Priscilla was druuuuuunk.

  She hadn’t tried to get this drunk on purpose but when person after person wanted to give a toast to her success and continued health, how could Priscilla say no when they looked at her with big, sincere eyes?

  The feast was a blaaaaast and Priscilla talked to so many different people and ate so many tasty dishes though she stayed far away from the pork. Priscilla even got to hug Kavil, which was just as amazing as she had always dreamed it would be. Sulaiman, the tall little liar he was, pretended he didn’t like the desert she brought him but Priscilla knew better and she was magnanimous, choosing not to be smug.

  Cats were so fluffy and amazing and she burst into tears while holding the criminal Huckleberry in her arms because it reminded her she never got to have a cat of her own.

  But petting little Huckleberry made it all better, as did the extra hug Kavil gave her and the big bowl of mashed potato deliciousness.

  And now Priscilla had to sleep, so saith everyone.

  “I don’t want to take your bed, Miss Jeroinin,” Priscilla argued best she could as she approached the village head’s house. “You need to sleep well, you channeled a goddess’s will!”

  “I'll be perfectly fine,” Jeroinin said, patting Priscilla’s hand in the way that Priscilla had always imagined real moms would do to their daughters. But even though she was wasted, Priscilla knew that was an inside thought and kept her mouth shut.

  “Do I have to sleep with this fucking sling on?” Priscilla asked as they walked inside.

  “Yes, otherwise you might hurt yourself during the night,” Jeroinin said firmly and Priscilla pouted.

  “I don’t like it,” Priscilla said as Jeroinin gently guided her to the bed.

  “I know,” Jeroinin said, her smile showing off her perfect dimples, “you’ve made that abundantly clear.”

  “Have I complained that much?” Priscilla wondered, a rare moment of reflection cutting through the drunken fog that had descended upon her mind.

  “Only a dozen or so times,” Jeroinin said as she helped Priscilla lay back against the pillow. Jeroinin put another pillow under Priscilla’s poor, trapped arm and it was less uncomfortable.

  “Sleep well,” Jeroinin said, tucking Priscilla’s hair out of her face and then she left, leaving Priscilla all alone.

  All alone except for Asha that is.

  “Ashaaaaa,” Priscilla said, “today was so…”

  “A lot?” Asha offered.

  Priscilla giggled. “Yeah, that’s a good way to say it. We started with wham! pow! kick Kopica’a’s ass! And then there were prisoners and then I talked with Kavil and then the blessings happened and I’m pretty sure that Miss Jeroinin knows about you, by the way.”

  “I did like the divine’s chosen,” Asha said, “he was very nice! And I don’t think his aunt knowing about me will be bad.”

  “He?” Priscilla echoed, frowning in confusion. Her brain was processing, processing, and then–

  “Wait, do you mean Kavil?” Priscilla said, bringing her hand up to stare at Asha.

  “Yes!” Asha chirped. “His magic sang of water and life, and it mixed well with yours.”

  “Silly Asha,” Priscilla said, shaking her head. “I don’t have any magic.”

  Asha was silent and Priscilla sensed it was feeling something complicated that was too much for her brain to parse right now.

  “Master,” Asha said slowly, “do you really not know…?”

  “I know everything,” Priscilla said confidently in the way that only drunks could.

  Asha was quiet for a moment longer before it sounded like the artifact sighed.

  “Then what is a divine’s chosen?” Asha said warily.

  “That’s Kavil!” Priscilla said because she knew that answer. “Though would you mind telling me which divine chose him? I assume it’s Gaelea but I guess I don’t know for sure.”

  There were some fuzzy memories of a character arc for Kavil coming to the front of her mind. His healing abilities were special and somehow it connected to the cult’s methodologies and goals but the arc hadn’t been completed yet, though it was heavily implied to have something to do with Kavil’s birth. It was one of the reasons she had been soooo excited for the last book she never got the pleasure of reading.

  Did you know this story is from Royal Road? Read the official version for free and support the author.

  “Well, I… I don’t know for sure, though I don’t think so,” Asha said. “I’m not the most learnt legend-killer but I tried to never slack off in my study of the divine.”

  Priscilla blinked and asked, “Why’d you study something like that? Do you need to know about gods to kill some legends? Were the legends gods?”

  “I don’t remember,” Asha said slowly. “Most of what I learned was from my friend but I… I don’t know who that is anymore. All I know is that I learned it once…”

  Priscilla felt tears building in her own eyes as their bond was flooded with a deep and terrible sadness, like a dam had broken and now a chasm of loss needed to be filled.

  “Awww, Asha,” Priscilla comforted her artifact, rubbing her face against the glove, “even if you end up forgetting me one day, I’ll always be your friend, you know. Even if we’re worlds apart, I’ll never be the same because I met you. I’m sure it’s the same for them. ”

  The flood of sadness slowed and shifted into something bittersweet.

