”

“Hold on a tick,” Eun murmurs as she sidles up behind me. “Ya never told mea ya know Galdra the Annihilator!”

I never told you that I ate ten people either, I think to myself. That stayed between me and the Preacher the whole time I’ve been here. Anyone who knows anything about vrothizo could probably look at me and figure out that my diet was heavy on humans for a while, but… no one here knows that, or if they do, they keep it quiet. Although, in this case, I have a good excuse for keeping quiet.

“I have no idea who Galdra the Annihilator is,” I say honestly. “But I did meet this woman on the road once.”

“Yeah, and I did my good deed for the day talking you out of jumping off the edge,” Galdra laughs. “And you apparently did your good deed for the year keeping this village alive! Honestly, when we left I figured everyone here would be dead within the week.”

“Excuse meh,” Jae growls. “We are clearly fine, and we woulda been fine without ya or yer pet. ”

“Ah wouldn’t be,” Eun snaps at him.

“Ah just mean, what the fuck is a High Templar doing here now if she thought we were fucking dead?” he grumbles.

I wrinkle my nose under my mask, flinching a bit at the heavy language. The High Templar doesn’t get a chance to respond to the vulgarity, though, as our answer soon limps up to present himself.

“Galdra,” Preacher Gregory greets warmly, his arms outstretched. “I see my bird made the journey after all.”

Galdra takes off her helmet, revealing a bald, aged face, plates of worked metal shining in her skull where hair would otherwise be. She accepts the offered embrace, grinning right back at our Preacher.

“It did indeed. I even got to read your letter, after command faffed about with it for two months. It’s the grand curse of the High Templar that people are always insisting I have better things to do than go greet an old friend.”

“What news is there of Skyhope?” Gregory asks.

“Well it’s still a doughnut, but after nearly two years we’re starting to get our shit together. Still worse off than we were before, of course, but we finally have the groundwork set to actually improve things in Valka. Hence… new roads. Welcome back to the wider world, oh unnamed village that shows up on not a single map.”

I say nothing as the exchange continues, wondering what my life will now become. I’m usually disguised just because it makes people more comfortable, but I do often enjoy being able to stretch all four of my arms when the mood takes me. And my feet, well, those tend to be obvious unless I uncomfortably bind them up like I have now. With the road, though, strangers could enter the village at any moment. People I don’t know, people that will rightfully hate me on sight, and if those people are important it could hurt the village for them to know that I’m accepted here, at least mostly.

“So,” Galdra says after more chatting with Gregory. “About the end of your letter. Is this the one you were talking about?”

To my utter terror and bafflement, I find that she’s pointing at me.

“It is indeed, High Templar,” my Preacher confirms.

“Yeah, she sure feels like one.”

My whole body tenses. He told her? This whole time, has he just been waiting for an opportunity to bring me to justice? I guess… I guess I don’t blame him. Right? I don’t deserve what I’ve been given here, nothing I’ve done makes up for anything. But still I don’t… I don’t want to die! I don’t want to have to fight anyone! Why, why does it always end like this? I didn’t even mess up this time! At least not yet!

“Um, sorry, what does Lark feel like?” Eun asks.

“Your Templar candidate,” Galdra answers, grinning the same grin she’s had plastered on her face since removing her helmet. “She’s certainly fucking strong enough to be one, I can tell that much.”

I blink. What?

“She is,” Preacher Gregory confirms. “But more importantly, I vouch for her character. Since meeting her, I have found Lark to be nothing but careful, understanding, intelligent, and morally-minded.”

…What?

“You’ll need a detachment placed here to protect you, if she’s gone,” Galdra insists, ignoring Jae’s indignant protests.

“Well, I wouldn’t turn down having one or two Templars around the place, as is befitting of a church in Valka.”

“You’ll have five,” Galdra says. “And we brought your research team. I assure you this village will be well cared for.”

“My humblest thanks,” Preacher Gregory says, nodding politely.

“Sorry, sorry, can we slow down for a second?” I blurt out. “What’s going on?”

“What does it sound like?” Galdra asks wryly. “You’re being officially invited to become a Templar, kid.”

What!?

“But… why? Do you know that I’m…?”

“Waaaay under the normal minimum age limit?” Galdra asks, cutting me off. “Yeah, but we can keep that nice and quiet, making a reasonable exception for your… unique circumstances.”

She winks at me. A High Templar just… winks at me.

“Ah, Lark thas incredible!” Eun chirps, reaching up to vigorously rub the top of my head. “Yer gonna be a Templar? Ya’d better write!”

…But neither of us know how to read.

“I told you, Lark,” Preacher Gregory says to me. “The Mistwatcher accepts all kinds. It is within my power to recommend you for this position, and I believe it is the path where you will do the most good.”

“But I—”

“Lark,” Gregory says, cutting me off kindly but firmly. “You have been here for a year. Have any of your fears come to pass? Have you ever even gotten close?”

I shut my mouth. He’s right. It has never even gotten close. But…

“I’ve been careful to never go without eating. To never get seriously injured. A Templar—”

“Lark, you will be fine. And if what you fear does happen, what better place to be than surrounded by those most likely to be able to stop you?”

That’s actually a good point. But… I don’t want to leave. I finally found somewhere that I’m almost comfortable. Even with the road, I should be able to manage. I should be able to help more than I hurt. Why does that all have to change now?

…No, I know the answer to that already. It’s not about me. It’s not about what place would be happiest for me. What Preacher Gregory is saying is that this is not enough. It’s not the kind of goodness I could or should be doing. I have to be more than this. The Templars are where he thinks I’ll do the most good.

And I have to do good. I owe the world more than I can repay. I… I have to make August proud.

“Well?” The High Templar asks. “I’m not gonna drag you off if you don’t want to come, but I do have a lot of stops to make before we get back to Skyhope and I’m hoping to get a move on. Are you in, Templar Candidate Lark?”

I swallow. This is just… so ridiculous. I’m a vrothizo. I’m a man-eating monster. Less than two years ago I was gleefully killing hunters, and now I’m joining the most important organization on the island? Is that a joke? I look the High Templar in the eyes.

“I don’t deserve this,” I tell her firmly.

She snorts derisively, as if I couldn’t have told her anything stupider.

“Do you think I do? I don’t give a single shit what you deserve. Are you in or out?”

I swallow, staring blankly ahead. Eun gives me a hip-bump and a thumbs up, but I barely even notice. I’m confused, terrified, and overwhelmed. But I answer.

“I’m in,” I tell her, and the next thing I know we’re heading for Skyhope.