Fel gingerly pulled the rune inscribed parchment from Isabelle's hands and unrolled it in front of himself.

"And you just have a dozen of these in your room back there?"

She nodded happily, a contrast to Fel's befuddled frown.

"Sure do! The guild likes us to keep us stocked since we're one of the nearest way-stations up until the town."

He nodded and flipped the parchment over. "Kind of them." The runes on the back were of the basic design; it would record names and mana-signatures, then transport itself back to a predefined location for offsite record-keeping.

"They're pretty good about it too; haven't run out yet! Though there was one time with a real heavy storm. We had a bunch of merchant wagons come in and nearly didn't have enough on hand to record all their stays."

Fel flipped the parchment again to look at the front, biting at the side of his lip. "Mhm, that'd be bad." It was largely blank, with empty lines at spaced intervals, and two large boxes at the bottom labeled as 'for the proprietor' and 'for the tenant'.

Isabelle leaned forwards. "Hey, are you-"

Breaking off from reading the top of the form, Fel refocused on Isabelle's words. "I'm sorry, did you say you were a way-station for the messenger's guild?"

Cutting herself short, she gave a slow nod. "Yes?" Isabelle pointed towards the front door. "There's a sign off the main road- we're the last one before you hit the town. I'm surprised you didn't see it."

"I hadn't." Fel settled down in his chair, his shoulders un-bunching. "That's rather relieving to hear. Though, ah, I'm not affiliated. Will that be an issue?" He waved the parchment around distractedly.

Isabelle gave a half-hearted shrug. "The guild doesn't like it when we write one up for non-members, but it's not not allowed. Besides, I need a mage. Worst case- they'll make me pay for the contract that replaces this one."

There was a creaking across the table from Fel, and both he and Isabelle looked up. Charles was rising from his chair. The man nodded at the two of them, yawning as he did so.

Fel had forgotten he was there.

"That all sounds great, but you two seem like you'll be busy for a while, and I don't believe I'm needed. Gonna' find something productive to do. Say, in the kitchen."

"Oh! Wait!" Isabelle stopped him as he began to wander off. The young woman's eyes were wide, and she fidgeted, seemingly anxious. "What's for dinner?"

Charles snorted out a laugh.

"Chicken. Two, maybe three hours."

He was given two thumbs up- both from Isabelle. "Sounds great! Thanks, Charles!"

She turned back to Fel. "Ok, so, do you want to write all this, or should I?'

Fel ended up offering to write the agreement, if only so that he could see his [Steady Hands] Skill at work.

Ultimately, the Skill markedly changed his calligraphy, in that it altered his lettering style to be quite uniform, but did little else. It was an expected result, given that his profession already revolved so much around properly handling chalk and quill. Pleasantly useful in that it was easier to avoid smudging or blotting his script, however.

"And you're not concerned about acting as a messenger's way-station? Being a-" Fel gestured at Isabelle with his free hand as he finished. "-a high-value package runner, I'd have thought you'd be more concerned about attacks."

He dotted the final punctuation on the line and sat back with a satisfied sigh. It hadn't been much to write, a small summary that amounted to 'Fel will do magic-based work for food, living space, a mana-potion, and transportation'. They had, however, chatted throughout the process, greatly extending the writing time.

Absently, Fel began waving at the top of the parchment with his hands, working to dry the ink.

Isabelle gave him a strange look; she tilted her head and furrowed her brow, but kept a small smile on her face.

"I've gotten a few overly inquisitive visitors before, sure. There are always people who want to find out what my next delivery is. Sometimes I even get sent a warning from some group that doesn't want me to deliver a specific item. But attacks? Um, no. I'm not that important."

The parchment was pulled towards her, and ignoring Fel's protests about undried lettering, she scribbled a quick signature inside the proprietor box.

"They want the packages, and I just deliver the things. Going after me when I'm not on the job would only mean that another messenger gets to do my runs and that the attacker doesn't get anything for their efforts."

She shrugged and slid the quill they were using back into its inkwell.

"There's not a point to it."

"Hm." Fel gave her a forceless glare and grabbed back the paper, blowing on it to dry the ink that made up Isabelle's name.

Isabelle... Walkner?

Fel snickered, waving off Isabelle's suspicious stare.

He wasn't sure that he'd be so careless about his safety if he were in her position. People weren't so logical about what they did that he'd risk himself on the fact that there was 'nothing to gain'. Her stance seemed... inordinately trusting.

