After Ash

Festivity and joy danced through the air, mingling through the night sky as the world celebrated its survival. Thousands of individuals, human and otherwise, filled the streets, eyes twinkling as much as the stars. It was the day they'd all fought so hard for, the one that had almost been stolen from them by an enemy just vanquished.

The Ashen King.

The leader of the Trueflame was finally dead, the obsidian plated figure extinguished forever in a blaze of glory. His plan had failed, and now the realm could rest easy knowing their world would not end, a new one born upon its grave. Now, the party that had slain him became their focus, their deeds and legends spreading amongst the thrum.

If they could be found, at least. It was easy to get lost in all the revelry.

Citrine had managed to slip away, the half-elf finding refuge on the balcony of some inn. Her golden eyes watched as the crowds below chattered amongst themselves, singing, eating, dancing. The picturesque sunset had already come about an hour ago, the moon rising in its place.

A faint breeze rolled through the night air as she spectated, short silver hair flowing with it. 

Her chest inflated to take it all in—

"!" —but a dull ache spread through her veins like venom, a small gasp escaping instead.

*creak*

Seems she wasn't the only one to hear it.

"Rockelf, you okay?" a behemoth of warrior called, slightly ducking to enter into the room. Ferris was the tallest of the group, broad shoulders and a muscular frame that could make a mountain blush—suitable for one dubbed the Adamantine. His freckled skin was a warm brown, his eyes an emerald luster, and auburn hair tied into a high braid. "You've been acting funny ever since we dealt with the bastard."

Citrine waved a hand as if it were nothing. "I'm fine. This is just... a lot. I've never had anyone cheering my name before, let alone so many. It's rather overwhelming, you know?"

The man joined her on the balcony, leaning against the railing. "Is our dear leader finally admitting to being flustered? I thought nothing rattled you."

"Shut it, you."

"Rude!" He laughed boisterously, his chest rumbling with each chuckle. "Just trying to cheer you up is all."

"Mhm," she replied, doing her best to disguise the slight levity the half-ogre had brought. "I'll do that once you learn new tricks. Anyway, what of the others?"

"They're still partying down there—Larkspur, mostly." He shrugged. "Just surprised he roped Durma into it. Thought for sure the old dwarf would be meditating or something."

"It is a time for celebration," Citrine admitted. "Perhaps even our resident stoneface is feeling the spirit. That or Larkspur's concocted some kind of potion to lighten him up."

*click* The door to the room gently closed shut, then flamboyant footsteps along the floorboards. 

"Now, why would you think I've done something so wicked~?"

Both of the party members turned to see their alchemist enter drink in hand, a lithe figure with long, lavender hair in twin braids. Larkspur was dressed in an elaborate coat, thigh-high boots, and an ornate belt of vials and charms, all of them swiftly mended and repaired in the aftermath of the previous day's events.

"You're joking, right?" Ferris scoffed. "I still remember the potion you slipped me. Made me glamoured for a week. I still have dreams about how…" He trailed off to exaggerate a shudder. "…frilly it was."

"Sparkly, dear. And you know you loved it~" Larkspur smirked as the warrior blushed. "But no, Durma's dancing all of his own accord. My best buddy's not that uptight, you know—"

*screech!*

A hawk swooped down from the heavens, snatching away the alchemist's beverage before it could even be enjoyed. A few seconds later, it shifted, feathers giving way to beard and flesh.

"…and he's a thief, apparently." Larkspur pouted, arms crossed as the druid drank away his hard-earned ale.

A grunt. "Medicinal. Needed for the bones." Durma took a seat in one of the room's chairs. "Besides, you've had enough tonight. Need to keep that pretty head of yours steady. I remember the last time."

"You're never going to let that go, are you? It was one time!"

"Five. Kitten thief."

"T-thrice, at best, and I gave them back afterwards! Anyone in their right mind would've done the same!" The alchemist harrumphed as he moved to rest on the bed's edge. "You know, if you just shifted into one more often, it'd save me a lot of effort~"

Durma ignored him, instead taking another hearty chug of his stolen beverage.

