"Marì, what are you doing?" Giovanna said, bringing a piece of cloth closer to her face to better examine it.

“That turned out wrong, Giovà. Don't make all this fuss, come on. It is just one piece. Look, nobody dies”, Marina replied.

Marina looked at the young woman in front of her, one of the Earthlings with the most suitors in the whole city. Unfortunately, two deep dark circles ruined her otherwise perfect face.

“Okay, look, if you don't relax a bit, you're gonna get a stroke. Besides, you get wrinkles if you don't sleep more. The day that Cyrus comes back to get you and steals you on the back of a white horse, he says My God, Giovà, you look like a witch from Benevento!"

Giovanna looked at her with murder in her eyes, but Marina had raised three sons while her husband worked all day: a skinny girl did not frighten her in the slightest.

The young woman sighed and shook her head.

“Cyrus is not coming back, Marì, I have already told you. He left with Vanessa and if he comes back they'll kill him. You heard what they say about him on the streets."

The other sat on the opposite side of the table and began to take measurements on rectangles of fine fabric. It seemed that orders had come from Lady Goldith herself, through the spineless Gazius, to create special designs for the nobility.

“And let them talk, let them talk. Cyrus is Neapolitan, however, and one of the good ones. And a true Neapolitan never forgets others. Wait and see that sooner or later you can hug him all strong and tight. See what beautiful children you will have, then. I want to be a godmother, I've already told you!"

"Oh well, as you say," Giovanna grumbled, quickly moving her hands over the fabrics.

Marina was enchanted for a moment by her skills. When she had been entrusted to her by Cyrus they had both thought she was unable to do anything. Unfortunately, the girls of Giovanna's generation were no longer able to do anything.

Yet, as she had later discovered, Giovanna's mother was a seamstress. The daughter, despite being a bit of a slacker, had inherited her mother's hands. In four months, Giovanna had become one of Vissart's highest level [Tailors].

Lady Goldith couldn't get out of her head the idea that Giovanna had been Cyrus's lover and had instructed Gazius to make her life hell. And the administrator had not missed the opportunity to take revenge for Cyrus's actions in his own way. Despite this, neither of the two wanted to lose an expert seamstress like her.

"Listen, but when do these clothes have to be delivered to that half-faggot?" Marina asked Giovanna.

“Marì, come on. If he hears you, Gazius will— "

“He will, he will do what. But you saw him, he has such a big belly. But what can he do, Gazius. Then, Menaver said that if he makes trouble, we can go and call him."

"Ah, Menaver," said Giovanna conspiratorially and bringing a smile to her lips.

“Giovà, don't start again”, Marina retorted, immediately on the defensive.

"Come on, Marì, you make a big fuss about me and Cyrus, and I can't say that that dude Menaver is wooing you and you like it?"

"I have my Gennarino at home waiting for me, idiot," replied Marina, upset.

“Yes, do you know when you will see your Gennarino again? I'll tell you, never, Marì. We are in a fantasy soap opera like on Netflix and you think of your husband who is still in Naples. Besides, am I wrong or did you get a manicure, earlier?"

Marina immediately hid her hands under the table. It was true: she had had a manicure done by a girl who had been a beautician on Earth and now, on Vissart, was a [Beautician].

"But mind your business, snoop," retorted the poor wife and mother who had been torn from her family.

“My business? Marì, did he invite you again to eat with him, Menaver?"

Giovanna now had a feline grin on her face, which would have conquered any man, but which only made the poor woman in front of her lose her temper.

"Did you see how nice the weather is today?"

Marina displayed a skill that few young girls like Giovanna knew.

“I asked you a question!”

“Ehh, the questions. Look, they do a military parade later, I think,” Marina continued.

She was looking for a topic that could distract the other [Seamstress] from asking uncomfortable questions.

After some back and forth, Marina finally managed to side track the conversation.

Her generation had been used to not answering uncomfortable questions, to handling gossip and rumours with cunning. While now everyone went on Facebook to know other people's business, once upon a time there weren't all these technologies.

So when one of her children asked her when she would buy them the new box to play with the little men on TV, she always changed the subject. And if it had worked with her children all their lives, from kindergarten to work to college, why shouldn't it have worked with Giovanna?

Sometimes she swore she wanted to throw a slap or two at that girl and all her frenzy and rudeness. However, she had to admit that she had been good at managing the situation that had arisen in Vissart after the disappearance of Cyrus and the retarded girl.

Vissart's former administrator had left them with shit up to their necks. Previously, his protection had allowed them to always have plenty of resources and food, while now Gazius had withdrawn all these benefits and given them more work.

Luckily there is Menaver, Marina thought with a sigh.

The [Chef] had been a friend of Cyrus and had saved Giovanna from Lady Goldith's clutches. Since he had brought her half-traumatized friend back to the warehouse, Marina had developed a certain sympathy for the big man.

Menaver, despite being a cook, had the physique of a professional athlete crossed with a body-builder. He himself had revealed to her, after so many questions, his lineage. One of his ancestors was Filaer, one of the most famous heroes in the history of the Vanedenis, and one of the few, if not the only one, who had known and been allied with another hero.

