A stony path twisted along the base of the Great Gorge, carved by countless seasons of wind and trickling water. Towering crags flanked Ventania and Ferlin, looming overhead like silent guardians. The echoes of their footsteps mingled with the distant rush of a stream somewhere deeper in the ravine. While the sun remained high in the sky, shadows fell long and uneven, and every muffled sound ricocheted in eerie repetition against the canyon walls.

  Ventania’s nerves prickled, her senses still half-attuned to the magic swirling around them. They were not alone. At first, she had caught glimpses of flickering shapes and heard indistinct voices. Now, the murmur of casual banter carried across the gorge, growing louder as she and Ferlin approached a bend in the path.

  She cast a sidelong glance at her mentor, reading the tension in his eyes. This was supposed to be a simple scouting venture, an attempt to confirm the hidden entrance to the ruins of Alore. It was hardly surprising that others might wander these remote trails—Brocéliande lured all manner of adventurers, after all—but something in Ferlin’s stiff posture said these strangers posed more than casual danger.

  They reached a wider portion of the path, revealing a small rocky clearing beyond a low outcrop. A group of five individuals waited there, establishing a makeshift camp. Their gear was piled haphazardly, and though they wore no uniform, Ventania recognized the ease with which they moved—like seasoned fighters accustomed to danger. Three stood casually near a fire pit, exchanging quiet words. The other two crouched a short distance away, rummaging through their packs with practiced efficiency.

  The moment the newcomers spotted Ferlin and Ventania, the atmosphere shifted. Hands drifted toward weapons; eyes narrowed with cool assessment. Ventania’s own pulse quickened. This was no band of harmless gatherers out for a stroll. She sensed the barely checked tension on both sides.

  A hulking figure stepped forward, shoulders broad, arms thick with sinewy muscle. His hair fell in unkempt braids, and a patchwork of scars crisscrossed his forearms. Yet he broke into a welcoming grin, baring teeth that spoke of a lifetime of combat. Ventania guessed that he was the barbarian-warrior—and if so, likely the group’s leader.

  “Ho there, travelers,” he boomed, voice echoing in the stony gorge. “Name’s Castlebrock. We don’t see many folk in these parts.” He tapped the hilt of a massive war-axe strapped to his back. “At least, not ones still breathing.”

  Ferlin inclined his head politely, giving a slight bow that Ventania had come to recognize as his usual courtesy. “Fortune’s blessings on your day,” he replied evenly. “I’m Farlon, a herbalist… and this is my apprentice, Vera.” Ventania noted how smoothly he dropped their false names. She felt a twinge of confusion—why lie so openly to this group?—but the significance of his decision gnawed at her sense of caution.

  Castlebrock’s gaze flicked over Ventania. “A herbalist and his apprentice, out here in the Great Gorge? Odd place to gather flowers.” His rumbling chuckle lacked warmth. His thick hand gestured to his companions. “Meet my crew. We’re… a band of explorers, hired by a noble mage for resource gathering. Looking for rare components, you might say.”

  Ventania pretended a polite smile, but her gut churned. At a glance, she could see their gear: weapons well-oiled and worn from frequent use, crossbow bolts in easy reach, extra runic pouches strapped at the waist. One man, presumably the thief, lingered at the edge of the camp, studying them with a sharp glint in his eyes. A warlock stood nearby, faint traces of swirling energy around his gloved hand, while an archer methodically checked arrow fletchings. The last figure—a summoner mage wearing an amulet shaped like a serpentine creature—sat cross-legged, leafing through a small tome.

  Ferlin lifted a woven basket from his pack, letting them glimpse a cluster of herbs. “I gather ingredients for tinctures and potions,” he said pleasantly. “We heard of certain rare flora that grow among these canyon walls. My apprentice… yes, she’s learning the trade.”

  Even as he spoke, Ventania sensed his quiet readiness, the slight tension in his muscles. She forced her breathing to remain steady, reviewing the wind-calling spells she had practiced. If trouble sparked, she could conjure a gust to push them back, or hurl stones if needed. But I want to avoid a fight if possible, she reminded herself. That had been Ferlin’s repeated counsel: violence only if all else fails.

  “Interesting.” Castlebrock folded his muscled arms, exchanging a glance with his crew. “You see, we also gather. Rare components. For a… noble.”

