“I thought he didn’t speak to anyone,” said Jynn.

“Oh, this is very different,” said Heraldin, his eyes narrowed to slits.

Gaist stared at the archmage impassively.

“Oh, is that how this will go?” Heraldin sputtered.

“All right, quiet!” Gorm thundered. The room fell quiet, save for a muffled burble from the many-legged thing in the jar, and even that nameless creature shut its eyes and went still when the berserker leveled a threatening glare at it.

With a satisfied snort, the Dwarf turned back to his former colleagues. “The rest of the old party and I have been adventurin’, and I think we found evidence of something big. Too big to talk about in front of pryin’ ears.” Gorm nodded to the young mage, who gave a grin of abject terror and looked pleadingly at Jynn.

The archmage sighed and dismissed the omnimancer with a wave of his hand. The door slammed behind her.

Suspicion crinkled the corners of Heraldin’s eyes. “By ‘big,’ do you mean extremely profitable, or do you mean it’s related to your schemes to upend the kingdom?”

“This ain’t about money,” said Gorm.

“I suspected as much.” Heraldin slumped back in his seat. “And it must be suicidal as well, judging by the company you keep.”

Gaist looked at the ceiling pointedly.

“If we can prove it was magic or alchemy that burned this wood, we’ll prove all them dragon attacks ain’t a dragon at all. And if it ain’t a dragon, we’ve plenty of evidence that whoever or whatever it was has been serving’ Johan’s interests well. But we need to know what burned this here log.” Gorm waved the charcoal for emphasis. “And Laruna said I’d need a foreign mage to tell me what kind of fire it was, and I remembered ye was from Ruskan originally. So I’m callin’ in a favor.”

Jynn stared blankly for a moment as his vocabulary reconciled with Gorm’s casual relationship with the Imperial tongue. “Forensic,” he said, emphasizing the last syllable. “You need a forensic mage.”

Gorm shrugged. “Aye, fine. Ye never struck me as particularly healthy anyway. Can ye do it or not?”

Jynn sighed again and rubbed his temples. “To clarify, if I run some… investigative enchantments on that bit of charcoal and give you the results, you and Gaist will leave and take the bard with you.”

“We didn’t come together,” said Heraldin.

Gorm gave the man a sidelong glance. “Deal.”

“I’m not just going to walk out of here because it suits you!” snorted Heraldin.

“Didn’t say ye would,” said Gorm darkly.

Jynn stood and spoke over the bard’s protests. “Very well, I will take you to the laboratory if it will get this over with and let me return to my work. But rest assured, this is the absolute last favor I will do for you.”

“You can say it’s the last time, but it never is, you know? You just want it to be.” The Tinderkin scratched her wrists as she spoke to the small ring of attendants seated in the basement of the Temple of Oppo in Tamanthan West. “I just… I just…”

A smattering of encouragement broke out around the group as the middle-aged Gnome wiped away her tears and collected herself. Kaitha smiled and nodded.

“But I’m taking it one day at a time,” Sepra said. “One day at a time. And I’m glad I’ve made it this far, but… it’s just hard, you know?”

Kaitha did know. Everyone seated around the small, stone room did. They broke into light applause and encouraging smiles.

“Thank you, Sepra. Well done,” said Brother Mattias. The old priest of Oppo had kind eyes that sparkled from the recesses of his leathery brown wrinkles. His thin, white beard settled on the southern crags of his face like snow on the Ironbreaker Mountains.

As Sepra sat back down, Kaitha glanced around the circle to see who would speak next.

The temple was like the deity it was dedicated to: modest and inconspicuous. Most houses of the Humble God were just rented buildings with an olive laurel nailed above its door; Oppo’s Fourth Tier temple had once been a restaurant specializing in Imperial food, and the building still smelled faintly of turmeric and grundant. A few small oil lamps illuminated a ring of the old restaurant chairs set out in the middle of the room.

A ruddy-faced Dwarf with a black beard volunteered. “Eh, I’m Glod Boforson,” he said, standing.

“Hi, Glod Boforson!” said the attendees in unison.

“It’s been two years, eight months, and twelve days since my last hit of elixir,” Glod intoned.

Kaitha joined in light applause. That was part of the script; the mantra. Everybody said it differently, of course. One had to switch in his or her own name, and the details were important. Yet the script was essential. One’s name. How long since the last relapse. What used to be hard. What was still hard. Why it could be endured, and what made going on worthwhile. A reminder to take it one day at a time. An expression of gratitude, and then you were done. Every recital ended with a short burst of applause and rote affirmations.

“My name is Cherri Fullweather,” said a pale Halfling after Glod sat down.

“Hi, Cherri Fullweather!” came the chorus.

“It’s been three months and two days since I had elixir,” said Cherri, and now the applause was accompanied by approving murmurs. It was always hardest at the beginning.

After Cherri came Lann, a Human addicted to aetherbloom, though he had fallen into relapse that week. Different parts of the script came into play when he announced as much, tears streaming down his face. The priest offered encouragement. A new pledge was given, and a sponsor for the pledge identified. Tears were shed at a couple of moments, but in the end it seemed Lann was back on the right path.

Then it was Kaitha’s turn.

She took a deep breath as she stood. “My name is Kaitha te’Althuanasa Malaheasi Leelana Ter’ethe…” she began.

As she said her name, Kaitha took the time to think about what she would share. She had to stick to the script. She knew the script. She liked the script.

“…Liliea Musanatila Bae Iluvia Daela…”

The only trick was getting her life to fit into the script. She could say the words as she was supposed to, but they weren’t entirely honest. And everyone agreed that if you weren’t going to be honest, there was no point in showing up to these things. Yet if she was honest, things didn’t just veer off script—they took a hard right and plunged off a cliff. Sweat beaded on her brow just thinking of it.

“… Asanti Tilalala nil Tyrieth,” she finished.

The circle radiated uncertain silence.

“Hi… Kaitha,” said the old priest, and the others followed his prompt.

“It’s been a little over a year and a half since I had salve,” said Kaitha. “I don’t know the exact number of days because I… I wasn’t really trying to stop, you know? I just kind of had to.”

“It’s important to make a decision,” offered Cherri Fullweather. The others in the circle murmured in agreement.

“Yes, well, I made a decision not to go through withdrawal again.” Kaitha paused and took a deep breath. Things were already starting to go wobbly. “I’m still adventuring, which is risky without salve, but they make these new emergency surgical sprites that deploy on impact. They’re supposed to be less addictive than salve.”

“Ye had to use ’em yet?” asked Glod Boforson.

“No cause yet.”

“Ah. Well, they’re definitely less addictive,” Glod remarked.