Rising from the den, two men tramped up the steep cellar staircase and arrived out on a busy street. They waited for a few moments in the shadows at the edge of the alleyway, adjusting their hunting leathers and inhaling the morning air through their nostrils.

A drunkard’s vomit, a vagrant’s small puddle of piss… all the lovely surprises left by the night’s passenger’s greeted them. In reply, one spat to the side while his younger partner doubled over — nearly adding his breakfast to the growing pile of retch against the wall.

Stroud’s face was placid as he watched from the fringe of the crowd. For all the times Hrer harped about the Tundra Walker’s keen senses, he neglected to mention how often it did them more harm than good in the slums.

First, their nose wrinkled; then, they wiped at their watering eyes before it all became too much to bear and they finally grimaced and hurried away as their ears rang from all the shouting and cajoling and the distant sounds of the smithies. It happened every time without fail. Just as it did now.

Lowering the brim of his tattered cap, Stroud followed the hunters into the stream of halting footsteps and jostling shoulders headed toward the city gates. Passage in this direction was always difficult at this hour because it flowed opposite the sweaty brook of pedestrians marching to The Bellows for work.

The weather mattered little to these people who toiled in the smog. It was basically the only sector of Frostrane that offered work for the uneducated and lower-class residents, so hot or cold, rain or shine, they were decked from head to toe in whatever layers of clothes, leathers, and masks they could scrounge up.

A low sigh escaped Stroud’s lips as he bumped into a boy clearly younger than himself. The kid could barely see with all the gear he was wearing, but he plowed ahead anyway, stumbling through the many obstacles that cropped up in his path.

“We share a similar fate, you and I.”

While making sure that his targets hadn’t gone too far ahead, Stroud backtracked quickly and slipped a few silver Mors and some change into one of the boy's pockets. It wasn’t much, but he didn’t have a lot to spare and it was more about satisfying his urge, anyway.

Muttering again, Stroud refocused on his task. “Now let’s see what last bit I can earn…”

A thin vial appeared in his hand. He uncorked it and swallowed the harsh liquid remaining inside whilst maintaining the straight face of an experienced alcoholic. The sip of raw Nura sloshed between his cheeks as it crackled and fizzed like a carbonated beverage. It numbed his tongue, but nothing more. Fucking swill, Stroud thought to himself.

Despite their similar price, the doses of Nura he purchased from the Sanctum’s alchemy department could in no way compare to those he’d received from Gau. Their potency was manifold lower — to the extent that his Spark talismans probably couldn’t even be used to light a fire with them.

Stroud shivered as he thought of facing a beast like Trelti without the old witch’s potent brew…

Since then, he had handled each scouting mission with a high degree of caution, but he knew he was still fortunate not to have been cornered again. His experience was too lacking and the teams of Tundra Walkers escalated their anti-tracking measures with each passing day it seemed like. Their efforts made Merits hard to come by out in the field.

What’ll it be this time… Another Tremor Plate; a cleansing talisman… something new, maybe?

As many means as Stroud now had at his disposal to trace someone from a distance — these men always seemed to have just as many to thwart him. The conflict out in the slums had devolved into a battle of resources: Who was willing to spend more to gain the information they wanted? And without his own source of Nura, the price was often sky high for him.

Still, without effort, there would be no gain. Stroud reached into his coat and procured a Hunter’s Mark talisman as he and his objectives reached the outer sphere of the slums. The foot traffic had finally thinned out enough for him to take a clean shot.

Hunter’s Mark was a tier 2 spell that he was sure the two men were intimately familiar with, but that didn’t make it any easier for them to avoid it. It functioned very similarly to Perception Probing. A blunt arrowhead of raw energy and wind was formed and shot forth from the animal skin under the guise of shadows. When it connected with a target, a seal would be left behind on their clothes or skin and it would remain attached to the original talisman through a string of Nura.

