Of all the sorts of mystical plants in Charon they could've been sent after, Ash Roses hardly feel like the worst of them.

Perhaps that is merely initial bias speaking, naturally-- Kvasir was more-than familiar with the heat of Mount Drakolt, with blistering heat in general, whether it was the incandescent heat of the sun beating down on his back, stinging sweetly through the fabric of his clothes, or the torrid fumes emanating from the earth and open lava pits around the Ash Lands. Distantly, logically, he's aware that most would likely prefer to travel to somewhere more mild, in search of some other plant that promised less risk of fiery torment upon error, but logic is seldom his most loyal of traveling companions.

Logic, truly, pales in comparison to his actual choice in traveling companion for this venture, after all-- his ever-favored diviner, enchanter, detective, displacer beast-slayer, and dear friend, Morrigan Moonweaver. There's hardly anyone he'd rather be out here with, and he's fairly certain Morrigan would echo the sentiment about the relative comfort about the heat; as blistering as it is, it's still familiar enough, for Zeinav natives.

Still, he can't help sighing quietly to himself, taking a moment to adjust the scarf wrapped around the lower half of his face to ward off the volcanic fumes, pausing to survey the area around them both-- so far, just lava, no islands sitting comfortably at the heart of them.

"So far, no luck, Morrigan Moonweaver," Kvasir murmurs, still glancing about the gurgling pits of lava spanning the expanse of land around them, as if he expects something to change, for little stone islands adorned with ember-kissed roses to sprout from nothing. "Still, we didn't go into this expecting it to be easy. I assume the stone islands are a little further along-- let's just... hope they yield enough of those Ash Roses, hm?"

Their mission was simple- they had to venture through Charon and retrieve two rare plants. Given that they were attempting to join the Golden Consortium, every chemist’s dream, Morrigan had expected their quest to be more of a challenge. A pleasant romp through the Ash Lands, even in the lava infested parts, felt more like a pleasant afternoon out than a perilous adventure designed to test their mettle. Especially considering that the both of them were accustomed to the scorching heat of the desert.

Morrigan petulantly shoved their hands in their pockets, kicking at a rock at their feet. The blistering heat from the lava pools nearby made sweat pool at their brow- they’d already shrugged off their coat and pulled their hair out of their face to prevent from overheating. Ash Roses were supposedly a lovely flower, but a pain to obtain, which was why Morrigan had never had the chance to use one as a component in their elixirs. They’d yet to find any islands where the elusive plant might be housed.

Truth be told, even though they were a master alchemist, Morrigan wasn’t entirely sure how they felt about the Golden Consortium. Even without a single scrap of magic in their body, Morrigan had grand aspirations- the Mage’s Guild. They’d established a name for themselves- the Wizard of the Wastes- and they intended to covet the fame and influence that it offered.

(They did not yet know that those dreams of the mage's guild would never come to fruition. But it was a lovely thought while it lasted.)

For now, though, the alchemist’s guild held Kvasir’s interest, and it sounded entertaining enough. If anything, it would be a good way to further their own potion-making abilities, and an even better way to spend time with one of the few in the world whose company Morrigan unquestionably enjoyed.

The longer time stretched on, though, the more Kvasir grew disheartened, beginning to look dejected at the lack of results. Morrigan nudged him in the side, plastering a smile on their face that they hoped would lift his spirits. “Don’t lose heart, friend. We have faced worse dangers together, remember?”

That much was true- Morrigan would consider getting mauled by a vicious beast far worse than a little heat. “But you are right, as always… let’s speed things along, shall we?” They reached into their bag and pulled out a vial containing a silvery potion, experimentally shaking it around to make sure it was mixed. They downed the contents, blinking as their gaze sharpened, eyes suddenly adjusting to their dark and smoky surroundings.^[1]

There wasn’t much they could make out even with their enhanced vision, although in the distance, they could barely see a change in their surroundings, a craggy rock outcropping, in which a waterfall of lava pooled into the lake below. If there were any islands, they had as good a chance starting there as any.

