The sun burned the sky into a bright tapestry of red and orange hues. The morning wind trespassed the house as I stood by the kitchen counter, trying to cut down the carrot into very thin slices under the heavy scrutiny of Celene's eyes.

"Make sure all of them are even Alessia," Celene said. My fingers ached as they tried to remain stable while I attempted to make an already thin piece even thinner. Beside me, Neveah cut the cucumbers with the ease of a leprahunen stealing gold.

I won't lie, but it would have made me feel a bit embarrassed had it not been for Everard sweating over the tomatoes. It was sliced into all sorts of shapes; actually, I don't even think such shapes exist. Occasionally, I did take a glimpse or two at his tomatoes to feel better with mine, but I never dared to even go as far as blink at Neveah's side.

When we were all done, Celene came over and dumped them all in the pot for the soup. Before handing over more of it to the salad. I internally groaned at the menu today, but I kept it internal.

After putting us under the rail again, Celene went out of the room to fetch something. And just at that opportune moment, a brothy smell slid past me. It was silent but deadly—a ninja fart. I was startled and turned to Neveah, who looked just as surprised as I was, before both of us turned to the suspicious chicken in the back.

Copiously, Everard too glamoured a look of surprise, but his impersonation gave away with his reddening ears and flushed cheeks. I opened my mouth, trying to breathe into it as the wind decided to stream in our direction, and it didn't help that Everard sat right behind us both. After last night's dinner made its epilogue, I saw Neveah hold a gag to protect his feelings while I went full-on looking at his face, so he knew we had found the culprit.

He grimaced, "It's a biological aspect. Don't be such a child." He tried to tell me.

"Sure." I laughed before accidentally inhaling more of it; my face scrunched up. "Damn, they smell horrible. Are you sure that it doesn't weigh a bit?" I asked as Everard's eyes widened.

"Of course not."

"I think you need to take a dump right now; we don't want a solid artefact of that thing here," Neveah commented. Everard turned as red as the tomatoes that he had abominated.

The door creaked, and we all held our breaths when Celene walked in. Both Neveah and I turned to the wall to hide the grin on our faces. She paused and took a tentative sniff. "I see the soup is cooking very well," Celene says innocently.

Our bits of laughter morphed into a silent, galloping horse. Neveah hiccupped, trying not to break under the pressure. Everard saw it as his cue to leave when Celene's unsuspecting eye turned his way. The stool scraped under the floor while he left, his hands full of the shattered bits of his broken pride.

"I'll head out for a breath of fresh air then." His voice was slightly wavering as he took off from the kitchen.

And just as the door closed behind him, I heard Celene say, "But I thought the soup was good. Did it really smell that bad?"

And that was the last straw before both of us broke into fits of laughter. And it doubled over when we saw Celene's horror-struck face. Tears sprouted in my eyes while I rubbed them off.
I don't remember the last time I laughed this way. It felt somewhat crazy and soothing.

The bell tolled, signalling the end of our laughing orchestra. Neveah whipped her head up. "That's odd. I think Everard might have forgotten the keys; I'll go check them."

"Use the door chain before opening Neveah," Celene called over as she stirred the contents inside the pot. Neveah had already crossed the door to hum a reply. I heard Celene sigh before turning to me.

"You can take a break now, Alessia. You've done more than enough," she said conspicuously, eying the thin-but-not-thin enough carrots lying dead on the cutting board. I nodded and stood up, washing my hands by the sink. I walked out of the kitchen, wiping my hands with a clean cloth.

I was startled when I heard the sound of a toilet flushing. "Everard?" I said this as I watched him come out of the bathroom in a hurry.

"You don't want to use that." He said.

I shuddered internally. I am never stepping foot inside that one. Even if it meant going for the one on the first floor, before I remembered something, "I thought you went out?"

"I did. But then I decided to take Neveah's advice and stop by the bathroom before leaving." He frowned as he crossed over my face. "What's wrong?"

I didn't reply as I ran for the living room. Minutes before reaching there, a cacophony of groans and curses rang in the air. Alarmed, I increased my pace and was met with Neveah playing the opposite version of tug of war with our so-called visitor.

"Let me get in, and I'll explain. Come on, I'm already very tired." The man said this as he struggled to open the door.

"Get your ass out of here!" screams Neveah.

"Now, that's not a polite way to greet a guest. Hasn't your mom taught you any manners?"

It was weird. The man didn't seem very tall, but he still had a head on Neveah, yet he seemed to struggle to keep the door open. Then a visible power shift occurred as Neveah started gaining on him. The gears in my head clicked as I realised he was a wielder.

