I don't know why we are going. I know the people, and I know the location, but that's all there is to it. I lean my head outside the window. A wind tosses the hair in front of my face. Fluttering, my eyes are turned towards the cityscape again. That's all there is to it—a cityscape. Whatever that means is beyond me. If a city is a big group of people, what is a scape?

Maybe, an 'es-cape?' which when combined with city, would mean a big group of people who chose to run away?

"..." There is no reason for me to think about that. But there's no reason not to either. In a sense, that thought can be understood to be the product of a 'lack of reason'.

Because of that incorrect sentiment, I breathe. If actions are to be taken with reason, then it would be best if I could find one.

The car stops. My eyes trace Vela's hands. A slight sound of leather and metal jingles rings. Paying in coins, Vela has chosen the path of dignity.

I nod in approval. Generally speaking, it is not as if I greatly love currency, nor the laws of this land. But, generally speaking, actions should not be done out of love.

If it is to be understood as an instinct, a carnal desire, then love is to be subverted. If everyone were to act in the pursuit of love, then society would undoubtedly come to ruin. And if ruin is to be understood as degeneracy and degeneracy as evil, then...

"We've arrived."

Speaking as if we are under battle, Vela's words come with equal dread as they do cheerfulness. Like the words of a warrior spirit broken by the horrors of war, I can only wonder what lies ahead.

I leave the car, and Vela follows. There are two men in suits before us. They both have the same haircut, colour of skin, and insignia. I narrow my eyes to get a bigger look at it. Resembling an animal, it takes the shape of a cat with two long swords at each of its sides.

Still, even with our arrival, the two men are dead silent. Unmoving and unspeaking, they are more akin to statues than men. Even their eyes, which are covered by black tainted glass, reveal nothing.

At the same time as my observation, Vela walks past time. Without so much as a word of introduction, her right eye twitches. Despite her best efforts, her unnerve increases.

More intense than our meeting at the restaurant, it is a little peculiar. Was what awaited us even worse than the prospect of death? That which is the end of all thought and the bane of life itself?

While we walk, a white golden building comes into view, a classic choice of housing for mages. It would not be the first or last time I would see one. Within Wilshington, they are the most accepted means of accommodation. But most does not mean all. Segregated by areas, this city has two separate worlds: modernity and antiquity.

Fated to a culture of ancestral preservation and magic, the mages are as widespread as light from the sun. All-encompassing and everywhere, they are a force people should be used to. Yet, while Vela is able to conquer light, then why does she fear the mages?

Something about that line of thought throws me off. It has a distinct sense of not making sense that puts me on edge. Odd, am I unnerved at what is to come?

The sounds of speech and music grow louder with each enroaching step. It would not be long now. A few seconds later, and the cat accented door opens.

Alidol Ulis-Felidius.

The target of our meeting, and the young elvish hier which Vela spoke of earlier. Dressed in a long purple cloth draped over his shoulders, his bare skin was visible underneath. With a metal staff imbedded with a violet jewel in one hand a glass of grape juice in the other, Vela's body stops dead at his arrival.

His body and stature makes him look like a fifteen year old, slim and beautiful enough to pass as a youthful maiden. Save for one factor. Though his skin held no indications of heriditary misfortune, they did have something else. Burns, all over his chest, neck, and the majority of the left side of his face, Alidol wears it with both pride and confidence. Magic is powerful and potent enough to cure the greatest of ailments, within the leading field of 'healing', such a few burns requires only money and connections to be fixed. A connection Alidol Ulis-Felidius undoubtedly has.

"Vela, Vela, Vela!" The boy says in the native Elvish tongue, all while rushing forth and seizing Vela's hand. Removing themselves from his hand, two servants rush to pick up the respective wine glass and stave.

"Oh it is so good to see you!"

"Y-yeah dud-sir-boy, it's uh, simply e-exquisite to see you too!"

Vela replies in the same tongue. A matter of great contention, Vela shakes her head frivilously at the correct term to describe him with.

"Ah!" Alidol exclaims, his attention now to me. "Pray tell, surely you would not mind if we spoke in Faerin would you?"

Faerin. That is both the name of the language and empire of the elves. Simply another tongue among many, I shake my head in response. Whether it is Faerin, basic, or any other method of communication, I am prepared.

"No I do not, Iel'mae."

Iel'mae, a most common honorific used to refer to a high standing mage. There is no need for unnecessary confrontation. If it brings uncontrolled pleasure to the other party and costs only me a single extra word, who am I to refuse?

In response to this, Alidol perceives me. With his golden eyes, Alidol registers me as a person. Much like how a lion understands what is prey, and what is a tree, it is as if a switch is flipped.

For a moment that is. The same switch now turns back off. Hand still interlocked with Vela, he drags her inside.

Vela is now gone. Among the crowd of people, despite my agonizing effort to notice her, it's impossible.