A gentle drizzle had begun, the raindrops like tiny needles pricking at exposed skin, sharp as the arrows of a hedgehog. The halfling scratched at his neck, the skin already reddening. He sought refuge beneath the curved-sided, gabled roof of a wooden gazebo beside a pond, watching as a solitary black-spotted frog with bright green skin leapt from one water lily to another, seeking shelter from the relentless downpour. Its voice was a tickling croak that echoed down the steep hillside, growing more insistent with each new drop that pelted its back. Suddenly, the rain intensified, as if driven by a stubbornness that defied reason, and the waterfall that had flowed into the pond became a torrent.

  Meanwhile, the old man sat cross-legged on the cushioned corner of the gazebo, savoring his tea with a calm that belied the tempestuous weather. Paliborn, on the other hand, could take it no longer. The peace and tranquility that had settled over the scene were anathema to his anxious mood.

  "What are we to do, Master Sandman?" he asked, his voice tense and agitated.

  "First, Pal, you must calm yourself," Elaphar counseled, his gaze fixed on the halfling. "I have listened carefully to your tale. There is no doubt that some of Lena's actions are...shall we say...questionable."

  "Is it evil?" Paliborn asked, his voice dripping with disdain.

  "If that is how you choose to view it," Sandman replied. "But you must understand, Pal, that Allendra is a psionic. No telepath leads an ordinary life. It is the curse that accompanies their gift."

  "She is only five and a half years old," Paliborn protested. "It's not fair."

  "I did my best to reason with her aunt, Pal. What more could I have done? You know that I cannot force them to come here. She had a choice, and she chose the path of darkness," the old man said calmly, pointing a gnarled finger at the halfling.

  "But she's taking the girl with her! I have to protect Allendra. At least let me do that," Paliborn pleaded, his voice filled with desperation.

  "I cannot fathom your attachment to this girl, my dear Pal. You have only known her for a day and a half. What is it that binds you so tightly to her?"

  Paliborn fixed his steely gaze on the old wizard and spoke with conviction, "I am fully aware of your formidable magical abilities, my friend. You could easily locate her whereabouts with a flick of your wrist, but I understand that you have chosen a different path, and I respect that. I will not beseech you to join me in my quest."

  He paused for a few seconds and continued, "But I cannot abandon her, Sandman. I made a promise to protect her, and I intend to keep it. That woman is evil, and she will bring irreversible harm to the girl. I cannot allow it. The Quanas Elves will understand. They know the value of a promise," Paliborn declared resolutely.

  The old wizard fell silent, stroking his beard as he sipped his tea and listened to the rain. He pondered the situation, considering all possibilities.

  "They departed from a port near Arvedan, Pal. I believe they are sailing south across the Infinite Ocean, likely headed west," the old man said, breaking the silence.

  "Where are they going? Illinthia?" Paliborn asked.

  "Further than that, I suspect. The Awyrgad may have summoned the woman, and she could be taking the girl to him," the old man replied, his voice heavy with foreboding.

  "I will not allow it. If necessary, I will enter Romdaht alone," Paliborn declared firmly.

  Elaphar looked at the halfling with a mixture of admiration and sarcasm.

  "I have no doubt of your determination, my friend. You would follow her to the Nine Hells if need be. Your courage is admirable, if a little crazy," the old sage sighed inwardly. "Nay, their course cannot be Romdaht. The Awyrgad has no use for her there, not amidst the tumult of Conquest Campaigns," the old wizard sighed and took a puff on his pipe. "Your last dream, my dear Pal, hints at astral-traveling. The girl must have unknowingly provided the channel for such a wondrous feat. It is a rare ability, and I surmise the Dark One wants to test it. He will lead her on different paths." he continued.

  "But where?" Paliborn asked.

  "Ah, a difficult question, indeed," Sarcastic The Wise replied. "The Towers of Myriad, perhaps?"

  "But which one? There are countless Monoliths scattered across the land, as you know, Sandman."

