It was late noon when I headed off for Ersefrahl: now, at the village gates, the sun had begun its descent, painting the sky a hazy ombre pink. Beyond the impenetrable woods, the rounded Wissen mountains reached upwards, washing the clouds with gentle reddish-orange alpenglow.

  The town square had a sort of makeshift feel to it, as if it had been assembled rather hurriedly under another’s orders. Various people attended to chunky crates stacked under folding displays, while others set to dismantling sun-bleached cloth curtains hung from hooks. On the porch of a restaurant, a young boy threaded his fingers through a carpet, expelling its dust with a thin cloud of mana. One particular stall seemed scuffed, its trestle table balanced on cobblestones that hadn’t quite been polished clean of scorch marks.

  Among the stragglers trickling out of the square, a couple of mages cloistered together, clutching small cages with squawking birds. As I watched, they fastened thick bundles of papers and letters to the birds' legs, before releasing them into the sky with a flourish. Those mages then drifted over to a shop from whose awning hung crystals and stones that sent off small curls of mana-smoke. An adjacent verandah held decorative pegboards with an eclectic selection of staffs and wands on display. Between the confines of an alley, a large wagon was parked stubbornly as a grimy man, face covered by a sunhat, imbued one of its spoked wheels with blue mana. Next to a produce stall, the same river from the mountain ran calmly under a flat, withered old bridge undergirded by a wooden arch.

  The town square was cluttered, but it gave the impression of a moving market. As if it could fold in on itself at a moment’s notice and disappear in the next. There were many such markets in the sprawling lower quarters encompassing the Imperial capital of Eiseberg—good places to fish for a deal or two, and indubitably with a bit of quick, well-paying work to be found. I recalled my days of partaking in Milit?r and Wissen research with a sigh. Jobs of that nature were exactly why potion-making was my new profession, Goddess be willing.

  A well came into view as I approached the center of the square, its outer rim wrapped about by a pattern of patchwork stones. A thin line of rope snaked into its opening; the bucket still lay inside the well. Walking closer, I angled my head over the edge. The stone here was strangely smooth, as if it were new, and even stranger yet, there was no liquid within. My boot nudged a stone that protruded slightly near the bottom, and as I shuffled it around, it readily came loose. A cavity appeared, the inside of the space artificially hollow, like someone had scooped out great chunks of dirt with a spoon. Inside lay a strange contraption: a small silvery metal device, shaped like a stopper, attached to a vial with intricate tubes leading into the darkness of the well. The device itself had what looked like a circle of Imperial runic magic carved into it.

  There was a sudden scuffling from the gate, and I snapped up with a jolt, carefully peering about before roughly pushing the stone back in with a soft pop. It was known that Imperial mages were experimenting with revolutionary approaches to magic—indeed, they'd recently distributed their reports and treatises to the lower bücherei—but truthfully, such work seemed simply a wasteful use of mana. But this specific device… I hadn’t had the chance to fully read the spell, so its purpose remained unclear to me.

  And that vial. Where had I seen that before? A memory flashed in my mind. The Imperial soldiers. I thought I had an idea of what these might be. This purplish-blue glow was incredibly similar to that of a Cesphic-oriented nimbus, actually… There were rumors that the Empire had managed extraordinary feats in physical magic over the past years: rumors that had cultivated a fragile hope in a desperate populace. Yet the capital was thousands of miles away. How awe-inspiring. Indeed, the machinations of the Empire knew no bounds, for its touch was evident even in a place like this.

  However, that vial didn’t have a lot of whatever that substance was, mere drops compared to the vessels strapped to the soldiers’ belts. I wondered how much it was worth. There was no shortage of those willing to plunder the fruits of the Empire's belligerent pursuit of magical innovation in the fight against the demons. But it’d be too dangerous to take this, as much as the distant promise of funds called out to me.

