After the Guild dropped them off, the three 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 grabbed Norman's shoulder.

"Thanks for looking out for him." He said.

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

On the shore, Tuja had already waited for them. 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 brushed Orel's hair. "You're home now."

Norman and Ándras 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 Ándras had their turns as well about their side. The two had quite a different experience from Orel, after all. While Norman wasn't used to telling grand stories, ándras 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 Ándras had already eaten their portions and some more.

"and just as the janitor had kicked the other guy, the first one rose 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?" Ándras slammed his hands on the table.

"I don't know. He stopped the zombie, so we just ran away from the scene. I suppose he won."

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

"At least you are all safe," Tuja sighed.

"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.

"YOU were the one who got lost first," Orel pointed out.

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

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 in 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. At first, she thought Orel was still working, but as she walked closer, she saw drool staining his notes.

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 smiling and making breakfast.

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

"Sure, mom." Orel rubbed his face.

Everyone slowly gathered around the dinner table, safe for one. Deras was the first, followed closely by Ándras. Ymir could easily beat both by being the first to wake up, but she would rather save the food for others. Tuja sat next to her so that she could spare some food from the two hulking men of mass consumption. Orel was usually the last, but fast enough to get some for himself.

"Orel," Tuja turned her head.

"What?" Orel stopped buttering the bread.

"Could you go tell Norman that he's late again?" She asked with a scary smile.

"Alright." Orel put on his shoes.

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

"Norman! Wake up!" He 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. Looking around, all of Norman's belongings were gone. Clothes, notes, luggage, and even the alarm clock Tuja had bought.

It was oddly quiet. The room was clean, which was odd for Norman's standards. Everything seemed perfect, eerily perfect. Yet, there was something that stood out—a note on the night table.

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. Thank you for all this time, but I must go now. I cannot be by your side anymore. Do not come for me. Sincerely, Tobias Norman-Alcaeus."

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

Orel rushed into the house and presented the letter. The others looked wildly back at the dinner table.

"Norman- Norman's gone!" He said.

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

"What? Really?" Ándras put down his drink.

"Since when?!" Deras asked.

"Oh my," Ymir said.

"Let me see," Tuja took the letter. "What on earth is that wizard doing?"

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

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

"Me neither," Deras shook his head.

"Where did he go?" Ándras 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.

"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 when the door slammed shut.

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

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

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

Ándras 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 Ándras was still shocked about the revelation, he could distract himself by turning on a horror movie he had recorded whilst fixing his suit. Ymir had her hobbies as well, keeping the garden and weaving in between naps. There was not much entertainment in the house apart from house duties, so everyone had come up with something.

Orel burrowed into his bed, denying the idea that Norman would do that. After some silent moping, he took a second look at the paper. It was still the same. Orel couldn't accept it and sat down on his workbench. He tried to take apart the words and look for hidden messages, but nothing in the message popped up. He scribbled on it, taking notes until the paper was more black than white. Still, nothing made sense. Yet, as Orel was about to erase the markings, he finally saw it.

"I got it!" He burst out of his room.

Though Ándras could watch any horror without as much as blinking his eyes, the quick slam sent him flying off his seat.

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

"Norman left us a message" Orel rushed to the sofa.

"The letter?"

"No, a real hidden message!" Orel sat down.

"Um, so what is it?" Ándras said while making some room.

"Here, have a look." Orel passed the paper.

Ándras looked at the scribbled note. First was the original message, but right under it Orel had scribbled all over until it was black as ash. That was where the message popped out. Written with ink that repelled pencil marks, were a couple of words.

"South Indies?" Ándras was still quite confused. "And..."

The rest of the message was "Sorry for lying."

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

"I just found Norman's secret message," Orel said.

"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.

"Just a place name," Ándras said.

"Not just any place name. It's where he lives, or at least where his home is." Orel explained.

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

"He might complain and frown, but he truly appreciates your company. It's sad to see him having to leave." She said.

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

The two turned to look at Orel for the answer.

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

Ymir smiled. It was like a glimpse of her past. Orel's determination was unmistakably the same as his grandfather, the signature look of an Eislandr.

"Alright," Ándras nodded. "Where do we start?"

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

"Where does he live?"

"I don't know." Orel shrugged. "South Indies is all we got."

