The Arcane Tide leading up to the winter solstice was a miraculous event. Spanning the course of an entire week, the atmosphere was flushed with an especially dense and pure surge of arcane energy. Like a cool beverage on a hot summer’s day, it provided a welcome reprieve for the denizens of the Terram Vagari. A short period during which people could shed the bleak veil of winter and revel in life and the burgeoning anticipation of a new year.

Such a miraculous occasion should have been a cause for celebration. And for many, that was truly the case.

But those people were considered fools — persons of low status who were ignorant to the Tide’s true purpose.

In the great suzerainty of the Draimor Empire that extended into the northern reaches, the tradition was far different for any with relation to a Magus.

For those who sought to unravel the mysteries of the arcane, the Tide was a period of isolation and reflection. A time to consolidate their year’s worth of efforts and better themselves — making breakthroughs in their cultivation and understanding.

Thus, as the Arcane Tide rolled over the Marwood estate, all was quiet. Stroud wished it could stay this way forever, but fate was never so patient. And neither were teenage girls...

“Damnit—!” Stroud’s breath was visible as he huffed out a low curse while pulling on his tall leather boots. He hated the things. They were thick and ugly, and quite ungainly to walk in. But lamentably, he couldn’t avoid wearing them any longer as he would need their protection against the snow.

Over the past week-and-a-half since his affinity reading, it had continued to accumulate in periodic flurries, nearly reaching up to his knees at its current height. It made traveling back and forth between the manor house and the servants quarters difficult, and the constant chill seeping through the dark stone walls was even more irksome. Though, despite the snow's many inconveniences, the heavy white blanket covering the land had yielded him many benefits to compensate.

For one, Stroud’s daily tasks were cut down significantly as everyone hunkered down to ride out the Tide and poor weather. This freed up a lot of extra time to work on excavating his Spirit Locus, which he thoroughly enjoyed. There was something very calming yet invigorating about clearing the fog from his mind, like the first sip of a hot cup of coffee.

The accumulation was also a very steady process. Akin to working out the body in many ways. It required diligence and effort, leaving him exhausted afterward. But Stroud could feel the progress in a tangible way — making it all the more addicting.

His five senses grew sharper and his memory improved. There was no longer a need to take as diligent notes during his reading, and the subtle headaches he would endure after spending long hours studying history or literature were no longer as impairing. Overall, it just significantly improved his quality of life. And what was there not to enjoy about that?

‘It should only be another few days before I can make headway into imprinting the sigil Celina passed me…’ Stroud mused as he stood up and tromped over to hooks on his wall where he hung his cloak and a knit cap.

He had no idea if his progress could be considered quick, but Maeve’s birthday had finally arrived, so he would soon have someone to compare against.

There wouldn’t be any grand feast or celebration for the occasion due to the weather and disappointing summer harvest, but Stroud had promised to accompany her into Ebbinside after her own affinity reading in the morning. And now, it was just about time for them to meet up.

Stroud finished getting dressed and waited for a few moments in front of his door, allowing his body to warm up beneath the layers of clothing as he steeled his mind for the barrage of chatter that was sure to come his way.

***

“Stroud! There you are!” Maeve waved to him from her seat on the low wall that surrounded the frozen ebonstone fountain in front of the manor. Already waiting next to her was the family carriage drawn by a sturdy dramoth. The large, hairy beast nuzzled its long snout into a snowbank as it snorted impatiently.

“Good morning, Miss Marwood. I apologize for my tardiness,” Stroud called out, bowing from afar.

Maeve hopped to her feet and trotted over to him; her fur-trimmed cloak rippled in the wind, revealing the bright red dress she wore underneath. Even from afar, he could see her hazel eyes sparkling with glee.

“It's okay! The meeting with my father and Landon went faster than I anticipated,” she replied as they met halfway. “Can I help you carry anything?”

“I’m all right.” Stroud shook his head as he shrugged the large pack hanging over his shoulder into a more comfortable position. They would only be going out for an afternoon trip, but Chef Oren had insisted on packing supplies that could last them days.

