They had intended to arrive with dignity.

The plan, discussed extensively during their high-speed journey from Amaranth, involved a controlled approach to Thaddeus's cottage. They would slow to a walking pace well before the garden came into view, compose themselves appropriately, and knock on the front door like civilized visitors seeking counsel from a respected elder.

The plan lasted until they crested the final hill and caught sight of the familiar stone chimney rising above the valley, smoke curling peacefully into the afternoon sky.

"Oh," Kindle breathed, her carefully maintained pace faltering as emotion hit like a physical force. "It looks exactly the same."

"The herb garden's grown," Ember observed, her voice catching slightly. "Look how the lavender's spread."

"Is that our old crater?" Pyra asked, pointing to a patch of slightly different colored vegetables. "From when we first—"

The wave of nostalgia struck all five simultaneously, their shared consciousness amplifying the emotional impact until it felt like being hit by a freight train made of memories. Six months of political complications, bureaucratic pressure, and carefully managed public appearances fell away, leaving only the bone-deep relief of approaching sanctuary.

Unfortunately, relief and superhuman speed proved incompatible with precise navigation.

Pyra realized they were moving too fast just as the garden's edge came into view. She tried to adjust their trajectory, to bleed off velocity without losing control entirely, but emotional overwhelm had disrupted their usual coordination.

Instead of the graceful deceleration they'd mastered, she found herself in an uncontrolled tumble that sent her skidding through the neat rows of cabbages before skidding to a halt against the same stone birdbath they'd encountered on their initial interdimensional face-plant. The crystalline water within hissed and steamed where her flames touched it.

The thirty-pound fire salamander clinging to her back didn't help matters. His added weight turned what might have been a manageable stumble into a full agricultural disaster.

"Bweh! Sorry!" Pyra called to the cottage before anyone could emerge to witness the carnage, spitting out what appeared to be a mouthful of magical turnip. "We didn't mean to—it just happened!"

Her sister-selves fared marginally better. Ember managed a controlled slide that only flattened one row of what looked like glowing carrots. Cinder executed a perfect combat roll that would have been impressive if it hadn't ended with her face-first in what appeared to be a freshly composted section of the garden.

Kindle tried to stop by grabbing onto a convenient garden trellis, which promptly collapsed under the stress, sending her tumbling into a rain barrel with a tremendous splash that sent water cascading across the herbs.

Only Ash managed anything approaching dignity, veering off to tear through the surrounding wheat field without damaging a single plant beyond some slightly bent stalks.

"We return as we began," she murmured. "Harbingers of horticultural chaos."

Spark chirped with delight at the chaos, immediately abandoning Pyra to investigate a patch of peculiar purple vegetables that seemed to be trying to bury themselves deeper in the soil at his approach.

"Away from those, you scaled menace," Cinder commanded, spitting out what looked suspiciously like magical fertilizer. "Some of us are trying to maintain what's left of our dignity."

"Are we, though?" Ember asked, wringing muddy water from her hair while sitting in the ruins of what had probably been prize-winning lettuce.

The cottage door slammed open with enough force to rattle the entire structure. Thaddeus Thornbriar emerged, his white beard even more unruly than they remembered, his blue robes now sporting several patches that suggested recent encounters with experimental magic gone wrong.

"AGAIN WITH THE CABBAGES!" he bellowed, shaking his gnarled staff at the tattered remains of a once-immaculate row. "I replant those with my own hands, water them with blessed spring water, sing them the ancient growing songs, and what thanks do I get? High-speed agricultural destruction!"

"Hello, Thaddeus," Ember said, her voice carrying a warmth they all felt. "We're sorry about the garden. Again."

The wizard's sharp eyes moved from face to familiar face, and his expression shifted from irritation to wry humor. He leaned heavily on his staff, studying them with the intensity of someone reading a particularly challenging manuscript.

"Thaddeus!" Pyra bounded to her feet, shedding dirt and debris like autumn leaves. "We're back! Did you miss us? Of course you missed us!"

"Miss you?" Thaddeus adjusted his grip on his gnarled staff, though his eyes held unmistakable warmth beneath the gruff exterior. "I've spent six months cultivating a garden that doesn't spontaneously combust. The silence has been... educational."

