...Spell bridges can be formed during the process of casting in order to link two or more sigils for combination effects.

The prerequisite for forming a bridge is the compatibility of the spells and the existence of focal points. Focal points appear naturally in every spell sigil, and the majority of sigils Tier 3 and below can contain upwards of five or six focal points.

In order to locate the various focal points in a sigil, one must look for points where the spell energy converges or gathers during the casting process.

Important: identifying all focal points does not guarantee two sigils can be bridged! Experimenting and discovering which ones allow two spells to work together is the key.

Additionally, there may be multiple possible solutions, each yielding different results. Trial and error using talismans is strongly encouraged before deciding upon which spells to imprint into your Spirit Locus…

“What do you think, Stroud?”

“Hmm?” Stroud glanced up from Maeve’s notes as his hand ceased its idle waving of the feather duster. He turned around to find the girl standing in the center of the room with her hands on her hips, looking proudly upon her work.

“It looks nice, Madam,” he remarked. “Very inviting… I think Lady Marwood would approve of your taste.” Eyes roaming around the space, Stroud took in the many dark green and brown accents, and the bold red rug.

“Yes… I much prefer this cozy feeling to the sleek and cold look of the city…”

Stroud’s ever-simmering agitation cooled as he saw Maeve smiling wholeheartedly for the first time in days.

The quick transition into the Sanctum had been obviously unsettling for her. And her unease was only aggravated by the constant harassment from Sybil Berg. She needed a safe and comforting space to come back to, so he had put extra effort into helping her shop and decorate her room the past few days.

It was also work that he could immerse himself in, providing a convenient distraction from the image of Lady Adelais’ assured smile and the decision that hung prominently in the center of his every thought. Furthermore, spending more time in Maeve's quarters meant that he could steal looks at her notes and books from her lectures. He never tried to be sneaky about it — as she was well aware of his interest in Arcana — but it wasn’t really appropriate for a servant to be rifling through his master’s personal effects, so he aimed for subtlety, at the very least.

“...There is one thing still missing,” she mused out loud, tapping a foot impatiently.

“And what would that be, Madam?”

“Plants!” Maeve brightened as she held up a finger triumphantly. “Sir Reeve informed us that we won’t be able to access the Northeastern Gardens until after the Second Crossing, but soon, the weather will finally warm up enough for them to begin cultivating new batches,” she informed, casting a sideways glance to the empty workstation attached to the bedroom. “In the meantime, I’d like to start working on tending to some herbs — spiritual or not — of my own. I’ll need them around to practice with the spell I’ll be imprinting soon...”

Stroud considered her answer as her voice trailed off, nodding casually. “I can look into it. Though, it may take some time to locate a suitable botanist.”

As it happens, he was more than happy to. It would be ideal if he could find another person with alchemy expertise that may be willing to sell any doses of raw Nura. At this point in his internal deliberations, he couldn’t see himself refusing Lady Adelais and her promise of a method to improve his physique. But it was always imperative to have contingencies in place.

Frostrane was a large and prosperous city. He just needed to stay safe long enough to take advantage of all the opportunities it offered.

“That’s fine.” Maeve strolled over to her desk and plopped down in front of the notebooks which he’d been perusing moments prior. “With lessons taking up my time, it’ll be at least another week before the first layer of my mindscape is wholly cleared, and then, I’ll have to complete the engraving process as well…” she released a long, drawn-out sigh as if she had finally realized the full scope of the workload ahead of her.

“Remember not to rush yourself…” Stroud chided softly, moving to finish his task of clearing dust from the room.

“I know—” Maeve groaned, sprawling forward. “It’s just… my birthday was so late compared to others, and everyone else got so far ahead of me…”

“There’s nothing that can be done about that, Madam.” Stroud whisked the duster across the trunk at the foot of Maeve’s bed as he contemplated how best to placate the girl. “The road ahead of you is long and it is best to retain a steady and assured pace to reach the end…”

He looked over when Maeve laughed and saw her wrinkling her nose at him, “That sounds almost exactly like something my grandfather used to write in his journals.”

Stroud smiled. “He was a smart man, was he not?”

“True.” She returned his grin briefly before launching back into her studies.

