Shadows of Arkellia

Chapter One

“Rodric, what’s the situation?” Ryon Karath asked quietly as he stepped through the door onto the bridge of the Memory of Kyussai.
Rodric, the ship’s captain, looked nervously over his shoulder at the approaching Arcanist master. “Ah, Master Karath. We’re presently on course, heading at maximum speed for the refuge.” He did his absolute best to sound normal. “With any luck we’ll be there within two or three hours.”

Somehow, the valiantly armored figure standing behind him was able to detect the nervous edge in his voice. Ryon laid a hand on his shoulder. “Good man.”
Rodric flinched, casting a furtive glance over his shoulder as he gripped the ship’s wheel. Ryon's brilliant orange-red eyes met his own. Rodric whispered: “We’re being followed… aren’t we?”
Ryon only nodded.

Rodric shuddered, “What should I do?”
Karath blinked once, and stared hard into Rodric’s eyes. “The masters are discussing the matter right now. All we ask is that you continue flying us towards the refuge. If anything happens…”
“…Evacuate the ship… I know…” Rodric looked down at his feet nervously.
“The children have gone through the drill dozens of times… they’ll know what to do.” Ryon assured him.
“It’s not just the children I’m worried about…” Rodric whispered nervously, “It’s you, and the other Masters… you’re the only defense we have… if anything happens to you I don’t know how I’ll be able to protect the-”
“Relax, Rodric.” Ryon said, squeezing the man’s shoulder with a comforting grip. “We have everything under control. You just worry about the safety of the passengers.”
Rodric nodded, reaching up from the wheel and wiping a bead of nervous sweat from his forehead. “Yeah… right, you got it.” Ryon patted his shoulder gently as he turned to leave, glancing once more out the window at the clear starry sky. He sighed, then left the Bridge.

He didn’t have to travel far before he encountered the other masters. “He knows, doesn’t he?” Came a hollow voice as he rounded the corner.
“Yes, Kurai. Somehow he was aware of it. He’s sharper than I expected.”
“What are we going to do then?”
Ryon shrugged. “Make a plan and stick with it.” He kept walking, forcing the hooded youth to keep pace with him.
“Master Karath, if I may suggest… my powers here are hardly of use in an offensive environment…”
“Of course.” Ryon agreed, “I was actually going to suggest to everyone else that if everything does go badly, you would be assigned to protect the children and make sure they reach the refuge safely…”
The hooded youth nodded, keeping his purple eyes and white hair hidden under his cowl. “I could make a shroud…”
“I like your thinking.” Ryon pointed out as he reached a door. He wasted no time opening it and stepping into the ship’s rear observation cabin.

Standing at the window were two other figures. One was clad in off white robes, with dark hair that flowed down past his belt. A dark obsidian blade rested on his hip, and a card box rested on the other.
The second figure was clad in brilliant white and gold armor, a true warrior. The blade that was sheathed across his back was indescribably beautiful… a gift from the gods that no other earthly weapon could hope to match. He turned around first.
“Ryon. What news?”
He nodded, “Terris. Rodric knows. I’ve done my best to make sure he’s calm, but I don’t think that will last much longer.”
The other man had turned around by this point. “The children know the plan.” “Yes, Mithiru, but I was praying that we would never have to implement it.” Terris said sadly.
Terris looked up at Ryon. “Do you think… my son?”
“Josep?”
Terris nodded, “He’s just an infant… I don’t want his life to go to waste… especially over something like-”
“Calm yourself, Terris.” Ryon soothed, “You’re not the only father on board. My son is here as well. I can assure you that they will be among the first to enter the life gliders.”
The grim mood was broken quickly when Voldan lifted an arm and pointed out the window. “The enemy approaches.”
Ryon squinted, and was barely able to make out the form of the other ship that was rapidly gaining on them.
Terris spoke with no emotion. “The Tetrarch.”
“The Imperial flagship. Such blasphemy…” Mithiru Othias hissed, “Isn’t Empress Callista one of our supporters?”
“She is.” Terris nodded, then indicated out the window. “That isn’t her.”
Ryon understood in an instant. “It’s…”
“Silas.” Terris finished grimly. “Only he would follow us this great distance.”
“If it really is him… this ship doesn’t have a chance…”
Terris looked up at him, “This ship, I’m afraid, is already gone.”

The masters just stared at each other for a moment, each one silently contemplating the direness of the situation at hand in his own mind. Finally, Ryon spoke up.
“We must evacuate the ship.”
“I agree.” Voldan said.
“Likewise.” Othias nodded.
Terris looked at each of them. “We’ll have to cover their escape…”
Ryon patted the sword at his hip. “I believe we can take care of that…”
“Count me in.” Othias said.
Terris eyeballed him. “The chances of us making it out of this one alive…”
“We know.”
He looked down. This would probably be the last time he saw his friends standing here next to him. Before emotion could begin to claim him, he snapped up and glanced at each one of them, instilling an edge of confidence into his voice.
“Silas already knows we’re here, so there is no point in running any longer. Ryon, I need you to tell Rodric to begin evacuating. Stay there with him on the bridge and help guide him through this. Mithiru, my dear friend, I need you to stay here and help fend off anyone who decides to board us.”
He shifted his gaze to Kurai Voldan, the teenage youth who had achieved the rank of Master Arcanist at such a young age… “You’ll be…”
“I’m going with the evacuees. I can make a shroud and cover our escape.”
“Then it’s settled.” Terris finished.
“Where will you be going?” Ryon asked, knowing the answer even before he finished his question.
Terris indicated the sword on his back. “I have a little score to settle with Silas. I’m going to him.”
Ryon grinned. “The Aether sword alone won’t be enough to defeat him…”
Terris smiled back. “Maybe not, but it will be a fight that he’ll never forget.”

Ryon nodded, reaching his hand out. Terris took it and clasped it firmly with a comrade’s grip. He searched Terris’ golden sunfire eyes, looking for one last glimpse of happiness. What he saw instead was unadulterated determination, and a sad, burning hope for the future.
Terris spoke quietly, “How long do you need?”
Karath tried valiantly to keep his eyes from watering over. “Give us ten minutes. We should all be off the ship by then.”
“Consider it done.” Terris shook his hand, then let go. “May the grace of the Nine be with us.”
He looked one last time at each of them. “Make me proud…”
Ryon blinked a tear out of his eye, “This one will go down in history books for generations to come.”
Terris smiled. “I’ll be seeing you.”
“You too…” They all responded.
With that, Terris strode out of the room, and as he disappeared around the corner, a newfound valor found its way into each of their hearts, lifting their spirits and instilling strength into each of them.
“Let’s go.” Ryon Karath said.
And they did.

Terris rounded two corners, then strode down the long corridor that led through the center of the ship. He had reached the far end when he heard alarms begin echoing through the corridors.
Nodding in satisfaction, he proceeded up a ladder and climbed through a hatch, shutting it behind him.
Sealing the hatch shut, he reached into the pouch on his hip and pulled out a single card.
Using magic, he levitated the card in front of him and recited a prayer to Zephis, the spirit of the wind. The card glowed a faint green from inside, and then vanished into thin air when the spell was complete.
Terris nodded. At this altitude, breathing outside of an airship would prove to be impossible… so he had used a spell to maintain surface-normal air pressure around him for as long as he needed.

Satisfied that his spell had worked, he stood up and reached towards the hatch that led to the Memory’s outside deck. Taking a breath just to be safe, he undid the latch, ignoring the alarm it set off, and opened the door.
Almost immediately he was battered by the air that was sucked out of the chamber, but he held on to the door until the winds had calmed down.
After the brief hurricane was over, he climbed through and stepped onto the smooth deck of the ship. It was blissfully quiet, compared to the alarms that could be faintly heard coming from inside the hull.
He felt the vessel shudder, and saw briefly a single winged glider shoot off into the night, angling for the desert far below.
Wasting no time, he began climbing up the rigging that led up to the maintenance nest near the ship’s tail rudders.
Something nearby flashed brilliantly, and a half a second later an explosive shockwave nearly sent him flying off the side of the ship.
Following the glare of the explosion, he saw the dark outline of the Tetrarch, angling itself for a full broadside against the Memory.
Terris wasn’t about to let that happen.

In defiance, he used inhuman strength to propel himself up to the maintenance nest, then stood up, and unsheathed the sword on his back.
As he slid the blade out of the sheath, he recited a specific incantation that only he knew; nobody else in the Empire had ever been able to master this specific secret except him… and immediately the blade began to glow and shimmer with the combined power of the nine Arcane elements.
The sword itself defied logic: it was as painful to look at as it was to be struck by it. A gift to Terris from the gods, the Aether Sword could cut through anything. The glow it cast lit up the night sky around him brighter than the light of ten suns; a dead giveaway for targeting, but at the same time no doubt burning the eyes out of whatever gunners had lined their sights up on the ship.
He waved the sword in defiance, knowing perfectly well that Silas was watching his every move.

On the bridge of the dark battleship Tetrarch, the crewmen manning the helm and altitude controls were all flinching and shielding their eyes at the brilliance that had suddenly lit up the entire night around them.
Except for one man.
This man stood in silent contemplation, hands down at his sides, head angled down so that only his eyes could be seen from under the cloak and hood that covered his head.
A faint red glow emanated from the Arcanist insignias on his hands, and a malicious smirk crept it’s way onto his face.
He spoke with a menacing air that seemed to make the very air flinch around him. “Terris. At last you finally come out of hiding.”
One brave crewman nearby turned towards him, not quite sure who the comment was directed to. “Sir?”
Silas slowly turned towards the man. “Xine. You have the helm. I’ll be back in a minute.”
“Where are you going, sir?”
Silas nodded out the window. “That man must not be allowed to survive. I’m going to ensure of that myself.”
Silas spun around, taking three strides over to a nearby case, which he opened up. Inside was a scythe, and as soon as Silas laid his hands upon it, runes all along the blade and staff began to glow with a mystical red aura.
Silas grinned as he felt the arcane power surge through him, binding himself to the weapon.
A moment later, he snapped the case shut and strode towards the ladder at the back of the command deck.
“Any other orders, sir?” He heard Xine call out.
Silas paused as he climbed onto the ladder. “Continue firing on that ship. Leave none alive.”