Drawing and casting a Hunter’s Mark cost nearly a quarter of a week’s earnings, but it was well worth the price as the missile was easy to miss and the force of the strike was nigh imperceptible through any sort of thick leather or hide. And sure enough, after Stroud spat out his Nura onto the slip of parchment — the taller Tundra Walker on the left didn’t so much as flinch as the faded bolt struck his back.

Seizing upon his momentum, Stroud sent out a sliver of his spiritual perception and latched it onto the handsome looking man with long hair who he’d designated earlier as the stronger of the two. This was another habit he’d picked up a few weeks back.

By observing the stronger opponent’s Sea using his mental energy, he ran a slightly higher risk of alerting them but he also gave himself a better chance at escaping a more powerful apprentice’s spell.

So far, so good.

Neither had reacted to his intrusions before they took a branching thoroughfare that cut away from the gate and toward the Verum. Keeping his head down and his steps slow and off-balance, Stroud followed from afar.

These two Tundra Walkers weren’t the same low-level thugs he’d encountered on his first mission with Hrer. The polish of their appearance and their accents when they whispered with each other told him they’d spent much more of their life outside the city than within. And the air of authority and pride with which they carried themselves indicated that they likely held some measure of status within the tribes.

Recently, most of his spare hours were spent lurking around The Bellows looking for targets, and these were the biggest fish Stroud had managed to spot within slum’s murky waters thus far. Reeling any information out of them wouldn’t be too difficult either as his past few days of observation had revealed the younger one’s loud mouth. The consequences of getting caught by these two might be more severe, but alternatively, the reward would be well-worth his days of effort.

Focus, Stroud urged himself. The slowly budding seed of cold energy was roused unbidden as he kept his breathing steady and his eyes trained on the ground. While it circulated, its presence aided him in eradicating all distractions and extraneous information. Almost all the concentration he could muster was focused on filtering through the various conversations floating down the street.

“...My father is arriving in less than a week. Do you really expect him to stay in that foul dungeon?”

The marked man glanced around casually before he replied in a hushed whisper, “Of course not. We’re working... securing accommodations for... the Vulture’s grand-daughter has her eyes everywhere... ”

Scowling, the handsome young man opened his mouth to retort. He was obviously about to say something stupid, but someone must’ve been watching over him from the heavens because whatever came out of his mouth was intercepted by a pack of teens that cut across the road behind them.

Stroud clicked his tongue as the bout of ill-luck stirred some frustration and caused the circulation of the frost seed to falter. When it resumed, it did so with greater force, narrowing the scope of his attention even further.

His vision seemed to zoom in on their backs as they made a turn down another street up ahead. This one cut away from the markets and storefronts in the center of the outer district and made it much harder to follow them inconspicuously. But he pressed on regardless, only loosening the gap between them to compensate. His fixation on the task at hand was freezing every other thought in his mind.

Such an occurrence had become common while his nerves and fear were still locked away. The newfound clarity and single-mindedness were beneficial in many respects, but it hindered him in plenty of other ways.

Stroud had found that information gathering oftentimes required an intangible instinct — a heat. It wasn’t a hot-blooded boldness, but rather a lukewarm skepticism. And he lacked that when all that remained flowing through his veins was a steady supply of ice-cold blood...

The path ahead narrowed and twisted in a winding curve causing the strings attached to his targets to be jerked askew by every turn. Each twitch of his perception was mirrored by a twitch in his heart.

Not good. Roused by the demon’s sudden agitation, Stroud came to a halt. The deep shadows and invisible eyes watching from every corner and window suddenly became so unmistakable. They had been warning him all along.

Exhaling the breath frozen in his lungs, he spun on his heels and headed back the other way.

The venomous snake’s feelings of indignation continued to crash against the walls of its cell when not long after, Stroud’s tie to the Hunter’s Mark was abruptly severed. His Probe followed shortly.

A Perception Ward instantly sprang up around Stroud as he retracted all his mental energy and darted into the closest alley. He worked his way back to the main road as fast as his legs could carry him, fending off three different surges of mental energy that materialized and swarmed him from all sides.