Maeve fell into step behind him as he continued over to the carriage to unload. She appeared intent on speaking, fidgeting with the bronze brooch pinned on her chest that depicted a lone, stalwart oak. But it was just as clear that she didn’t know how to approach the topic she had in mind.

“Is there something bothering you, Miss?” Stroud took pity on her and asked.

The girl let out an exasperated sigh, reducing her speed and widening the gap between them. “Well… aren’t you interested to know how it went?”

“Of course I am.” Stroud chuckled as he continued forward, unabated. “But it would be rude of me to pry into your personal affairs.”

Maeve abruptly dashed out in front and held up a hand for him to stop.

“I give you permission to launch an inquiry, Sir Stroud,” she declared in an excessively formal manner. Her hands rested on her hips, and the playful inclination of her chin exuded pride.

Stroud would be remiss if he didn’t oblige. “I am interested to hear the results of your reading, Miss Marwood.”

“I’m glad you ask.” Maeve spun around on her heels and marched toward the carriage as her voice drifted over her shoulder, “The outcome was favorable. My Sanctus affinity was well above average, and I retained the Marwood compatibility with the wood element. I think it may even be possible for me to inherit my father’s title instead of my elder brother should I take well to the family’s aeditari method.”

“It’s only natural, given that the young Madam is so talented.” Stroud acknowledged. He knew that Maeve didn’t get along well with her brother. In fact, no one at the manor really did — so he wasn’t thrown off by her overt intent to snatch the fiefdom.

The Baron’s wife had spoiled the eldest rotten, resulting in a ‘lazy and incompetent’ young man as Celina had once so bluntly described him to Stroud.

Personally, he had nothing against Lord Samm Marwood. Though that was in large part due to their lack of more than a passing meeting. For the past five years, Samm had been attending the small Arcanium for hopeful Magi in the nearby town of Magend, ruled by Viscount Berg.

Generally, the students would spend nearly the entirety of the year there. Studying and cultivating until they advanced beyond the apprentice ranks. As a result, Samm rarely came back to visit and was rather reclusive when he did.

“Hah—!” Maeve snorted as Stroud slung his hefty bag into the backseat of the carriage. “I know it's still nothing compared to you!”

“Oh? And what do you know about that?” Stroud quirked an eyebrow.

“Everything. That old crone, Maud, isn’t the only one capable of gathering information around here…” Maeve crossed her arms in front of her chest, leaning back slightly as her lungs swelled. “Do you hate me even more now?” she blurted out.

“Miss… I thought we already established that I bear you no ill will. Now, will you please board the carriage so that we can set off?” Stroud was desperately searching for a way to steer the conversation away from this topic. No matter how often and vehemently he had ensured her since the accident, she still seemed to dwell on the matter often.

Maeve dug her boots deep into the snow. Her answering glare was resolute. “No. I’m not budging until you give me an answer. Why aren’t you more upset?”

Stroud shrugged helplessly. “I was angry. For a time. Angry at that man, angry at the injustice… However, the past can’t be changed. We can only strive to do our best as we move forward.”

“That sounds like Celina talking,” Maeve grumbled. She hung her head briefly before perking up. Her next words came tumbling out in a flurry, “My father’s working hard, you know? He’s going to be attempting to complete his next major Cycle and breakthrough to the 2nd Order before the Winter Solstice. Even if he’s still unable to heal you, he’s already looking for those who can—”

“Then I’ll be hoping for his success,” Stroud replied as he opened the carriage door and gestured for her to climb inside.

“As am I…” Maeve muttered as she approached with dragging steps. Stroud accepted her proffered hand and helped her aboard. But as she disappeared inside, a faint whisper brushed past his ear.

“...I’ll be working hard too…”

Stroud nodded, smiling faintly as he climbed up to the driver’s bench.

With a sharp whistle, he cracked the reigns, spurring the dramoth into motion.

***

Listening to the soft crunch of the carriage’s wheels as they plowed through the snow, Stroud wrapped his cloak tighter around his body. He wasn’t freezing, but it was just cold enough to make him uncomfortable.

Briefly, he glanced at the dramoth wading steadily through the white expanse before allowing his eyes to wander back toward the town of Ebbinside in the distance.

