“Come in.” A voice sounded faintly from inside.

Stroud slowly pushed open the heavy door. It swung inward smoothly on well-oiled hinges, but in his mind, his entry was announced by the most ear-piercing creaks and groans that only the old rotted doors in ancient castles long-abandoned could emit.

Every time he ran through this scenario in his mind, Stroud couldn’t help but imagine a dark and gloomy room bathed in eerie shadows cast by flickering candlelight. A black-robed Magus, hiding his face under a hood would speak to him with a distorted voice — issuing sinister orders...

Of course, it was all a tremendous exaggeration woven in many iterations in the recesses of his imagination, but even still, Stroud couldn’t help but brace himself for the worst as he entered.

“Welcome, young man. I hope this day finds you in good health?”

Stroud took off his cap and smiled wryly as he looked through the room. “...It certainly does, Sir.”

Bright and airy, the quarters of the official Magi and instructors of the Sanctum were not all that different from the apprentice’s rooms. Long vertical windows draped the posh furniture in patterned light, and the lingering smell of freshly cooked eggs drifted over from the kitchenette…

“Have a seat,” the man instructed, gesturing to the lonely chair across from him before taking a leisurely sip of his tea.

A gaudy circular rug spanned most of the room, and it led Stroud over to the table.

“Finding it a bit cold in here?” A probing question rang out as he approached.

Stroud startled, freezing for a moment before realization struck and his head swiveled back to look at the coat rack by the door. He subconsciously reached toward his pocket to grip the talismans.

“No, Sir…” he exhaled a deep breath. “Please, excuse my manners. My mind tends to function slowly in the morning.”

“It’s all right. I’m quite used to it after having spent the past week lecturing apprentices. And I hardly think those talismans you’re carrying are capable of more than singing my hair, anyway…” The man’s amused smile and raised eyebrows eased Stroud’s nerves, but his cheeks still flushed red as he entered the exposed side room.

This was one area where this Magus’ accommodations diverged from the norm. He had converted the room that typically housed the workstation into a more formal dining space. A waist-high bar rested against the back wall, displaying neatly arranged sets of colorful dinnerware. Intricate light blue and gold floral designs ordained the stark white plates and bowls, and also found their way onto the teacup held carefully in the middle-aged man’s grasp.

He seemed to notice Stroud appreciating the items and a pleased glint flickered in the depths of his round brown eyes. “I make them myself… In case you were wondering.”

“Well, they’re beautiful, Sir. I’ve yet to see anything quite like them…” Stroud praised briefly as he finally slid off his coat and rested it on the back of his proffered seat.

“Just a hobby of mine I picked up while traveling the Empire in my youth. Everyone in the north is always so concerned about staying warm year-round that they tend to forgo investing their leisure time into the arts or any hobbies other than drinking...” The man brushed off the praise with a boastful inclination of his chin. He then procured a wrinkled letter from inside his robe and placed it down on the table as Stroud settled in.

Silence followed.

The particles of dust illuminated in the air meandered lazily through the void between them, entirely unconcerned by the subtle tension gathering in the room.

Stroud was itching to get the real conversation started and complete their business, but as he was uncertain how to conduct himself in this situation, he could only wait for the other party to take the lead. He averted his gaze, only catching the man’s movements out of the corner of his eye.

“So… you must be Stroud, correct?” Leaning back, the dark-haired Magus folded one leg over the other and clasped his hands in his lap. His facial features weren’t particularly sharp, but the edge contained in his glare might make one think otherwise.

He left quite an impression... But Stroud detected nary a trace of aura leaking around his lean frame.

His control of his Nura must be extremely precise. Stroud’s brow twitched into a subtle frown as he nodded in response to the question.

“Good. So young, yet you already possess a discerning eye. And more importantly — you’re right on time…” Another sip of tea halted the man’s compliments. “I especially like working with those who are punctual. It’s an important character trait that I think is often undervalued. Anyway…” he released a sigh, “You may call me Magus Dowd or Instructor Renfry, and I’ll be your official liaison with Headmistress Adelais from now on. Do not make any attempts to directly contact her in the future. All inquiries must be made through me. Understood?”

“Yes, Magus Dowd.” Stroud straightened his back.

Satisfied, Dowd dipped his head to glance at the pocket watch dangling from his vest. “All right, let’s keep this short; I’ve got a lesson to lead soon.” The instructor recovered his more laid back posture and slid the letter in front of him across the table. “These are your current mission details.”

He continued speaking as Stroud took a quick glance over the parchment, “I don't write the orders — I’m only responsible for disseminating them… So save your questions for whomever you meet up with later.”

Their eyes clashed as Stroud nodded again. “Got it. But there is one thing I’d like to ask while I have your ear, if I may…”

“Go ahead, young man.”

Stroud leaned forward. “Who should I look for to receive my payments or rewards?”

