The days following the Marchioness’s visit were a storm of activity. Tide or not, things needed to be done.

Landon took over the affairs of the estate as the Baron bunkered down in his quarters with the Spirit Core to make his breakthrough. The steward’s primary objective was to prepare Maeve for her examination. There was never a doubt that she would be going to an Arcanium somewhere, but to receive a direct invitation from one of the most influential Magi in the Principality produced a whole different array of expectations.

If Lady Adelais would be overseeing the students herself, then the chance to learn from her — even if only indirectly — was immensely valuable. It also couldn’t be discounted that she and the prince would be working in tandem on the project, bringing to bear an impressive collection of knowledge and resources.

Therefore, it was imperative that Maeve exhibit herself well. And that meant spending all of her time pushing her spiritual centers to their limit under Landon’s guidance. Devoting dawn till dusk to aeditari and clearing her mindscape. They went at it with such voracity that it was as if the steward hoped to mold her into a fully-fledged 1st Order Magus in just a little over a week. Obviously, such a task was impossible, but the impending visit of the Arcanium’s representative loomed over them with a weight surpassing that of the ponderous Mount Vennear.

Another consequence of the new arrangements was that Stroud’s presence was no longer needed at her side. And he felt as though he had been liberated.

Stroud redoubled his efforts to improve himself. For him, the significance of this opportunity wasn’t any less than it was for Maeve and the Marwood house. A blessing had been so kind as to drop itself into his lap, and he wouldn’t see it wasted.

Mornings were spent excavating his Spirit Locus, scraping away with diligence. As charged with excitement as the atmosphere of the manor was, he couldn’t allow it to affect him in his advancements. Everything he had learned indicated that the foundation of the mindscape was vitally important. Without a sturdy base to support them, the higher layers would tumble and crash under the burden of more advanced spell models. And there was no remedy to fix a broken mind.

His afternoons then belonged to the training grounds. Stroud was beginning to come around to the idea that he may require a stronger constitution. For two reasons. The first being his worry over any complications that may arise when potentially accepting an alternative energy furnace into his body. He still held out hope for meeting a healer that could mend his shattered Sea, but he wanted to keep all options available to himself.

The other factor that spurred his sudden bout of exercise was even more pressing. Magi, for the most part, would be able to use their stored Nura to slowly improve their bodies. But that was something he could not do. Thus, when considering that the spell he would soon be imprinting into his mind focused on enhancing his physical prowess — he worried that his vessel would shatter under the pressure of a power it couldn’t handle.

All signs pointed him towards physical training, making it clear it was something he’d been neglecting for long enough.

There weren’t many knights serving the Baron, maybe a few dozen at most. And there were even fewer among them who desired to workout during their time off amidst the Tide. But it was fortunate that enough of them did to the point that the grounds were mostly cleared of snow. Stroud took to running laps around the area, building his stamina before all else so that when he eventually fell in with those participating in drills, he wouldn’t utterly embarrass himself.

Still, it was an unfortunate truth that Stroud’s body really was much weaker than even he expected. His bones felt brittle and his lungs wheezed from the slightest exertion. It was so much easier to just stay inside and focus solely on his mind. The improvements in that aspect were much more pronounced — and much less painful.

It was really only fear that continued to push his weary legs to the eastern grounds every day. Though, that was an emotion he could cope with well. Fear had been one of his strongest motivators for a long time.

Fear woke him up early in the morning and kept him up late. Long after the sun dipped below the mountains in the evening and deep into the dark and frigid hours, Stroud would remain inside the foggy realm hidden in his mind.

Each day was nearly the same as the last, continuing in a perpetual loop of exhaustion. Mind, then body, then the mind again. But each minute he wasn’t suffering from such a state, was a minute he felt was wasted.

He had witnessed the true strength a Magus could bring to bear with their mere presence alone, and now, his eyes were only filled with the image of the Marchioness’ receding back. During the brief and sparse occasions when he encountered Landon, Stroud noticed that the man’s aura was so... bland, in comparison. Faded and mute, like an old t-shirt that had been through the wash one too many times.

