The Great Hall was the most elaborately decorated building in all of Kalarhan. It was built after the fashion of the clan houses but much larger.

Thirty-foot tall walls supported its massive domed roof and displayed intricate mosaics with scenes from Nedreal's history. Several chimneys billowed plumes of smoke and steam, signalling the intense preparations taking place inside.

The building was reinforced by stone buttresses around its perimeter that provided additional support for the roof. Arn gawked at the structure as he and Rana headed to the entrance.

"Quite something, isn't it?" Rana said and nudged him. Arn nodded and followed her towards the foyer. Nysaros had a Great Hall too, but nothing so grand.

"You'll have to go through the rightmost door to the scholar's table," Rana said once they were inside. Her tone lost some of its warmth. She gave him a curt smile and left through one of the other doors. Arn watched her go with a bewildered look.

That's strange, he thought. He supposed that all people changed when in company. Warmth, the scents of cooking food and burning wood washed over him as soon as he entered the Great Hall proper.

Like walking into a giant kitchen, he thought.

The scholar's table wasn't too difficult to find; it stood in the corner, about twenty feet from the entrance. The tables were large enough for at least twenty people to sit around. Each had a fire pit at the center; Arn saw many warm flickering lights across the hall. He watched the smoke rise neatly and disappear into a vent in the ceiling above each table. That, at least, was familiar.

He walked over to an empty seat and realized that many of the seats were empty. Only the scholar's table was so sparse; the others didn't look different from what he was used to in Nysaros.

I could have sworn there were more scholars at the tavern, he thought.

His eyes met those of another scholar, a rough-looking fellow with a wispy beard, the kind that grows before a proper beard can be cultivated. The young man froze, then quickly looked down at his empty plate.

Was that fear? Arn wondered, watching the rest of the table avoid eye contact with him and each other. A soft tapping sound alerted him; it came from one of the scholars tapping his empty plate with a fork.

A couple of the scholars across from him began conversing in whispers. He glanced around at the other tables and saw people hug and greet each other, just as they did back home.

Scholars are very awkward, aren't they, he thought. That's all this is, strange, awkward scholars.

Arn took deep breaths to calm himself. He wondered when he became so nervous? The noise died down, and someone from the council table at the far end of the hall rose to deliver the shortest ceremonial speech he'd ever witnessed. He made a mental note of it for his inspection report.

On his way back to the table, the elderly council member was stopped by intense eye contact from the councilwoman Arn had met earlier. The man stiffened, lightly shook his head, then changed course towards the central pedestal with the wooden totem.

Did he forget? Arn nearly chuckled.

The man approached the pedestal, looked at the totem, and brushed it off. He waved his hand and stifled a cough.

Is that dust? On a new moon totem?

The old man put a hand on the wood and his other hand on his chest. A second later, the ancient writing on the totem glowed a faint blue light, and a flame lit atop it. After that, the ceremony proceeded as accurately and precisely as Arn had ever seen.

Is this normal or noteworthy? He knew the ritual, but the totem had so much dust on it. Do they ever perform it? But then, how did he know it so well? Arn was getting frustrated, and his empty stomach didn't help.

Where is Rana? He wondered while examining the hall. Arn saw her walk-in but couldn't find where she was seated now. Frustrated, he folded his arms and looked across the table. All the other scholars fixed their eyes on their plates, or the table, or their hands. None looked around.

What the bear droppings is going on? He wondered, brows furrowed. The scholars avoided eye contact even with him.

A server brought his food and then the food of everyone else. New life flowed into the people around his table as they dug into the food.

Were they that hungry? He wondered, just as his own stomach growled. The plate before him contained mushroom and vegetable stew with a side of dried meat and a small pot of warm spice tea. He salivated immediately and joined the other scholars. The mood at his table enlivened markedly after the food, though he clearly noticed that they all made an effort to avoid looking around.

I wish I paid more attention back at home - did the scholars act this weird back there too? He tried to remember.

Darkness settled by the time dinner was over. Arn hadn't found Rana, and she didn't come to say goodbye either. He didn't relish the thought of trudging through a dark and unfamiliar village at night, but it couldn't be avoided.

The people around him covered their faces against the wind that blew dirty snow. The cold wind cut through his parka like it wasn't there. Arn had to use his barrier spell the entire way home. The effort taxed him, and once again, he fell exhausted into bed.

The following day Arn sat at one of the available booths of the ground floor tavern and waited for the serving girl. He repeated yesterday's events in his mind, making sure to remember enough for the report.

A strange man sat down across from him. Arn flinched and stared at the man, who looked familiar.

You're the guy who was tapping the fork, he thought.

The man had several days' worth of stubble, though Arn was sure he was clean-shaven last night.

"A fresh one, aren't you?" The man said. His eyes darted all around as he shifted from side to side. "You're here already, so it's time," he smiled broadly.

"A fresh what?" Arn asked, "aren't you one of the scholars?"

The man giggled and rocked back and forth, "De'al am I, that is my name, and I've got a mind to leave, but I can't. You should leave, but you won't leave yet. So, leave later."

"Leave? What are you talking about?"

"C'mon now," the man leaned in and smiled, then his face became serious. "You see the chill around his place," his eyes widened, and he looked around nervously. He hugged himself and shivered, "I saw," he smiled and flashed his eyebrows, "yesterday - I waited, and I saw."

"Who's place? What did you see?" Arn asked.

