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  My love, flesh of natal earth, I rejoice once more under the onslaught of my chosen dungeon's waters. Ruin of many brought such joyful disgrace upon the annals of the granite slates. Child of the waterfall droplet, of Blades' Valley, which in the plains no rust accumulating — for centuries create the birth of the perverse from cliffs and crags of your womb; my simper I can remove no longer from my face. Merged the world with the world foreign, Urshi beasts moan, now have smelt the whisper of powers unfamiliar. The conquest of flesh alien awaits us, mother.

  The wind of steppes, violent in nature since the occurrence of these lands, clashed against the thick walls of the manor's territory. The trees, tall, thick, not numerous in branches but still luscious, combat the weather whilst a man stands on the stone path leading to the main building itself. He was dressed for the right occasion: a thick coat, a scarf, boots, and outside the gates tracks of a runoff carriage could be seen. The man himself looked outside the territory, perhaps, a bit at the sky itself, his black brows furrowed as the conflicting thoughts inside his head kept defying each other, plans left unbuilt and issues arising plenty every time he closed his eyes. Leaves pushed against his legs, debris skimmed across the path. Meanwhile, the man only lowered his gaze.

  "Father!" The man’s thoughts were interrupted by a squeaky voice from behind him. His shoes shuffled across the stones as he turned to face his daughter: her appearance inhuman in ways many, as thin horns grew from her forehead, and those eyes of hers predatory, crimson, like her father's, with hair the colour of ash. She was dressed more akin to a young man than a noble daughter — a velvet vest with a beige silk shirt underneath, shorts of the same colour and knee-high socks, leading the eyes to her polished leather shoes, which were already being bombarded by specks of dirt carried by the wind as she treaded towards the man, while at the same time trying to shield her eyes from the debris with her small hand.

  "Elkuta?" The man said, now covering her with his arm, "Why'd you come out in this horrid weather?" To which the only reply was a pout and a disgruntled exclamation, "And you? Standing here for who knows how long!" Elkuta tugged at his sleeves, trying to pull the large frame of her father towards the manor, which proved to be partially successful. After a short moment of resistance, the man gave in, walking towards the main door along with his child. Although his stride was far less enthusiastic.

  With light give the dark oak door opened, the clamour of the wind halted and a maid immediately rushed to the pair. Her hair was black and short, similar in style to the man’s; her eyes coloured gold, however, and she was not much taller than the girl. The maid's face was evidently exhausted even at a momentary glance. The man pulled off the coat, promptly revealing a purple shirt that was embroidered fancily like the tie around his neck. "Moira. It is better to clean this; the trip to the assembly wasn't tidy." The man said as he put the coat on the hanger. The scarf got rolled up and stowed away in the wardrobe by the wall, and the maid kneeled down to change the man's boots to his indoor shoes, keeping the same pace when attending to his daughter.

  "Thank you." The man quietly said, stepping out of the low floor and onto the refined parquet, the boards squealing under the shifting weight, smaller footsteps following behind in the long corridor. "So... Fa—" Elkuta was swiftly cut off, “I have to write letters to those who were absent at the assembly, could you tell Orpha that I won't be able to come see her for some time?" He said, the tone soft but hoarse in his throat, still walking down the corridor at a quickened pace towards the first left turn — a winding flight of stairs stood the girl still. For long she stood there, her bitter expression lasting for just as long.

  Elkuta stared at the empty stairs, turning away, her eyes gloomy and the brows uneasily hooded.

  Her next destination was one of the parlours within the building, where her mother sat: horns fewer, just a single pair but thicker, and not only her hair ash, but the eyes as well, both of which seemed permanently drowsy. Her gaze lifted to see Elkuta, the hands stopping from crocheting, putting the spokes aside. "What is it?" Orpha inquired, gesturing to her daughter to come closer. The girl averted her eyes elsewhere, at the same time complying with the request. "Busy, is he? That's how Ollade... I mean, your father is." Orpha caressed Elkuta's arm gently, the fingers of her hand wrapping around the thin arm as she continued to talk, "I know it's harsh for you, but his work can't be put off, you know?”

  The silent treatment coming from the young lady was not enough to disturb the older madam. But, with the way her daughter refused to reciprocate her soft gaze, Orpha’s gaze wandered over her daughter's face before she continued to speak. “Besides, Enfa still needs her cheerful sister, so why don't you go and help her with the violin?" This attempt at comfort somewhat soothed the girl, the drowsy eyes of her mother gliding down her face.

