A menacing door with an engraving of a dragon and a phoenix stood in front of Forte. The door was the entrance to Samuel Beetley’s office, and it was thoroughly intimidating. Forte tentatively knocked on the door.

“Come in,” a smooth voice answered.

Forte opened the door and walked inside. Strange plants with teeth decorated the office, and there were rows of potion vials on the sides. A glowing crystal ball sat on the professor’s desk. The obese professor was sunk in his armchair, looking at Forte while dangling a pipe in his mouth. The room smelled of elwood tobacco and alcohol, as an open bottle of brandy sat on the side of his desk. The professor seemed slightly drunk.

“Professor, I’d like to continue our conversation from last time,” Forte said warmly, as took out a box of pastries and looked around the office. One of the plants started to move, startling him.

“Careful around those, Forte. Those are Halfastian potted plants. Flesh eaters. Watch your fingers,” he chuckled. “Right, we were speaking about the Motley-Sinclair line. What interested you again?”

Forte placed the box of sumptuous pastries on the desk to tempt the professor, and considered his words carefully. “The history of magic just fascinates me. I heard in history class that there were four seals of dark magic, and they were lost after the war. Motley’s amulet, Ismas’ thorny crown, Ealdwin’s— “

“Ealdwin’s locket, and Sinclair’s ring of chaos. Yes, yes, I am familiar with them,” the professor interrupted. “These are forbidden artifacts of dark magic, Forte. I suggest you do not dabble with them.”

The professor leaned in for a pastry, and Forte was delighted, although his face did not show it. He needed to charm the professor just a bit more, to further open him up so that he would reveal his secrets. “I am just curious, as a student of magical history. I wonder what would have happened if those artifacts fell into the hands of a benevolent ruler. Did they really disappear after the war? You are a fantastic teacher, and I thought that you might know more about it, given your familiarity with the Motley and Sinclair lines.”

Samuel Beetley sighed, and plopped the pastry in his mouth. “You ask dangerous questions, Forte, but if it is simply to satisfy your curiosity and nothing more, I will answer. I like you, Forte. You’re a good student, one with potential I haven’t seen in a long time. And curiosity is a virtue of many good students. That is why I will tell you this.” He sighed again, and continued, slightly slurring his words together. “Three of the four seals of dark magic were lost completely after the fall of the Motley-Sinclair dynasty, but one of them remained. Alastar knew that the war was lost, and he needed someone he could trust to guard the ring with his life. That person was my ancestor, Jeord Beetley. The chaos ring was locked and sealed within the Beetley estate for many years, until many generations passed, and its power faded. The ring had not glowed for centuries, and my great grandfather foolishly decided to sell it. Our noble family was hard pressed for money, you see, and the artifact would not activate no matter who wore it—you can see that curiosity also overwhelmed the Beetley family. Thus, he sold it. To who, I know not. You may talk to my brother if you wish, he knows more about the matter.”

Samuel Beetley scribbled a few words on a parchment, and then stamped it. “Take this to him. I myself am curious to find out who the ring was sold to, and where it resides now. Anyway, it is a useless piece of jewelry now. My family has tried wearing and using it for generations out of curiosity, but it has never activated. Take this parchment to my brother, Mortimus Beetley. He lives in the capital city.”

“Understood. I am also intrigued to know where the ring wound up. That's all I need to know for now. Thank you for your time professor,” Forte smiled handsomely as he took the parchment and walked out the door.

“My pleasure…” the professor responded.

Forte closed the door once he left the office. He had succeeded in extracting the information he wanted about the second forbidden seal of dark magic. He didn’t know if he could activate the ring, but he just wanted to touch it, to feel its power. His lust for power had overwhelmed his rationality. The weekend was approaching, and it was the perfect time to visit the capital city again. The address was written on the parchment.

---

Vaun breathed in deeply, as he fastened his daggers to his belt. The bloody carnival had shaken him to the core.

