My bare soles slap against cold marble. I practically sprint down the hall, darting behind thick columns whenever I sense a passerby. Curfew has long since passed, but I want a bath as much as I want to wash the earlier bile from my mouth, not to mention change out of this godforsaken dress with its torn shoulder strap. Blasted blacksmith. I still taste the smoke and dust on his tunic from when I wiped my vomit upon it. The smoke of a smithery seeps into any fabric and lingers, a telltale sign of a blacksmith is their scent. Approaching the end of this hallway, I take a hard right turn towards the descending passage leading to the bathing and the laundry pools. I travel in silence, the faint glow from scattered sconces offering little illumination. The hallway stretches interminably into the distance, but for the promise of deliciously warm water provided by natural hot springs deep underground, the journey is worth the trouble.

A thousand years of people traversing this same path has worn the ground smooth where it might once have been rough. Mount Brashnir, a volcanic summit of the Brashnir mountain range, sleeps not far from the city. The lava fields below the mountain are to thank for the luxury of hot water. The landmass separates Naidara from Holtz. Naidara is governed by a court of law, the heads of which serve for life; The highest ranking official of the Southern Temple has a singular voice in court to speak on behalf of Agni. Now, that position will be temporarily filled by both Priestesses Brielle and Vivienne.

There are few surrounding cities in the Naidrin Forest stretching toward the east. Vicious cave dwellers, huldir, burrow into the sides of the plateau marking the end of Naidrin territory. The vertical sides offer a sheer cliff face housing these large, nocturnal creatures. The lands house wildlife and predators dangerous enough they are better left undisturbed. Huldir mostly keep to themselves, these nocturnal creatures fear humans but when provoked they are dangerous and lithe. Draugo and falfnu are solitary hunters, but multiple draugo den together. Falfnu are similar to bears in that they are big, with a tough hide. They differ in that they have longer legs, they're more lithe and move faster than the best of our horses. Should these creatures ever venture en masse over the plateau, in search of livestock to appease their hungry bellies, then we should worry. Records show few instances of such deadly disturbances as these.

Islandfolk populate some of the larger islands off the Palían coast, refusing to depart their ancestral lands. The largest landmass to the east is the continent of Zalase, a land rich in culture, free from the influence of Naidara, coveted by Holtz. The same cannot be said of the rest of the western plains. There are ruins marking the old civilizations, a scattering of human bones never devoured by Agni's flame after the Palian War.

The scourge of the land is the aftermath of war.

Dangerous wildlife run rampant making the area uninhabitable, not that we have a need to expand. Our population still suffers since Agni's departure.

I step out of my dress, then shrug out of the thin shift I wore beneath the garment. Leaving my clothes in a pile at my feet, I step down into the water using the pool's rock formations as a staircase. Completely submerging my head underwater, I open my eyes. Breath held, I feel the pressure of the water on my eyeballs and blink against it. Startling at the sight of a pair of tan legs pedaling in place at the center of the pool, dispersing bubbles as they flow up from the cracks in the bottom of the hotspring. I pop out of the water, gasping and scrambling to the water's edge.

The intruder comes up for air at the same time, our eyes locking. He pushes wet black hair out of his eyes when he reaches the ledge and offers me a sheepish half smile. My cheeks burn crimson. I pull my soaked brown waves over one bare shoulder, brows furrowing in perturbation at the intruder.

"Hello," He says. He looks young, with black eyes that glint in the torchlight. Unimpressed, and now seething at my ruined bathing experience, I reach, patting the ground behind me for my shift. I am careful to remain submerged enough so as not to expose myself. Grasping my shift, I narrow my eyes at him.

"Turn around so I can make myself decent," I quip, "I was unaware this pool was occupied."

He turns away, and I lift myself halfway out of the pool, water cascading down my arms and thighs. This is going to be uncomfortable— I despise wet clothing, but I pull it on quickly. I yank the cloth painstakingly up my thighs, shivering from the temperature change.

"I was unaware temple girls often defy their curfew," The young man's reply sounds playful. I am not in the mood.

