I stand beside a tree on a hill overlooking a small town. Further beyond that point, I can see a bustling market. From here, all of the humans and humanoids look like ants as they move erratically from place to place. How amusing it is, to watch them go around in circles as they shun some products and purchase others. How strangely soothing, to watch them go about their everyday business. How morose and melancholy, to merely be a spectator of such a world as it passes me by, like a grand eagle flying over a worm.

I slightly move, and a dull ache pierces my bad foot. My tongue tastes the air, smelling rain as the hairs on the back of my neck rise. The cold pinches my cheeks, and icy wind turns to needles in my lungs.  

"The weather is turning," I murmur to myself as my hands rise to remove my hood from my head.  

It is strangely peaceful, to be without Rhys after so many years of his constant company. His voice no longer bludgeons my ears, and his weight on my shoulders has disappeared. I wonder, will I miss this tranquility when he returns from intel-gathering?  

The first drop of water lands, and I tense up as if I had been struck before relaxing. My reflexes serve me well in my line of work, but for nothing else in other situations, it seems. I tip my head up to the sky, watching the pearly beads fall as they splatter against my sickly pale skin. At peace, I ponder my situation and the task ahead.  

I am convinced that sympathy is the accursed reason for this. As the saying goes, good intentions pave the way to Helheim. Such intentions led me to try and help the man, who then burdened me with this mission. An oath to the dead, one that I cannot refuse lest I lose my honor and chance of an afterlife.  

"Oh, ye gods, that have cursed me with a soft heart," I plead, "Aid me, if this task is truly your will."  

"After all these years, you still have the heart to pray?"  

I don't look at him as he climbs up the length of my body and crawls back into my cloak collar, resting on my shoulders. I can feel his weight like a yoke around my neck, but I do not shake him off, nor does he constrict. We are serpents that know nothing of true loyalty, but we are united in that we still need each other. I am young and inexperienced, and he needs a mask to hide behind. We work well together.  

"What did I tell you about the gods, Severin? They are our enemies."  

"To make the gods one's enemies is suicidal, Rhys."  

"To depend on them fully is suicide. Your faith will kill you, right after your honor has the chance to take a swipe at you."  

"There is no dishonor in death."  

He laughs from under my cloak, and my teeth clench.  

"Ah, yes. But I know as well as you do how much you fear it. That's why we're doing this--not because you're noble or even because you're bored. You're afraid to die, and you're even more afraid of what comes after. Nothing terrifies you more than Helheim, more than Muspell, more than fire. Do you remember the flames, Severin, when you were sentenced to life as an outlaw? Do you recall the burning, as--"  

"Enough, Rhys!"  

I pull my hood up, blocking the onslaught of the rain as it falls.  

"Do you have the information about the boy?" I press, pushing past the trippings of my tongue.  

"Yes." The word turns into a low hiss. "I entered the records of the McFarthy Estate. There's definitely something suspicious happening on Dolan's end, but the records were oddly vague. That, or incomplete. You know what that means, I assume."  

I nod, glad for the change of subject. "Standard job. Infiltration, espionage, and extraction if necessary. We don't have enough intel to act now, so there are no other options. You have the directions, I trust?"  

He hisses in affirmation, and the small knot in my stomach loosens a microscopic bit. The unease fails to leave me, but I take small comfort in the walk to the Dolan Estate. I don't shift as I tenderly step with my bad foot. The first thing you learn, as a loner such as myself, is to take no risks and make no mistakes. If I shift too often, I am unbalanced when I regain my limbs, especially with my crippled foot. Such a hindrance would be detrimental to the completion of this task, and I am eager to finish it as soon as possible.  

The rain has already slowed to a stop by the time I reach the mansion. I use my forked tongue to smell for danger, but detect nothing. I strain my ears, but hear no sound. I look up at the sky that is now completely clear. There is no evidence of rain but for the clouds in the distance and my soaked cloak. Not even dew droplets cling to hanging branches, small diamonds that are missed and mourned by the dryads, who do display them in all vanity. The white cape of mist that straddles the sky has hidden from this dwelling, as if cast off in dissatisfaction by a vain and picky god.  

"Something unnatural dwells here," I murmur to Rhys.  

"You don't say," he sneers sarcastically. "The one thing that's actually surprising is that I don't sense magic."

I nod wordlessly, surveying the door of the estate.

"Then we cannot risk a surprise entrance. To the front door it is. Do you have an alibi prepared for me?"

"Yes."

"We shall take a half hour to prepare. Then we enter."

I feel him coil slowly about my collarbone.

"Funny, how you say that I do not command you, yet you command me in turn. We are hypocritical serpents, are we not?"

"It was a sound suggestion," I growl under my breath. "Refuse it, if you wish. But so long as we need each other, cooperation is key."

"And you're questioning me. Again."