Cinder rubbed the back of her neck with an awkward grimace. "Not to make more work for you, but..."

"The gardens are lovely," Ash added.

"Really lovely," Kindle agreed.

"Even the cabbages," Ember said.

Pyra stepped closer and wrapped her arms around the wizard's shoulders. She smelled of smoke, magic, and some of the nastier herbs from his garden. "I missed you, old man."

The others joined in, remembering the day they'd first arrived in Eldoria—frightened, confused, and reeling from sudden, total dimensional displacement. It felt like a lifetime ago, though the emotions were still raw.

When they released him, the old wizard's eyes were suspiciously bright behind their scholarly squint. He cleared his throat gruffly, clearly not intending to dignify the embrace with anything approaching acknowledgement.

"Well? I suppose you'd better come in, then."

His voice was gruffer than usual, though it still bore the rumble of a man who'd spent a lifetime using it as forcefully as possible. He turned from his ruined crops with obvious reluctance, seeming to register for the first time what they were wearing as he led them toward the house.

"You've changed," Thaddeus observed. "Not just the fancy clothes—something in your eyes. You look like people who've learned things. Expensive, complicated things."

"We've had a very eventful six months," Cinder said, shedding her sodden traveling cloak to hang by the door.

"Oh really," he said dryly, gesturing for them to make themselves at home on the chairs and stools. "Well don't keep an old man in suspense, then. Tell me all about it."

The cottage interior felt smaller with five full-grown women and a fire salamander crowding around Thaddeus's kitchen table. Spark had claimed a position on the hearth, basking in the warmth while occasionally snapping at dust motes with the focused intensity of an apex predator.

Thaddeus moved around his domain, preparing tea that smelled of mountain herbs and something that might have been concentrated sunshine. His floating cat—Nimbus, if memory served—observed their gathering with the sort of feline disdain usually reserved for particularly disappointing performances.

"So," Thaddeus said, settling into his chair with the careful movements of someone whose joints remembered every year they'd accumulated, "political difficulties. In my experience, that phrase covers everything from minor social faux pas to outright declarations of war. Which end of the spectrum are we discussing?"

"The Magisterium thinks we're fascinating," Cinder said flatly, accepting an oversized mug of tea with a polite nod. "Fascinating enough to classify, label, and place under careful observation."

"They said we might be dangerous, too," Kindle added, peering into her drink with suspicious interest. "To the 'public good.' Whatever that means."

"While our noble sponsors want to parade us around like prized hunting hounds," Ember continued, accepting a steaming mug with grateful hands. "Show us off at parties, demonstrate our tricks for their political advantage."

"And the Guild wants us to slow down because we're making everyone else look incompetent," Pyra finished, her voice carrying the particular frustration of someone forced to restrain themselves for others' comfort.

Ash said nothing, apparently content to cradle the tea against her palms until it cooled enough to drink, eyes distant with thoughts no one could guess.

Thaddeus stroked his beard thoughtfully, his weathered fingers catching in the white tangles. "Sounds like success, actually. Problematic success, but success nonetheless. You've built quite a life for yourselves. Complicated, but... substantial."

"Substantial," Cinder repeated with bitter humor. "That's one word for it."

"Expensive," Kindle added. "Do you know how much it costs to feed a growing fire salamander in a city where everything magical requires permits?"

Spark chirped as if he understood perfectly and found their financial struggles hilarious.

Thaddeus's eyes softened just a fraction. He stroked a callused finger over Nimbus's fur, not appearing to notice the tiny sparks that leapt at his touch. "I imagine you've had to adjust quite a bit. Not only to being in a new world, but to the expectations that come with it."

Cinder shrugged, but there was little nonchalance in the gesture. "They have their reasons for wanting to pigeonhole us. I can't really blame them for trying to make sense of what they don't understand."

Ember sipped at her tea, frowning into the dwindling steam. "It's not that simple, though. If our 'classification' helps protect us, helps protect the people around us... then okay, that's important. But if it's just political posturing, or social status-seeking, or plain old-fashioned power-grabbing, or anything other than practicality..." She trailed off, some of her usual confidence deserting her. "How do we know it's the right thing?"