  “Thank you, master,” Asha said quietly. “That… means a great deal.”

  Then there was a shift in the bond into something hopeful as Asha asked, “Will the divine’s chosen come with us to punch more lunatics?”

  “Maybe,” Priscilla said, “but it’s all up to him. I’m not gonna force him to – I want him to be happy, you know? And if he travels with me, he’s probably gonna end up questioning his faith.”

  “We should kidnap him anyway,” Asha suggested. “You need someone who can fix you up after you charge into a fight."

  Priscilla giggled at the sudden imagery of hogtying Kavil and stealing him away.

  “I’m a bad influence on you,” Priscilla laughed, letting her hand fall down, her eyelids starting to become heavy. “Though I did daydream about doing just that… take him as my prize.”

  “You should sleep, master,” Asha said and Priscilla’s eyes closed all on their own. She fell asleep with a smile on her face and happiness buzzing in her veins. (Though that might just be the alcohol.)

  .

  .

  .

  The dream began in a smokey, empty blackness that all drunk dreams begin in.

  Out of the haziness was a flash of silver, then a sparkle of gold, and then Illnyea stood in the center of the nothingness. She was dressed in the clothes she had left the Thornewood manor in, but her shirt was torn and bloodied and she was missing a boot. A large gash stretched up the length of her leg and Illnyea’s hair was a crazed mess, torn from her careful braid.

  Her golden eyes were wide, staring at something in the distance as horror creeped over her face like strangling ivy. Illnyea covered her mouth with her hand as if she could not afford to even let the sounds of her breathing escape and took a shaky step backward, and then fell, tripping over a root jutting from the ground.

  The surroundings came into clarity, dark trees erupting from the ground to tower over Illnyea, who still hadn’t looked away from the thing that had scared her in the first place. She was shaking and tears began to fill her eyes.

  Illnyea began to scramble backwards without standing, as if she couldn’t afford to turn her back on whatever she was staring at.

  The sound of teeth gnashing and flesh tearing filled the air and Illnyea shuddered, the tears running down her cheeks.

  Then fear beat the terror and Illnyea turned over, starting to crawl away.

  But the moment her hands touched the ground, Illnyea’s pupils began to glow a sickly yellow.

  “No,” Illnyea whispered, but that glow intensified, consuming her iris, then her sclera.

  Yellow cracks formed in the skin around her eyes and began to snake down her body like streaks of cruel lightning. The air grew heavy with magic as Illnyea began to convulse and fell to the ground, unable to keep herself up anymore.

  “H-help,” Illnyea choked. "Sis–"

  Illnyea's words were cut off as she moaned in agony and a sadistic laughter rang through the air.

  The shining light shone through the cracks in Illnyea's skin until it was blinding and Illnyea the girl was no more as the world was consumed in an explosion of magic.

  .

  .

  .

  Priscilla woke up with a gasp, breathing too fast. Her clothes were soaked with sweat, her head pounded and shoulder ached, but none of that mattered.

  All that mattered was the nightmare that left Priscilla shaking.

  Because that cursed nightmare showed Illnyea overloading with magic and dying because her body couldn’t stand the magical pressure. Illnyea was so afraid, so desperate to escape what had been chasing her and just remembering that expression made Priscilla angry because no one was allowed to make Illnyea feel that way.

  Illnyea had just barely been able to live through the magical overload in the original story because of a set of lucky circumstances, and that event wasn’t supposed to happen for several more weeks.

  But something in Priscilla couldn’t shake the horrid certainty that that timeline might not be reliable anymore.

  And that?

  That made Priscilla afraid, so afraid that it made her almost wish she had never woken up in this body if it meant that Illnyea was going to die.

  The very possibility of that stole her breath.

  Panic coated her thoughts as the only thing she could focus on was the dream, on the way Illnyea cried out for help that Priscilla couldn’t give, cried out for a sister who wasn't there for her. Sulaiman wasn’t there either and he was supposed to be. Had she changed too much that he wouldn’t be here to help Illnyea anymore? Was the overload something that was always fated to occur? Would Priscilla and Sulaiman be able to get back in time to help?

  Or would she be useless when it mattered?

  “Master?” said Asha, the artifact’s hesitant voice cutting the panic. “Are you okay?”

  Priscilla took a deep breath in.

  Panic gained her nothing, but it was hard to shake off, not when it had infected her so deeply.

  “I will be,” Priscilla said because Asha’s concern had only grown greater the longer she stayed silent.

  “Did you have a bad dream?”

  Priscilla let out a humorless laugh.

  “If it’s only a dream,” Priscilla said softly, “then I’d be lucky.”