On the other hand, he was not, perhaps, the most appropriate person to speak on the topic of risk. Ritualism was still ritualism, no matter how structured the environment.

Still grinning to himself, Fel picked the feather out from the inkwell and signed his name.

Noah... Fel...

The parchment flashed blue, runes inscribed on the material's back shining up through the page. The sheet popped out of existence, reappearing -presumably- back in the messenger guild's headquarters.

"Ach!"

Fel dropped the quill, causing Isabelle to leap backward to avoid a splattering of ink.

She laughed at him as he rubbed the spots from his eyes. "Don't look at it when it goes off! Haven't you ever signed one before?"

He had, of course, signed contracts before. And with his experience in the magic teaching profession, Fel considered it likely that he'd signed more than her by a distinctly large margin. The problem was that the contracts he signed didn't usually expel half their mana-charge as waste lighting.

"Gods," Fel checked his robe for stains, "what kind of fool overcharges a mana contract, of all things? It's not going to do anything more for their efforts."

Isabelle gave an expansive shrug, throwing her arms to the side in indifference.

"No idea! The guild makes new batches in the capital, then sends them out across the country. It's a pretty great show for when people sign one, though!"

Fel frowned, a bit slighted by her combined amusement and lack of warning.

At least she'd answer his question, in a round-about sort of way. If it was mass-production, they likely just saturated a room with mana and tossed a stack of the papers in during their forming stage. Terribly inefficient, but admittedly quite easy.

Bouncing up from her seat, Isabelle prodded Fel with an outstretched finger.

"Alright, Mister Noah. Let's charge that glove!"

He stared at her flatly.

"Don't call me that."

"Ah... I-" She backtracked over her words. "-Mister Fel then? Does that work?"

"Just Fel please, feel free to skip the honorifics."

There was a moment of silence, in which both of them were shifting in their seats, where they found something interesting in the opposite corners of the room.

Fel coughed into his hand.

"Sorry, it's a personal matter. Let's do that glove real quick."

He took the glove off the table in front of him and held it palm up in his hands. Aligning his thumbs opposite of each other around the mana-input, he looked up.

"I'll need relative silence for this. It's not too hard, but being distracted would mean breaking the glove."

Warning given, Fel began focusing on drawing a thread of mana out from his left-hand's thumb. Carefully, he drew the mana through the input in the glove. He modulated the amount that flowed, starting slow and ramping up the current. As the glove recovered from its dry-spell, it became more receptive to the mana that he was pushing into it.

He watched his mana pool as it fell from 96% to 92%.

85%... 81%... 74%.

As he neared the end of what he estimated the glove could hold, Fel folded the thread of mana over itself in the input and fed it into his right-side digit. The last step wasn't fully necessary, and it was entirely possible to simply push the object full of mana without returning the mana to the body. Fel, however, was under a mana-crunch. Doing it in this way would allow him to catch and reuse the mana that the glove failed to absorb- a not-insignificant amount.

At 71% of Fel's mana remaining, the glove's input overflowed, reaching its maximum capacity. Making sure not to immediately snap off the thread - an action often the cause of damage to a young mage's gear - he thinned the amount of mana he was putting in down to a trickle before shutting it off.

Fel gave a pleased huff.

Well maintained- excellent. Always a pleasure to work with people who care for their tools.

Handing the glove over to a silent and unmoving Isabelle, he grinned.

"You're good now. It's charged to capacity and the runework felt fine. Should be usable, though I'd suggest a trial run before its next planned use."

Clapping her hands together, Isabelle's mouth split into a wide grin. She shook herself from her stupor.

"Phew! Thanks, Fel! I'm going to go take a nap or something, but if you need help finding stuff Charles should be free. Okay, bye!

She bounded out of the room, the dispelling-glove flopping lightly in hands raised over her head.

"Woo-hooo!"

Fel watched her leave, throwing herself into one of the hallway's side rooms and slamming shut the door.

If she's taking a nap, I'm a half-grown Meeler.

He pulled his glasses off his head, cleaning the single lens with the hem of his robe.

Letting out a puff of air, Fel stood to head into the kitchen.

Not much longer until Charles' dinner. Maybe I can help set plates.

The meal was roast chicken, bread, and vegetable stew.

It was simple but quite good. A fact that Fel attested to Charles, rather than any notability of the ingredients. The man admitted to having the [Cook] Class when asked. Not the level, but just that he had it.

