After the Guild dropped them off, Orel, Andras, and Norman were picked up by Deras and headed back to the Gulf of Tanlen. Deras would not say much, just a friendly pat on the back.

Yet, as Norman stepped on board, Deras stopped him. He gripped Norman's shoulder tightly as he passed down some words.

"Thanks for looking out for him."

Norman snortled. "I promised that, didn't I?"

On the shore, Tuja had already waited for them. This time she ran to the deck and hugged Orel as soon as she found him. In her warm embrace, Orel could finally let go. He cried out loud and gripped her tightly. Tuja couldn't keep herself from shedding tears as well.

"It's alright." She said. "You're home now."

They waited until the two were done and headed to the house, where Ymir had already prepared dinner. Everyone gathered around and listened to the three's stories. Even Deras could wait for the food if it was to hear them tell about their adventures. Norman and Andras had their turns as well. The two had quite a different experience from Orel, after all. While Norman wasn't used to telling grand stories, Andras was more than eager to fill out everything that he would leave out. The sun circled around the sky, with hours passing around the dinner table. Tuja had to go and reheat the food after they were done, though Deras and Andras had already eaten their portions.

"and just as the janitor had kicked the other guy, the first one rose up like a zombie and started fighting the monk!" Orel explained as he tried to reenact the movement.

"So there was a monk! I bet it was him! Then what happened?" Andras asked.

"I don't know. He told us to get to safety, so we just ran away from the scene and soon met up with you. I suppose he won."

"That must have been really something to see," Deras laughed.

"At least you are all safe," Tuja sighed, after being only slightly frightened by all the dangerous things they faced.

"I'm telling you. It's like looking after a pair of cats. You look away for a second, and they're in danger." Norman rolled his eyes.

"You tell me." Tuja shared a moment of unity with him.

"YOU were the one who got lost first," Orel could feel the blame shifting wrongfully.

Norman sweated furiously. "First time for everything, hehe."

"Look a bit better care not getting separated next time," Tuja said.

The day turned to night, and everyone was fast asleep, or so they thought. Tuja paid in mind to visit Orel's room and could see a light peeking through the cracks on the door.

Inside she saw Orel with his face against a bunch of notes in the dim light on his workbench. She could not know what they all meant, but the amount itself was staggering. Many were grumbled and now filled the bin, some were put in piles, and some were still incomplete with Orel's phone next to them, having run out of battery.

Tuja grabbed a blanket, gently wrapped it around Orel, and silently walked back out of the room.

"Sleep tight, honey." She closed the door.

The following day Orel woke up with pencil marks all over his face. He rushed to wash it off after changing his clothes. As he passed by the kitchen, Tuja was there with a happy smile on her face.

"Good morning," She said. "Be ready for breakfast!"

"Sure, mom."

Everyone slowly gathered around the dinner table, safe for one. Deras was the first, followed a close second by Andras. Ymir could easily beat both by being the first to wake up, but she would rather save the food for others. Tuja would sit next to her so that she could spare some food from the two hulking men of mass consumption. Orel was usually the last, though not too late, so nothing would be left.

"Orel," Tuja called.

"What?"

"Could you go tell Norman that he's late again?"

"Alright." Orel put on his shoes.

Orel marched to the granary. After closing the door Andras had left wide open, he knocked on the other door.

"Norman! Wake up!" Orel yelled. "Mom's going to get angry!"

Nothing came about it. Orel tried the handle and noticed it wasn't locked. His curiosity overdrew him, so he opened it and looked inside. It was dark since all of the curtains were closed. While that wasn't odd, Orel soon noticed that the bed was empty, though folded quite neatly. The whole room felt like no one had been there. Orel had gone there a couple of times, and it was usually something closer to a ground zero of a carpet bombing. Not even Norman's shoes remained.

Orel stepped deeper inside the dark room. It was oddly quiet and tranquil. Everything seemed perfect, horrifically perfect, yet there was something that stood out—a note on the night table. Folded neatly, yet it stood half-open.

