Orel woke up in a hospital bed, his whole body aching like one big muscle cramp. It was almost too hard for him to keep his eyes open, but he felt his strength returning slowly. Andras and Diarmuid were right by his side, worried out of their mind.

"Don't scare us like that," Andras said.

"What the hell did you do?" Diarmuid asked.

Speaking hurt Orel's tongue as it ached like the rest of his muscles.

"Sorry, I went a bit overboard." Orel tried to twist his face to a smile.

"Mana exhaustion is no joke. At least you didn't lose a leg or something." Diarmuid shook his head in disapproval.

"I just wanted to impress them." Orel pulled on the sheets.

"You don't need to impress anyone," Andras said.

"And don't go beating yourself to death trying," Diarmuid added.

"But it wasn't enough. I didn't pass." Orel curled up.

"You didn't need to pass. You're our manager, right?" Diarmuid said.

"Yeah. That guy was tough. I almost went a bit overboard myself." Andras gave an embarrassed smile.

"He sure was. I don't know if I would have won in a real battle." Diarmuid thought.

"So, what happens next? Did we pass?" Andras asked.

"You did, but let's wait for them to send more info from the app," Orel said.

"By the way, Orel." Andras cut the conversation. "I saw something interesting."

"Like what?"

"I happened to see Norman's name on the patient list."

"Really?" Orel straightened.

"Well, Norman is a surname, so it might not be your friend." Diarmuid rationalized.

"I'm fine with seeing any family member if I can talk to them." Orel tried to stand up.

He put his shivering legs on the ground, but as he was about to put weight on them, they could not keep him up.

"Woah, slow down." Diarmuid caught Orel before he fell. "We got a wheelchair for you."

Andras pushed the chair as Diarmuid sat Orel down in it. They strolled to the lobby, where other patients waited for their more or less acute injuries. The clerk watched Orel approach in patient gowns with sensible suspicion.

"Checking out?" She asked.

"Yes, but we would like to visit a friend first," Orel said.

"Hmm? Name?"

"Norman."

"And who might you be?" She asked while typing on her computer.

"Orel Eislandr."

"Susan, could you go ask for me?" She asked over her shoulder.

"Alright." Susan walked out of the desk. "Come with me."

The group followed the nurse to a private section of the hospital. The nurse stopped at a single door at the end of the hallway.

"Wait here." She said as she stepped inside.

Inside the room was a single bed with a frail woman resting under the sheets. The room had a single window, though barred and small.

"Miss Norman, you have a visitor."

"Who is it?" Lisa turned her head.

"Orel Eislandr and his friends."

Lisa blinked. The familiar name tickled her curiosity irresistibly.

"Send them in." She raised her hand.

Orel rolled inside with Andras and Diarmuid. While Orel had no idea who she was, Lisa had heard plenty about him, but seeing him with her own eyes was something she could only imagine.

"You are Tobias' friends, are you not?" Lisa asked.

"Yes."

"Come closer." she flicked her finger.

"Alright. Visiting time is thirty minutes. Please see yourself out then." The nurse left the room.

"I've heard much of you," Lisa said.

Orel checked if the maid was gone before speaking.

"Who are you?" He asked.

"I apologize. Lisa Murrina Norman. Tobias is my little brother."

"You're Norman's sister?" Andras blurted.

"Yes."

"Are you alright?" Orel asked.

"I have a condition that keeps me bedridden here."

"Why aren't you in Eden's gate, then?" Diarmuid asked.

"I have heard of these gentlemen, but who are you?" Lisa turned her head.

"Diarmuid Cumhaill. I'm part of the party."

"I see. Albian, I presume?"

"Yes, but not proud about it."

"Back to your question. I should be there, but my family has decided to keep me here instead."

"Why?" Orel asked.

"That has something to do with Tobias." Lisa sighed. "Has he told you about his magic?"

"The invisibility?" Orel didn't understand.

Andras felt awkward in the situation, as he was perhaps the only one Norman told about it.

"That is, or was, my spell."

"What?" Orel and Diarmuid were completely taken back.