The two of them worked in companionable silence as the sun continued along its trajectory into the crystal clear southern skies. Brilliant afternoon rays shone down on the Sanctum’s sheer face undisturbed, spilling in great numbers into Maeve’s room on the second floor.

It was peaceful, blissful almost. The soft rumble of conversations in the corridor drifted beneath the door as the stone beneath Stroud’s feet was saturated with warmth.

But it made him anxious. Do not indulge. His throat constricted as the tendrils around his heart shifted in agitation. All of a sudden, the walls began pressing in all around him as his breath came in short, rough gasps.

“Madam… I think I’ll be taking a trip into the lower district to begin my search. Do you have any plans for the remainder of the day?” Stroud tucked his clammy palms behind his back after stowing away his cleaning tools.

Maeve tapped her chin absentmindedly. “I have a meeting scheduled with Sir Reeve after lunch hours…” her brows furrowed. “I think he wants all the entrants under his care to form a circle for research and study.”

Sensing her hesitation, Stroud made eye contact and replied seriously, “I think it’s in your best interest to attend. Purposefully avoiding Lady Berg will only prove to her that she's getting under your skin. You must demonstrate confidence if you want things to improve.”

Looking away, Maeve shrouded her face in her hair and grumbled under her breath, “I know, I know…”

Stroud sighed as he watched the girl. Seeing her so distressed elicited a tightness in his chest that seemed to supersede even his own worries. “I’ll be off, for now, Madam. But keep me informed if things get any worse.”

Hearing her murmured agreement, he walked over to the coat rack in the entryway to retrieve his cap, scarf, and fur-lined jacket. It hadn’t taken him long to realize the importance of these clothing articles in the city.

Winds — especially in the inner district — were brutal, and could easily pass through the thinner fabric of a cloak. But even worse was the glare of the sunlight off the rimesteel shingles and window trim. At this point in the day, it could be blinding without any protection for the eyes.

Stroud cast one final glance at Maeve before heading out the door. They both could use some fresh air and some time alone.

Walking briskly, he passed by the apprentices loitering around in the corridors. They had a tendency to ignore anyone who wasn’t wearing the formal robes of the Sanctum. As long as Stroud kept his head down, he was practically invisible to the haughty heirs; however, the blossoming pride of the commoners who had passed through the Selections and entered the Arcanium was a different matter entirely.

He found their behavior particularly insufferable, and he was an easy target for them due to his size and age relative to the other servants. His thoughts were punctuated by a young man who somehow bumped shoulders with him in the wide and nearly empty Borean Tunnel.

“Watch it, dreg—!” the apprentice cursed.

Stroud’s blood roiled as the fiery toxins of the thorns seeped into his heart and pumped through his veins. He was not in the mood to satisfy this boy’s newfound self-importance.

Carried forward by long strides, his lips remained sealed. But when the student followed to pursue the issue, Stroud lashed out, employing his spiritual perception like a whip.

Stunned, the boy flinched back. And that was all the time Stroud needed to put enough distance between the two of them. The wind howled in his ears and frustration smoldered in the pit of his stomach as he crossed the plaza with haste and tromped down the grand stairway, descending into the city below.

Calm down. Endure. Stroud doused himself in the simple mantra as he ducked into one of the many dark and narrow alleys. He knew he needed to maintain a cool head if he were to surmount the complications he felt piling on top of him. Composure.

Resolve temporarily suffused his gaze as his feet carried him through one of the few winding paths he was familiar with in the inner district.

During his previous outings to shop and resupply, he’d taken to wandering around the streets outside the mansions of the nobles and wealthy elites. For one, he deemed it wise to familiarize himself with as much of Frostrane as possible. And furthermore, the roads that climbed higher up the mountainside were much less crowded. Quiet. Great for simply walking around amidst pleasant scenery to clear his head. It was easy to lose himself in the twisting pathways filled with shadows...

Stroud had realized after his meeting with the headmistress that it was dangerous for him to spend too much time sitting alone in his room, bathing in questions and angst. When his body was moving and the world was shifting around him — it felt much easier to think through his problems.

Today was much the same. If he was really interested in finding a botanist, he would have asked around at the Sanctum first. This trip was nothing more than a thinly veiled excuse to separate himself from Lady Adelais’ roost.