His head emerges from my hood, and he studies the expression on my face as I look on in confusion. He nods as if his suspicions had been confirmed.  

"So that's it. You're in the 'rebellious teenager' phase, aren't you? You suddenly have the urge to be independent, to separate yourself from the one pillar in your life. You want to be free to travel to those accursed temples and ruins that you so frequently visit when I am off gathering intel. Free to pray to those gods of yours, free to simply wander around and admire the scenery."

He is silent for several bittersweet seconds as I refuse to answer him. I don't dare deny it, nor do I confirm it. Face stone, eyes ice, jaw set, I arm myself in stoicism as he again crawls from my cloak. He has had his entertainment, has vented enough of his frustrations to finally leave me in peace to my task.

"Until betrayal, then, Severin," he says in a casual farewell.

". . . Until betrayal," I answer.

I wonder which of us will be the first to stab the other from behind, and whether both of us would be alive by the time the ordeal has passed. Then I bow my head in prayer once more and turn my feet towards northeast, to where Rhys leaves a scent trail behind him for me to follow.

--

The man before me scrutinizes me as all other employers have done before him. His critical gaze does not faze me. In fact, I am slightly vexed by it. Consistence tries my patience, thus, this process being like all others, fills me with acidic annoyance.

"So, let me get this straight. Your name is Severin of the Dirt."

I bite my lip and nod. Not the first time, and if I do survive, not the last. I daren't speak the Midgard language rather than the snake tongue that I'd become familiar with. If my tongue betrays me, I shouldn't trust it.

"You can shapeshift into a snake."

Another nod, so curt that I feel like a bobblehead.

"And you want the mercenary job."

I hesitate, then I nod again. Yes, the job. But I would have no honest answer if he asked me if I were truly a mercenary. If he does, I am disarmed, for truth is my greatest weapon. A single grain of it can convince a mountain that it is a pebble.

He leans forward with his eyes narrowed and his mouth curled in a grimace, like a predatory cat baring its teeth.

"Do you see a problem with this picture?"

I keep my head straight and my mouth closed. The honest answer is that everything is wrong with this picture. I certainly do not belong here, nor does this place that chases away naturality belong in Midgard.

Dolan reaches into his desk and pulls out a single sheet of paper that he slides over to me. 

"I don't. Everything you need to know is in this missive. Try not to die."

I take the sheet of paper and begin to walk out. My traitorous heart beats loud enough for me to want to silence it, lest it echo in the room and alert Dolan of my true intentions. My snake instincts relentlessly beg me to run, to break from this slow step and get out of this place at top speed.

"Oh, and Severin?"

I pause, my bad foot hovering in the air before I turn.

"Don't fail."

His voice reaches a dangerous level, and his tone shifts into a threat. I give a simple nod and try not to seem too hasty as I resume my exeunt. His gaze burns my back, and I became self-conscious of my foot, despite all attempts to hide my limp. I grit my teeth and walk faster.

I worry about it, this sudden drive to escape.

I meet Rhys outside, and I don't break my stride as he coils and leaps from the ground to my waist, crawling the rest of the way into my cloak. I don't stop walking until I am far enough away to finally release the pressure in my chest that I hadn't noticed was building up.

Breathe in, breathe out.

I open the missive, my eyes darting over the words so frantically that I force myself to read it from the beginning once more.

Your mission is to locate and eliminate Amaryllis Keymaker, siren and experienced (yet adolescent) assassin and guardian of the heir of a certain guild. Subject has red hair and green eyes, and was seen using a silver rapier with a green handle. Last sightings of her were recorded to be in Serefili. Subject is known to be in contact with another assassin (and his canine creature) that was sent to murder the master of the Dolan Estate. Estimated threat level: 8.97

Do not return until this mission is complete.

"How considerate of them to leave a warning for us, Rhys," I say, slightly amused. "This tells us much. Judging by the miniscule size of this missive, I find it safe to assume that they themselves don't have much information about Keymaker, let alone this boy we must secure." I look down at where I sense him approach. "How were things on your end?"

His tongue flickers in the air. "Very informative. Very interesting. None of the time you bought for me was wasted."

"In that case, what did you learn?" I ask curiously.

His tongue flickers out again, as if to make sure that we are truly alone.  

"The boy is needed for a blood ritual involving a text called the Book of Silny. It involves the use of magic to force him to stab himself, but it would fail if he stays away from it. If he doesn't touch it by then, the ritual would fail."

I nod, dissecting the information in my head. "Is that all?"

"No," he hisses, and his slitted eyes glance from side to side cautiously. I dismiss it as exaggeration. Rhys has a certain flair for the dramatic. If he were human, he would have been excellent in theater.

"We should be quick. They're prepared to send other mercenaries after Keymaker when they grow impatient with us. We should hurry."

"That, and we need to warn this Keymaker person. If others come hunting, she needs to be prepared if she is to protect the boy."