Then, for a few evenings, Marina had gone to Menaver's after work hours. She had brought him some fresh fruit and also a kind of T-shirt that she had made in her spare time from some scraps of cloth.

Marina, at first, had had very pure intentions, but Menaver had soon begun to show up at the warehouse with the excuse of checking that the Earthlings were okay. Still, the [Chef] spent far too much time talking to her and inviting her to his restaurant.

Although she didn't have the delicate, fawn-like features of her friend, Marina had a big advantage over that withered twig of Giovanna. Or rather, two big advantages. And she'd caught Menaver throwing embarrassed glances in that direction more than once.

She really didn't know what would happen between them. They had been in Vissart for four months and the idea of starting to rebuild a life was beginning to attract her. However, she couldn't help but think of her real family, of how Gennarino had broken his back at the cheese factory to support her and not let their children lack for anything.

"Good evening, ladies," said a man as he entered the warehouse with a smile on his face.

"Donald!" Giovanna exclaimed, happy to see him. The man had recently become an [Administrator].

"Don!" Marina added. “Did you find coffee by any chance? And is there any news of those writings in the sky?"

“Yeah, Marì, there is big news”, Donald Anderson, an ex-fifty-year-old accountant and responsible for all the Earthlings in Cyrus's absence, approached them stealthily and lowered his voice.

“You know that several animals and plants have disappeared, right? So, a servant found a note in Lady Goldith's rooms explaining who did it! It seems that before this servant was shushed up and ordered to say nothing, he spilled the beans with all the servants. The person responsible for the theft should have been a certain King Necromancer called Maximilian, and he also said that Cyrus is one of his citizens and that he has requisitioned some other animals because of the tax!"

Donald seemed to become paler and paler as he spoke.

"Tax? What tax?” Marina asked, confused.

“The Vanedenis had long ago taxed the whole world and requisitioned whatever they wanted whenever they wanted. It seems that this madman has declared that he has instituted this tax again,” Donald said, his own words filled with awe.

"Wait, but if Lady Goldith knows who it was, how can this Maximilian hide now?" Giovanna asked with an expression even more confused than Marina's.

“But he's not hiding! Girls, this man said where his city is! There was a map on the message, and Lady Goldith went mad immediately after reading it. Lath had to go to calm her down, otherwise she would have killed someone."

Marina was silent for a moment, mulling over that news. Lady Goldith was the kind of ruler, or politician, that no one dared to criticise. The woman did not care about the negative opinion of others, but only thought about the future of her people. She was a kind of modern Mussolini, with a whole lot of levels and a bunch of equally dangerous extremists supporting her.

"And so?" Marina asked.

“They are organizing a death squad, from what I know. But Gazius shushed up all the news about it, so I couldn't find out more. We can only imagine what they will do now. If I had to bet, I would say that, at the very least, they'll go to this city and kill everyone in it."

Donald was panting even more than when he arrived. Two large patches of sweat peeked out from under the sleeves of the whitish vest he wore.

There weren't many [Administrators] in Vissart and Donald had to jump through hoops to keep up with the competition. Yet, despite not being a lionheart, he still managed to carve out a place in the elite of the city.

All the warehouse and mining business now passed through him, even though it was owned by Gazius. The Antido, however, had not taken a liking to the Earthlings, after being outclassed by Cyrus in less than three days, and having regained his job after the Neapolitan's flight had not made him more tolerant.

"But why hasn't Lady Goldith gone there already?" Giovanna's words were like a hiss, feeble and ready to break.

“The city is on the other side of the continent! They don't even know if the map is true! And if it is, this thug of Maximilian has managed to steal hundreds of heads of cattle from under everyone's noses. Not only that, he transported them more than two thousand kilometres to the south!"

Marina frowned. She wasn't very good at math, but even with a car it would take more than twenty consecutive hours on the freeway to go so far. She couldn't imagine how long it would take on horseback or, even worse, on foot.

“Giovanna, be careful. Don't go out today and mind your own business. Lady Goldith is so pissed that even Gazius has slipped as far as possible from her,'' Donald said, worried," try not to create problems. We mind our own business and we hope that everything ends as soon as possible."

Giovanna nodded with a blank stare and hunched shoulders. If Marina had had to guess, knowing that Cyrus was safe and sound had almost brought her more sadness than happiness. Vissart's former administrator was that girl's great love, but at the same time Giovanna had expected him to be doing something important. Instead, he had taken the retarded girl to another noble and nothing more.

"Donà, what sfaccimm' is a necromansier?"

Marina was worried enough to forget about manners.

“A person who raises the dead, zombies. Like in horror movies. Marì, you know the one with Brad Pitt which came out a couple of years ago? No? Ok, but do you know zombies? Yup? Well, a necromancer makes monsters with zombies, skeletons and dead things in general."

"San Gennà, save us", Marina said aloud, "but why did Cyrus go to the necromansier?"

“And how would I know, Marì. What should I tell you, how many angels can dance on the head of a pin?"