  It wasn’t likely that anybody saw me, however long my inspection took, but I didn’t push my luck any further. Ducking off into a shadowed corner, I moved through an alley casually, finally reaching a narrow, official-looking building standing vigil across from the well. Nailed to the front was a bulletin board, affixed with a handful of crinkled notes. I pressed one open, lips pinching down slightly, for it turned out to be some kind of military recruitment order. A fresh notice next to it proclaimed generous rewards in exchange for dispatching a beast of the dark woods. Hmm… that was a consideration if my potion-making labors were to be a failure.

  The thought of that reminded me of the mountain of errands waiting to be addressed. I started, then realized that at this hour, most stores would have already packed up for the night. In that case, those tasks would be handled in the morning. Anyway, it wouldn’t do to miss yet another dinner, so I automatically trudged off in the direction of a nearby establishment, whose sign dubiously announced itself as "Barbenheimer BBQ".

  Inside was a tight, rectangular space, fitted with dim oil lanterns at corners and a raised dais against a wall. Upon it was a long table—a bar of sorts—and behind it, a small wine rack, sparse at the moment. Hollow crates lay scattered about the area, paired together with low-rising wooden tables. I shuffled past a group who whispered softly to one another, half-empty wine glasses nursed in their arms, and settled on a crate near a lantern.

  A woman emerged then, middle-aged, with her hair up in a wispy bun. She paused, seeing me, then swiftly produced a menu from somewhere behind her and handed it to me. "Late travels," she said, tilting her chin to my dusty boots. Said rather flatly, so, a statement more than an inquiry.

  I perused the menu slowly, flinching upon lowering it on an instinct and finding her waiting, hands folded loosely before her. I squirmed a little on my crate, automatically twisting out of sight to paw at my satchel, managing to fish out a silver and three copper marks. Barely enough for two appetizers.

  "Oh." I gave a queer self-deprecating cough, before sliding them over to her. "Just two of these then, one of them to-go". The woman gathered them off the table, snapping them closed in her palm quickly. After casting a sharp eye over the collected coins, she nodded once and disappeared into an opening next to the wine rack.

  Aside from me and the group at the bar, the restaurant was empty of patrons. That suited me. There was a crusty window open slightly ajar a little ways down from my position, with a dingy accent table underneath. A fuzzy calico cat with a missing ear prowled around the table's legs, occasionally darting into the kitchen and returning.

  Outside, the sky had faded from its earlier pink to a gradient of dark blues and purples. If my eyes were to be trusted, there was a billow of foreboding clouds clustering lower on the horizon. It wouldn't be good to wander around late at night trying to find an inn, so I resolved to ask the hostess a couple of questions when she returned.

  What did I need here, anyway? I was not one for remembering small details, so I laid out my satchel, unceremoniously flinging an assortment of things on the table. The three flowers slipped out, along with the grimoire, a graphite pencil, a cask of water, one remaining silver, and finally, a handwritten note.

  The silver mark seemed to glimmer softly in the muted lantern light of the tavern. I turned it over in my hand deliberately, letting its curves and lines roll over my fingertips and stir old memories. As any seasoned market vendor would say, these were the defining cornerstone of the Imperial economy. Also something I was very sorely lacking in. Coins of lustrous silver, or greater, were minted with traces of the mana-nullifying crystal. A tricky art to master, but so very necessary; otherwise, any half-trained mage could simply will a horde of marke into existence. And thus, the higher marke came to signify trust and prestige as much as wealth.

  Some years ago, an edict followed, declaring every silver mark henceforth should bear the likenesses of honorable figures, past and present. I could still picture the first one—the fatherly portrait of a wizened man, flush in elegant robes and a plain lorbeer circlet. The venerable founding Kaiser himself. And now, a winking, proud woman smirked at me, her flowing braid richly rendered in shining silver. This was her second round, and the woman was no less of a resplendent silhouette.

  I pocketed the coin, its weight still lingering, then grabbed the note. So the first priority was some more clothes, a towel, amenities, and travel rations... My eyes trailed down the list until they settled on a particularly long entry. I stared at it for an extended moment before turning the note over and inserting it back into the grimoire. But I couldn't tear my eyes away. The note lay folded in an unwieldy shape. Paper edges stuck out.

