“So, how are you guys feeling?” Niko asked.

  “Like shit, yeah?” Sibeiya replied, which earned her an elbow from Lilieth.

  “Thank you, Sir Niko,” Lilieth said. “It still hurts, but at least we can walk around now.”

  Niko smiled. “If I were a bit higher-leveled, perhaps I would’ve had spells that could let me heal you fully, but alas. Make sure you don’t overdo yourselves, alright? And go light on the training for a few days! Tell Mister Spearman I said that, and he’ll listen.”

  “Will he actually?” Lilieth whispered to Sibeiya.

  “Yep—surprised me, too, first I heard of it,” she whispered back.

  From one of the side rooms, Phaedon finally emerged. His arms were covered in bandages, but, overall, he was in a far better state than both Lilieth and Sibeiya.

  “Thanks for the patch-up, boss,” the young man said before approaching the two girls. He stared at Lilieth, straining his eyes. “... I’ve met you before. You were here last time, too.”

  “You’ve got a good memory, Sir Phaedon,” Lilieth replied.

  Sibeiya nodded slowly with eyes just slightly wider. “So that’s his name ...”

  Both of them looked at Sibeiya. “I’ve told you my name twice already. Well, thrice now,” said Phaedon.

  “We’ve talked before?”

  “... Yes … Four times.”

  “You two are acquainted?” Lilieth asked.

  “Hey, guys, are you thirsty?” Niko called out from the back of the room. At some point during their conversation, he had begun bringing out a tea set from the kitchen. “If you want, I—”

  “Water, please. Thank you,” Lilieth answered.

  “Oh. Okay.” Niko put away the tea set.

  “Anyways, I only know her through Grits,” Phaedon answered. “Me and him, we fought against each other in a few Relic Festivals before. Neither of us made it very far though.”

  “You and Sir Grits participated before?” Lilieth asked. “How long ago was this?”

  Phaedon frowned and furrowed his brows. “Not sure why I should be telling you anything about me. I’m off. Got other things to do.”

  The young man walked out the clinic, slouched and hands in pocket.

  “Ah, to have three anti-social patients—wonderful.” Niko sighed as he handed the two girls a glass of water each. “Anyway, can I ask you two for a favor? I have to go to the Thalassopetris district for an appointment. It’s a pretty long walk, and I’d appreciate it if you could escort me for a bit.” He grabbed a small pack and slung it over his shoulder. “I normally go by myself, but the streets have been getting more dangerous recently, what with the refugee crisis and all. Lots of discontent all around.”

  “Seems a bit strange to ask your patients to guard you, no?” Sibeiya asked.

  Niko shrugged. Neither of them refused, however, and soon, they found themselves accompanying the healer to another district. They walked busy streets. In the distance, Lilieth could see a worker replace one of the moonsilver lamps that lined the way. She heard the rumble of an engine, and though a carriage passed by them, it was not pulled by horse.

  “An engine-coach,” Lilieth said. “I didn’t know they'd already reached Artemest.”

  “Oh, those things.” Niko scratched his head. “Only wealthy people have those. Seems convenient.”

  “It freaks me out every time I see them, yeah? How do they even move?”

  “They use moonsilver at their cores,” Lilieth explained. “Pure condensed mana stones—they were invented in Salcaeli and only recently entered the market there. I guess they’ve started to push them to other nations in the Nomen Union as well.”

  “Do you enjoy being a history book?” Sibeiya asked.

  “Do you enjoy being an ignoramus?”

  The two of them huffed at each other, then Lilieth continued. “The Salt Kingdom has been doing a lot of research into magical tools. In the future, even a non-Blessed will be able to use magic.”

  “That would put people like me out of a job,” Niko said with a chuckle at the end. “But a world like that wouldn’t be too bad.”

  “This world becomes more and more Salcaelite everyday,” Sibeiya sighed.

  It was not a stretch to say that Salcaeli was the most powerful nation on the planet. About five hundred years in the past, the first Salt King ascended the throne and began the Wars of Purification, the last of the three Great Wars. The Salt Kingdom unified the world through a series of wars, making every other nation on the mainland submit to them, forming the Nomen Union. Of the great nations, only Eirsia, the largest elven nation, didn’t submit, instead forming an alliance with Salcaeli.