The woman raised her hand, ready to slap him.

"Don, stop with the wit or I'll send you to float with the fish."

…

Giovanna completely ignored the bickering between the two as she thought about what she had just been told.

She felt her eyes swell with tears and disappointment. She had imagined, at least in a small corner of her heart, that maybe Cyrus would really come back, that he would somehow save her from this shitty situation in which he had thrown her.

Wherever she went, she had to walk on tiptoes. If she missed even one step, she would be severely punished. Not even Menaver could do much to help her, not even his kinship with Vissart's [General] would have been enough to protect her. Having saved her once from Lady Goldith's clutches was already a lot.

She clutched the dress she had made for herself, a long purple gown with silver-thread embroidery in floral patterns. Her skills had enabled her to do in thirty minutes just what a normal tailor on Earth would have done in tens of hours.

Now, she could create clothes in her own mind, visualize them as if she had them in front of her eyes, and recreate them perfectly without the need to make paper drafts or take measurements. It was as if there was a natural tailor's tape in her eyes, which allowed her to give perspective to all the fabrics even before touching them.

Yet even in her beautiful dress, which had earned her private requests from the few nobles left in Vissart, she felt uneasy. She had tried to increase her skills as a [Tailor], looking towards the day Cyrus would return.

He had dreamed that, once he returned, he would see something special in her. He had become [General Administrator] of Vissart in no time, and that was an unattainable goal for her. However, she was convinced that she could do something important, that she could show the skills she had always kept in the drawer.

As a child she had dreamed of becoming like Coco Chanel: she fantasized about taking a curtain and transforming it into the most beautiful gala dress anyone had ever worn. She liked to sneak up her mother's cut-outs and make them little skirts for her dolls or big dresses when she could snag something more substantial from the shop.

Now that she knew that Cyrus was building a new life for himself, she felt she had to tear it off, that magical dress. Magical, literally. After Cyrus’s disappearance, Giovanna had begun to work hard and had quickly levelled up.

But it had all been for nothing.

Apparently, Giovanna had always cared about Cyrus more than he had done for her. The man she had loved so much had run away and, instead of returning on a white horse to save her, he had found himself a protector mad enough to taunt even Lady Goldith.

If Cyrus had cared about her, he would have prevented that Maximilian guy from provoking her. Cyrus must have imagined what the repercussions would be on the Earthlings, since no one knew better than him how things worked in Vissart.

But none of that mattered.

Cyrus wasn't there with them.

Giovanna heard the warehouse door open violently and saw one of the last people she would have wanted to see at that moment. Despite this, he found the nefarious presence of man suitable for such a dismal and tragic day.

"Giovanna!" His accent was more marked than the Neapolitan cadence of the two women. Even if the man was from Louisiana. Unlike the two Neapolitans women, who tried to lighten their accent when they spoke to others, he seemed to accentuate it.

“Oh, Marina, Donald. Y'all, such sweating to come 'ere..."

"Mason," said Donald with a fake smile.

“Donald, you're always everywhere. Yeah, always harassin' the ladies."

Giovanna saw Marina display an expression full of contempt for that tall, tanned man.

Mason Herber, on Earth, had been a paratrooper in the US army and here on Vissart he had fit in like a shark among a school of fish. He had quickly climbed the military hierarchy and had become a rather high-level [Lieutenant], if Donald's sources were reliable.

He was from New Orleans and never stopped reminding that to everyone he met.

"Our Donald 'ere shits on Gazius's head!"

Mason approached Donald, at least twenty centimetres taller and with fifty more kilos of muscles than him, and put his arm on his shoulders.

Despite the apparently friendly attitude, everyone knew how moody and dangerous Mason could be.

Among other things, he was also a huge supporter of Lady Goldith.

"You heard? They've finally found the traitor!" Mason said, while Giovanna felt the poison rising in her chest.

"It seems so, Mason," said Donald, trying unsuccessfully to move away gracefully from the steel grip of the other.

“Lady Goldith this time will have him whipped in the main square. If all goes well, however, Cyrus will finally be treated as the traitor he is and they'll hang him."

His happy expression while he was chewing on such terrible words made Giovanna explode, since she still wasn’t very good at keeping her emotions under control.

“Mason! Cyrus only did good to this city! How dare you?!"

Giovanna turned red and forgot her pain for the moment.

"Giovanna, calm down, come on," Marina tugged at her.

“Listen to Marina, no need to suffer for a traitor. Ok, he was an immigrant just like you, but no need to make friends with him just 'cause he was your friend."

She ignored him, and he moved away from Donald to approach her with a mischievous look.

“If you're afraid of Lady Goldith,” said Mason, “I'll take care of it, homegirl. The [General] really likes how I work and I can protect you from any problems that Italian mafia gangster created."

Marina almost threw Giovanna on the ground to stop her from stabbing that disgusting man in the eye with a big needle.

"Cyrus has done more for this city of ungrateful people than all of you soldiers put together!" Giovanna cried out in fury.