"Power—even the sort wielded with benign intent—always comes with a price," Thaddeus replied, his gaze growing distant as though he'd observed the same principle in action many times. "And those who seek power for any reason rarely restrict themselves to purely beneficial applications. The more it matters to them, the more they're willing to sacrifice to get it."

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He tapped an emphatic finger against the table. "In my experience, there's no magic too esoteric or dangerous that someone wouldn't try to weaponize it if they believed it meant the difference between power and oblivion."

"And we're the esoteric magic in this analogy," Kindle stated.

Thaddeus's expression turned wry. "That's the trouble with metaphors. They work well until you have to define your terms. But before we delve more into the symbolism of the situation, why don't you tell me how you ended up here?" He gestured vaguely at the five of them crowded into his humble kitchen. "Last I heard from Marta, you were doing quite well. Thriving, even. Is there more to your earlier difficulties than you've let on?"

"We like Amaranth," Pyra said seriously. "We really do. The people are fascinating, the buildings are insane, and there are so many interesting things to do. But..." She paused, struggling to find the words. "We felt like we were getting lost there. Like our lives weren't really ours."

The simplicity of the statement broke something loose in the conversation. Suddenly they were talking over each other, six months of accumulated grievances spilling out like water from a broken dam.

"—constant scrutiny from the Magistrate—"

"—Marcus abandoned Ember to die alone—"

"—weekly reports about our 'extraordinary magical circumstances'—"

"—three premium missions per month barely covers Spark's dietary requirements—"

"—existential questions about the nature of identity when death becomes temporary—"

Thaddeus weathered the storm of complaints with the patience of someone who'd raised particularly articulate cats. When they finally wound down, he stroked his beard thoughtfully.

"You sound like people who've built something worth defending. Even if defending it has become exhausting."

Ember blinked. "We sound like people who've trapped themselves in a situation they don't know how to leave."

"Do you?" Thaddeus tilted his head. "Because what I'm hearing are the complaints of people who care deeply about their circumstances. You're not describing a prison—you're describing a home that requires more maintenance than expected."

The insight settled over them like morning mist, too insubstantial to dispel yet not solid enough to dismiss.

"I suppose we do like it there," Cinder admitted, blowing across her tea to watch the ripples cross the surface. "But that doesn't mean we're happy."

"Of course it doesn't. Happiness is an ephemeral ideal, shifting like the light and shadow of the seasons." Thaddeus set down his mug. "But 'miserable and trapped' sounds a bit like the 'fascinating esoterica' you described earlier. If I didn't know better, I'd swear you'd all lost sight of the forest through the trees."

"Is it so wrong to want more than to be used by other people's agendas?" Kindle asked, frustration slipping through her otherwise calm tone. "Isn't it reasonable to want some control? A say in where we go, what we do, and how we're seen?"

"You want freedom from others' expectations," Thaddeus stated.

"Yes," they all said firmly.

The old man's beard twitched with something that might have been humor.

"Did you think adventuring would be simple?"

There was a long silence.

"Yes," Kindle answered eventually. "Not simple as in easy, but... we thought it'd be clearer."

"More obvious," Cinder added.

"Less complicated," Pyra finished. "But isn't the whole point of being an adventurer being able to do whatever you want?"

Thaddeus chuckled, the low rumble echoing the building creaks and pops of the hearthfire.

"My dear, how do you think adventurers want to live their lives? In stories? In legends? Their adventures are told through the victor's perspective—their trials and tribulations, their pain and glory. No one says 'there was this adventurer, and she sat at home and knit scarves for a living.' They are the heroes of their own tales."

Another uncomfortable silence stretched over the room. Ash alone didn't look surprised. Whether that was because she'd already thought of this or simply had enough philosophical detachment not to be taken off guard by the idea, the others couldn't say.

"It's... complicated," Kindle said, recovering first. "Yes, adventurers do what they want, but the Guild expects us to keep taking contracts. Magistrate Cawel expects us to register our magical abilities. House Brightblade expects us to maintain proper appearances."