Morrigan tugged on Kvasir’s cloak, pointing in the direction of the waterfall. “There might be islands over there- it’s worth checking out.” They explained before flashing Kvasir a wry smile. “I’m beginning to think I should have brought a basket. This seems a fine place for a picnic.”

---

1. Eagle's Sight Potion

Even though he'd gone into this well aware that it would not be easy, the dejection that was already starting to gnaw at Kvasir felt a little inevitable.

Alchemy was a... convoluted art; he could not pretend to understand its greater intricacies, the delicate art of transmutation, all the details of nigredo and albedo, citrinitas to rubedo, and all that they entailed. It covered such a broad spectrum of creation, this delicate line between magic and science, and for all the ways he admired the beauty of it, truly comprehending every detail was... beyond him. Still, the potion-making, all the focus on granting advantages or turning the tides of one's body through mystic medicine, everything of that sort had fascinated him, even when he was just a kid watching as his father worked late into the night.

He'd been... delighted, if a bit surprised, to find that the Consortium only wished for them to traverse Charon in search of rare plants as part of initiation. Foraging and travel flowed through Kvasir's veins as readily as blood; this task felt familiar, comforting, a far cry from the desperate struggle he'd anticipated to endure in order to achieve a place among their ranks. It felt encouraging-- as though he was making the right choice, choosing to spend his time gathering expertise in alchemy so he could advance his medical craft.

That was the very reason it felt so disheartening that it hadn't all fallen into place immediately; he knew, distantly, that it wouldn't, things never do, but for something he did nearly every day of his life, it felt a little disappointing to travel this deep in and still see no signs-- not so much with the environment, but more so with himself.

Still, if there's anything that eases that dejection, it's the gentle nudge of Morrigan's elbow against his side, the warmth of their always-shining smile-- it makes the pressure weighing on his shoulders feel imagined.

"...We certainly have," he says, nodding, watching as his friend pulls for a vial, a silvery liquid swirling at its heart, gone nearly as quickly as it's produced. "I hope, at least, there are fewer foul creatures guarding these roses."

Kvasir folds his arms and quickly thinks to unwind them, regretting the movement as soon as he makes it. The fabric of his shirt clings a bit too closely to his arms amidst the heat-- as easily as he can handle a bit of hot weather, a bit of anxiety quickly makes it feel a little more unbearable. So he opts to just mindlessly glance around as Morrigan works their magic, feeling a little useless in comparison, his mind feeling just the slightest bit foggier than it usually does-- must... must be the heat?-- though he perks back to life at the feeling of Morrigan's hand pulling at his cloak.

"Then we'll have to head over in that direction," he says quietly, though a soft chuckle immediately follows the words at the insouciant way his friend speaks of something as lovely as a picnic in a place as dangerous as this. A tiny smile lights up Kvasir's face, eye gleaming with amusement as he slowly starts to walk along in the direction Morrigan had mentioned, keeping his gait careful to ensure that his companion will stay right by his side. "Of course, naturally-- I think I could make us some tea. I wonder how fast water boils if you hold it over one of these pits."

Morrigan excitedly led Kvasir to the waterfall, seriously considering taking Kvasir up on his offer for tea. It probably was not the best time to consider taking a break for drinks, but Morrigan was in a surprisingly chipper mood, as if forcing the spirit would lift Kvasir’s own. He’d been oddly silent today, as if lost in his own head about something, just as he did now…

A gentle nudge brought him back to the present. Morrigan’s smile tightened in concern, only for the briefest passing moment- if Kvasir was not feeling well, then the Consortium be damned, Morrigan would call this hunt for the Ash Rose off immediately. They could resume another day, once Kvasir looked less like he would drift off into the clouds at the slightest breeze.

But then he responded with his usual droll amusement at Morrigan’s suggestion they set up a picnic out here, and Morrigan figured that perhaps something was just weighing heavily on him that he didn’t wish to talk about. Keeping their voice carefully casual, Morrigan said, “I would certainly love to see you try.” The logistics of such an action did not occur to Morrigan- nor did the realization that consuming a hot drink in the middle of a hot environment was a monumentally bad idea. “If not, I always have my spirits. That’s all you really need for a proper picnic, if you ask me.”

