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. His strength returned slowly, though it felt like every move used all of it before he could recover. Ándras and Diarmuid were right by his side, worried out of their mind.

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

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

"Sorry, I went a bit overboard." Orel tried to twist his face to a smile. Speaking hurt his tongue as it ached like the rest of his muscles.

"Mana exhaustion is no joke." Diarmuid shook his head in disapproval.

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

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

"That was a stupid thing to do," 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." Ándras gave an embarrassed smile.

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

"We passed, but what happens next?" Ándras asked.

"We should wait for them to send more info from the app," Orel said.

"By the way," Diarmuid 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."

Ándras 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." The nurse 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," The clerk said.

"Who is it?" Lisa turned her head.

"Orel Eislandr and his friends."

Lisa gulped. She glanced at the corner.

"Is something wrong? Should I send them away?"

Lisa tightened her fists. "No, send them in."

Orel rolled inside with Ándras and Diarmuid. They did not expect a bedridden woman, nor could they even guess who she was.

"You have around an hour." The clerk said as she left.

"We are-" Orel was about to explain.

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

"Yes, how did you know?"

"Come closer." she flicked her finger.

Orel rolled next to the bed.

"I've heard much of you."

"Who are you?" Orel asked.

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

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

"Yes." Lisa nodded.

Gears turned in Ándras' head and everything clicked together.

"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?"

"Good guess."

"Well, 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 raised his brow.

Ándras felt awkward in the situation.

"That is, or was my spell," Lisa said.

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

"Father was very proud of me, or at least my magic. The problem was that he wanted a son. Fortunately, they got him, Tobias. From that point on I was just something Tobias needed to achieve, and it did not take long for him to start to believe that himself."

A small smile lifted her cheeks.

"It was so cute to see him following me around, trying to copy me and taking notes. Our father's lessons were...Brutal, to say the least. Tobias had trouble forming his magic, his spell. My spell, I created it so I could hide from him, but no one can. Do you know how it works?"

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

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

"Yes, quite right," Lisa nodded.

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

"It's not mine anymore, is it?"

"Right." Diarmuid felt odd about the whole thing.

"It is about tricking your mind—illusion magic is mana that affects the mind. Our family has many psychologists and researchers that are top in their fields. We know more than anyone about it. Spectre, my spell, affects the brain's ability to recognize me. It impacts memory in a sense, like how you don't remember people on the street. I utilized our research to make it."

"But how did Norman get it?"

"Tobias is not an illusionist. That is why he would not learn any illusion spells. My family could not see, or rather, accept the fact. Even Tobias believed he was an illusionist, even when he had no chance to learn a spell like mine. 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."

"What happened to him?" Orel asked.

"Forcing a spell on you is a wish upon the monkey's paw. Tobias wished for a spell like mine so hard that he created a spell that would be able to do that. Without thinking he stole my spell. Everyone, even his 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 be willing to marry me and I was too sick to do research."

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

"Tobias has always been harsh for himself. He wouldn't let me get near him or talk to him. He never forgave himself for it."

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

"After months of trying I got him to talk to me again. He tried to explain it the best he could, and landed on the conclusion that he was a psychomancer."

"Then, that spell, it messes with your soul?" Diarmuid was speechless.

"I don't know how, and I don't think Norman knows either. He said he can hear my voice inside his head, so it must indeed take something from you."

"How many spells does he have?" Orel asked.

"I don't know," Lisa said.

"Two," Ándras answered. "One from her and another from that duke."

"He must have been desperate if he stole another one." Lisa shook her head.

"Wait. A duke? Did he happen to wear an eye patch?" Diarmuid asked.

"Yeah, what was his name? Maybe Daniel?" Ándras tried to remember.

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

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

"Huh, why?" Diarmuid stopped laughing.

"If he hears my voice, stealing another could mean he will hear his voice too."

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

"I was afraid of that."

"Can he release the spell?" Orel asked.

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

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

Ándras 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 into 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. Its long dark hair flayed in the air, licking the darkness like a dark abyss.

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."

"What? Are you taking pity on me?"

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

"That is certainly not true!" Nox howled.

"Alright, alright. I understand." Lisa backed away. "I don't understand why father would have ever summoned you."