Atop the maintenance nest on the Memory, Terris was figuring out his next move when suddenly the entire port side of the Tetrarch began erupting in flashes.
Half a second later, the Memory shook violently as the Dark Battleship’s broadside ripped open gaping holes in the Memory’s hull.
Explosions from near misses rocked the night, and the shockwaves from the cannonade threatened to send Terris plummeting off the side of the ship.

Cursing, Terris did a quick mental calculation, then recited an incantation to the spirit of wind.
Then, he bent his legs, and leapt.

He sailed clean up off the nest, arching out over the open space between the two vessels.
Over a mile below he could see the ground, and he felt a brief horrible moment of doubt as he realized the consequences of getting this wrong.
He shook the thought as he began to descend, flipping open the container of cards on his belt and pulling out six. Using arcane magic, he infused two of the cards with chronos energy, and the rest with light.
Those cards that were infused with light began spinning around him on separate trajectories, forming a glowing, spinning shield.
The two chronos cards he slapped onto his arms, letting them absorb the power from the chronos spell.
In front of him, the edge of the forward deck of the Tetrarch stretched into view. Not daring to think about what would happen if his spells failed, he flourished his sword and landed on the deck with a roll, barely avoiding missing and falling off the side. Coming out of the roll, he began running swiftly down the deck, towards the command tower that seemed to be half the world away.
He was stopped short as six hatches along the deck opened up in front of him, three on the left, and three on the right. Out of these hatches rose double barreled turrets.

Terris was too smart to think of these as normal guns.
He had no doubt that these were magic powered anti-personnel cannons, and that there were probably more targeting him from along the tower in front of him.
His thoughts were answered an instant later as every one of the turrets swiveled towards him and opened fire.
A torrential onslaught of firebolts, beams, waves, and pure shrapnel rocketed towards him, but Terris did not flinch.

Instead he raised his Aether Sword, and began swinging.

His chronos infused arms moved faster than the eye could follow, swinging the magnificent blade in a precisely calibrated and desperate dance, the sword intercepting each individual shot fired from the turrets.
What few shots did manage to make it past were instantly blocked and absorbed by the light infused cards that swirled around him, so fast that it looked like a solid, glowing ball of light.
The onslaught continued for several moments, and the sheer power of the assault prevented Terris from advancing any further down the deck.
To Terris, everything seemed to move in slow motion… each beam and firebolt that raced towards him seemed to crawl along so slow… it was easy to just snap his sword into place and intercept each one, almost like a game.
He knew in the back of his mind that this spell wouldn’t last much longer. Each shot he intercepted sapped away at his strength, draining his energy until he knew eventually he would tire out and the spell would fail.
He wasn’t about to let that happen. He thought for an instant, formulating a plan… and then it came to him an instant later.
If these cannons were powered by magic, the traces of arcane energy left by their projectiles could be exploited.
He smiled. It was almost too easy.

He made a slight adjustment to his sword patterns, and this time, when each shot connected with the blade, he poured just a little bit of his own magic into the collision, and propelled that energy back along the line of fire from whence the shot came.
In almost no time at all, it seemed that dozens of bright beams of light emanated from Terris, lancing across the deck and instantly turning the deadly turrets into useless heaps of smoking metal.
He relaxed, letting the chronos spell that was now burning his arms dissipate and holding the sword down at his side. Beyond the smoke that was now billowing across the deck, he saw a figure framed in the light of the doorway that led into the command tower. Terris let out a breath.

Across the deck, the figure framed in the doorway now held a scythe, and half a second later it leapt from it’s position and raced towards him, swinging the deadly weapon in an overhead arc.
Even though the entrance to the command tower was still far away, Terris was surprised as he barely managed to bring his sword up in time to defend himself.
The scythe connected solidly with the tip of his Aether Sword, and a terrible screech deafened him as the weapon resisted his blade’s magic.
Terris lunged forward, shoving the scythe off of his sword and opening up for a slash towards Silas’s chest.
By the time his sword was there, Silas was gone.

He spun around, and ducked just in time to avoid being beheaded by the graceful spin-slash of Silas’s next attack.
He slashed down at Silas’s feet, but he easily jumped over this and brought his weapon up to guard.
Terris’ return to guard grazed the tip of Silas’ elbow, and he let out a cry that sounded more like infuriated rage than pain. There was silence for a moment, and then he lunged again.
What followed was a furious exchange of blows, both of their weapons moving so fast that their eyes could not follow, but only watch the silent trails of glowing magic that they left behind.

There was no need for an exchange of words; their actions said everything that needed to be heard. There was no dramatic flourish, no taunting remark, no sinister announcement of what was going to happen to the other; this was one on one combat in its purest form, just a plain and simple attempt to disarm and eventually destroy the other.
Terris let himself go, allowing the fight to push him farther down the deck, towards the command tower. Each blow that Silas delivered connected more than solidly with his Aether Sword, deafening him each time and sending horrible concussive shocks up his arms, and already he felt his limbs were just going to fall off.

But then there came a brief lull, a moment where an opening presented itself so profoundly that Terris felt he couldn’t afford to pass it up.
He twisted his sword and intercepted yet another blow, and this time the weapons locked. Silas leaned in close, his dark red eyes staring death from under his hood, and began wrestling Terris’ sword out of the lock.
Terris sidestepped to the right, and let Silas push both the blades down, straight into a chain that was supporting one of the Tetrarch’s main sails.

Both of the magic-infused weapons easily sheared through the chain, snapping it in two with a loud whip crack that sent the lower half straight down into Silas’ foot, and the upper half straight up and across Terris’ chest.
He was knocked off his feet, but that was a small price to pay for the tiny breather he had just earned. Silas had jumped back, well clear of the mast that the sail was attached to.
Terris heard a series of snaps, cracks, and what sounded like splintering metal, and it was only as he stood up that he realized he was in the direct path of the now tumbling sail, which smacked into him hard enough to knock his breath away.
The wind caught the billowing fabric, and as it was carried out over the side of the deck rail, Terris was swept along in it’s wake and dragged off the side of the ship. Nearby, Silas just stood silently, suppressing a grin that wanted so badly to make its way onto his face. He was too smart to think that Terris had just been defeated so easily.

Onboard the Memory, Mithiru Othias was running down the midship corridor, alongside Ryon Karath and captain Rodric. In their wake were two children, who were in turn followed by Kurai Voldan. They rounded another corner, and found themselves at the last escape glider.
Ryon stepped aside and let the two children jump in.
One of them, a young toddler who was no more than five, turned around and stared at him. Ryon’s heart jumped a beat, and he resisted the urge to jump in right after him. Rodric stepped into the glider, and Othias stood by.
Voldan put one foot in. “That’s the last of them.”
Ryon nodded. “You made sure my son was on the first glider?”
“Yes, Gerrard is safe.”
“Good.”
Ryon turned to Rodric as the ship shook again from another broadside. “Rodric, the welfare of these children falls to you and Kurai until you reach the refuge. When you get there, talk to Hyashii Kyata. She will assist you with whatever you need.”
“But, what about you, and Master Othias?” Rodric sounded panicked, “How are we going to…”
“Be calm, Rodric. Voldan will guide you. He’s a good man, I trust him.”
Voldan looked up briefly at this comment, but said nothing.
Ryon continued, “Othias and I will meet up with you after we finish here.” “I…uh… okay…” Rodric said, clearly not convinced.
Othias moved to the glider’s release lever. “Safe flying, to all of you.”
Inside the glider, the little boy asked: “Where’s my dad?”
Ryon blinked back tears. “Be brave, Josep. Your dad will be with you soon.” Before anyone else could say anything, Othias hit the release lever, and a door slammed down in front of them. Then the glider was away, and Ryon finally relaxed.
“Are you okay?” Othias asked him.
Ryon stared at the floor. “Yes. Now that I know the future is secure, I think I’m finally at peace.”
He looked around the corridor.
“Let’s get to the bridge. I have one last present I want to give to Silas.”
Othias nodded. “Let’s go.”

Terris failed in his urge to not look down.
His glance nearly cost him his white-knuckled death grip he had established on the chain that was still attached to the ship.
It was so dark out he couldn’t see the ground below him any longer, just the fading glow of his tumbling sword that he had sacrificed to stay alive.
Shaking his head, he began to climb.
He wasted no time in scrambling his way back up the chain. He knew it was only a matter of seconds before Silas realized he could simply cut the tether, sending him plummeting to his doom in the desert far below.
Almost as if it was prophetic, Terris saw a brief flash of light, and a millisecond later the chain he was climbing up went slack.

It took every ounce of courage and strength that Terris had to lunge up off the falling chain, and even so he just barely managed to grab the side of the deck rail with the tips of his fingers.

He heard footsteps, and proceeded to vault himself up and over the rail in a flip, extending his legs and landing a solid kick to Silas’s torso. Silas grunted, and was sent staggering backwards as his scythe clattered to the deck. Terris pressed his attack, charging forward and drawing two cards from his belt.
He reached Silas and began delivering a series of punches, kicks, and flurries that were far superior to any ability even the world’s best martial artist could hope to master. Silas, in turn, had somehow produced two cards of his own, and sparks flew as their blows collided and skidded off of each other.
Terris never faltered, delivering blow after blow, strike after strike, and Silas, who was expertly countering every single one, was finally beginning to realize he might have gotten more than he had bargained for.
Terris pushed him down the deck, until they were at the very bow of the ship. In a last desperate attempt to throw Terris off of him, Silas discarded his cards and grabbed Terris’ wrists. His eyes went wide at the sheer strength Terris showed as he simply resisted his attempt to dislocate his shoulders.
Instead, Terris kept pushing forward, threatening to throw Silas over the side of the ship.