Dowd coughed lightly a few times, nearly choking on the tea that had just made its way into his throat. “Of course… that’s the heart of the matter, isn’t it?” the man finished under his breath, taking a moment to collect himself. “The agents out in the city will report the results of any missions to their superiors, and this information will eventually land directly in the hands of the Headmistress. Then, the next time you come to receive a mission, I’ll be able to tell you how many merits you earned. You’ll also be able to submit your requests for materials through me or directly convert your merits into Mors.”

“Fair enough.” Stroud considered the answer. It didn’t seem like the most efficient or reliable system, but who was he to judge. “And how will I know when we are to meet? Same as this time?”

“Exactly,” Dowd confirmed. “Any notices will be delivered directly to your quarters. So if anyone attempts to contact you through other methods — ignore them, and report the details to me.”

“All right.” Stroud returned his gaze to the letter while Dowd finished his drink and began collecting the other dishes left out from his breakfast.

The Magus gave Stroud another few minutes to look over the specifics while he cleaned up. Then, after he was finished, he came back over to the table and reached out an upturned palm. “Do you have it all memorized?”

Stroud answered by returning the note and getting up from his seat. He donned his jacket and smoothed out the wrinkles in his clothes while watching the paper erode rapidly in Dowd’s hand.

In less than a breath, it was gone; not even leaving any ashes behind, unlike Mar Vincent’s trick.

“It was a pleasure meeting you, Stroud,” Dowd remarked casually while leading him over to the door. “I must also mention before you go... Should anyone ask about our relationship, just inform them that I hired you to clean and maintain my quarters. It’s not an uncommon occurrence in the Sanctum.”

“Very well. And you’re too kind, Instructor Renfry. It was my honor.” Stroud smiled gratefully as the door was held open for him. He fit his wool cap snuggly back on his head and bid the man farewell. “Best of luck with your lecture, Sir.”

Dowd returned the gesture, his lips briefly curling upward. “May the heavens watch over you, young man. A word of advice… make sure to prioritize secrecy and your safety above all else. The rewards Lady Adelais offers us are generous, but they’re not won lightly…”

Standing back out in the corridor, a gust of cool air nipped at Stroud’s ears. Dowd’s warning was soon swept away along with it. His stomach fluttered — sinking downward as it was suddenly burdened by unease.

“Maybe I should skip grabbing breakfast along the way…” he muttered under his breath.

***

“Fuck! What the hell is all this!” Curses flew unbidden from Stroud’s mouth.

It was stifling. Horribly and wholly stifling...

Thick, lingering smoke and ash clogged the air, forcing him to pull up his scarf.

“How am I ever gonna find this place?” Stroud grumbled into the cloth, squinting his watery eyes as his head swiveled back and forth.

There weren’t many other people in this isolated corner of the outer city, and for good reason. It was almost harder to see than it was to breathe, somehow overshadowing even Miss Harmont’s stuffy shop. And as if that wasn’t enough to disorient passersby, the sharp clashing of hammer on steel also rang out from every direction.

The reverberant noises traveled in overlapping waves through the billowing dark grey smoke that glittered with hints of silver as it poured out from the numerous chimneys of the surrounding workshops. But instead of rising through the air to dissipate, the exhaust sunk slowly, as if weighed down by the fairy-like dust.

“Damn—!” Stroud cursed again as he saw a dark silhouette pass through the grounded cloud in front of him. “Excuse me, Sir!” he called out loudly as he chased after the tall figure. The dash through the smoke stung at all his senses, but he managed to grab a hold of his target before the shadow disappeared.

Only when within arms-reach, did he finally get a decent look at the man. Wearing a full face mask — that included goggles made from some kind of shell or exoskeleton — the worker cut a bizarre figure as he turned around. Heavy leather and wool clothing covered him head to toe, and the entire ensemble was doused in burn marks and smears of soot.

Stroud lowered his scarf, coughing heavily between his words. “...D-Do you know… where I could find… N-Norfin’s Smithy…?”

Fortunately, he wasn’t ignored, and the man gestured for him to follow. They continued along the worker’s original trajectory until they arrived near the edge of the dense mass of roiling smog. Here, the air was significantly cleaner, but there was still a faint layer of the platinum dust sprinkled around everywhere, like a fresh powdering of snow.

“...Norfin’s is ‘at one.” The guide pointed to a large building on their right that looked more like a warehouse than a smithy.

Change entered the man’s gloved hand as Stroud thanked him and then watched his figure fade back into the fog. After waiting for another few moments to ensure that the coast was clear, he trudged around briefly in front of the workshop before slipping around toward the back when a gust of wind pushed some of the heavier mist in his direction.

Amidst some piles of trash and debris, Stroud found the old, rotted back door. He knocked solidly three times, pausing for a breath in between each one. Then, without waiting for a reply, he entered, receiving the lovely grating creak of the door’s rusted bolts.

