Djurle sat against the wall of his stone shelter. In his hands he held the golden necklace, his thumb rubbing the garnet inlay.

I'll find your kid, Yorlan. I'll do whatever it takes.

He sighed.

Zebulon said he'd be bringing three squads in. I don't know how he expects them to be enough. But they'll have to do. Once I've helped him, he'll likely be more than happy to help me. Maker... I'm so tired of all this running around.

He pocketed the necklace in his vest as he stood up. The cool, soft, and almost squishy sand felt refreshing under his still mildly sore feet. He did some basic stretches to prepare himself for the day ahead and put on his boots, making sure to will the sand off just before he did.

Maybe one of these days I'll leave it on, see if my memory of sand in my boots is still accurate.

Djurle pressed his hand against the wall of stone and opened it up. As his eyes adjusted, he heard some children giggling coming from where he had Crispus tied. Curious, he made his way around his hut to find a group of four feeding his horse some dried grasses. They didn’t see him. He smiled. Leaning up against the rock, he watched them for a minute or so before one of the three boys spotted him. The boy's eyes went wide. The other three kids saw his look and turned around, gasping when they saw Djurle.

The one girl of the group began to stammer, “I'm sorry sir, I-we just- I-”

“Easy, easy there, you're acting like I'm upset. I'm sure Crispus loves the attention. You can feed him or pet him if you want, it doesn't bother me any. Just don't spook him. I don't want to be held responsible if one of you gets kicked by accident.”

“Yes sir! We promise!”

The other three agreed with her.

“That's what I like to hear. As you were.”

Djurle pushed off the rock with his shoulder and started to wander through the tents. Along the way he picked up a pebble. Entertainment was hard to come by, so he amused himself by making the pebble dance around nearby ropes, tent spikes, and other loose objects.

From the position of the sun, it would be another hour before he needed to go towards the river checkpoint that Zebulon mentioned. He took his time, listening in on conversations, or asking questions to gathered groups. Djurle believed that rumors were a good way to find leads, and while not always helpful, they did give him a good idea of what was important to the refugees in the area. It helped him organize his secondary and tertiary priorities. 

“Someone with some spine needs to step up around here. It feels like anarchy.”

“I hear the human refugees have enough to eat for weeks, and over here we're starving, that just doesn't seem fair.”

“Have you seen Preston? I need to apologize to him, I got mad at him for something stupid.”

“Back home, I had a nice little garden. Maker's beard I wish I had something half as big as that now.”

“I saw a guard running through the camp yesterday. Apparently the guy he was chasing stole a wineskin. Some people are too desperate for a drink. They need to learn to let go.”

“Have you heard about that weird rock they found a few years ago? Apparently it explodes when you throw it in ashes. Wonder if that's all it does.”

“I'm tired of this. Maybe I should move to Krundíl and join the war effort.”

That one caught Djurle's attention. He decided to take a moment to listen a little longer.

“At least then I might get some food. It sounds like they're thrashing Stogh, so maybe I'll get lucky and they won't need me on the lines.”

“They're the reason we're out here and you want to go help them? We'd still be in Casperdain if it weren't for the Krundílites.”

“Yeah, I guess you're right. Besides, I don't think I'd make much of a sword fighter.”

You wouldn't need to worry about that.

Djurle rubbed his wrist as memories swept over his mind. Figuring he'd heard enough, he began to make his way back to his hut. When he got back he saw that the children had left, so he saddled up Crispus and rode toward the river.

On his way, he stopped by Mikail’s tent for a short good-morning chat. Once he was done, he finally headed toward the river proper.

Zebulon said ‘head south along the river, the checkpoint is a short way past the tents.’ He should be there by now.

He followed those instructions, moving south until he came up to the expected clearing. Sitting on his strawberry roan horse, Zebulon was waiting. A short ways away were two others guarding the road.

“You're early.”

“My patrol had no incidents for once.”

“That'd be rare, even under normal circumstances.”

“I couldn't agree more. Talk of you has spread all throughout the camp. I overheard someone mention you in town too. I believe that had something to do with it.”

“Maybe I'll get lucky and get your Jaunari's attention.”

“I wouldn't call something like that ‘lucky’.”

“And why would that be?”

“You're experiencing his policy toward the touched first hand, and you're asking why?”

“I can be pretty persuasive, I've convinced other kings I'm not so bad at least twice in the last ten years. Who can say he won't be number three?”

“I can not tell if you're joking, and that is not very comforting.”

Djurle smiled to himself. Zebulon stared at him for some time as they waited for the other guards to arrive. He was used to getting stared at, being the first stone skinned ukitu in existence. When it started to get awkward by Djurle's standards, he looked back at Zebulon.

