“What the hell!” Jiryn complained, scowling at the billowing flames and smoke around them. “What kinda idiot starts a fire out in a dead forest like this? They tryin’ to get killed?!”

“The very reason we’re here is because of this fire, Jiryn,” Aelin said. “It was set by a monster, not a person. Has anyone pinpointed the location of the source yet?”

“Two and a half hops southwest,” Ira said. “Whatever created the fire is still at it. We’ll have to be careful getting closer. Do we have the sedatives ready?”

“Locked and loaded,” Serafin replied. “Awaiting your orders, Captain.”

Aelin nodded and slid his faruguin from his back. “Proceed with caution.”

The four of them moved toward the source of the fire. After two hops, their target became visible.

“Take positions,” Aelin called.

He settled into a crouch and examined what was ahead of them.

What he saw at first was a squirming mass caught in a net. He realized that the net was made of shimmering gold and cinnabar threads—a Druid-Binding Net. For a moment, he was curious; why would someone hunt for druids here on this random mountain? It was unlikely that the recent problems in the area were caused by a shapeshifter. . .

He focused on the struggling form in the net. Now that he paid attention, it was the slender form of a young male humanoid, perhaps twenty years of age. That body’s muscles were flexible and strong. The net containing it was beginning to show signs of wear in its threads; give the youth a few more days and nights to twist and writhe and blast fire, and he would surely break free.

Then that young one jerked again, and Aelin saw his face.

It was delicately handsome, with sharp features as pale and fine as white jade. A tangled mess of red hair framed that face, and a pair of shocking red eyes stared out from it. Panic and anger were etched into every line and every plane of that beautiful countenance.

Aelin had originally planned to play a subduing melody—one to put their target to sleep. But seeing the expression on the youth’s face as he fought violently to escape the netting, he decided to play a calming melody instead.

The notes rang out over the roar of the flames, and suddenly the youth went still and rigid. His gaze found Aelin in an instant, locking onto him. Aelin continued to play his song, and after several long moments, the youth relaxed, hanging limp in the Druid-Binding Net. Aelin gave Serafin the signal, and two sedative rounds embedded themselves in the young man’s arm.

“Cut the net,” Aelin ordered. “Carefully. Do not injure him.”

Jiryn sliced the top of the net, then caught the falling youth. He carried him over to Aelin, who lifted him and laid him upon the ground. He took a moment to extinguish the fires burning around them, then crouched at the young man's side and checked his vitals.

“Looks like a fox druid,” Jiryn said. “Must be pretty green if he got caught in a binding net that easily.”

“Mm, it would seem that way,” Aelin said. He examined the young man closer and frowned. “But that is exactly what’s amiss. No newborn druid has a form this good. Sturdy bone structure, good muscle, excellent motor control. And such strong fire magic. . .”

Jiryn crouched as well and peeled back the youth’s eyelid. “He’s got the eyes of a yaoka. Must be half druid, half fire yaoka. Or at least have a bit of both in his bloodline from somewhere.”

Aelin was still frowning. “Even yaoka need time to cultivate their skills and strength. He must be two centuries old, at least.”

Jiryn shrugged. “Maybe he’s mentally impaired.”

"Jiryn," Aelin reprimanded tiredly.

“There’s also a chance he hasn’t developed full awareness yet,” Serafin said, walking over. “Many druids take over a millennium before they develop self-awareness. Yaoka tend to develop it within their first century, but as he’s a half-breed, who knows how long it would be for him.”

Aelin straightened up with a sigh. “We will find out when he wakes. Jiryn, tend to him and make sure he has no injuries. Ira, Serafin—the three of us will put out the fires.”

"Understood!"

The youth woke up on something very soft. He wanted to appreciate the comfort, but the splitting ache in his head took up most of his attention. Other than that, he felt many sore, pulled, and torn muscles throughout his body, primarily in his waist, abdomen, and shoulders.

He was no longer in a net, though, so even with the many aches and pains in his body, he felt elated.

He listened to the sounds around him. There was a fire nearby, but it was small and contained. There were also four other beings like him; he heard their breathing. One of them was sitting nearby, legs crossed, seemingly holding something in their lap; two more sat near the fire, and the fourth was hopping around in the treetops.

