“We can’t fight such a man”, Nidor uttered quietly while shaking his head in a slow, almost hypnotic manner. A shocked expression still hung on his face. “For hell’s sake… He’s a living myth.”

“We don’t plan to confront him… Not directly, at least.” The blonde girl remarked coldly. She hadn’t mentioned her name. “My guild tried once… And now we’re just a couple of lucky survivors with a crippled master that obeys his every command.”

“And yet… You seek the death of Arleon?” Sevrian asked.

The young woman nodded. She announced the plan to assassinate the Thirdborn’s apprentice a mere few minutes ago.

“Of course we do. We can’t just stand around while Farnaraen seizes control over our city”, one of the other guild members mumbled in a low, hoarse voice. He and his comrades were still covered from head to toe. Only the blonde girl revealed her face before the sorcerers.

“I understand you…” The old man nodded. “We are one of your last hopes, aren’t we?”

“No.” One of the cloaked figures shook its head quickly. “You are the last hope for us. At least in Tarha-Nan. But there aren’t much people that can assists us outside the city, either.”

“I see… You’re not wrong to come to us, although it shows quite some desperation. And it isn’t very thought-out, too.”

„How so?” The blonde girl hissed at the old sorcerer in a challenging way.

“Have you thought about the possibility that we can be his allies? That we’ve deceived everyone, your comrades included, and are servants of the glorious Thirdborn?”

“Nah…” the girl cackled in an unhappy way and shook her head. “You can’t be.” She smirked faintly. “We wouldn’t be still standing here if you were.”

“Well… You’re right, young lady.”

“Then can you explain which side are you on, exactly?”

Sevrian began talking without hurrying. Ehrir stopped listening after a few sentences and looked around the room. All the disciples were sitting or standing in silence with gloomy expressions. Salelia’s apprentices had just learned of the Thirdborn by the blonde assassin’s words and they reacted with curiosity at best and fear at worst. Most of them looked disheartened, in any case. Varhel, Nalia and the Undone One weren’t much better, as all three of them were frowning.

Ehrir didn’t happy. He hid the truth about Farnaraen from the others, and that (partially) led to their currently abysmal mood. There were more factors invoking a grim sensation within his gut, too.

For one, his worries came true. He learned how terrible of a failure the assassination attempt turned out to be, and how Mor-Ael’s guild crumbled over the course of just one long, bloody night. How the city was on the verge of chaos and turmoil, but it remained peaceful only because Farnaraen managed to silence most of the witnesses of his incredibly violent acts. How the Thirdborn turned the Great Master of the assassins into an obedient, crippled man. How the other organizations in the city were hesitant to act, afraid of the lurking, dark presence of the Changeling looming above the palace and spreading towards all of Tarha-Nan. The situation was desperate.

The travelling party’s mission wasn’t going well, either.

Arleon wasn’t in the city of cutthroats, unlike his master. The guild members revealed that he was sent into the lair of the High Sovereign himself, in some distant settlement laying far to the southwest. His mission there was to utilize his friendship with the ruler’s first advisor and expand the influence of his master to the whole Union of City States. Now Ehrir’s group had to contact the Ashen Gaze and announce that their task to find Arleon in was failed. And nobody really knew where Ostrias could send them off to next…

Ehrir gritted his teeth. It was far too early for him to even see Farnaraen. He felt the barely suppressed anger and hate towards the Thirdborn that ran through his veins, burning his insides like molten iron. Despite this, the Undone One also sensed his own weakness. His skills in magic and combat were bettered and refined in the last few weeks, but… The Changeling was still as far from him as the sky itself in terms of power.

Ehrir sank deeper and deeper into his own bleak thoughts as the night went on and the discussions between the guild members and the elder wizards grew more and more intense. Salelia and the old man couldn’t agree to help the girl and her faceless companions, at least not without seeking advice from the Ashen Gaze first.

“We don’t want Arleon to die… At least our master doesn’t”, said Sevrian many times during this exhausting talk. And still, he and the witch patiently listened to the guild members’ proposals to kill the Thirdborn’s underling. They refrained from giving them any critiques or advice in that regard. “They probably don’t know how to kill him, either”, Ehrir thought bitterly. Arleon was a servant to Farnaraen, but he was still as old and (perhaps) as strong as Ostrias.

The new day steadily crept over the world and brought a warm dawn for the group of disheartened sorcerers.

