The Unmaker Claims the Throne

Delfarius travels alone from the Obsidian Tower, the empty jar in hand. Beyond Orosia, he steps from the shadows into Mara’s quiet back office, where a middle-aged woman with weathered brown skin, braided dark hair, and a linen healer’s coat sorts herbs beside a narrow desk.

The clinic healer flinches hard enough to scatter a few dried leaves across the desk. She turns toward him with weary annoyance, one hand pressed against her chest.

Delfarius raises the empty jar with an amused laugh. Its glass catches the office light, revealing only a thin residue of cooling salve clinging to the bottom.

The clinic healer takes the container, tilts it toward the window, and inspects the depleted residue with a practical frown. Behind her, shelves hold carefully counted bottles, and only one small reserve jar remains within reach.

Delfarius frowns at the depleted shelves, then turns his attention back to Mara’s face with a small smirk. The empty jar remains in his hand, its residue making the shortage plain.

His pause is perfectly placed, and the depleted jar lends the remark an honest concern. The practiced half-truth carries no visible seam as he studies the healer’s reaction.

Mara opens the reserve cupboard and gives him a written list with a small bundle of samples. Her wary expression eases; the offer has persuaded her without exposing what Delfarius suspects he knows.

Delfarius studies Mara’s written list, then gathers magic between his hands. Innate Spellcasting draws fresh comfrey, moonmint, and silverleaf from living green light, while Architect of Existence gives each herb abundant, fragrant substance.

Three large bundles form neatly across Mara’s desk, leaves crisp with dew and stems firmly bound. The comfrey smells earthy, the moonmint cool, and the silverleaf carries a faint clean shimmer.

Delfarius raises an eyebrow at Mara with a satisfied smirk, leaving the three fresh bundles displayed between them as plainly delivered supplies.

Mara gathers the bundles carefully, inspecting each leaf with a healer’s practiced eye. Her wary expression gives way to reluctant appreciation as the herbs remain perfectly sound beneath her fingers.

Delfarius gestures toward Mara with his bandaged hand. Her eyes drop to the wrapping, and her practical focus sharpens into immediate concern.

Mara sets the herbs aside and extends her palm, firm and expectant. Her trust in his generosity now carries a concrete price: she will inspect the injury before preparing anything.

She keeps her hand outstretched between them, the return time settled and the examination unavoidable if he wants the promised jar prepared.

Delfarius lets Mara take his hand. She unwinds the used bandage, examines the shallow cut, and cleans it with sharp-smelling spirits. The sting makes his fingers tense, and a thin bead of blood marks the dressing cloth.

Mara applies a cooling herbal salve, presses the edges neatly together, and binds his palm with fresh linen borrowed from the clinic stores. The treatment is proper, though the cleaning leaves his hand throbbing briefly.

Her gaze travels over the old scars crossing Delfarius’s arms, lingering on their varied shapes and ages. She finishes the knot firmly, then checks that the bandage leaves his fingers free.

Mara releases his hand once the fresh dressing sits secure. The cut is properly cared for, and the reserve jar waits on her desk, ready for him to collect when he returns in two hours.

Delfarius steps backward into the office shadows, and Shadow-Step Extraction draws him cleanly through darkness without disturbing Mara’s shelves, her narrow silver bracelet catching the light, or fresh bandage. His legendary agility guides the passage with effortless precision.

The shadows release him outside the Underledger, where the stone entrance waits in quiet civic darkness. Delfarius faces the sealed way and speaks the phrase that identifies him: a shadow only passes.

The hidden passage answers at once. Its runes brighten, the stone folds aside, and the way into Neron’s Archive stands open before Delfarius.

Warm archive-light spills across the threshold as the Underledger admits him. The passage is secure, and Neron’s welcome carries through the records waiting beyond.

Delfarius walks into the Underledger with an amused look and lifts his freshly bandaged hand toward Neron. Warm archive-light spills across the civic records.

Neron regards the bandage, then the supplied explanation. His welcome remains genuine, but his attention sharpens; Delfarius has earned access to the Archive while also inviting questions about what caused the bruises.