“Jacen, I need an explanation right now.” This, my mother demanded once the jailor had hurried away.


    “I wish I had one to give.” I grimaced. “I seem to have overheard things I was not supposed to be privy to, and he suspects it.”


    “Enough to come to our house and arrest you?” My mother was a sharp woman, and now I needed to navigate that.


    “It seems so. A little scare and shakedown to shut me up, most likely.”


    “Go.” She gestured. “He’ll come back once he discovers you’re not at the mill. That’s almost certain. Make sure he does not find you until all of this has blown over.”


    It would not, I knew. I made that promise nonetheless. Once the words had left my mouth, I slipped outside and angled down the hill towards the town once more. Dew lay on the grass and the sun had barely breached the horizon as I strode through the morning’s chill air, purpose in every step.


    Confrontation was inevitable. Conflict was all but assured. The manner in which it would happen I could not control, but I could prepare myself.


    I wondered if, beneath the facade, my parents could recognize the man I had become. The habits I had carried with me for a lifetime emerged now as I scanned about, gleaning knowledge from every glance. New horses stabled next to the town’s inn. Dusty saddles and large packs. Those had been on the road for quite some time. New people, new variables that I did not know of.


    Beyond yesterday, everything I knew of the town was now new. I had left come this morning, in a past life. What would occur between now and the festival was entirely unknown to me. I needed different clothes, I first decided. The durable shirt and patched pants I wore set me out like a sore thumb to those that would be on the lookout for me.


    Best to assume the entire cult had their eyes open for me, and ready to send word to Helcor if I was spotted. That ruled off nearly a third of the shops in town. For now. Behind the tailor’s modest storefront, I stopped and stared across the town, to the chapel on the hill. Andres would be there, as he always was, tending to plants and preserving the faith of Ignil, Goddess of the Dawn and of Nature.


    Soon, I would need to visit. For now, I needed a cloak or somesuch.


    In a town where everyone knew each other all their lives, there was little point to me hiding my appearance. Still, no need to make it overly easy for them either. Some coin and a bit of half-hearted haggling later, I emerged with a brown dust-cloak made of light material over my shoulder. It was not much, but good enough for me.


    Back to the pub I went, in search of knowledge.


    “Jacen.” Rukso remarked as I passed into the Jackdaw’s Crown. Not pleased to see me, I noted.


    “Did Helcor and his men come looking for me?” The barkeep frowned at my question, no pleasantries given as I cut right to the chase.


    “Looking? They nearly torn the door to yer’ room right off the hinges. Who’s going to pay for that?” He accused me, sullen. Thorough, then. Someone keeping an eye on me, perhaps?


    “Did you tell them I was here?”


    “Of course I did!” He exclaimed. “Law comes looking for you with a vengeance and you think I’ll cover for you? You might bring me coin, but not that much.”


    Far as I could remember, Rukso wasn’t part of the cult, so I had reason to believe him. No reason to be careless, however.


    “Weren’t just satisfied with booting down yer’ door, matter of fact.” He rambled on. “Tore down half my rooms looking for you. Lost some good, new customers. Those adventurers told me they’d not be staying in my walls for as long as they were in town. And through it all, all I could think was; what did he do to make Helcor that angry? Well, what did you do this time, Jacen? It ain’t like Helcor to be this aggressive.”


    The Jailor had not waited till morning to pay our house a visit, it seemed. He had left the forest and immediately headed to where it was known I frequented. His methods showed me that this was being taken seriously.


    “Where you headed now?” Rukso demanded as I stood and walked away. Silence remained my only answer as the door swung closed behind me. There was little point to bribing him for his silence. Anything I uttered to him would find it’s way to Helcor, and through him, the cult. The barkeep would fold to the Jailor’s questions, and I refused to let my once-friendship with the man jeoprodize my safety.


    Andres now remained the last obstacle I needed to deal with. As of current, I was human, and only that. No Path had yet been chosen, no powers granted. My body and the knowledge in my mind was all that I retained.


    It would be foolish to assume that the cultists did not have a Path either. Andres was a cleric of the Gods, with all the perks and powers that granted him. I judged that he would be the most powerful of the lot, but Helcor would not stray far behind.


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    What could I remember, however? The priest remained a figurehead of the town largely in virtue of the God he served. With his blessing, the crops grew bountiful every year. The forests provided plentiful game and growth because of Ignil, and his devotion to her.


    When the time came, he would cast off the Goddess and take up the mantle of the Dragon, forsaking his duties and Path. Until then, his powers would remain.


    Charm, the ability to sense life and control it, should it allow him to do so. This was all the memory yielded when I thought of Ignil’s flock. Animals were his eyes and ears, and he could seize control of their actions. If I retained knowledge correctly, he could consciously control one at a time, unless he was far, far more powerful than I had reckoned.