  It was four hundred years since the Wars of Purification ended, and almost every nation in Nomena bore some touch of the Salt Kingdom. The Guild, which was based in Salcaeli, was present in all major cities within the Union.

  During their walk, they passed by the SilverRose Clinic—the same one that Lilieth mistook to be where they’d originally find Niko. It appeared to be a busy day, people pouring in and out of the pristine building. Workers, dressed in all white with a silver rose badge on their collars, were running around doing all sorts of things: escorting people inside, distributing aid kits, and so on. There was just a wyvern attack recently, so it made sense for them to be so busy.

  Interestingly, Niko had his head down, as if keeping his gaze away from SilverRose Clinic. Lilieth didn’t fail to notice how some of the workers looked at the Healmage with cold glares.

  Niko almost bumped into a worker, who furrowed her brows at him. “Lord Argyri.” Her voice was slow and careful—almost deliberately too formal.

  “A-ah, Rhea,” Niko said. “It’s, um ... it’s good to see you.”

  “... Yes. Good to see you, too.” Rhea replied, although contrary to her words, she wasn’t sounding too pleased.

  “Y-yes, yes. It’s good, mhm. Then, I’ll be going now, yes.”

  Niko hastily moved around her, and Lilieth and Sibeiya followed after. Rhea continued to stare at him with cold eyes before finally continuing with whatever she was doing.

  Niko let out a nervous laugh. “W-well, I suppose the tension there is quite high, what with all the patients they have to deal with.” His voice was trembling slightly.

  Lilieth looked at Sibeiya, who also seemed confused. “That girl looked like she had a problem with you, no? What was that all about?”

  Niko was quiet for a second. “I guess she did, huh? Haha, ha ...”

  The desert girl seemed to get the message that he didn’t want to talk about it and left it at that. Niko walked with his head bowed lower than before and began walking at a faster pace. The two girls lagged further behind until there was some distance between them and the Healmage.

  “Do you know anything about that?” Lilieth asked.

  “Did it look or sound like I do?”

  “... I mean, not really, but could you sound a bit less confrontational? It’s like you’re always looking to pick a fight.”

  Sibeiya scoffed. Silence fell between them, and Lilieth found herself fiddling with the hem of her clothes.

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  “Thank you,” she said, breaking the tension. “For saving me.”

  Sibeiya seemed startled at her words. “It wasn’t for you. I just didn’t want to see someone go ‘splat’ against the pavement. Don’t want that image haunting my nightmares. Besides, it’s not like you’d have actually died. I’m honestly starting to regret wasting all that energy catching you.”

  There was still a part of Lilieth that didn’t want to get too close to other people anymore—not after what happened to her. Sibeiya was just a fellow student to Lilieth—a rival, perhaps—but not a friend.

  “... Still, thank you.”

  The desert girl huffed, crossing her arms and looking away. Another silence dawned upon them, but Lilieth found it more comfortable than usual.

  On a whim, and to pass the time, Lilieth focused inside herself, feeling the Blessing within her.

  Level 7.

  Lilieth’s eyes widened. She’d gained a level? She barely noticed. It must’ve happened while she was unconscious. She checked her spell list—a level up increased the potency of one’s spells and would sometimes also be accompanied by the unlocking of an entirely new one. It didn’t always happen, of course, but it was still exciting to think about.

  Immediately, she found the new spell in question.

  Caliga—a ranged spell that raised the earth around someone’s feet to lock them in place—a spell for binding people. That could be interesting to play around with.

  All spells had their limitations. Murus could create walls, but they were limited to about two meters in height and could only be built from soil or stone. Sculpta could let Lilieth mold earth to her liking, but it required physical contact with her palms. This new Caliga spell would more than likely have its own caveats, but Lilieth was determined to figure them out. She focused deeper, and—

  “... Ah.”

  The excitement waned as quickly as it came when she realised.

  Bedivere. It was still broken. She could feel an empty space inside her, as if the spell was still there, its imprint heavy upon her soul. Try as she might, she couldn’t reach it. She couldn’t cast it.

  The young mage clenched her hands as an uneasiness set in. She felt that there was something she needed to find—desperately. She just didn’t know what it was.