"My will is my own; it is something you mortals have no hope of understanding." Nox backed away, slipping its fingers along the bed. "But I will report that master Tobias' friends have arrived."

"No, anything but that!" Lisa straightened her back.

"What are you going to wager?" Nox stopped.

"...Five years."

"Hahahaha! Half of it? Fine with me, but I will not make any deals if I see them again." Nox slid back into the corner.

The door opened, and a nurse stepped inside.

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

"My guests have already left." Lisa forced a smile on her face.

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

"No, I'm not feeling hungry."

"Understood."

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

At the entrance, Ándras tried helping Orel up from the chair. His legs still felt weak, but could barely support him upright. They limped 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? Just let it all out."

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

"Aah, it hurts like hell!" Orel yelled.

"That's better," Diarmuid smirked.

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

"Don't remind me of that night." Ándras tried to drown the memories with beer.

"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." Ándras finished the bottle. "Orel's hurt, you know?"

"And he's better to remember that pain. That sort of thing stops you 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 Ándras 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. Ándras had his own entertainment to see if he could get himself drunk.

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

"Yeah?" Ándras 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." Ándras shrugged.

"Don't mention him."

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

"I already knew that." Orel turned against the sofa's back.

"But, how do you say it? A rolling stone gets no moss?" Ándras 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?" Ándras asked.

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. But now he was scared. Scared to call it his adventure or if he would ever finish it. All this time he had relied on others and barely gotten by. Then it hit him. Memories of the three laughing together, him and Norman sitting under the starry sky, them reaching Avalon. Even if he weren't worth it, he did not want to let those memories be their last. If not by himself, they would find the realms together.

Orel turned over to the television. Ándras expected to see a broken frown he was used to for the past week. Yet, to his surprise, it was something else entirely.

"You know, I hate moss." Orel 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. Before he could think about it more, his phone rang.

"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 I bet you can find food for yourself. I'll cook something when I come back."

"Okay, take care."

"Sure thing." Diarmuid hung up.

"So, what happened?" Ándras asked.

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

"Ooh, I want something local!" Ándras shook his hands in joy.

"Why?"

"I want to taste other cultures."Ándras 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!" Ándras jumped to take hold of him.

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

"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." Ándras 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?"

"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.

"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. After a moment of thought, Cole remembered why he called Diarmuid.

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

"Hmmm. You heard about the dark 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 Ándras 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.

"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 while eating.

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

"Let's just split the bill."

The two walked out, mildly intoxicated but still functional.

"Was nice chatting with 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," Cole whispered.

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

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

"Oh?" Diarmuid raised his brow.

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

"You had one drink too many." Diarmuid gave him a gentle push.

"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 nodded. "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, slump after the man.

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

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

"Well, big cities have big trouble."

"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."

"Don't be stupid!" Diarmuid shook Cole. "Don't you see how they're trying to make you support them? 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. Instead, his blood boiled from the thought.

"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 don't go speaking bull about something you don't know anything about!"

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

"You have your problems on that island. Don't try to slump me with you." Cole poked Diarmuid's chest.

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

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

"Then ask 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. Thankfully, the store was the perfect distraction for him.

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

Inside the dark living room, Orel and Ándras munched on fast food, surrounded by snacks and soda. Diarmuid was about to flip the switch until Ándras yelled.

"Don't turn the lights on!"

"Why?"

"We're watching a horror movie," Orel hushed.

"I can't believe they had Knife III on DVD," Ándras 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.

"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?" Ándras asked.

"I picked up the recipe from an immigrant woman once. You'll see once it's ready." Diarmuid prepared the ingredients. "Fair warning, it's pretty hot."

"Ooh, sounds good!" Ándras rubbed his belly.

"It sure is." Diarmuid smiled.

The three ate together while watching the film, though Ándras seemed to eat most of it, even licking the plate clean. Orel fell asleep on the couch while Diarmuid decided to go to bed early. Ándras stayed up for the movie and went to bed, throwing Orel a blanket on the way. They all slept soundly until tomorrow morning. Even Diarmuid slept peacefully next to Ándras' room, as his family was full of snoring people.