They delicately avoided the lava pools as they moved, stepping around the bubbling puddles which occasionally released molten pockets of steam. It did not take long for them to reach the first pool Morrigan spotted- just at the base of that rocky outcropping, where the lava waterfall originated from. But lo and behold- in the center of the large basin- was a small rocky island, barely enough for a single person to find purchase on, with what looked like two Ash Roses, stark ebony against the bright red backdrop.

“Look!” Morrigan pointed before throwing their hands in the air triumphantly, a handful of pocket glitter raining down on the both of them in celebration. Two roses might not be entirely enough for the consortium, but progress was progress. “Oh my, they are lovely.”

Considering their rarity, Morrigan had yet to have the chance to use them in a potion, much less lay their eyes on one. This, apparently, was an oversight on their part- the Ash Roses were absolutely beautiful, in a macabre sort of way, exactly the kind of flower that Morrigan would love to put on display in their wagon.

There was only one problem.

“Now how in the world are we supposed to get to that island?” Morrigan asked, tail flicking behind them in thought. The pool of lava was far too large for one of them to make the jump, and too much for even Kvasir, who had the added bonus of height. “If we tried to jump, we would definitely lose a limb. Could your magic heal a wound like that…?” Morrigan asked, shooting Kvasir a curious glance. They’d only had a chance to glimpse his healing magic a few times before, but he was undoubtedly powerful- was it enough to restore what was lost?

“In any case, I would much prefer to avoid losing any altogether.” They said with a wave of their hand. “We will just have to find some other way to obtain the roses. Any thoughts, Kvasir Sigurros?”

Another soft laugh escapes Kvasir at Morrigan's playful offer of spirits, as though it's the safest thing in the world to traipse about the Lava Pits of the Ash Lands while tipsy off whatever liquor of choice the diviner's brought with them for the trip-- there's certainly no way that could go wrong. Not in the slightest.

"Oh, we could always just spike the tea," he chuckles. "Spiced orange liquor and tea certainly doesn't sound like a bad combination to me. You never know, maybe lava gives it an extra kick."

The easy smile on his face lingers-- brightens, even-- as they happen upon a small cluster of Ash Roses, beautiful spirals of ink-black, prominent against volcanic ground. Hope surges within him like a songbird, gaining height in the wind with the joyous handful of celebratory glitter Morrigan tosses into the air. His ears twitch a bit as sparkles settle upon them, but he hardly minds one bit.

And... then the question of obtaining them comes up, and the easy joy slowly begins to fade.

"I... do have the power to restore lost limbs, actually," Kvasir says slowly, hesitantly, distaste for even the possibility of needing to use the spell flashing across his face. It isn't something he's had to do very often, but it is a capability that lies within him; still, he doesn't trust his hands not to shake as they channel light meant to challenge the point of no return, as they call upon a sunlight that burns so brightly it can turn back time. "...I refuse to let either of us consider it for even a moment. I don't mind patching you up, Morrigan Moonweaver, but I will not stand to see you lose-- to see you sustain something that severe."

There's a dire look on Kvasir's expression as he speaks, voice tight, visible eye dark with contemplation, distress over the very idea painted at the edges of his iris, worry tucked into the corners of his lips. There's a fretfulness there that usually isn't, one that seems to lapse in and out, cresting like a wave between the gentle comfort of Morrigan's presence.

"I..." he pauses, relief gently flooding into the edges of his face at the way Morrigan seems to agree. "Y... Yes. I... We will have to think of another way down." He lifts a hand to his temple, fingertips tracing idle circles over it as he tries to think of some way to obtain the roses. "...We could find a way to form a makeshift bridge. It's just a matter of finding materials-- I don't have any magic that could produce such a thing, nor any items on hand... but we can scope the area out for something at least temporarily stable enough. Stone, or... even wood, however dangerous that may be."

An uneasy hum slips from his lips as he starts wandering the area, already in search of something that could serve as material, however makeshift. Hell, no matter how small, he can make it work-- will make it work. If he has to find a burnt tree and chop it down with a scalpel, he will. Mark his words.