  It felt like yet another test from Eulalie—another one of her inane riddles.

  Lilieth scoffed.

  Ridiculous.

  Cynth sat at the edge of her bed, wishing she could be anywhere else. In front of her, her father stood with arms crossed and a storm in his eyes. Valery was beside him massaging his own temple, and Grits stood at the very back, near the door, stanced like he was some sort of guard. He wanted to be outside, really guarding the door, but Cynth insisted he stayed.

  Her father—Hektor Kastrionis—had a full, gray beard paired with a stern face that made most people stiffen up when talking to him. Despite that, he was actually quite gentle and kind.

  Well, usually.

  “How many times have we told you not to go out without an escort?” Hektor said to her with a harsh, lecturing tone. “How many times have we had this conversation? ”

  “I was already on the way home,” Cynth replied, her gaze locked on the floor.

  “You shouldn’t have been away to begin with. Lady Snowmelt forbid, if you had gotten hurt—”

  “Grits was with me! Sibei was, too! And even Sir Spearman’s new student, that weird girl, a-and even Valery and—”

  “And you were lucky they were there, but what if you were alone? Hm? What would you have done then? I’m not saying you should never go outside. I just want you to be safe.”

  “I am safe! I’m fine!” Cynth huffed. “I won’t do it again.”

  Her father gave out a tired sigh.

  Did he believe me?

  It was Valery who spoke next. “That’s not the point, Cynth. You are heir apparent to Artemest. If you died—”

  “I didn’t ask to be heir!” Cynth snapped then turned to Hektor. “Father, just make Valery the heir! Wouldn’t he be a better fit anyway?”

  “That isn’t how this works, Cynthia. We’ve talked about this.”

  Cynth and Valery had different mothers, and apparently, that meant that she would become the next archon when she came of age, not Valery, even though he was older and smarter. They told her this when she was much younger, and it didn’t really make much sense to her how strictly they clung to these weird rules of theirs.

  Valery was the obvious choice, wasn’t he? People called him a hero all the time! And he was good at politics and economics and talking to people at banquets—all of the stuff that Cynth found boring. So, why did she have to be the one?

  “Listen to father, Cynth,” her brother said, voice stern and commanding. “You can’t keep neglecting your duties like this.”

  “It’s not like I asked for any of them!” Cynth yelled out.

  “That is beside the point!” Her father raised his voice. “Duty or not, you still put yourself in danger! If anything happened to you—”

  Her father was interrupted by a fierce coughing fit. Valery immediately held him and rubbed his back until the fit calmed down. Even Grits moved a bit closer, just in case something happened.

  “You need to rest, father,” Valery said. “Before it gets worse. Sela!”

  A maid entered the room and bowed.

  “Escort my father to his chambers. Make sure he takes his medicine.”

  Hektor moved to saunter out but stopped right in front of Grits. The half-highlander immediately straightened himself.

  “I’m thankful for you protecting her, Grits,” their father said. “Get yourself some rest, too.”

  “Thank you, Your Grace, but I am alright. I was fortunate that there were only red wyverns present.” Grits gave a deep bow.

  Cynth hated it when he did that. And she hated even more how her father and Valery just accepted the way he acted, like it wasn’t strange.

  Hektor left, accompanied by maids and guards, leaving the siblings alone in the room. The space was quiet for a moment. Valery moved to lean against a nearby wall, arms crossed.

  “Well, at least we’ve finally figured out the wyvern problem that’s been plaguing us as of late,” he spoke. “Guildlord Melantha was gracious enough to identify that woman who attacked Cynth.”

  “The Guildlord did?” Grits asked, concerned.

  Valery nodded, pulling out a piece of paper and reading from it. “Her name is Lyanne, a former member of the Guild—Divinationmage, Second tier. They called her the ‘Flockmother’ while she was still active because of her impressive skills at taming wyverns. She was based in Dimosthene until about a year ago when she was arrested for a number of infractions, including murder. She escaped and was never seen again ... until now, that is.”

  “So, she’s to blame for all the wyverns popping up recently?” Cynth asked. Valery stared at her, almost surprised that she knew about that. “I heard someone mention it before.”