Dark and somber, a once lively workshop lay buried in ash. It carried such intense feelings of destitution that Stroud couldn’t help but lower his scarf again and sigh with regret.

The peculiar dust immediately punished his lungs for that mistake.

“Ha—! Welcome to The Bellows, kid!” Deep, hoarse laughter echoed through the vaulted space to join Stroud’s renewed coughing and wheezing. “You must be another novice?”

Tensing his muscles as he kept close to the door, Stroud spluttered a reply, “I-I suppose so… Are you Hrer?”

“Right you are.” A dark figure hopped down from a short pile of crates in the farthest most corner. The man was much thinner and shorter than Stroud had imagined after hearing his gruff voice, but the menacing glint of the thin object twirling between his fingers made him appear plenty dangerous, regardless.

“Take a seat wherever you can find one,” Hrer continued, his tone languid. “I am supposed to give you some kind of briefing…”

Much like the mess outside, an abundance of scrap material and other junk littered the room. Stroud’s brow wrinkled with faintly concealed displeasure as he found his way over to a mostly intact box where he perched himself. His left hand rested on the lapel of his coat, ready to reach into his pockets at a moment’s notice.

Hrer chuckled again. “Loosen up, would ya? We’re all on the same side here…”

The hint of sarcasm in the man’s voice did little to soothe the rapid beating of Stroud’s heart, but he did somewhat slacken his posture. That is… until Hrer took another step forward and arrived in the midst of the sole beam of light shining into the room from a window high up on the rear wall.

“Y-You…?” Full of disbelief, Stroud’s eyes locked onto the thin but distinct scar crossing the man’s cheek. Understanding crushed his already delicate composure as he exhaled a warm, breathy sigh. In a single moment, he was left feeling utterly defeated. “You’re that hunter from Ebbinside…”

Hrer’s grin was devilish as he moved closer. “And you’re more naive than I thought, kid. I had you pegged as a clever one that day.”

“You overpraise me.” Stroud laughed dryly. “Though, looking back… it did all seem a little too coincidental.”

“Of course you can say that now.” Hrer flipped his throwing knife into the air, catching it deftly with his other hand. “But greed does have a way of enrapturing the mind, so I can’t blame you too much. Personally, I’ve always found that a few gold coins can work just as well as a cold blade at the throat.”

Shaking his head, Stroud pushed himself out of his stupor. “But how’d you know Maeve and I would be visiting Ebbinside that day?”

“Stroke of fortune, really.” Hrer shrugged. “Saw you two leaving the estate on our flight over and made some quick adjustments to the plan. Rest wasn’t too hard. Those hunters don’t like you lot very much. The chief seemed almost eager to help us out with our little performance,” he finished with a chortle.

Sharp, yellowing teeth flashed once more through the room’s grey and lifeless haze. “Don’t get too hung up on it, kid. The boss doesn’t like leaving things to chance… or choice. That Spirit Core would have found its way into the Baron’s hands one way or another. It just looked better packaged as a surprise gift than a bribe.”

“Then… I guess our working together now isn’t much of a coincidence either?” Anger laced Stroud’s voice as his mind returned to the current moment. It felt almost twisted in a way. Like Lady Adelais was flaunting her victory over the Marwoods to him.

“Wrong again,” Hrer retorted bluntly, eliciting another frown from Stroud. “More like… it was inevitable once you entered into the Headmistress’s service. You see, I’m the man in charge of training all the novices. Not like the boss was trying to send you a message specifically.”

Stroud didn’t wholly buy that excuse, but it was pointless to argue in this situation. “All right… So what’s next?” He folded his arms across his chest, ready to move on. “My orders only told me to meet up with you.”

“Nothing too difficult. I’ll teach you some tricks, then we’ll head out to pick on a few thugs. I like to keep things simple for first-timers.” Upon seeing the confusion still evident in Stroud’s eyes, Hrer illuminated his primary directive. “Our main goal, down and around The Bellows, is to keep an eye on the movements of the Tundra Walker gangs.”

“Tundra Walkers…” Stroud uttered. “My impression was that I’d be spying on the prince’s men. And in the Sanctum at that.”

Hrer rolled his eyes and the blade around his knuckles. “The Tundra Walkers are the prince’s men. The frontline of the battle is down here in the smog and grime — the outer city’s underbelly.”

Stroud scoffed. “The Tundra Walkers despise the kingdom’s nobility. You don’t have to stay in Frostrane long to hear their mutterings. I really doubt they’d willingly work with anyone in Redenia, let alone a prince.” It wasn’t that he didn’t believe Hrer this time, but this seemed like the perfect opportunity to learn more about the conflict. Thinking further, he was also glad he hadn’t immediately gone to seek out those hunters that Armin had recommended...

