There was one particular thing that had bothered Pi’ve in the back of his mind since he emerged up from Thergiam Bay; he had a home, and eventually he would have to go back to claim it, being the heir to the keys. In Thergiam, there was a law that if the owner of a home died, then the home would have to be claimed by a relative within a reasonable time, or else it would be sold off. Only Coron knew that Pi’ve’s father was dead as of now, but that was not the issue at the moment.

  In Neonil-Crant Street 3 sat a two-storied apartment crammed together with the rest, and now that he had been dismissed by Barna, he would have to return to his home. He had nowhere else to sleep until the start of his new occupation the next day.

  It seemed like an insurmountable task rising from the chair in Barna’s office. Because where else would he go? He needed sleep, dearly, and he had caused more than enough trouble in Thergiam for today. He found it hard to stand up because he knew what the first thing he should do was, and that was to go home and face an empty home.

  An empty home. It had felt empty for many years after his mother died. The building had burnt down, but was rebuilt not long after, with several changes to both the size and form. Not only had his childhood home lost one of the most important parts of it, his mother, but the whole place had been rendered unrecognisable. Because of that, he, rather than staying home after coming home from voyages, took to exploring the streets, or wandered through the forest outside the city gates, and longed for the sea again, away from the house. It was his home, yes, but whenever he was there, he felt like a visitor.

  After a while, being forced to enter his home time and time again by his father, it once more felt like home again, but not long after…

  It felt insurmountable, not only because he knew that it would be empty, eerie and heavy, but because this time, he had to face it alone. He would not abandon this house, so he had to make it his own before his aversion to it became too powerful to bear.

  A sudden strength rushed through Pi’ve, and as he stood up, he saw that Barna was staring fixed at Pi’ve.

  ’You have decided.’ Barna said, before Pi’ve could.

  ’Yes. I will go home.’ He said, his voice faltering.

  ’A healthy choice,’ Barna said, nodding. ’Well, I will probably stay here for the rest of the day. I might head home tonight sometime, at some point, but if there is anything you need, or want to know, it isn’t too far from the docks.’

  ’Noted. Thank you.’ Pi’ve said and nodded, and then he walked out of the office.

  At this time of day, there were still very few wizards about in the wizard square. He saw over the other side the WCC-building that Barna had told him about. He would be going inside there one of these days when the hearing was set, but he still did not know when that was. Maybe it was cancelled, or they decided that it was not that serious, so that he did not have to attend the hearing. He hoped one of the theories held true. Pi’ve scoffed at himself for thinking that. If not usurping the king is a serious ordeal, then there was little serious in this world...

  Nevertheless, Pi’ve turned his nose towards the dock, and started walking down the street. After only five minutes, he had to take a left turn, because the streets had become so packed that there was no chance for him to get to the dock that way. Mentally he checked what route he would have to take to get there, and visualising where he was, the journey would take an hour instead of fifteen minutes because of the crowd, if the crowd where equally large all over the town. Well, the longer it takes to arrive at the house the better, he thought.

  Once he was alone, he had the time to scour his thoughts. It was strange to think about the fact that since he left with the ship that day, seeing Barna come out of the inn, he now had had a one-on-one conversation with him, and even been employed— wait, will I get a profession now? Either way, the idolisation of wizards had made Pi’ve expect wizards to be different than they were— more noble, maybe. He had originally thought that they did magic everywhere they went, casting spells, brewing potions and disappearing to distant lands once they turned the corner. It was not like that. They seemed in many ways just like ordinary people, with an asterisk.

  The streets seemed rather empty as he strolled through the side-streets of Thergiam. Pi’ve figured that people were still gathered in the square by the dock, and that they would not go home until well into the night. He just hoped that Yond was wrong; that people would not die because of this. There was a feeling of regret inside him, but still, the feeling that he had done the right thing felt stronger.

  Eventually, Pi’ve could smell the salt in the air again, and knew that he was close to the dock. He could take a side street to his house, but he wanted to see if there were people wandering around still out there. In reality, he was trying to prolong the time it took to arrive home.

  Arriving at the dock, he saw no one. It was quite late, as the sun had dipped into the ocean’s horizon in the West, and it was starting to get a bit chilly. He decided then, after being reluctant all this way, that it was time to rip the bandage off, and head home.