Silas finally spoke, and his voice showed no emotion of any kind.
“You’ve fought well Terris. I’ve underestimated you… you’ve learned much since I last saw you.”
Terris grunted and grappled with Silas more, spinning the two of them around.
“And yet, Silas,” Terris countered, “You haven’t changed at all. You never will.”
Silas almost shrugged. “Maybe, maybe not.”
Terris grinned, staring intently into Silas’ eyes. “You always pursue the impossible. No matter what you do, this world will never be without Arcanists. And you will never succeed in destroying us… not the way you are.”
This time, Silas grinned. “You neglect the fact, arrogant master, that perhaps you aren’t the only one who’s learned some new tricks since the war ended.”
Before Terris could react of figure out what Silas meant, he felt an extremely strong repulsion and was suddenly propelled quite rapidly away from Silas, flying dangerously towards the edge of the deck railing. Just managing to catch himself, he looked back up to Silas, who was just standing there in his cloak and hood like the reaper of death himself.
“What devilish magic is this?” He asked.
“Wouldn’t you like to know?” Silas snapped, “It’s too bad you won’t be around for me to teach it to you.”
Terris stood up.

Out beyond the deck rail, the Memory was turning around and beginning to accelerate towards the ship.

“Teach me?” He said, “I refuse to play your games and meddle in forbidden arcanism.”
“Then it’s sad that you’ll never know what could have been accomplished had you taken the time to study and understand its advantages.”
Silas lowered his head, “Goodbye Terris. It’s been an honor knowing you.”
Before Terris could react, Silas leapt from his position and plowed into him, but even in his defensive stance there was no way to block against the sheer mass that now seemed to make up Silas, and in no time at all he felt the edge of the deck rail behind his back… then a tumble… he grabbed for Silas’s cloak, and held on for all it was worth… then his stomach turned a loop as he fell backwards and dragged Silas along with him over the side, out into the dark night as they began to fall to the earth.

As they fell, a window onboard the Memory suddenly exploded outward, and a shadowy figure dove out, his obsidian blade drawn, making a beeline straight for the two tumbling figures.

Terris let himself go.
There was no exit now, only the doorway to the ethereal afterlife, and peace with the gods. But even so, he had been blessed with this one last chance to save the future, and the world, and he was not about to let that slip away.
He threw every last aerial combat maneuver he could think of at Silas, and each blow connected as solidly as the last. Silas, who had clearly not been expecting this, suddenly became a living punching bag as Terris proceeded to beat him to death in his final act.

Several moments of this went by, and then Silas finally snapped out of his daze. He grabbed Terris’ ankle, and the two of them began clawing at each other as they tumbled towards the earth, which could now be seen and was rapidly approaching them. They fought savagely, both of them drawing blood and snapping bones as they fought for their lives.

The end came when Terris managed to grab Silas in a choke hold.

The ground was fast approaching, and Terris had nearly drawn Silas’ final gasp for air, when by some absurd circumstance Silas somehow managed to mutter an incantation, and he suddenly stopped in midair.
Terris was wrenched away from him, too dazed to realize what had just happened, and continued to plummet helplessly to the earth… but in his mind, he had already won. As long as the children were safe…
“My son…” He muttered, “I’ll be with you soon…”

Silas grabbed at his throat, surprised that his gravitational spell had worked.

His excitement was short lived, however, when something suddenly slammed into him from behind, and an icy pain shot through his arm. Crying out in anger and pain, he saw the outline of the Master of Earth, Mithiru Othias, continue descending towards the earth, crying out in disbelief at what he had just done. He felt blood began pouring from the stump where his arm used to be… and Silas too, began to fall.

On the bridge of the Memory, Ryon Karath placed the last of his fire-infused cards on the helm in front of him. He had planted the cards all over the room, and along every hallway he had come down until he had gotten here.
Taking one last breath, he angled the wheel and steered the Memory straight at the command tower of the Tetrarch.
The Memory closed the distance in a matter of seconds, and the deck lurched terribly as the two ships collided. Everything was drowned out in an apocalyptic cacophony of shattering glass, splintering wood, cracking metal, and reverberating shockwaves as systems began failing all over the vessel.
Just when everything began to settle down, Ryon Karath lifted his blood soaked head from the wheel… and muttered the last words of the incantation he had been saying the entire time.

Mithiru Othias hurled his sword with amazing speed at the ground, and as the blade impacted with the dusty floor of the desert, it sent out a shockwave that spun up the dunes around it… producing enough counterforce to slow Othias’ fall so that he landed in an ungraceful roll and came to a stop face up on his back.
He wasn’t sure if his blow to Silas was fatal, but it was revenge enough to make up for what he had just done to Terris.
His eyes watered over as pain seared up his legs and knees… maybe the fall wasn’t as slow as he thought, but at least he was alive. He had been blessed by the gods to fight on another day… and usher in the new future.


These thoughts echoed through his mind as the sky above him erupted suddenly into a brilliant fireball, that for a moment, lit up the desert as if it was the middle of the day. Then it was dark again, and all that could be seen were the faint trails of flaming debris that arched gracefully across the night as if they were shooting stars.

Chapter Three

- Thirteen Years Later -

“Hey! Josep!” Rodric Tanayshen called up the stairs towards Josep’s room, “I know you’re busy, but don’t forget that you have training this afternoon! If you want to make it on time you’ll have to leave in ten minutes!”

Josep leaned out his door, his neck length scruffy brown hair swaying a little bit wit the motion, “I know! I know! I haven’t forgotten!”
“All right, just making sure…” He heard Rodric yell back up.
“I’ll be down in a minute!” Josep called back, then leaned back into his room.

He walked over to his desk and began re-organizing all of the tools and parts that were strewn about all over it.
Behind him, the now twenty-one year old Gerrard Karath scratched lazily at his goatee as he set down the book he was reading. “So how much of your project did you get done today?”
Josep shut one of the desk drawers after unceremoniously dumping a handful of tools into it. “Not a whole lot…” He said regretfully, eyeing the staff handle on his desk.
“I don’t get it.” He said, standing up, “Master Kyata said that this shouldn’t be difficult, that arcanists back in the old times were able to create their own weapons within a matter of days.” He sighed, “I’ve been working on this thing for weeks, and all I have to prove my efforts are a three foot handle and a leather grip. How am I supposed to face my trials with an incomplete weapon?”

Gerrard shrugged. “You still have a few weeks, buddy. You’ll make it.”
Josep didn’t seem convinced, and he resumed packing the tools into his desk. “I hope.”

When he was done, Josep moved over to his bed, and pulled out his bag from underneath.
He pulled out his green training tunic and threw it on over his shirt, hastily buttoning it up and then looping his black leather belt around the waist. Reaching into the bag once more, he pulled out a card box, and regarded it for just a moment. Though old and slightly faded, the symbols etched onto the container matched the ones on the back of his right hand.
The box, and the cards within, had once belonged to his father, Terris Navar.
Besides these, and the mystical sword that was hanging on display over Josep’s desk, he had no other possessions that reminded him of his dad.

He gently attached the container to his belt, then closed the bag and slung it up over his shoulder.
Gerrard, who had also been packing his things, had just stood up and done the same.

“So, what will you be doing this afternoon?” Josep asked him.
Gerrard shrugged, “Well, I have another flying lesson with Captain Noland… today we’re going to head out over the canyons, and maybe even see the city of Sabure if we’re lucky.”
“Haven’t you earned your wings already?” Josep asked jokingly, “You’ve only been practicing your flying skills for some eight years now…”
Gerrard smiled, “One can never get enough practice. Besides, flying an airship is no easy task… aside from constantly checking your altitude, wind speed, engine power, and compass, you also have to pay attention to all the nice views from up high…”
Josep sighed, “It sounds like fun.”

He couldn’t help but feel only slightly jealous of Gerrard, who had already passed his trials as a Fire Arcanist and as such, now had more free time to pursue fun hobbies such as airship piloting.
He missed the days where they always went off to training together… and came back home after stopping at Vorro’s ramen house along the way, and just hanging out and having fun.
The village had grown to recognize the two of them as a team, and indeed, the arcanist training drills that Masters Kyata, Voldan, and Othias had put them through had somehow created a brotherly bond between the two of them.

“One of these days, you’re gonna have to take me along.”
“Perhaps,” Gerrard said as he moved towards the door, “But I think you should focus on passing your trials first, then we can talk about flying.”
“Yeah, sure, okay.” Josep sighed.
He hated to admit it, but Gerrard was right. He had always been there to steer him in the right direction, and Josep knew that the trials were very important.
He followed Gerrard out the door, and down the stairs. “I guess I’ll see you later then.”
“Yup, sure will.” Gerrard said as he opened the front door, “Maybe when I get back I’ll see if I can help you a little bit with your project.”
Josep grinned, “That’d be great.”

Gerrard walked out, letting the door shut behind him. “See you later!”
Josep turned around as the door shut and made his way to the kitchen, where a startled Rodric jumped with fright as Josep nearly ran into him.
“Josep! Good lord, boy, you scared me. How is it that you walk so quietly?”
“It’s my training.” Josep admitted.
“Ahh, well, I assume you’re leaving then?” He asked nervously.
“Yeah…” Josep said, squinting inquisitively. “You seem kind of jumpy… you ok?”

Rodric cast a nervous glance over his shoulder, in the direction of the stove. “Oh? Me, jumpy? Heh heh, I’m just fine, you just startled me a little bit, that’s all.”
“Uh huh.” Josep said, biting his lip. “Well, whatever, I’ll be back tonight.” He turned around and made his way back to the front door.
As he walked out, he couldn’t help but feel that something odd was going on.

As the door closed, Rodric sighed with relief. That encounter had been entirely too close… He didn’t want Josep to discover the birthday cake he had made, which was currently baking in the oven. Now that he was gone, it would be much easier to organize the surprise party that he had planned for this evening.