  Flashes of ghostly white light jolted me from my reverie. Outside the window, it had started to pour. A deep rumbling preceded the rhythmic pattering of sheets of rain as they ricocheted off the roof and trailed down dirty glass. The shopkeeper appeared briefly from her kitchen to close the window and wipe it with a towel at her waist. I retrieved the note, folding it carefully and slipping it back in. That wasn't something I wished to look at for any longer. And especially not since—

  I discarded the thought. Back to the supplies. I didn't want to have to leave them behind at the last village, but the aftermath would have been too much of a hassle to deal with. Though, perhaps it would have been wise to spare some time packing my belongings and buying supplies. How I wished for one of those fur-lined cloaks! My measly cardigan wouldn't be enough to fend against the autumn chill further north. As it turned out, that village was home to a seamstress known for her cloaks. Not as if it would have mattered anyway. Nearly a third of that village was gone. Just shattered stone and splintered wood left over to pick through.

  And worse still? After the firefight back there, I was vaguely concerned that the Empire itself would come knocking, earnestly insisting on my return to service as a ranked mage or, at the very least, a researcher. Truth be told, there was Imperial history a discerning eye could uncover upon looking deeply into me, for I had been publicly familiar with certain renowned figures. Ages ago, really. But regardless, to the humans, those relationships were practically akin to a freshly handwritten affidavit of recommendation! Not that I had any plans of reciprocating their interests, of course. Still… what if I had shown too much of my hand in that village?

  The woman approached me again, this time with a little bowl in one hand and a paper sack in the other: the latter must be my to-go order. She set them down on the table, and before she could walk away, I hastily propositioned her, rather awkwardly. "Do you sell water?"

  The woman faced me, putting a hand lightly on her hip, and returned conversationally, "For drinking, yes. For work?" A pause, then: "You'll want to fetch rainwater for that."

  "Oh." I said. "And where might I find that?" I gestured vaguely to the door. "The, ah, well doesn't seem to have anything in it..."

  She nodded sagely. "Mhm. I haven't used it since the fiasco at the gate. There are better places to get fresh water now. They built it pretty recently, too. Somebody got lazy, didn't do something right, and now the water won't come up."

  The scorch marks. Restless soldiers. Of course. And now, what seemed like a fight at the gate. "What happened?" I asked quietly.

  The woman shifted the hand on her hip. "A mage, like yourself, but turns out it was a rogue demon. Leveled a couple of stalls, but they managed to neutralize it before it got too out of hand." Her tone had darkened almost imperceptibly as she moved to lean against the wall. "Out here, so close to their territory, the Empire is loath to spare much for us, so if anything, it's a miracle it wasn't worse." She fidgeted with her shirt's collar, then laced her fingers together, seeming hesitant. "You know… we hear things sometimes from the ones further up. Word is that in the North, the tension—the very feel of the air—has changed in subtle ways. The armies are moving, relocating. As if they were assembling for something."

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  "I have heard of this as well. The capital touts that they have arranged for a summons to be sent out seeking a party of heroes."

  The shopkeeper sighed. "It's the final push now, huh? The Hero of the South gave his life to slow their advance, and slow it he rightly did, for a while at least. And now, the last stroke shall be the head of the Demon King." She took in my staff. "You have the mana of an experienced mage. A traveler. Business in the North?"

  "Yes. Visiting a friend. In his old age, he has spoken of wishing for companionship."

  "Mm. It is no simple matter to traverse the Northern Lands. And yet the heart compels us, as surely as duty ever could."

  I cocked my head, not quite understanding her meaning. "I am in no rush. It is simply convenient for me, is all."

  The woman glanced down at my ears. "Ah. Of course. That is all good." Her gaze shifted to the window, and for a moment, something nebulous overshadowed her face. "Indeed, there are times where we spare too much care—it overflows, loses its uniquity, and dilutes its worth. This feeling, I know it very well."