Calling it a town was generous, in his opinion. There were none of the walls or centers for religion or governing that would typically classify it as such.

Instead, it consisted primarily of dense clusters of quaint wood cabins. They huddled together closely — as if to shield one another from the wind constantly shrieking through the mountain valley. And how it howled today. The clouds of smoke drifting up through the chimneys were swiftly whisked away by the violent gusts to disperse into the clear blue sky.

Stroud inhaled a long breath through his nose, savoring the fragrance of the burning pine. Even without the flickering light of the fireplace in front of him, just the smell alone was able to reassure him, providing comfort and warmth.

At that instant, his only wish was to be able to thaw his hands by the flames...

“Stupid beast,” Stroud cursed under his breath. He similarly wished to curse the name of the man who had the brilliant idea of turning dramoths into pack animals.

Progress through the Baron’s lands had been slow. Due mostly in part to the fact that the pace of the dramoth pulling them had never surpassed walking speed. It’s wide and heavy body certainly wasn’t designed for speed, but the creature had proved obstinate to an extreme. No matter how he urged or prodded, it couldn’t be bothered to move any faster.

Stroud knew that dramoths were popular cattle in the northern reaches — when they were well contained. Their thick fur was useful for clothing, and their bodies contained large quantities of meat. The sharp, steel-like tusks of the males were also considered valuable for their use as tools.

‘But who suddenly thought this was a good idea,’ Stroud glared at the mound of brownish-grey hair.

In more favorable traveling conditions, he could make it to Ebbinside by horse in less time then it took to eat a formal meal. It was a relatively straight path from the manor at the mouth of the valley, to the northwest — where the stretch of upward sloping land met its end at the base of the behemoth Mount Vennear. A number of times Stroud had made the trip out here as part of his riding practice, and to run errands for Celina. It wasn’t uncommon for the estate to exchange much of their produce for the firewood, pelts, and meat foraged by the hunters living in the area.

“Stroud? Are we almost there?” Maeve unlatched the carriage window and called out. All she could see from inside the vehicle were the towering mountains to their left and right, and the dense pinewood forests crawling up them. However, it seemed that the faint vibrations of music and celebration in the distance had roused her from whatever meditation she was engaged in.

“We’ll be coming upon it shortly, Miss,” Stroud replied. He snapped the reins to urge the beast to push itself just a little harder up the final length, but all he received in reply was an irritated swish of its whisk-like tail.

The remaining minutes of the journey passed sluggishly as the sun began to descend from its zenith, and Stroud began to wonder how worthwhile this trip really was. Though, it was a little too late for that, he supposed. Still, it was unfortunate that they wouldn’t have more than an hour or two to shop and partake in the festivities before having to return.

But in the end, it only mattered that Maeve was happy with the arrangements. The inconvenience was a small price to pay if this trip quelled her desire for any sort of grand birthday gala as the Baron likely hoped...

“Oi! Is that you, Stroud?” A young man in his late teens shouted from the town’s edge. His spirited greeting carried clearly over.

At his side was an older man with broad shoulders and thick arms. With the sun at their backs, any more of their features were too difficult to make out. They appeared as no more than dark silhouettes as the rays of light diffracted around their robust frames.

Despite that, Stroud recognized them immediately. He tilted back the lip of his cap as he called back, “Indeed it is. To what do I owe the honor of receiving the greetings of the great warrior, Hastyr?”

“Must you always spew those fancy words—” Hastyr’s rebuke transformed into a pained yelp as his father smacked the back of his head.

“It’s good to see you again, Stroud.” The Ebbinside Chief’s deep voice rumbled through the air. “What brings you and your Liege here today?”

Stroud cringed inwardly at the man’s pointed mention of his vassalage, but he didn’t allow his dissatisfaction to show on his face as he shook his head. “Miss Marwood and I have only come to observe the preparations for the Solstice Rites and engage in some trade. We will be leaving before it grows dark.” When speaking with the Chief, he’d learned that it was best to state his intentions concisely and bluntly.

These townspeople were rough and hardy folk — having settled in the area and hunted in the mountains long before the land was designated as the Marwood fiefdom. As a result of their pride and long-standing independence, they refused to pay tribute to the Baron, and it had become somewhat of a sore point for all the parties involved.

