The winds had rarely been this warm so early in the year through the _Razadel_, the narrow valley between the East and West. The weather hardly got to the extent that it held moisture in the air so tightly that densely-clothed Javi travelers, of this route, shed their garments and equipment to their mule.

It was odd to see Javi so bare, Gelti thought. But their frequency had become so uncommon, likely due to the settling sun, that Gelti no longer wondered why they may inevitably dress heavily again come summer; it must've just been the unexpected heat, he guessed. Maybe it could be that they wanted to feel the soft, long reeds of Vanilla Orchid boardering the treecover too. No, that was just him.

Gelti did not have the right boots for the distance, nor was he keeping up to his own plan, and he had not trimmed his chin for weeks, though he was only as unkempt as any Segatan would be. Exceedingly attentive to his own features, the young traveler braided his hair earlier that day, the pieces holding firm like the pattern of a careful Reva mangrove tree above his _outside garb_. It grew to his shoulders, and only a few hairs coiled to the side, even as the humidity began to suspend the fog above the forest floor.

Previously, he planned to have already passed this section by noon, but he discovered spoiled rations and after picking berries, got to leaving just as dawn already began to settle. He just had to get away and move east; his parents almost sold him. He would've been to the wealthiest bidder. It was uncertain to him what he would've been used for, but he knew whatever it was, people have killed for it.

So, his plan was to run. With that, and many other folktale-inspired ideas, Gelti swore he would taste Rekian Wine soon enough, even quicker down this passageway. His lofty plans guaranteed that.

His plan also figured the risk of the kind of folk that may appear along an offroad like this: the kind that spilled merchant blood and would swallow even the flies off their very shriveled food. And, he wanted to avoid those people as much as he wanted to avoid the thickness of mist that was beginning to lead him lost. Gelt worried if the plan accounted for that.

He was alone,

By each perilous turn

Diminishing protection,

The Miri carried only a lantern

After the wail of a nesting bird, Gelti slowed

Caught between upcoming smoke

and a meadow,

His nerves ignited.

Aside from Zenkrana's pendant of holy flame, he carried only enough to fend off a hungry field mouse. He just possessed his lantern. It was his light against the upcoming hours, a guidence against midnight. Conversely, besides the glass which was removed from around the wick, it only added to his panic. He could run through the oil. Or, he could be spotted. Probably quickly.

Even then, the Miri cupped the bright flame. Despite the sticky warmth of the youthful night, he held at least one hand around the side at any single time. The fire whirled near his grasp and flickered with each of his rising steps. He felt in control. He fiddled with the fixture to be sure it wouldn't go out.

Approaching the unseen campsite, which was distinctly hidden over a ridge, he glanced to the mountains on either side. They swelled above him, like the backs of giant Ogers—long thought to have eaten stray visitors of that very road. The valley was narrow and confined. Dark and cornered. It was the thin creek pinched by overgrown thickets or the swimming against an endless tide, and Gelti could feel the scent of Vanilla Orchids urging him to turn back. He fought through them. He was in control

A rustling stopped him still in his tracks. It was further along. Pausing to catch sight of the stirring foliage, Gelti saw several Jeni climb out of the underbrush, spaced as if they were each foraging for their own mushrooms, though they appeared at the same time.

"Eve'ning," the women with short hair mentioned carefully.

"It's late," another said.

A short one in the middle giggled. "Hi stranger." She revealed a crossbow on her hip.

Gelti avoided the edges of the road, where they stood, but his path was slowly blocked by the four of them. He stopped. Both hands returned to the lantern.

The last Jeni, in a voice so feminine he could taste it's bittersweet authority, instructed, "Open your bag, boy." She didn't seem to care how many items he actually had or if he could survive without them. "You must know that it's dangerous all out here by yourself. Let us check that you have what you need, dear."

Gelti stayed, swallowed, and stuck close to his source of light. The shadows of the trees became sinister. The moss was turned away to the back of each trunk. The sky went quiet.

"No."

"What was that, _my Miri_," the short girl flirted, "I couldn't hear you." They all stepped in, proceeding to him.

"Why not, dear? We'll help you."

He backtracked. "No closer."

She said flatly, "But doesn't an unprepared Miri, _like yourself_, need the direction of a group of road-clever Jeni? Just like us?"

"Or do you fancy a bite from a lynx, dear" the last one hissed, close enough that he could smell the narrow threads of Great Lily fragrance drifting off her. It reminded him of Rosewart. He choked.

She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Drop your rucksack."

He stayed quiet.

"You're playing with fire, dear."

Exhaling, he plucked the flame out from his lantern, quickly and wordlessly, weaving the fire from one finger to the next. They were stunned. Immediately, he allowed it loosen. Like the coils of a headless viper, the wisps of heat spiraled, wound, and finally widened over the Jeni brigands. It was a haze of blinding fire, the blaze that blackened metal, a liquid that unbound the very vapor of the air. It was an incantation intended to kill.

And like dry wood,

Like a trapper's stuffy kindling,

Like how deeply the mountains got soaked right where the clouds fattened into monsoons,

They burned.

The short woman couldn't even yell _Warlock_ before she inhaled the fires.

But,

_He_ did not cough.

_He_ would not pant.

He only took a breath,

And no longer knowing of Rosewart,

All smelled of _cinder_.

And he awoke. In that cramped room one would think a Rekian Lord would have the luxury to do without, he brought his warm fingers to a bedside candle. The thread lit slower than it should have, preceded by the lazy flicking, and Gelti sat upright. This smell wasn't normal. It scratched his throat. He wasn't in control.