"Neveah, let him in," I said. She paused, still holding the door at bay, before passing me a look.

"You know him?" She asked.

"I think I might."

She let go of the door instantly, causing the man outside to tumble in. He almost hit the floor face-first before it crashed onto his elbows instead.

Neveah immediately rushed to my side. While Everard took out a decorative rifle from the wall and pointed it at him, our visitor took his sweet time gathering himself off the floor.

He was of a strange sort. Under his long brown overcoat and pants, he was paler than all of us combined. His unkempt hair was muddy brown, sporting a wavy fringe style to go with it. On his chin was a tiny stitched scar; other than that, he also had a cut on his eyebrow. As he stood up, he straightened his coat before dusting it.

"You're a wielder," I stated as a matter of fact.

He grimaced as he rubbed his elbows. "What a brilliant discovery." He sarcastically remarked. And with a very business-like smile, he formally introduced himself: "I am Jake Alanthrope. A C-grade wanted criminal. One of you must be Alessia Seawright, a useless criminal, and I'm guessing that must be you." He turned to me. The way he casually said it made it seem like it was the norm to say your criminal authenticity along with your name.

"Yes," I replied tersely.

He went on, extending his smile to Everard and dropping it just as it landed on Neveah, who sneered at him in response.

"And why are you here?" Everard asked, wary of Jake's gaze on Neveah.

Jake's eyes skipped to him. He took in the rifle. Everard had poised with a look of disinterest; nonetheless, he complied as he spoke, "I'm here as the escort of Alessia and Everard Seawright." Then his eyes met mine.

Taking in everything about me, his eyes twitched, mostly obviously because of the defenceless stance I held. That must have hit a nerve; it was a defenceless wielder in the same room as an armed human. Even worse, it might have come off as I sought protection from a human, and that is bound to have rubbed on Jake's instinct the wrong way.

"The news of your spectacular departure." He cleared his throat. "You had reached your father. He has worried himself about two bottles of my scotch. So, I decided to self-assign myself to help you." Or himself. It was an unsaid truth, one that he had not attempted to hide either.

"And what about Neveah and Celene?" I asked him.

"Aren't they your friends? Why am I supposed to worry about them?"

"Well, if you've heard about what transpired as you claimed to have, then you should also know how they both had to elope with us. We can't just leave them here; it's not a humane thing to do," Everard argued.

"Glad I'm not one."

"Then, thanks for the offer, but I think we'll manage," Everard said, holding a hypocritical display of a sorrowful smile and trying his best to ward him off.

"If you're under the impression that I've come here to ask for your opinion, then you're terribly mistaken. I'm already your escort; hence, I'll be driving you both to the Newhelm Isles." He smiled at Everard. "The only courtesy I can offer your friends is that I can drop them off at any safe house and maybe forge some fake identities to live by. And that would be it."

His facetious confidence that we would surely comply one way or another had set alarm bells ringing left and right in my head. He was holding onto something in case we denied him. I decided to test the waters of it. "And what if we don't comply?"

"Then I'm afraid those who chased you out of your home might be your next visitors." He replied almost instantly, like a pre-prepared dialogue rather than a casual reply.

There it was—the undertone threat I had sensed earlier, yet foreseeing it did nothing to help my frenzied nerves. Despite all this, it was far from what I had assumed.

Jake continued, "I've already tipped them off at this location, and they'll be reaching here very soon. And this time they're so armed to capture you all that I doubt that not even one of you'll make it alive; even if you did, I'll just lead them to your next place of refuge." He looked at all of us, making sure he had got us right where he wanted. He smiled as he pulled out a folded piece of paper before holding it out to me as if I was the one in charge.

I skimmed through it trying my best to colour my face mute of any indications he might buy off. This guy plays no games, he had not only found us beating the Emperor's army twice at it but also tipped off our location to them. To be playing such a dangerous game, where both parties are in the offence and facing it all alone.  Alred Skypen, was the name he had used to tip off the guards in exchange for money that had been written over our heads. He took it back, satisfied with his work, and said, "So, my offer is still standing."

That means Marc will be here soon. An idea sped past me. I said, "Alright, we'll come."

Jake smiled, satisfied with himself, but the rest of us—not so much. Neveah looked at me slightly, surprised, before she turned neutral as if something had struck her too. But Everard was a whole different case; he pounced at Jake.

"You son of-" Everard slumped to the floor. My eyes drove back to Jake, who now sported black irises. The tips of his fingers shone as a flash of a shadow went back to him. "Now, since that's answered, does anyone else have any more doubts?"