Curiosity filled Orel, and he picked up the note and folded it open. It was written neatly and spotlessly, but as Orel read it, he realized something was truly wrong.

"Orel and everyone else. Though helpful and also needlessly kind, you ought to be useless. Instead of allies, my side only reaps and ruins you. However, the eclipse looks pending on my end. Sincerely, Tobias Alceus-Norman."

The handwriting was Norman's, but the letter itself read more like a mournful poem.

The other looked wildly back at the dinner table as Orel rushed in and presented the letter.

"Norman- Norman's gone!" Orel yelled.

"Huh?!" Tuja was about to drop the food.

"What? Really?" Andras asked.

"Since when?!" Deras asked.

"Oh my," Ymir said.

"Let me see," Tuja said. "What on earth is that wizard doing?"

Everyone took turns reading the paper, though no one could really make sense of it.

"I don't understand." Andras, while concerned, chugged oatmeal down his throat.

"Me neither," Deras said. "It's all gibberish."

"Where did he go?" Andras asked.

"It doesn't say." Orel shrugged.

"What sort of person leaves overnight with a note?" Tuja almost threw it away.

"Not Norman," Orel said.

"What's with that name?" Deras pointed.

"That's Norman's true family name, though he doesn't like using it."

"I never took him for a married man," Ymir could not remember him having a ring. "Not that I could have ever guessed."

"Maybe he just gave up." Tuja waved the paper in her hand.

Orel snatched the paper and rushed into his room. Tuja was about to apologize until the door slammed shut.

"Geez, Tuja. That was a bit hard to say about a friend." Deras said.

Tuja sighed. "I should not have said that, but I really need to hurry to work."

"Jump on. I'm going the same way." Deras stood up from the table.

Andras and Ymir were left waiting in the house. As long as Ymir was around, the place was never truly alone but still quite empty. While Andras was curious about what Orel meant, he could distract himself by turning on a horror movie he had recorded. Ymir had her hobbies as well, keeping the garden and weaving in between naps. There was not much entertainment in the house, so hobbies were essential to acquire. One could say it is almost mandatory if you want to escape boredom and develop as a person.

Though Andras could watch any horror without as much as blinking his eyes, a quick slam of a door sent him flying off his seat.

"I got it!" Orel yelled from his door.

"Gods almighty, Orel!" Andras tried to catch the remote. "What was that for?"

"Norman left us a message!"

"The letter?"

"No!" Orel rushed to the dinner table. "Look!"

Andras walked over and saw how much Orel had scribbled and erased over the paper. It was unclear what was supposed to be intentional and what the eraser could not smudge off. Thankfully, the writing was in ink, or no letter would be left.

"I thought that the writing was weird," Orel said. "Then I decided to look deeper."

"Um, could you still point it out?"

"Look at the first letter of each word."

Andras squinted his eyes, but not long until they opened up.

"Oh," He was still quite confused.

"What is all this ruckus?" Ymir had woken up.

"Grandma, there was a hidden message in Norman's letter!"

"I had thought so. That Norman was never that rude to abandon you." Ymir said after a big yawn. "What does it say?"

"It's..." Orel's smile disappeared.

"Looks like he's in trouble," Andras said.

Ymir walked over to Orel and took a look at the paper.

"He might complain and frown, but he truly appreciates your company. I cannot respect him more for looking after you."

"But what are we going to do?" Andras asked.

The two turned to look at Orel for the answer. Ymir was in awe. It was like a glimpse of her past. Orel's determination was unmistakably the same as his grandfather, the signature look of an Eislandr.

"We are going to save him," Orel declared.

"Alright. The flying garden can wait for that." Andras nodded. "Where do we start?"

"That's the problem." Orel scratched his head. "I'm not really sure."

"Have you considered he went home?" Ymir asked.

"Why?"