Josep walked along the row of houses lining the northern shoreline.
Everything seemed peaceful and quiet. Everyday activity was still occurring, people out in their yards, working in their gardens, walking up and down the streets and entering and leaving the various shops scattered around the village, but it all seemed more… silent today.
He continued on his way, making his path up the trail that led to Kyata’s training dojo.

The large structure was nestled safely up near the cliffs of the northern canyons, where the breeze blowing in from over the ocean kept the temperature cool and comfortable.
He was about halfway up the trail when he heard someone call out his name.

“Hey! Josep!”
He looked behind him and saw Orlandra running up the trail to catch up. He smiled as he watched her approach.
The two of them had practically grown up together, and there wasn’t a single day since they first met on the beach where they hadn’t spent time with each other.

The same age as he was, she had grown up into a beautiful young woman.
Her arcanist training had blessed her with an attractive, athletic figure, and her long brown hair was the perfect accent to her sparkling hazel eyes.
Her face seemed to glow as she slowed down and stopped in front of him.

She leaned forward and embraced him in a friendly hug.
“Hey, what’s up?” He asked her.

Josep hoped she didn’t notice the slight warmth that seemed to fill his cheeks. Rumors were flying all over the village about a possible relationship going on between the two of them, and although it wasn’t necessarily true, Josep secretly hoped that one day it could happen.
But he could never quite tell what she was thinking, which confused him greatly, and at times messed with his mind so much he couldn’t think straight.

“Not a whole lot.” She replied, “I was on my way to return this book to Master Kyata.”
Her eyes wandered across him, “Looks like you’re going for some more training?”
“Yeah, you got it.” Josep said as he adjusted his bag on his shoulder and began walking again.
Orlandra kept pace with him. “How long until your trials?” She asked.
“About two weeks.” Josep replied, “I’ve been working on my weapon, but I feel like I’m making no progress…”
“Isn’t Gerrard helping you?”
Josep sighed, “Not a whole lot. He feels that I need to complete this project on my own, and I don’t blame him. I have been getting a bit lax lately with my practicing.”
She beamed at him, “You’ll make it. You’ve been doing great so far!”
“I wish I could share your enthusiasm…” He said apologetically, “I have a feeling I wont be able to finish my weapon on time for this one.”
She looked sidelong at him as they continued up the trail. “Maybe. I don’t know… But I think that you’ll do it.”
Josep just shook his head in doubt, but took her words to heart as they trod up the stone pathway.

Within minutes, they had reached the doorway leading into the training dojo.
Stepping inside, they found Masters Othias and Kyata both sitting at a table, apparently waiting for them.

“Hello masters.” Josep nodded in respect.
Kyata stood up. “Josep, just in time. We were beginning to think that for once, you might be late…”
“Not this time, not ever.” Josep smirked sarcastically.

It was interesting, watching Kyata move from the table over to Orlandra.
Hyashii Kyata was an Arcanist master of Wind, and it showed in almost every aspect of her character.
At just under thirty, she wore her age surprisingly well. She wore a simple grey kimono and hakama which gave more than slight suggestion of the flawless figure underneath.
On her hips rested two closed fighting fans, which Josep knew more than well she could use with devastating precision. Just in front of the fans was a small ornate card box, shaded in a very faint green color.
Combined with her short trimmed white hair and slightly maroon tinged eyes, she was an impressive sight indeed.
But what was more impressive was they way she moved.
Every single action that she made seemed to flow so gracefully that sometimes Josep couldn’t help but wonder if she was either acting normally or dancing.
Even now, as she stopped in front of Orlandra and recovered the book she was returning, it looked as though if it was choreographed, like she was orchestrating the entire thing to some invisible ballet.

Master Othias, by extreme contrast, still sat at the table, his facial expression unreadable as he checked over his obsidian sword.

“Thank you for returning the book, Orlandra.” Kyata had just finished saying, “It’s always nice to see my students studying hard.”
“Not a problem at all, Master Kyata.” Orlandra replied, “When should I come back for my next lesson?”
Kyata thought for a moment. “Next Thursday, be ready for training at eleven. It’s time we got you around to infusing your saber.”
“Yes ma’am.” Orlandra said politely.

Kyata’s eyes drifted over to Josep. “Run along now, I have some work to do with mister Navar.”
Orlandra bowed respectfully. “See you later.”
She cast a glance at Josep, then turned around and walked out.

Josep sighed as Kyata strode over to him with all the grace of a windborne goddess. “Josep, whenever you are ready, Master Othias will meet you on the combat floor.”
He nodded, “I’ll be out in just a moment.”
Kyata gazed down at him. “Have you been working on your weapon for the trials?”
“Yes, I have.” Josep nodded hastily.
“Good,” she said, “You have less than two weeks now. I fully expect that you’ll be adequately prepared.”
Josep nodded again, “I will be.”
Kyata nodded her head. “All right then, report to the combat floor.”
“Yes ma’am.”

Kyata watched him as he left. He reminded her so much of his father… the resemblance was uncanny.
She smiled as she remembered the days when she used to train alongside Terris, now far gone but forever cherished in her mind.
If Josep was anything like Terris was, he was bound to succeed at whatever challenges were presented to him.

“Something on your mind?” She heard Othias ask from the table nearby.
“Oh, not really.” She admitted, “Just reflecting on days of old.”
Othias glanced over as Josep walked out the door towards the training yards, then shifted his gaze back.
His eyes spoke for him.

“He’s so much like his father.” She said simply.
Othias shrugged as he stood up and shouldered his weapon. “Maybe, but we’ll see when his trials come up.”
“Indeed.” She replied, smiling at him.
He remained expressionless as always as he walked towards the door Josep had just gone out. “We can talk later.” He said, pushing the door open and stepping through, “Right now, I have some teaching to do.”
“Have fun!” She called out as he left.
Humming to herself, she turned to go place Orlandra’s returned book on a nearby shelf.

Josep searched through the various training weapons that were arranged along the combat arena’s edge.

He passed up the short swords, long swords, katanas, scimitars, kamas, sai, and even tonfa as he searched for his favorite weapon.
He finally found it leaning against a stack of barrels in the chamber’s far corner; a long wooden staff with tapered ends and a comfortable worn grip in the center.
He set his things down and grabbed the staff, walking out onto the floor and twirling it experimentally.
He had used this particular weapon for years, after trying out all of the other weapons and experimenting with each. None of them had felt as comfortable or natural in his possession as the staff.

Indeed, the weapon he was designing for his upcoming trial was based largely along the parameters of this very same training staff.
He began adding more movements to his twirls, swinging it over his head and around his back in graceful motions, finishing his flourish in a ready-guard position.
He heard footsteps enter the arena from behind him, and a brief silence as Master Othias set his obsidian sword down and replaced it with a similarly sized long sword along the wall.

“All right, Josep.” He said as he took the floor. “I’ve decided to try something a little different for today’s lesson. In order to better prepare you for your trials, I’m going to work on your ability to change your weapon’s channeled infusion on a moment’s notice.”

Josep felt himself sag noticeably.
Infusion, while simple in concept, was never one of his personal strong points, much less changing elemental channels in the middle of combat.

He remembered his first few weeks of training, many years ago, when he was just six years old.
He could still feel his frustration at attempting to figure out what his base element was.

One of the many peculiarities of Arkellian citizens is that, based on Arcanist research, each person is born with an inherent natural element, and the ability, once trained, to use that particular element in various ways through magic.
The difference between these citizens and Arcanists, he had learned, was that Arcanists possessed the unique ability to “shift” elements, or in other words, even though that each Arcanist was gifted with their respected natural-born element, they could also use magic based off of the other elements through what was known as “channeling.”

Channeling in its own right was no easy task, even for experts, but that’s why Arcanists used their world-famous cards.
The cards acted as a medium, a source from which they could channel magic through, and based on the card’s elemental inscription, could temporarily alter the base element from which the Arcanist was drawing power from.
This made for a very elaborate, disciplined, and deadly fighting style that nobody else in the world had ever been able to master, let alone imitate.

But before one could learn to channel, one had to learn what their base element was.

Josep could still remember quite well how long it had taken both himself and the masters to realize that he had not inherited his father’s base element, which was light, but instead had inherited his mother’s affiliated element: lightning.
The relationship between these two elements, plus the traces of other elements that had been passed down through the Navar bloodline created a curious, but surprisingly useful combination that was so rare it was previously thought to have diminished many years ago during the last years of the Arcanist War.

Josep possessed the gift of electromagnetism; the inherent ability to directly shift and control the various magnetic fields around his body, allowing for some ingenious techniques that nobody else could mimic.

One of his favorite techniques was a skill that he named “repulsion”; once, during a training exercise that involved his opponent using a steel short sword, he had managed to concentrate the magnetic flow so intensely that he actually repelled his opponent’s sword strike just before it was about to slice through his shoulder, sending the weapon sailing through the air and effectively disarming his assailant.
But even with his gift, the Masters viewed him with veiled skepticism, claiming that the way Josep was using his abilities was putting him dangerously close to what they referred to as “forbidden” techniques.

So Josep stopped using electromagnetism while at the dojo, instead practicing his techniques by himself at home.
Unlike the Masters, he viewed his ability as a blessing, something special that could make him that much better of a fighter.
Now, as he stood here facing Othias for the millionth time on the duel floor, he was once again forced to shove aside his urge to draw upon this gift of his, and instead rely on traditional arcanism.

“Okay.” He resumed his combat-ready stance, with the staff held along his back and his left palm held out towards Othias.
Josep decided to keep things simple to start with; instead of drawing a card and channeling, he would start with his base element: electricity, which, because he was born with it, required no card to use.

Setting his mind in the proper focus, he began concentrating the natural flow of ions and electrons around him, pulling them inward and focusing the arcane currents toward his arms.
He kept letting the power build, and as more and more electric current began to flow through him he felt his skin go prickly, a tingling sensation not much unlike receiving a constant static shock.

