"When you stand at the peak of the world," the Keeper whispered somberly, "you see everything, yet nothing." He paused, eyes sliding across the scenery. "Like staring down into a swarming ant hill. Each individual has a role, a life, a story, but all you see are ants."

For a moment, his entire countenance seemed to sag with the weight of millennia. A hundred lifetimes of practiced apathy could not hide the weariness in his posture, nor the helplessness in his words. Yet still, he brightened.

"But that's not the truth of things," the blind man said, conviction lacing his voice. "It's merely an illusion, spawned from the mind of an old man. There is no truth in it. All it takes to correct it, is a shift in perspective."

Cloudy eyes seemed to brighten into a sharp silver.

"Look now, Nicos. See what I see." He stepped forwards, spreading his arms to encompass the vastness of the landscape. "A flourishing civilization, flawed, imperfect, and beautiful." Cities glittered in the sunlight, nothing more than tiny, bright spots against the field of green and brown.

"And there, at its center!" The Keeper pointed towards a glittering crystalline structure, towering above the tree-line. Its multifaceted surface shimmered in the sunlight, making it look like a gemstone egg nestled in the forest's bosom.

"Dul Raeldor," the blind man proclaimed, "the shining city of splendor. Crown jewel of the Fertile Lands." A soft smile graced his face. "My home, once, a very long time ago."

"It went by a different name, then," Eurya added, "and a different title. It was smaller, too."

"And less gaudy," the Keeper admitted. He nodded at the odd material surrounding the city. It was too distant for Nicos make out any detail other than it being blindingly reflective. "They claim that the city's walls are carved out of a fragment of Selene, gifted to the founder by the Lonely Goddess herself." He rolled his eyes. "Those walls are old, but not that old. But it's a useful myth, and helps the city maintain its status as the leader of the Fertile Lands."

"They rule the kingdom, then?" Nicos asked curiously. Athun was, nominally at least, a kingdom of rival city-states. The kingdom's namesake lay at the center of the sprawling western continent, and it was there that the All-Kings gathered to rub their various achievements into each others faces. It was the only form of governance the boy had ever experienced, and thus, to his mind, the default.

The Keeper shook his head in denial. "The Fertile Lands are not ruled by any one person, nor does authority lie in any one place. Each city's laws are decided by a governing council of elders, whose members are collectively voted in by the citizens of the city." He paused for a moment, allowing that bewildering statement to sink in, before adding, "And they change every ten years."

Nicos blinked. "That sounds insane." What would a merchant know about ruling? What did a warrior, like Nicos? Not a thing. Leave that for those born to it.

Eurya snorted beside him, indicating her own agreement, but the Keeper was more sanguine in his acceptance.

"It's not so bad, really," he said. "The citizens cast their votes based on a series of speeches from their prospective council members. Pressure, or a regional variant of it, is used to convey the heart of each candidate. The people voting do not necessarily need to know the details of rulership, merely the conviction of those they elect."

"Conviction is not competence," the boy pointed out.

"No," the Keeper acknowledged, "but few find themselves in that position without some level of competence. From themselves, or those they trust. After that, honest desire to do the job well is usually enough." He shrugged. "Its worked well enough so far. I will admit, however, that Athun is historically more stable." He gave Nicos a meaningful look. "Though not without its own sacrifices."

Nicos held back a flinch at the reminder of what, exactly, he was defending. The All-King had ordered his father's death, and here he was, arguing in favor of the man. Or, at least, the man's theoretical existence. Nicos doubted he would ever be truly free of the dark, overbearing influence that had once ruled his worldview. It was a subtle, malignant thing; a stain that could never be scrubbed away.

Once again, he resolved himself to keeping an open mind about matters of which he knew nothing.

"So, Dul Raeldor," he said with bright cheer, chasing away his slight melancholy. "Is that our next destination?"

"Gods, no," Eurya replied immediately. "I cannot stand that place. It used to be fun, filled with taverns and dice dens and whorehouses. Now its just uptight politicians and prissy snobs."