  "According to an established theory among wizards, Monoliths possess a temporal power, which aligns with the star calendar to create routes. Thus, you need a cartographer with the necessary experience to predict these routes," the old sage explained.

  Pal nodded, indicating his comprehension.

  "They have a swift ship, manned by a band of mercenaries. But we have the most skilled captain in the world, and we can assemble a crack crew to aid you," Elaphar said.

  "Great, then let's begin to assemble." Pal declared.

  "All well and good, my friend, but that is not our primary concern," Sarcastic The Wise replied. "We do not meddle with the wheel of fate unless it's absolutely necessary. As you know, that's the first rule of our secret society. This girl is a fixed noose on the wheel of destiny, and if we misread her path, it may result in unpredictable consequences. Wallace is absent, but we must consult with Roland and obtain his counsel before proceeding."

  "Can we not keep him out of this?" Pal muttered.

  "I am afraid not, my friend," the old wizard replied with a sigh. "Roland is a crucial member of our order, and we need his expertise to make the right decision. And I wonder why you want to keep him out."

  "Bloody damn Roland. He has never been fond of me. That's why." Pal replied with a huge sigh.

  "Not at all," Elaphar said with a wry smile. "On the contrary, your presence is cherished by him greatly. It's simply that your unpredictable and capricious nature can stir unease in his heart at times. You have a knack for riling up trouble, and oftentimes, you make even this girl seem tame in comparison."

  The halfling's meddling had always brought amusement to the old sage. Memories of the halfling's written passages from his journal, "A Traveler's Notebook," flashed through his mind.

  Paliborn took umbrage, reproaching the old man as if he had read his thoughts. "What happened to the Wizard Al Pharruk was not my fault, if that's what you mean."

  The old sage raised his hands in surrender. "Hey, I didn't say anything of the sort. Nonetheless, I must be alone to contact Roland."

  "Very well," Paliborn said with a shrug. "I shall go for a wander, then."

  "Take care not to wander too far, Pal. If need be, I may need to summon you," the old sage warned with a sarcasm.

  The halfling shook his head in resignation and strode slowly out of the green-roofed, ivy-wrapped gazebo, feeling the weight of the world on his shoulders. As he stepped outside, he was greeted by a respite from the rain, the sun piercing through the dark clouds and painting the sky with a brilliant arc of colors. The sight of the rainbow over the towering cliffs that surrounded the settlement never failed to fill him with hope.

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  Paliborn crossed over one of the numerous bridges that spanned the rippling tributaries that branched off from the pond, making his way towards the main building. He was in a high-altitude monk temple perched atop one of the countless hidden valleys of Qui-Sartry, where the Quanas Elves called home. These elves were a secluded race that had lived in the same place for over a thousand years, shrouded in mystery and surrounded by nature's bounty.

  Mostly black-haired and slant-eyed, the Quanas Elves could live up to four hundred years, a lifespan significantly shorter than their blond-haired, almond-eyed brethren, the Galanadel Elves, who dwelled in the Galande Forests just north of the Qui-Sartry Mountains.

  Both of these elven clans were known for their honorable and solitary lifestyles, and their histories were replete with suffering and misery, all due to their unwavering trust in humans. Thus, these closed-off societies rarely allowed outsiders to bear witness to the breathtaking splendor of their homelands. Pal was one of the fortunate few who had seen both. However, for the opportunity to behold the secret valleys of Qui-Sartry, he owed a debt of gratitude to his old friend, Sarcastic the Wise.

  Arriving at the main building, Paliborn gingerly slid open the timber-framed door, being mindful of its delicate bamboo paper walls. He had learned from past experience that one wrong move could result in disaster. Once inside the spacious, sparsely decorated room, Paliborn took care to keep a respectful distance from the fragile tile art adorning the walls. His gaze settled on the venerable figure of Master Izzian, a slanted-eyed Quanas elf with gray grizzled in his long, straight black hair, gathered overhead.