"Haha…" the man threw back his head. "I can see," he leaned in again and pointed at his eyes, "I can see the chill," he grinned. "You saw it too," he then seemed confused, "not true yet, but you will see it soon."

What is this man talking about? Arn looked out of the booth; the serving girls darted all around and seemed to avoid the two of them. "You said 'his place,' whose place?" he asked the man.

De'al laughed, then shushed himself, "don't ask me about them, no no, don't ask yet!" Then he shushed Arn with a finger to his own lips, "they can hear you, so don't ask who's place."

Arn shivered. His heart pounded in his chest. The man was clearly unwell; he must be unwell. Normal people didn't behave this way.

"Please leave," Arn whispered, "why are you talking to me?" he added.

"Can I leave?" De'al mused. "They will see you if you see them," he whispered and scurried off.

Arn sat wide-eyed, trying to process what had just happened. On the one hand, the scholars behaved very strangely yesterday, but on the other, this man was completely crazy.

Should I be writing this down, or should I just forget about it? Would the Inspectorate want to hear about a crazy person harassing me?

The serving girl came by for his order and interrupted his thoughts. Arn asked her about the man - De'al - but she didn't know who he meant and assured him that no one had come to his booth since Arn sat down a few moments ago.

"But I just had the strangest talk -" he insisted.

"Your order, please," she interrupted.

"You really didn't see anyone?" he asked. The girl stared at him impatiently. "Fine, here is my token," she quickly tapped it with her hand, rolled her eyes, and left in a hurry.

Arn was distracted for the rest of the day. When he met Rana at the archives, she didn't mention the dinner ceremony and picked up as though nothing had happened. This threw him off almost as much as the chat with De'al.

They continued to work on the stack of tomes and were nearly done when it came time for the dinner ceremony again. Arn made a special effort to keep an eye on Rana when they were back at the Great Hall - but as soon as they were through the doors, she disappeared.

The atmosphere around the table wasn't much different either. The scholars avoided looking around, once again became livelier once the food arrived. The only notable change was De'al's absence. His was one more empty chair at the table.

Something isn't right with this place, Arn thought. Were they right about the western towns? Please, just let me finish this inspection and be back at home, he pleaded with Elar'Saga.

Tonight's weather, at least, wasn't quite as bad. The sky was clear and the wind not more than a light breeze. He followed the main road and kept his eyes on the starry sky; the twinkling lights kept up Arn's spirits.

He'd finally had enough energy to write down his observations in the Inspectorate report before finally tucking in.

There was snow under his feet. A peaceful silence lay all around him. A large, winged shadow passed above; he thought it looked like a large bird with an unusual body.

He prepared for fear, but it didn't come - the shadow felt natural, as natural as the snow on the ground. He looked behind him at a large oak. Its leaves were green and covered by snow - that's strange - he thought.

Ravens sat on its branches, more than he'd ever seen before. He tried to count them, but each time he focused on one, it was no longer there; he could only see them out of the corner of his eye.

He watched the tree and realized that all the ravens were gone. He frowned and looked about. Nowhere to be seen. The oak was gone, too, replaced by countless grey evergreens that stretched in all directions.

The forest was tranquil. Arn watched a single snowflake descend leisurely before him. He looked up and saw many more falling from the grey starry sky above. They all fell straight down, untouched by the wind, but very slowly. Arn stretched out his hand, and a snowflake landed on it. It didn't melt. It just sat there, like a tiny feather or a speck of dust. He looked at its unmelting form and its intricate structure. His emotions seemed distant and delayed. Instead, he felt like an observer with little stake in what he saw or felt.

Arn was awakened by a loud knock; he heard the call for breakfast and footsteps leaving his door. The forest and snow receded from his mind, fading into memory. He breathed in the warm, dry air of his room and felt the sun's rays on his face.

Just a dream, he thought. I ate so much last night, yet I'm already hungry, he thought on the way down to the tavern. Rana would be here soon; better get breakfast before she's here. And then another day of archives awaits.

The following two weeks were much the same, though Arn became used to the waking time and was often fully alert by the breakfast call. He gathered sufficient information to finish his report between the dinner ceremonies and Rana's guided tours of the town. There still were a few unanswered questions, but he didn't overly concern himself with those.

"Cross the frozen river when you get to it," Arn repeated his mother's favourite saying.

He hadn't seen De'al since that strange encounter. None of the other scholars approached him or even seemed interested in interacting with him at all. In fact, most of the town kept to themselves and, aside from Rana, showed very little interest in him.

They weren't rude, but none would call them welcoming. Arn didn't notice the absence of the breakfast call this morning until he was already out the door of his room. The tavern was quieter than usual; an uncomfortable stillness hung about the air.

"Nice morning, isn't it," the barkeep said and put the usual breakfast on Arn's table.

"A little quiet," Arn said, looking at the nearly empty tavern, "you don't need my token?"

"Oh, I think we know each other well enough," the barkeep smiled, "unless you've got a new one for me?"

"New one? No, no, still the same token," Arn replied.

"That is well, young sir," the barkeep said, "I better be going then, only myself here this morning, no time to chat."

Arn nodded and ate his breakfast. Each sound of a dish or utensil drew his attention.

What is the matter with me today? he thought.

He heard footsteps behind him and expected the serving girl to come and pick up his empty plate. Instead, he felt a sharp pain at the back of his head and then came darkness.