He took one last look at the portrait of his target, a fat man who loved to wear flamboyant clothing—Mortimus Beetley.

---

Forte packed a few days worth of supplies, and called a carriage. He wore the amulet of darkness around his neck and underneath his robes, careful to mask its aura. The carriage arrived at the academy, and he rode through the hills and plains towards the capital city. Before long, he had arrived at the Beetley estate, a grand display that seemed somewhat weathered. The garden was slightly unkempt, although there was an impressive engraving of a dragon and a phoenix on top of the gate.

The Beetley family was once incredibly wealthy, Forte thought, but the wealth must have dwindled through the generations. He put on his hood and rapped on the gate. The shuffling of feet could be heard, and a young girl appeared. Forte frowned in confusion—he didn’t understand why the gatekeeper was what appeared to be a thirteen-year-old girl. But the shackles on her feet made him instantly realize what he was dealing with. The girl was a slave. When he would strike his fortune, he would also buy a slew of slaves to do his bidding. He somewhat admired Mortimus Beetley now.

“Who is it?” the slave girl asked softly.

“Forte Minot. I’ve come to talk to Mortimus Beetley,” Forte replied.

The girl cleared her throat. “Master Beetley is busy right now. You may leave.” She began closing the second part of the gate.

Forte grabbed the second half of the gate through the bars. “Not so fast. I have a letter from his brother, Samuel. It’s stamped. Here.” He handed the letter over to the slave girl, who read it and nodded. She opened the creaky gate.

“Follow me,” she said.

Forte followed the slave, who was wearing an elegant dress, which differed from normal slave attire. The two shackles on her feet weren’t chained together either, which was doubly strange. Forte reasoned that either the slave was a favorite of Mortimus, or Mortimus had leverage over her that would preclude any attempts of escaping. Judging by the girl’s timid expression, Forte knew that it was the latter.

They entered the mansion, and the slave brought Forte to the lord of the estate’s study. She knocked on the door, two quick raps.

“Master Beetley, I’ve brought a student from the academy who has a written recommendation from Master Samuel,” she said.

“Oh, really?” a squeaky voice responded. “Bring them in.”

The slave peeked into the room, and then opened the door for Forte. She led him inside, then left them alone. Forte kept his hood on—he had a strange feeling that something was amiss, and wanted to keep his identity secret.

“Sir, I was told that you have knowledge that I seek. But first…” Forte walked over and handed the fat lord in an outrageously yellow hat a small gift wrapped box. “A present, to show my good will.”

“My, my…” said Mortimus Beetley, as he opened the box. Inside was a box of exquisite chocolates. “Well I dare say these look tempting, but I cannot have them. Too many people are out for me, so I only eat food prepared by my chefs.” He carefully placed the box of chocolates onto his desk, and clasped his hands together. “Now, what did you want to talk to me about?”

Forte swallowed before answering. “I heard from your brother that the Beetley family was in possession of a certain… ring… but it was sold by your—“

“Ah, yes, the chaos ring. It was indeed sold by my great grandfather for a tidy sum to a collector of sorts. But before I tell you who it was sold to, can you enlighten me as to why this piece of knowledge is important to you? The chaos ring is one of the four lost seals, not the business of a third or forth year academy student.”

Forte cursed under his breath. Finding the identity of the elusive buyer was difficult as it was without added suspicion by Mortimus Beetley. “Sir, I’m merely interested in the fascinating history of the—“

BOOM.

The eastern wall exploded, and the silhouette of a masked man appeared as the dust settled.

Swish.

The masked man threw a dagger from his cloak towards Mortimus Beetley. Mortimus squealed as Forte quickly casted a blast of wind to redirect the dagger, changing its trajectory as it missed Mortimus’ head by a hair, and instead pierced an oil canvas behind the fat lord.

At the sound of the lord’s cry, guards and slaves rushed into the room and tackled Forte to the ground. The masked man vanished as debris rushed into the room.