"You say that as if this is a regular occurrence."

He shrugs lightheartedly in reply as if we are old friends, "What, with a group of your peers dressed in those ridiculously thin dresses sauntering into the city to enjoy the celebration, I'd say so. Why else would they be so bold?"

"So that's why you snuck in here then? To enact your revenge by sneaking into the temple?"

"There was no sneaking involved. I did not step foot in your sickeningly corrupt halls." He ducks under the water once more, not at all worried I'd call the black robes on him. Who am I kidding, they couldn't hear me from here. I wait until he comes up for air to speak again.

"How did you find your way in, if not by the tunnel?" I nod toward the aforementioned tunnel. He looks me head on, raising a dark eyebrow— a tantalizing gesture.

"I could tell you... But then you might have the entrance sealed and I will no longer enjoy such warm baths." A good point. Shock washes over me as I realize the implications he made point toward a hidden entrance to these chambers. One that could have been used to gain easy access to the temple, resulting in the High Priest's demise. Whoever he is, he is very observant, for he recognized my shock for what it was.

"Now, before you drive yourself crazy, no. I am not the one behind the killing of your priest." But he might know who is. Then the young man is out of the water, and I avert my eyes while he covers himself. When I return my gaze to where he stood, he's already gone.

Irritated at myself for having failed the interrogation, without even a name to go by, I leave behind all hopes of continuing a leisurely bath. Tension knots my muscles as I scan the dimly lit cavern, water lapping at the pale skin of my knees.

How does he come and go from this chamber?

I figure I might come down here late the following evening and the next to attempt at catching the same boy in our bathing chambers. Unlikely; a wiser man would wait a few weeks before venturing back to the same location he'd just escaped being found out. On the other hand, I doubt that the young man possesses the same caution. He has a carefree way about him— one of the few traits I could glean from him. All other aspects of who he is remain a mystery.

Reluctant to leave the water's warm comfort behind, I take my leave of the pool. Once on dry land, I traverse the cavern to the nook housing large baskets woven from reed, likely imported from the Ciloco Isles to the west. I reach for a plush white towel to dry my body, tossing my soaping wet undergarments into the basket meant for such. Using my torn ceremonial dress to scrunch my hair dry, the silken fabric ideal for the action, I then toss it into the basket with the rest of the used laundry. I grab a basic white cotton gown from a table of clean clothing, dress myself, and venture to the farthest edge of the pool, where I'd last seen the stranger.

The wall of the cavern is blanketed in darkness, rough to the touch. I walk back towards the entrance I am familiar with, grab a torch from its sconce and use the light to illuminate the darkness on this side of the bathing pool. At an angle I almost could have missed it, a thin fissure camouflages the exit. Hesitantly stepping forward, I angle my body sideways, slip through, and find myself outside on a cliff's edge. The trail hugs the side of the landmass, snaking up in a rocky path toward the top of these cragged cliffs. The wind buffets my hair, turning it into a tangled mess. I can hear the ocean— waves loudly crashing against massive rocks at the bottom.

I press my back against the cliff face, furthest away from the edge, and start to hike up the switchback trail to see where it leads. I realize I'm barefoot, but I do not long to give up the lead I've found. I forge onward, my torch fighting a losing battle against the wind. While I still have light, I do my best to shield the flame with my body.

I've been hiking for fifteen minutes by the time I can see the end of the uphill climb. I wonder vaguely if this wasn't the best idea so late into the night. It must be mere hours until dawn and I want to sleep at least a wink before the bells wake me. The thought alone does not cause me to turn back, for I've reached the top. A dirt trail overgrown with wildflowers snakes through the shrubbery then leads into the forest. The path is not so worn it can be widely known, making the odds that the young man whom I met could be the murderer after all, that much higher. I shiver then, even as the humidity makes my skin stick to my clean clothing.

