Then to the quicksilver, I said, What do you mean, save Kingfisher? He’s here. He’s okay. I watched the quicksilver roll over the ring, enveloping its surface, coating it, sinking inside it. It said, We are token. Key. Relic. Shield. The words overlapped like layers of cloth, one on top of the other, but I still heard each one perfectly. Seal us with blood, Alchemist, the relic demanded.