However, they bore no ill will against those who visited with a full purse. It was the same in this world as his last. As long as one was flush with money or valuable goods, they would be well received wherever they went.

Stroud eased the dramoth to a stop in front of the Chief and stepped down to assist his charge out of the carriage.

“Well met, Chief Brynyng.” Maeve spoke lucidly as she hopped down into the tracts of snow. “I do not wish to impose upon your people. Truthfully, I am only here to satisfy my own curiosity and nothing more.”

“That is no trouble at all, young lady.”

“Yea! I’d be happy to show you around!” Hastyr hurriedly offered his services, his icy blue eyes lighting up as he gazed at Maeve.

“Then we’ll be in your care.” Maeve only complied after receiving a nod of approval from Stroud.

He agreed because his impression of Hastyr was a favorable one. The chief’s son was one of the few who proactively came to speak with Stroud whenever he visited, and he didn’t bear the same petty grudge against the Marwood’s that the older generation of Ebbinside did. Moreover, he couldn’t be blamed for his eagerness. Maeve was certainly a budding beauty and Hastyr was a hot-blooded youth who had spent his whole life in this isolated community.

Hence, Stroud felt at ease as he passed off the carriage to a stablehand that had rushed over. He followed dutifully behind as they were led into the streets of densely packed snow.

By all appearances, Ebbinside seemed to be a popular gathering point for some of the smaller communities and villages living deeper within the mountain range. And the result was quite a lively time.

There were colorful banners strewn between the buildings and all manner of bizarre games and musical scores being played at the street corners. The people wore thick furs and danced and sang raucously. It was all very... wild.

Stroud swallowed his misgivings. Or at least, he tried his best not to let his discomfort show on his face. Loud and dense gatherings of people had always unsettled him.

Images of the rowdy crowds bidding merrily at the slaves auctions flashed unbidden through his mind...

In time, they moved deeper into the residential areas, and it was here that they met with many hunters who took to the tradition of displaying their most prized trophy of the year on their front doors. Whether it be skulls, pelts, claws, or horns, pretty much anything could be found about. Moved by some of the pieces, Maeve quickly adopted an interest in asking about the origins of many of these bizarre items.

Naturally, the hunters gladly regaled her with their valiant tales of conquest.

Having Hastyr around proved useful as well. He was an animated host, gesturing to this and that, and he politely introduced the Marwood heir to those who were curious. For her part, Maeve was rather quiet. She bought a few baubles from the abundance of booths set up by craftsmen and tried one or two of the local dishes, but there was a trace of disappointment lingering behind her pleasant smiles. Nothing seemed to truly strike her fancy.

“Lady Maeve, have you seen anything that’s caught your eye?” Hastyr eventually asked, looking a bit flustered as they stopped for some food and drink. “I would be willing to negotiate on your behalf. Just say the word,” he added, placing an arm across his chest in a knightly salute.

Maeve giggled into her hand before stopping to seriously consider the question. In the ensuing lull, the low buzz of conservation and vendors hawking their wares washed over them.

“...I’m looking for a gift for my father,” she began, pausing to chomp on some of the mixed nuts Stroud had distributed. “Something of arcane origins preferably. But I understand that such items are rare and often coveted by their finders.”

Hastyr tapped his foot as he sunk into thought, and Stroud found his interest was piqued as well.

“Hmmm... most of the potent herbs any of the hunters find are immediately bought by the old witch Gau to brew her medicines…” It took a few moments, but eventually, something dawned on the older boy. He stomped his foot as he exclaimed, “Wait, I know just the thing!”

Maeve startled, looking from Hastyr over to Stroud. “This sounds like quite the spectacular item?”

“It most surely is!” Hastyr declared. “I can’t believe it slipped my mind before… Follow me!”

He wasted no time rushing off toward the town square, and Stroud found himself nearly sprinting alongside Maeve to keep up with the young man. It was an area they’d avoided for the most part previously; the reason for this becoming abundantly clear as they arrived.

