The Fairy Self

Chapter 5

"Are you ready yet?" Nemar complained. Azalea sighed. "That's around the twentieth time you've asked that. And I've told you, I'm nearly ready, but I still need to finish the magic storer to make sure the magic doesn't escape and infect another host with goodness knows what. A magic without an intent will absorb the intent around it. Imagine, if it absorbs a criminal's intent."

"There's no criminals here, they've all escaped...or have been killed by the undead, I suppose.." Nemar sighed. "I suppose that does make a valid point..."

"And you've repeated that in response every single time as well. Don't you have anything better to do than to stay here and bug me? I've got to focus or I'll make a mistake, and every time I make a mistake I have to completely restart. Substances that can store magic are rare, the stoichiometry has to be absolutely right for it to work." Azalea goes back to her complicated assortment of test tubes on the tray. Beside the test tubes was a complicated looking machine, with a box on one end from which condensing gases drift, and another box on the other end, empty. Below is a transparent box of what looks like blood – possibly to attract the virus, and under that is some sort of light which is emitting a low hum. I guess it was to intercept the brainwaves. Nemar turned silent once again, until finally, Azalea revolved around and smiled. "I'm done now."

"Finally!" Nemar leapt up. Azalea rolled her eyes. "No patience," she muttered, then picked up the complicated looking device. 

"Everyone understood the plan?" I asked. "Azalea places down the machine next to a witch-horde, then runs. We stand near the gate with Swiftmane and wait for Azalea. Azalea runs as fast as she can towards us. We wait for the dragon to leave the town square, and as soon as it leaves, we ride out as fast as we can. Got it?"

"Yeah, yeah, we understand," Nemar sighed.

"For goodness's sake, I'll be glad when you leave us. You've been giving me a headache for these two days." Azalea groaned. "And you haven't even spent that long of a time with me. I can't imagine what Ammolite's suffered and endured through."

"He's not that bad," I mused. "Although overly altruistic to the point of self-harmfulness." I then shook my head. "C'mon, let's go and stop discussing such useless stuff." 

Nemar stroked the head of the sleeping child that we rescued and carried him up. We stepped to Swiftmane. The evening sunlight spread across the land, orange, bright.

Azalea departed from us to find a witch-horde to  use the machine on. I give her a solemn nod, knowing that she may not return alive, that this could be goodbye, that I might never have a chance to repay her generosity towards me. I don't need to say anything. I can see that she understands. In the little time we've spent together, we've already grown to understand and trust each other enough to discuss what we normally would hide: me about my sisters, and her about her village. 

"Are you sure?"

"Don't worry about me. I'll be fine. I survived the nuckelavee and dragons and sirens, I'll survive such a small group of weaklings."

I know, Azalea. If I didn't know that she was capable of fighting those witch-hordes, that there was a high chance that she would survive, I wouldn't let her go. But still, the doubt remained, a seed that grew relentlessly onwards to cover my entire body.

Even if this is goodbye, don't worry. You never needed to pay your debts anyway, I was happy to help. Her eyes are saying. I smiled at her and followed Nemar off. We headed to the gate, sneaking along the walls and under the stalls of the empty town square to avoid the dragon's gaze, yet for some reason, the door was closed. 

"That's strange. Let me try and open it," Nemar gave the door a shove. It didn't budge. Nemar pushed it again.

"I think it's...locked?"