It wasn’t a deep cut. She’d managed to catch a warning flash of red at the last second, diving sideways and spinning around to face her attacker. Ferris gritted her teeth at the stinging tear in her flesh and subtle drop in HP. She raised a hand and swung a triage of bullets that forced her opponent back—

It was Castellar.

The young seer froze. For a moment, it was hard to discern the reality in front of her; the splintered staff in his hand or the bright red liquid that painted its edge. She briefly wondered if this was another one of the cavern’s tricks, or if her visions were starting to affect her even when she was awake. Avoiding her attack, he skid in the dirt, eyes flashing with a ferocity she wasn’t used to.

That moment’s hesitation was all he needed to launch himself forward—his staff aimed for her head next.  Ferris again dodged, manifesting her Astral Dagger and extending it in time to block a third swing. The blades locked.

“What is your problem?!” she yelled at him, but her words didn’t seem to reach him.

This sudden betrayal didn’t bother her. Even though it caught her off-guard, it was something she always told herself to brace for. Maybe he planned to complete the mission his father gave him all those years ago. They were alone now, and no one in the guild knew where they’d gone, so perhaps there wasn’t a better opportunity.

What bothered Ferris was the intent she felt behind each one of his attacks. Blood continued to ooze from her side. It was getting harder and harder to keep their weapons locked as Castellar’s strength gradually began to overwhelm hers.

This wasn’t the intensity she felt when they sparred or when they’d fought as children. This time, he meant to kill her. That wasn’t like him, if only because he knew better.

She looked again his face and realized he wasn’t looking at her. Not really. His gaze didn’t quite meet hers, as if he was looking through her or at someone of a different size. The lights of his eyes were oddly dilated, and while she might’ve expected to see them flare a familiar aqua… there was a very faint crimson rim that traced them now.

Crimson magic was the one type that monsters could not use. She’d never heard of a spell that transferred visions to someone else either. What was happening?

The skeleton at last broke their stalemate, forcing her to retreat. Each strike that followed pushed her further and further toward the cliff’s edge. Whatever Castellar thought he was seeing, she had to get him to snap out of it!

With a brutish cry, Ferris focused whatever strength was left in her arms to brush his staff away in a wide, clumsy strike. It wasn’t enough to make him drop it, but it did give her an opening. He raised his free hand, ready to blast her into the dark water below, when she threw herself at him—ensnaring one arm around his neck and holding the length of her blade to it with the other. She tugged him with her as she leaned back into a precarious pose.

She felt his own weapon aimed at her gut, but everything stilled. In this position, either he would come to his senses or, one way or another, they would die together. Even if she managed to miss his neck, she’d drag him into the depths with her.

“It’s me, you bonehead!” she roared.

When that didn’t immediately work, she grabbed him by the back of his skull and slammed it into her own. Both of them grunted from the collision.

However, finally, Castellar’s eyes began to clear. He grimaced at first, then his sockets widened when he found his face pressed so close to hers. His pupils returned to their normal, non-distinct state and he glanced around them as if not fully recognizing where they were.

“It’s me,” Ferris repeated, her voice still firm with upset, but softer this time.

His weapon evaporated and Ferris allowed hers to do the same. Noticing the ledge, Castellar’s hands slipped around the small of her back to move them both to a safer distance.

Ferris held back a wince as his gloves traced across the open wound, but it didn’t matter. When he noticed the wet, slippery texture, he stilled. Again, the cut wasn’t deep; however, it was long—curving around her waist to the side of her stomach.

“It’s fine,” she spat, pushing herself away from him. She reached for her outer tunic to pad it over the injury.

“It’s not,” came the equally harsh reply. Just as quickly, Castellar snatched her back. A cool sensation tickled across her skin and the glow of healing magic radiated from his hands.

The young woman knotted her brow. She wanted to be stubborn, but it wasn't as if she could really afford to be in their current situation. Whatever remained of the candy she found in the maze, she’d given to Ciara. She didn’t have any potions or other healing items with her. She couldn’t exactly leave herself to bleed out for however long they kept wandering the caves.

The spell accelerated the clot over her broken skin, drying the blood into an ugly scab. It wasn’t pretty and it continued to ache, but it was better than getting a stitching.

He’s improved a bit, she noted, glancing down at his handiwork. Still, she wasn’t thrilled that he’d ruined her shirt. She could hide the wound until it fully healed and wash out the blood, but her sister would notice the tear. That, and Ferris didn’t look forward to sewing it up…

Castellar didn’t let go after he was done. His fingers remained drifting over the scab and he wouldn’t look at her directly.

Ugh! Ferris sneered. This place was driving the both of them half-mad! “Who or what do you think you saw anyway? Was it the same person from before?”

The skeleton hesitated before muttering the most unsatisfying answer he could’ve given, “It’s nothing…” 

Whatever blood hadn’t seeped out began to boil beneath her skin. Nothing... Did he really expect her to accept that he'd tried to impale her over nothing? Surely not, for at least he knew enough shame to flinch as she snatched him by the collar of his shirt. 

"After everything you just did, I think I have a right to know, don't I?" she hollered, "And for all your badgering from before, you left me! I can come back from the dead: You can't! What would you have done if you trapped yourself in some pocket or the cave collapsed while you went chasing after shadows?!" 

Mid-rant, the hand hovering over her waist abruptly captured her in a tight hold. Ferris stumbled into Castellar's chest, finding herself pinned when she attempted to draw back. In an instant, his staff returned to his hold. 

It wasn't aimed toward her: It was aimed out, facing the darkness. She followed Castellar's stern gaze to a vacant patch of earth among the trees and, at last, she saw it—a pale face gazing back at them. 

At first, Ferris thought the tall man standing in the shadows might be another skeleton. Cloaked in a pitch-black robe, the only other feature of his that she could make out was his hands, which were segmented at the joints and had a large hole carved out of each palm. However, even for the painted skeleton variety—like Castellar was—she thought the details of his face were too smooth. His sockets were slanted in a calm grin, but were as dark as the cave itself. From them, two long, vertical cracks ran in opposite directions: One running along the curve of his head and the other across his cheek before splitting into the line of his mouth.      

He spoke, but not in any sort of tongue that Ferris could recognize. To her, it sounded echoed and garbled; more akin to a machine's voice than a man's. If Castellar understood him, he didn't bother translating. With an unflinching stare, all he did was press the young woman closer against himself. The stranger raised a hand, pointing at them. Her guildmate's hold tightened to the point of pain, and she worried that her wound might open back up. 

The stranger's body began to flicker. It made him pause, then he lowered his head in an almost disappointed expression. He uttered one last, indecipherable thing before vanishing from view in a blink of an eye. 

Not knowing if he might reappear, the two mages stayed where they were for several minutes. They hastily positioned their backs against one another's, waiting for even the slightest change in the quiet atmosphere. Even when no change occurred, they still weren't fully at ease. 

"The next time I tell you there's a specter," Castellar exhaled, "there's a damn specter."