Many of the townsfolk sat hunched over on their knees, silently engaging in prayer. Their worship was directed to a large totem that had been erected in the center of the small plaza. It was thick, like the trunk of a tree, and covered in intricate carvings from head to toe. Most of which depicted a woman clad in scant furs engaged in the various stages of the hunt.

“What… is that…?” Maeve asked quietly, between her ragged breaths when Hastyr had finally slowed enough for them to catch up.

“It is our tribute to Rennlaudr, the guardian spirit of Mount Vennear,” Hastyr explained, his expression unusually solemn. “During the Solstice, she makes her return to the mortal plane, gracing all life in the northern reaches with her abundance. Those trophies you saw earlier will be sacrificed to her during the ritual in a few days — in hopes that their bearer may receive just a little more of her favor in the coming year.”

Stroud processed the boy’s words in silence, tuning out Maeve as she followed up with a few questions.

He was genuinely interested in observing the sacrifices. Myths like this were often rooted in some sort of truth, so there was a chance that he would be able to catch a glimpse of the supernatural. It was a tempting prospect for him who was hungry to expand his knowledge and experiences.

“Stroud, hurry up!” Maeve beckoned as she circled around the crowd behind Hastyr.

‘This will have to be our last stop,’ Stroud sighed as he looked up at the setting sun.

In short order, they arrived behind a small crowd in the corner of the square. A very lively bunch, unlike those gathered around the totem. Their bodies were drenched in the heavy scent of ale, and they jeered at Hastyr as he pushed his way through to clear a path for Maeve.

“The great warrior!” a burly man with his hair tied back in a braid teased, smacking Hastyr on the back as he passed. “Here to poach another of our trophies to make yourself look good for the sacrifice?”

Hastyr’s face flushed red as he visibly fought down a retort. “I’m here to assist Lady Maeve in her search for valuables, Udrin. And I believe your team to be the only group capable of satisfying her requests.”

The man’s smile broadened as he caught sight of Maeve, gold coins practically dancing in his eyes. “Of course! We would be more than willing to show the lady some of our... excess offerings. Don’t shy away yourself, Hastyr, if anything catches your interest.”

Udrin stepped to the side, revealing a hawk-nosed man, with a long scar slicing across one cheek, sitting behind a low table. He folded his hands in his lap as he met Maeve’s gaze. “You are looking for materials carrying traces of spiritual remnants, I presume?”

“If you are referring to items containing arcane energy, then yes.” Maeve confidently replied.

The hunter shrugged off her retort and reached into a sack behind him, procuring three items which he then laid across the table.

“Take your time to look them over, but be warned, the cheapest among them will be 7 of your gold Mors…”

Maeve flinched at that price. But that was the luxury of having a monopoly out here, Stroud knew. He was in no way capable of purchasing something like this himself — even if he saved his entire salary for the next few years. Still, he wouldn’t shy away from browsing while the Miss made her decision.

Starting from the left was a set of dark, sinister claws, strung from a twine necklace. They exuded a coldness and sense of imminent dread that was very similar to the resonance gem of the Malignant Discipline Stroud had encountered not long ago.

Unfortunately, that made them ill-suited for Maeve or her father who were favored of light Arcana, Sanctus, so she quickly moved on to the next item.

A feather, seemingly ordinary at a glance. Its presence was much more subtle and gentle than the claws, and Stroud was only able to pick up on the energy hidden within when focusing intently. Fleeting and carefree, the jade feather whispered the promises of the wind.

Again, Maeve glanced over it, but nothing more.

Ultimately, her eyes arrived on the final offering. And it was here that Stroud’s focus has landed as well.

“May I touch it?” Stroud asked, catching everyone by surprise — except for the stoic man behind the table.

He nodded. “You are welcome to.”

Desire burned in Stroud’s chest as he reached out for the dim crimson organ.

‘A bladder? No. Something different… more potent,’ he concluded as he weighed the fleshy mass in his palm. The energy it contained vastly outstripped the other items.

“What is it?” Stroud spoke fervently, his thoughts were racing toward all manner of possibility as he brushed his fingertips across it.

“That, my friend, is the Core of a Spirit Beast…”

Maeve gasped as Udrin and the surrounding hunters grinned broadly.