"You told me that he does not use that surname. If so, it might be a clue."

"But why would he suddenly go home?" Andras pondered. "Didn't he hate that place?"

"Do you remember his family's servant at the hospital? Maybe they forced him to leave." Orel thought.

"I see how it is," Andras cracked his knuckles. "Where does he live?"

"I don't know. He never told me, other than it's in South Indies."

"Then let's go there!"

"Is that a good idea? We will just get kicked out if we try and break in. Besides, we don't even know where it is."

"Don't you want to go?"

"That was never the case. We will, but going head first is not going to work. Zabad is the second largest continent. We don't even know if South Indies is on the east or west coast."

"I guess you're right. But where are we supposed to get that info? From that Gohauku you always talk about?"

"There's a person who should know a way to get us there."

"Ooh, does he come with a bottle of champagne?"

"Let's see about that."

As usual, the manager's office was neatly cleaned as ever, apart from the piles of papers on the desk. Surely enough, he happened to have a bottle to spare for the occasion.

"I must say you did a splendid job out there," Hannes poured the bubbly champagne into two glasses. "I am more than glad that you came out alright after getting caught in that incident."

Orel would not comment on that.

"Where is Mr. Norman?"

"That is why we are here." Orel took his glass.

"Oh, and why would that be?"

"It looks like we need to convince Norman's family to continue with us."

"Then I, unfortunately, cannot help you," Hannes said.

"Wait, why?"

"Yeah, why?" Andras stopped drinking.

"I did not first realize how the family would react to this. They almost chewed me out after Norman joined, and I would rather not go through that again."

"How about you merely send us close to his home to work? Then it's a mere coincidence." Orel smiled smugly.

Hannes turned around on his chair. He looked far out of the window between the blinds.

"Sigh, even if I could, you no longer meet the requirements."

"What requirements?" Orel asked.

"There are plenty of quests in South Indies, especially from Atlas, but most of them require B rank or higher. The presence of Norman lifted your rank to C, but even after your latest achievement, we had to drop you to D rank."

"What should we do?" Orel asked.

"Hmm, I would suggest adding a new member or completing more quests. I will not look further into the matter until you have raised your rank."

"Orel, we don't need their help. We can go there by ourselves."

"I would beg to differ." Hannes turned to face the two. "The Norman estate is in one of the great cities of sorcery, Eden's gate. The city is one big campus for the Atlas academy. The Guild has special privileges to receive offers from both students and professors, but those quests are not for the faint of heart. They will not let any other outsider inside."

"So, you're saying that we don't have a chance to get in without a permit?" Andras summarized.

"Quite so. I would not recommend breaking in. South Indies still has the death penalty."

"Then we will raise our rank." Orel stood up to leave.

"I will be waiting. Good luck, Voyagers." Hannes waved them off.

In a bleak castle far, far away, right near the fog-sealed island, the duke of Earlake had awaited someone to pay a visit. The evening sun cast aside the castle Arondight, watching a grand lake.

The grey-worn duke watched as his hunched son walked in with his servants. His steps echoed through the dining hall. It was desolate yet filled with food, specially made for the occasion. Though the lighting seemed medieval, the torches were actually gas-powered. They were not the only eccentric feature in the castle, but it would not matter as the castle rarely got any visitors at all. Only the Medrawds could match the Du lacs in public loathing, though their techniques in enchantment magic made them an insufferably valuable resource for the Magistrate.

"Good evening, father," Fynn said without a smile.

"What is wrong, my child? You had such a sharp tongue last time we met." Galehaut sat in the end seat. "Please, sit down."

"Shut with yourself. Everyone's heard about it." Fynn sat on the farthest seat.

"Yes, the great disaster. Did it perhaps foil your plans?"

"Gaunness' forest is mostly gone."

Even Galehaut's whisker-like brow rose. "How can that be?"

"From the public apology, it looks to be Lionel's fault. His blessing seemed to have finally caught up with him."