  A stiff pause. Her words were lost on me, however much I pondered them. I continued regardless. "I'm aware that the old routes are festering with monsters. Might you know anything of the other passageways?"

  "Adalferral's Path to the oceans. The demons don't congregate near the sea—something about them not being suited for the waters is what I've heard the soldiers talk of. From there, follow the canals upwards, then break through the Offendale underpass and reach Tor. All the hustle of industry means it shall be well supplied. A refugia in the wastes, if you will."

  "The sea shall have its perils as well," I murmured.

  "If you are up to it, which I dare say you are, it is the safest path. Raids are common in these days, but the port villages are well accustomed to the smugglers. They'll harbor you as a mage, doubly so should you show that brooch of yours."

  "I see. But if that's the case, why do you stay here?"

  "Like yourself, I have business to attend to. I seek to bring another with me to the sanctuary cities. Regrettably, the Milit?r are a brutish lot, but their fortresses hold strong; we shall be safe there. But alas, she refuses to come with me."

  I eyed the shopkeeper. She stood closer to me now, and on the breast of her apron and inside her pockets were residual stains, still twisting with whorls of mana-smoke. A distinct fruity scent intertwined with the tang of exotic spices. Owlberry and nebel-leaf? I had hardly noticed before, but this mana-smoke scent—it was unmistakable. However, the woman herself bore no nimbus. "Is she a Southern mage?" I questioned.

  The shopkeeper quirked an eyebrow, a hint of astonishment on her face. "Yes, actually. Schützerin is a close friend. Stays here for the day, leaves before dusk to assist the patrols. I have qualms about the nature of her company, of course."

  "Has she taught you a bit of her magic?" A mage from the Southern Lands. In those places, more often than not, what was to be wary of were the humans rather than the demons. It had been a good while since I last stepped foot in those sun-baked plateaus.

  "Hah. I leave the intricacies of that to her. In das lokal, it is only the simple magicks we serve." She snapped her fingers, and a small set of wooden cutlery appeared on the table with a shower of sparks. "Here. I've no doubt you know this already, but those will only last thirty minutes or so."

  "Thank you. Schützerin, though, she serves with the Milit?r?"

  "Yes. Still she persists, despite all my best efforts to steer her away from bloodshed. I suppose there must be something about protection, defense, and honor… Those virtues appeal to her. In all her excitement, and purpose, she has allowed the winds to sweep her fears away." The woman's tone fell. "The Demon King. In this place, we would be trampled underfoot, with not even an afterthought, on the way to bigger things. There is no honor if not a soul is left to celebrate it."

  I wondered if this mage acquaintance was ranked within the Milit?r. Would need to be if she were to reap the benefits. There was an opportunity here, I sensed. So I prodded further, careful not to seem too prying. "Was Schützerin involved? In the fight with the demon at the gate?" Most mages, including myself, were well versed in standard Imperial fighting magic, but the vials had piqued my interest. It would be dangerous if it were discovered that was digging for information, though. The Empire, glorious as it was, united in defeating the flesh-eating monsters, did not shine its radiance down on nosy inhabitants.

  The shopkeeper shook her head. "I don't know the extent of what happened. Schützerin does not speak of it either. While it happened, I was packing our things, for I have no attachments to this place; I just... if I have to drag her out myself, I shall." She didn't seem to suspect the nature of my question; indeed, her gaze was fixed elsewhere, almost as if she was contemplating how she came to be in this place. I shared some of her sentiments.

  An indistinct flutter of disappointment wormed through my belly and I deflected, perhaps a little too eagerly. "Then, may I have directions to an inn or supply store, if such a place exists here?" It dawned on me how that must have sounded. It was possible this was her hometown, but I suspected she had little love for it anyway. By intent or otherwise, the woman did not note my rudeness.