It was only when the currents were so strong that his arms felt numb that he said to Othias, “I’m ready.”

Othias simply nodded, brandishing his sword and stepping in for an opening strike.
Josep easily whipped his staff around, intercepting the strike with the upper half of the weapon.
Othias countered this by following through with the motion, pushing the end of Josep’s staff down and switching his motion to a horizontal slash.
Josep instantly adjusted his grip on the staff and flipped it vertical, stopping Othias’ motion in midswing.
He twisted his staff around, batting Othias’ sword out of the way and spinning the weapon over his head.
As he did so, he channeled some of the built up electricity in his arms into the staff, charging it with electric energy.
When his overhead twirl brought the staff back around, Othias blocked it with his sword, and this time, when the weapons met, an arc of blue lightning flashed briefly across both weapons, and Othias nimbly jumped back in retreat.

“Very good.” He said, “Now, I’m going to start mixing things up, so pay attention.”

Josep twirled his staff once more and brought the weapon once more to a ready stance, trying to concentrate.
He watched as Othias drew a card from his belt, holding it in front of him and reciting the incantation: “Buki Sen’yaku: Tsuchi Subeta.”

There was no visible reaction, but the card Othias was holding dissipated into thin air, and a faint dark glow seemed to come from within his sword.
Josep had no doubt in his mind that Othias had just infused his sword with earth magic, making his electricity useless against it.

He sighed.

This was where his difficulty would begin to show.

He quickly drew a blue-tinged card from his belt and held it out in front of him.
Squinting his eyes in concentration, he poured all the remaining electric energy into the card, and resisted the urge to smile as the rune on the card began to glow.
Now for the tricky part…

Putting effort on every single syllable, he recited: “Soshi Henkan, Buki Senjigusuri: Mizu Yakuin.”

The card in front of him shimmered, and Josep concentrated as hard as he could on receiving the energy it began to give off though the arcane currents.
Just as he was beginning to think it didn’t work, he felt a cold sensation run through him, almost like a waterfall cascading down a mountainside.
He channeled this energy once more back down his arms, and into the staff which he held.
Almost immediately, tiny beads of water began forming all over the staff, until the entire weapon was covered in a thin layer of the pure liquid.

Then Othias struck again, and Josep brought his staff around in a block as he attempted to dodge out of the way.
The sword collided with the staff, and amazingly, the staff liquefied around the point where the weapons connected, allowing Othias’ slash to pass straight through without any interference, sending him off balance.
In the brief millisecond that Othias was caught off guard, Josep struck with the nearest end of his weapon, the end of the staff smacking Othias’ shoulder and liquefying once more, splashing across him and soaking his shirt.

Josep jumped back out of range before Othias could recover, but already he had somehow managed to produce another card and recite “Soshi Henkan, Buki Sen’yaku: Aisu Subeta”, and now his weapon looked frosted over, with a faint white mist trailing behind it.

Josep ducked his first swing, then brought his staff to guard again, just in time to block the second.
When his staff intercepted Othias’ sword, there was a loud snap-hiss and almost instantly Josep was forced to let go of it as the entire thing froze solid.

The staff clattered to the floor as he flexed his fingers, wincing as the searing cold bit at the nerves in his hands. “Gahhh…”

Othias just held his position, watching Josep with an expression of mild concern mixed with discipline.
“You did well with the transfer to water, but you must learn to respond quickly to change. Remember, every element has a direct opposite which it is weak to, whether it be light to dark, or,” He nodded at the frozen staff on the ground, “Ice to fire.”

Josep let the magic around the staff dissipate before he reached down and picked it up.
Othias continued, “The purpose of this exercise is to familiarize you with these particular elemental differences, and teach you how to use them to your advantage in combat. Now, when you are ready, we will try it again.”

“Yes, Master.” Josep nodded.
“Remember to pay particular attention to the phrases I’m using in my incantations.” Othias reminded him, “You can pick up subtle clues as to which element I am switching to based upon the choice of wording and what color the card glows once the spell is complete.”

“Okay.” Josep replied, trying to sound confident.

“You got it? All right then…” Othias flung a card into the air, “Soshi Henkan, Buki Sen’yaku: Uindo-kaze Subeta.”

The card glowed a faint gray-green, then disappeared into thin air.
Okay… Josep thought blankly, wind infusion…
He hastily threw a card up and recited, almost without thinking, “Soshi Henkan, Shinjou Senjigusuri: Karada.”
Josep felt the arcane currents change once more, and suddenly his whole body felt as if he had gained some immense amount of weight, and he had a brief moment of wonder as he realized just how much skill Othias had over this particular element.
Othias stopped short, swung his sword, and Josep was immediately buffeted by a hurricane force blast of wind, but since he had shifted to the element of earth, he stood fast and resisted the attack.
Othias grinned, letting his spell dissipate.

As Josep released his hold on the earth spell and shifted once more to his normal electricity, Othias attacked again.

Nearby, Orlandra sat and watched the entire spectacle in silent contemplation.
After she had left the dojo, she had circled around to the back and found a nice comfortable spot from which she could see the duel floor and watch from a safe distance.
She would come here often on her days off to watch him train, for what seemed to be no particular reason at all.
There was only one other person who knew about this specific spot, and luckily for her, this particular location still remained a secret. 

She sighed as she watched him battle it out with Othias.
No matter how many times she watched, it always seemed to impress her at his sheer skill with staves.
Many times she would find herself wishing that she could move as gracefully as he did, and when she would talk to him about it he would always look at her funny and tell her, “But you’re so good with a saber that it just wouldn’t make sense to me for you to use a staff.”

Even Master Kyata was impressed with her saber skills, not to mention her prowess with channeling ice magic. But even so, she always somehow found herself ever so slightly envious of some of the other trainees.

Adding to the drama was the fact that rumors galore were flying all over the village about her and Josep being in a relationship, and although these particular whisperings were false, nobody knew just how closely they were guessing. Orlandra had had the biggest crush on him for almost three years now, and she would often find herself daydreaming about him when she was supposed to be studying, or her thoughts would drift astray whenever somebody mentioned his name.
She wanted to be with him, but she didn’t quite know how to go about asking. After all, what did he think of her? Sometimes it was very difficult to read what he was thinking, and it frustrated her to no end.
So she would find herself coming here, on her days off, to just sit and watch him, and daydream.

Every time Josep would take a hit, she would feel this particular stirring in her chest; a deep longing to run over and check and see if Josep was all right, and at the same time a strange urge to go and slap his opponent in the face for hitting him so hard.
But she held back; she knew Josep was tough, and probably wouldn’t like it if she came rushing over to him every time he slipped up.

But then again, she thought to herself, if they were ever in a real world situation like the ones the Masters would describe, she would be at his side in an instant, no matter what.
She watched and smiled as Josep managed to break past Othias’ defense and smack him across the arm with his staff, and whatever magic he had channeled into his attack sent Othias staggering sideways as he struggled to maintain his balance.

Then the two were at it again, each series of attacks longer and more elaborate than the last.

Humming to herself, she reached down into her pocket and pulled out a small lyre.
One of the few treasures that her mother had given her, she found herself playing it often whenever she had some free time.
Among those best times were the ones such as these; watching Josep train.

His duels and exercises would last sometimes longer than an hour, more than enough time to play all of her favorite childhood songs, and even practice composing new ones.
She found a source of inspiration watching Josep, and she began to play.

As she played, the music filled her with happiness, and she once again found herself daydreaming, remembering some of her favorite moments that she had spent with him in the last several years.
One stuck out in particular; an afternoon about a year ago where they both sat on the front deck of her house, and she played the lyre to him for the first time.
He had shut his eyes and listened so intently it surprised her.
Ever since then, Josep had become seemingly addicted to her music, claiming that it was “relaxing.”

She played the lyre for a good while, going through song after song, and letting the melodies carry her mind to fantastic faraway places.

She was about to start playing another when she heard footsteps approaching.


In a brief panic, she whipped her head around, but sighed with relief as Jenica walked over and sat down next to her.

“Sorry,” She said apologetically, “I didn’t mean to startle you…”
“Oh, it’s okay.” Orlandra said, setting the lyre down in her lap, “What brings you here?”

Jenica giggled, “What do you think? I came to check in on our birthday boy.”
She cast a glance in Josep’s direction. “Do you think he knows what’s up?”
“I don’t think he has a clue.” Orlandra replied honestly.
Jenica laughed again, “What kind of person forgets their own birthday?”
Orlandra nodded in Josep’s direction, “He does.”

The two of them laughed for a moment, then settled down quickly before they might have been heard.

Orlandra looked back up once she had recovered, “So did everyone else get the memo?”
“Yep.” Jenica nodded, “They’ll all be at Josep’s house by the time he’s done training. We just have to make sure to stall him enough so that they have enough time to set up before he gets home.”
Orlandra felt a smile creep onto her face. “Oh, I don’t think that will be difficult.”
Jenica looked at her sideways. “Indeed.”

While the two of them conversed, Orlandra couldn’t help but wonder what was going on in Jenica’s mind.
She and Jenica had grown up together as best friends since she had first come to this village, and as fate would have it, Jenica had gotten to know Josep just as well as she did.
Looking at her now, almost eighteen years old, with dark brown hair and a modest athletic figure, and wearing a slightly revealing red top and skirt, she couldn’t help but feel a strange underlying animosity towards her, even with their friendship.

Lately, whenever Jenica would spend time with her and Josep, she would get this odd sense of protection over him, because for whatever reason she would begin thinking that Jenica was in this sort of competition with her; one to both capture Josep’s attention and, although she hated to admit it, affection.
And who could blame her? Josep was, in her mind, quite the catch, and Jenica wasn’t that bad looking… she could think of a million reasons why he would like to be with her…

Mentally kicking herself for thinking like this, Orlandra floated back to the present.

