Jaskari stared at Antero, the flickering lamp casting long, dancing shadows across the older man’s face. The revelation that Ukko, his distant patron, was not gone but merely imprisoned beneath Korpikyla, pressed against his collarbones like lead slag. “Free him?” Jaskari’s voice was a dry croak. “How? What does making *them* heroes have to do with any of that?” Antero’s gaze sharpened, losing its previous weariness. “The Glimmering Depths feed on renown, Jaskari. The more fame a champion garners, the more focused the divine energy becomes around them. The deeper levels… they require a specific kind of resonance. A hero forged in the crucible of public adoration, whose very existence ripples through the world of Suonia, can sever the binds. A hero who embodies the values Ukko champions. Compassion. Tenacity. And… life.” Jaskari could only shake his head, the sheer absurdity of it all battling with the terrifying stakes. Turn his hopeless crew into paragons of virtue to perform a divine jailbreak? It sounded like the punchline to a particularly cruel joke. He thought of Ilkka’s stage fright, Roope’s sticky fingers, Päivi’s volatile spells. And Hilla. Hilla Varis, who now stared at him with suspicion like a hungry wolf at a limping deer. He left Antero’s office feeling less like a chosen champion and more like a pawn in a cosmic game he was ill-equipped to play. The warm tea sensation from Ukko, a comfort he’d grown accustomed to, was now a distant memory, replaced by the persistent, icy draft of the deadline. He needed to focus. He needed to make them heroes. And fast. The following morning, the marketplace hummed with its usual chaotic energy – vendors hawking everything from pickled river-eels to enchanted knitting needles. Jaskari, restocking his satchel with more potent antidotes than any C-rank party should realistically require, felt a shadow fall over him. He didn’t need to turn to know it was Hilla. “Kempe,” she said, her voice low, precise, like a scalpel. “A word.” Jaskari turned, offering a weak smile. “Good morning, Varis. Lovely weather, isn’t it?” He tried to project casual disinterest, but his palms were already sweating. He knew this was coming. “Spare me the mundane pleasantries,” Hilla scoffed, her eyes, the color of twilight, locking onto his. She held up a small, stoppered vial. Inside, a shimmering, opalescent liquid swirled. “This is a Verity Elixir, brewed by the Chittering Coven of Valossa. One drop, and the truth spills from your lips, unfiltered. For the next hour, even your deepest, most guarded secrets become public domain.” A winter gale seemed to scour Jaskari's ribs. He looked around frantically. The market was busy, but not so busy that a sudden, loud confession wouldn’t draw a crowd. A crowd of C-rank provisions masters, perhaps. And more importantly, a crowd that included Ilkka, Roope, and Päivi, who were currently haggling loudly over a suspiciously cheap, slightly singed grimoire from a stall nearby. “What… what do you want, Varis?” he managed, his voice barely audible above the market din. “I want to win the Drowned City expedition,” she stated, her gaze unwavering. “The Guild has put a substantial prize on it – the ‘Helm of Kalmar,’ a relic said to grant unparalleled foresight. My Steel Talons have been prepping for weeks. But after that fiasco in the Whispering Labyrinth, and then Ilkka’s… performance… I’ve had to adjust my strategy.” She stepped closer, invading his personal space, the scent of steel and sharp herbs clinging to her. “I know what you are, Kempe. I don’t know *how* you do it, or *why*, but you’re the reason those imbeciles are still drawing breath. You’re the reason they stumble into success. You are the source of their impossible luck.” She tapped the vial against his chest, a chilling, rhythmic click. “You will ensure my victory in the Drowned City. You will subtly guide my team, just as you guide yours. You will turn the tide in my favor, no matter the cost. Or I will ‘accidentally’ administer this little concoction to you right here, right now. And your friends will learn every single secret you’ve been so desperately hoarding.” Jaskari swallowed hard, his mind racing. The shame. The betrayal. The complete collapse of his carefully constructed lie. And the danger to his goal. If they knew, they might not accept his continued resurrections. They might reject him. He couldn’t risk it. Not with Ukko’s freedom and their very existence on the line. “Fine,” he breathed, his voice tight. “What do I need to do?” Hilla’s lips curved into a thin, triumphant smile. “Excellent. Now, let’s go convince your party they’re ready for a ‘challenging’ expedition.” True to her word, later that afternoon, the Sundered Six were practically vibrating with self-importance. Ilkka, still basking in the afterglow of his duel, puffed out his chest. Roope, his pockets mysteriously jingling with more silver than he’d started with, grinned. Päivi, her hair sparking with minor static, seemed to glow. Even Hilla’s Steel Talons looked less