  Noiseless nods acted as affirmation; Elkuta looked at her mother. Silence. "Will it take long to... Finish that work of his?" Elkuta broke it shortly after. Orpha only sighed through her nose, "That's something even I can't guess, this time around the situation is—" Orpha stopped herself again, quite a reeling feeling crossed her mind. "Go to your sister, I'll see if I can talk with Father and, perhaps, bargain a short rest out of his schedule?" Elkuta's mood had been uplifted slightly as she nodded again. Orpha gradually rose from the sofa, her scaly wings unfolding lazily with a certain sound akin to rubbing leather, which had not been oiled in a while and had come to be completely dry.

  Orpha squeezed out an expertly crafted smile, leaning into Elkuta’s face cheek to cheek, the sound of her voice permeating right outside of the girl's ear. "Now we both have something to do, don't we?" She turned her daughter around by the shoulders and pushed her gently towards the exit from the room, "We'll see each other at dinner in any case~" As Elkuta slowly stepped out of the room, her pitiful face glanced back with puppy eyes the last time.

  Meanwhile, Ollade sat at his table, hunched over the paper, pen in his right hand, tapping the remnant ink out of it.

  The entire island was transported somewhere unknown overnight: all ships and communication with the other islands were gone — and judging by the reports — instantly. Hundreds of thousands of wysts’ worth of goods vanished alongside the ships and their crews. Now it is a ticking clock until the two oddball nations of the island catch on and reach their grabby fingers towards whatever they can in this supposedly new world and claim it for themselves. Countermeasures are needed, and they are needed quick.

  As he was about to put the golden tip of the pen to the paper again, the door to his office opened, drawing his attention away from the task at hand. Orpha pushed the ajar oak with a slow squeak of the hinges, looking at Ollade’s face. "Orpha... Why are you here?" Ollade asked with his face buried in the repeated, crossed-over text, "I'm a bit busy. Could you not distract me right now?" He said, but his wife's gaze only hardened from such words. She walked inside, the low heels of her shoes clunking mutely as the door closed. "Since you're cutting me off with such harsh words, I presume the situation is much worse than first anticipated?" Orpha said with a slight condescending hitch in her voice, yet it was not aimed at Ollade.

  "..." The man sat quietly, turning his head towards the stand where a suit of clad black and rugged plate armour hung. Her wings quivered as she stared at the armour, the edges of her lips tugged downwards, building an expression of disgust at the sight of lifeless metal, "No..." She quietly exclaimed, "You won't be doing this again." — "And what if I have to?" Ollade stood up, glaring at her with unresolved eyes, the lids of those twitching. Orpha covered her mouth, her own eyes quickly left the armour even before her spouse opened his mouth to speak, "It does not matter. I cannot let their father risk his life in any way unless it is truly necessary." With that said, her tone came to be uneven, but Orpha glared at him in response, not stepping closer, just occasionally glancing aside to the wall full of paintings and portraits to her right.

  "I'm a Duke, Orpha, you've got to understand my duty before the island." On his breath out it was said, the fists clenched slowly as the silence set for a brief moment. With a tangible tension steering inside her gut, Orpha dropped her gaze to the ground and closed it off completely. "You were forced into this—" A slam on the table, it made her flinch, "I was not!" A repeat of silence, Ollade dropped his eyes to the table, leaning on his arms as he stuck them onto the table. Orpha was stunned, both of these people had an unwanted recalling of... Past events, even without a long view upon them, those directionless moves of their pupils and the now thing irises told more than enough.

  "Please... Do you think I could've changed?” Ollade forced his body to comply and bore his eyes into Orpha, “If not for that one push, do you think I would've stopped back then?” The very sound he let out of his mouth felt tense, as if it was being forcibly squeezed past the lips, “You know I would not! I couldn't do that before, I could not if not for Marpha!" Ollade shouted, his throat clenching with each word when he stared back up at Orpha, the resolve that he tried to show off just now was already gradually reducing. The more the expression of his wife changed and twisted, the more he looked unsure.

  "What else was I supposed to do?! I took the offer only because of you, you and Alladen, our daughters, how could I refuse this!?" It was now not the angry and harsh nouns and verbs as before, but a plea of justification barely shy of a voice crack.