Jenica was going on about something involving the latest issue of the Imperial Times arriving at the airship docks when Orlandra suddenly had this particular feeling… and she suddenly realized that in her brief period of lapse, Josep’s training session had ended, and he was nowhere to be seen on the combat floor.

Shoving the lyre back in her pocket and jumping up, she scanned the immediate area in front of the dojo’s entrance.

He wasn’t there either.

“Whoa, what’s up?” Jenica asked, startled by Orlandra’s sudden movement.
“Quick! Josep’s gone! We have to find him before he gets back to his house!”
Jenica shot up like an arrow. “Oh lord, I wasn’t paying attention!”
“Yeah, neither was I…” Orlandra admitted as she took off running towards the trail.

Jenica followed behind and managed to keep pace.

“How far do you think he’s gone?”
“I don’t know!” Orlandra replied, hoping that Josep hadn’t gotten as far as the main road.


Luckily, as Orlandra rounded a bend in the trail, she managed to see, a little farther ahead, Josep, who was trundling along happily, completely unaware that he was being followed.

“Ah, there he is!” Jenica pointed out.
She looked curiously over at Orlandra. “Should we get him?”
Orlandra grinned mischievously, “Yes.”

Down the trail, Josep was walking along, thinking about nothing in particular as the sun began to set, casting long shadows over the canyon ridges and slowly tingeing the sky towards a reddish hue.
He wondered what Gerrard was up to, and if he was having fun flying.
Maybe one of these days he’d get to go along on a flying lesson… that would be exciting!

As he daydreamed of riding on airships, he thought he heard something behind him.
He stopped and looked around behind him, but there was nobody else on the trail.

Huh… he thought lazily, … that’s odd.

He waited a few seconds, to see if he heard anything else, but besides the local birds calling out, there was nothing out of the ordinary.
“Must be my imagination…” He shook his head, turning around and walking down the trail again, wondering if somehow his training had made him jumpy.
He threw another glance over his shoulder just to be sure, but he didn’t know why, because the trail was just as empty as it was before. “Man, I’ve gotta stop training so hard… It’s going to turn me paranoid…”

He turned his head back around… and was nearly scared out of his mind as Orlandra and Jenica suddenly appeared as if from nowhere and jumped at him, both of them latching onto him in a giggling fit and struggling to bring him down. Josep dropped his bag in an effort to remain standing, and indeed, he managed an impressive struggle; he took two steps before the girls managed to shift their weight enough to bring him to the ground.

Josep fell magnificently, the two girls spinning him so that he landed on his back.
As he hit the ground, Jenica climbed over and straddled his waist, pinning his arms to his sides with her legs and keeping him from getting up.
Orlandra was next to him, her arms still wrapped around his neck and shoulders from her effort to push him down.
Both of them wore huge smiles, and Josep felt slightly embarrassed as Jenica leaned down over him and giggled: “Got ya.”

Then she burst into her characteristic uncontrollable laughing, and Josep looked towards Orlandra in embarrassment.
As Orlandra moved to rest on her shoulder, her eyes met with Josep’s.
There was a brief pause when they looked at each other, and her heart stopped.

She couldn’t quite describe it, but it felt like just for a second, all time had froze, and once more that burning sensation flared up in her heart, and there was nothing else in the world she would rather be looking at or have here in her arms right at this very moment… and his eyes seemed to reflect her feelings, with just that brief hint of a sparkle, and she wished that this moment would last forever.

But that all too short eternity was brought to a close as Josep’s face burst into a smile, and he began laughing along with Jenica, and because he was laughing, Orlandra burst into a fit of giggling herself.

Josep laughed, “How odd are we?”
Jenica struggled to catch her breath, “Very.”
He looked up at her as she sat back up straight and began playing with her hair.

“So,” he began once he had recovered, “You got me.”
Her smile came back, “Yes, we did.”
Next to him, Orlandra giggled a little.

He looked at her, then back up at Jenica, who had now let her long hair down and was retying it into a ponytail. “You won fair and square.”
Orlandra spoke next, “Yes, we did.”

Josep sighed. His arms were starting to go numb, pinned to his sides like this; he noted with mild interest that Jenica had some strong legs.

“Can I get up?” He asked.
Jenica looked down at him. “Hmm. Maybe.”
He sighed again. “Can I get up… please?”
“Oh, I don’t know…” She teased, turning to look at Orlandra. “Should we let him up?”
“Well,” Orlandra replied, “He did ask nicely…”
Jenica nodded and sighed with feigned exasperation. “All right then, I suppose we can let you up.”
“Thanks, I appreciate it.” Josep said as she climbed off of him and stood up, brushing herself off and straightening out her skirt.

She extended her hand and helped him to his feet, and then Josep turned and did the same to Orlandra.
As he went to go grab his bag that he had dropped, he asked, “So, what brings you two out here this evening?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” Orlandra chided playfully, “We were looking for you!”
“Really?” Josep eyed them skeptically, “At this hour? I thought you’d be eating dinner at your houses by this point…”
“Nahh,” Jenica shrugged, “We weren’t exactly hungry, so we decided to go out for a walk…”
“And we remembered you were at training, so we thought we’d surprise you after you got out.” Orlandra finished.

Josep threw his bag over his shoulder. “Well, you certainly did surprise me, I’ll give you that…”
The girls just stared at him for a moment, and Josep got the feeling there was more going on here than met the eye.

“Okay, seriously, what’s gotten into you two? You’re both acting weird…”
“Not any weirder than usual!” Jenica replied.
“Yeah… so… come on!” Orlandra grabbed his hand, changing the subject before Josep could figure out what was happening, “Let’s take the long way home, the sunset ought to be pretty from the beach!”
“Ooh, yes, let’s go that way!” Jenica agreed excitedly, and all Josep could do was blink in confusion as the girls dragged him away.

They proceeded to walk with him all the way down the path, heading past the main road that led through town and instead continuing towards the beach.
As they led him across the sand, they began sprinkling little hints into their conversation, and much to their delight this only confused Josep more.

“Today just seems different.” Orlandra was saying, looking out towards the setting sun as she walked arm in arm with Josep.
“Mmhm, it does…” Jenica agreed, “There’s just something… special… about it.”
She watched Josep’s face intently, “What do you think?”

“Well, uh, I mean, I guess it was a little bit more quiet around town today, but I figured it was nothing out of the ordinary…”
Josep’s face flushed when this response set the girls into another fit of giggling.

Finally, after several minutes of this teasing, he had finally had enough. “Ok, seriously.” He said sternly, pulling his arm free of Orlandra‘s, “What is going on? Did I miss something here?”
The girls just stood in front of him and exchanged a knowing glance. “Maybe.”

He sighed hopelessly, “Well could you please stop beating around the bush and just tell me what it is instead of teasing me like this? You’re making me feel ridiculous…”
Orlandra winked at him. “I suppose we can, but…”
They both turned around and started walking away, “… you’ll have to catch us first!” Jenica finished.
“What? Hey! Wait a minute!” Josep called out furiously as they broke into a run, “Get back here!”

He chased after them, gaining surprising speed considering the bag he had slung over his shoulder.
Just as he was about to catch up, the girls changed direction, heading up the beach back towards town, and he heard them both laughing hysterically.

“I’ll show you…” He said to himself, adjusting his strides and gaining more speed.

The girls leapt the low wall between the beach and the road with ease, and then much to Josep’s consternation they split up, Orlandra heading to the left along the row of houses, and Jenica heading to the right, back towards the trail that they had come from.
Making a quick decision, he darted off to the right, glancing behind him to see if Orlandra was watching.
Sure enough, she slowed down and glanced behind her to see which way he was going, and as soon as she did this, Josep changed course and made a beeline straight for her.
She squeaked with surprise as she saw him suddenly come barreling towards her, and once more she sprinted off, darting down an alley that led between two houses and then out onto another road.

Josep covered the same distance in record time, but as he rounded the corner he saw Orlandra for a brief second before she darted out of sight between another row of buildings yet again.
Josep chose not to follow, but instead ran up the street two blocks and then went down a side road towards what he hoped would be the intersection Orlandra was heading for.

Sure enough, as he came to the cross point she nearly doubled over trying not to crash into him.
Squealing with a mixture of delight, surprise, and fear, she barely managed to dodge him and continued up the street.

“Darn it!” He hissed, chasing after her once more.

He followed her for a good distance, slowly gaining the entire way.
Just as he was about to get within tagging distance, she took a left and headed up the road that Josep now recognized led towards his house.
“Geez, girl, you’re fast…” He commented to nobody in particular as he continued his chase.

The rest of the run was uneventful, but Josep did feel slightly curious when Orlandra decided to end the chase by running up the path through Josep’s yard and onto his porch, where Jenica was calmly waiting for them.

“About time you got here.” She chided.
“So,” Josep huffed, trying to breathe, “Care to tell me where you learned to run like that?”
Orlandra, who was also winded, smiled back at him, “I learned from the best.”
“Yeah right.” Josep said, clearly not amused.

He stood up once he gained more control over his breathing. “So now that you’ve led me back to my house, do you want to tell me what all that stuff back there was about?”
The girls exchanged another look, then walked over to him.

“All right, all right…” They said, “We’ll tell you, but first…” They ushered him towards the front door. Josep was about to tackle both of them to the ground out of pure frustration when suddenly the door opened, and he was deafened by the sound of dozens of voices shouting out “Happy Birthday!” and “Surprise!”, and then it all finally came together and made sense.

You’ve got to be kidding. Today is my birthday and I completely forgot. God, I’m an idiot.

He looked at the girls as they walked him inside. “Really, you shouldn’t have…”
“Aww,” Orlandra cooed happily, “Happy Birthday Josep!” She threw her arms around him in a giant hug.
He tried to keep his composure as Gerrard walked up. “Happy Birthday! Come on, we made a cake for you… and everyone‘s hungry.”