“Spiked tea sounds awfully pleasant right now, and there’s more than enough lava around for us to try. I do love spice.” Morrigan joked, though they had begun to reminisce about a nice drink, and a fine meal… “Perhaps after we finish our business here.” There would be plenty of time for a dinner once they had procured enough flowers.

It was almost amusing watching Kvasir get all flustered at the idea of Morrigan genuinely losing a limb, but it did throw Morrigan for a loop when he admitted it was fully within his power to regrow a limb. Mages truly are powerful… Morrigan could attempt to replicate miracles all they wished, to lie and cheat and pretend, but in that moment they were struck with how woefully different their power was compared to even a healer like Kvasir.

They shook those bitter thoughts aside. It was not Kvasir’s fault that Morrigan had been born… like this. And besides, wishing and hoping would do nothing to change the reality of the situation.

“A land bridge would be smart, though we have to be careful about wood.” Morrigan sincerely doubted they would find such a material around here, though, where even a stray burst of lava would set it ablaze in an instant. As if to prove their point, a lava bubble in a nearby lava pool burst, nearly singing Morrigan’s shirt before the charlatan shrieked and dove out of the way.

“Of all Ginma’s creations, lava is possibly one of his most horrible!” Morrigan complained, shaking Kvasir’s arm and nearly throwing the taller man off balance with their woeful theatrics. “Let us hurry and find a bridge…” They mumbled, but Kvasir had already begun to wander off in search of anything that might serve as a suitable candidate, determination set in his face and a nervous hum leaving his lips in that usual way it did when he was anxious.

As he left, Morrigan could not help but wonder what might be bothering him so.

There was always time to discuss that later. Morrigan needed to focus on getting to that island.

Their elixir was beginning to wear off, but Morrigan’s senses were still sharp enough to make out anything strange in their surroundings. In truth, there was not much- aside from lava, lava, and… more lava, Morrigan could only make out some large rocks, but nothing that would be big enough to bridge the gap between mainland and island.

I am beginning to see why this constitutes as an initiation… Morrigan mused to themselves. The difficult part was not getting to the Ash Lands themselves- attempting to procure the flower without burning oneself to death was no small feat.

Kvasir could focus on finding a material for a land bridge for now- Morrigan would attempt to figure out something else. They stared up at the darkened, ashy sky, and the outcropping where the lava waterfall originated from. Perhaps observing the problem from higher ground would help change Morrigan’s perspective on things.

They approached the side of the outcropping and began to scramble up the side, attempting to make their way to the top.

As it turned out, trying to find much of anything to use as a bridge in a place like this was easier mused over than done.

The idea was ludicrous enough to begin with, but it was difficult to find any trees to chop down with a scalpel when this was an area where little non-volcanic life could thrive; flora born from embers like Lux Lilies and Ash Roses were one thing, trees were entirely another. Besides, even as a temporary stepping stone of sorts, a wooden plank hardly felt like ideal support in terrain like this.

In a similar vein, searching for stray fragments of rock-- or at least, anything large enough to function as a makeshift bridge-- feels equally impossible. There's no shortage of small pebbles lying around, clustered around the edges of lava basins, but nothing substantial, nothing they could actually use. It's moments like these when Kvasir wishes he was capable of magic more grandiose than calling upon the power of light; something he could use to make other people's lives easier, to prevent them from getting hurt rather than just... undoing the inevitable pain afterward. It's a rewarding feeling, truly, to heal others, but he can feel his heart loosen from its strings, caught at the mouth of a sinking spiral of uselessness over the things he can't prevent.

And yet, in the same breath he harbors guilt for what he cannot prevent, it stirs in equal measure for his ungratefulness; how could Kvasir question Solaria's gifts? How could he question a gift that blesses his work, enables him to perform miracles most doctors merely wish they could?

A heady bitterness lingers on his tongue, and it has little to do with the ash-cloaked sky and the scalding air.