  Orpha's face grimaced more and more as she squeezed herself by the elbows, her eyes rolling along the parquet, the wings pressed firmly against her body. He felt a familiar sensation from the sight of his wife squirming, it was never a good feeling. Ollade himself resisted the urge to hide away from the situation, apparent discomfort for his words and actions skillfully masked, yet his thumbs pressed harder into the oak desk. "So, now, I don't have a choice. Ranesairan's future is doomed if we..." He paused, taking a few breaths before continuing, "...Nobles, don't do anything, then what was the chaos three years ago for, if not for us, those bound by power, not blood, to save the island in time of crisis?" Ollade posed. It was an astute statement for himself, he felt deeply for that pride of having a purposeful duty.

  But as he was trying to gauge Orpha's expression, it twisted to that of cornered fury. "That..." She lifted her eyes off the floor, walking towards him. "...That vixen did it to usurp power! She couldn't care less for the island, not then, not now!" The Duchess took a shaky step closer to the tables, her arms still wrapped at the elbows. Ollade took half a step back instead, now keeping his hands straight to his sides, "So what?! If not her, then I will save the island, Tula, Ludavik... We will! Like... Like...!"

  Ollade aimed to push the tirade further with those acclamations, but he slowly, then lightning-quickly subsided. Seeing a tear come down Orpha's scrunched face made his own expression dive down. "I can't bear the sound of it... You...” With a quick scurry over the table, she picked up the very pen Ollade was just writing with and threw it at his face. As the ink marred a part of the Duke's face, Orpha retreated slightly, the stomps of the shoes got exchanged for unsteady dragging across the parquet. “I've witnessed enough the first time you ran off somewhere unknown!" She wailed with considerable restriction, holding a point at Ollade’s face, "You can’t leave me alone again!" The Duke himself caught a freezing feeling in his feet, something blocking all the previous thoughts in his head, the attitude changing on a flip.

  Ollade rushed around the table, his shoes scraping across the parquet. He reached and pulled Orpha by the wrist, though most of the movement was performed by him anyway. He pushed her face into the right side of his chest, a clear indication of regret planted on the awkward face, "I don't care for the island!” The Duchess punched him in the stomach, at least she attempted to do so from that uncomfortable angle, “I’ll burn it down myself if it means keeping you here!" Ollade patted Orpha’s head as he leaned in, while she kept weeping, his beard pressed firmly against her forehead, “I won't bear to see you like that again!”

  The Duke’s expression turned to be almost petrified, but he tried not to let Orpha catch a glimpse of that, keeping her in a deadlock with his arms. "I'll... I will figure something out, just don't cry on me like that anymore." He shushed her from talking, “Please don’t cry.”

  A field of goldenry — "LUUUUUUUKAAAAAAAAA—! STOOOOOOP!"

  A young man dressed in a cloak over a leather vest, equipped with a satchel and a belt of vials was running across the field of tall, dry, golden grass. In front of him ran a young woman, carefree in appearance and demeanour, barely hearing her brother screaming and panting behind her, a vest similar to the man's in hand. She swung it around while cheerfully jumping through the swats of nature's gold blades.

  Meanwhile, a third figure, holding a steady position in the middle of the both of them moved effortlessly and without a stutter: a mask placed upon his face, a black hood and long cloak covered his entire body and a full sack behind his back, the cloak's unobstructed elements swaying from the movement and wind. The gold waves shimmering and shouting in their own way.

  "What wonderful weather! We don't get that on Ranesairan!" The woman giggled, her long, bluish-white hair turbulently thrashing around, the similarly shaded eyes only now opening, "Right, Rurik?" She stopped and swung around on her heel, but seeing the masked man in front without the young man anywhere in sight made her appear fairly distraught, "Neoklipt, where's Rurik?!" It was said among the wild sways of her head, and the black mask — which had tasteful shiny golden accents around the eyes and the corners of the nip — had rotated around a whole one hundred and eighty degrees without hurry, looking over a narrow path of felled grass behind them. Just a few steps away.

  "Oh..." She said, lifting up the young lad by his armpits from the place he has fallen, his face pale even for his white skin. "Luka..." Rurik expressed with a deathly gaze, trying to take deep breaths and look up at his sister, "I said..." A deep inhale, "Ha..." His eyes tiredly blinked, a scowl with a foul look rising up his physiognomy, "Don't... Run!" The sound of that volume made the woman pull her face away, Luka then awkwardly chuckled and put him down on his feet, eyes half closed and averted. Rurik only corrected his overturned attire, but he did not refrain from a quiet remark, “Dumbass...”