Ten more minutes, I'd guess, down the new trail is a much easier feat. The ground is mostly level and the wind not so strong. I approach a clearing in the woods and hear a scratching sound, halting immediately in alarm. I see a figure sitting on a stump in the clearing, his black waves dried by now, sharpening a wooden stick with a small knife. Taken aback at the serenity of the scene, I gaze at this strange man with a wave of dark hair fallen perfectly over his forehead— I realize too late that my torch's survival has given me away and he looks up with a certain mischievous grin I struggle not to return. I notice he is dressed in temple garb, white cotton pants and no top, likely taken from the laundry baskets in the cavern. A stolen bath, and a stolen outfit.

"So, you've found me afterall. I was beginning to think you were dull," He is... teasing. It makes me uncomfortable.

"I was not looking for you. I was only interested in discovering the breach to our security."

"If you say so," He shrugs, turning to face me.

"How did you figure I'd find the trail?" I question, adding up the minutes in my head. He must have waited half an hour on the off chance I'd show. Why?

"You seemed hell bent on getting answers, and would have to be blind to miss it."

"Blind, you say– and yet that tunnel is not common knowledge. What is your name?"

"Back to the interrogation, I see."

"Are you going to deflect more or are you going to tell me your name?" He laughs then, and I envy the easy nature with which he is able to do so.

"My name is Malachi."

Malachi.

I mouth the word, rolling it over in my head. I wonder as to the region such a name must originate. Zalasian? Perhaps derived from the west. I look at Malachi sideways, and the edges of my lips quirk up into a small smile before I can help it. He watches me intently, black eyes gleaming in the darkness.

"Yes— Malachi. And your name?" I flush realizing he saw my lips mouth his name without actually saying it. Overcoming the fluster relatively quickly, I clear my throat trying to decide how I want to answer.

"I could tell you," I start, mimicking his line from earlier in the cavern. I throw in a raised eyebrow to complete the mockery. I successfully drag another smile out of the boy, but he says nothing, waiting for my answer. "My name is Malia."

"Malia," Malachi repeats my name aloud before continuing, "Our names are similar. The makings of a dynamic duo." I purse my lips to conceal a hint of a smile.

"Oh, definitely. Agni Himself must have twisted the strings of fate to arrange this meeting," I add sarcastically.

"A pleasure to meet you. Against my better judgment, but of course one cannot successfully out maneuver destiny."

"My own judgment had many words to say, starting with the fact that I took a barefoot hike." At this, he looks down and balks at me.

"Why would you.. What?" He's at a loss, and his blubbering makes me laugh. Somehow I doubt he is often at a loss for words. I smile, feeling light as a cloud. All the worry and confusion of the day seems to melt away for a moment. I suppose I've been lonely. Jiera has isolated me with her own retelling of how I ruined Silas' life. Talking with this stranger feels like a reprieve.

The pleasant thoughts have no sooner passed through my mind when I remember my earlier suspicions. I still know nothing about Malachi beside his name, and there is a very real possibility he knows who is behind the High Priest's death. My train of thought is again interrupted when Malachi crouches to undo his own sandals and hands them to me.

"Put these on." I am startled, not having expected him to take the shoes off his own feet and offer them to me.

"No, these are yours. How will you get home barefoot?"

"They'll still be mine. You can return them to me," He winks at me, and I roll my eyes despite the slight smile I try to hide, taken off guard by his kindness. "Besides, I'm not going far. You're the one who has a hike to complete before dawn."

"You mean, you're not going to walk me back? And here I was thinking you to be quite the gentleman. Or do you think I'd make you return those pants," They're definitely in the temple style, though I think the color is a little off. It must be the darkness. I'm only teasing, but Malachi must think I was insinuating something more. He combs a hand nervously through his coarse dark hair, making it fall back messily over his forehead. There's something foreign about his mannerisms.

"As much as I'd love to escort you, I have somewhere to be. You can find me in town tomorrow night. I'll be at Bruce's Pub. Make sure you come after midnight." Then he takes his leave, his sandals in my hand.

After midnight?

My eyes trace him as he walks away, leaving me wondering about his vagary.