  "Here, I'll write you a note. This inn collects rainwater on its roof; you might have some luck asking for a stauf or two. There's a general store across there as well. See that you pay it a visit."

  I accepted the note gratefully. "Thank you. Oh. Your name is...?"

  She smiled a little. "Serra".

  "Thank you, Serra. I'm Leserin. The food looks delicious, by the way," I added, as an afterthought. The woman, Serra, chuckled lightly before heading behind the wine rack.

  I tucked into my bowl voraciously once she was out of sight, so fast I couldn't even confirm my statement. My second order lay innocently on the table. Yet that was a luxury I couldn't partake in, for the joys of destitution meant I could hardly afford to squander tomorrow's breakfast on mere temporal cravings. Suddenly, I grinned, but not before swinging around to eyeball that group at the bar.

  One member lay slumped forward, moaning unintelligibly. A hand curled around a bottle—new, like it was just pulled off the rack—and I saw a flash of green hair as the man shakily knocked back another gulp. His companions barely reacted, conversing under their breath, like such behavior was a normal occurrence for this man.

  Feeling disconcerted and vaguely concerned, I turned back to my own table. Eh, whatever. But now, if my potion-making endeavors were to be successful... my fortunes would surely be revived! I laughed dramatically in my head. Almost instantly, the self-serving smirk was wiped off my face. Good food always placed me in a strange mood.

  The calico cat emerged in the corner of my eye as it made its rounds about the room. On a whim, I made a little meowing noise, attempting to coax the cat into my arms. The cat flicked its tail at me, as if scorning an unfavored lover, before hissing indignantly and striding off.

  Well, that was worth a try.

  In any case, I had spent long enough here, so with a deft sweep of my hand everything was gathered and it was time to head off for the inn. The rain had now softened to a comfortable drizzle as I wandered the cobblestone roads. Serra's directions led me further into the town, twisting and turning down alleys and roads in a convoluted path that left me boggled. Was this some vengeful scheme the woman prepared for my late—and highly inopportune—arrival? No. Serra had been only fair to me: this was my own doing. I mentally cursed my much-confused and directionally-challenged self.

  Although... Ersefrahl was actually quite nice now, when the sun had long vanished, and the town was aglow with a different kind of energy: the simple quiet bereft of the earlier hustle of the markets. The night had wrapped around the city like a twinkling, onyx blanket. All that remained was the wind in the narrow streets, the faint rustle of fireflies stirring in their lamps, and the soft patter of the rain.

  It felt familiar, and despite Serra's directions and my confusion, a pleasant realization settled into my bones. A peace that came because it was just me. I smiled faintly. There was a certain charm about the way the village's stocky buildings stood firm. A utilitarian design, yes, and not to my usual aesthetics with all the choppy, chunky mana-smoke chimneys, but I favored it still. This place was much like myself, I mused, for I had survived all this time, hadn't I?

  Finally, the soft radiance of a small, squat two-story house refracted through the crystal atop my staff—now having been repurposed as a walking stick. I slowly pushed the doors open, straining slightly when it failed to budge. Only after a third attempt were my efforts rewarded, and my body was sent stumbling inside. My staff clattered loudly on the ground, and the sound seemed to get amplified as it reverberated through the building.

  An old man, perched on a rickety stool, eyed me behind a long desk. His gaze flickered over to the door's latch, like he was checking if I had properly closed it. A sheepish smile formed on my face until embarrassment flushed it away as quickly as it appeared.

  The innkeeper set down a ledger he'd been scribbling on. "You traveling alone?"

  "Yes. I just need a room for the night."

  He looked thoughtful, then waved me over and aligned the ledger facing me. "You pay up front. Two silvers. Mark your name here." Then, sliding a pen from a holder with two fingers, the man tapped it once. "And write legibly too. Don't wanna have to guess who's under my roof."

  I froze in my tracks.