"You see, our family is of illusionists and expect nothing more than success and prodigies. I was praised as one, so my family was more than proud, but what they wanted was a son. Like most things, that's what they got eventually. Tobias had even more pressure put on him than me since he was supposed to surpass me. Eventually, he started to believe that." Lisa giggled. "It was so cute to see him following me around, trying to copy me and taking notes. But he also hated our father, not that I can blame him. Our father's lessons were...Brutal, to say the least. Yet, Tobias had trouble forming his magic, his spell. It didn't help that I developed it young. I always liked magic tricks, but sometimes I also wanted to disappear. Do you know how the trick works?"

"It's not about light, is it?" Orel said.

"It's about the mind," Andras stepped in.

"Yes, quite right," Lisa said.

"Does it not bother you to tell about your spell?" Diarmuid asked.

"It's not mine anymore, is it?" Lisa smiled. "And I think Tobias wouldn't mind."

"Just making sure."

"That is alright. It is about tricking your mind—illusion magic circles around magic affecting others' minds. Our family has many psychologists and researchers that are top in their fields. Spectre, my spell, manipulates the brain's perception to see me. It makes it hard to notice me like I wasn't there. You must have seen it first hand."

"Yeah." Orel nodded.

"But Tobias is not an illusionist. That is why he would not learn any illusion spell. My family could not see that and also blinded him from the fact. He believed he was an illusionist, even when he had no chance to learn a spell our family would accept. It tore him inside. He was so desperate to be like me, to have my magic. Of course, he never wanted to harm anyone, but they pressed him to a corner he couldn't escape. Orel, Tobias must have preached to you time and time again about the dangers of forming your spell, am I right?"

"Yeah, more than a few times," Orel said.

"Forcing a spell on you is a wish upon the monkey's paw. Tobias forced himself to make something that would solve his problem, but not in a way he wanted. That was how he created his spell, Doppelganger, and stole mine. Everyone, even father, was proud and excited, but it didn't take long to realize what happened. Tobias locked himself in his room for days, and not even I could get him out. My condition worsened at roughly the same time. Then, my parents decided to keep me in the shade not to embarrass the family name, as what use is a sick, magicless girl for them? No one would marry me, not that I ever wanted that."

"He never told me about this." Orel looked down at the floor.

"Tobias can be harsh on himself and hard to open. It took him a while to talk to me or anyone at all. Of course, I forgave him, but he never forgave himself."

"What type of mage is he then?" Diarmuid had to ask.

"How he described it, I could only describe that he must be a manipulator." Lisa thought.

"So it affects your soul?" Diarmuid's eyes bulged.

"Yes, or rather, it steals a part of it and seals away that magic from the victim."

"How many spells does he have?" Diarmuid kept asking.

"Two," Andras answered. "One from her and another from this Daniel fellow from Albion."

"He must have been desperate if he stole another one."

"Wait. You said his name was Daniel. Did he happen to wear an eye patch?" Diarmuid asked.

"Yeah, was he some duke or something?" Andras tried to remember.

"Norman fought him in Alanland," Orel added.

"Heh, hahaha!" Diarmuid broke into laughter, heaving his sides. "You guys are the greatest! No wonder he was so beat-up in court!"

"I hope it was a good person," Lisa said.

"Huh, why?" Diarmuid stopped laughing.

"Norman told me he could hear my voice in his head after stealing my spell. It must be part of the effect."

"I'm sorry to say, miss, but that Duke was rotten to the core," Diarmuid said.

"I was afraid of that, but I trust Tobias doesn't let it bother him."

"Can he release the spell?" Orel asked.

"He would have already done that if he could," Andras said.

Lisa nodded. "The spell has many rules, and Tobias must have limited it even further. Even I do not know all of them."

"Like what?" Orel asked.

"Hmmm. I do not know if I can tell you that. You must ask him yourself."

"Oh," Orel felt disappointed. "Then, could you maybe help us find him?"

Lisa looked at the corner of the room with a worried face.

"I am sorry, but I cannot help you with this. I am still part of the family and will have to side with them."

"Oh, well, it was nice to meet you, Lisa."

"The pleasure was mine, Orel Eislandr." Lisa smiled.

Andras pushed Orel out of the room, gathered his belongings, and the group exited the hospital.

