Luckborn

Rell's eyes darted between them, waiting for an answer. "So? Do we have a deal?"

Otter studies his companions. Jasper's jaw was set. Erin shook her head almost imperceptibly. Milo wouldn't even meet Rell's eyes. It was all the answer Otter needed.

"No," Otter said.

The single word landed like a stone in the quiet chamber.

Rell blinked. "No? You—did you hear what I just offered you?"

"We heard," Jasper said. "We're not bounty hunters. We don't make our living chasing coin off the backs of other people's misery."

"And we're not looking for fame or recognition," Erin added. "Not from the Guild, not from anyone."

Otter stepped closer, his voice even. "While it's possible your life might be forfeit when we turn you over to the authorities, it's not a given. Make them the same offer you just made us, and I'm sure they'll cut you a deal." He crossed his arms. "But that's not up to us."

Rell's mouth opened, then shut. His eyes narrowed, but whatever retort he'd been building collapsed under the weight of their silence.

Just then, Milo's wrisplay buzzed.

He looked at it and his face lit up. "Guys, I just hit level 3."

***

The Halverik Marsh buzzed with life, like it had since Riven arrived. Insects and amphibians croaked or trilled their various songs in the ceaseless pursuit of a mate. Mist curled low across the stagnant water, stirred by the faintest breath of wind. Fish broke the surface as they leaped for juicy insects skating across the surface.

Riven crouched on a patch of half-firm ground, hands stained with mud and blood. The fire at his side smoked faintly, more peat than flame, but it kept the worst of the bugs at bay.

Mearn lay on the litter Riven had constructed. His skin was pale but no longer clammy. The fever had broken the day before, and although his wounds were still raw, the worst was behind him. His breath came easier now. His eyes were closed, but his fingers twitched occasionally, as if grasping at something in a dream.

Riven's teas and pultices had worked to an extent, but Brother Mearn wasn't out of the woods yet. This place bred infection like gossip bred lies. The damp and flies would undo all the progress he'd made if given the chance. Remaining in the swamp was not an option. Not if Maern wished to live.

If only they could move faster. Unfortunately, Maern's torn body could only handle so much. He had to stop frequently to prevent exacerbating any of the wounds.

Riven wiped his hands on the hem of his tunic, streaking the fabric darker with the swamp's filth. His whole body ached from sleeplessness, but he forced himself upright and scanned the mist again. He hated this place. The way the ground seemed to breathe under his boots, never steady, never clean. It wasn't just dangerous—it was hungry. He swore he'd never come back once he was free of its clutches.

The marsh had a way of swallowing sound, but Riven's ears were sharp. Too sharp to mistake the crunch of boot on wet reed for an animal. He stiffened, hand going to the knife at his belt.

Another sound—low voices. Not close yet, but moving in their direction.

Riven swore under his breath.

The Kaosborn that had been protecting them had disappeared over the last several days, slipping into the darkness as Maern's hold over them faded. Now, the two men were alone. If bandits found them here—or worse, a Guild team—there wasn't much he could do.

Maern had told him to be wary of anyone sent from the Guild. They likely had his description and would be looking to apprehend or execute him.

Stolen from its rightful place, this narrative is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

Riven reached for the damp firewood, smothering what little flame remained. Then he crouched low, listening, knife gleaming dully in the mist.

The voices came clearer now, threading through the reeds. Two men at least. Maybe three. Riven couldn't make out the words, but he could hear the cadence—casual, almost bored. That didn't bode well. Casual meant confident, and confident meant powerful.

"—you're sure they came this way?" one asked.

A second replied, his voice rougher. "Tracks don't lie. Someone came this way."

Riven froze, every muscle rigid. His knife pressed against his thigh, slick with damp.

The splash of boots drifted closer, water and reeds parting under their steps. He held his breath. One wrong twitch, one cough from Mearn, and it would all be over.

But the hunters didn't stumble on them. Their voices veered left, swallowed by the mist.