“Giovanna”, said Mason, with a darker face, but still feigning joy, “don't worry. I hope to be chosen to participate in the hunt they are organizing for your Cyrus and for this dude, Maximilian. If they were to come into my hands, I would free the city and this whole continent from their presence."

Giovanna was now almost foaming with rage and started to lose control, but the man seemed to like her reaction, and remained calm and relaxed.

If the young woman had paid more attention, she would have noticed the trembling in his voice, and his huge inferiority complex towards Cyrus. Not only that: Mason also had a huge crush on Giovanna and behaved with her like an elementary school brat who, to attract attention, cuts the hair of the girl he is in love with.

Unfortunately, Giovanna was too furious to notice the man's small gestures of infatuation.

Mason kept laughing and left shortly after, not before making a few more jokes about how nice it would be to kill the traitor or about the fact he happened to have been born in Italy.

…

Lath moved with the agility of a cat as he infiltrated the private chambers of Vissart's second most important noble: Lord Felker, the mage.

The man was doubled over on a series of concentric circles painted on the floor, surrounded by thick runes. The powder mixed with paint with which they had been drawn shone with an ominous reddish light and the air was filled with a sickening smell of blood.

Lord Felker, the cousin of none other than Lady Goldith, was one of the most powerful mages of his generation. Except for the Epodi family, no one else could compare with him, neither on Kome nor on other continents.

The Epodi family was among the most shy heroic families and it was not common knowledge how capable its members really were. They were so obsessed with magic that they forgot to interact with the other Vanedenis. And, last but not least, they weren't interested in the war with the Ahalis. Sure, they had fried thousands of them, but only when they messed with their business.

“What a nice backside,” Lath said, slapping the man, who hadn't noticed his presence.

Lord Felker dropped the bag of alchemical reagents he was holding as he stumbled forward. Thankfully, he had enough Enchantments on his back for any eventuality, and since it wasn't the first time something like this had happened, he was more than prepared.

The bag stopped in mid-air, just like him. As if he had something in front of him, he grabbed the air and pulled himself to his feet from the precarious position he had ended up in.

"Lath—"

The woman pressed her lips to his. Lord Felker's arms grabbed her gently.

"Hey, stranger," she smiled, putting her head on his chest.

"One of these days," he sighed, running a hand through her unruly hair, "we'll blow up all of Vissart because of one of your oh-so-funny pranks."

Lath looked up at his secret lover and his white skin, so white he would have been called cursed by some less cultured race.

Lord Felker was an albino, with hair and beard so blond it almost looked white in direct sunlight.

Vissart's [General] had been carrying on the relationship with Lord Felker for a few years now, ever since she became aware of their mutual attraction. It had been a rush of youth and the need to have someone by her side as Lady Goldith made all the insanities that came to her mind come true.

"Aren't you tired of always hiding?"

This again.

Lath broke free from the mage's embrace with the same agility with which she had burst into his chambers. The woman shrugged and winked at him, one of her silly smiles capable of warming the heart of even an ice elemental.

The Lord began to speak, but Lath ignored him completely.

New curtains, new sofa. There has been an accident.

She glanced at the furniture around her to try to guess what had happened since she had last been there. Inferring things was the first skill that was taught to Filaer's descendants, in the hope that someone would exhibit the same acumen as the legendary hero.

No food tray left on the table. He hasn't eaten for at least a day to work on his latest project.

Lord Felker did not allow the servants to disturb him during his studies. Not even his tyrannical cousin went to consult him lightly, if she could avoid it.

There is enough magic in the air to prepare the siege of a citadel.

"Lath!"

He now knew some of the woman's traits, the ones she allowed herself to let other people know.

Never show all your cards to anyone, not even the person closest to you.

The teachings of her parents first, and the tutors who accompanied her family later, echoed in her head continuously.

Lath indulged in a big smile, part real and part mask, and made her new favourite gesture towards Lord Felker.

"Only you can continue to do something that Cyrus has taught you, especially after the latest news we have received."

"Goldith is angry," Lath nodded, curling the corner of one lip and moving her index fingers outward. Then, bringing one parallel to the other, he pointed to a table and two chairs.

"Let's eat something."

Without giving the Lord time to argue or continue the foolish discussion he had tried to strike up for the umpteenth time, she pulled out a series of provisions from her duffer bag. She placed them gracefully on the table and nodded in satisfaction.

Felker took one last look at the Enchantment he was working on. He sighed. He knew very well that Lath would not let him neglect his needs as he liked to do.

Lath would not have called herself someone capable of looking after others, but Felker was so unable to provide for himself that it was almost normal to help him not to starve.

"Lath, please, can we talk about the matter—"

She again decided to turn off her brain. She just smiled and nodded, while she kept thinking about how to solve other problems, among which was also the matter her lover was talking about.

Felker did not like their relationship to be kept a secret, but seemed not to have really understood its nature. He was one of Lady Goldith's few living relatives among the nobility. The Vanedenis, as liberal as they were with marriages, still used people like him to unite large families, especially in difficult times like the one they were going through.

Felker, despite his albino and ghostly appearance, was a great handsome man with an extraordinary talent. Only his cousin was famous enough to keep him from being Vissart's most prominent person.