He was frustrated by his failure, but not upset. All errors could be resolved. Stroud was absolutely sure those two hadn’t been aware of him, but it was also true that he didn’t usually venture this far outside the slums when he was operating as one of Lady Adelais’ agents. It was entirely possible that their network was much more developed around the Verum.

His mind started looping through the events that had led him to this point as he arrived back out on the main road, searching for a direction. The currents of will attacking him still refused to relent. They smashed at his ward with all the subtlety of a blacksmith shaping steel, and though his opponents lacked skill, they made up for it with numbers. Another apprentice joined the assault, followed shortly by a fifth.

Stroud’s will quaked under the intensified barrage, making it difficult to concentrate, and in the end, it was his gut that led him toward the nearest concentration of voices. He didn’t fear for his life with so many bystanders around, but having his identity exposed could lead to a whole host of problems, so he needed to act with haste. A homeless cripple wasn’t odd at a glance, but if one went looking specifically for one, they would find that people without a Sea of Nura were much fewer in number than one might expect — even in a city as large as Frostrane.

Stroud's stampede into the large assembly gathered in the Verum’s main plaza caused a minor commotion, but he was able to successfully lose his pursuers in the mass of bodies. And here, smelling like a dish-rag drenched in piss proved its benefits outside of only making his disguise more believable. Pretty much everyone was eager to allow him to pass by.

Weaving toward the opposite end of the crowd and the plaza’s northern exit, Stroud didn’t pay any attention to what had so many gathered here today. His mind was still trying to sort through the events of his pursuit and how or when he may have been revealed…

“...People of Frostrane, come hither!” A loud cry suddenly rose above the din. It originated from a large wooden stage positioned in front of the monument of the First Warden.

The towering stone knight stood solemnly, both of his hands positioned on the hilt of the sword plunged into the earth at his feet. His lifeless eyes looked scornfully upon the prisoners who cowered behind their execution blocks.

“Tomorrow... Orena watches over the commencement of the summer harvest. So today, we must cleanse our lands of that which plagues us. Their spirits will be our offering; their evils will become our bounty. Let us rejoice!”

Stroud slowed to a halt. His eyes were drawn in by the deep, almost magnetic voice, but his mind wandered astray.

Was it that time of year already? The warm summer days had blended together in a murky haze. So much of his time recently was spent either deep underground in his lab or wandering through the winding alleys of the slums… Had he really lost complete track of the cycle of the moons?

Routine had a way of hastening time’s passage, but the Purgadium had arrived much sooner than he felt it should have… And since when did it involve the sacrifice of human life? At the Marwood estate, they only slaughtered a few cattle each year…

Confusion and doubt formed a whirlpool in his mind, drowning out the rest of the crier’s speech.

It wasn’t until the first prisoner’s head fell beneath the executioner’s blade that Stroud came to his senses.

Everyone around him cheered once more as the man’s crimes were cleansed, spreading good fortune to all. Their cheeks flushed with heat and excitement as the hot crimson blood trickled down pale wood.

Unblinking, he watched it all through a crystal clear lens. He saw their joy surge again as another head rolled, but it didn’t resonate with him. He was distant. Aloof.

As the seed of cool energy cycled through his body, Stroud only felt like he was observing something... interesting. He didn’t understand it, but what he didn’t understand — he would seek to.

He started by tracking all the details.

The city watch was present, but there was no seating arranged for special guests. And not everyone was swept up by the frenzied atmosphere. Scattered around were dark glares directed at the stage.

Stroud shifted. How many prisoners? Eight. Six males, one female, and one unidentified.

He zeroed in on the anomaly.

It was very human-like, but it had pale, bluish skin and angular features that appeared like they were carved from ice. And as he looked closer, another image soon appeared in his mind and overlapped with the exceedingly tall and thin figure shivering on its knees.

The Cosmae… It was the Stray he’d seen being apprehended outside that restaurant in the west-central market. He hadn’t gotten a good look at it back then, but what he saw now was immensely intriguing.