  Izzian was one of Qui Sartry's most esteemed and sagacious monk-masters, clad in a white traditional robe adorned with black tribal markings, fastened with a fabric belt. His black salwar-like trousers were covered with white tribal symbols representing the elements of fire, air, water, and earth, depicted with Quanas symbol letters.

  "Master Izzian, it is an honor to be in your presence," Paliborn said, bowing deeply in reverence.

  "The honor is mutual, Brother Pal. Please, do not stand on ceremony. Sit across from me," Izzian replied.

  Paliborn obliged, settling onto one of the cushions arranged around a low wooden table. Though he struggled to find a comfortable position, unable to sit cross-legged for long periods without his feet going numb, he persevered. Izzian poured a cup of tea from a ceramic teapot, which had been brewing over charcoal.

  "Master Izzian," said Paliborn, his eyes brightening as he sipped the blueberry tea. "You have brewed my favorite blend, as always."

  "Sour but sweet, like life itself," replied Izzian with a wry smile. "Isn't that how you describe it, my dear Pal?"

  "Exactly," nodded the halfling, his thoughts momentarily drifting to the hardships he had endured.

  "I hear that you faced some trouble on your way here," said Izzian, his keen gaze fixed on Paliborn.

  "Alas, a band of marauders held me captive while my comrade was abducted," recounted Paliborn, his voice tinged with gratitude. "But thanks to your guidance, Master, I managed to put up a good fight with the meteor hammer."

  "I am glad to hear that," said Izzian, stroking his chin. "If I recall correctly, you also crafted a singular weapon of your own, when our traditional arms proved inadequate. What was it called?"

  The halfling reached into his pouch and retrieved a cylindrical metal object that resembled an hourglass.

  "A yo-yo, Master. I fashioned it with your famed crystal spider strings and my own design, with the help of a dwarf friend who refined it for me."

  "Ah, the dwarves are skilled craftsmen indeed, although not as much as the lost gnomes," mused Izzian, his voice trailing off. "Forgive me, Pal. I should not have brought up a sorrowful subject."

  Paliborn's countenance clouded with memories of the past. "No, no, it is not your fault, Master," he said, fingering the yo-yo pensively. "I lost many dear friends on the Endarun Continent when it was shrouded in mist." He put the yo-yo on down on the floor.

  "I am sorry for your loss, brother Pal," said Izzian, his tone softened. "I was thoughtless to have stirred up such emotions."

  Paliborn shook his head, a faint smile playing on his lips. "No need for apologies, Master. They are but memories, lingering like wisps of smoke."

  As the halfling picked up the yo-yo, the silvery strings glittered in the lamplight, forming intricate patterns with the cylindrical metal. He twirled it with a deftness born of long practice, his slender fingers coaxing out melodies of motion.

  "Truly magnificent," breathed Izzian, watching in wonder. "I can see the perfect balance of form and function in your creation."

  "That is precisely what my last adversary thought, Master," said Paliborn, his eyes twinkling mischievously. "When my yo-yo slammed into his forehead and felled him to the ground."

  Izzian chuckled heartily. "I can well imagine that, my dear Pal. May your skills never fail you in times of need!"

  "Master, do you know of any star-mappers?"

  "Why do you inquire, Pal?"

  "I have been devising a plan to find my abducted comrade. And I shall require some aid."

  "Of course, Pal, I shall do all that is necessary for you. However, you must heed the counsel of Sarcastic the Wise."

  "Your acuity is unparalleled, Master Izzian."

  "I am aware of all that transpires within this sanctuary. This place is part of me, and I am part of it."

  "I understand. Do you not long for the world beyond this temple?"

  Once again, the wise man beamed genuinely. His pallid lips parted, revealing his pearly, straight teeth.

  "All that I seek is here. When I yearn for tidings, my guests, especially you, provide me with all that I require."