And Lath.

Not that he could do anything about it, but the [General]'s star was shining brighter than his lover's. Felker was a Rodinia, from a major branch of the family tree, and a descendant of a minor hero in the history of the Vanedenis.

Lath, on the other hand, descended directly from Filaer. The royal family, before it was slain and dispersed during the war, was what remained of the blood of Skialaer, the Warrior Hero.

Although the Rodinia had always preferred to maintain a humble profile, they were still nobles. They did not like titles or the duties that came from them. Their ancestor had never loved to be the centre of attention, and his descendants had adopted his behaviour as their house’s modus operandi.

"Felker, eat something," said Lath, pouting. He knew the Lord had a soft spot for her expression of fake anger; therefore, it was never a bad idea to use it.

Lord Felker sat down reluctantly and began to eat some roast meat. After the first bite, he waved his hand in the air and runes appeared around his plate, heating its contents within seconds.

The man waved his hand again and a pitcher of water flew from the window into his room about a minute later: Vanedenis didn't like alcoholic beverages.

"Lath, we are Vanedenis."

His voice hardened. When he wasn't with Lath, he was famous for being a man of ice, full of anger, and even more unreasonable than his dear cousin. Just a tad less crazy.

Lath folded her arms and stretched the corners of her mouth down.

“Well, right. We are Vanedenis."

She put on a thoughtful expression, as if trying to figure out what the implications of their birth among such a people were.

"Lath."

"Felker", she immediately replied with a mischievous voice.

"Can we please talk about it?" said Lord Felker, wiping his mouth with a napkin obviously stained with magic dust, which left his lips covered in pseudo-glitter.

"Sure," she laughed, handing him a clean handkerchief.

Lord Felker then waited hopefully for the woman to begin to face the issue that assailed him at night in the midst of his nightmares.

After about a minute, the man seemed to remember who was sitting in front of him.

“Now, Lath. Can we talk about it now? "

"Ah!" Lath made the famous gesture that Cyrus had taught her. “Nah.”

Lord Felker pursed his lips to form a thin line, while his anger threatened to come to the surface. Fortunately for him, he restrained himself. Lath liked him a lot, but she had never been a big fan of his rage. The last time he had screamed at her, she had put him in shackles that blocked the magical flow in his body and had hung him from a window upside down.

Even though Lath was shorter than him, she was nonetheless a [General]: she had several skills that made her far stronger than a normal warrior. And Felker was a [Magister], not a fighter.

There was a brief silence between the two, and Lath took the opportunity to think about the latest problems that had arisen in Vissart. Reclaiming the continent seemed more difficult now than ever, for some reason; it was not a logical deduction, but a mere sensation. Since the Earthlings had arrived, Vissart had been too passive. Their greatest asset had escaped with their Lady's horse.

Lath was convinced that, together with Goldith, she would be able to take back the north in about thirty years. However, a series of variables that were impossible to evaluate had come into play. One above all-

“Maximilian,” said Lord Felker, “whoever he is has a class that can hide his tracks. He has to be some sort of high-level, or very specialized, [Smuggler]. "

Wrong, the [General] thought.

Lath was amazed at times at how blinded Felker could be with his pride.

"The presence of great traces of magic around the farms has been confirmed," suggested the woman.

“More than one class has abilities that rely on mana or a variant of it. He is not necessarily a magician. And then no one has discovered how to use magic to change or affect space, not even the hero of the Epodes. The only person who has ever managed to exploit such a principle was Koicer, with his duffer bags. And these are produced with a very precise and specific ritual, one of a kind."

Lath didn't contradict him openly.

Maximilian is a mage.

It was such a simple deduction that even an Academy child would have made it. Lath had learned to think sideways, but also not to look for further clues when everything was so clear.

If Maximilian had used an ability similar to the ones Koicer had, he would have already been captured. The Rodinia family hated Koicer's descendants, if they still existed anywhere on the continent, and anyone who used his filthy smuggling techniques. Another family of heroic descent that you didn't see often, that one.

Maximilian had not hidden his traces. He had walked into Vissart, into Lady Goldith's rooms - the safest part of the whole city - and left without triggering a single alarm. Not even a hydra [Archmage] could have done such a thing.

The Enchantments present in the palace had been created with the specific task of identifying even the smallest particle of mana linked to the smuggler Hero. Some of them had been developed by Felker, who was hyper-specialized in protective Enchantments. Another had been literally transported from the original Rodinia residence, north of the Border, to Vissart.

No one, not even a very high-level assassin, could have passed the traps that had been created by Visdzer, the great hero of the Rodinia family. The legendary [Blacksmith] who had forged various relics and who loved to create traps.

If the reports that ended up in Lath's hands were correct, the Ahalis had not yet managed to invade the original Rodinia palace because there were too many deadly mechanisms within it. They had also tried to demolish it, but Visdzer was somewhere between a blacksmith and an [Architect], in some ways. Thousands of Ahali had died during the attempted conquest.

"Maximilian is a mage, Felker," Lath said.

