Once the train was firmly out of Forgo's reach, one of his accompanying Lilac Rites stepped forward and unkindly notified him that he would be needed back in the throne room. He donned his helmet to hide the displeasure marked on his face. From the very beginning, he had felt like he was being treated unfairly. Even now, he internally questioned why the Crowns not only sent him to retrieve the fleeing warlock instead of Alabaster, the most skilled and revered Pale Spear out of the eighteen, but also allowed Fahlnem to get a significant lead over him. And obviously, the fireteam of Rites that were sent with him was informed on how to act in the case that Forgo lost his quarry. Which he had.

Upon reaching the Ianann spires that held the Crown, Forgo's fireteam of Rites disbanded and all went their separate ways. To Forgo's understanding, each Rite was even more intimately connected to the Crown than the Pale Spears, in such a way that the Crown could direct them with a mental link and give them specific instructions. This is what made them useful to the Elves, adding to the fact that as Humans they were incredibly expendable in the eyes of the Crown. Each Rite was like a slave, and typically they were reformed criminals- or sinners, in the eyes of the Magisterium- that had been bulked up and turned into mindless drones. Forgo never really questioned the ethics behind it all, but he knew without knowing that it was wrong. All of the Human oppression was wrong. His subconscious screamed it. Constantly. A never-ending shouting in his head that contradicted what he said and defended. He felt like his mind was trudging through pitch, and the Crown held a torch above it. Ready to scorch him into nothing. Sometimes he shouted back at the screaming in his head, when he was alone. It never -

The massive door opened to the throne room, and he rested his spear under the crook of his non-dominant arm, tip facing skyward. He approached the Crown, but he couldn't see Alabaster around. He wondered if the top Spear had left to clean their armor.

"The warlock Fahlnem has fled the city. The train he has commandeered will stop at Railsource before moving on to Ivory Maw. We believe that he will ride the train to Ivory Maw and retrieve a portion of his equipment from its checkpoint."

Forgo nodded understandingly.

"You will wait for the warlock in the Human city of Erumar. The Human rebellion there is more prominent than in the Maw, which is already lawless. Fahlnem will find more obstacles he cannot burn in Erumar than the Maw, as his equipment is already being examined by our scholars."

"Understood." Forgo had many questions, but he would rather escape the throne room than get answers. He turned to leave before the Crown stopped him.

"Pause."

He froze.

"The Ninth Spear, the Constant of Fury, has been murdered by the rebellion in Erumar. If you re-establish order in the city and eradicate the warlock Fahlnem, you will take the Constant's place as the Ninth and be given a name to go with your title."

Forgo nodded again and left the throne room for Erumar.

Fahlnem hated steps. They had their uses, for sure, but he disagreed with the exhaustion they imposed upon him. I actually used to be rather fit and energetic, he thought, as he raced up the sandstone staircase leading up to the Maw's checkpoint landing. Over the many years he had spent dedicating his soul to magic, he lost his Elven agility and never really felt the need to regain it, for it had been replaced by the brute strength and overwhelming power that magic provided him with. Magic that was refined and focused by his equipment. Half of which was, if the bartender was to be trusted, stored in the checkpoint right ahead.

So he kept climbing the steps. Thankfully, he didn't hear any sounds denoting a struggle, nor could he see or smell any signs of a fire. Not that they should use fire to take a checkpoint anyway if their goal is to hold it and keep the Magisterium out.

Everything seemed business as usual once he reached the checkpoint. The rest of his group coming off of the train out of Railsource had already either gone through or accepted defeat by venturing into the desert, so it was eerily quiet. He figured that there were bursts of productivity for the Lilac Rites working the checkpoint whenever a train came through, and only then. Normally there should be a Pale Spear defending the checkpoint too, right?

One of the Rites stepped forward, blocking his path.

"Uh... hello. What's uh... what's up, pal?" Fahlnem smiled awkwardly up at the Rite. The same feminine one from earlier.

"Departure from the Maw is currently restricted."

"I wasn't gonna leave, no worries. Just looking around, y'know?"

"Departure from the Maw is currently restricted."

"Yeah, I got that. Listen, I just need some shit you guys are keeping in the checkpo-"

The Rite palmed Fahlnem's chest, shoving him back a couple of feet.

"Departure from the Maw is currently restricted."

"Sweet. Alright. Got it. Great." Fahlnem rolled up the sleeves on his jacket after regaining his balance. Fuck discretion. Should have followed my gut to begin with. He stepped forward and the Rite stiffened, ready to apply additional force.

That force came with another palm toward the pyromancer's chest. I was ready for that one. He maintained his stature, reaching his right hand up to the Rite's wrist to hold it to his chest and his left hand to the Rite's sword-arm.

Fahlnem sent a pulse of lightning out of his right hand, directing it to his left hand with magic. The lightning traveled through the Rite's chest and out their sword-arm into Fahlnem's left hand, where he returned the electricity to mana. This process stopped the Rite's heart and Fahlnem thrust the corpse behind him onto the staircase.