“True. But they especially hate the Adelais family. Plus…” Hrer shrugged casually, “Prince Ajax is a bastard child — ostracized in Redenia’s courts — so he wins some sympathy from them. And you can be certain that the conditions he offered are generous... Like I just said. Greed trumps a lot of other sentiments.”

“All right… then why has the Headmistress allowed them to remain in the city?”

“Now you’re asking the right questions… The Walkers have been entrenched in Frostrane and the surrounding mountains of the reaches long before the first Warden reclaimed these lands. They were originally ousted, but they're persistent, if nothing else... constantly worming their way back inside the gates. And they have many hidden supporters in the area, so the purge would have to be swift and thorough—”

“And that’s where we come in,” Stroud interrupted, nodding slowly. “We need to identify all their allies.”

“Exactly.” Hrer repeatedly tossed the knife high into the air, reaching closer and closer to the ceiling with each throw. “Maybe you do have more wits about you than the average dramoth…”

Ignoring his quip, confidence swelled within Stroud, burning through some of the cold fear clogging his veins. He felt much more assured now that he had a better idea of what he would actually be involved in. “So, where do we begin.”

In one smooth motion, Hrer caught the blade and sheathed it at his waist. “Well, first…” he adopted a stern pose, folding his arms across his chest, “...You need to learn two crucial techniques. Perception Warding & Probing. Our battles are generally won from a distance, and with our mind rather than our fist.”

Before Stroud could get a word in, Hrer continued, “You’ve already got the hardest part completed — clearing the first layer of your mindscape — but right now, you’re no different than an open book. I’ve inspected your crippled Sea five times already since you entered... Mastering these techniques will help you seal yourself off from other’s senses as well as slip past their defenses unawares.”

“Great. Well, I’m ready to learn.” Relief and anticipation seeped further into Stroud as he carefully inhaled another breath and stood up. In front of Magi like Dowd and Lady Adelais, he always felt so exposed. Naked under their eyes. If this could help him out, even if only a little, it was already well worthwhile to learn.

These were exactly the kind of opportunities he hoped to gain in the service of the Headmistress. Though Stroud knew they would be few and they would not always come easily like this.

Dowd’s warning slipped into his mind before leaping away just as quickly. He already understood that the first of his battles in the gladiator pits was fast approaching. His resolve exited the gate and trudged toward the center of the arena with weighty steps. He would win. He had to. Even if his hands were to be dyed the same bloody red as the sand...

Unbothered by his fiery gaze, Hrer indicated for Stroud to close his eyes and commenced the lesson in a low, gravelly tone: “Start by letting your spiritual perception leak slowly out of your mindscape. I can tell you’re already fairly proficient in wielding it, so none of this should be too difficult...”

Without missing a beat, Stroud allowed his consciousness to expand outward. He sifted through the dust and murky air as he waited for the next step.

“....Now, reign it back in, then release it again. Slowly,” Hrer drawled. The man’s own perception enveloped Stroud as his voice lingered in a soft, mesmerizing echo. “As it seeps out of your pores, feel your perception brush up against mine. When they make contact — stop — and maintain your perception just outside your skin.”

Like a human-shaped bubble, Hrer’s spiritual perception coated Stroud. He pushed up against it with his mind, but he was unable to escape. His heartbeat spurred in an erratic jolt as a faint feeling of claustrophobia set.

“Don’t panic,” Hrer assured quickly. “This is where it gets tricky, but it’s all smooth sailing after this point. When our perception leaves our body, it’s our natural instinct to have it see. Protect us. Warn us. But we mustn’t let it. Because in truth, this leaves us defenseless.”

While settling his heaving chest, Stroud’s perception eventually settled around his body like a thin film of oil, molded by Hrer’s will.

“Don’t let this feeling escape!” the man suddenly barked.

Stroud reacted quickly, ignoring his discomfort as he focused wholeheartedly on locking his spiritual perception in place.

“Good, good. Now keep a steady hold of it while I distance myself…”

Instinct battled fiercely with intention as Stroud ground his teeth. His consciousness fought desperately to chase after Hrer’s perception. The thin layer boiled like his skin was burning, and after a few moments, the strain became difficult to bear.

Stroud gasped as his perception scattered before it followed a deep breath of toxic air right back into his body through his lungs. He coughed violently while Hrer cackled with hardly suppressed mirth.

“Not bad, kid. Not bad at all. Perception Warding is considered the more difficult of the two. But once you get the hang of it — conquering those impulses — it becomes easy to maintain indefinitely. Now, get ready. We go again.”

Stroud protested with a strained groan.

Hrer simply shrugged it off. “Toughen up. We’ve got limited time together, and this isn’t something you can practice easily on your own, at least initially.”

A steel-like perception collapsed around Stroud as Hrer’s words faded. He still hadn’t even vaguely recovered, but as the will pressed in on him, he straightened up and forced out his own…