like rivals and more like a collection of eager acolytes trailing behind them. “The Drowned City of Virta!” Päivi declared, waving a crudely drawn map she’d acquired. “They say it’s filled with ancient automatons and treasures beyond imagining!” “And traps beyond counting,” Roope added, a glint in his eye. “Good thing I’ve been practicing my disarming techniques!” He demonstrated with a flurry of finger wiggles that looked suspiciously like attempting to tie a shoelace with one hand. Jaskari felt the familiar dread coil in his gut. This was going to be a disaster. He caught Hilla’s eye, and she gave him a subtle, calculating nod. His role was clear: let his party get into trouble, then make sure Hilla’s team reaped the benefits, while still keeping his secret. It was a tightrope walk over a chasm of his own creation. The portal to the depths of Virta churned in the middle of a placid lake, flanked by two moss-caked statues of forgotten wardens. As the teams gathered, the air grew heavy with the scent of damp earth and ozone. The portal pulsed, beckoning them into its watery depths. Hilla’s vanguard entered first, followed by his companions, who immediately started bickering about who got to carry the glowing Orb of Illumination. Inside, the drowned ruins lived up to their reputation. Water trickled down ancient, algae-covered walls, reflecting the dim light of Jaskari’s lumiflora. Half-submerged automatons, rusted and immobile, loomed like forgotten guardians. The air was thick with the echoes of dripping water and their own hushed footsteps. They navigated through a labyrinth of decaying corridors. Hilla, ostensibly guiding her own party, made a series of subtle ‘mistakes,’ steering them away from obvious traps only to stumble upon more complex ones. Her Berserker, a burly woman named Aino, tripped a pressure plate that activated a net trap, tangling her. Hilla ‘struggled’ to free her, allowing the Sundered Six to move ahead. Jaskari watched, a bitter taste in his mouth. He knew Hilla was orchestrating this, creating a scenario where her team would appear less competent, drawing out their resources, waiting for the opportune moment for Jaskari to act. He had to play along, subtly guiding Roope away from a tripwire here, muttering advice about a crumbling ceiling there, making their progress seem like sheer, blind luck. They reached a grand chamber, its domed ceiling lost in the watery gloom. In the center, a pedestal shimmered, holding what looked like a crystallized heart. “The Heart of Virta!” Päivi gasped, leaning forward greedily. “That must be the artifact!” Roope, ever the kleptomaniac, was already sprinting towards it, ignoring Ilkka’s lumbering shouts of caution. “Wait, Roope! There could be a… a thing!” Too late. As Roope’s foot landed on the ornate floor tile before the pedestal, a faint *click* echoed through the chamber. A series of razor-sharp water jets erupted from the walls, converging on him. Roope shrieked, scrambling back, but one jet caught his leg, slicing through his boot and pant leg as if they were made of tissue paper. A gush of crimson bloomed in the murky water at his feet. “Roope!” Ilkka roared, his defensive magic flaring, but the jets were too quick, too numerous, and focused directly on the rogue. Roope collapsed, clutching his leg, a thin, despairing whimper escaping his lips. The water around him was turning a dark, alarming red. Jaskari stopped breathing. This was it. Hilla had engineered this. He glanced at her. Her eyes were fixed on him, a challenge, a demand. There was no time to fabricate a lucky coincidence. Roope was bleeding out, fast. He couldn’t let his friend die, not even for the sake of his secret. Without a thought, Jaskari surged forward, ignoring the startled cries of the rival fighters and his own companions. He dropped to his knees beside Roope, ignoring the blood-soaked water. He didn’t care about the consequences, not when one of his people was in mortal peril. His hands, without conscious command, began to glow with a soft, comforting azure light. It wasn’t a potion. It wasn’t a trick. It was raw, unadulterated divine power. He placed his glowing palms over Roope’s mangled leg. The wound, a gaping, ragged tear that had nearly severed the limb, began to mend. Muscle reknit, skin fused, the bone beneath visibly knitting itself back together, all in a matter of heartbeats. The crimson cloud dissipated, replaced by clear water, and Roope’s leg was whole, unblemished, as if it had never been harmed. Jaskari pulled his hands away, the azure glow fading, leaving his skin tingling. He looked up, his gaze sweeping across the faces of his party. Ilkka, frozen mid-roar. Roope, staring at his perfectly healed leg with wide, disbelieving eyes. Hilla, her expression a mix of triumph and something else Jaskari couldn’t quite decipher. And Päivi, her mouth slightly agape, her eyes fixed on Jaskari’s still-tingling hands. “Jaskari…” Päivi croaked into the silent, water-filled chamber. “What are you?”

The Anatomy of a Lie