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Having spent a lot of her adolescents around machinery, Isteen had grown accustomed to the smell of metal. It was comforting and familiar whenever she found a way to catch a hint of it at Grifons Alchemical University and its scent was usually the thing that made her shift from being half in a daze to fully engaged during her lessons. So much of her classes were focused on the more advanced applications of Alchemy. It wasn’t just about studying the ways they could use magic to transform what existed in the world around them. It was also about exploring the ways that Magic can be integrated into every aspect of life – including the nuts and bolts that often helped keep their world together.

The comfort from that scent was distracting enough to keep her from realizing what had just happened. The longer she laid there, the more she wondered what it was. 

Copper? No. That’s not right. Nickel? No, that’s still not right. Iron…?

It was early evening and through the fog of her eyes, she could tell the Sun was only just setting. The warm light pierced through the trees in the park that bridged the gap between the university and her off campus residence. Even though it was the middle of Autumn, it was the strong stench of cold iron that encompassed the space she was lying in, blocking her from accessing any of the warmer scents that the world had to offer.

Her lower back ached as she tried to move, making her aware of how much the back of her uniform had become caked with dirt and some kind of thick substance. She tried to muster the energy to check it but she was too tired – too drained – to even find a way to get her hands to move.

No matter how hard she tried, she couldn’t break through the hazy, wispy feeling she found herself drowning in. It wasn’t until a stray leaf fell – gently scraping her cheek and breaking the fog – that she realized that this feeling was the sense of her moving closer to death.

She screamed as she came to, a flood of memories of what had just happened rushing back to her. There were so many feelings that she found herself processing. 

First confusion, then denial, then – surprisingly – a sudden surge of energy to get up and run.

Then rage.

Nothing but pure, unbridled rage.

“SHE FUCKING TRIED TO KILL ME?!” She shrieked, disrupting the peace of her surroundings. That piercing cry was enough to cause a startle in the world around her. She could hear faint murmurs as people began to move and make their way towards her. The world around her – for the first time that morning – finally began to move. Maybe it was because of the muddled space she was un mentally, but she could sense as the crowd drew near that they were feeling that same sense of horror that she did.

Even as the energy from her body began to drain, she couldn’t help but yell until her throat went sore. If this is it, she thought to herself between shrieks, then I’ll make sure that everyone remembers me.

She had no idea how long it took before anyone actually made their way to her. The only thing she could assume from her ability to wake up the next morning was that they had come fast enough to keep her alive… 

Just not fast enough for her to keep her life.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

As much as Azraeém was a rich hot bed for magic, two years after the attempt on her life had left her paralyzed from the waist down with no means to regaining her mobility. Even with all of the connections she had gained from the Alchemical world, the best that anyone could offer were tonics and other remedies to help soothe her agitation over this reality.

No one could really call her bitter before the incident but afterwards, that was the only thing she could be called. She made no attempt to maintain her contacts, usually welcoming their departure when they decided that her anger was simply Too Much and she made no attempt to replace them, either. She simply allowed the space that existed in her life to get bigger, and bigger, and bigger until her life became an emptied out void.

In the beginning, she did try to at least fight the numbness. She found small hobbies to keep herself entrance even in the absence of any company. But as time drew on, the wave of nothingness began to consume her until inevitably, she lapsed on her doctor appointments as she couldn’t help but see them as pointless. Every visit was the same anyway. Many questions about how she was feeling, what she was up to and yet more prescriptions to help ignore the growing indifference towards her existence. 

The doctors did try to make local visits but eventually she simply stopped answering the door.

Her life – which held a lot of promise – was reduced to barebone functions. She did keep feeding herself and bathing herself (much to her landlord’s relief). But everything else simply ceased… Including any attachment she had to continue living.

She was fine with her time spent staring in the dark. That time alone brought many revelations. For one, she accepted she wasn’t angry at her paralysis. It wasn’t the fault of her or her body that she couldn’t walk anymore. The other was that she found a surprising amount of comfort in the lack of company. To be honest, being faced with the constant looks of pity drove her far more mad than anything else happening.

Despite everything in her life no longer being how she imagined, there was only one thing that she realized made her lose any attachment to existence: the complete and total lack of Justice and retribution that really did her in.