With another quiet sigh of defeat, he turns on his heels, marching back to where he and Morrigan had found the Ash Roses, eyeing the island with quiet contempt. He should've planned a bit more for this-- why didn't he plan a bit more for this?--, and now he was paying the price in the form of a budding headache that he merely hoped was from the heat and a deep sense of frustration, even knowing it would likely all turn out just fine. He shakes his head to himself, glancing around the area in search of his friend, surprise flashing across his face when he catches sight of the tiefling settled atop a ledge overlooking the area.

"Have you found anything of use up there?" Kvasir calls, tilting his head back to survey the outcropping Morrigan's perched on, relieved to see that they've at least made it up alright. He gently tugs at the scarf covering the lower half of his face, nose twitching as it's exposed to the torrid air, the volcanic aroma all the stronger. "Or at least, do you see anything we could use? I haven't had much luck..."

Morrigan did not struggle in the slightest getting up the cliffside, which was a fact they would attest to for the rest of their life, given that there were no witnesses around to watch the charlatan’s ensuing debacle up the small cliffside. By a minor miracle they did not fall off, but by the time they reached the flat top of the outcropping, they were a sweaty, irritated mess, ready to curse whichever Consortium member that had concocted this particular punishment.

They would blame it on the heat. Yes, that was what they would do.

At least by the time they made it to the top, Morrigan had a better sense of the land. The outcropping was empty aside from another small lava pool that fed the waterfall into the larger pool below, which Morrigan carefully sidestepped as they made their way to the ledge. The toes of their boots hung over the side, ashy and dirty wind whipping at their face. From here, they could see almost the entirety of the flat lands, the very last vestiges of their elixir fading in their eyes like dying embers as they surveyed everything around them.

For a moment, they felt like a king.

They spread their arms out wide, a proud smile on their face, as if all this land was what they’d conquered.

They spotted Kvasir in the distance and waved, breaking into amused laughter when they could make out the confusion flashing across his face. By now, though, he had learned better than to ask too many questions about Morrigan’s antics.

“Nothing of use!” Morrigan replied, shaking their head. Even from here they could not make out anything below that would serve as a suitable land bridge, unless Kvasir had suddenly gained the strength of ten bulls and was capable of ripping up a rock from the ground to use. “The view is lovely, though. I seem to have spotted a rare creature not native to these lands.” That last part was accompanied by a wink that they doubted Kvasir could see from this distance.

In all seriousness, though, these lands were flat and barren. The only way that someone would get to that lava pool was if they could miraculously sprout wings and fly…

That gave Morrigan a dangerous idea.

They stared down at the island below, which was only fifteen feet away from the cliffside, by their estimate. Big enough for one person to stand on, or to land on if they so desired.

And Morrigan was small enough that their weight would not break the rock upon impact, they hoped. Either way, it was the best solution either of them had at the moment, and Morrigan would take that if it meant getting into that consortium with Kvasir.

“I’m going to jump.” They announced, boldly and loudly enough that Kvasir could hear them. Any protests they might have received from Kvasir fell on deaf ears, as they backed up about ten feet, got a running start, and vaulted off the side for the island below.

And for a moment…

Morrigan flew.

They let out a shriek of laughter through their descent that was short-lived as they landed on the island with a dull thud, and the pain immediately kicked in. Oh, yes, that had definitely broken a leg. Morrigan let out a string of curse words in biting infernal, the devil’s tongue falling out of their lips on instinct.

But, lo and behold, as Morrigan lifted their head, sat the Ash Roses, all neat and pretty despite the fact that Morrigan had only come a few inches away from crushing them.

Morrigan raised their head to stare at Kvasir on the mainland, who had a look of shock and pained stress painted on his face, before raising their hand in a triumphant thumbs up.

“Look, I made it!”

There's an undeniable amusement laced into the sigh that leaves Kvasir's lips as he watches Morrigan from below, watches the slight quirk of their head that follows their comment that indicates they've likely done something like shot a wink at him from above, even knowing he can't see it. It's amazing how they can manage to approach everything with the same whimsy, the same easy starlight smile and moon-touched eyes; it's practically contagious, like they're handing down part of the heavens in the form of an expression, through handfuls of glitter and bouts of mirthful laughter. Even in a place as wild and dangerous as this, it puts his heart at ease.