  A flicker of amusement danced in Ferlin’s eyes, though his tone remained mild. “How fortunate to meet fellow gatherers in this out-of-the-way gorge.”

  Ventania scanned their supplies, noticing details that clashed with their story. No trowels or gathering tools for delicate herbs. Their packs seemed heavier with metallic clinks than with the usual jars or containers. She also picked up a faint tang of old blood from their leather armor. They had killed recently—perhaps animals, or worse, magical creatures. The memory of her parents’ fate stirred her anger, but she clamped down on it. Not now. Keep calm.

  She saw the shift in the warlock’s stance—he inched sideways, his staff angled subtly to the ground. Meanwhile, the summoner mage quietly closed his tome and reached a hand into a pouch at his belt, as though grasping something within. If Ventania had not spent months training to sense magical energy, she might have missed the faint hum of runic wards.

  Castlebrock, ignorant or simply unconcerned, beamed again. “We’re making camp. The forest gets tricky after dusk. Join us for supper—plenty of meat, ale, you name it.” He jerked a thumb over his shoulder, indicating a meager fire pit where cuts of some freshly slain creature sizzled on a makeshift spit. “We can swap stories.”

  Ferlin gave a polite nod. “Generous. We’d appreciate that, but I’m afraid we can’t linger long. The herbs we seek are best harvested by moonlight.”

  Castlebrock’s grin hardened. “Ah, but it’s still hours to moonrise. No harm in a bite first, is there?” His gaze flicked to his group, each member quietly taking positions that ringed Ventania and Ferlin. “Come, we don’t bite… at least not without reason.”

  Unease twisted Ventania’s gut. She exchanged a glance with Ferlin, who offered the smallest shake of his head. She understood: these men are lying about their purpose—be ready. The recollection of how swiftly she could conjure wind or call upon earth steadied her. She also remembered that Ferlin had insisted they kill only if forced to. Perhaps they could slip away before aggression escalated.

  The group of five parted just enough for Ferlin and Ventania to approach the fire pit. She noted the smell of singed fur from the roasting haunch of some forest creature. The flames crackled with an ominous edge, dancing across a bed of fresh tinder. The entire scene felt contrived, as if the band wanted them to step into some trap.

  The man who looked like a thief offered a tight-lipped smile, eyes flicking to her satchel. “You said you’re an apprentice? You must know a fair bit about medicinal plants. Mind if I see your collection?”

  Ventania forced her voice not to waver. “Just a few things we’ve found along the way,” she said, hugging her pack closer. “Our master… Farlon… is the real expert.” Let them see as little as possible, she thought. They could easily guess that a well-trained herbalist might carry vials of potions or anti-poison if they recognized advanced techniques.

  Behind her, the warlock feigned disinterest, though Ventania could practically sense him gathering mana. She recalled from her studies that warlocks often struck with curses or illusions, waiting for an opportune moment. The summoner mage’s posture also tensed, as if preparing to unleash some bound creature. Meanwhile, the archer checked her bowstring too casually, and the barbarian-warrior, Castlebrock, remained in the center of them all—composed but ready.

  Ferlin’s voice broke the silence. “Would you mind if we sat for a moment? My apprentice is tired from the trek.” He gestured to a flat rock near the campfire.

  Ventania nearly balked—should they really join this obvious ruse?—but she remembered how adept Ferlin was at gleaning information through conversation. If they retreated prematurely, the group might pounce immediately. He’s stalling, she realized. He wants to confirm his suspicions.

  Castlebrock nodded, taking a seat on a wooden log. “Sit, friend. Plenty of space for all.” The others subtly ringed the perimeter. Ventania lowered herself onto the stone, feigning a slight limp to sell the idea of fatigue.

  For a tense few minutes, they swapped shallow pleasantries about the region—Ventania offering stilted remarks on the gorge’s rocky flora, Ferlin praising the group’s “courage” for venturing so deep into Brocéliande. All the while, Ventania’s heart pounded like a drum, scanning each subtle movement. She caught the faint whiff of oil on the barbarian’s axe and the quiet jangle of steel in the thief’s bag. The warlock’s eyes glinted with a cunning gleam as he traced a slow circle in the dirt with his staff’s tip.

  Eventually, Castlebrock leaned forward, his grin returning as he tore off a piece of sizzling meat. “I’ll cut to the chase,” he said, voice low. “We can’t help but notice you two are in these parts at an… opportune time.”