The woman did not like to argue with the Lord, but she did not intend to indulge him on such an important issue just to avoid disagreements.

"Lath, there's a chance that—"

"Maximilian is a mage," repeated the woman, this time with a very serious expression on her face.

If there was an advantage in always acting like a child, it was that when Lath got serious everyone took her very seriously.

Felker let out a sigh. His emotions were probably contrasting. On the one hand, he had to know that Lath was right, but on the other hand, accepting that an Earthling was such a powerful mage was impossible for him.

“He could be a [Spatial Mage] or something,” Lath hoped that thinking about a specialization would help Felker feel better. If Maximilian had truly become a more powerful and successful magician than her boyfriend in a few months, it would have been a huge blow to the [Magister]'s self-esteem.

He doesn't specialize in spatial magic, Lath thought. If so, he wouldn't have made a mystery of it. And then, in his letter he said he was a [Necromancer].

"He said he was a necromancer," the [Magister] finally admitted.

Lath raised an eyebrow. Felker… was he thinking without being clouded by his emotions?

“He might have a secondary class, or maybe he just said it to annoy Lady Goldith. It could be a political move by the Ahalis, as far as we know,” Lath said with little conviction.

None of these things are correct, of course.

“In any case, a lack of respect like that will cost him his life. He also had the courage to mention the tax."

Lath let out a giggle and Felker looked at her with an angry expression.

"What?" she asked innocently.

"There's nothing to laugh about," hissed the [Magister].

“I find it hilarious,” Lath said, making one of her faces.

"I doubt your Lady agrees. Maximilian is nothing but an idiot if he thinks-"

Maximilian is the most powerful mage in Kome.

"Well", she cut him short, slightly irritated by the umpteenth superficial reaction of a Vissart noble, "if he's an idiot, because none of you have yet erased the writings that have appeared over all the cities of Kome for about three months, Felker? "

After hearing such a thing, the man's pride must have been shattered. Felker had grown up being praised for his magical abilities.

Lath had gone there that day with a very specific intention. While her brother loved to follow logics, she relied on her instincts more than her mind.

And her instincts told her that her relationship with Lord Felker was part of the past, of a historical moment in which the Earthlings had not yet arrived. She didn't feel good at the thought of having to dump him, but it was necessary. The first step was making him really angry.

"There are skills that-" he began looking for some excuse.

He stood up and began to talk more and more, while Lath had already decided to stop listening to his complaints. The more seconds passed, the more she wondered what the hell she had liked in him. She was sorry she had changed her mind so quickly and now had to manipulate him. Still, her urgency arose from the sensations that pounded in her stomach.

There is something big in motion.

And she wasn't going to miss it. Felker was good company, but he also knew how to be a huge ball and chain. She would not have been a worthy heir to Filaer if she had not been able to distinguish simple affection from great love.

"Felker", Lath did not get up, it was the general and heir of one of the greatest heroes in Vanedeni history who did it. "No need to say anything to Goldith, but our story ends now."

A brief discussion ensued which Lath conducted with no particular interest, trying to show the man how little she was interested, while he begged her to remain with him.

Lath had a very irruent side in her character. However, there was also another part, which only Menaver and Goldith knew well enough. Not very well, just enough.

Although her role was that of a general, and everyone called her [General], her class was much more complicated than that. The famous strategy was something she practiced in all aspects of her life, as did her brother Menaver, who was just a simple [Chef].

Now, what would have happened if she had left Lord Felker exactly after talking about Maximilian and his great magical abilities? Well, it didn't take a genius to figure it out. The man needed a wake-up call, to take military matters more seriously, instead of locking himself up in his tower doing pointless experiments all day.

Felker could have had a much bigger role in Vissart's campaign of conquest, but he needed a push.

…

Giovanna was walking in an alleyway. He was joining Marina for a quiet evening drinking in a bar that had been opened by one of the Earthlings.

The woman needed rest after another terrible day of work.

His hands weren't made to invent fantastic machines and amaze all her detractors, nor to gently guide people to an unexpected future or rob them, depending on the circumstance, nor, most of all, to show his companions the dreams that not even they were able to dream and lighten up the obscure darkness into which no man had ever ventured before.

Giovanna lived a simple life, trying to fight and always have a smile on her face at the expense of everything.

After all, not everyone could be a hero.

Out of the corner of her eye, the woman saw two guards enter the alley she was walking along and walk in her same direction.

Whatever anyone said, Vissart was a very safe place. Lady Goldith's iron fist was a great deterrent to all would-be criminals in the city.

The pace of the guards suddenly accelerated and Giovanna, almost by reflex, did the same. She tried to put some distance between them and herself if only to calm down a little.

There was no need to worry, she told herself, she was just too paranoid. But she accelerated again.

It wasn't the first time something like this had happened to her in her life. More than once she had changed sidewalks, or even turned into packet streets, for fear that someone was following her.

Now, however, there was not much she could do. The alley was dark and there was hardly anyone around.

Well, come on, don't be an idiot, the woman said to herself with an uncertain smile on her lips.