Alone once again, the room echoed with the air conditioning humming. Lisa's whole body shook, but not from the cold. The shadows in the corner gathered to a dark, horned figure that walked silently over to the bed. Its body was barely distinguishable from the smoky clouds, yet a clear corporeal form was underneath. His long dark hair flayed in the air, licking the darkness like a dark abyss.

"To manifest yourself," Lisa backed to the other side of the bed. "Are you here to kill me?"

The shadow's mouth opened to a chasm that released a distorted voice.

"Let this be the last time you defy us. I will not speak a word, but only once will I do that. Choose your words carefully, or your life will end."

Lisa pulled a smile on her lips, even with the two voids of eyes staring down at her.

"Have you gone soft, Nox?"

The eyes grew with anger, and the figure raised its skeletal hands against Lisa's face.

"Do not call my name in vain!" Nox howled.

"I cannot understand what grandfather promised you to guard our family." Lisa looked away.

"My will is my own; it is something you mortals have no hope of understanding." Nox backed away, slipping his fingers along the bed.

The door opened, and a nurse stepped inside.

"Oh, I thought someone was here." She looked around.

"I was merely talking by myself," Lisa said. "My guests have already left."

"Oh, never mind then. Is there something you would need, Ms. Norman?"

"A meal, perhaps. With tea, please."

"Understood. I will deliver it to you shortly."

Lisa stared at the corner, wrapped in shadows. Whether there was something or not was beyond her, yet she could be sure that her legs would not walk out of her bed anytime soon.

At the entrance, Andras tried helping Orel up from the chair. His legs still felt weak, but could barely support him upright, at least when taking cover to Andras and Diarmuid. They limbed to the sidewalk and called a taxi. With it, they arrived back at the apartment house. As Orel reached the living room, he slumped onto the couch and laid down like a wet towel.

"Yeah, feels bad, doesn't it?" Diarmuid sat on a seat.

Orel said nothing, but he could not hide the painful expression on his face or stop his muscles from spasming.

"You don't need to act tough anymore, you know?" Diarmuid said. "Just let it all out."

Diarmuid watched Orel's eyes roll to him, and after a bit of staring, they jumbled around like rubber balls.

"Aah, it hurts like hell!" Orel let out a pained cry.

"That's better," Diarmuid smirked.

"Andras, how did you get over this?" Orel groaned.

"Don't remind me of that night." Andras tried to drown the memories with beer. "I got over it thanks to that Daniel's spells, but that's not going to help in your case."

"This is the worst day of my life." Orel sighed deeply.

"The worst day of your life so far," Diarmuid added.

"Don't joke like that." Andras finished the bottle. "Orel's hurt, you know?"

"And he's better to remember that pain. That sort of thing stops from doing stupid things like that."

"I'm right over here," Orel turned on his side and chuckled in pain.

"Just rest there for the day, and you should be fine. I'll go get groceries." Diarmuid walked out of the room to put on his shoes.

He left Andras and Orel to keep up the house, yet there was not much else to do than watch tv. Even though the shows weren't interesting, they, fortunately, were in Albian. Andras had his own entertainment to see if he could get himself drunk.

"Hey, Andras," Orel called out while staring into the emptiness that was the tv.

"Yeah?" Andras stopped drinking.

"You think we got this?"

"Maybe, I don't know."

"Me neither." Orel rolled to his back to stare at the ceiling.

"I can't see the future or anything, unlike that annoying wizard."

"Don't mention him."

"Things aren't going to get easier, that's for sure." Andras swirled the bottle.

"I already knew that." Orel turned toward the sofa back.

"But, how do you say it? A rolling stone gets no moss?" Andras put the bottle down.

"It means that people who move around avoid responsibilities."

"Oh? I thought it meant that staying still would get you stuck. I mean, who needs moss anyway?"

"Heh, well, that's one way to put it." Orel chuckled.

"Which one is it for you?"

Orel went silent. The question struck him like lightning from a clear sky. He had thoughts if he should return home and seek a regular job, perhaps go to higher education, but the idea of it felt like a spike running through his chest. Nothing made Orel happier than exploring, seeing new places, and meeting new people, but it had a sense of wrongness, being unworthy of such an attempt. Whether it was selfishness or an expression of himself, he did not know, but that was something he needed to find out for himself.