  Ferlin raised an eyebrow. “Opportune time?”

  “Tonight’s the full moon,” Castlebrock continued, “and rumor says a set of old ruins opens right about—” He flicked a glance at the sky, “—now. Maybe you’re no simple herbalist after all, hmm?”

  Ventania’s pulse jumped. They had no illusions that the Ruins of Alore opened under that specific lunar alignment. So these mercenaries did know the truth. She clenched her jaw, stifling the swirl of wind magic that quivered in her core. Be calm. Let them show their hand first.

  “You give us too much credit,” Ferlin said smoothly, though his stare locked on the warlock’s subtle gestures. “Just chance that we arrived near the gorge around the full moon. We happen to prefer moonlit collecting. Rare flowers bloom, you see.”

  Castlebrock chuckled. “Is that right? Strange that you’d bring so little gear.” His eyes flicked to Ventania’s staff and traveling cloak. “Our sponsor said the entrance to those ruins might hide big pay. Magical beasts, treasure. But we can’t crack it ourselves without the proper runes, which—” He shrugged. “—we thought we might find by… dealing with a mage or two around here.”

  Ventania’s heart lurched. They’re here to kill or capture any magical beings they find—and we’re exactly that. Her tension ratcheted. She exchanged a glance with Ferlin, who gave the subtlest nod, confirming her fear.

  The summoner mage rose then, dusting off his cloak. “No sense in charades,” he said, voice oddly refined. “The rest of the region is abuzz with talk of a hidden temple. So we staked out this place, figuring someone with knowledge or ability to open the door might show. All we need is for you to come along quietly—help us get inside. After that, well… perhaps we can discuss your future.” A sinister glimmer shone in his eyes.

  Castlebrock tore another bite of meat, chewing noisily. “You’d be wise to do as we say. The gorge is a poor place to rest… especially if you can’t trust your campmates.”

  Ferlin’s composure never wavered. But Ventania sensed a taut energy radiating from him. The air felt charged, as though a storm brewed just beyond the canyon walls. She recalled how, on multiple occasions, he had insisted he would kill only if necessary. For a fleeting moment, she wondered if this was that necessity. A wave of dread and resolution washed over her in equal measure.

  She rose gently, staff in hand. “I think we’ll be leaving,” she said, keeping her tone calm but firm. “We have no interest in your temple hunts.”

  The warlock’s eyes glowed with flickering magic, and the archer’s bow twanged softly as she nocked an arrow. Tension snapped like a drawn wire. “Oh, you’ll be staying,” the warlock said, voice dripping with confidence. “Don’t make this messy.”

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  Ferlin let out a short sigh, his posture relaxed yet coiled like a viper. “We seek no fight,” he said. “Stand aside. We’ll depart.”

  An eerie hush filled the clearing. Then Castlebrock let out a guttural laugh. “Cowards, are you? No matter. You’ll come with us, or we’ll see how your bones fare under my axe. We can do this the easy way or the hard way.”

  Ventania’s stomach churned, memories of the hunters who snatched her parents flaring in her mind. Not again. I won’t let them corner us. She braced for violence, glancing at Ferlin for a cue. His left hand moved ever so slightly—an old signal telling her prepare.

  The confrontation erupted in a heartbeat.

  The archer unleashed an arrow aimed at Ferlin’s chest. With startling grace, he sidestepped, cloak billowing. Ventania lunged forward, swirling wind around her staff to deflect a second projectile. The arrow glanced off her swirling current, snapping midair. Her heart hammered as adrenaline flooded her system.

  Simultaneously, the warlock chanted in a deep, guttural tone. Dark runes flared around his staff, sending a tendril of crackling energy snaking toward Ferlin. Ventania recognized a hex-like curse from her arcane lessons. But before it struck, Ferlin flicked his wrist. A transparent wall of force materialized, shattering the tendril with a dull boom that reverberated through the gorge.

  Castlebrock roared, hefting his war-axe in a two-handed grip. “No one defies me!” He charged, swinging the blade in a brutal overhead arc aimed at Ferlin’s skull. Ventania gasped, but Ferlin pivoted lightly, letting the axe crash into the stony ground. Castlebrock snarled in frustration, turning for another swing.