  “Your hair came undone,” Neoklipt added, standing near the disgruntled man while pointing to the back of Rurik’s head, “No wonder...!” The young man’s hair was always put up in a neat bun, yet — because of his unfortunate fall — it came undone, so now he had to fix the mess that was his hairdo.

  Angrily reaching into the satchel, Rurik pulled out a lace, gathering the ruffled hair in his hands and making it into a bun on the back of his head, while hurdling curses at his sister under his breath, “Simply outstanding...” He sighed as Luka looked over curiously, “You carry those around?” Her eyes stuck to the lace he had at the base of his bun, which was on full display as Rurik was leaning forward with his hands on his knees, trying to get the most of this brief moment of rest.

  “Is that really what you care so much about?”

  An unpleasant expression came over his face as he groaned and stared down at the ground, removing it from his mug shortly after, “...I have to.” The young man snarked, straightening out and glancing at both Luka and Neoklipt, who now stood before him. The first stood and stared with a stupid smile on her face, while the other blankly stared out into the distance. Rurik was not content with that kind of ordeal, so after he flicked Luka’s nose from below and watched her prepare to retaliate, he interrupted her action and spoke first. “We walk.” With this, he pushed his sister aside, moving at a pace fit more for a stroll rather than a marathon that his sister had tried to instigate previously.

  But strolling didn't seem to make it much better of a journey, as Rurik grew agitated again — "Goodness, just how vast is this field?” He threw up his arms, Luka cared not for that expressive outburst, minding her own business as she walked behind Rurik, and Neoklipt, keeping the same pace as Luka, looked at the ground, “That's one thing; the other thing is why the east transport stage leads somewhere so desolate..." Rurik grumbled under his nose, kicking the grass out of the way, "We were supposed to get to Eirpejn, and this is definitely no city!" He kept reasoning, well, slapping the damn grass with the weight of his palm and foiled plans, walking forward, trodding through the field without a clear goal.

  The frustrations burned out, but the tone of his voice only grew more snotty and whiny. "I wanted to buy some constrations so we could venture into some dungeons near Stryky, but it looks like I'll either have to make them, or we cancel our plans, again." Those words made Luka rush past everyone with wide eyes, "You mean it?!" Rurik only gestured to cut off his head in a sarcastic message, that face of his grimacing at the desperation of his sister, while also swerving to walk around her.

  "Neoklipt! Aren't you disappointed?!" Now the masked man was distraught, although he wasn't and just replied in a steady, raspy voice, "Trying to bring down wild undead without constrations is not worth the energy lost." He also just walked around the now-still Luka. "Come o-o-o-on—!" Luka’s entire frame sagged and dropped, the moans of mixed annoyance and despair growing in distance with the rest of the group, leaving her with nothing but more space that she'd have to catch up over.

  Unauthorized tale usage: if you spot this story on Amazon, report the violation.

  Finally, a groove in the gold skyline appeared: a possible road, and so Rurik's pace quickened as the groove grew wider and wider, until they finally stood at the roadside. "Tracks." Neoklipt pointed to the road, and indeed, a couple dozen pairs of tracks were seen, perhaps a caravan? Still, the discovery of a road was almost halfway to anywhere civilised.

  Rurik immediately dropped to the ground, gesturing Neoklipt to drop the sack he had behind his back next to him. "Let's have a bite before going further." Luka stared at him, an eyebrow raised at the grumpy face, "You're hungry already?" She kept looking in his eyes while Neoklipt gently lowered the sack on the dry dirt of the side of the road. "What do you mean already?! We've been walking for hours!" Rurik expressed his perplexion with a disgruntled glance at his sister, “Sit down and stop stalling the meal.” Though he quickly tended to the sack, taking out a few paper-wrapped blocks and a small pot along with a pouch. Without looking, Rurik handed the pot to Neoklipt, "Pour me some water." He asked; Neoklipt obliged, conjuring some water out of his gloved hand and right into the pot while Rurik opened the pouch and pulled out a piece of something that looked like coal.

  The slow one also landed near the two men, lifting an eyebrow as her legs crossed. "You saved some of that stuff?" Luka kept talking into thin air as Rurik and Neoklipt prepared a small stand for the pot with the three wire frames they had in the sack. Also: a packet of tea. "If you go out of Stryky without a cinder, you might as well be an utter dunce." He remarked, putting said cinder under the pot, flicking a spark out of his fingers and lighting the cinder instantly.