Fel didn't push; it wasn't unusual for people to dislike sharing their Class levels.

Isabelle never showed up. Sharp yells, and the crack of wood on wood occasionally echoed out from her room in the hallway, but Charles didn't seem to find it unusual. He waved off Fel's concern and set the food outside the young woman's door.

She would, Charles told him, "quiet down and eat when she gets hungry."

The two didn't talk much otherwise, with Charles' movements becoming more sluggish as the dinner wore on. Fel couldn't fault him; he felt the same weight of the day falling over him like a heavy cloak.

Neither did they clear the dishes, being nowhere near awake enough to attempt such a feat.

Instead, Charles showed Fel to his room, the two of them trudging their way down the hallway.

Fel opened the door to a small but well-kept space, with a long bed, nightstand, and shuttered window across the far wall. To the left of the door was a writing desk with an inkwell, quill, and chair.

Nice enough place to sleep.

Taking a step inside, Fel turned back around at a tap on his shoulder. He swayed.

Charles gave a long, slow blink, and yawned.

"Sorry. Long day and I didn't get my usual nap in. Not that I blame you for it. It's just..."

The man stopped and tapped at the side of his head, shaking it around and giving another couple of long blinks.

"...Anyways. Thought I'd give you a heads up- I keep to the early hours, and the house doesn't do well with sound. I'd suggest heading to sleep soon if you want a full night's rest."

He chewed on his words for another moment.

"Yeah, that's all. See you in the morning."

Fel gave the man a wave as he walked off, closing the door behind him.

"Thanks, I'll do that. Have a good night, Charles."

The door closed, and Fel bumped against it, leaning into the wood and giving a drawn-out sigh.

A long day indeed.

The room was dark, with only slivers of silvery light shining out from the slats that covered the window.

It was late, and for all that Fel could work the combined days and nights often demanded of him, today he was exhausted. The beating sun, the walk through the grain field, and constant talking thereafter had left him wrung out and empty.

Flopping face-first into the bed in front of him, Fel felt the problems of the day, the ones he couldn't solve, wash over him.

He pulled his glasses off and dropped them onto the bedside table.

There was still so much to do. So, so very much to do, and yet, no ability to do any of it.

He wiggled his face deeper into a pillow beneath him, pulling a second one over the back of his head.

He just needed to wait.

He'd get to the town in a few days and start figuring things out. Send a message to the Collegium, get in contact with his sister, and figure out what had happened to his Class. As soon as could.

Just a few more days.

Fel gave a short sigh. Picking his head up, he placed both of the cushions back beneath him and turned to face the opposite side of the room.

He stopped short of closing his eyes, his sleepy-eyed gaze drawn to the dark outline of the door.

He'd seen it on the way into the room. It was, after all, a door.

It was wooden, as most doors were, with a circular knocker and brass hinges that opened inwards. Well made, as far as Fel paid attention to doors, and the bound, slatted wood was smooth and dark grained- made of some tree he likely didn't know the name of.

If pressed, Fel might say that it was a nice door.

No lock though.

Fel rubbed at his head. He'd talked with Isabelle and chatted with Charles. They'd seemed nice enough, for all of Isabelle's hyperactive eccentricities and Charles' apparent exhaustion.

Did he trust them though?

That was a different line of thought entirely.

So he sat up in bed, pulled the covers back into place behind him, and stood.

Trust, but verify.

The thought made Fel pause.

Or trust but be wary? Not really much I could do to verify...

He shook the stray thoughts from his mind. Just a small precaution or two was all he needed. Nothing big, merely something for his peace of mind.

Leaning over to the bedside table, Fel lit the candle. A fraction of a percent of his mana; negligible, yet still irresponsible for as long as he couldn't regenerate it. He couldn't bring himself to care. It was convenient, and he was tired.

Fel walked to the writing desk across the room and grabbed the chair that sat in front of it. Lifting carefully, painfully conscious of noise he was making with each step, he lugged it over to the door.

The chair hit the ground with a heavy 'thump'.

Fel winced.

Yeah, well, that'll probably do it.

He slumped.

What a day, what a day.

Crawling his way back into bed, Fel blew out the bedside candle again, and the room fell into darkness around him. He pulled the covers up to his chin and stared upwards at the pitch-black ceiling of a stranger's home.

Fel blinked to himself in the darkness.

He took a long, shaky breath.

He closed his eyes.

And he let sleep take him.

Maybe he'd wake up from it all, in the morning.