***

The second breakfast for Ehrir in the palace wasn’t as happy and carefree as the first one. There was a heavy, ominous silence in the air, and it made the people around the table unusually quiet and unresponsive. Zaster was particularly silent, and although no one could tell what he was feeling or thinking by his face or gestures, Ehrir judged that he was deep in thoughts.

The morning passed the Undone One by without anything of importance happening. Ehrir was actually relieved when Sevrian swept by and announced that he and the others should prepare to leave the palace. The disciples were to be moved to the city along with their masters.

The Undone One felt regret over that going away from the castle. It was ridden with an intense nervousness, but it was beautiful, vast and comfortable. He was going to miss it.

The city that laid before him, on the other hand, was the polar opposite of the crystal palace. Dark, dirty and filled with people to the brim, Tarha-Nan didn’t give off pleasant vibes at first glance. The sharp, pointy and practical architecture of the buildings invoked a sense of bleakness. “And everything is made from damned stone, too…” Ehrir thought. The pavement beneath his feet, every wall, roof and door frame… There wasn’t a single entirely wooden house in the whole city, just monotone granite dwellings.

Even so, the richer parts of Tarha-Nan weren’t ugly. They just looked more like a still cemetery monuments than places where actual people would live. There was a grave sort of beauty to them, but it wasn’t graceful, cozy or elegant.

The inn which the party moved in wasn’t that bad, at least from the inside. Still, its compact, warm rooms paled in comparisons to those of the palace. The servants were far fewer and the food wasn’t as good, but… It was far better than what Ehrir and his comrades had to endure in the wilderness. Hot food, tall windows, cold drinks and soft beds – everything was comfortable and good overall, despite its somewhat bland appearance.

The Undone One happened to share a room with Nidor, and he got to behold the branded boy’s low mood extensively. He was free to roam the city’s streets, but he didn’t want to. The remainder of the day was spent either trying to cheer his roommate up, or by reading parts of “The Sorcerer’s Book”. His trusty magical sword rested in its sheath, hanging on a nail on the wall next to his bed.

Sevrian came by Ehrir’s room by dusk. His face was stony and stern.

“I contacted master Ostrias”, he announced with a dry tone. “The communication item he handled me back on the seashore didn’t work flawlessly, but… It did, nonetheless.” He sighed. “He said that things in the Inner Fantasy have… changed, to put it simply. His ally who is in search of Arleon doesn’t seek him anymore. In fact… The master mentioned that the Changeling has become dangerous.” The old man went silent for a second. “It would be a relief if he dies, he said.”

The Undone One felt a cold chill crawl down his spine. The hair on his neck stood up immediately.

“I’ll be blunt”, Sevrian resumed his speech. “Master Ostrias agrees to let us help the guild members in assassinating Arleon. He encourages it, even. The Changeling has turned into an enemy of his, for some reason.”

Nidor didn’t respond, just stared at Sevrian and slowly nodded. Ehrir didn’t stay so quiet.

“So… we’re going to travel to the city of the High Sovereign now?” he asked bitterly. The possibility of another long trip looming around the corner wasn’t exactly pleasant. He longed for the comforting embrace and the kind of rest only a city could provide, even if it was as dark and unwelcoming as Tarha-Nan.

“No”, the master magician shook his head. “At least not until we have a good plan on what to do. We must exchange a word or two with the guild members about this whole ordeal, too.”

Sevrian rambled a little more before leaving the room and departing with the disciples.

The rest of the evening was spent in a boring way, except for the dinner, which was served to the Undone One and his comrade in their chambers.

“Hey… Ehrir?” asked the young man while devouring the wings of a roasted chicken.

“Yes?”

“You’re… an Undone One, right?”

“I am.”

“Is… Is Arleon the one that is responsible for you… being such?”

“No… It’s Farnaraen, believe it or not.”

“Are you… Angry at him for making you this way?”

“I am”, uttered Ehrir, barely hiding his hatred behind a calm face.

“Do you want to kill him?” The youngling’s tone was gravely serious.

“I… I do.”

“Then… At least Arleon may prove to be a fine training in killing Changelings for you.” Nidor smiled bitterly before raising his glass of apple cider. “Cheers.”

“Cheers”, said Ehrir before gulping down his own cup of weak wine. He felt strangely, somewhat important for the whole upcoming ordeal. And yet… He was also small and insignificant in the face of the world. Perhaps he was both.

Perhaps he was.