That ease, however, is quickly slain by the very thing Morrigan says next:

"I'm going to jump."

They must be kidding. Dear Gods above, let them be kidding.

Oh, but Kvasir knows that look in their eyes, that clear look of conviction, that sense of "I'm going to do something and there is nothing that can talk me out of it"-- and then they're taking a running start, heels resonant against stone as they sprint as though they wind itself has blessed them--

"Wait--! Morrigan Moonweaver, I swear to Solaria--!"

And then they keep their word.

Ah. So this is the day Kvasir Sigurros commits a murder.

He's going to enfold Morrigan in his arms, channel all the healing energy he can into their now doubtlessly shattered leg, shoot them, and then call upon Solaria's miracles to stir their heartbeat back to life beneath his fingers all so he can give them the lecture of a second lifetime. It still won't feel like vengeance enough for the heart condition Morrigan has surely given him at the ripe age of twenty-seven, but it will be some form of catharsis.

"Morrigan Moonweaver," he practically hisses, voice sharp and pointed, anger and concern and stress all woven together on the world's cruelest tonal loom. A fire that could rival the burst of embers from the lava pits around them burns in his one visible eye, the gold ring around his pupil all the more prominent amidst firelight and fury. His tail bristles as he approaches the edge of the lake of lava enveloping the island his dear friend is now perched on, ears flattened back against his skull. "Ohhh, if I wasn't so damned fond of you, I'd murder you and then bring you right back-- what were you thinking? What if you'd misjudged that, even just slightly?! You-- You...!"

Kvasir buries his face in his hands, letting out a heavy, exhausted sigh.

"...you are so, so lucky you're intact," he murmurs, voice softer, sadder, now, shaking his head to himself at the way Morrigan shoots him a thumbs-up, as if everything is just fine. "Now, how exactly do you plan to get back over here? I can't heal you without touching you, remember?"

Huh. Morrigan was starting to get a sneaking suspicion that Kvasir was not happy with them.

His voice simmered with heat as he scolded Morrigan from back on the mainland, bristling like an animal backed in a corner while he threatened dastardly murder, which was honestly well-deserved. Morrigan rolled over, flopping on their back with a breathless laugh as they raised their hands in the air with another spray of weak glitter, sparkling in the ashy air.

“Believe it or not, but you will have to stand in a very long for the privilege of being the one to murder me.” They replied. “Though considering my fondness for you, I would be willing to make a special exception and move you up to the front.” They leaned over and ran their finger over one of the ash roses, delicately plucking the plant between their fingers with the care of a craftsman.

They pulled themselves into a sitting position, mindful of their mangled leg- how could they not be, considering their leg was currently a bloody mess bent at an unnatural angle- before holding the rose out, a pitiful attempt at a peace offering. It would not quench the flames of Kvasir’s anger, which Morrigan still could not quite bring themselves to understand. They’d gotten the flower, which was what Kvasir wanted, right? So why was he so worried? Morrigan’s stupid scheme had only hurt themselves this time. They hadn’t needed any help getting it, either!

Of course, getting off the island was a different matter, one that had not yet occurred to Morrigan until this moment. Well. That situation would need to be remedied. But first, they had to patch this situation and wipe that stormy look off Kvasir’s face before the medic seriously decided that he would walk through the lava and come finish the job that Morrigan’s own stupidity had started.

“I had to get the right flower for our picnic.” Morrigan said, twirling the flower in their hand with a showman’s flourish. “… Or the Golden Consortium. That too, I suppose.”

Morrigan didn’t waste any time plucking the other flower, tucking them carefully in their bag for safekeeping while Kvasir simply gaped at them, only visible eye dark like the angry volcanic clouds around them. The charlatan attempted to stand before remembering that was not the brightest idea in the world at the moment, and collapsed against the rock once more. The heat was starting to get to them, more oppressive now that Morrigan was surrounded by it. They wiped a bead of sweat off their brow, huffing out a laugh that betrayed the pain they were in.