  "I admire your equanimity. If I remain in one place for more than a few days, I grow ill at ease."

  "And that is your innate talent, Pal. We all follow diverse paths by nature. May our paths always lead forward and sometimes intersect. Returning to the past often benefits no one. Heed my words, my dear friend. I perceive the furrows of worry etched upon your face. You are burdened with a guilt that you need not bear. Allow me to take it a step further and proffer a piece of advice that you may keep in your pocket. Such remorse will wound you as acrid vinegar corrodes a jar."

  "Thy counsel and insights are invaluable to me, Maester Izzian. Your pearls of wisdom shall reside in my purse."

  "You are a singular being, Pal. In this world, There is none like thee in this world. Perchance one day, you may encounter few others of like spirit and tread the same path with them. Thus, you shall become a member of a very special cohort. But until that day comes, patience must be thy virtue," replied Izzian.

  "But this little girl, I have only known her for a day and a half, yet I feel as though I have known her all my life. It is a feeling unlike any other, akin to that of a sister whom I have never had. It is indescribable, a bond that is unique and uncharted." Paliborn paused to gather his thoughts and continued, "You are well aware of how much I esteem and honor the Sandman, Sarcastic the Wise. We have been comrades and confidants for many ages, and the foundation of trust and friendship between us has been solidified over a long time. The bond I share with Eli, however, seems to have existed since the dawn of time. It is an unprecedented sensation that I have experienced for the first time."

  "Now, I comprehend better, brother Pal. Your countenance speaks volumes. Bon voyage. Master Sarcastic summons you. Do not depart without paying me another visit, will you?"

  Paliborn rose to his feet and inclined his head respectfully before Izzian. "I shall visit again before departing, Maester Izzian. Thank you for the tea. Might I take some with me for the journey? For some inexplicable reason, my palate craves it."

  He withdrew quietly from the presence of the Quanas elf, carefully sliding open the door and stepping outside. Rain began to patter down again, adding to the ever-changing cycle of Qui-Sartry's weather. The locals saw each day as a dance of the sun and rain, inextricably intertwined in a constant give-and-take. The Quanas elves called this bewildering cycle the "cooperation and struggle of water and air".

  Returning to the gazebo with haste, Pal deftly avoided the rain. Sarcastic remained seated in the same spot, smoking from a peculiar pipe with a long stem and a small chimney, a rare sight indeed.

  "Well, have you made your decision? Does the Firestarter, Roland Ian Oaker, have any further inquiries of me? If you harbor any doubts, I am prepared to face your questioning," said the halfling, his voice steady and resolute.

  "No, we have no further inquiries. You have satisfied our curiosity," the old man spoke, drawing in a deep breath of his pipe before nodding ambiguously, exhaling a trail of smoke.

  "How so?" Paliborn asked incredulously.

  "Your words to Maester Izzian were sufficient to sway our decision. We have chosen to place our trust in you, Pal. May your journey be clear," the old man replied.

  "Ah, curse your sorcery! Is a person's privacy nonexistent when the likes of you old sorcerers are around? You see and hear everything, yet when it comes to action, you halt and ponder for hours on end. At times, you're more vexatious than Gaiya's own offspring, the Tree Men."

  The old man chortled with glee.

  "You, Pal, are always a delight!" he said merrily, tucking his pipe into the pocket of his gray robe. "Well then, let us quicken our pace and locate your crew."

  With that, the old man rose to his feet and began chanting spells. Paliborn scowled as the magical door swung open, grumbling to himself,

  "Now we resemble Fire Knights treading upon the lava of Phyrnos. You're just like a cranky gnome with a watch that's stopped, wise Sandman."

  The old man laughed heartily, passing through the portal and disappearing from sight. Paliborn Quickhand cast one last glance at the magnificent panorama, inhaling deeply of the crisp air before following the wry wizard reluctantly. He swore to himself that if she enters the Nine Hells, he would follow right behind her. Such was the halfling's fortitude and courage.