Isteen never saw herself as proud until that incident. Her way of going through life was usually as a curious breeze, always excited to see what each moment had to offer her. When it came to living, she was more than happy to embrace its imperfections. Each obstacle, each hurdle, each heartache and each scar that it left was nothing but a chance to be more grateful for the beauty it had to offer. While she was never one to have the best of connections (which seemed to fall in alignment with her Half-Gnome lineage), she still relished in the good, the bad and the ugly that they had to offer her in every capacity.

Whether you stood next to her or opposite her, she truly believed that everyone had something to offer her. Big or small – whatever gifts they’d give helped enrich her life and add to the growing tapestry that defined her existence.

Each scar was a chance to learn more about herself. Each chance at a smile was a chance to heal. Each word uttered was a new chance to bridge that gap between her and the big wide world that was Azraeém that existed around her.

There was really no reason to be shy about anything when everything meant everything.

But this Incident came seemingly out of left field. The University – while competitive – still remained to some degree friendly. Everyone accepted that they were there for the same reason, so there was no real reason to find anyone threatening or to insist she stay in her guard.

Her attempted murderer – a Classmate of hers – was a peculiar case that managed to catch even Isteen’s at times fleeting attention. The biggest thing that she was able to note was that this classmate of hers always seemed to take any failings personally. They were never actually failings, however. They were – as Isteen saw it – a part of life’s perfect imperfections. Poor scores were a chance to understand your weakness and – in turn – a chance to know where to improve… At least that’s how Isteen saw it. But for this classmate, they were unforgivable grievances that she insisted were the fault of their professors.

There were multiple times when she stared at this Classmate when she was fuming over test scores in confusion. There was even one occasion when she furiously stormed out of the class, insisting on taking her personal grievances with the University Dean to retaliate.

None of these outbursts ever seemed to go everywhere. It was always inevitable that she’d return the following week, seething quietly as she returned to her assigned seat.

“It’s really not that serious,” Isteen would find herself thinking every time she’d come back around, “Just keep trying and you’ll figure it out.”

It could really be that easy.

With how sensitive that Classmate appeared and how seemingly out of left field the ambush was, Isteen began to wonder if that classmate couldn’t actually read her thoughts. All of this was far too personal for someone she rarely made much of an attempt at connecting. This wasn’t an impossibility, she just simply never expected it.

Mind Readers were everywhere in Azraeém. For the most part, it was common practice to keep your distance from them. Depending on how in control of this ability they were, they could either be the most uncomfortably anticipatory person you would ever meet. On the other side of that would be someone who was aggressively paranoid as they found themselves plagued with the thoughts of those around them.

Isteen figured it would simply be best to err on the side of caution. Not out of judgement, however, but out of pity. Her mind was busy enough with her own thinking as it was. She couldn’t imagine what it would be like to deal with that and the thoughts of those around her.

What a special kind of hell that really must be.

Not every Mind reader was easy to spot, however. There were plenty that found ways to blend into the world around her. As far as she knew, she never ran into one before and if she did, she couldn’t help but feel like they’d likely find themselves incredibly bored with the trivial matters that she found her mind occupied with on the regular. 

For the first time in her entire existence, however, she was beginning to question the validity of that assumption completely.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

On the Day She Lost The Will To Live, she could pinpoint the exact string of thoughts that led her towards her scandalous decision: What if she could just… start over? What was the point of really holding on? Was there anything actually keeping her here? None of her connections had bothered checking on her in months and that made it all so much easier to conclude. She appreciated the space. She appreciated how it left her alone with her thoughts which made her keenly aware of just how many potentially important thoughts she really was thinking. Eventually, though, the thinking became boring because none of the thoughts could soothe the deeper feeling that was driving it all: This simply wasn’t fair.

She didn’t do anything. She didn’t even really talk with that Classmate. Why did this happen to her?

The Classmate had dropped out of University immediately after and gone into hiding so no one could even track her down to make her face any level of accountability. The investigations couldn’t even find proof over whether or not this was something planned or purely on impulse.

This isn’t fair. That feeling kept nagging at her. This isn’t right.

Right.

This isn’t…

Right.