“… I seem to have landed myself in a situation, though. I don’t suppose you have any more bright ideas, Kvasir Sigurros?”

It's strange, really, how it always seems to be Morrigan who's capable of summoning up this storm of emotions within him.

Exasperation is at the forefront, to be sure; it's the first fall of rain, the start of the cascade, rivulets of it folded into every trace of every other emotion unleashed within the tempest, but there's despair for what might've been and relief for what was, the raindrops indistinguishable as they fall together. Fury rolls like thunder, anxiety bristling through him like lightning dancing eagerly through dark clouds of deep worry, an entanglement of so much, too much, all at the same time, no traces of a blue sky to be found through the wisps of ink-black mist.

How is Kvasir supposed to get Morrigan out of this?

"You idiot," he whispers, voice strained, tight around the syllables as they force themselves past his lips. For once, he can't manage a smile at the shower of glitter Morrigan produces, can't laugh along with them, can't echo in their arbitrary dance about the world. "You-- h-how can you smile and joke around like that...? How a-am I supposed to...?"

He buries his face in his hands, again, fingers curling into alabaster-streaked strands of dark hair, digging in like pulling at it will force answers into his panic-stricken mind. His lungs feel wrong, like there's wire wound too tightly around them; each breath feels too shallow, too unsatisfactory, like no real air is settling in or getting out, each incomplete inhalation chasing each incomplete exhalation in a perpetual cycle. His ribs ache-- his heart aches, like it's not beating properly, though he rationally knows that isn't the case.

There's nothing he can do. He has nothing-- the only spells in his arsenal are meant to erase damage after it's already been done, the useless calm after a brutal storm, the drizzle that follows an eternal drought. He can't even put those to good use, now; Morrigan is well out of his reach, unable to even rise to their own feet. There's no bridge, nothing to make a bridge. There's nothing.

His head spins, vision blurring gold.

It's that strange, distant feeling he gets where he doesn't quite feel like himself-- when panic roots within him and won't let go, as earnest as a parasite, vicious and unforgiving in the way it sips at his capacity to stay grounded. Kvasir fights it off all the same, brow furrowing as he forces himself to look up, blood pounding in his mind as he tries to think of something he can do. There's nothing tangible around here to use, but he can't jump either, not without getting the both of them stuck, and making a bridge seems--

...seems impossible.

For a moment, Kvasir stares at his shaking hands, even knowing the only magic he's ever been able to force through his fingertips is for healing, for the aftermath, never the rescue. But light burns within his blood all the same, and...

"Please," he whispers, unsure who he's praying to-- if it's to Solaria, to his father, or to the god who lurks in the corners of his mind-- as he extends his hands forward, willing every ounce of light magic within him to flow through his fingertips. "Please, please, just... let this work."

He closes his eye, forces a deep breath, and lets desperation take the reins. [1]

When he opens them, there's-- there's light, honest-to-gods light spanning forward, outward, a not-insignificant amount of space, gold and brilliant and translucent, but when steam billows upward from the lava beneath it, it curls around the edges instead of piercing through. It's tangible; his iris is blown wide as he takes a hesitant step forward, a soft gasp drawn from his lips as it finds stable ground against soft light, and one step becomes two, two becomes three, as he treads across the lava, his makeshift bridge moving with him to lead him back to Morrigan.

It worked-- something like this worked, and disbelief surges through him but he dares not question it now, not until they're on stable ground together.

Kvasir is cautious as he steps onto the island, grimacing as he takes a look at Morrigan's mangled leg-- really, how could they be so nonchalant about that?!--, but he merely shakes his head to himself and kneels by their side, not even bothering to wait for acquiescence before cautiously sliding one arm beneath their knees and the other beneath their back, protectively lifting them up into his arms. He takes a minute to ensure they're secure, that their bag is settled, and that their leg is causing them no more pain than it should be, before he starts back across the light-bridge.

"Not a word, Morrigan Moonweaver," he says, tone still laced with venom, though it lacks any real bite. "I don't trust you not to go leaping off to the next ledge you see. I should just carry you all the way out of here at this point."