  “Which you are.”

  Some tea was dropped into the pot. The wrapped blocks, now unwrapped, turned out to be a dry meal of jerky, hard cheese and croutons. "So, what's the agenda now?" Luka asked, grinding her teeth on the jerky. Rurik watched the tea swirl in the heating water, the first hints of the smell rising up. Coming out of the tea trance, Rurik was rather upfront with his assessments, "The map's useless. Frankly, we don't know where we are." He looked up at the face of his sister, who was not a slight bit phased by the words uttered, "We don't know where we are." And she still showed no care.

  “Guuuuuuuuh...”

  Rurik decided not to think about that too much, so he focused on the food instead, stuffing cheese into his mouth giddily and resisting the urge to spell insulting adjectives at Luka. "Judging by the looks of your mug, I suppose that you aren't very concerned about it, so now would be the best time to decide what we do next, wouldn't it?" He glanced at Neoklipt, who had his hand under the long dark mask, audibly chewing on the jerky. The masked man reacted, but stoically, like usual, "I'm not interested in either continuing or going back." That reply made the young man drop his head relatively low, but surely he took the chance and looked at his sister. With a prejudiced tone, Rurik drew out a quiet admission, "I guess I should've expected a similar response..." He bemoaned sarcastically, while sighing profusely, chuckling and smiling at the idea of his sister deciding what they will do. "I guess you decide!... Like always."

  "We go!"

  “Colour me surprised~”

  Such, Rurik blankly stared at her, glancing away and clicking his tongue. "I guess we will go further on." He sighed again, sulking, perhaps losing a couple years of his lifespan in the process, but what was actually lost was the food — they had finished eating rather quickly, but it is expected. Can't savour what you ate for months by this point. The cinder was put out promptly and put back into the pouch after being cleaned up from the little bits of dirt. Each of them took turns to drink up the black tea as the sun slid from noon to evening.

  After the tea was depleted and a few minutes more, words were the only dish they could afford now. "Quite the dead road we have here, not a single carriage, let alone a caravan in hours." Rurik was the first one to complain again, standing up from his spot, shaking off his robe and slapping his vest, as the wind plastered him with a thin layer of dust in this time they spent sitting. He rolled his neck and cracked his back, "But, it looks like we were spared just this once." Rurik said, looking further into the distance as a small shroud of dust appeared bigger and closer with each passing moment, his right hand covering his face from the orange glow. "Took 'em long enough!" Luka herself jumped up from the ground, nudging Neoklipt and pulling on his hood, "Time's up! I guess I'll hold onto my stuff again, thanks for carrying it around for so long~" Neoklipt obliged after rising to his feet, and somehow managed a sheathed longsword from under his cloak. Luka hummed while attaching the scabbard to the harness at her hip.

  "How'd you fit that in there, even...?"

  The once distant carriage was now right in front, and the young man stepped out in the road, waving his hands around up in the air, the approaching silhouette of the transport riding up clouds from the road, "Ay! Ay!" He kept shouting until the carriage stopped and the dust began to settle, revealing a scrawny old man with no shirt, just pants, and a peculiar necklace almost covered by his white beard, his shoulders and face both a caramelized brown, and from it seems, the same could be said about his back. The old man narrowed his eyes, staring down at the group from the carriage, the two horses reigned to the carriage huffing at the halt. "Who'd ya' be?" He said, scratching his neck, the dry skin slightly flaking at the touch. Rurik, with his arms already down, approached the carriage but made sure to keep a bit of a distance from the horses. "Just some adventurers, mind giving us a ride?" He haggled, simultaneously trying to appear more pleasant rather than groggy and mildly infuriated.

  The older man stared at them intensely, up and down scan them he did, he tilted his head right, he tilted his head left. After pulling at his beard and shrugging his shoulders, the old man spoke. "...Well, had Ye' been a couple o' bandits, I might as well been dead by now. Sure ting' I don't mind company!" He glanced at Luka, shooting up a smirk and a chuckle "Not of a fine lass and a gent, please go sparin' me a story or two, since yer' one of those for-hire guys, how'evr." The siblings looked at each other with tired eyes, exhaled with newfound ease and hastily made their way onto the carriage, sitting alongside some cargo of wheat and what seemed to be sealed cheese.