The pyromancer advanced toward the checkpoint. "Time to get shit done."

The checkpoint had a door leading to its makeshift barracks carved into the wall, with a quality of professionalism not unlike that of the squatter's huts outside. The checkpoint was overall far less luxurious than that of Railsource, and Fahlnem guessed that the dugout expansion to the checkpoint was made by the Lilac Rites and Pale Spears that had been positioned here over the years, leaving just the train track and checkpoint gate for the Magisterium to take responsibility for.

Fahlnem blew open the door to the barracks dug into the wall, sending scraps of wooden shrapnel into the soft walls. He heard a commotion behind him as he cleared the place out in search of his possessions. He loved attention whenever he went on a tear, so he didn't think much of his spectators.

More Lilac Rites were waiting for him in the checkpoint than he initially thought would be the case. It was just a temporary squad sent to hold the fort, so to speak, until a semi-permanent fireteam and associated Pale Spear showed up to restore order. They still barely posed a threat, but it was starting to peeve him until one of the Rites slashed his forearm with their halberd. He responded in suit, lobbing a volatile ball of sticky flame at them in retaliation that melted through their robes and plastered the thin metal plates to their flesh. He sighed as the Rite squirmed on the ground, the napalm-like flames passively drawing from his mana pool to grow in density and heat until the Rite perished.

Fahlnem looked around the room, holding onto his wound with his spare hand as he searched for a first-aid closet of some sort. Another Lilac Rite stormed into the room, and Fahlnem blinked an explosion into existence on the handle of the Rite's halberd, sending wooden shards into their chest. Lucky shot on my part.

He scoured the heaving soon-to-be-corpse of a Rite for a moment or two before putting a hand to their chest and eliciting a combustion from his palm, caving in the Rite's chest and charring their lungs and heart. He then tore off a portion of the Rite's robes, using that as a bandage before continuing his search. He cursed himself internally for not asking that Rite about the whereabouts of his loot.

Apparently, the last Rite he killed was one of weaker will, for seven or eight of them had holed up in the common area of the barracks. He had just left the bloodied kitchen, which for some reason opened up to the outside via the door he had blown open earlier. He paused once he entered the common room. It was completely silent for a moment.

"Um... hi." A little creepy that they're all just staring at me. "Y'know, I'll leave you all to your creepy group masturbation session or whatever if I can just squeeze past you to that pile of my shit over there?"

No response.

"..." Fahlnem remained still. "Tell you what. You guys wanna see a magic trick?"

One of the Rites fidgeted, but still no response.

"Alright. I'm just gonna look around a bit, and we'll continue our conversation if I can't find my stuff. Is that cool with everybody?" He spread out his arms before turning to go into the next room through a hallway to his right. Before he could take a step, however, a Rite with a crossbow creeped out from the crowd and shot at him, narrowly missing any vital components on him by sticking the bolt into his knee.

He turned the room to ash.

“Questions?” Argus inquired.

"Yes, actually! First of all, what makes one item more open to magical enchantments than others? And why are things like Iker's Blood so good at taking enchantments but physically weak?"

Fahlnem knew that Argus wasn't actually looking to answer any questions, but he still had them nonetheless. "Think about it like water, flowing into a piece of driftwood. It weaves in between the cracks in its structure, rooting itself and making the driftwood wet. This is a literal example, because wood is fairly magically conducive. Metals, with the exception of Iker's Blood, are resistant against mana and do not hold as much. Iker's Blood is a sponge for mana, taking in vast stores of it with which to house programmed spells."

"And your staff? It's made of obsidian, right? What's with the gem on the end?"

"A Fire Ruby. Unique to our Realm in the sense that it amplifies the powers of the Pyromancer holding it, making spellcasting faster and easier. Obsidian is a prime material for our focuses because it is resistant to our flames and, like normal glass, is magically conducive. When your training is done, I will help you acquire your own staff and Fire Ruby."

"And Fandral? What does he use for casting?"

Fandral glanced up from some scroll he was reading, smiling as usual. "I prefer to use hand movements. My robes are enchanted to give me an easier time and reduce mana costs if I channel mana through them, but ultimately my Nature mana leaves my body through my hands."

"Isn't that dangerous, like Argus said?"

Argus thought for a moment before answering in Fandral's stead. "It is moreso about the possible backfires from mis-casting than the focus itself. In the case of Nature magic, your spell is more likely to simply not work than to actually injure you upon failure. Correct me if I'm wrong, Fandral."

Fandral waved a hand dismissively before giving Argus a thumbs-up, affirming that he was correct. Argus continued.

"For Pyromancy, backfired spells can kill you. It's what makes the magic high-risk. But you've seen its power first-hand, have you not?"

Fahlnem nodded.

"That's why you should use focuses. Fandral should too, but he trusts his mastery of Nature magic."

Fandral gave another thumbs-up.