"Dammit. I've lost the trail. Let's double back."

The sound of their passage lingered, then faded, until only the frogs and insects remained.

Riven stayed still another long minute, but knew he had to move soon. He glanced back at Mearn. Still unconscious, still helpless.

That had been too close. Much too close. If he hadn't smothered the fire—if the wind had shifted—if the men had chosen the other direction—

He clenched his jaw, scanning the endless gray horizon. The marsh had hidden them this time, but it wouldn't always. Every moment here was a risk, and Mearn's broken body made them easy prey.

Riven slid his knife back into its sheath. They had to move. However slow, however painful, they had to keep going. The swamp wasn't going to kill them—it was going to deliver them straight into someone else's hands.

***

The road back to Aurelia was mercifully uneventful. No more storms, no more bandits, and no Kaosborn. Just mud-slick paths, gray skies, and the ache of weary muscles.

By the time the city's walls rose into view, Otter felt more relief than he'd admit. Their travels had been extremely dangerous, but Aurelia was a haven from all that.

They made their way straight to the Adventurers' Guild. They found Greaves in his usual place.

"Well," he said, voice gravelly as ever, "you all look like you've been chewed up and spit back out. Report."

Otter chose his words carefully. He reported everything that had happened in the Halverik Marsh and their trip to Crookpine Hollow to learn more about the salamander. He also mentioned the encounter with the bandits and rescuing the merchant and his family. However, he said nothing of the elemental temple or the artifacts they'd recovered. Some truths weren't meant for ledgers.

Greaves listened without interrupting, though his pen scratched steadily across parchment, recording each detail. When Otter finished, the man set the quill aside and leaned back in his chair. His eyes, sharp and assessing, passed over each of them in turn.

He chewed the inside of his cheek as he thought. "You've done well. As well as any Adventuring Team could be expected to do. But you aren't full-fledged members yet. And I made a mistake sending you out so far."

Jasper frowned. "So you're grounding us."

"Call it keeping you local." Greaves tapped a thick finger against the desk. "You'll take assignments in and around Aurelia. Delivering messages mostly, or running errands for other teams. It won't be glamorous, but it will be safe."

It wasn't a suggestion. It was decided.

Otter glanced at the others. Erin gave a short nod. Sage's face was unreadable. Milo looked like he wanted to argue, but thought better of it.

"Understood," Otter said.

"Good. Take tomorrow to rest up, then report back the day after." His gaze lingered a beat longer, softer than his words. "Don't mistake this for punishment. You've proven yourselves. But you'll last longer if you learn to walk the city's shadows before chasing its storms. Oh, and here's your payment for the last assignment." Greaves counted out a handful of Alms and slid them across his desk. The group divvied them up and took their leave.

"So what now?" asked Jasper.

"Now we take care of any personal business," said Otter. "Step one is a bath. Do you think we can still get into the dorms at the Academy?"

Milo shook his head. "Not without special permission. From what I understand, the Academy hosts something called The Great Conclave over the summer."

"What's that?"

"A gathering of scholars from all over the Realms. Not really sure what else to tell you."

"Huh," Otter mused. "I was hoping to visit a professor tomorrow. Do you think that will be a problem?"

Milo shrugged. "Couldn't say. But I might join you. I'd love to get that wave artifact identified. I still can't figure out what it does."

Over the last several days, Milo had spent time studying all the items they collected at the temple. He had discovered the basic functions of the fire stone. They seemed fairly basic. It shed a dim light out to about thirty feet, provided an aura of warmth to whomever held it, and could be used as a fire starter when concentrated on. Milo believed it may have other powers he hadn't discovered yet. The amulet conveyed the effects of a Feather Weight spell on anyone who wore it. Jasper was anxious to try that one out by jumping off the top of Ironside Keep. Though Otter wasn't sure how he'd get to the top in the first place. The function of the third artifact, however, was still a mystery.

"Sure. Maybe you can help me find the person I'm looking for. But first, let's find a room. We all reek."