Citrine watched them all, a muted smile gracing her lips. They'd all been through so much together—battles, injuries, close calls—but they'd survived. And in the end, that's all that mattered. Even if she'd had to take on the leystone's curse.

Another pang of ache ran through her veins, mingling lifeforce with mana, but she clenched her fist and ignored it.

"Alright, alright. We can argue about Larkspur's cat stealing tendencies later," Ferris said, suddenly pulling Citrine in for a closer hug. She could feel his body heat radiate against her. "This is the Rockelf's night!"

"Oh?" She raised a brow, trying her best not to blush at the sudden display. "That's not what we planned for. We all had equal parts in stopping the Ashen King. This is a night to celebrate for us all."

"Sure, sure, we all did a lot, but you were our leader. Drilled our asses to shape with those damn regimens." Ferris laughed as much as he shuddered. "A-anyway, you can finally kick back a bit, right? All your plans panned out. No more looming threats or training. Just some good ol' rest."

Citrine sighed and shook her head, trying to ignore the unintended implication. "Perhaps…"

Feet shuffled as alchemist and druid moved to join the two of them, an embrace of their own kind enveloping her on the balcony. "No more running around like a crazy person, huh?" Larkspur hummed. "I'm sure you've had a few other things in mind other than saving the realm."

There was a lot that came to mind, actually: a nice cottage-shop out in town, a garden, maybe a study full of books. Gods, maybe she could finally learn an actual hobby instead of her usual research—

Pain struck her veins again, making her bite her tongue and hold back a wince. 

That was strange, it was way stronger than before.

She reached out her hand to the others for help, but it phased right through them.

Wha—

More pain. Everywhere. 

Her vision blurred, and the sounds of her companions morphed into a dreamlike white noise. None of them seemed to realize her now obvious suffering, even as she collapsed to the ground, curling up on her side.

It hurt.

IT HURT!

Ferris? Larkspur? Durma? Why was nobody—

***

Golden eyes shot open, gasping for air. Cold sweat clung to the woman's skin as she jerked up, reintroduced once again to the waking world. A memory, the same that had plagued her dreams in the five years since the Ashen King's defeat.

An exhausted sigh escaped her as she adapted back to reality, and her pulse slowed. Wooden boards and hanging plants greeted her as the setting sun peeked in through the shop's window. She was seated behind the front counter, body half-leaned over the hardwood surface in a position that left a soreness in her muscles.

"Must've fallen asleep…" Citrine muttered to herself. 

She rose slowly, brushing sleep from her eyes as she remembered her place in the world.

Right. It'd been a slow day in her shop today, and being the only employee meant she had the time to doze off in the meantime. 

Not that it was much of a surprise. Though her business had a strong reputation, the demand for enchanted gems was low. The world had already moved on, after all.

Her eyes drifted to the rest of her humble surroundings. Rocks and gems lined the shelves, some with magical properties, some without. Behind her was the storage and workbench, the latter of which was strewn with crafting materials.

The floorboards creaked as a few mini golems hobbled about, performing their respective tasks in the shop.

Well, it wouldn't do for her to just sit there. The half-elf rose with a stretch, joints popping, and then began the steps to close down the shop. She clapped her hands in a rhythm, signaling for her stony helpers to come to her. Once the three were assembled, she gave them a smile and a pat on the head.

"Alright, you know what to do. Retrieve the outside displays and—"

Pain flared in her chest, interrupting her instructions.

Citrine winced, staggering slightly as she caught herself on the countertop. It was hard to explain the feeling. It wasn't sharp like a cut, or heavy like a bruise. It was like the idea of pain, linking lifeforce and mana where they shouldn't be, and it squeezed around her heart, suffocating.

It had been a while since it hurt this strongly.

Citrine shook the thoughts from her mind as the pain subsided, trying to rub the soreness away in a non-provocative fashion. This was a trifle. A mere inconvenience when pitted against the world. She just ignored it, continuing where she left off.

"Retrieve the outside displays and get the floors cleaned. Don't miss the corners this time either." Citrine paused for a moment, thinking about any addendums. "And please remember, the garden rocks are not a display."

The golems saluted, immediately getting to their tasks. They were simple beings, but they could follow orders well.