  At the perspective of looking straight East towards the centre of the city, Pi’ve walked Southwards for a few minutes before turning to the left into an alleyway. On the right and left, there were doors going into the shops lining the dock, and stairs going up to the homes on the second, third and fourth floor of the buildings. Further in, the shops were fewer, and the buildings were primarily houses of the natives.

  After three junctions, Pi’ve took a right, and went up the first stair to the right. He climbed up, and checked his pockets for the key. He let out an exasperated breath, before deciding what to do next. I will have to kick the door in. Good thing everyone is out, or else the neighbours would ask questions. Just before he had mustered up the strength to power through the door, he stopped, clapped his hand to his forehead, and sighed. ’I am a wizard, moron.’

  He placed his hand on the iron-wrought locking-mechanism, and felt inside himself for the mana strings which he had used last time when unlocking the stone door to the cave. He had used little magic after coming back from the tutorial, but even now he could feel the difference in his control of it, and the strength. It was perhaps from all the stat points he had received.

  He felt for the mana, and with his will, he forced it to flow through his hand and meet with the lock. The mana stopped at the lock, but very quickly overcame the challenge to traverse the gap. He felt the mana disperse through the iron components of the lock, and saw, or felt, the lever which the key would push on to retract the iron rod which kept the door locked. He forced the mana to push on the lever, and it was a lot like using corporeal manipulation, only that he was using pure mana to grab onto the item, instead of through the connection of the staff.

  Stolen story; please report.

  He heard the lock click. It was done rather easily. It took only half a minute to unlock the door, but with the click accompanied a feeling of dread. He wished he could open the door to the smell of freshly caught, cooked fish, with bread and butter on the table, and his father in his apron.

  He pushed the door open, and it was almost too dark to see through the hallway of his home. He lit his staff, and stepped inside, closing the door. It always made a terrible sound when closing. The hinges sorely needed oiling. It looked exactly as it had when they had left a few days prior. A scent of the breakfast still lingered from the bowls they had omitted cleaning. He found himself thinking that it was fortunate that he came home before the food still left in the bowls went too bad, smelling down the place. Well, at least that was one positive.

  He walked through the entrance hall, and looked to the left as the first room appeared in the corridor. His room. It was small. A small bed sat in the leftmost corner, and a desk and a drawer along the right wall. On the desk was a stack of paper with his drawings and notes. He picked the topmost up and read “…After a while, being free from the labour of the sea, free to explore Thergiam and its surrounding forest, I find myself dreading the day this storm passes, for I must upon it again. Yet, I know that as soon as I am on that ship, the dread will pass, and I will look upon the sea with glee. Then, the thought of returning to land will be the next dread. Why is it like this?”

  He placed the paper down, and left the room. In front of him was his father and mother’s old room. He did not like to look at it. He turned left and went further in, eventually entering the living room and kitchen. He could still see his father’s clothes laying about; as untidy as he regularly was, this was not bad. There was a pair of pants and a shirt on his chair by the table, and his socks lay beside a large vase under one of the windows. The flower had not died yet, which was a regular thing to happen as they tended to be out on the sea for a long time, and then they would buy it again when they came back. It was to honour Pi’ve’s mother, and his father’s wife, who loved that plant.

  ’Do not mess with that plant,’ his mother had told him long ago, ’the sap is poisonous, and in the right amount… deadly.’

  ’Why do you keep it, then?’ Pi’ve had asked.

  ’Bugs eat at it, for they like the smell of it. Do you notice that we have very few flies, Pi’ve?’ She said, and ever since then, he had noticed that everywhere he went, except for his own home, there would be flies. It was inevitable. But not at home.

  He snapped out of the vivid memory. That was so long ago. He noticed that the light on his staff had vanished, and lit it again. In that moment, he thought he heard something down the hall, but as he turned to see, he saw nothing. Pi’ve shrugged. He wanted to get through with this tour, so that he could come to terms with the fact that it would stay this quiet for a very long time. His mother was dead, and it felt like that had finally been made clear to him. His father—

  He was standing at the bottom of the stairs going up to the next floor; the attic. This was a three storied building, and they lived in the second and third. At ground level a woman had a flower shop. Convenient. The third floor was for the most part a storage. It was bigger than one would expect, as the roof was quite high, and one could possibly have squeezed another floor in there. His father had lots and lots of artefacts, and boxes, barrels, tools, clothes, chairs and other furniture stacked high, and the only place you could walk was a small path going to his father’s room. He could possibly empty this whole attic by placing most of the items in his inventory, he thought, and then moving it easily to another place.