  Meanwhile, the thief leapt from the side, knives flashing. Ventania barely managed to whip her staff around in time, channeling a gust of wind that staggered him. He hissed a curse, stumbling but not falling. “She’s no simple apprentice!” he spat.

  Ventania’s concentration nearly faltered. They know, she realized, swallowing her fear. Indeed, the swirling gust at her fingertips betrayed more than herbal knowledge. Another knife arced toward her—she spun behind a swirl of wind, hearing the blade skitter against the stone. No more illusions. With a focused exhale, she conjured the earth’s energy, small pebbles rising from the ground. She flung them forward in a tight wave that smacked the thief’s chest, sending him reeling.

  Her momentum jerked to a halt when the summoner mage barked an incantation. A swirling portal of greenish-black energy flared near Ventania’s feet. She tried to leap away, but two spectral hands reached out, grasping at her ankles. A wave of panic surged—some kind of binding spirit. The ephemeral claws pulled her down, binding her in place while the summoner brandished a spell orb.

  “Don’t fight it,” the summoner taunted. “Serve, and you might live.”

  Ventania clenched her jaw. I’m not going down like this. Summoning her months of training, she reached inward, finding the calm center. With a raw surge, she channeled the synergy of wind and water. A swirl of moisture condensed from the air, forming a powerful blast of water that slammed into the summoner. He stumbled back with a cry, concentration broken. The spectral hands vanished, freeing Ventania’s ankles. She inhaled sharply, relief flooding her chest.

  At the same moment, a massive clang rang out. Castlebrock’s war-axe collided with Ferlin’s staff in a fierce blow that spark-sang with magical resonance. The barbarian snarled, pressing forward with raw strength. Yet Ferlin did not budge, his face coldly impassive. A swirl of arcane light gathered around the staff, and in an instant, Castlebrock’s momentum halted as though he had struck an immovable wall.

  “You should not have forced this,” Ferlin said, voice low. With a swift motion, he twisted the staff, deflecting the axe sideways. The barbarian staggered, eyes wild. Before he could recover, Ferlin’s left hand flicked upward, summoning a wave of shimmering force that sent Castlebrock hurtling across the camp. He crashed into the fire pit, sparks flying.

  Sensing their leader’s defeat was imminent, the other adventurers intensified their assault. The warlock unleashed another bolt of crackling runic magic, aimed at Ferlin’s back. Ventania darted in, raising her staff to channel a gust that disrupted the projectile. But the warlock cunningly split the energy, a second bolt flicking around her defense. It clipped Ferlin’s shoulder in a burst of dark sparks.

  Ferlin hissed in pain, staggering. The warlock smirked triumphantly—until he saw the flash of raw anger in Ferlin’s gaze. A swirl of arcane runes spun in the air around Ferlin’s hands as if he were commanding a silent symphony. The warlock recoiled, too slow to cast a protective ward. A single, precise beam of light lanced out, striking the warlock’s staff. It shattered with a thunderous crack, sending the warlock toppling with a stunned cry. Ventania flinched, but the power remained contained—Ferlin had aimed carefully to avoid excessive casualties.

  The thief and the archer regrouped near the summoner mage, forming a last-ditch line of defense. Ventania advanced, staff spinning as she shaped a swirling combination of wind and earth. Pebbles and grit whipped into the air, swirling in a miniature cyclone that forced them to shield their eyes. The summoner mage tried to open another vortex, but her swirling dust battered his concentration. The archer loosed an arrow blindly, missing Ventania by several feet.

  All around them, the gorge’s natural echoes amplified the frenzied clash of steel, wind, and spells. Ventania could feel her chest tightening with adrenaline. She glimpsed Castlebrock staggering back to his feet, face contorted in fury, war-axe hefted once more. The barbarian bellowed a battle cry, charging toward Ferlin again. The sorcerer pivoted, staff raised, magic swirling in a vortex around him.

  For the briefest instant, Ventania saw something in Ferlin’s eyes—an ancient weariness, perhaps a reflection of countless battles. Who are you, truly? she thought. He had never revealed the truth behind his skill or how long he had walked this earth. But in that heartbeat, she realized he was more than a mere sorcerer. He was an unstoppable force, tempered by centuries of wisdom. Ferlin the Immortal, the faint words formed unbidden in her mind.