—

Golden sunlight filters through the window. The gauzy curtains float inward, blown by a gentle outside breeze. I sit up in bed, arching my back as I stretch. Judging by the height of the sun in the perfect blue sky, I slept well past the wake-up bell. I spring to my feet, immediately grabbing a clean tunic from the chest at the foot of my bed. I dress hurriedly, tying my curly mess of hair into a bun atop my head. Searching for my sandals, I find them right beside a pair of larger leather sandals. I furrow my brow in confusion— a temporary lapse of memory before the events of last night come rushing to the forefront of my mind.

I hurry down the hall past the rest of the dorms toward the kitchens. I rush through the gardens, past the fountain. When I barge through the back door of the kitchens, I startle some of the cooks. Paying them no heed as I wrap my fingers around the smooth skin of an apple, I exit into the dining room where members of the Fire Order are eating lunch with members of the Naidrin Court.

"I know what such an act entails, still–" Priestess Vivienne is cut off by an angry Priestess Brielle.

"We will not risk Naidrin's safety in such a reckless confrontation, especially without due evidence."

"Are two deaths not enough? First the High Priest, now they target a court official?"

I halt, a bite of apple in cheek when they look up and glare at me for interrupting their discussion. I wave sheepishly and regrettably catch the gaze of Priestess Brielle. Her look of displeasure makes me duck my head and leave through the door I came from. Finding myself back in the gardens, I find a shady spot beneath a birch tree and resolve to eat the rest of my apple. I ponder the eventful night I've had; Malachi's easy temperament turned suddenly stoic.

I hear laughter nearby, a group of several girls carrying reed woven laundry baskets full of bedding. Jiera and Rumi among them, I busy myself with a daisy chain, trying to tune them out. That is, until I hear my name. They're in a cluster in the middle of the garden, feminine laughter heightens my annoyance as I get to my feet. I realize they carry a great deal of bedding, more than seven beds' worth. The notion strikes me that these were the temple girls who snuck into the city, meaning they were given this task in punishment. Just as soon as I have that realization, I see a pair of thick leather sandals, too big for my own feet, dangling from Jiera's fingertips. She sits down, setting them at her side.

"Looks like Malia saw some action!" A girl my age, Azalea, says before giggling at her own joke. My cheeks turn beet red, partly borne of embarrassment, partly in anger.

"More likely, her feet are weirdly overgrown," Rumi adds snarkily. Her bronze arms gleam in the sun, hands perched on her hips. As I head over to reclaim Malachi's borrowed sandals where they sit beside Jiera at the edge of the fountain. She looks up at me as I approach, trailing a leaf through the water' surface.

"Speak of the devil, here she comes," one of the girls giggles in a way that makes anger burn through me.

"Why are you stealing items from my room?" The question is directed towards Jiera where she sits smugly before me now that I'm in range of her.

"Whatever do you mean?"

"Give them to me. They're mine."

"I told you so," Rumi whispers to Azalea from my left hand side.

"Oh?" Jiera lacks the inclination to place the sandals in my palm where I hold it out to her, "So you didn't sneak a city boy into the temple to engage in unholy acts? I think Priestess Brielle would love to hear about this, especially considering these are definitely not your size."
Having reached the end of my patience with these girls, I lunge at Jiera, grabbing at the sandals. My shoulder hits her in the chest, knocking us both off balance. She holds the sandals just out of my reach, so I grab her arm and dig my nails into her skin. She yelps, then leans too far back until she falls into the fountain taking me down with her. The crowd of onlookers grows, male and female students jeering. As soon as I grab firm hold of the sandals, I stand soaked in the water of the fountain. Jiera sits in the water at my feet, straight black hair plastered over her forehead. She uses one hand to scoop it away from her face, leveling an icy glare at me. I flash her a saccharine smile just as the priests and priestesses come from the kitchens to see the cause of the commotion.

It is then that I realize I look the part of the oppressor, standing over the seemingly innocent Jiera, flat on her ass. Too late; I'm grabbed by the arm and pulled from the fountain by a black robe. At least something goes my way, because Malachi's sandals sink into the pool where they will be suctioned to the bars of the drain until I retrieve them later. A blessed reprieve from having to explain to Priestess Brielle how I came into possession of such sandals.