And that was the thought that made her start to move.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Harold and Bula’s shop was doing pretty well as of late. They were making enough money that they were able to afford some new upgrades. Nothing particularly fancy but it turned out that a new doorknob really went a long way to make them feel like a massive amount of progress was being made around the property.

They were thinking of new ways to branch out their offerings though every idea fell short. It turned out that Bula simply wasn’t really in the mood to pursue any of them and if she wasn’t in the mood then Harold’s attention certainly wasn’t.

Then, as with all their previously fated events began ever since they started the shop – they heard the sound of the bells as the door opened, signifying their new customer’s arrival.

“Oh!” They both uttered to each other excitedly. “A Customer!”.

The both of them stood by the counter, waiting to see who today’s fateful meeting would be. It took a little while for them to reveal themselves but the empty shop was filled with the sound of wheels rolling on the hardwood floor. Their boots were their first hint – clearly high quality leather (Not Dragon Leather… They both whispered to each other, Definitely not quite that nice), followed by the reveal of a nicely ironed pleated skirt until eventually their customer’s full presence had made themselves known.

“Hello!” Bula said cheerfully, “Welcome to -”

“I want to die.” their Customer said sternly. “I’m done with this reality.”

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Death in Azraeém was an incredibly peculiar thing. With how wild and rampant Magic had become, it shifted much of the natural order of things. There were stations set up all throughout Azraeém where the Dead can be brought back to Life but they were never really brought back. Bula always made it a point to emphasize this distinction whenever speaking on it. It was the Orcs – after all – who spearheaded this whole process. It turns out that mastering the art of war and, subsequently, the art of killing, meant that you learned a thing or two about the differences between the living and the not living.

They were enthralled by the prospect of exploring another aspect of existence. War in so many ways became synonymous with Life itself for Orcs and was at the root of much of their life philosophies. Learning about Death and then the possibility of Un-Death meant the thirst for Blood could be given new meaning.

“We are Done then Undone!” was a common chant for Orcs before they ran into battle. It was the understanding that there was a line to their existence that gave their life meaning. It was the limitations of their own possibilities that pushed them to understand what it meant to win at life – to win at War! So the prospect of being brought back from the dead offered Orcs something they never once considered exploring: What life has meaning when there’s a possibility of no ending?

This question was something that triggered an unexpected turn for Orcs all over: A turn towards exploring larger existential quandaries around life and even embracing things like pacifism and spirituality as if they were embarking on a new war with their understanding of life itself.

Well, that and there were really only so many ways you could excel at killing.

But for others… It was less a chance to better understand the meaning of their life and more often an opportunity to cheat Death and what it was truly offering: A chance to have once in a lifetime opportunities.

Literally.

You don’t come back the same and that does things. Things that most people never really took the time to think about.

You can be brought back from the dead but you’ll never get the chance at a Second First Kiss. You’ll have first kisses with other people, of course, but the magical experience that comes with going from having never been kissed to being kissed was never something that you’ll ever have ever again.

The same is true for You. Before you die, you’ve never died before. Then you die and are brought back and it turns out that you can never be the person who had never died before ever again!

So yes, you’re technically brought back but you’re never really brought back.

Your corporeal form is brought back from the dead but You – the You who had never died before, the You who had never stopped existing and had the experience of what it meant to never exist – isn’t.

It isn’t a New You, but a Different You. A You who you’d have to get to know all over again because that You really has less of a reason to be attached to not just anything but everything.

Dead Seers are what they’re usually called… At least the ones who never bother trying to piece themself back together again. The ones who do piece themselves back together are still Dead Seers, just in secret.

They’ve seen Death.

They know it. 

They just don’t want you to because it turns out that meeting someone who’s seen Death makes you feel like you’ve seen it too, and not everyone is particularly keen on that feeling.

With everything in the world, however, there’s still a limit. It turns out you can come back three times before you can never come back again. Even if the spirit is willing, the body can only take so much damage before it’s forced to give in indefinitely.

But piecing yourself together again is something you only get one chance at. If you choose not to and keep dying and undying then there’s a natural acceptance to the Psyche that Death is something you’re truly fine with Seeing…

As in Courting.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

“And you know the -” Bula asked

“Yes.”