Lady Adelais may not be able to provide him with any of the grand answers he sought, but he had an inkling she could point him in the right direction at the very least.

His heart itched at the thought.

Patience. Stroud reminded himself time and time again. As long as he moved forward and remained attentive, he firmly believed that opportunities would continue to present themselves.

And so they did...

Three days after the Solstice had passed, Baron Marwood emerged from his seclusion.

The man looked at least fifty pounds lighter. Diminished somehow. And Stroud’s immediate impression was that he’d failed. But then, the Baron unleashed the strength he’d buried within his hefty gut. And in the next moment, he appeared infinitely larger — as though he would burst through the manor’s lofty ceiling and into the clouds above.

Baron Marwood was everlasting. He towered over them all. Unswayed by the wind, and unfeeling of the cold, he reached directly toward the sun to gather vitality from its light. And the resolution in his jade eyes told them that he would protect all who made their homes in his shade.

Stroud struggled violently against that feeling of comfort and shelter as he stood behind Celina in the recesses of the hall. Tempting as it was to give in, he knew that he could only advance towards his goals if he pushed there himself.

“Congratulations, Father.” Maeve was the first one to speak. She stood at the base of the imperial staircase in the entryway, Landon and Lady Marwood at her sides. Her bow was low and deep.

Baron Marwood’s grin threatened to split his cheeks at the seams as he gazed down at his family and confidants from the landing. His skin was rosy, shining with a healthy glow that it lacked previously, and it appeared as though nothing could strike down his mood. The man didn’t speak, choosing instead to laugh loudly and freely as he so loved to do, taking each step slowly as he descended.

As soon as he landed on the floor, Lady Marwood leaped into his broad chest, weeping like a child, and immense relief was evident in the tenderness of the Baron’s replying embrace.

This wasn’t the first time he had attempted to make his breakthrough, and the chances of his success would lower with each succeeding one. Without the appearance of the Spirit Core, he may have been stuck forever at the upper edge of the First Grade.

A seemingly insurmountable obstacle like that could grind away at the soul. Slowly draining the world of all its joy and splendor until all that remained was the image of success you had conjured in your mind. You could see it, almost feel it as you stared through the glass that separated you from your imagined happiness.

Stroud knew that feeling all too well, but unlike the Baron, he had never been able to push through that final barrier in his past life — or even muster the self-awareness to tear his gaze away. A painful knot twisted in his stomach until he felt a hand on his lower back.

He looked back over his shoulder and saw Celina smiling at him. His own look of happiness stared back at her, but the squirming pit in his gut only grew denser. Heavier.

For the first time, Stroud regretted embracing a new life. Knowing what he did, he never felt safe to indulge in relationships and simple pleasures like this. He had lost them all once. And he didn’t think he could bear the agony of losing them again.

All the more reason I mustn’t allow myself to fail.

From their corner, Stroud and Celina continued to watch the family’s joyous reunion. Only after all the hugs, kisses, and pats on the back had been exhausted did they make their move.

Celina led, striding over to the Baron to offer her compliments and fill him in on a few matters that she deemed important. At her back, Stroud waited, mulling over the words he would speak countless times in his head.

A chance. He saw it as the Baron walked away. The man may never be in a better mood in his entire life than he was now.

“Excuse me, my Liege,” he called out. Stroud’s back was straight as an arrow as he set his jaw in a hard line.

“Ah, Stroud… Is there something you’d like to report as well?” Baron Marwood turned his head. Landon, who was leading him back up the stairs, did the same. Their frowns contained no malice, but there was an evident impatience in the way the rest of their bodies remained facing forward.

“Apologies. I know this isn’t the best time, but I fear I may not receive another chance if I don’t beg this of you now. I’d like to call upon that favor you once said you would grant me…” Stroud trailed off, bowing his head while his eyes remained upturned.

The Baron stopped and spun wholly around to face him. He didn’t respond with any words, but his expression told Stroud he was listening attentively.

“...When the representative arrives to examine the Madam… I’d like to receive an assessment as well.”