Thaddeus scratched his bearded chin.

"That, my dear, is what is known as the 'law of unintended consequences.' All those decisions and expectations add up until you find yourself doing things you hadn't intended, following paths you hadn't dreamed you'd take." He raised a wry eyebrow at them. "If the thought of crafting the life you want sounds simple, perhaps you should reflect on how that simple life is actually built. Or maybe it's not such a simple thing after all. More tea?"

He refilled their mugs in an easy, practiced motion before they could process the whiplash philosophical upswing.

Pyra mumbled under her breath, fiddling with the handle of her mug with an expression that might have been frustration or maybe the first steps of introspection. "But we just want to help people—"

"Then help them."

The terse response startled them out of their own thoughts, making them remember why they'd come all this way. Thaddeus had always been direct, but rarely dismissive. They all watched carefully as he poured himself a fourth mug of tea, expression unreadable.

He blew across the steam and fixed them with that same piercing gaze. "You came here seeking an escape from political complications that complicated your lives and professional expectations that complicated your ability to help anyone. A complex situation, indeed. You want your lives to be easier, but complication follows you like a persistent companion. The more you want to simplify your situation, the more it becomes unruly." He sipped his tea. "What you see as a mess is actually the result of doing good work for good people."

That brought them up short. "Good work?" Ash repeated, the first time she'd spoken in some while.

Thaddeus shrugged.

"Isn't it? Your magical circumstances are undefined, which brings the full weight of bureaucratic scrutiny. You have unusually high physical capabilities, which means the Guild expects you to exert yourselves on dangerous missions. Your noble sponsors wish to support promising new talents who reflect well on their house. Your unique condition means the Magisterium wants you close at hand for observation and potential interaction. In other words, your kindness is admired, your skill is celebrated, and your compassion is respected—and this is the thanks you get."

He held up a weathered hand before they could object. "Mind you, I'm not saying every complication is justified. Marcus abandoning Ember was cowardice, pure and simple. Some of the Magisterium's scrutiny crosses into harassment. But the underlying reason you're valuable enough to complicate? That comes from the choice to help."

He shook his head. "You can try to dodge all those responsibilities, but the complexities will still follow you, because you are the ones who asked what you could do to help."

His eyes sparkled with the mischief of someone enjoying themselves immensely, but the emotion never reached the rest of his face.

They all stared at him. Noticing the room's stunned silence, he raised an eyebrow, took a leisurely sip, and cleared his throat.

"You could have been ordinary. You could have hidden your nature in plain sight. Instead you went to the Guild to serve as adventurers, to the Magisterium seeking understanding, to House Brightblade to demonstrate your gratitude. You could have buried your identities and lived hidden lives, but you didn't. You chose to be who you are."

He paused, his expression growing more thoughtful. "Now, I'll grant you—some of those choices were harder than others. When you're five identical flame-wielders who fell through our realm, 'hiding' was never going to be simple. But at each crossroads, you had options. You could have fled to the countryside, sought quieter cities, avoided institutions entirely. Instead, you chose engagement."

He sat back and paused again to ensure they were still tracking and nodded to himself. "Yes, it is complicated. But the more you demand simplicity, the more your desire will create its own complications—because life itself has no shortage of complications."

Thaddeus blew across his mug and slurped at his tea. The sound shattered the moment as abruptly as a dropped plate.

"Complicated doesn't make it wrong," Kindle managed slowly. "It just means it's... complicated."

"Precisely," Thaddeus agreed, apparently oblivious to the existential crisis unfolding in front of him. "Life is an ongoing negotiation between our ideals and reality. Everything's simpler until you start asking questions—which is the surest sign of a mind worth honing."

Ash sighed heavily. "So, basically, if we want our lives to get simpler, we have to make peace with how complicated they've been."

"Ideals are never simple. You can resolve to follow a noble path and find it snaking through the briars. You can commit to doing good work for good people, and get distracted and thrown off course. You can dedicate yourselves to making the world a better place, but then have to decide whether to sacrifice yourself for its sake."