“And why are you -”

“Does it matter?”

Harold and Bula paused, taking a moment to eye each other. While you didn’t need any kind of a Witch to necessarily go through this process, it certainly did help if you were interested in piecing yourself back together again. Getting them involved, however, usually meant dealing with their amalgam of stipulations to even getting them to consider agreeing and for Bula (and Harold), it turns out that it was very, very, very rare for them to even think of thinking to agree.

“We’ll need to think on it.” Harold said dryly.

Something about that response left their Customer offended.

“Th-THINK?!” She snapped back. “You have to be fucking joking.”

“Now we’ll have to think even longer.” Bula said, somehow even more dryly than Harold.

Their Customer shrieked in frustration before deparing their store for the day, leaving the both of them to stare at each other with brows raised.

“She isn’t going to give up easily, is she?” Harold asked.

“I’m thinking no.” Bula answered.

And rarely was it that she gave a wrong answer.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Their customer came back once a week – for weeks – to get an answer. Harold got to the point where he simply would hide and let Bula handle it. This persistence was something she expected but was still surprised at how this was simply exhausting it actually turned out to be.

“Is she trying to wear us down?” Bula asked after the fifth week.

“… I don’t think it’s… intentional.” Harold responded with deep concern, “I think that just might be… her.” 

“Well… Fuck.”

This truly felt like a worst case scenario.

After the third month of these visits, Harold and Bula decided that maybe they needed to take things seriously. Each visit went the exact same way: In the middle of the week, around mid-day, they heard the bells ring, heard the wheels rolling and this Customer appeared around the corner. Harold – then eventually Bula – said No and she simply left to return the exact same day the following week.

The both of them would have been impressed if it weren’t for the fact that this was simply annoying but the level of persistence meant something worth considering.

At minimum, they needed any client of this type to take this kind of request seriously which… The sheer amount of dedication she showed was enough to vouch for that factor. From there, they really truly did need to know the reason. It’s not as though they felt it was their place to judge, but the both of them (for many reasons), believed in not disrupting the natural order of things and bringing someone back is without a doubt disruptive.

This meant that to begin moving forward, they would need to know the real Why behind this request and it turned out that despite her persistence to get them to agree, she was equally as persistent at avoiding giving a straight answer. It took several weeks – on top of the already past several months – to actually get to the point where things could truly move forward.

“We need to know why.” Bula pressed.

“But why?” Their Customer pressed back.

“We have our reasons.” Harold responded, squinting at her in suspicion.

“Well, I have mine.” She said, squinting back.

Harold and Bula’s eyes twitched at every question, sending her back out of the shop after every non-answer. They truly had to be as persistent as she was if things were going to end up changing.

To their Customer’s dismay, it turned out that they were just as stubborn as she was persistent and the only way to get what she wanted was for her to cave.

“BECAUSE!” The Customer finally snapped.

The shop owners stared in silence.

“Because I…” She gritted her teeth, trying her best to keep the truth back. “I want…”

The both of them stared in anticipation.

“I want…”

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

If anyone had asked Isteen what the worst thing she could think of was, they’d assume it was her lost mobility but it wasn’t. While this new way of life required adjusting, she found ample ways to make it work.

No.

The real travesty for her was that it all happened for nothing and this was the part of her ego that she felt ashamed of.

It was hard for her to wrap her mind around the idea that this was senseless. That there was no real reason. She went into Alchemy to better understand the truths of the world and universe around her and the answers she found continually were humbling. So many things that seemed without purpose suddenly became clearly defined and whether she realized it or not, that coincided perfectly with how she viewed life.

This point of view, however, also gave her a bit of a self-righteous streak. She became resentful over the idea of anything being Wasteful whether it was energy, materials, time or even life. Much of her reasoning when she laid in the hospital after everything ended up happening was that maybe this would serve a greater purpose. Maybe this Incident had given them both something to think about. That it would give them both a reason to change and to move better with more confidence in how they’d greet the world.

For Isteen, she learned to guard her thoughts more intensely. She became significantly more aware of anything she could say, think or even believe that could be perceived as an unfounded criticism. There was a lot of Thinking about how to think that she did all through her appointments, even as the doctors told her that she’d never walk again.