"I don't know what most of those words mean," Nicos admitted frankly.

The Seraptis waved her hand in a dismissive fashion. "It's changed, is all. I avoid it like the plague."

"Were you born there as well, teacher?" Nicos asked curiously.

She paused at the question, giving him a brief, indecipherable look. After a moment, she said, "No, Nicos. I was born as far east as east goes, to a group of Seraptis that called themselves the First Tribe." She snorted. "It was an arrogant name, for a poor and destitute people. It is unlikely we will ever visit the lands they once roamed."

"You were nomads?" Nicos asked, his mind flitting back to the Naru.

Eurya shrugged. Her voice was distant, and her eyes lost in reminiscence. "Scavengers, more like. For a time. They were weak and helpless, prey to every living thing that roamed those grassy plains. The tribe latched on to the strongest benefactor they could find, no matter the cost, and never once looked back."

"A benefactor?" the boy repeated.

"Quite," Eurya replied shortly. "A being that could feed us, shelter us, keep us safe, in exchange for service."

"I see," Nicos replied, even though he didn't.

His teacher simply smiled at him, and ruffled his hair. "No, you don't. And with any luck, you never will."

The affectionate gesture bolstered the boy's courage, and he asked, "What happened to it? The benefactor? And your people? Are the First Tribe still roaming, somewhere?"

"They roam the world still, in a manner of speaking," Eurya replied, intentionally vague. "As for our benefactor..." She smiled then, something genuine and savage. "I planted a dagger in its heart, and it died like everything else."

The silence spoke volumes, as the ancient Seraptis smiled nostalgically. She turned away, then, gazing into the distance. The subject was dropped without another word, as she pointed at the titanic mountain, overshadowing the horizon. "That is our final destination: Mount Morag. But first..." Her hand dipped slightly, and Nicos squinted into the distance. A good distance before the mountain, yet barely visible in the darkness cast by its shadow, a long strip of yellow and green.

"The Hag's Haven." She gave him a toothy grin. "There lives Micaela, who taught casting to that one." She dipped her head to the Keeper.

Nicos whirled around, eyes wide. Another immortal? The teacher of his teacher! His heart raced in excitement, and blood rushed to his ears.

Then, a horrible thought.

"Have you given up on teaching me?" he asked tentatively, trying his best to hide the sudden burst of anxiety. He had thought he was doing rather well, but his progress must seem glacial to someone as skilled as the Keeper.

The blind man merely laughed, and mirrored his companions action, rustling the boy's hair. "Nonsense, Nicos, you are our student."

"She's shit at the blade, besides," Eurya added disdainfully.

That was oddly reassuring. "Then, why?"

"You are advancing quickly," the Keeper praised. "I suspect you'll be competent at casting water, at least, by the time we find Micaela. You've had less exposure to the rest, but they will come in time. What you really need assistance with, and what I am decidedly lacking in, is honing your family's technique. Or, the variation you created, when you resonated with Eurya's Memory."

Nicos furrowed his brow and looked to Eurya. "Teacher, you said it was just a type of resonance."

"An incredibly advanced form," Eurya corrected, "and dependent on a specific mindset. You were taught to see your family as an extension of you. Much like the Naru are taught to perceive the desert, the training you went through at a young age has forever shaped the way you view your own Memory."

"Micaela's mind is," the Keeper paused for a beat, searching for the right word, "flexible. She has taught hundreds, perhaps thousands, of students. She is an expert at adjusting her own mind to suit her student. She can help you with your more esoteric needs."

"I've had no difficulty with your teachings," the boy offered.

He was graced with a small smile from the blind man. "The basics of casting, anyone can teach. It is where you diverge from the trodden path, that you must find specialized help. Micaela will get you started, but you'll walk the path alone." His face was serious. "Learn this lesson well, Nicos. A teacher, no matter how skilled or powerful, can only take you so far. The rest depends on you. Your path will always be your own."