The threat, naturally, is empty, and as soon as the two of them are back on stable earth, as soon as the light dissolves behind them, Kvasir sets Morrigan gently against the ground, slow and careful, shaking his head to himself as he looks them over, his hand already sliding into place against their wounded leg. Light blooms to life beneath his fingertips once more, easy and vibrant, a surge of healing energy flooding forth like a gentle tide, a spring morning's worth of gentility. [2]

"You're a damned fool," he repeats for what feels like the thousandth time, voice soft, relieved. There's no bite to it, once again, the sharpness sheathed in gentility. "A damned fool... does that feel alright, my darling idiot? Hurt less? Break any other bones in your grand jump?"

---

[1] Wall of Light

[2] Major Healing

There was a moment, where Kvasir looked close to tears, grasping at his dark hair while taking big, shuddering breaths, that Morrigan felt a stab of guilt for causing this. But then, still shaking, Kvasir muttered something to himself, far too quiet for Morrigan to hear what he was saying. And when Kvasir opened his eyes again, a burst of pure, blinding light burst forth from him, bridging the gap between Morrigan’s island and the mainland, and it was all Morrigan could do not to gape in awe at the sight.

Not for the first time, they were reminded of the fact that Kvasir was the true miracle maker between the two of them.

Kvasir immediately began making his way down the tangible bridge, careful not to break this new surge of magic but not so careful that he did not immediately kneel by Morrigan’s side, still looking like he was contemplating shooting Morrigan with one of his arrows or drop them in the lava. Morrigan held their breath, hesitant to see what his reaction would be-

And then Kvasir gently scooped them up in his arms, as if holding onto an injured bird. Morrigan opened their mouth, ready to ask if Kvasir could perhaps put them down and Morrigan could simply lean on them and limp across the land bridge instead, when Kvasir hissed that he did not want to hear another peep from Morrigan, or that he could not trust that Morrigan would not run off and hurt themselves

It was not an entirely smart move to piss off one’s medic, especially when that doctor was Morrigan’s incredibly upset friend who would have no qualms dumping their ungrateful ass on the ashy ground once they were on the mainland once more- then, he would heal Morrigan with undeserved gentleness.

But Kvasir did not dump Morrigan on the ground, nor did he snap at Morrigan, aside from calling them his darling idiot. Perhaps Morrigan should have been paying more attention to his scolding, but they were too caught up on that affectionate moniker.

As Kvasir’s question hung in the air, anger fading like the last traces of a setting summer’s sun, Morrigan tilted their head, earrings clicking together from the motion.

“... You think I’m darling?” They asked, which was certainly not helping their case right now. Before Kvasir could say anything more, or continue his scolding, Morrigan held up their hand, continuing on. “In all seriousness, my leg feels fine now. As always, you are the most talented healer I have met.”

For a moment, they allowed themselves to contemplate pretending their leg was still hurt, to see how far Kvasir would carry them before he grew tired of the task. But they would not force him to do such a thing when it was just as easy to pull themselves to their feet, already dancing on their newly-healed leg that still thrummed with a gentle warmth. They hopped up and threw their arms around Kvasir’s shoulders, pulling away as quickly as they had initiated the embrace, leaving behind the faint scent of lavender in the air.

“And the best part is that we have obtained the roses!” Morrigan said triumphantly, reaching into their bag to show the flowers off to Kvasir. “That is one out of two that we were tasked to find, no? That means there is only one component left to find… and we are long overdue for that picnic.”

Now that work was done, Morrigan could focus on improving Kvasir’s attitude. It was not often that the charlatan felt the need to rectify hurt they caused, but given that this was twice now that their rare and exotic plants had caused Kvasir such distress, and given that something seemed to be plaguing him today, Morrigan felt the need to try.

Morrigan was not good with genuine emotions. Real kindness, without strings or gold attached, was difficult for them to process, much less extend to others. Such was a criminal’s life, after all. But Morrigan would make an attempt, if only to put Kvasir’s mind at ease.

Given that their next task was in Frostgale, a place foreign and strange to desert natives like themselves, both were going to need it.