    There remained no use in waiting. Every day that I bided my time, their plan grew closer to fruition. The need to act was now. Once I did so, there would be no going back. That thought did little to deter me. Out of the town I made my way once more, care taken to avoid the streets where I knew cultists set up shop. The open fields did little to provide cover, but there were no people about this close to noon.


    Still, the forest’s veil gave some relief as it sheltered me. Into the river I dipped once more, careful to conceal my trail. A lifetime of habits stayed with me, and I made use of them well.


    The axe and the core remained where I had hidden them, buried and concealed in the thicket. One went into my hand, the other in my pocket. The choice to sit and admire some of nature’s beauty was pushed aside as I set off, aware I would not get that luxury for a while after what I would do today. Not that I craved it anyhow. I had already seen too much, when it had been just me and the void left. Only a short few days ago, I had been wandering the wasteland that had been the ruins of this world. Those memories were seared into my skull, and this illusion of peace and happiness did little to dispell them.


    A healthy distance I kept between myself and the town as I circled it, cutting through fields and towards the hill that held Ignil’s chapel. There were few people out and about today as the week winded down, most lazily tending the crops or excited for the coming festival. Few people meant fewer eyes that saw me, and fewer questions asked.


    Were I younger, then perhaps this would have spurred excitement or anticipation in me. About to commit such a serious act, on the cusp of revealing new and untold powers. In truth, there was perhaps some impatience in my step. After a lifetime of wielding power untold and having reality bend to my will, to be back in a body where all was silent was a torture.


    Force the ritual, kill the priest, reclaim my Path. Once this was done, I would once more wield the strength needed to overcome these agents of death.


    Simple, like the best plans were.


    Ignil’s sanctum was surrounded by bloom and life. The grass grew lush here, hidden among the carpets of flowers and sweet trees that bore ripe fruit year-round. The air smelled..fresh and good and pure. Scents I had not beheld in a long time.


    So sweet was it, that I stopped for a moment to take it all in. Cloaked in brown, axe in my grip and blood on my hands. Like a wraith intruding on a fair garden. That image did little to halt me as I slid the doors open and stepped inside, quiet as could be.


    The chapel was grown from the ground up, living wood making up its space. Leaves and blooms grew on its walls, and fountains tinkled underneath an open roof, reflecting sunlight everywhere. Andres tended to the altar, fruit and wine and incense set alight as the daily offering. The Gods tasted the smell, and the rest was left for their followers, so it was said.


    His back was not stiffened, and his posture was relaxed, I observed. He remained unaware that I was close, for I was careful in my ways, and in my walk. A more foolish man might have barged in and confronted the priest to his face. That man would have died, likely. Eyes on the priest, I quietly moved to the side and began to work my way forward. Pillars of wood hid my form as I paced, axe in hand.


    The doors slammed open, and my spine stiffened. Instinct took me as I ducked, only to hear the sound of feet running through the chapel’s center.


    “The dungeon is dead!” Shouted a woman’s voice. There was panic in her tone, laced into her words as she caught her breath.”


    “Say it again, child. Slowly.” Andres’ calm remained unbroken even in the face of such devastating news.


    “The adventurers. They set off into the dungeon this morning. Came out right furious. Said the dungeon was dead and the core was gone! They’re at the mayor’s house, and they’re angry!”


    A mental curse ran through my mind as I recalled what Rukso had said. Adventurers. The words had glanced off me, and in my focus I had paid little attention to them. The dungeon being discovered as dead so soon had not been what I needed.


    “They’re threatening to lynch the mayor!” The woman’s voice continued, excited and fearful all at once.


    “Well, we can’t have that. Run ahead and tell them I’m on my way. I’m sure we can sort out any grievances they might, understandably, have.”


    The woman did exactly that. I listened as footsteps sprinted from the chapel, and Andres quickly turned back to the altar.


    “Can’t have that.” He quietly spoke to himself as I approached. “Need the blasted fool for a while yet. Festival might get pushed off if he gets strung up.”


    With a sigh, the man began to heave himself up. The blade of my axe on the side of his throat stopped him cold.


    “Don’t think you’ll be headed anywhere, priest.”


    The silence stretched on for several long moments before he finally spoke.


    “The miller boy.”


    “Is this your doing?” He continued, voice still level. My reply came when I pulled the core from my pocket and tossed it upon the altar.


    “Should you want to live, you will start the Ritual of Paths, Andres. Right here.Right now. No formalities, no ceremony. Start it or die on the spot.”


    “Is this a joke of some sort, boy?” He growled. “Some drunken prank that’s gone too far?”


    That thought left his mind when I seized his hair, jerked his head to the side and dug the axe into his neck.


    “I’ve no interest in your feigned ignorance, Andres. I know who you serve, and who serves the weyr with you. Your plans are known to me, and so are the plans of the dragon you follow.”


    “Now, start the ritual, or I will send you to the God you pretend to serve.”