For a second, it confused him why he stared up at a gray expanse which he could only identify as the sky. Then, it all came crashing back, his mind sputtering to come up with a legible timeline for all the events he lived through so far.

Wait. Live through.

He's alive? But how? He plunged into the lava. People die from being exposed to its fumes. How much more to the real thing?

"Took you a long time," a voice grouched by his side. Sera sat up with a start, a blanket flopping over his lap. He's...on a mound, fortweres away from the base of the volcano. Which was saying something, because no way in Hexen's name did he float from the caldera's base only to be dug out under the magma later on.

He turned to the source of the voice to find a familiar man stirring a pot over his burning hand. "Who..." he started to say before the memory clicked. "Opposite Guard?"

The man whipped towards him with a frown. "What?"

Sera flinched. "Oh, sorry," he said, averting his gaze to his legs. Under the scratchy blanket—why they felt the need to give him one was beyond him—he felt some sort of tightness around his legs. "I didn't know your name, so I...well, um."

His voice trailed off at discomfort edging into his system. Now that he thought about it, the same tightness gripped his arms, torso, and neck too. His hair remained on his head, though, the apricot strands blocking most of his periphery. As if there's a residual inkhura in his veins, it took him more than a few seconds to realize bandages sheltered him from the horrors that might have been his skin. So, how come his hair made it and it didn't?

"I'm called worse names," the soldier said, tapping his ladle against the cauldron's lip. Said cauldron couldn't be larger than a helmet. Could it have been one before? "My real one is Zenca, though."

"Family name?" Sera said.

Zenca shrugged. "Does it matter?"

It didn't, at least that's what Sera gathered from the soldier's non-verbal gestures. The only time when it mattered was when they're talking about nobles, Advisers, and the royals.

"I don't know," Sera replied instead, smoothing the blanket against the bandages around his legs. He also felt a familiar softness of a pair of trousers forming a second layer before his skin. As uncomfortable as it might sound, he didn't hate it. His vest probably had perished somewhere in the caldera, or even before, and walking home naked was the least outcome he wanted.

A steaming cup inched in his periphery, and he turned to find a drink being offered to him. "I suppose we owe you an apology, Your Highness," Zenca said, urging Sera to take the cup with a slight nod. "We should have recognized you when you first came to the fortress."

Sera gripped the sides of the cup as much as his bandaged hand could allow him. "Really? I thought you knew who I was when we're playing poserne," he said. "I'm hurt."

Zenca winced. It took Sera ages before he realized how it must have sounded in the soldier's ears. "I'm not going to report this incident," Sera amended, taking a sip from the murky brown liquid sloshing inside. A sweet and bitter taste ran across his tongue. He couldn't say he didn't like it, but he wasn't fond of it either. "What is this?"

"A cousa recipe from Helinfirth," Zenca answered. "Was it not to your liking?"

Sera took another swig. "N—wait," he smacked his lips together. "This is nice. Apologies for thinking otherwise at first try."

Relief visibly flooded Zenca's expression. "I was worried it might come off as odd," he said. "We had to use alternative ingredients, so it's distinct from the original one from the Glass Mountain."

Sera wasn't about to get into a talk about drinks and whatever was in this concoction, so he let its bittersweet taste glug down his throat until his cup was empty. "Continuing from what I'm saying," he said. "I will not report this incident to the Potentate, nor will I press charges against anyone here."

"Not even the Warden?" Zenca cocked an eyebrow. "It's not a secret, Your Highness. You don't like this place."

"I don't," Sera agreed. "But it doesn't mean I'm going to take actions to take your jobs away from you. I trust this pays well?"

Shame colored Zenca's cheeks, but he nodded. That's more than enough. If this job wasn't worth it, none of them would stay and risk getting breathing problems from the volcanic fumes. It's the reality most people in Lanbridhr, or perhaps everywhere else in Umazure, faced, and if Sera could somehow be of help to them, he would.

They just had to tell him what they needed.

"How did I survive?" Sera asked as a change of conversation. He made it a point to look behind him to see the volcano have most of its crater chopped off. Cracks marred the sides, with streams of lava streaking from them. There wouldn't be any prison inside a volcano for quite some time. "I was certain I'd be meeting Pidmena when I opened my eyes."