Thaddeus leaned forward slightly, his tone growing more direct. "But here's what you can control: not whether complications arise, but how you respond to them. Whether you let others dictate the terms of your engagement, or whether you actively shape your circumstances toward outcomes you value. The question isn't whether you can avoid the mess—it's whether you can direct it."

He shrugged. "Or maybe I'm entirely wrong, and the realm will bow to your demands for simple, easy answers. But that doesn't seem your style, now does it."

The sentence wasn't a question.

"We... hadn't thought of it that way," Ember said carefully. "At all."

Thaddeus nodded as though this confirmed something he'd suspected. "So the real question isn't whether you can escape your circumstances. It's whether you want to."

The question hung between them like a challenge, so simple and obvious that no one even bothered to answer it.

They'd never talked about leaving, not seriously. The topic had always lingered in a nebulous future, along with so many other possibilities: Explore distant lands. Travel to other cities. Learn more of Eldoria's secrets.

There were so many roads open to them. So many possibilities.

And if they took none, it would be because they chose this—the complications, the political pressures, and the endless administrative burden—of their own free will.

The enormity of that decision took the air from their lungs, and for long moments no one said a word. Nimbus butted his head against Thaddeus's fingers until the wizard resumed petting him, then curled up on his lap without a sound. Spark chirped happily from his position by the fire, his scales glowing slightly brighter in the warmth.

Ember, Pyra, Cinder, Kindle, and Ash looked at each other over the kitchen table, holding an entire conversation in their eyes, as only people who share a consciousness can.

"We do care about what happens there," Kindle said quietly, breaking the silence. "Even when it's frustrating. Even when Marcus is being impossible, even when the Magisterium treats us like research subjects, even when everything feels too complicated..." She trailed off, her eyes suddenly distant with reflected flame. "We care about who we are to them."

"The Iron Hawks deserve better leadership than Marcus provides," Ember added. "Elena especially. She has potential that's being wasted."

"Beatrix is strict but fair," Cinder admitted grudgingly. "Her regulations exist for good reasons, even when they're inconvenient."

"Spark has friends at the Guild," Pyra said, glancing toward the hearth where their salamander dozed contentedly. "Other apprentices who bring him treats and admire his scales. He's never had friends before."

Ash looked out the window into the garden, where the afternoon sun was fading into a peachy glow. "We belong somewhere, with people who respect us. Who respect what we do."

"It's messy," Ember concluded, "but it's our mess. We built it, we chose it, and... we want to keep choosing it."

Thaddeus observed this exchange with growing satisfaction, though he tried to hide it behind his usual gruff demeanor. "Sounds like you have your answer, then."

"We need to think about how to make it work better," Ember said finally.

"Then think about it here," Thaddeus replied, as though no other answer was imaginable. "You can help me with the garden, or with my various experiments, or just enjoy the sunsets. You're welcome as long as you wish to stay, and I'll take no offense if your time with me is brief."

Pyra's eyes teared up, and she pulled the startled wizard into a crushing hug. "You really are the nicest old man in existence."

"Ack!" he spluttered, attempting unsuccessfully to fend her off. Nimbus leapt from his lap to escape the melee. "Don't ruin the moment, you enormous fire hazard of a woman!"

She laughed and released him, surreptitiously brushing tears from her eyes as she stood. "Well? Who's ready to work off Thaddeus's tea with good old-fashioned farm labor?"

Kindle narrowed her eyes in suspicion. "Why do you sound so excited?"

"Not excited," Pyra protested. "Just happy. The sun is out, the breeze is fresh, and there's dirt to be tilled! Let's go!"

Before anyone could object, she snatched a hoe and bounded into the garden. They winced in unison at the sound of enthusiastic chopping.

"Too late," Cinder observed, finishing her tea in a single swallow. "She's off to commit unspeakable violence to a helpless cabbage patch. Now we'll never stop her."

Thaddeus sighed and stood, shaking his head as he turned toward the door. Nimbus rose with him, so close as to appear almost tangled with his robes.

"And to think I've missed you people. Follow me, there are fertilizer sacks on the other side of the house, and you look like you could use a bit of hard labor to clear your minds."

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