But he wouldn’t be able to run for much longer...

In what seemed like no time at all, Stroud arrived at the wall separating the two districts. The guards at the gate nodded to him as he flashed his Sanctum medallion in a familiar manner and strolled by without breaking his stride.

Passing into the outer city was abrasive, as it always was. A myriad of smells and loud noises washed over him in a foul wave. There was such a drastic difference, that it really felt like there was some sort of invisible barrier — in addition to the large wall — that separated the two major sectors of Frostrane.

Fighting the urge to pinch his nose, Stroud made his way directly to the west-central market. The location was about as high class as it could get in the Verum.

Verum, he had learned early on, meant true heart, and was derived from the old tongue the contemporary Tundra Walkers had inherited from the ancient and isolated tribes who had called the frozen wastes their home long before the nobles of Redenia had migrated into their territory and seized their cities.

As a result of their long history, a good percentage of the native residents he’d met in Frostrane could trace their bloodline back to one of the various northern tribes, and they all considered the inner district as being a part of the Sanctum and not a true part of the city. And it was hard to disagree with that sentiment considering how lifeless the upper paths of the mountain often were...

Stray thoughts continued to wander through Stroud’s mind like a pack of starving animals as he arrived at his destination. He roved between the stalls and benches scattered around the open square, sniffing greedily at the air as he was finally saved from the stench of festering waste. There were quite a few nice restaurants in the market and they all kept their windows open, allowing the smells trapped inside throughout the morning to waft into the air and tempt passersby.

Regrettably, he didn’t have any money to indulge in the food, but Stroud was able to bury himself in the crowd. He spent a few minutes just circling around the area, dipping his cap low over his eyes.

A few of the shops that had actual storefronts displayed interesting wares. Mostly jewelry and other fine articles of clothing, but there was one in particular that he repeatedly came back to. This store displayed interesting gadgets covered in the distinct markings and geometric patterns of spell sigils. Previously, he’d entered the building, only to quickly find out that the clerk didn’t take kindly to people coming in to browse.

Though, it made sense. The items were all ridiculously expensive but relatively small in size which made them easy to steal.

Still, a single angry shopkeep couldn’t hold Stroud’s curiosity at bay and he found his eyes glued to a metallic ball the size of his fist once more. His bare fingertips pressed against the cool glass as he stared hungrily through the window.

He had a feeling that these were the kind of tools he would need — even if he had no clue what their purpose or function was at the current time.

Eventually, his lingering captured the attention of one of the older assistants inside. With a menacing glare, the man approached the window. They locked eyes in a determined clash of will, but not for long because both their attention was captured by a sudden commotion across the market.

An apprehensive murmur rippled through the crowd as people began congregating outside one of the restaurants.

Stroud hurried over, sidling between the heavily dressed bodies until he found some space to observe the scene. He lacked the height to see over anyone, so he decided to perch atop the base of the fountain in the center of the square.

“Guards…! Guards—!” A heavyset man blustered as he stood over a tall and thin figure struggling on the ground. He grasped the hood of the perpetrator’s cloak between his meaty fingers to make sure the person wouldn’t try to run off.

“Make way!” A gruff, bearded soldier shouted as he marched toward the scene. His spotless chainmail glittered almost as conspicuously as rimesteel and identified him as one of the city watchmen. The onlookers parted, allowing him to approach unmolested.

Sensing this man coming near, the accused began to struggle, pushing and kicking weakly at the restaurateur, but was ultimately unable to muster the strength to even stand up.

“Basil! What’s the problem here?” The guard's voice was low and menacing as he rested a hand on the hilt of his sword. He swept his gaze across the crowd, daring them to step any closer.

Basil released his grip and folded his arms, scowling. “Took you long enough, Horace,” he barked, gesturing to the captive, “this thief broke into my larder — intent on making out with my stock.”

Horace snorted somewhat dismissively in reply and kneeled down to help the accused sit up properly.

Stroud strained his eyes, but he wasn’t able to make out any of the thief’s features through the layers of rags serving as a makeshift scarf. All he could plainly see was Basil’s victorious grin and the concern etched onto Horace’s forehead.