“Something on your mind?”

“What? No, no.”

“You've been staring at me for ten minutes, you can ask questions if you're curious. Everyone has at least one.”

Zebulon looked away from him, and his lips twisted as if He was considering his words.

Djurle was about to shrug it off when he spoke.

“How… How does it work? Your geomancy?”

“My abilities? Well for starters, it's not magic. My abilities are a gift from The Maker to me.”

“What does it feel like to use your gifts?”

“You know what it's like to wear armor and swing your sword, how they become part of you? Extensions of your form? For me, it's like that. I can move rock and stone as if it's part of me. I can ‘see’ through it by feeling subtle vibrations in the earth, I can travel through it, I can shape it however I please.”

“What do you mean by travel?”

“In a pinch, I can use it to carry me, turn it into steps, a slide, or a tunnel. On the surface I can use it to push me across distances at pretty good speeds, though that's loud and exhausting. It's like running on waves. I can also swim through it, though again that's exhausting.”

“How did you discover your abilities?”

“Oh-ho there's a story."

Djurle adjusted himself in his saddle to better face the Lieutenant. 

"So, when I was thirteen my older brother and I were traveling in the mountains where Talvash was settled, he was teaching me how to bow-hunt. Talvash has a lot of rocky soil, so it's hard to farm without bitter determination. Hunting elk was practically required. We were in the process of tracking one when the string for my brother's bow broke. It was an old string and we knew it, so we had one spare, but the shock of it nearly took Arnsey off his feet. We took time to rest for a bit next to one of the cliffs that towered above us. Well, near the top of the cliff there was a herd of wild goats. One goat slipped on some ice that hadn't melted yet for spring and began to tumble down the side.”

Zebulon cringed slightly. Djurle assumed he was picturing the falling goat, while he himself did everything he could not to.

“On its way down, it started an avalanche. And, wouldn't you know it, the goat and the avalanche were coming for us. I panicked when I saw it, but I wasn't able to get my words out fast enough. A boulder the size of my horse came careening down towards him. I shouted at him ‘MOVE’ and reached out to try and get him out of the way when I felt a strain in my chest. Something snapped, or clicked, then the boulder stopped not more than ten feet above him. He ran out from under it and grabbed me. When he did, the strain disappeared and I blacked out. And when I woke up, we both agreed I needed to see a priest, so we went home. We'd never heard of the spirits of the elements before, and only knew a few ukitu in passing, so we had no idea about what I was. I learned how to understand my power at The Temple of the Maker in Ikhrosh, and developed it over the years since then.”

“How could you not know you were ukitu? Your chest and shoulders look like cobblestones.”

“I was born to human parents like every other spirit of the elements. My skin was smoother than yours when I started developing my abilities. This-” Djurle gestured to himself “-came with age. It started out as sand under my blankets, now, I can't even sleep in a normal bed without tearing sheets. I learned to enjoy sleeping in a sand pit to avoid learning to sew or paying for regular trips to a seamstress.”

“That sounds uncomfortable.”

“As I said, I learned to enjoy it.”

Zebulon turned to face the road again. Djurle did the same. Coming up the road at a distance were eight bronze reflections which Djurle assumed were the guards that were supposed to be meeting them.

“I thought you said there'd be three squads?”

“I did, and I meant it. Something must have happened.”

“Well they're not in any rush so it's probably not a big deal.”

“Let's hope you're correct.”

It was another ten minutes of sitting in silence as the two men waited for the incoming guardsman.

As they got closer, Djurle could see that they were all wearing the same armor as Zebulon, bronze lamellar with open faced helmets that possessed a protective nosepiece. Each one carried a bronze sword and wooden shield with a bronze rim.

Once they arrived, they saluted from their saddles to Zebulon. Two of them spoke up, the first a stout man with thick arms, thicker torso, and tanned skin. He said “Dionis Mench and Dauntless squad reporting for duty.”

The second, a woman with brown hair that barely poked out of the bottom of her helmet also said “Ezkutu Lantza and Charm squad, reporting. Commanders Lions and Phurin needed to speak with Brave squad; they'll be along shortly.”

“Good,” replied Zebulon, “Brave leader is already briefed on the situation. We can get you up-to speed while we wait for them. Form up! Ears open!”

“Uh, sir?”

“Yes Dionis?”

“Should we be doing this in front of this refugee?”

Dionis motioned over to Djurle, who grinned And raised his eyebrow.

“Your situational awareness is commendable. Djurle is a consultant, we're dealing with enemies that this man has dealt with regularly. His expertise will no doubt prove invaluable, so be sure to listen whenever he speaks.”