She began to walk so quickly that she felt her legs burn. Fortunately, it seemed that the guards, while going unusually fast, had no intention of running after her.

Still, there was something about the shape of the night that made her shiver. The stars looked more evil than usual and the moon was a thin grin above her. The houses around her were abandoned and gave the impression of having always been like this. Perhaps the most terrifying events had happened in that alley, in Vissart.

He could hear a baby crying and a drunken father yelling at his wife. She could almost see the scene through the fully barred windows of one of the houses.

She decided she had to hurry even more and that fatigue was just making her lose her mind.

Then, all of a sudden, only the rumble of Giovanna's footsteps remained in the alley.

The young woman froze.

Were those sighs, what she heard behind her neck? Was she imagining them or were they real?

Slowly she turned.

The two men were still there. They had stopped at a distance and were staring at her.

But ... they were troopers! Giovanna was convinced that she had seen the insignia of the city guard embroidered on their chests, she would have sworn that up until an instant before they had had them clearly on display.

Seeing Giovanna's bewildered gaze, the two grinned. They exchanged a knowing glance, remained motionless to enjoy the face of their prey, completely lost.

There was an exasperating calm on their faces now, a hunger that pervaded every inch of their expressions. Their features had become almost beast-like. Giovanna had never seen anything like that.

The girl felt her chest grow heavy, as if a boulder had fallen into her lungs, bursting through them and ending up in her stomach - taking her breath away. She started feeling sick. However, the sheer [terror] she felt managed to keep her mind somewhat clear.

Giovanna's thought was simple and direct: Why me?

Why was such a thing happening to her?

Cyrus's escape and Lady Goldith's wrath hadn't been enough?

Did she really deserve to be mauled alive by two troopers? She should have felt protected by their presence, their uniforms and their accommodating smiles - instead they were the ones putting her in danger.

I can't stay here and wait for them to kill me, Giovanna told herself.

Ignoring any logic of the hunt, the girl began to run as fast as possible.

The tinkling of men's chainmail filled the streets, chasing Giovanna at a brisk pace. It was the sound of sharp fangs grinding over each other, ready to bite their prey.

Giovanna's mind, at that moment, was a jumble of meaningless thoughts. She thought about which road to take to find herself in a busier neighbourhood, she wondered if she would be able to escape from the two thugs, she wondered if she had done something wrong to deserve all the suffering she was experiencing.

Why me? Why don't they chase someone more beautiful, one who shows off? What have I done wrong to deserve this?

In the perfect world she came from, where news of continuous tragedies was broadcast on TV, misfortunes always happened to others. Not here, though. Not in Vissart.

Her breath began to break, she was not used to running. And the troopers were getting closer and closer.

Like sadistic beasts in search of excitement, they did not run, only followed her from afar, certain that they would only have to lengthen their stride to capture their target.

The road seemed to never end - Giovanna would have sworn it! It had never been this long. She had the impression that the devil himself had shortened her step and made the journey difficult.

She began to resign himself to the idea of dying.

She brought a hand to her side and slowed down, feeling that her body was unable to take even one more step.

Yet, just when it seemed that the two soldiers were about to reach her, a man appeared in front of her. Never had the appearance of a person seemed so heroic and magnificent to her.

Except then realizing that her hero ... was Mason. To save her life, though, she would accept him nonetheless.

Almost with a leap, Giovanna threw herself against the man, hoping that this contact would be enough to discourage her pursuers.

"Giovanna, are you all right?"

The woman perceived a grin in the man's words, but did not find it out of the ordinary. Mason was like that, there wasn't much she could do about it.

“I…”, the girl began to cough and took the opportunity to take a look around.

She didn't recognize any of the houses or the neighbourhood she was in. She had ended up in an area even more abandoned than the one she had left. Unfortunately, it did not occur to her to ask Mason what he was doing in that remote place.

Wherever Giovanna was, she had run for a few kilometres. She knew all the most famous areas of Vissart, but this one she was in she had never seen before.

The sky, however, still had something gloomy about it. Even more than before, to tell the truth. But the men who had chased her now stopped in front of Mason, who was talking to them.

"Any problems?" asked his saviour, with the same grin as before on his lips.

"No problem, we were just worried about the girl", said one of the two soldiers, gesturing with his chin towards Giovanna. His tone of voice was less threatening than Giovanna would have imagined.

However, the woman perceived in their words a badly concealed mockery, as happens to the actors of a tragedy when they are beginners and unable to immerse themselves perfectly in the part.

"It's all right," Mason reassured them.

And without the slightest hesitation, the troopers greeted politely, turned around and left without saying another word.

It was only then that Giovanna realized she was still glued to Mason's chest, a man she despised, and not just a little. However, she was grateful to him for freeing her from those two thugs.

If Giovanna had been less tired, she would have recognized the first alarm bells in his eyes. If she had been smarter, she surely would have guessed that the man's firm grip on her hips was not for protection. If she had been more ingenious, she would have been able to get out of it anyway. If she had been stronger, she would have had nothing to fear.