  The group relaxed on the hard planks of the carriage, as if not disturbed by the rocking and constant vibration of the entire construction, the mix of wheels rattling on the gravel and the horseshoes clanking with no less severity. "So, where'd Ye' comin' from, young'ins?" The man started again, "Rare seeing ya' kind goin' Gastat's way." Rurik slid up to the front of the carriage, leaning on the wall of the wooden landboat behind the old man and to his left. "Gastat? Is that a city?” The old man hummed an inquiring tone without turning to look at Rurik, “We're just lost, that sums it up well enough." The man jumped in his seat, "Lost?! Damn you, I say! Not half a day away from the shore, a long way's you got lost, people."

  Rurik chuckled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head as he slid back deeper into the carriage. Meanwhile, Luka just hugged her sword and napped. Neoklipt watched the horizon silently, his posture really straight. Not too long past Rurik’s awkwardness, he reminisced about the day that has almost passed already. With a repeated glance, the young man turned to get a little closer to the older gentleman again, adding a bit of new detail to their conversation. "Ranesairan, we're from there." — "Never heard' of it." it was a swift reply, but neither batted an eye, honestly, it was within their expectations. And though the old man was the one to ask those people to tell him about their misadventures... He really did not want to know much needless geography. "Don' bother explainin', though, never been out of Gastat or Aipz." The old man continued, shrugging at the many previous times people mentioned places he never heard of in the past, "You're from Aipz?" Rurik asked, which made the man a bit giddy, "Ye' know it?" But Rurik only managed a pop out of his lips, drawing circles on the planks of the carriage, "Nope" He said, clicking his teeth, "Never in my life have I heard of a place named like that." Now, both of them were disappointed.

  "So, are you a merchant?" Luka suddenly barged into their little conversation, her nap certainly did not last long with this accompaniment of sounds and movements, as much as she could be accustomed to them. "Just'n errands boy, ya' can say." The tone of the man’s voice did not promise much fervor or passion about his profession, and looking at the rather scarce assortment of products that he was moving in his carriage, it wasn't a hard deduction that the man was far from a proper merchant, "I reckon, you take what the caravan couldn't fit and move it to Gastat alone?" The old man sighed, "Ain't hard to figure that much out, eh?" A short chuckle and he was back to being as giddy. "Name's Sarbat, not a fancy man as you've noticed."

  It would appear that the time for introductions has come their way, and in preparation of his own introduction, the young man slipped to sit beside Sarbat. "I'm Rurik Melinn," He said, immediately reaching for a handshake, "That gal is my sister Luka, and the suspicious guy is Neoklipt." Sarbat flinched a little at the introductions, "Ye've got surnames? Did'ja come a runaway noble kid or some'in?" Though this equally bewildered Rurik as well, quite hard to acknowledge the fact that they were a bunch of oddballs, "N-No... Where we're from, surnames are commonplace..." That did calm the old man down, rather quickly one might add, "Goodness', yer' scared the heart out of me' feet." Was exclaimed dramatically and sarcastically, Sarbat poking at Rurik with his elbow. "Ya' three do dress fancily for some hires, still." The young man leaned backwards until his head hit the bottom of the carriage with a distinct thunk and exhaled, his breath fairly burdened.

  In this awkward lying position, Rurik spoke further. "You don't say! I want to get some hands on proper armour and equipment, all this junk is a temporary fix for all our lost stuff." Sarbat scratched his beard and turned around, "Doen't look cheap either way, to my keen eye." Rurik only shrugged at the remark, looking down at his clothes. Well, in this position, it could be said that he was looking up. The vest that had chainmail underneath, hidden from the eyes, pretty much everything is made from leather patched with metal platelets — an usual and not that practical mix... But it was something they could get on the spot, so it sufficed for the time being, "Cheap enough for someone of our caliber, you'd be astonished at the things we used to have." He rolled over to his stomach and crawled to the sack, going through their possessions, reaching out the same little pouch he had taken out at lunch, "This loot is from the place we lost our beloved possessions in!" He said, rolling the rugged piece of coal on the planks left of Sarbat, "Just 'ome coal? Ain't that an equal exchange, huh?" Rurik smirked, patting the man on the shoulder, "Stop the carriage!"

  “Observe the magic, fool!”