  Castlebrock’s unstoppable charge collided with an invisible barrier. Ferlin closed his eyes and exhaled, a faint pulse of arcane light rolling outward. With a final roar, the barbarian warrior’s momentum vanished. He tumbled to the ground, hitting the stony path with a dull thud. Blood trickled from a cut on his brow. Though still conscious, he seemed dazed, his chest heaving from the punishment.

  The archer dropped her bow with a look of near-panic, stepping back. “Enough!” she gasped, hands raised. The thief scowled but likewise hesitated, and the summoner mage coughed, shakily propping himself on one elbow.

  Castlebrock spat blood and tried to push himself up again. This time, Ferlin fixed him with a cold stare. A hush fell across the clearing. Dust settled, and the crackle of the half-doused campfire underscored the tension. Ventania tightened her grip on her staff, heart pounding. This conflict had spun out of control, and if not for their skill, they might have ended up the ones on the ground.

  For a long moment, no one moved. The warlock lay unconscious near the rocky wall. The archer hovered, torn between flight and standing by her battered comrades. The thief nursed a bruised shoulder, breathing raggedly. Castlebrock glared, eyes still burning with defiance.

  Ferlin lowered his staff. “You forced our hand,” he said quietly. “We had no quarrel with you.”

  Castlebrock hacked out a bitter laugh. “Fools… you don’t know what power lies in that temple. Why not share it? Instead, you cling to your secrets…”

  Ventania felt an ache in her chest, recalling how often humans had sought power through cruelty, how those same impulses had stolen her parents. She drew a shaky breath. “If you leave now, we won’t pursue,” she said. “We aren’t killers by choice.” She glanced at Ferlin, uncertain. In truth, she didn’t want more bloodshed.

  But an eerie grin split Castlebrock’s face. “Not killers, are you? I see the truth in your eyes. You’re just like them—those who guard the forest with illusions of mercy. You’ll see, the moment we turn our backs, you’ll gut us.” Despite his injuries, the barbarian barked a savage laugh.

  The summoner mage, battered but alive, spat on the ground. “We’d rather burn than yield.” His hand twitched, reaching for a hidden dagger. Ventania caught the motion, alarm ringing in her mind.

  Ferlin’s face hardened in quiet resolve. He sighed, raising one hand. “If you threaten us again—”

  Before he could finish, the summoner’s dagger flared with runic light. He hurled it at Ferlin with deadly precision. Ventania yelled a warning, but Ferlin simply flicked his fingers. The dagger froze in midair, shimmering with captured momentum.

  Castlebrock roared, pushing up from the ground in a final, reckless charge. The others readied themselves with trembling determination. Ventania’s stomach twisted. They had refused to yield. Another fight was inevitable—and likely final.

  Ferlin’s expression grew deathly calm, an almost sorrowful glimmer in his eyes. He made a subtle gesture, and the space around him seemed to fold inward with arcane might. Ventania had seen him cast powerful spells, but nothing like this. A hush blanketed the gorge as though reality itself held its breath.

  In an instant, shimmering arcs of force fanned out, each strike carefully aimed at the mercenaries’ weapons and limbs. The barbarian, mid-charge, found himself pinned by invisible strands. The thief’s knives rattled to the ground as runic vines constricted his wrists. The summoner mage cried out, arcs of light wrapping around his torso. The archer stumbled, pinned by her own shadow as if it had come alive. The warlock, still unconscious, lay unbound but hardly a threat.

  Ferlin’s voice resonated with a quiet finality. “You are undone. Lay down your arms for good, or this gorge will become your grave.”

  Castlebrock bared his teeth, straining against the magic until his veins bulged. But no human strength could break Ferlin’s snare. The summoner mage spat defiantly, an ugly oath scrawling across his lips. “I’d sooner—”

  A flick of Ferlin’s staff. The summoner mage’s words died in his throat as the runic bindings tightened. He slumped, eyes rolling back.

  Ventania swallowed hard, recognizing the brutal efficiency of Ferlin’s might. He truly is unstoppable, she thought. A swirl of pity and dread coiled in her heart. These mercenaries had chosen the path of violence, but how quickly it had turned fatal for them. The savage glint in Castlebrock’s eyes was replaced by grim acceptance.

  The barbarian warrior’s chest heaved. “Finish it,” he rasped, defiance burning in his stare. “I’ll never yield to your kind.”