Josep didn’t know quite what to say, but he was quickly led to the dining room where everyone had gathered.
All of his friends from the dojo were there, including Masters Othias, Voldan, and Kyata. Among the other people there were Vorro, a well respected and gifted chef from the local ramen house up the street, Rodric, who had brought the cake in and was eyeing it as if it was his greatest creation, and several other various townsfolk that Josep had met over the years.

All of them were cheering and clapping and singing as Josep was seated in front of the delectable cake.
“Happy eighteenth, Josep!” Rodric half-cheered over the gathered crowd, “Come on, make a wish!”
All the candles were lit, and Josep thought for a minute.

He waited till the room had gone completely silent, and as he looked around the table, his eyes once again met with Orlandra’s.
The way she smiled at him melted his heart, and Josep finally thought of his wish.
He blew out all the candles in one go, and then the entire room exploded into cheering and applause.

“Hooray!” He heard Gerrard cry out, “Let’s chow down!”
Vorro came up, and with expert delicacy he divided the cake with a knife and began serving pieces to everyone.
He gave Josep the first piece. “Don’t eat it too fast now, don’t want you getting a stomach ache before presents!”
“Indeed.” He found himself agreeing as he took a bite. It was actually quite good, and Josep found himself wanting to eat it quickly, but he forced himself to slow down.

When the cake was completely devoured, everyone moved to the living area, where Josep was delighted to find a large stack of presents just waiting to be opened.
Everyone gathered around as he went through them all one by one.

Josep got many exciting, unique, and admittedly delightful gifts: From Gerrard, he got a fancy looking chain chronometer that folded out into what resembled an airship’s navigational chart.
From Jenica he received some new books regarding Arcanist History and Technology.
Vorro gave him several free meal coupons for his ramen shop, and Rodric gave him an excellent new pair of leather boots designed to withstand many types of extreme environments.

But perhaps the most exciting present came from the Masters, Voldan, Kyata, and Othias: All three of them had put their time and effort together and created for Josep his very own authentic set of Arcanist robes and cloak, complete with the Navar family sigil and stitched with the finest dark green cloth that the Refuge had to offer.
Josep ogled at the extraordinary gift, his mind reflecting on all the depictions of Arcanists he had seen both in textbooks and at the training dojo…
I’ll look like the Masters now!

Everyone was so caught up in the excitement of the presents that Josep had almost forgotten that he had not opened his gift from Orlandra, and it was only when she stepped in and pulled him aside out of the room that he remembered.

She shut the door to the kitchen as they stepped in, so that the noise of everyone in the other room wouldn’t interfere.
She looked up into his eyes as he stared back. “So, you’re eighteen now.”
He laughed, “Yeah, I am… I almost can’t believe it.”
She tilted her head playfully, “How does it feel?”
He grinned at her, “You ask me that every year… you know I need more time to get used to the new age before I can give you an answer.”
She shrugged as she reached into her pocket. “I know, it’s a habit, what can I say?”
“Mmm.” Josep agreed, his thoughts running astray as she looked at him again.

She was very close to him now, and he felt like there was some sort of electric tingle in the air… or maybe it was himself.
He could feel his heart start to beat a little quicker as she pulled a small box out of her pocket and held it up.

“And what’s this you have here?” He asked curiously.
She smiled at him with a mix of adoration and chiding, “It’s something I got for you for your birthday… but I wanted to give it to you myself.”
She placed the small box gently in his hand and held it. “Go ahead and open it.”

“Okay.” He said quietly as he undid the bow.
He noted curiously that the color on the bow matched both the color of the outfit she was wearing, and her eyes.
He caught himself as he realized he was staring into her eyes again, and shifted his gaze to the now open box in his hand.

Inside rested an ornate silver chain necklace with a crescent-moon shaped pendant on the end.
On the pendant he could see very skillfully crafted runes and insignias etched into the silver.
It was breathtaking.

“Whoa…” Was all he could say, “Wow… it’s incredible!”
Orlandra smiled as she reached in and took the chain necklace out, unfastening the clip on the back and holding it out. “I had a feeling you’d like it, it’s supposed to bring great fortune, happiness, and luck to whoever wears it. I knew with your trials coming up you might like something to help boost your spirits.”

“Wow… I mean… thanks…” He couldn’t quite talk straight as she reached around his neck and fastened the ends of the chain together.
After she reconnected the necklace, she left her arms around his neck and pulled back only for a moment to see what it looked like on him.
She giggled playfully, “Hehe, it seems it also makes whoever wears it very handsome…”
“Indeed?” Josep asked as she moved closer.

He felt his heart start beating even faster as she adjusted her arms around his neck and pressed up against him.
“Not saying that you weren’t just as handsome before you put it on, of course…” She admitted, once more looking up into his eyes.
Josep’s breath, by this point, was slipping away, and he couldn’t help but smile as he stared back at her.
Here she was, just a couple inches away from his face… and her arms were around him. It was almost too good to be real, and he blinked as she started to move even closer, just to be sure.

“Happy birthday, Josep…” She whispered in a loving tone as she tilted her head to one side.
She was just millimeters away now, and Josep shut his eyes, still wondering if this was all actually happening. His breath disappeared as her lips touched his, and in that instant, when he could feel her heart beating just as fast as his, and her arms tightened gently around him, he felt that everything in the world was perfect; he never wanted this to end, and somehow he knew she felt the same way.
It was, perhaps, the best feeling he ever had.

The moment was cut short, however, when the door to the kitchen burst open, startling the two of them and driving them apart as Jenica walked through.

“Hey you two!” She said happily, apparently not realizing that she had just interrupted something wonderful. “Everyone’s wondering where you went!”
She looked at Josep, “Come on, everyone wants to see what those robes look like on you!”
She grabbed his hand, then did a double take at the necklace around his neck. “Oh, hey, that’s new…” She said, leaning down and looking at it. “It’s really fancy, who gave it to you?”

Out of the corner of his eye, Josep could see Orlandra struggle to get the disappointment off her face as she said, “I did.”
“Oh.” Jenica said, looking at her, then at Josep again.
Then her eyes went big. “OH.”
She glanced at the two of them. “I just interrupted something didn’t I?”

Orlandra stepped in before Josep could reply. “It’s ok.”
She spun Jenica around. “Come on, let’s go see what’s happening.”
As she led Jenica back into the living area, she winked knowingly at Josep, who couldn’t help but grin widely as he followed them back in and rejoined the party.

Chapter 5


In the weeks that passed after the cargo ship Intrepid landed as scheduled in the cargo port at Mizu, strange things began to happen.
People became jittery in the waterfall city, more so than usual. The pubs and taverns that were once only saw a handful of patrons after nightfall suddenly became popular.
Ship captains from all over the Empire gathered around their mugs of ale and shared talk, speaking quietly to themselves in their little huddle around the table in hushed tones… whispering.
Glances would be cast from one table to the next, one huddle to the next, the information being discussed was too secret to be revealed to any of the other merchants or traders that flew along the Takian trade route, and yet people couldn’t help but feel that everyone else somehow knew just what it was that was being so closely guarded in these barside discussions.
Even the air around Mizu seemed to change; in the canals that lined the city’s market row, where people used to laugh and joke, and traders sold their goods openly at the top of their voices… now, there were smaller groups of people, two or three, talking in hushed tones, whispering.
Some of them cast wary glances at the sky, with expressions of awe or fear.
Others regarded the clouds with a quiet curiosity, while all around them, the whispering continued.

As with all whispers, things changed with the passing of this information from one person to the next, but there was one constant that stayed the same.
A single name, a word that represented a previously overlooked being and suddenly shunted him forward into the limelight of the famous.
Or infamous.
To some, this man was a friend.
To many, this man was a common crook, a gangster that worked under the guise of a merchant captain.

And somehow, this gangster had discovered something incredible.

The whispers continued, as all whispers do, and slowly, over the steady course of a few weeks, these passing whisperings were carried along the winds that branched out from the city of Mizu, out into the surrounding countryside.
These whispers traveled west, away from the coast, along the Arkellian railway that led through Gurasu and branched off towards Kasai.
Somewhere along the way, these passing whispers on the wind became rumors, and like all rumors do, they spread.
The rumors clung to the railways that branched out from Kasai, heading further west towards Take and Yuki as fast as the trains could carry them.
Of course, the rumors followed the offshoots of these railway junctions, sticking like an ivy vine that eventually crawled it’s way to the converging point of all travel routes in the Empire: Mori.

Once the rumor reached Imperial City, it spread like a wildfire through dried underbrush.

Within days, over three quarters of the city’s underworld populace had heard of this rumor, and the name of the gangster and his ship became something of a legend.
His organization suddenly took the center stage, catching the attention of all the other underground scum and lowlifes scattered across the Empire.
And through it all, the name of the man never changed, and the name of his discovery never changed. Across the Arkellian Empire, the citizens whispered to each other: “Nyro Zaine.” 
“Nyro Zaine found it.”
“Nyro,” They whispered, “Heaven’s Cannon.”
“Zaine…”
“Houjokai.”

Of course, it was only a matter of time before these rumors were overheard by Imperial ears.
But of all the people to learn of these rumors, perhaps it was first overheard by the worst possible man.

It was with a great sneer hidden underneath his face cowl that he left the Dragon’s Claw tavern and swept off down the darkened street towards the towering spires of the Imperial Palace.

It amused this man, that he had such a prestigious position in the Imperial military, and yet he possessed the ability to walk the streets unnoticed.
Even the alleyway beggars and homeless didn’t seem to pay him any attention as he strode by.
Of course, he mused to himself, perhaps they didn’t speak up to him because of his imposing stature and the particular outfit he was wearing.
His entire outfit was black, but that was nothing out of the ordinary in the Empire’s Capital.
The only outstanding features on his clothing were the two sheathed long daggers that hung at his hips, and the Imperial crest that was adorned on the chest of his tunic, currently hidden by the assassin’s cowl drawn about his neck.