Orel turned over to the television.

"You know, I hate moss." He smiled.

There was still another question plaguing Orel's mind about where that stone would go, or rather if it would go anywhere, but it was not time for that. Instead, Orel's attention went to his phone ringing in his pocket.

"Oh, it's Diarmuid." Orel took it out. "Hello?"

"Hey, Orel, I'm going to take longer than expected, so don't be waiting for me," Diarmuid answered with the sounds of the city in the background.

"Why? Did something happen?"

"I'm going downtown for a while. There's someone I need to meet."

"Oh, but what about the food?"

"Sorry, but you need to go eat out for dinner. I'll cook something when I come back."

"Okay, take care."

"Sure thing." Diarmuid hung up.

"So, what happened?" Andras asked.

"Diarmuid is meeting someone, so we need to figure food for ourselves," Orel explained.

"Ooh, I want something local!"

"Why?"

"I want to taste other cultures." Andras licked his lips. "I didn't get a chance of that in Albion, other than those apples."

"Well, let's see what we will find." Orel stood up.

"Wow, watch out!" Andras jumped to take hold of him.

"Stop it," Orel kept himself straight. "I still feel a bit light-headed, but I'm alright."

"You youngsters sure have energy. Just don't come barking at me when you fall."

"Whatever." Orel walked to the front door. "Let's go find some food. I'm starving."

"Me too, buddy." Andras smiled warmly.

Diarmuid arrived at a neon-lit bar in the center of town. He stepped inside, and to his surprise, the inside was wooden and idyllic, almost archaic. It was pretty vacant, save for one detective sitting on the counter in casual clothes.

"Welcome to Los Prados!" The slim bartender said, cleaning a glass.

"Hey," Diarmuid waved to Cole.

"You came," Cole turned in the seat with a bright green drink in hand. "You got to try this. What was it again?" He asked the bartender.

"Candelabra." The bartender answered. "It is our national drink, made from a mix of fermented desert flowers and juicy fruits."

"And it sure is good." Cole drank the glass empty.

"Heh, then I'll have one as well." Diarmuid sat down.

"As you wish, sir." The bartender poured the drink.

"Do you serve food here?" Diarmuid's stomach growled.

"Yes. Here is the menu." The bartender passed it to him.

"Hmm. I'll take this one." Diarmuid pointed.

"Ah, yes. The Macyqueso. I will inform the chef."

The two were left alone, prompting Cole to remind Diarmuid why he had invited him.

"So, did you have any good stories?" He asked.

"Hmmm. You heard about the ritual disaster?"

"Who hasn't? Wait." Cole gasped. "Were you there?"

"Right at the center of attention." Diarmuid leaned on the counter.

Diarmuid was more than pleased to tell his experiences to someone who wanted to listen. He tried to ask Orel and Andras about their side of the story, but they did not like to discuss it.

"Wow, that must have been one hell of a ride," Cole shook his head after hearing the story.

"Well, that was a special case. Most of my service was pretty boring."

The bartender came with his order. The dish was made of pasta with a pale sauce of cheese mixed in. It was a popular food with students, as it was simple to make and the ingredients were cheap.

"Here you go, sir." The bartender served the steaming dish.

"Mmmm sure smells good." Diarmuid mixed it with a fork.

"Wouldn't you have gotten an additional bonus for full service? Shouldn't you have waited for that?" Cole asked.

"You can't put a price on dignity." Diarmuid frowned.

"Guess so. Um, I can pay for that." Cole felt terrible for asking.

"Let's just split the bill." Diarmuid objected.

The two walked out, mildly intoxicated but still functional.

"Was nice chatting to you." Cole stumbled. "Say, you're an enchanter, right?"

"Yeah, in your rules, at least." Diarmuid shuffled along.

"What's that supposed to mean?"

"Nevermind that." Diarmuid waved his wrist.

"Then, want to hear my secret? Just for you, buddy." Cole walked closer.

"Are you sure?"

"It's fine if you don't tell anyone."