  “I’m glad to hear you’re actually paying attention for once, sister of mine,” Valery responded while walking across the room to approach the window. “Yes, it appears she’s been slowly going around gathering wyverns from all across Krysanth. We killed a lot of her red ones, but we can’t say for sure how many more she has tamed. We’ll need to mount a search as soon as we can.”

  “Would you like me to inform the captain of the guard?”

  “No need, Grits; I’ll handle that. In truth, I would love to get the Guild’s help for this, but they have their hands full dealing with the increased monster activity as a result of the crystal dragon’s defeat at the hands of Olivier Verlaine.”

  “The Hundred Accolades,” Grits said. “I heard he was sent to the demonic front to deal with an archdemon.”

  “We can only hope that he and his comrades made it out okay,” Valery sighed. “We’ve yet to receive news of how the battle turned out. It’s chaos out there, Grits, but we should focus on things here at home. We’ll need to reorganize our forces—reroute patrols, secure the major roads leading in and out the city.”

  “And the refugees from Zusa?”

  “They’ve been settled, but there are issues with food and supplies. I’ve already talked with the demarchoi about it, and ...”

  Cynth watched as her brother listed out plans for the future. He was already handling a lot of the archon’s duties, especially with their father’s health deteriorating as of late. It all came so naturally to him, too.

  “Is she going to come back?” Cynth asked when she noticed a lull in their conversation. “That wyvern lady.”

  “Not anytime soon, I suspect. She’ll be in hiding for some time. Though, that’s not an excuse for you to go outside without escorts again. You will stay here, Cynth.”

  “I know that ...” she knew better than to stand her ground and keep arguing at this point.

  “Would you like me to stay here and guard her?” Grits asked.

  “I would appreciate that, but there’s no need,” Valery replied. “You still have the Relic Festival to worry about, Grits. You should focus on resting for now. You were in the attack as well.”

  The Relic Festival—Cynth grabbed the fabric of the mattress tightly.

  “And why would you guard me anyways?” Cynth added. “You’re not even a guard.”

  Grits bowed. “My apologies; I should excuse myself then.”

  “No, stay,” Cynth said hastily. “Just for a bit longer?”

  “Cynth, don’t be selfish.” Valery’s voice softened after his own remark. “He already has enough on his plate as is.”

  Cynth ignored him and continued, “Can’t you start living here again? Like you used to. Please?”

  “I cannot impose on this family any more than I already have,” Grits replied, bowing once more.

  “You’re not! You’re family, too!”

  Grits’ face tensed ever so slightly. “I ... am overjoyed that you think that, My Lady.”

  “Cynth,” she said. “It’s Cynth.”

  Grits held himself still, as if even breathing too loudly would be disrespectful. “I owe your family everything. It’s because of that that I cannot presume to act with you as if we were—”

  “Brother and sister? Because that is what we are.”

  “I would dishonor His Grace’s generosity if I acted above my station.”

  “You wouldn’t be above anything. You’d just be ... you.”

  Grits furrowed his brow. His expression was complicated, far too much for Cynth to understand what he was thinking. She could never understand what he was thinking. So many things didn’t make sense to her, and everyone just kept expecting her to understand.

  “... I will excuse myself now, Lady Cynthia, Lord Valery.” Grits bowed deeply then turned to leave.

  “You’re not an outsider, you know?” Cynth said, acceptance no more evident than it was in her voice earlier.

  Grits stopped.

  The young girl waited… and waited… and waited. She hoped that he’d turn around—maybe at least say something. Anything.

  Did she dare hope that the faint quivering of his shoulders meant he wanted to say something?

  “... Good luck with the festival.”

  Cynth forced herself to smile and say those words. Perhaps taking that as permission to leave, Grits finally walked out the door, leaving her and Valery alone. An uncomfortably long silence followed.

  “‘Good luck with the festival’, huh?” Valery said. “You do realize what will happen if he passes Sir Spearman’s test?”

  She hesitated then nodded. “Mm.”

  Valery sighed, approaching Cynth and giving her a single pat on the head. He ended their exchange telling her to get some rest. Cynth was alone.

  She knew, of course. She wasn’t always the smartest girl, but even she could figure it out.

  “... Idiot.”

  If Grits fought in the Relic Festival, reached the semifinals, and passed Sir Spearman’s test, then she might never, ever see him again.