"There is a word going around that you are trying to form a magic item business. Is that the reason you are here? Not to borrow any money, I hope."

"No, I don't need your dirty money. I'm looking for some specialists."

"Oh? You have some wit to go here for enchanting."

"But they aren't going to be working anytime soon. We need to wait for the forest to regrow. Lionel said it's going to take at least a few years."

"But son," Galehaut sneered.

"I'm not your son." Fynn corrected.

"Then, Fynn. What are you going to do with that company? I am quite informed of businesses, you see. With all those loans and shareholders, it would take more than a decade for you to turn a profit for yourself. I am sure you aren't that stupid."

"Well, since you seem to know. Let's presume we got the wood, the gems, and enchanting; what are we still missing?"

"Well, if you need higher-grade items, Spatium is the only way."

"Indeed, but we do not have that here, don't we?"

"Of course not. But that is beside the point. Like everyone else, you need to buy that magic-infused gold from those 'Lords of Metal' in North Koonfur. What are you going to do with it?"

"If you are still interested, I would suggest that all servants will leave the room," Fynn said.

Galehaut saw that Fynn was truly honest in his request. His eyes would no longer glance away but stare deeply like watching one's soul.

"Fine." Galehaut raised his hand.

The servants stepped out of the grand dining hall, leaving only the two family members enjoying the untouched candlelit dinner.

"What is such a secret that no wrong ear should hear it?"

"Well, the market for that metal is quite slim, is it not? The demand is high, but so is the price. Those lords cannot even mine it properly."

"Yes, it is quite a nuisance, I hear. Everyone in the business loathes them, but buying is the only option. I can still remember the day the whiskerfrogs from Guerterre left, and those lords rose to power using their equipment."

"Then wouldn't it be a shame if there happened to be, let's say, a coup?"

Galehaut had to check Fynn's expression. He had to make sure it was a mere joke. Otherwise, what he said would be more than a scandal; it would fall their house down to the pits of hell. Unfortunately for him, Fynn's stare was hardened like steel, as if watching his own mirror image. Though Galehaut saw it every day, he could have never seen it on his simply son's face.

"Then there could be a democratic leader, one who just happened to be accepting of trade with us," Fynn smiled menacingly. "We just have to supply the freedom fighters and opposition leaders. I have already contacted one that seemed promising."

Galehaut went back in his chair. "If word got out of this, you would go straight to Shaogal with your brother."

"That is where I trust you, Galehaut. You would not miss such an opportunity, would you? After all that you have lost, after all that we have lost?"

"You Medrawds are devils," Galehaut grimaced.

"And I thought I was your son, father." Fynn kept smiling.

"It would not be just me who would lose in this bet. You have one-fourth of dukes on your side, even if they have no idea of your hideous plan. Hell, more would come in if you told them if you know who to ask. The more you have them included, the greater the fall will be." Galehaut's lips almost curled to a smile. "But I must warn you: You are definitely the one who will lose the most."

"Then I take that as a yes." Fynn leaned over.

The father and son stared down at each other, measuring the hardness in their eyes. It was a cold stalemate he could not win anymore.

"Fine. We will discuss this more in detail later. You have ruined my appetite." Galehaut stepped up.

"I was about to say the same," Fynn walked out. "It's a waste to throw away all of it."

"We could package some before you depart," One of the servants proposed.

"That would be nice. Don't spare on the pheasant and caviar."

Fynn sat down to his chair back at the Medrawd manor. His shoulders dropped, and he let out a deep sigh.

"Fuck, I really pulled that off." Fynn rolled in the chair. "Wish you were to see it, Dan."

For the past month, Fynn had next to no time to breathe. His days had been nothing but filling out documents, calls, and meetings; everything and anything concerning his house and the dukedom were directed to him. On top of it, he needed to seem at least passable in the face of the public, his home, and other dukes. His image was not the strongest, and he could not convince even himself that he was anything like his brother. The scandal concerning the Medrawds made negotiations tense, everything positive the norm, and even the slightest mistake his downfall.