The youth opened his eyes. The light stabbed them at first, but they adjusted. Above him was a sunlit tangle of charred branches. If they’d had leaves, it would have been a beautiful sight. Alas, this forest had long since died, leaving only skeletal remains of its former luster.

The youth sat up and looked around. His eyes settled on the man sitting cross-legged near him, and his expression brightened.

However, it crumpled in pain right away as the blood rushed to his head, increasing the aching there fivefold.

Through a haze of agony, a clear ringing note reached his ears. More notes followed, and the pain receded, leaving the youth’s head clear.

“Do not overexert yourself,” the young man beside him said, still plucking out that pleasant song. “You’ve only just regained consciousness after three days.”

“Gege, your music is truly amazing!” the youth said, unable to hold the praise in a moment longer. “The effect is so strong, and the melodies are really beautiful!”

The man seemed taken aback, but smiled. “Thank you for the compliments, young master. What is your name?”

“. . .” The youth lowered his head a bit with an embarrassed smile. “I. . .don’t know.”

“Blaze!” another young man suggested—he was one of the two sitting near the fire.

“What sort of loser names themself ‘Blaze’?” the other said, rolling her eyes. “Just mix aradao with some other name character.”

“How about Arani, then?” The music-playing man asked with a smile, turning to the youth. “It combines the characters for ‘fire’ and ‘flight’, creating a meaning somewhat like ‘firefly’. The two characters can also mean such things as ‘courage’, ‘strength’, ‘hope’, and ‘brilliance’.”

“I like it! That’s a good name!” Arani said. “What’s your name, gege?”

“I am called Aelin,” the man replied. “Master Arani, may I ask how old you are?”

“Twenty-two!” Arani said, holding up his fingers to show the numbers. “I was born in the last year of the Qing dynasty!”

Aelin’s eyes widened. “The Qing dynasty? Master Arani, the Qing dynasty ended almost eight centuries ago.”

“Ah, that’s longer than I was expecting,” Arani said. “So I spent almost eight hundred years in that vase. . .Pretty impressive! The seals must’ve been very strong. I spent the whole time trying to break out, so for the seals to last almost eight centuries really is quite the feat. It’s a shame the craftsman probably died forever ago. . .”

“Master Arani, what do you mean?” Aelin asked, tilting his head. “You were sealed in a vase?”

Arani nodded. “Yeah. Two decades after the Qing dynasty ended, the mountains where I lived were destroyed in a war, and my family was killed. I was wounded, so I sought shelter. A year later, an old man came upon me and sealed me in a vase. I knew I spent a long time inside of it, but I didn’t realize so long had passed. To have lived inside that vase for eight centuries, really is. . .mind-blowing. I estimated just half of that, maximum.”

“I see. . .” Aelin set aside his instrument. “Well, that at least explains why your speech pattern differs from the current dialect. You seem to know many of the words, but your accent is much more similar to that of the ancient dialects spoken before civilizations fell. . .No matter; the most important task at hand is to tend to your injuries. Please lay, Master Arani.”

Arani lay back down. “You can just call me Arani, you know. You saved my life anyway, so what’s the point of useless formalities?”

The young man by the fire snorted a laugh into his drink. The woman sitting by him shook her head.

“Master Arani, calling one by their first name is only acceptable in very specific situations,” she said. “For example, if you are part of a tight-knit group with that person, then it's fine. The only other time it’s okay is if you are very intimately familiar with the other person and know them as if they were family. You could have him call you by a nickname if you wish.”

“Okay, then a nickname,” Arani said.

“Alright, alright,” Aelin said, shaking his head with a smile and picking up the instrument once more. “Just relax, Ni-ah. I am going to play a healing melody.”

Arani's healing progressed over the next two weeks. Serafin's smiles and sly humor, and Aelin's healing melodies repaired his battered little body and his wounded spirit. Ira, although less interested in the young man than the other companions, did make a succulent menu of fragrant teas, savory stews, and had a seemingly endless supply of huji berries that provided little nutrition but much needed eating pleasure. Jiryn proved to be less involved with Arani's healing process, but over the course of the two weeks with his new companions, he became Arani's most frequent choice for conversation, and more importantly, a patient friend to answer his endless questions.