  His father’s room was not a room with four walls and a door. It was a bed in the attic where the pile of rubbish did not reach. He did not want to sleep in his own room. After his wife had died, and he had furnished the new bedroom of the newly built home, Pi’ve never saw him enter it again. The bedroom still stood untouched since then, and Pi’ve knew that that was one of the reasons that they both had taken so long getting over the fact that she died. He was reminded of her every time he saw the bedroom door; there was supposed to be another person here.

  He was standing in the attic looking at his father’s bed, when he decided that it was for the best that he removed his father’s bed, and refurnished the other bedroom, and nearly everything else that belonged to his previous time living here— but that would not happen now. He had a plan of vengeance first; to rip apart the monster who killed his father; the only relative he had left. He was seething standing there not being able to be with his father and mother. He was all alone in the house he was brought up, without the people who brought him up.

  Suddenly, Pi’ve heard a sound from downstairs, and he turned reflexively towards the stair and wiped a tear as he stood tense with sudden fright. There was something in the air. He had not heard the door. It was unlocked, but it made a terrible sound when closing, so he would hear that. No, no one should be inside, but somehow, he felt that someone was.

  He moved towards the stairs, trying to not make too much sound. His boots helped for the first time masking the sound of his steps, something he had not noticed before now, when he was actively trying to be silent. He still had his staff alight, and as he traversed down the stairs, the sound of hissing came from behind the corner of the hallway. It sounded like the breath someone takes after being hit in the stomach too hard.

  Pi’ve stopped when he saw a black, torn cloth coming out from behind the corner.

  As Pi’ve stepped a few small paces closer, the thing behind the corner began hissing, a thin gurgle-like sound, aggravated. ’Shut the light.’ It spit from behind the wall. Pi’ve was frightened stiff from the sound of it. It sounded like someone being strangled spoke.

  Pi’ve was not about to shut the light. He had a clue to what was standing behind that corner, but he feared it was true. He dimmed the light, being in control of it all the time, and as the hissing lessened, he moved forward, taking a few steps away from the wall to create some space. As he cleared the corner, he saw what had entered his home.

  A wraith, clad in all black. Its robe covered its whole body. A hood covered it’s head, the face not discernible through the blackness within. It was hovering above the floor, almost reaching the ceiling. Its robe hung all the way down to the floor. It was not attacking, and Pi’ve had an inkling to why. It knew he was a wizard, and wraiths feared the light. They shunned the light, and could not survive in the sunlight. In one moment’s notice, Pi’ve could turn up the luminosity and incapacitate the wraith.

  ’Shut the light.’ It spit again, its hands hanging limply to its sides, its head bowed down.

  ’No.’ Pi’ve said firmly, still scared to his bones by the mere sight of the creature. He had never seen one, but knew they appeared at night when large amounts of people were about. It did not answer, but instead started floating backwards. Possibly, the window in his room was open, and without the lights on, it would have an entrance, and now an exit. Wraiths did not usually appear in Thergiam, as far as he knew.

  A thought struck him which forced him to act. This wraith did not come out of mere chance. No, it was here because of him. A large crowd had gathered at the square close by, because Pi’ve had brought the king. There was no doubt in Pi’ve’s mind that there were still heaps of people out well into the night. Letting this wraith go would mean setting it loose on the people of Thergiam. What kind of wizard would he be if he did that?

  The wraith had no time to react as Pi’ve turned the staff to its brightest it had ever been. A screech which pierced his ears was blasted within the walls of the building, and then the wraith fell, its robes being the only thing left in a bundle on the ground.

  Pi’ve acted right away and did as his instincts told him, and after two minutes he had gathered ten candles and set them alight around the debilitated wraith. Once he had done this, he hoped that the regeneration of the wraith could be slowed by placing lights around it. He ran out the door.