"I don't know how I'm still going, but let's see where this goes." Fynn played with the silky ends of his scarf.

"Sir," A servant stepped in. "Would you like to eat that food now?"

"Yes, thank you."

"Please wait a moment, and we will warm it for you."

"No, bring it in."

"If you wish." The servant closed the door.

Fynn could not seem weak. If he could swallow the cold slices of meat, he could swallow every lie and promise that he could break and pave the way to make his family stronger. Eating cold food would not make anyone think otherwise, but it gave him courage, that he was tough. Fynn took a look at the caviar. He must have taken it because he wanted to seem noble, but now he felt like throwing it away. It was the ultimate symbol of vanity and being a snob, but it was precisely what he should be eating, not some plumb pheasant. He grabbed a handful of those black pearls and shrugged them to his mouth. Swallowing them whole was like trying to chug frog spawn. The mass stopped midway, and even though Fynn could breathe, the pressing feeling against his throat was more than unwelcome. Fynn tried to swallow, but the caviar would not go down as hard as he might.

The only drink in the room was a bottle of whiskey on the wall cabinet. Fynn rushed over, flinging the doors open and brushing away all the fancy glasses. Just as he would have picked it up, Fynn hesitated. The brand was the same Daniel used to drink and sometimes forced Fynn as well. Though he would have wanted to save it, one was slightly more valuable between his life and a bottle of alcohol. He took the bottle and tried to pull out the cork, but his shaky hands did not have a grip on it.

Fynn dropped his hand and tried something new. From the down-pointing palm of his hand dropped a dark curved knife. He gripped the blade before it could fall and slashed the bottle. Fynn only wanted to cut the cap off but accidentally sliced the entire neck. He did not expect the blade to be so sharp, but that way, it could prove handy later. There was no time to waste. Thus Fynn drank straight from the sharp edge. The whiskey-oiled caviar could finally pass, though the burning sensation in his throat almost made him throw up. Servants just outside the room could only wonder at the ruckus.

Orel and his friends were not the only ones who left the island. Two souls from different parts of the world happened to see themselves board the same ship heading off to Milieu.

"Oh, if it isn't you!" Diarmuid waved his hand to Isao.

"Ah, the druid. I see you have chosen to leave the country as well." Isao saw the bags on him.

"I figured that I should find a better job than that. Where to find it is another question." Diarmuid brushed his beard. "Where are you heading to?"

"I shall head south for now."

"So you're looking for new horizons too. Would you mind if I joined you for a while?"

"My path is my own. My journey will not be an answer to your problems, so seek your own adventure."

"I was joking. A friend gave me a recommendation. Couldn't even tell me in person. He wrote something about a murder of a young woman in Gamarad."

"Justice never sleeps, it seems. My best wishes for your travel."

"Thanks, you too. Maybe we'll see again."

Isao's smile was covered by his cloth. "The world is merely the size of your palm when you take hold of your fate."

"I should have taken a better grip of it long ago." Diarmuid looked far beyond the horizon.

That frightful night changed many lives. Many were lost, few were spared, some found meaning, and some the truth. Yet it left a foul taste in everyone's mouth, a dark turn of events to remember for centuries. The dark ritual disaster would spark a new age of fear and hatred against magic and mages alike. But sparks come from nothing. The ground was already shaky, with no international opinion on magic and lingering fear among those in power. Governments would need to finally address the situation and satisfy their hysteric people one way or another. As the problem reached public knowledge, even countries with open jurisdiction about magic had to make changes. The opinion of whether magic was a threat was out of the window. It was now how dangerous could it be and how much would mages be willing to sacrifice their livelihood for the common good. In the coming years, magic, as people knew it, would become more taboo than ever. The world of magic would enter a second dark age, but thankfully not yet. There was still time, but it was waning like a full moon to the next sunrise.