He arrived at the western gate to the Palace grounds within eight minutes of walking; the tavern wasn’t very far.
He gestured to the guard standing watch as he walked through, who returned his motion with a nod.
Not a word was spoken between them; he passed through this gate so frequently that the guards on every shift knew him by sight, and they dared not challenge his authority.
After all, who would dare question the business and whereabouts of Volrath, Silas Averrod’s second in command?

So he came and went as he pleased, visiting local bars and resting houses a few times a week, keeping silent tabs on the populace as per Silas’s command, listening for just one thing in particular: anything to do with Arcanists.

Silas’s hunt had not faltered a single step since the end of the Summoners' War, and for almost fourteen years now he had still somehow managed to keep the entire thing a complete secret from his sister, the esteemed Empress.
It amazed Volrath how Silas was so easily capable of tricking the woman.

Besides ruling the Empire as usual, one of Empress Callista Averrod’s primary goals was to gain an audience with some of the Arcanist survivors, and establish a truce.
This was not without good reason: over the past several years, the Navy had been in more than a few encounters with a rebel faction, an alliance of gangs and thieves that identified themselves as the Rogue Alliance.
With the Arcanists at her side, nobody could challenge the Empire.

Silas, however, saw things differently.

Each time her Majesty would send him out on a “diplomatic peace mission”, he would always return with the same news; over and over he would say that the Arcanists in question denied speaking to him.
Over and over he would tell her, in his own magnificent and convincing way, that the Summoner’s War left the Arcanists’ faith in the Empire shattered, and they would never want to have anything to do with Arkellia again.
And every time, her Royal Highness believed him.

It was so brilliant how it all worked out.
He sneered again as he entered the Palace proper and made his way up a long, wide set of stairs that led to the second level.

If only she knew what was really going on.
If only she knew that Silas actually did make contact with these Arcanists in question, but instead of talking to them, he simply outright murdered them.
And if only she knew about the many underlings that Silas had in his employ, his eyes and ears, and sometimes fists, that scoured the Empire and brought to justice any Arcanist or soul that sheltered Arcanists.

There were dozens, and he counted them off in his mind for pure amusement as he reached the top of the steps, rounded a corner and continued down a long, ornately decorated arched promenade that led to the north side of the Palace.

There was himself, of course.
And then there was Silas’s younger brother, Rova.
That boy had been wise, casting off the shackles of royalty and exchanging that for the life of a bounty hunter. He had proven himself a most valuable ally, almost as valued as himself, Volrath mused silently.

And then there was that Donnas youth, the one who fought with no weapons. Andrin, his name was… Andrin.
The name was fairly well known; the Donnas family were Nobles in the Imperial Court.

Andrin, of course, like Rova, made a wise decision and cast aside his nobility to become an assassin under Silas’s employ.
How exactly Silas had come to recruit the youth was an entirely different matter, and it was really none of his business.
But Andrin had proven his worth several times, and Volrath could only consider him a valuable ally for that.
Some of the killings they did made the local news, but every time it was dismissed as an unfortunate circumstance, a slip or fall, or medical complications.
Nobody ever suspected murder, and that was the way it was supposed to be.

Again, he almost laughed to himself.
The death of any Arcanist, or a friend of the Arcanists, these days, could hardly be called an accident.

Volrath reached the end of the long promenade, and made his way to a set of large double doors that were nearly twice his height.
The two guards that stood on either side of them wore no armor; only hooded cloaks that matched the blackness of night, their faces hidden under masks that showed only the glint of their eyes.

Not many things could scare someone as ravenous as Volrath, but these guards always chilled him to the bone.
They were the Imperial Royal guards, but the way that they stood and held their weapons at ease told Volrath that there was much more to these men than the title alone.
They never spoke, a trait that terrified Volrath even further, but they always moved with deliberate precision, in such perfect unison that it seemed as if their very thoughts were tied to one another.
Volrath shuddered as they stepped aside and allowed him to pass.
He had been told tales of the Summoners' War, and if the soldiers that fought in those battles were anything like these, it must have been a terrifying experience.

He brushed these thoughts aside as he pushed one of the doors open and stepped through into a large chamber filled with books, weapons in display cases, and a large desk at the far end.

He almost immediately regretted having walked in so casually, as the figure in the center of the chamber glared death at him from his one armed handstand.

“Ah, Master Averrod, if this is a bad time, I can just…”
“No need for that, Volrath.”

Silas wore no shirt, just a pair of pants and open toed sandals.
His toned chest muscles flexed powerfully as he did a set of three pushups, perfectly balanced on his one arm… his one real arm, with his feet straight up in the air.
His right arm, the artificial one, glinted horrifically in the light cast by the torches around the chamber.
Silas held it out to one side as he did his push ups, using it’s weight as a counterbalance to keep him from falling over.
Volrath shuddered.
That abomination that served as Silas’s right arm was sometimes more frightening than Silas himself.

Silas finished his last push up, and with great ease, he pushed off the ground with his left hand and landed upright on both feet.
He regarded Volrath with an expectant stare. “So, what brings you here?”

Volrath started, he was too busy being scared of Silas’s right arm that he had completely forgotten his original purpose for visiting.
Silas cracked his neck and shook it out. “Obviously, you must have something important to tell me, otherwise you would not have barged in the way you did.”
He made his way over to his desk, where he pulled up his chair and sat down.
Folding his arms across his chest and leaning back, he said, “So let’s have it.”

Volrath nodded. “I have received some news, Silas, that a possible Arcanist relic has been found.”
Silas didn’t blink, didn’t move.
Volrath continued, “Apparently, sometime about a week or so ago, a cargo ship called the Intrepid landed at the port in Mizu. It seems that on their route, they came across something in the sky.”

Silas suddenly leaned forward, his interest seemingly doubled. “In the sky?”

Volrath nodded, “Yes. According to the source I heard this from, it was something like a great wall, not much unlike the Citadel that surrounds this city. But what was most intriguing was the description of the architecture. It would seem,” he paused to take a breath, “that the Arcanist insignia was scrawled into the stonework.”

Silas stood up, and for the first time, Volrath noticed, his face seemed to show some type of desperate emotion.
He paced back and forth, thinking. “It is good that you brought me this news.” He said, “Very good indeed.”
He paced along the bookshelves, scanning for one tome in particular.

Volrath could only watch in confusion.

“This is potentially much bigger than you think, Volrath.” Silas said as he searched, “Tell me again, what was the name of the ship?”
“The Intrepid.” Volrath answered reflexively, “It landed in Mizu over a week ago. As far as I know most of the crew is on a month’s shore leave.”
Silas finally selected a tome from the shelf, and taking it, he turned back to Volrath.
“Shore leave?” He asked, “Where did you get this information? Who told you?”
Volrath grinned under his face cowl, “It was none other than the helmsman of this vessel himself. Goes by the name of Partorio.”
Silas nodded. “Ah. Impressive.”

Volrath stared as Silas sat down at the desk and began flipping eagerly through the tome.
“Let’s see…” Silas said, mumbling to himself as he flipped through the pages. “Intrepid…”
He turned another page. “Tell me, did this… Partorio… did he have the coordinates of this discovery?”
Volrath shook his head. “I’m afraid not. I paid him double the original gold I had offered for this information, but all I got was that during the confusion of finding this… thing… he was ordered by the captain to write down the coordinates on a sheet of paper. The captain later took it.”

Silas looked up eagerly, “The captain. What was his name?”
Now this was something Volrath DID have.
“Zaine. That was the name he told me. It was Nyro Zaine.”

Silas leaned in over the book, studying the pages he had turned to with great interest.
“Nyro Zaine.” He said. “Why does that sound so familiar?”
Volrath shrugged, “Rumor has it that he’s the leader of the Thousand Daggers gang. This information I got from the Hunter’s Guild some time ago. They’re a real problem along the merchant routes around Mizu and Kasai. It’s even being suggested that they’re part of the Rogue Alliance, though currently this can neither be confirmed nor denied.”

Silas nodded, “The Thousand Daggers. Excellent. If that information came from the Hunter’s Guild, then they probably know more about mister Zaine than we thought. This can be used to our advantage.”
“I’m afraid I don’t understand.” Volrath admitted.
“You do not need to, Volrath.” He said, “Listen to me, and listen carefully.”
He had found a paper and pen, and was scrawling on it furiously, “I need to get my hands on those coordinates as soon as possible.”

He handed the paper to Volrath. “Take that to the Hunter’s Guild office, and ask for my brother. I’m officially placing a bounty on Nyro Zaine.”
Volrath blinked. “That’s a bit of a bold move, if I may say so.”
“Think about it,” Silas grinned evilly, “Rova is on our side. If we can convince him that we’re simply bringing this man to justice for his crimes in Mizu and Kasai, then nobody will suspect the real reason that we’re going after him. Not even the other hunters. For them, it’s all about the money, and believe me, I have offered plenty enough that it should be easy for the Guild to assemble a rather sizable hunting party.”

His grin disappeared, and in its place came such a horrifying expression of determination and malice that Volrath found himself stepping back hesitantly.
“I want those coordinates, Volrath, and I will not accept failure. Do not return to me until you have word from Rova that Nyro Zaine is in custody.”
Volrath nodded.
Silas had never shown this much interest in his news before, and it scared him.
Just what was going on here anyway?

“Now, go. Do not fail.” Silas lifted his arm and pointed out the door.
Volrath nodded again hurriedly, and scrambled for the door as fast as he could. He wanted nothing more than to get away, to get out of that room.
Silas’s power was seemingly limitless, and he did NOT want to be on the wrong side of his wrath should he become angry.
He grasped the paper tightly in his hand as he left the room, making his way straight out of the Palace and towards the south side of the city, to the Hunter’s Guild office.

Silas sat back down at his desk, and perused over the pages that he had flipped the book open to.
Drawn on them were complex diagrams and blueprints of a massive circular fortress… a fortress that could float in the heavens.
On the side of the page was a label, one that Silas had placed there a long time ago, immediately after the Summoner’s War had ended. It read: “Arcanist Relic Number 43 - Houjokai.”