“Off the boy! He saved my life!” squealed the ugly lord. Forte’s assailants immediately backed off.

As the dust settled, a tunnel was visible underneath where the eastern wall was. The assassin had escaped through it. Mortimus directed several of his slaves and servants to search the tunnel, as he turned to Forte.

“Boy, what is your name?” he asked.

“Forte… Minot, sir,” Forte responded carefully.

The ugly, pudgy man paced around the room before speaking. “You’re a remarkable boy, Forte. Quick to cast magic, and smart as well. I would like to offer you a position as my bodyguard. You will be paid well.”

Forte shook his head. “I’m sorry, but I have to turn down the offer. But I can investigate who the assassin was, if you tell me who the ring was sold to.

Mortimus laughed. “That old thing? It was sold to a certain family. Find me the assassin’s identity, and I will pay you a thousand silvers and tell you which family it was.”

Forte nodded. “Deal.” He sprinted into the tunnel with a torch. He took the amulet of darkness out of his robes, and the ruby gold amulet sparkled in the torchlight.

---

Vaun was baffled. None of his sources had told him that the sickly old man had a brilliant mage as his guard. Not a single one of his most trusted sources. Mortimus Beetley had more secrets than the illegal child slaves he kept, Vaun thought to himself. He wanted to kill the man, to rip his head from his body for all the atrocities he had committed. Mortimus wasn’t just a slave owner, he was also a highly ranked guest of the carnival, that terrible show where slaves enacted deadly situations. The carnival Vaun attended was war themed, and the slaves were forced to kill each other while dressed in exquisite suits of armor. The carnival was grandiose, but barbaric and disgusting at heart. It was only after attending, that Vaun realized that most nobles participated and even enjoyed the carnival.

He kept running through the tunnels, until the footsteps following him except one pair ceased. Vaun turned around and drew his dagger. He would fight this last pursuer, then get back and report the situation to Gerald Leblanc.

He turned around and waited. Before long, a tall, hooded man appeared in the sewer tunnels in front of him. It was Mortimus’ mage guard.

“So it’s you,” Vaun sighed. He did not want conflict with a mage, but he drew a vial of turquoise liquid from his belt and uncorked it. It looked like conflict was inevitable.

“It is I…” said the hooded man, as his amulet began to glow faintly. He muttered an incomprehensible word, and a fireball appeared above his palm. The man extended his palm, and the fireball shot at Vaun with breakneck speed. Vaun barely dodged, as the fireball singed his hair.

Vaun got up and drank the potion. Immediately, his body began to tremor as his teeth and hair grew longer, and his body expanded as he burst out of his clothing.

“What in the world?” the hooded man exclaimed, as he cast another fireball, which struck Vaun in the chest. Vaun shook off the painful blow, and charged at the hooded man.

“Oblitio!” the man shouted as Vaun ran towards him on all fours, and a white streak of light smote Vaun in the arm. He immediately felt his arm go limp, but he kept charging. The hooded man sent a few more fireballs, and Vaun howled in pain as he tanked the shots.

He tackled the man down to the floor and bit into his shoulder, contacting flesh.

“Aghh!” The hooded man shouted in excruciating pain as his amulet glowed bright as the sun, and he casted another incantation. “Infernus dracio!” An apparition of a large flaming dragon burst out into the open, blasting Vaun onto the ground as it started to burn him alive. Vaun ran back to gain distance, and the dragon apparition dissipated.

He felt the beastial potion wearing off, as he returned back to human size. Vaun drew two daggers from his belt and threw them at the hooded man with practice.

“Ariz waera!” the hooded man shouted. With a swish of his wrist, both daggers flew by him harmlessly.

Vaun cursed, and quickly drew two smoke bomb from what was left of his belt. He needed to retreat now. The mage was too strong, and he was injured. He threw the bombs onto the ground. Purple smoke filled the air, and he retreated back into the tunnel. He heard the sound of wind magic cutting through the smoke, but by the time the smoke was gone, he had also disappeared.