“Stroud, what use is there in that—” Landon was cut off as Baron Marwood’s aura surged outwards once more. But this time, it lacked all of its previous gentle reassurance. There was only a weathered strength that flowed from the man and connected him to the floor. He had made his decision and he wouldn’t budge.

“I don’t see why not. But that is not all you desire, is it?”

Stroud’s head dipped even lower as he nodded. “I would also like to accompany the Madam to the Arcanium as her attendant if I’m not received as a student.”

Baron Marwood rubbed his chin for a long while, seemingly distracted by the distinct lack of a second one beneath it. “That is something I already expected of you, Stroud. Speak on what you need.”

“Coin, my Liege. There are some extra preparations I’d like to make in order to ensure Miss Marwood’s safety at all times.”

“Draft up a list and have it delivered to Landon by the end of the week. I’ll assist you with what I can.” The Baron dismissed him with a wave after saying such and continued off to his study with the steward in tow.

Stroud basked in his victory, small as it was. He felt a strong desire to seize on this momentum and carry on with the next step in his plan. The first layer of his mindscape was clear. It was time to begin imprinting the sigil.

***

Surrounded by a nest of clothes and blankets, Stroud huddled in their warmth atop his bed. He held the Imbuement of Strength sigil in his lap, tracing his eyes across the dark symbols with a burning intensity. They stood out with such clarity against the rough, yellowish parchment, that it looked as if they would leap off the page and directly into his mind should he bid them to.

‘If only it was that easy.’ He smiled wryly and rolled up the scroll. There was no need for him to look at it in the first place. Since long ago, he’d memorized its content down to every last stain and wrinkle on the page.

Tonight, he’d only looked at it to remember one thing: the feeling he had when he first held it within his grasp. The wonder and excitement that had filled him.

He wanted to use those feelings as extra fuel for the imprinting to come.

It would be much different than the process of scraping away the fog. He would have to dig deeper, engraving the sigil into the smooth slate-like surface of the first layer. There was no room for error, and by all accounts, it would be a taxing and painful experience.

Stroud exhaled as if blowing smoke, following up with a series of short and stunted breaths. It meant nothing in the context of the task, but was merely another exercise in hyping himself up.

‘Just get on with it...’ he growled.

A vast and grey expanse unraveled in his vision as he pushed his consciousness into his Spirit Locus. Gently, he floated down toward the semicircular ring at its base that shone with a pristine glint. It looked much like a blackboard that had just been wiped clean with a sponge.

Shifting his mind’s eye from left to right, Stroud hesitated. He’d already made a decision about where he would engrave the sigil on the first layer, but it was hard not to second guess himself in the moment.

Three spell sigils. That was his current limit. Was it truly wise to use one of them now?

It wouldn’t be long until he had access to more information, or so he anticipated. More spells. And likely spells much better suited to him.

But could he afford to wait?

There was a constant sense of prickling danger lingering on the edge of his perception. He’d long grown used to it — knowing it was more a reflection of his anxiety than anything else — but it wasn’t something he could wholly dismiss either. It was best not to leave things up to chance.

Regret was something he feared more than anything else.

He needed to act decisively. In many respects, he wished to return to being that monstrosity who carved his way through the Chasm and emerged before the river of souls.

Swelling with determination, Stroud molded his thoughts into the shape of a point chisel and raised its edge to the surface of the slate. There were many ways to imprint a sigil, but the key was visualizing something you were most comfortable with.

And something deep within his soul had pleaded with him to take on this form. Stroud called upon that feeling, allowing it to guide him as he began to hammer and chip away at the surface of his mind.

Each strike stung like a sharp pinch on his skin, but his concentration was unwavering. His hands flowed with practiced ease as the picture of the engraving grew increasingly vivid in his imagination.

Starting his efforts in the bottom left-hand corner of the sigil’s outermost layer, Stroud went to work. Chips and shavings fluttered down into the void, and peace came to him quickly.

A soft symphony akin to the vibrant blossoming of Spring drifted through the lonely sculptor’s studio as the surrounding fog faded away.

In time, all that was left was an artist and his canvas. It was a medium he’d never had a chance to work with before, but he had a feeling he would produce his best work yet...