"I won't tell a soul." Diarmuid pumped his chest.

"That's what I thought." Cole smiled. "So, I got a mystic mutation."

"Oh?"

"My nose, I can smell anything with it." Cole tapped his nose.

"You had one drink too many." Diarmuid didn't believe him.

"No, no, no." Cole waddled. "Watch." He took a deep sniff.

Diarmuid laughed under his breath. It was like watching a hunting dog sniff for rabbits from the grass.

"There." Cole pointed. "Your house is that way, isn't it?"

"Huh? Yeah, it is." Diarmuid said. "How did you know?"

"My spell, Bloodhound, makes me able to visualize smells, and my mystic mutation makes me able to smell better than any beast. I could smell a drop of blood in a kilometer or the tiniest spec of mag-"

Cole stopped. He smelled the awful mixture of gunpowder and magic from someone passing by. He was so concentrated that he fell against Diarmuid.

"Woah, what's wrong?" Diarmuid caught him.

"That man, he's dangerous." Cole tried to run, or rather, walk after the man.

"You're way too wasted to try and chase someone." Diarmuid tugged Cole.

"Damn it. I run to one every other day. This place is too rotten." Cole gave up.

"Is it that surprising?"

"Every time I catch someone or solve a case, another one is already there for me. All of them are about murder and drugs here. I've tried to get a transfer to Eden's gate, but that's more like a pipe dream."

"Didn't you become an investigator to solve crimes? Does it matter where you do it?"

"It's not about the cases or the pay. It's an honor for MIB agents to work at Eden's gate."

"To do what? Solve crimes of those arrogant mages?"

"It's much more than that. You wouldn't understand."

"Don't be stupid!" Diarmuid shook Cole. "Don't you see how they're trying to make you support the elite? Those mages want you to see that place as a prize, but it's just a matter of control and authority!"

Though it felt more than ridiculous for Diarmuid, he was not laughing. If it were someone he didn't care about, he would have laughed his ass off. Seeing someone like him get scammed and used like that made his blood boil.

"Shut it!" Cole pushed himself out of Diarmuid's grip. "I know where you're coming from, and I don't appreciate everything about the bureau, but you can't go on to splash mud on people's dreams like that!"

"I'm warning you as someone with experience. Remember that."

"Which would you trust: Your opinion or someone else?"

"Then, let me ask you this: Is it your dream, or did someone else put it there?" Diarmuid asked.

"I don't need need to answer your questions."

"Then ask it to yourself." Diarmuid walked away.

Diarmuid walked back home with the sourest sober-up. The convenience store sign caught his eye, making him remember his original objective. As his anger subsided, it was replaced by sheer frustration. To see someone like himself be used the same way, yet with no way to make him see that was beyond agitating.

"I'm back." Diarmuid opened the door with groceries hanging from both arms.

Inside the living room, Orel and Andras were munching on fast food, surrounded by snacks and soda in the darkness. Diarmuid was about to flip the switch until Andras turned to him.

"Don't turn the lights on!" He yelled.

"Why?" Diarmuid asked.

"We're watching a horror movie," Orel said from the couch.

"I can't believe they had Knife III on DVD," Andras lifted the box. "You know, it's much better than II, but the first one is a classic."

Diarmuid went into the kitchen and emptied the grocery bags. Though moments ago, he was pissed, the presence of those two made it impossible to stay negative.

"I'll cook something up if you're still hungry." Diarmuid turned on the oven. "Do you like Casserole Ignacio?"

"I've heard about it but never tasted it," Orel said.

"What is it?" Andras asked.

"I picked up the recipe from an immigrant woman once. It's spicy ground beef and tortilla chips topped with a layer of cheese." Diarmuid prepared the ingredients.

"Ooh, sounds good!"

"It sure is." Diarmuid smiled.

The three ate together while watching the film, though Andras seemed to eat most of it, even licking the pan clean. Orel fell asleep on the couch while Diarmuid decided to go to bed early. Andras stayed up for the movie and went to bed only after throwing Orel a blanket. They all slept soundly to tomorrow morning, even Diarmuid, as his family was full of snoring people, and Andras was no challenge for him.