It perturbed him how familiar the guard and restaurant owner appeared with each other. Though, it was also evident that they shared no love between them. Bristling with anger, Horace supported the quivering thief's back.

“Not this again…” A woman’s loud sigh sounded to Stroud’s right.

“Are there any witnesses that can support your claim, Basil.” Horace towered over the fat man, loosening his broad shoulders in an overt attempt at intimidation.

“Ha—!” Basil refused to back down, laughing loudly in the guard’s face. “There’s no need for this kind of interplay today, Horace. This isn’t one of those filthy urchins you so doggedly defend… Take a closer look at the thief and your questions will resolve themselves!”

Horace took a confused step back as the thief's trembling intensified. Turning back and forth between the fat man and the willowy figure on the ground, realization finally seemed to dawn on the guard.

His face reddened as his body stood rigid. “Basil… you’ve gone too far this time…”

Stroud could barely pick up the man’s words over the low whispering around him. But in the next breath, he clearly heard the voice of the accused thief for the first time.

It was a musical noise — a light and ephemeral ringing akin to the subtle shaking of glassware. And Stroud’s immediate impression was that the language was exceptionally beautiful, albeit bizarre.

However, the mob seemed to think differently. They released a collective gasp, causing the thief to shrink back.

“What’re you waiting for, Horace?” Basil barked. “You’ve heard it. That thief is a Cosmae! A Stray!”

Cosmae. Another race, perhaps? Stroud had never heard mention of them either in passing or in literature. It was possible they were reclusive people, but everyone else seemed well aware of their existence.

“I know what it is!” Horace bellowed back, chest heaving. His hand was back on the hilt of his sword. While the guard was obviously reluctant to apprehend the Cosmae, the mass of people around the market was growing denser with each passing second. The pressure on the guard to make a decision intensified.

Anger boiled in Stroud’s stomach. His impression of Basil had reached the lowest possible depths. The man evidently thought he had won, and his smile broadened as he soaked up all the attention. Vile was the only word Stroud could think of to describe someone who reveled in the misfortune of another.

A flash of light caught his eye as Horace pulled more of his sword from its sheath and the steel bathed in the cool air. “I will see you ruined for this one day…”

Basil rolled his eyes exaggeratedly, “You say this practically every time. But if you did a better job keeping riff-raff off the streets — we wouldn’t be having this issue!”

“You—! You’re the one who lures them in!” All but the tip of Horace’s longsword was exposed and many in the crowd began to back away nervously.

“Horace! Stand down!”

A white-haired man donning silver plate-armor bulldozed his way to the conflict, flanked by two more guards. His presence exploded when he reached the clearing that had formed, pushing the onlookers back further.

Stroud was shocked by the robustness of the older man’s aura. He cut a figure more sturdy and dependable than the walls surrounding the city. At least 2nd Order…

“My apologies, Captain Obrite. I allowed things to get out of hand.” Horace’s sword immediately found its home back in the rugged sheath as he bowed low to his superior.

“Captain Obrite! I’d like to lodge a complaint against—”

“Shut up, Basil.” Obrite’s pale blue eyes froze the restaurateur. With a flick of his hand, the guards behind the captain apprehended the thief with haste. “In accordance with Redenia law, this Stray is to be executed for violating the Non-Admittance Pact. The date and the location of the sentencing will be announced two days henceforth.”

Frantic, grating cries rang from the mouth of the Cosmae as it struggled in the grip of the guards. Its words had lost their splendor, sounding shrill as the voice was overcome with despair. Horace frowned, but he seemed resigned to the decision.

In fact, everyone did. It was as if a dark cloud had descended over the market. The mood was heavy as many turned away from the scene and scurried indoors.

Stroud too, couldn’t bear to observe any longer. There would be no trial... no presentation of evidence. The Cosmae had been identified and the only outcome apparently resided beneath the executioner’s blade.

His stomach churned at the thought, and he felt it may have been a very poor idea to go out for a walk…

***

Satisfied, Reeve smiled softly as he gazed around his accommodations.

A fire crackled softly in the hearth, shedding its light across the warm oak furniture. Having the wood imported was costly — especially with the Sanctum’s rather inconvenient location — but he much preferred the more durable and darker material. Pine was too light to complement the deeper reds and yellows he liked, and it was too cheap to be befitting the quarters of a Magus.