A small smile played on Zenca's lips. "You should know, Your Highness," he said. "Fire sprites don't burn."

"I say otherwise," Sera said, lifting his bandaged arms. "I mean, look at me."

"Most of the wounds would have vanished for as long as you stayed unconscious," Zenca said. "When you go home, you'd be good as new."

Sera stuck a lip out. "I don't know about that," was all he said.

Zenca plucked the empty cup from Sera's hand and set it on the lower mound a few steps away. When he came back, a serious expression shrouded his face. "Listen, I know I shouldn't ask this, but I will anyway," he said. "Consider it pay back for beating us at poserne by luck."

"What do you mean? That game has been made up of luck since the beginning," Sera said. "But ask your question. I don't mind."

"Why did you really come here, Your Highness?"

Any sliver of amusement in Sera's system vanished. Should he lie? What merit would that bring him? These soldiers knew when someone's hiding something from a fortwere away. "The first time I came here was to investigate the reported cases of the unquenchable fires. It's a real problem back in Calca, and well...I thought I'd drop by and check here too."

"But you walked in on something else," Zenca concluded for Sera. It's spot on.

"Next thing I know, I'm swept in this...sandstorm of information and conspiracy until I stumbled upon something I shouldn't have," Sera said.

Zenca clasped his hands together, pointing his twined fingers towards Sera. "Let me guess—Cardovia."

"Yeah," Sera replied. "Those goons who had me tied at the crater, they are Cardovians. They didn't want me snooping around, so they burned a building down, chased my friends away, and abducted me."

"They also pushed you into the caldera," Zenca added.

Sera snorted. "How can I forget?"

They shared a quick chuckle, before Zenca took a deep breath and faced Sera again. "I don't know how much we're allowed to say about this, but the Potentate is allied with Cardovia," the soldier reported. "I know because the Warden kept talking about it during mess calls. And...the Heiress—that's their leader—promised your father he'd be able to keep his power in the face of the war."

Sera scowled. "So there is a war," he said. Even that, his father had lied about.

"They call it the Virtakios War because at the heart of it all lay something they sought," Zenca bobbed his head as if to admonish his point. "I've yet to see what the commotion is all about, but from the rumors, I hear it's an insane kind of magic. But...how do you steal magic? It's beyond what any of us could comprehend."

Truly. Sera's thoughts whirled along with Zenca's rambling. The Virtakios War. Just the name sounded terrifying. And his father seemed to have done the right thing by allying Lanbridhr to one of the key players in this war. But that choice came with prices to pay—prices Sera was uncomfortable to think of. Or maybe his father was just a selfish prick who thought staying in power was worth endangering his people and territory for.

If he ever took on his father's crown and his role, would Sera be forced to make decisions like this? Would he start calculating fairy lives as if they're versallis to be bartered for goods?

The scariest part was that he didn't know.

2412, Xavem 25, Kindreth

Walking back to the palace free of the bandages gave him a different kind of confidence. After surviving a literal test of flames, there's nothing that could touch him now. He strode towards the throne room and came to his father and his court's audience.

"I've been to the city," Sera started, his voice carrying all over the hollow hall. "The fires haven't really stopped, have they? If anything, they got worse. If this continues, it'll reach past the gates and the palace."

Ailun rolled his eyes, chin resting on his palm. He slouched on his chair—a sight unbecoming of the Potentate's star adviser. He's in a sour mood today—that much was clear—and if Sera would guess, it might be because the Heiress chewed Ailun for letting his connection be revealed. If Sera were to reveal what happened in his impromptu trip to Gaimouth, he'd have a real playing card against them.

"Get to the point, boy," the adviser grumbled. "We know that."

"I can find out what's causing these fires and why," Sera said. "I just need more time and my own team."

The Potentate waved a dismissive hand. "Do what you want," he said. "As long as you can provide me with an explanation and, if possible, a solution to these abominations within the next month."

A chorus of silent gasps rolled off among the court. They always thought the Potentate thought of Sera as nothing but a spare version of him. But now...what changed? Maybe Sera wouldn't know, try as he might. For now, he's glad his plan slowly took shape.

"Then, if I have your blessing, I shall be off," Sera said, ducking his head at everyone.

This time, he would be off to the city to buy himself some nalda wraps and call for embers in the wind.