"Then let's go there!"

The memory of the hospital glimpsed in Orel's mind. "I don't think they will let us in." He frowned.

"That's their problem. If they don't let us in, we'll get in anyway." Ándras cracked his knuckles with a smirk.

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

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

"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 had a bottle to spare for the occasion.

"I must say you did a splendid job out there," Hannes poured the bubbly champagne. "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?" Hannes noticed.

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

"Oh, and why would that be?"

"We need to convince Norman's family to let him stay with us."

"Then I, unfortunately, cannot help you," Hannes shook his head.

"Wait, why?" Orel asked.

"Yeah, why?" Ándras stopped drinking.

"I was under the impression that his family supported this idea. They almost chewed me out right after Norman joined, and I must abide by their recommendation."

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

Hannes turned around on his chair. "Sigh, even if I could, you no longer meet the requirements." He looked far out of the window between the blinds.

"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?"

"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." Ándras sensed that they were not getting anywhere.

"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. 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?" Ándras 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 shores of 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 walk 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 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 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, Fynnsworth. 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 the enchanting; what are we still missing?"

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

"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 looked around.

Galehaut saw that Fynn was truly honest in his request. His eyes would no longer glance away but stare deeply into his.

"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?" Galehaut asked, taking a single grape in his mouth.

"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 those Guearran whiskerfrogs 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 mirror image. For how much he mocked Fynn's terms with the Medrawrds, it was all too terrifying how similar they were.

Fynn put his fingertips together. "Then there could be a democratic leader, one who just happened to be accepting of trade with us," He smiled menacingly. "We just have to supply the freedom fighters and opposition leaders. I have already contacted one that seems 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, dear father. You would not miss such an opportunity, would you? I know you, you old dog. You wouldn't pass such an opportunity, would you?"

"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 the dukes on your side, even if they have no idea of your hideous plan. Hell, more would come in if you told the right ones. The more you have them included, the greater the fall will be." Galehaut's lips almost curled into a smile. "But I must warn you: You are 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 Galehaut could not win anymore.

"Fine. We will discuss this more in detail later. You have ruined my appetite." Galehaut stepped up and snapped his fingers for the servants. "You may come back now."

"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 as they walked in.

"That would be nice. Don't spare on the pheasant and caviar." Fynn pointed out from the table.

After a few hours of travel by car, Fynn was back in the Medrawrd manor along the mountains. He went back to his office and dropped on his chair.

"I pulled that off." He 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 through his assistants. 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 an expectation, 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." Fynn sat properly.

"Please wait a moment; we will warm it for you." The servant was about to leave.

"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. It did not truly matter, but it gave him courage, that he was tough. Fynn took a look at the caviar, not sure why he chose it. 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 them 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. He tried to swallow, but the caviar would not go down.

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 one Daniel used to drink. He would sometimes offer some for him as well. Though Fynn would have wanted to save it, his life was still slightly more valuable than a bottle of alcohol. He took the bottle and tried to pull out the cork, but his shaky hands did not get a grip on it.

Fynn dropped his hand. "Art of Bodach: Dark arms." He could barely gurgle.

Fynn conjured a dark jagged blade, grabbed it, and slashed the bottle. He only wanted to cut the cap off but accidentally sliced the entire neck. There was no time to waste. 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. Even though he had survived, only shame came to him. If he had so much trouble swallowing caviar, how would he fare as a duke? Fynn decided to drown those thoughts with another sip of whisky. It did not help, but he did manage to cut his lip in the process.

Meanwhile, on the busy dock of Logstoc, two familiar faces happened to spot each other board the same ship heading off to Milieu.

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

"Ah, the druid. I see you have chosen to leave the country as well," Isao said.

"Not leaving, just decided to look for a new job." Diarmuid brushed his beard. "Where are you heading to?"

"I shall head south for now."

"So you're looking for new horizons too. I thought you were with that boy."

"My path is my own, but if fate brings us together again, I will not stand against it."

"My friend gave me a recommendation. Too bad I have to go to another continent for it."

"My best wishes to you."

"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 it would have been wrong to say that it was a surprise. The ground was already shaky, with no international opinion on magic and lingering fear among those in power. Governments needed 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 into the next sunrise.