Her body relaxed a little once she was alone, reminding herself that this pain would be with her for the rest of her life. Sure, it wasn't pleasant, but at least she still had about a hundred left, as opposed to a human's would-be ten. That was enough.

She had to believe it was enough.

The half-elf shook her head, banishing the doubt as she reenabled the wards around the perimeter with the touch of a rune. Instead, her mind tried to drift to other things to keep her preoccupied, like where her friends might be now.

Since peace had been restored, Durma had gone back to his grove, and Larkspur had built an apothecary somewhere nearby. Ferris was the only one who's whereabouts were unknown to her, but she was sure the ogrelyn was fine. He'd probably continued his career as the Adamantine, selflessly protecting those who couldn't fend for themselves.

"…"

A touch of melancholy brushed over her as magic hummed in place. She was happy that they had each moved on to their own lives, and that her own shop was doing well enough. But it would be nice to see everyone again, especially Ferris.

The half-ogre had been a great companion through their journey, always quick with his dry humor, always ready to put himself on the line for someone else, always warm enough to melt through any awkwardness. And if she was honest with herself, he was the one she had been closest to in the end.

They had all agreed to meet up every decade or so, but that was a long time coming. The only one she regularly saw now was Larkspur, sticking to being the nosy chatterbox he was and faithfully dropping by every week. Sometimes it could be annoying. Most of the time though, it was comforting.

The front door chimed as she wiped down the counter, pulling her attention.

"Ah, welcome to the Hidden Gem. Unfortunately, we're about to close. Do you mind coming back—"

She paused, then blinked.

Speak of the devil.

A flamboyant, effeminate figure stood in the doorway, dressed in a frilled alchemist coat of black and green. Long, lavender hair still flowed past his shoulders, tied into twin-braids.

"Still can't believe that's the name you went with." Larkspur giggled, strutting into the store. He gave a wink before leaning on the counter, although something seemed a little off. His expression was just a tad strained, and the way his eyes flicked to her chest was odd.

"Is something the matter, Larkspur?" she asked, raising an eyebrow.

A laugh. "What makes you think that?"

"You're not usually so quiet when you barge in." Citrine gestured to the rocks around the shop. "No compliments on the never-changing decor? No asking how my humble day's going?"

"…" Another pause. The alchemist's smile faltered, and he sighed, deflating. "Do you mind if we chat for a bit? Erm… in the back?"

Citrine frowned, but agreed, curiosity taking hold of her. She flipped the sign to 'closed' before following the man into the back room. It was a small office of sorts, a desk, cabinet, and chair tucked against the wall. There was also a window covered in hanging plants and a few of the less dangerous potted things Durma would occasionally send via furry courier.

She sat, gesturing to another chair in invitation.

"Thanks. You're a gem as always," Larkspur said, taking a seat and folding one leg atop the other. "Uh, I'm not so good at straight talk, so forgive me if it takes a minute."

"It's fine." Citrine waved it off. "Take your time."

Thoughts wandered toward what the conversation might be. Perhaps it had to do with their old adventures? Or maybe it had to do with the Ashen King? Was there some remnant of the Trueflame they had missed, and the faction was coming back?

She shook her head. That was a little far-fetched.

Maybe it was something to do with Ferris or Durma? Was one of them in trouble and needed her help? There wasn't much the fifty-seven-year-old would immediately jump at for, but her companions were one of them—

"Citrine?" Larkspur's voice became like stone, rolling and heavy. "Do you remember your curse?"

Her thoughts stopped, and she blinked.

"…My curse?" she echoed. "What does that have to do with anything? It might be inconvenient, but I've dealt with it for years. Have you found something to counteract it, then? Perhaps something else?"

"…" No response. His usually bright eyes fell to the floor.

"Seriously. What is it, Larkspur?" she pressed, growing impatient. "If it's about how I'm doing, I'm no stranger to the consequences. My reduced years aren't meaningless to me, but I still have a hundred more."

"…"

"Larkspur?"

A grimace, more akin to a flinch, and his gaze rose to meet hers. Then slowly, as though the words were poison in his mouth, he spoke. 

"Citrine, you don't have a hundred years left…"

"You have one."