"I'd disagree with you, as assassins are never to be underestimated," Rhys hisses at me. "But it's clear that this case isn't like the others. In the kitchens, I saw a cook roasting a horse's head as I passed. I thought it was only mildly strange--until I heard it neigh."

I frown. "While that is certainly unusual, I fail to see how this proves why the assassin requires a warning. I figured that I might as well, given that I am an informant, and giving intel is what I do."

Rhys spits venom on the ground in impatience.

"If you still do not see, then what if I told you that after I passed the kitchens and made it into the files, I saw a single eye settle on someone? That it was simply floating in midair above me, dripping with juices and turning to watch them as they moved about? What if I told you that, Severin?"

"You just did," I point out, but despite my blunt tone I am unsettled. I hadn't sensed any magic in the area either. If what Rhys was saying was true, then what accounted for these occurrences?

He doesn't respond, and instead crawls back inside my cloak.

"To Serefili, then?"

I nod, my mind racing. I decide to go with what I am most familiar with.

"Yes. And afterwards, we will work on eliminating Dolan. He is too dangerous to betray and keep alive."

Rhys hisses his approval. "Fine, but make it quiet. He has many connections, so many that killing him might be just as risky as betraying him. I would suggest something quiet and slow and untraceable to us. Perhaps Witch Hazel Solution."

"Then it is settled. Let's go."

--

I study the marketplace, scanning the shops fervently. The first order of business is preparing for Dolan's betrayal. I plan on going straight to his mansion as soon as I contact Keymaker, then on finishing the job I reluctantly started. It technically isn't part of the oath I took, but this is all I know. Besides, if I kill the threat to the boy, I'm protecting him, right?  

I take a deep breath of the dusty air kicked up by the few people that are out at this time of day.  

"It's a relief that it's not packed with people today. Perhaps now I can finally get some air that isn't dense with carbon dioxide," I mutter to myself.

"It wouldn't be such a problem if you got out more," Rhys answers.

I glance around for stares before answering back. Talking to my cloak attracts attention that I definitely do not need right now. Not to mention that it's embarrassing.

"Rhys, I'm a traveler. I'm out all the time."

He tries to emerge from my collar, but I push it down before anyone can see. A snake in my cloak would appear even stranger than some girl talking to her cloak hood.

As I try to retain my very shaky incognito status, my eye catches the florist that's across from Einar's new-and-improved forge. The plants displayed in front light a sense of hope in me, and I begin to make my way towards it.

"Ruins and abandoned temples don't count," Rhys says belatedly.

"Quiet!" I hiss at him as I approach the shop.

I carefully enter, my eyes looking through the plants as I look for the roots that I require for the poison. Not seeing it among the displays, I turn to the shop owner.

"Excuse me, you wouldn't happen to have any Witch Hazel, would you?" 

The shopkeeper looks me up and down suspiciously, marking the dark cloak I'm wearing and the fact that my hood is up during the daytime.

"You a witch?" He suddenly asks, and I jerk in surprise.

  "No, I--"

"We don't sell potions here, Missy. Scram." He turns away from me as if I had suddenly ceased to exist.

I clench my teeth in agitation. I don't have time for this. There are lives on the line. My own life, for betraying someone as dangerous as Dolan. The child, who I'm assuming doesn't deserve to be part of a blood ritual since people are willing to die to keep him from that. This Keymaker girl, who will be hunted to death unless I finish this soon.

I cannot afford to be lenient.

"I do beg your pardon? All I want--"

I slam my closed fist on the table. Rhys chooses that moment to slip out the collar of my cloak and slither down my arm. Always the actor, that Rhys.

"—is Witch Hazel. Otherwise known as Snapping Hazel, Winterbloom, or Hamamelis vernalis of family Hamamelidaceae. I have money, and other... items that you do not wish to know about."

I bare my fangs threateningly at him.

--

My arms flail about as I am thrown out of the herbal shop. I fall face first into the dirt and gravel before scrambling to my feet, pointing at the shop with a single finger as I shake with fury. My entire mission was jeopardized because of this despicable, disgusting--

"Shame!" I yell, "I curse your shop with shame and dishonor! Dishonor upon you and your progeny! May your flowers wilt! May you poison yourself with your own products! I am Severin if the Dirt, and I will not tolerate--"

A frying pan flies out of the shop window, hitting me right in the face with impossible accuracy. Pain explodes on my face, and my bad foot slips from beneath me. I fall to the ground, stunned and dazed.

Raucous laughter send my head snapping to the source with a glare that I hope is scathing, for someone that was bested by a kitchen item.

An albino man shudders with mirth as he approaches me, still laughing. His red eyes are flooded with tears, as he looks down on me. I glare at his bright white hair, wishing that it would suddenly set on fire.

"Hey, Severin," he chokes out. "How's the feeling of frying pan?"