  "So...?" They gathered around the little piece of cinder; judging by the expression of the old man, he was not impressed at all. "Observe." Rurik announced, squatting near the cinder, soon snapping his fingers, a spark hitting the surface of the cinder yet again. That piece of peculiar mineral lit up instantly for a time definitely not last. Sarbat nodded and leaned to take a closer look. “Uh-huh.” Sabrat assessed with a serious verdict, "It burns." Facing back, he said, pointing at the yellowish-red rock, "Exactly, and it won't go out unless you wish it to!" The young man said, puffing his chest out.

  "Ye said you've lost all yer' equipment wherever you were..." Rurik nodded, "...and this is'll you got?" He nodded again, "Was it worth it...?" The knees hit the ground promptly; someone in particular let out a scream into the sky.

  "NO! IT WAS NOT!" He screamed for all the coins that would never jingle in his pockets after that loss. Luka tried to slowly approach him, a flicker of guilt flashing on that cutesy face, but before she could say anything, Rurik's head spun around and his eyes glared at his sister, "Don't you dare comfort me!” The young man almost fell over at the sudden shift of his own weight, but kept the fire burning in his mind, “Your poor planning is the reason all of our precious equipment got trashed!" He cried out, lunging an accusatory finger at the older sibling, and Luka went into deep seething in her embarrassment.

  It didn’t go for too long, but long enough for Sarbat to take a few safe steps away from Rurik. "Neoklipt's stuff is fine, at least..." The young man stood up, trying to hold in his tears, it was not the first time they went through it, frankly, much of their finances go towards repairs and equipment replenishment. Rurik really could use those lost coins and precious gems on things far more useful than a single cinder from Stryky, that thought was exactly what reignited his rage.

  Sarbat fidgeted awkwardly while Luka and Rurik kept shouting at each other. Neoklipt went to stand next to him, well, generally just near the carriage. "Hey, Neoklept." The old man nudged the hunched figure, and so he turned to face him. "It's Neoklipt." Sarbat huffed, disregarding the correction on that unusual name of his, "Why's ye' wearing that mask, eh? Ugly much?" The joke didn't amuse the Cloaked Individual a whole lot, like anything else that happens in his near proximity, "It's my face." Neoklipt said nonchalantly, waving his finger in Sarbat's face the second he tried to ask a follow-up question. That really put off the old man, so he chose to ask something else. "Then... Why are ye' travelin' around wit' those two kids? Ya' seem to be the mature on' of the bunch." It wasn't that hard of a topic to discuss, so Neoklipt obliged and engaged with the man at last, "It pays, it was also the best option I had at the time. Otherwise I simply go with the flow." Thus, their short debacle ended just as quickly as it started. Shortly after that interaction between Neoklipt and Sarbat, the siblings settled as well, both coming up to sit in the carriage, looking equally devastated. And although it didn’t take long, it was still enough for the old man to give his work horses water.

  "Why'd ye' show me that piece o' surprise, anyway?" Sarbat asked, settling at the front of the carriage with a few groans and swears. Rurik laid across the carriage floor and looked up at the deep, almost red orange sky while throwing up his arms "Bored, man." He sniffed and stared at the darkening sky, "We were supposed to be going to a different place, buy new equipment... But all my plans got ruined by unexpected circumstances, juuuuuuust like always~" To which Sarbat laughed, nodding as the leads on the horses swayed. "I feel ye', ain't nuffin' ever goes how ye' plan it to. Fret not, lad, mayhaps luck strikes and all ye' wishes come to shake ya' hand once the right time comes." Rurik scoffed, itching his nose: "What kind of proverb even is that?"

  "A good un'." It only made the young man click his tongue, and soon enough his sister interrupted again: "Ay Sarbat, have you got any news of anythin' suspicious going on around these parts?" A bit of an unexpected question, given the situation, "Where'd that come from, lass?" The old man turned around to face Luka, she sat a bit further down the carriage than Rurik, and also still had a slight cheeky grin on her face, "I'll have you know that we aren't some cheap hires — we're the real deal!" Sarbat grumbled, not quite sure of what to make of that statement, "It means we're actual adventurers and not some handymen, we explore on our own, so who might guess why I might be asking about anything that goes on in these lands?" Having realised his previous misnaming, Sarbat hummed while turning back to face the road, "I get'it now, so ya' bunch goes round' picking trouble and bleeding worth out of it?" — "That's one way to put it..." Luka awkwardly chuckled at his analogy, but she couldn’t deny that it was the exact way that they operated for their entire careers.