  Ventania hesitated, glancing at Ferlin. She remembered how he abhorred needless killing. But the tension weighed heavy. These people had threatened them with lethal force, and they were likely hunters of magical creatures—her parents’ captors might have been cut from the same cloth. Yet do we kill them in cold blood?

  Ferlin’s face flickered with remorse. “You forced my hand,” he repeated softly. “I gave you every chance.” With a final, sorrowful gesture, he twisted his staff’s runes. A surge of blinding white light enveloped the gorge, accompanied by a muted roar that Ventania felt in her bones.

  When her vision cleared, the five mercenaries lay crumpled on the ground. She noted the limp angle of Castlebrock’s arms, the stillness of his chest. The warlock and summoner mage likewise lay motionless, eyes shut. The thief’s knives had fallen far from his stiffened hands. The archer remained pinned, too faint to move.

  An icy ache filled Ventania’s throat. They’re… gone. She recalled how quickly it all had escalated. The hush that followed felt suffocating, broken only by the fading crackle of runic residue in the air.

  For a time, neither Ventania nor Ferlin spoke. She sensed a faint tremor in her knees, exhaustion from the fight mingling with the weight of what they had done. She glanced at Ferlin’s face. His expression carried an ageless sadness, no trace of anger or triumph. He didn’t want this, she realized, but they left him no choice.

  She approached the bodies, resisting the urge to turn away. A pang of pity twisted in her chest. Why did they insist on violence? The memory of her parents’ abduction flared—some humans simply lusted for power, seeing magical creatures as trophies. The mercenaries had threatened the same. Still, a heavy sorrow pressed down on her heart.

  Ferlin placed a hand on her shoulder, voice subdued. “Come, we shouldn’t linger. The Ruins of Alore lie beyond. We’ll do what we came for, then leave. This place has witnessed enough blood.”

  Ventania inhaled shakily, controlling her trembling. “Did we really… have no other choice?”

  His gaze flicked to the silent forms. “We offered them mercy. They forced the final blow. I won’t ask you to celebrate this, Ventania. Killing is never a light matter, even when done in self-defense.”

  She nodded, arms shaking. So many illusions have shattered since I left home. Yet the vow to rescue her parents still fueled her spirit. She squared her shoulders, turning from the scene.

  “Let’s go,” she whispered. “We have to reach the temple. And… I’d rather not be here when more of their kind come searching.”

  Ferlin inclined his head, retrieving his staff from where it hovered near the summoner mage’s fallen tome. With a thoughtful frown, he picked up the tome, scanning the pages briefly before slipping it into his bag. “Might be runic knowledge. Could help us handle any wards inside Alore.” He paused, eyes settling on her. “Are you all right?”

  Ventania forced a brave smile, though tears stung the corners of her eyes. “I will be,” she whispered. “Let’s move.”

  The two turned away from the still clearing, leaving the five defeated mercenaries behind. The once-searing tension gradually receded into a heavy hush, the gorge’s echoes swallowing up the last vestiges of the clash. Ahead, beyond a narrow bend, the gorge continued, and somewhere within its winding passage, the entrance to the Ruins of Alore waited.

  As they pressed on, Ventania felt the swirl of questions in her mind. What deeper secrets lay hidden in the ruins? Would their discoveries bring her closer to freeing her parents? And, above all, who was Ferlin, truly, to wield such terrifying power with stoic sorrow in his eyes?

  But she had no time to dwell. The moon would rise soon, and with it, the rumored gateway would open. With her staff clenched in one hand, she let the echoes of the fight mingle with the clang of her racing heartbeat. The smell of fresh blood clung faintly to the gorge, an unsettling reminder of how swiftly fate could turn on those who sought power at any cost.

  Despite the dread in her chest, Ventania felt a flicker of resolve. She was no mere bystander in Brocéliande’s unfolding drama. She had gained the trust of an immortal sorcerer, earned the right to call the wind, shape the earth, bend water, and conjure fire. Each trial had tempered her spirit. If the path ahead required more strength, more courage, then she would find it. Because the truth was simple: she had made a promise—to save her family and to stand against any who threatened the realm she cherished.

  One step at a time, she reminded herself, peering into the sun-dappled gloom of the canyon. One step closer to the ruins… and to the destiny that awaits.

  End of Chapter 7