Faster and faster, the frigid stream flowed through his veins. It produced an almost irresistible desire to take a closer look. He needed to delve beneath the surface and find out what made it tick. What was their biology like? Did the Cosmae share similar organs to humans? Did they also cultivate…?

Another rousing cheer erupted. The third prisoner’s body slumped to the side. It was the woman, and now, the Cosmae was up next.

...Will its blood run red?

That final thought appeared so harmless at first, but its echo struck like a bolt of lightning. Its presence became so foreign and… sinister in Stroud’s mind. The dissonance between his heart and consciousness grew, and as the executioner’s blade fell once more, he turned away and retched to the side, spilling his guts over another man’s boots.

“Hey—! What the…?”

Stroud stumbled away from the plaza. He felt dizzy and disoriented as the cool energy was swallowed back up by the frost seed before it returned to rest.

It was time to hasten his plans.

***

Picking his way through the clutter and rubbish in the back of Norfin’s, Stroud arrived outside the door to Hrer’s meeting room.

It was closed and muffled voices sounded from inside, so he could only wait in the mist of dust and ash that floated through the warehouse. In the meanwhile, he turned his mind inward and inspected the state of the demons.

Their vitality was returning. And the closer they drew to a full recovery — the faster their strength grew. The lion’s coat shone with a faint luster and a venomous glow suffused the snake’s eyes. In their respective chambers, they continued to idle, but the cadence of their breathing was steady and full of vigor.

Quite possibly, the only thing keeping them in check right now was their mutual wariness toward whatever had suppressed and injured them during their first battle.

I need to begin clearing the second layer of my Spirit Locus…

Only then, did Stroud believe, he would have the minimum mental prowess to intervene in their conflict. Attempting to exterminate them in some way had crossed his mind more than once, but without their presence — his mental instability seemed to be growing worse. There were no balances to counteract or curb the increasingly extreme urges brought about by the frost seed or the potential emergence of new internal factors.

Stroud chuckled dryly, his throat still hoarse from vomiting earlier. With or without — the danger of his spirit was a constant. Only by growing the strength of his vessel would he be able to achieve balance, but it was much easier said than done.

Suddenly, the door creaked open and he took a step back. An older man whose face was frozen in a perpetual scowl stepped out.

One of the Berg servant’s, Stroud recognized. He dipped his head in greeting; however, the other man clearly didn’t share the same understanding. His downturned eyes narrowed as he brushed by and hurried quickly to the back door.

“Stroud! Come in!” Hrer shouted from his office.

Somewhat annoyed, Stroud responded to the call. He swept into the room and took a seat atop a crate across from Hrer’s ramshackle desk.

A composed gaze inspected Stroud from head to toe before the man spoke. “You’ve been busy as of late.”

“The city is stirring. Everyone is doing their best to reap what they can.” Stroud folded his arms and leaned forward, tapping one of his boots against the dirt floor at a steady rhythm.

“You’re right about that,” Hrer replied with a nod. He turned his attention back to the slim stack of papers in his hands. “Any news, then?”

Stroud shrugged. “Could be something. There was a man who showed up recently in one of the hunter’s dens I was assigned to keep an eye on. He seemed to possess more status than the others, so I’ve been watching him closely the past few days...”

“Go on.”

“...Nothing much had come of it until today. He was speaking with another Walker I didn’t recognize and let it slip that his father would be arriving in Frostrane next week. His companion seemed to react to the news with some deference.”

The sheaf of papers was slapped onto the rough surface of the desk as Hrer gave Stroud his full attention. “Any names?”

“None.” Stroud sighed. “Though I can provide an accurate sketch of the man.” Names currently meant much more than faces to the agents working under Lady Adelais. It was part of the reason why Stroud had been so persistent in his pursuit earlier.