  Two. Silvers. The man's words seemed to stretch out into infinity. There was no way I could scrounge up that much on the spot. My stomach ached. What? The appetizers had cost a silver and some extra. Huh? Maybe I could barter. No. He wouldn't accept that. Maybe. The back of my eyes felt like pinpricks.

  The old man rapped on the table, firmly, but not in an irritated fashion. "Hey. I'm talking to you, not sentencing you."

  I mustered my wits. "...I think I only have a silver. May I barter? Is there anything you want?" A thought flashed in my mind—might as well try to bargain for rainwater now. "Oh. Also, I heard from Serra that you collect water on your roof. How much does that cost?"

  There was a tense moment, or so I thought, until the innkeeper's lips twisted up in a wry smile. "That's a good one. Can't afford lodgings, and yet you still want more." His face softened several degrees, "You know Serra?"

  "You could say so. I ate at her lokal. The food was excellent."

  "So I've been told. That girl. Her dreams don't belong in a place like this. Capital's got little need for a simple chef who just wants to master her arts." The man's tone shifted, now under wrought with an air of contempt, "And... perhaps the chance to offer the fruits of her talents to more eminent presences than us."

  I raised an eyebrow at that. Serra did not strike me as the type to be a supplicant to Imperial whims. I thought back to how she fretted over Schützerin, apparently to the extent of pushing aside her own ambitions. That was possible, but how much did I actually know of the woman? She was an enigma, just like the rest of them.

  The innkeeper folded a knee onto his stool, then rested an elbow and a head on it, looking at me directly. "Tell you what. I'll take that silver of yours and the satchel. That's a fine piece of work, even as old as it must be. At dawn, you arise and scrub the rooms. You'll get a stauf of rainwater afterwards. How's that?"

  I nodded my head vigorously. Without another word, the man slid his stool—it actually had wheels!—and grabbed a key from a cubby under a stack of faded, water-damaged newspapers. I handed him the silver and my satchel, emptied of my things, and in return, he pressed the key into my palm.

  "Second floor, third door down. No fires or running hot water after 10, should you stay for longer. Get some rest, mage. Goddess knows we all need it in this day and age." The man punctuated the end with a light scoff.

  — ??? —

  The room was tiny. Well. Beggars definitely could not be choosers. I wondered how much value the old man got out of that deal.

  The threadbare carpet seemed as good a place as any for my boots. A lumpy, oversized grey cardigan followed. I set my accumulated things on an end table next to the sheetless bed. Hmm. Fishing in a closet that featured a wooden mirror on the other side of its door, I produced several ratty linen blankets and some clean-smelling sheets.

  An angular window hung above a chipped earthenware sink, currently covered by an animal skin curtain. It smelled slightly of earthy oils. My hands cupped a small, glowing orb of mana. On the end table, there was an unlit lamp, so I compressed the orb smaller, converting it into a flame that took to the lamp's wick.

  As I sat down on the bed, my eyes wandered back to the grimoire on the table. Maybe a little late-night reading would be good. There were many notes yet to be written in there. In the end, I stood up from the bed and walked over to the closet. Pulling it open, I stared at the mirror.

  An elven visage scrutinized me back, cast by shadows melding with a reflection of the lamp's light. Inexpressive, almond-shaped gray eyes hidden behind wide, rounded silver glasses. Face framed by haphazard, uneven bangs. Thick, straight black hair, a silky shine to it, fell loosely to my neck. A few pieces were layered, and I threaded a finger through them, stopping to reveal pointed ears that pierced the cascade. Two red crystalline drop earrings hung from them.

  The glasses felt heavy on my face. I dragged them off. My fingers grazed my temples and extracted a handful of metal star hairclips from their place pinning long bangs behind an ear. I studied my features. Not anything outstanding, but nothing to be deemed strange or off-putting. A face that could have belonged to any mage out there.

  "I don't mind," I said softly. "It's better to be nondescript, anyway."

  I tousled my hair, feeling its grease. Long overdue for a bath and hair day, it seemed. I padded over to the bed and promptly curled into it, and sleep overtook me almost immediately.