Unfortunately, she was none of those things. Giovanna was a human being like many others, who had arrived by chance in a world of madmen.

"Mason, come on, please. Those two terrified me. For a moment I thought they were going kill me."

The woman refused even to think of that word, the greatest offense a woman could receive from a man.

"Already? No, no, shut up. I helped you, now you help me."

There was a hilarity in the man's words, a kind of derision, which Giovanna did not immediately understand.

“Mas, don't be stupid and let's go, please,” the woman tugged at his sleeve. On the other hand, however, she found only an immovable block.

Marcello hugged her tightly and rested his head in her hair, sniffing deeply, quenching his thirst in the woman's scent.

The man, this time, said nothing. There was no need.

It was then that the prey finally realized what was happening.

Giovanna tried to free herself from that suffocating grip, she tried to kick the man, she tried to scratch him and, in a desperate motion, even to bite him.

He didn't flinch, on the contrary, he smiled.

The game of the hunt was finally coming to its conclusion.

Mason first gave her a slap, to make her stop and, without too many compliments, tore off one of the shoulder pads of the purple dress of which Giovanna was so proud. It was the same dress that had made her feel less insignificant thinking of Cyrus's great deeds and the arrogance of the nobles and of those in power.

Now, the shoulder strap of the dress was abandoned to one side of her breast, a shred of an already feeble pride.

In retrospect, maybe Giovanna should have known what kind of person Mason was. And the word she had tried so hard not to think about came to her mind, with an added colour.

Mason was a [Rapist].

And so her world shattered in a thousand pieces.

She felt tears swell her eyes and wet her cheeks.

There were criminals in Vissart, too. They had to hide in the shadows when they wanted to hurt someone, and then they could walk proudly in the sunlight.

Who knows how many men worthy of respect had harassed the women in the alleys on the outskirts of Vissart?

Who knows how many troopers? After all, waving a sword and violating women had never been very distant concepts.

And how many had grown up hating women, considering them objects to be manipulated at will or pieces of meat to eat?

Mason was an expert, it was clear. He had laid a perfect trap to lock Giovanna in his immovable and suffocating arms. Even soldiers had helped him in his petty purpose. Reporting his actions would do no good.

Giovanna had stopped rebelling. She had decided to face her destiny with desperate resignation.

As the brute's hands traversed her body in ways that only those who gave her intimacy could, she said something:

“San Gennà, help me”, it was almost a hiss, a bitter prayer, addressed to the sky that would never give it an answer.

Giovanna had uttered empty words, which no one would have given any weight to, not even Mason. So distracted by the soft and perfumed skin of his prey. Intoxicated, the swine hadn't paid any attention to a small, stupid, meaningless prayer.

The divinity found his messengers in the saints, who travelled between earth and sky to bring his wisdom to people. He granted few miracles, few and far apart, and showed himself so rarely that the faithful dwindled by the day.

What divinity would have ever heard the words of a young woman abandoned in the arms of her predator?

“Uè, uagliò”, Giovanna heard a male voice badly imitating a Neapolitan accent.

Marcello quickly broke away from her, immediately bringing his hand to the sword to eliminate any witness of his actions.

Giovanna felt a shiver run down her spine.

Who did the voice from the darkness belong to? Would he have killed her or would he have left this honor to Mason?

Her legs were shaking uncontrollably.

She knew that Lady Goldith would feel a sense of sadistic satisfaction upon learning of her death; among the Earthlings there were few who cared about her; and Cyrus ... he had already abandoned her months before.

Nobody cared about her life. Yet Giovanna did not want to die.

The figure appeared out of nowhere, with a long cloak blacker than the night falling over his shoulders, raised an arm that seemed to be made of mother-of-pearl, shining even under the miserable moon in the sky; not even the latter could escape admiring his deeds.

Giovanna saw the white fingers gently cross the air and, in doing so, set it on fire. It was as if that person was grabbing something in mid-air, and as if this something was fire.

Mason had not even extracted the sword from its sheath, when an arm wrapped in blue flames grabbed his face and, with a terrible sizzling, took his life.

Mason's charred head was already dissolving into ashes when Giovanna heard the voice of her saviour for the second time.

“Ohi, you, Joan of Arc, let's go now. San Gennaro, here, has a poker game to finish. Take my hand and fly, second star to the right and straight until we get to— "

The woman suddenly realized she was half naked after Mason's assault and put her hand on the front of her dress to pull it up. Much to her surprise, she found it intact and repaired, the shoulder pad still rising on its own to capture all the dignity she thought she had lost.

Giovanna burst into tears, putting both her arms around the man in front of her as she sobbed without restraint.

A cold, skeletal arm rested on the upper part of her back. His touch was comforting, gentle. It had nothing to do with Mason's filthy hands, which touched everything greedily.

At that thought, Giovanna began to cry even harder.

In the silence of that embrace, the woman thought about how stupid she had been - and how lucky she at the same time.

She was a simple person, and at times she struggled to understand the bad intentions of those around her, she gave her all to help others. But ... But you didn't need to be special at times.

It was enough to say a prayer to San Gennaro.