He didn’t expect the students to wholly appreciate his taste and efforts in establishing a comfortable environment, but that didn’t mean Reeve would allow himself to suffer anything less.

The snacks were laid out and the water for tea was heating in the kettle; now all that awaited him were his guests. He hoped everyone would be in attendance. Though, he knew that might be difficult to actually arrange. The Marwood and Berg heirs did not get along.

Bringing them together more frequently could escalate the issue beyond what he was comfortable intervening between, but separating them might cause the Berg girl to seek out the other party of her own initiative. And that would certainly be worse.

At least, the presence of the young Lord Ernhart prevented Sybil from acting too boldly.

Reeve sighed as his mind played out the possible outcomes. He thought this would be best for the girls, but then again, he’d never been too successful in dealing with the bullies present during his own apprenticeship.

Maeve was the primary victim, and as a result, his favor lay with her. However, he couldn’t allow that sentiment to show for fear of offending the Bergs. After all, they were more valuable allies than the Marwoods, and their father had formally thrown in his lot with Lady Adelais…

A knock on the door roused Reeve from his thoughts.

“Coming!” Worries forgotten, he rushed over to welcome the first arrival. “Ah, Lord Ernhart! It’s good to see you!”

Impassive brown eyes glanced briefly up at Reeve before the young man entered. He looked around the room and gave a silent nod of appreciation.

Pride surged through Reeve’s weary bones and he was unable to suppress his smile. The approval of an Ernhart was not easily won.

One might think that they had an inclination toward the unembellished, but the opposite was more close to the truth.

Subtle displays of wealth were their forte. A primary example being how the Ernhart heir had chosen to forgo the Sanctum’s uniform and still wore his plain brown robes. The outfit professed more humble origins, but Reeve knew that the boy’s clothing was actually spun from Weaver’s Silk — one of the most expensive materials available in the kingdom. Due to its scarcity, it was only imported a few times a year, and even Lady Adelais only had a single dress composed of the silk.

It was notoriously soft and pliable and breathed extraordinarily well. A less discerning eye may have mistaken the fabric for something else, but its muted gloss and light shifting wasn’t missed by Reeve.

If only one day he could get his hands on such a fine robe, his life would be complete…

Upon hearing a shrill whistling from the kettle on the hotplate, Reeve pushed those fanciful dreams from his mind and got to work as the host.

“Please, have a seat, Lord Ernhart. Has the Sanctum been treating you well thus far?” he moved into the kitchen area to pour out a cup of tea but stopped abruptly when the boy held up his hand.

“All is well. My father would approve of the arrangements.” Lord Ernhart’s voice was unintentionally quiet as he pulled out a chair for himself. It carried the weight of someone who was used to having his listeners hang on his every word.

Reeve nodded, removing the spirit shard from the spell formation on the counter. When the boiling water had settled, he replied, “I’m relieved to hear that… Might I ask if your vassals will be joining us?”

“We are here to discuss our plans for pursuing a supporting vocation, are we not?” Lord Ernhart cocked his head to the side, staring questioningly.

“Correct…” The word left Reeve’s mouth slowly.

“Then all is well,” the boy’s lips curled up, but his smile didn’t reveal any teeth. “My vassals already have their futures laid out for them. As soon as they have the ability to cast my family’s spells — they’ll spend their days enriching the fiefdom’s soil and overseeing all of our harvests.”

“I see.” Reeve chuckled dryly. He did not envy those young men and women, realizing how fortunate he was to have entered the service of the nobility after already having become a Magus.

But before their conversation could continue, loud shouting erupted in the hallway. Reeve huffed angrily. Who had the audacity to cause a disturbance in the upper halls?

He marched over to his door and swung it open, glaring at the offenders.

‘Heavens above,’ he lamented.

Miss Marwood and Miss Berg stood an arm’s length apart from each other, just outside his room. Already, there were hints of murderous intent in both the young girls’ eyes. They were so focused on each other that they had completely missed his presence.

“...What achievements could a base noble like yourself ever hope to have in the refined fields of Arcane research?” Sybil ridiculed.

Almost immediately, Reeve surmised that this meeting may have been a very poor idea after all…