“Hmm…” Hrer scratched the stubble on his chin and kicked his feet up. “For now, that’s enough. We’ll circulate the portrait through the prisoners and informants and see if we can turn anything up. I’ll make sure you’re rewarded appropriately if we get any results.”

Already prepared, Stroud separated a folded slip of parchment from the talismans hidden within his jacket. He stretched his hand out to pass it to Hrer, but paused halfway as he did so. There was still an answer he needed before he was dismissed.

“Hrer. Even without this week's earnings, I’ve gathered enough Merits to purchase two sets of ingredients for Blood Steeping… I think it's time you elaborated on that warning you gave me…”

Exhaling a long breath, Hrer stretched back and closed his eyes. Silence reigned until one of them popped back open and pierced into Stroud with unprecedented seriousness. “You’re certain you want to go this route?”

“Would you just explain? How can I know for certain until I hear what you have to say?”

“Alright… alright…” Hrer reached out and snatched the portrait from Stroud. He stuffed it into a pocket in his trousers before he sat back up properly. “How much do you know about Bloodline Magi?”

“Very little…” Stroud racked his brain. “All I've read or heard mention of is that the Imperial family hails from a noble and exceptional lineage. But… I’m not certain if that is even related.”

An amused smile stretched out Hrer’s scar. “It most certainly is. They are a family of very powerful Bloodline Magi, but they are far from being the only ones with that title in these lands. In fact, any Magus or person could partially adopt the bloodline of a Spirit Beast to strengthen their body if they had knowledge of a technique, but doing so may not solely bring about said benefits…”

Skeptical, Stroud raised a brow. “You’re saying that Blood Steeping will alter my bloodline? It makes no mention of that in the journal…”

“What you’ve read is only the footnotes of an old text copied down from an even older manuscript.” Hrer scoffed, rolling his eyes. He sighed as they glazed over in the following breath. “I’ve personally read the full translation of the original manual. My father was one of the scholars hired by the Adelais family to translate and catalog much of what they recovered from the ruins beneath Frostrane when they reclaimed the city from the Walkers…”

Stroud consciously swallowed his saliva, waiting for Hrer to continue on.

The man’s eyes burned with anger as he called upon his memories. “Before they were pushed out, the savages attempted to burn or destroy what they could of the city’s history... It's fortunate that the Warden’s victory was swift and he had the wherewithal to prioritize the right resources.”

“Anyway…” Hrer shook his head, lamenting quietly. “Blood Steeping is merely an adapted version of the remains of a technique that dates all the way back to the later years of the Primordial Era when Bloodline Magi were first starting to emerge and dominate the world. I can’t say much more than this due to my oath — but you should know that it's an imperfect method.”

“Understood,” Stroud acknowledged. He could tell Hrer was trying to dissuade him in a somewhat roundabout manner, but his options were sorely limited. Some drawbacks were acceptable as long as the technique could deliver on its promise of improving his physique. He only needed it to buy him some time. “...Would you be willing or able to explain wherein Blood Steeping’s faults lie?”

Hrer frowned. “Since you’re so insistent, I will try and lead you toward the answer. The rest will be up to you, but consider this a favor.”

“Very well.” Stroud shifted atop the crate. A favor was a somewhat steep price around The Bellows.

“Blood Essence…” Hrer posed. “Considering you lack so much knowledge about Bloodline Magi, I can assume you know even less about this.”

“That’s true,” Stroud replied, slowly. He’d never heard mention of it, but somehow, just hearing the term had set off a spark in his mind. The gears were turning as Hrer continued on…

“I can’t claim much knowledge about this topic either, but think about the way in which you completed your binding oath with the boss. Nura is not our only source of power, and the same can be said for Spirit Beasts and all other beings. And just like our Nura signatures — each individual’s blood will be unique. Some may find theirs to be similar while others very different…”

The meaning in Hrer’s tone and the inclination of his eyes was clear as he trailed off. Ideas were already tumbling through Stroud’s mind in an avalanche.

“Be careful which blood you choose, kid. Because Blood Steeping is rather…forceful. ”