It started with questions about who the four companions were and why did they find him in the forest. Jiryn sensed the complexity of this situation and knew that he should tell the youth enough to quell his curiosity, but would need to leave the bulk of information to the higher ranking druids to explain. They were already informed of the boy's capture and were awaiting his transport to the Central City. He told Arani the basic truth that they were a scouting patrol that helped keep watch at the edge of their Central City's Outlying Lands. The bigger story of the imminent war could surely wait for now.

Of course, he could answer the young one's questions about why they didn't eat kumeri like he used to back in his century? (The answer of course is that the kumeri birds were now permitted only to elders because their magical properties were coveted and reserved only for certain druids.) Why did the companions rely on music and instruments for healing and not use the crystal magnetism that he knew in his early days? (Jiryn knew little about healing and answered simply that The Melodies were gifts from the upper realms and everyone used them.)

When the 30 days of healing were at an end, Aelin informed his band that all of them would be leaving at sunrise. Arani received this news with suspicion. He got enough information from Jiryn to realize the Central City was a place of magnificence, wealth, culture, magic, love, music, scholarship, and secrecy. It sounded intriguing yet frightening. Serafin's quips about stodgy elders and endless rules of etiquette put a damper on the excitement. But even more than these worries, Arani felt fear about his own future. He wanted to go back to his own time, and if not that, then to find the descendents of his father's tribe, the fire yaoka.

Ira, Aelin, Seraphin, and even Jiryn were suspiciously evasive about where the yaoka tribe lived and how they used their gifts eight centuries after Arani's time.

Arani realized that he had little choice but to go cooperatively with the companions to the Central City and its complex ways of society.

Arani was terrified.

Of course, he didn't tell them that. You couldn't offer him enough. These people had saved him a miserable time by freeing and healing him, and now even escorting him back to this. . .'Central City' or whatever. He wasn't about to just toss another one of his problems on their shoulders. That screamed 'ungrateful', and he was the furthest thing from it. Who knows where he'd be right now without their help?

Lying on the floor of a dead forest with a body too battered to move, that's where.

So no, he didn't say anything. If his palms clammed up at the thought of joining a society he had no understanding of and his heart pounded and he couldn't catch his breath, well that was his issue, wasn't it? It wasn't like there was a melody Aelin could play to make his thoughts race a little slower or vanish the way they made him lightheaded.

He was a grown druid. Eight hundred years old and everything. Probably an elder even to the old skinbags who lived in the Central City. He could handle becoming a productive member of civilization.

Probably.

Arani's throat closed up again and he waited, fists curled in his lap, for the breathlessness to pass. Outside the window, the city grew from a pinprick in the distance to a blemish on his sight, a spreading cancer which soon would swallow him up.

He managed to suppress the growl that rolled up his throat, but his ears still flattened on his skull, and if his eye twitched--well, cut him some slack, okay?

It was several moments before he realized Aelin was trying to get his attention from the seat beside.

"Ni-ah?" His voice was soft and concerned.

Arani's head swiveled to face Aelin, too fast, too sharp. He tried to narrow his eyes so they wouldn't look like they were about to fall from his head in horror. He also failed. ". . .Yes?"

Two of Aelin's fingers touched the back of his hand, and he jumped on contact before realizing, then looked away.

Well great. If he hadn't figured it out before, there was no way Aelin couldn't tell now.

"There's no need to be so tense," Aelin said. His voice was always so soothing, even when he raised it. But a single drop of rain is nothing to a bonfire.

Arani tried for a smile. It looked more like a threat. "I'm not tense."

Jiryn snorted in the seat behind. Arani snarled at him and he raised his hands in surrender.

Now Aelin's hand enveloped his and slowly pried his fingers loose. A bit distractedly he realized his fingernails had cut crescents into his palm. Aelin spoke again. "We won't be staying in the Central City very long. Now that we've sorted out the trouble near the border, I have to give a report, and then we can go someplace quieter where you can learn in peace."

Arani's gaze found his, incredulous.

The first thing he felt was a wave of relief.

The second was a tsunami of guilt.