  He pulled and stretched the chin under his beard, thinking of the recent ins and outs of his, maybe he had seen something or heard a couple words of worry coming from the folks he knows or might've overheard. "Ya' know, I did hear some men babble bout' trouble on this road, more or less the entire territory of Gastat..." He went to ruffle the memories in his head again, "Some of my guys did tell bout' some misgivings during they' trips to Gastat, like flat grass in them fields and iron spikes on the road." — Smells like criminal activity, every one of them thought — "The dungeon just out of Gastat had a breakout not a long while ago, I reckon tis' kinda trouble is definitely related to some spikes on the road..."

  The manor was fairly silent now; a servant's room lit by a single candle on a round table, and two young women, both similar in appearance, were both maids of this noble family: one had short black hair and gold eyes, both equally hidden behind her round glasses, her name being Moira, the head maid of this entire manor, and her sister — the woman that sat across the table, opposite of her, did not wear any glasses and her eyes glimmered more of amber than of gold.

  "Moira... Is it really fine for you to drink this?" The latter one remarked as her sister popped open the cork of a wine bottle, "Not at all." She said, pouring herself a full glass of wonderfully smelling grape blood at the same time, "It's the chef's own stash, I've got permission to take a bottle once in a while!" The maid said begrudgingly, stuffing the cork back in the neck and slowly leading her right hand to the glass, lifting it and taking a full breath of the pure aroma, staring at her sister after opening her eyes. "What's that you came here for, anyway?" The older one said, "Ugh... You know..." Awkward in her words she stuttered, trying to tell her sister something. She averted the worried gaze away from even the table, leaving Moira guessing. But not for long.

  "I get it," She said, pointing to the squirming maid, "this again?" Her sister only nodded, making Moira rub her brows and rest her head against the elbows she just planted on the table just now. "Aren't you content with being the duchess's personal maid?" She said, looking up at her sister with a mix of confusion on her face. Her head dropped on the table immediately, almost making the glass spill when she saw her sister shaking her head profusely, groaning at the prospect of this conversation. The younger sister's eyes darted around the room, having witnessed that kind of reaction. "Sobrana..." Was said with a low, dissatisfied groan, "Do you know how grateful we should be to the Raressank family?" her sister only nodded, "Then, why are you so unhappy with being a maid? It isn't that hard of a job!" Moira threw her arms up in the air, landing them on the table and taking up the glass to take a sip of wine, filling up her cheeks almost completely.

  The head maid rubbed her own forehead, but the rustling silence was interrupted by Sobrana speaking up, "This... It's not for me." The amber peepers try to both steer aside and look her sister in the eyes. "Not for you, huh?" But, Moira's reaction was not as explosive as her sister had anticipated. Moira sighed, moaning at the discussion yet proceeding nonetheless: "You were always a league more adventurous than me, why should I fret over it now?" A chuckle broke the tense atmosphere in the room, and looking out of the window, Moira stared at her reflection, the sound of the raging wind and rain outside assisting her in some of her thoughts. "Then, what do you want to do?" Sobrana fiddled with her fingers, trying to gather some courage and break her plans to the sister. "A..." — "A what?" That only made her hesitate more, though her lips began to move again, "A diplomat..."

  "Huh?" Such a response provoked a peculiar expression to sprout on the older sister's face. "Eh?" Shaking her head in confusion, she only repeated meaningless exclamations, scrambling to find words to adequately sound out her hysterical feelings. "Of all... All professions, you chose the one uhh... That maids aren't really fit for?" To this response, Sobrana swiftly began mumbling, as well as nervously rubbing her hands together. Moira was again appalled by her sister's behaviour, waiting silently until the commotion died down. "No point in worrying that much." She said, lifting the wine glass again, "It's not like I'll stop you if you're going to put effort in this... Endeavour." Her lips parted ways with the glass another time and she stared at the wood grain of the table for a bit, "You could've made up your mind in these three years that we worked for the Raressanks, I guess some personal growth wouldn't hurt you, just try not to bring trouble to our benefactors. Ok?" Sobrana sighed lightly while her sister poured more wine in the half-empty glass, the cork now laying on the table, she swerved the glass.

  "Now, why don't we talk about something more pleasant?"

  - <> -

  Art Section

  You can guess who this is, right?

  Author: Ryo Hoshikasa

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