“Yes, sir.”

“Here's our situation. A group of empowered Ukitu have been kidnapping refugees from here to force them into the war currently happening in Stogh.”

“Empowered?”

Djurle opened his palm and summoned a rock to it from the ground.

“Like this.”

He then tossed it gently toward the guard who asked the question.

Both squads went bug eyed as the pebble gently floated around the guardsman's head and then returned to Djurle's palm.

“All Ukitu are descendants of people like me, and these empowered ukitu possess the same types of power that their ancestors held. If you know the stories, you know what we're up against, and if you don't then you can ask me later. They aren't as strong as their ancestors, but that doesn't mean you shouldn't be careful.”

“He's right, as you may or may not have heard we've already lost one unprepared squad and a few civilians to one such individual two days ago. One empowered by ice.”

Djurle's eyes narrowed. He hadn't been told that particular detail before today.

A grixovite? Not good. Especially this close to a river.

“We can't let that happen again. Our primary objective is to find these faux-spirits and bring them to justice. We're starting by-”

Dionis interjected, “I'm sorry Lieutenant, but I was told we were hunting tax evaders, what happened to that?”

“That's the cover story we're using to keep the refugees from panicking. Now, as I was saying, we're starting our hunt by following the trails of missing persons cases. We have one case that's confirmed to be by them already and at least three dozen more with similar stories. We'll be doing our investigations in pairs, and I'll be assigning each pair to different cases.”

Djurle noticed a group of bronze glints coming up the road.

Finally. Took them long enough.

“Take notes everyone, every detail may end up being important, no matter how insignificant they may seem. Odd footprints, loose string, even clay chips can all lead to catching these poachers. I keep spare parchment for note-taking if you don't have any on hand. Now Let's determine our teams, starting with-”

At this point Djurle turned to face the camp. He kept his ear open for his own name but otherwise wasn't paying attention.

There's a lot of ground to cover if we're going to get these poachers. Zebulon knows this area better than me, I trust him to distribute his men.

As Djurle looked out over the tents of ukitu, he could see dozens of people staring back in his direction. Many of them were gaunt and stared at the well fed guardsmen with disdain. Not all of them were, but there were enough to concern him. He did notice Karliah standing amongst the throng of refugees, and he gave a courteous nod of acknowledgement towards her direction when they locked eyes. She smiled back, but even from here Djurle could tell that she wasn't committing to it emotionally. 

We'll get her for you. We'll get them all.

He continued watching the crowd. A flash of white caught his attention between the tents, though he couldn't see where it went.

He heard Dauntless leader speak up behind him. “Maker's robe, it took you morons long enough.”

Another man's voice Djurle didn't recognize replied, “Who are you calling morons Dense? You're only here to make the rest of us look smarter.”

"I'm here because someone needs to carry your sorry kiester back to the garrison when you faint on the job you dainty princess!”

“If you're gonna call me princess, you might as well give me the royal treatment. Here, polish my boots, slave!”

Ha! They're as bad as the army back home. Minus the swearing.

He continued to scan the tents, looking for the streak he saw earlier as the guardsmen continued to banter behind him. 

I know I saw that. Ugh, i'm getting jumpy. It's probably just an old guy. I should have never left Erith, maybe then I could've enjoyed a nice, peaceful afternoon. 

“Brave Leader, you'll be with Djurle on the Karliah case. We've split the rest in pairs among our other cases to see if we can find any promising leads.”

“Good call, Zeb.”

Djurle's heart skipped a beat.

That accent…

He turned around and looked back at the group. Sitting before him among the new arrivals on a white bellied almond brown horse, the spitting image of a younger Yorlan.

Clad in the same bronze armor as the other guardsmen, a well maintained, thick, square beard colored red in the sunlight was on his face. He had brown hair that was pressed to one side from the helmet he was holding under his arm, an athletic build, and the eyes… Djurle remembered those grey eyes more than anything else from Lynetta. The beard made the man look older but he still had a youthful vigor to him, suggesting his age would also be accurate to how old Yorlan’s kid was supposed to be.

No…. No. It can't be him. I have to be seeing things. It's a trick. A lie.

He rubbed his eyes, completely ignoring whatever else was being said. When he was done he looked back to see that he was still there.

But… But he's… Why does he… How can…. How!?

The world faded around him, all that remained was the man sitting before him, and his old boss's voice ringing with the promise he'd agreed to over nine winters ago.

Djurle. Please. I don't care about the spirit of fire stuff, I don't care about what happened here, but I won't be able to live with myself if... I already lost Lynetta, I can't... please... please Djurle... Find my son!

This is The Spirit of Fire!? Why the &^@% does he look HUMAN!?