Then, shortly after, she ran into that former Classmate. She seemed… well. Welloff. She was carefree as she boarded a taxi in a lab coat that Isteen recognized as being one of the most prestigious Alchemical Labs in Aspur – A country on the other side of where the University was located. She watched as she was sent off by others wearing coats from a local lab, watched them even pay for her tab before the cab drove off almost just as cheerfully in the distance.

This was when things began careening out of control for Isteen. She went through her usual humblings, her typical Thinking and her personal rituals and it all was for… nothing.

This was the day when she realized there was no real Justice in the world. That whatever greater sense of order she believed in and allowed herself to continually succumb to was nothing but her own selfish need to feel worthy of something.

She wasn’t important – which was… fine – but what she went through also wasn’t.

The world kept turning.

Lives continued.

And people – regardless of whether she believed they should – were able to succeed.

She was nothing but a Victim for a reason she would not come to understand for quite some time but that status was something she simply couldn’t live with.

No matter how much Thinking she did, she couldn’t let go of her need for Justice… If she couldn’t trust someone else to bring it then maybe – just maybe – it would come down to her to make that reality.

And this – surprising both Harold and Bula – is why she chose to die.

─── ❖ ── ✦ ── ❖ ───

Bula sat in silence while Harold stared at their Customer. This was no small decision being made. Justice, Bula thought, is a disruption and that’s something they just don’t do.

“Well?” The Customer asked.

“I’m not sure.” Bula said, softly. Big decisions like this usually come with a sign, and as moving as her story was… there was no sign which left Bula with a bit of a conundrum. She could choose to let herself be moved and help the Customer with this request or… she could choose not to.

Both of those decisions, the more she thought about it, contained a multitude of consequences, and all of them made her antsy. She could ask for more time to think but Bula really didn’t have it in her to keep up with this energy and the last thing she’d want is to see what happens when this desire is delayed even further.

But there’s one thing that Bula couldn’t deny is that this did give her a feeling and feelings – even if they weren’t the same as Signs – were still important to her in every capacity.

“Okay. We’ll do it.” Bula finally said, “… If you promise me something.” 

“What? Tell me.” The Customer said.

“You’ll make it worth it to have an enemy.”

Harold couldn’t help but gasp at the request.

Bula, at the end of the day, was still an Orc and Orcs – regardless of all the soul searching and meaning they managed to find outside of the battlefield – still loved a good war. And this… even if it didn’t seem to require axes and armor to engage with – was still a war.

“Are you sure?” he whispered hesitantly to Bula. “Shouldn’t we wait for a Sign?”

“Maybe.” Bula replied quietly. “Possibly.”

Their Customer sat in thought, trying her best to wrap her mind around what she was asking. It wasn’t until now that she realized that she had never had an enemy. While Gnomes are widely known to have plenty, she somehow managed to coast most of her life without this being something worth considering.

Her fingers tapped nervously on her lap, crunching each thought and feeling like a number in an equation.

“Fine.” She said finally, reaching out a hand towards Bula. “You have a deal.”

For the first time in a very long time, Harold had gotten a proper look at Bula’s teeth as she started smiling. He hadn’t realized just how much her tusks had grown and how sharp her teeth had become. Her age, for the first time in a long time, was showing.

As much as he wanted to take a pause and find a way to act as a voice of reason, there was a feeling welling up inside of him as he watched the both of them shake hands, that feeling was… giddy.

“Give us a week while we prepare everything.” Bula said, pulling out a scrap piece of paper and pen. “Meet us here at this time and we’ll be ready.” She handed off the paper to the Customer who quickly eyed it before placing it in her shirt pocket.

Then, for the first time since this all began, Bula realized something: She had absolutely no idea who she was dealing with.

As the Customer began to leave, Bula quickly hurried behind her to ask her one final question.

“What is your name?” She said awkwardly, realizing she should have asked this much sooner.

“Isteen.” The Customer said, barely looking over her shoulder.

“Hm. Isteen.”

Their Customer left that evening, leaving Harold and Bula to go about their business as usual with absolutely no Signs other than a feeling that something unforgettable would be coming.