Frigun Harrow sat at the centermost table in the Old Lady Tavern. He and his closest men were playing a high-stakes gambling game. He was winning, which was why he was in such a good mood. He had just played the best hand all evening.

“Ahhh,” he sighed happily. “Why don’t you play while I take a smoke.” It was less an Idea and more a statement, but the group assented nonetheless. Outside there was a picturesque serenity. a cool—but not unpleasant, wind brushed against his face. The falling sun cast a beautiful orange light through the clouds and onto the rooftops of Finicks Bay.

He was pleased with himself that evening for many reasons, not just the gambling. Most prominently, he was pleased at how his operation was going. He had of course lost more men in the last week than he had in five months, but that was something he expected. And thanks to his mysterious client, their numbers could be replaced.

There was one thing that was bothering Harrow, though; The boy, Tay Mallor. It had been well over a week since he had last seen him. While he was annoyed that he wasn't paying him back yet, the thing that made him uneasy was that there were rumors that not only had he been in contact with the Red Cross Guild, but also with the Baron's filth.

He would certainly have to keep an eye on him in the—Harrow leaped back, crushing the wooden deck beneath him. A sword hung in the air where his face had been. The wielder of the blade made Harrow hesitate. Not something he did often.

“Boy,” He said dangerously. “What do you think you're doing?” Tay stared at him. It wasn’t the first time Harrow noticed anger when the boy looked at him, but something was different. He wasn’t hiding it, but rather letting it flow like molten metal.

Tay raised his sword, the edge of it glowing with heat. “Killing the man who ruined my life.” He said, hissing the words as if speaking to Harrow was some sort of vile act. A tinge of…something held Harrow from speaking for a moment, but it didn’t last

“Ungrateful little devil! You dare raise your sword against me? The man who raised a stray off the street?” His own voice stung with fury. “No, I do not dare to. I dare to raise it against the man who murdered my family.” Harrow stood silently. All anger fading from him. He still kept his hands tightly in fists, but he felt a terrible feeling.

“Boy…” He tried, but the glare from Tay made it hard for him to think straight. “No.” He growled.

“Don’t say another word. I don't—I won't listen.” Harrow took a step back. “All these years you’ve been using the son of the people you killed as your…pet, your entertainment. Did you enjoy it?” He asked.

“Did you enjoy watching me as I played to your tune?” Harrow let his fists go. “It wasn’t like that, boy.” He said, almost pleading. “I said NO.” He yelled. “I don’t really care. All I want is for you to experience the smallest taste of what I feel now.”

“And how will you do that?” Asked Harrow weakly. “Do you think that now you're a big, strong level 2 that you can take me and the rest of the gang on by your lonesome?” Tay shook his head, the faintest glimmer of a smile crossing his face.

“No. but I’m not here alone.” Harrow realized too late that they were not alone. He fell to one knee as a magical arrow embedded itself in his hip. The sounds of yells and cries came from inside. Men flooded from the Old Lady as Harrow's men heard their leaders' pained grunt.

“Boss!” Said Tomy. The large bald man saw Harrow as a father, as did quite a few of the Damned Fey. Hollins stood close behind them, he could feel the anger radiating from his third in the command. “It’s an attack!” Warned Harrow. But again, it was too late. Two men fell to the floor. Two arrows sticking out of their backs.

The men rushed to get their weapons, the gang's bowmen, or if there was someone with ranged spells, fired back at wherever they thought the attackers were. In a flash, the battle had started. Men donning the symbols of the Red Cross Guild rushed from between houses. They fell on the roof of the Old Lady from the high walls behind.

Harrow stood, imbuing magic into his body for strength. Hard rock began to form on his fists. He stared at the boy, Harrow's eyes looking into his. A moment later Tay's sword lashed out.

Harrow was no slouch in combat. He was at the peak of level 3 and had seen his fair share of brawls. So he didn’t find issue in fending the comparably inexperienced Tay off. It didn’t help that the boy's anger was feeding into his sloppiness.

Blow after blow was parried by Harrow’s rocky arms. The heat that Tay was generating was rather impressive, though. “Enough.” He said as he caught Tay’s stomach in a kick. The boy flew in the air before crashing into a building, disappearing through the walls.

Harrow focused on the attacking force that had come down on his home. He felt for members that were worth targeting, but then he felt him. He felt the familiar steadiness and unmoveability of earth, but amplified to beyond anything Harrow could hope to achieve.

The battle continued as if there wasn’t a level 5 adventurer standing in their midst. “Henry.” Harrow greeted. The guild Captain nodded. “Frigun.”

“Is this your doing then?” He asked. Henry sighed. “Not by choice, but I doubt that makes this better.” Damn right. Harrow thought. It wasn’t that long ago that Harrow and Henry Carval were companions, fighting in the tower together. Back then, the Red Cross Guild was still rather new. Their members were relatively few, but they had spunk.

They had dreams and aspirations for greatness. Harrow chucked. Now look at them, the most important people in a city no one cares about.

“Something funny, Harrow?” Asked the Captain. Harrow shook his head. “Nothing,” He suppressed a laugh. “Just reminiscing of our great, great fall from glory.” A look of anger shot across the Captain's face. “Your fall, you mean?” He had a look of superiority about him. “You’ve fallen farther than I. Were you not the one who sought to be the leader of one of the great continental guilds?” Harrow asked.

“I have not lost my ambitions, traitor.” Henry’s voice boomed, shaking the ground. That made people notice him. Harrow winced. The reminder of his past choices was not something he cared to be reminded of.

“I have simply grown wiser. I am no longer the foolish boy I was then. My plans are now within the realm of possibility.” Harrow felt concerned for a moment. What did he mean by that…

“What are you planning, Henry?” The Captain smirked. “There is no point in telling a dead man.” And like a flash of lightning, Henry was gone. Harrow spun, expecting to see the Captain behind him, but he wasn't there. Suddenly, he heard a scream from behind him. A man, Paul, he thought that was his name, was lying on the floor, a foot-tall section of his chest, gone.

Henry’s sword was covered in blood. As fast as he could manage, Harrow retreated. He saw the battle clearly as he made it to the roof. His men were being overwhelmed at least 4 to 1. Knowing it was a hopeless fight, he called for a retreat. His men, caught up in the adrenaline of fighting, took several moments longer than they should have to follow his commands. In just the few extra seconds, three others died.

“Do you think I’d let you go!?” Asked Henry in a rage. But before he could use any assuredly devastating spells, Tomy’s battle ax came into view. It caught the Level 5 in the leg, but it did little except to fan his anger. It did, however, take the Captain's attention for a moment.

“Bella!” Yelled Harrow. A moment later, a dark-skinned, poofy-haired woman appeared. She was one of Harrow's most prized subordinates. “Don’t you dare, Bell!” Harrow turned to see a bloody, limp-armed Tay standing at the end of the roof. one eye was a bright red from the blood that flowed into it from a gash just above his eyebrow.

Harrow could feel the boy’s magic surging like a wild animal from his body. Dangerous. He knew. With a cry of anger and desperation, Tay rushed forward. Harrow activated one of his spells, ‘ram’ and a solid cylinder of rock formed in front of his hand.

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He swung at the boy's chest, but the smaller adventurer ducked under and formed a ball of fire at the tip of his sword, and swung his blade. The sphere of blazing power hit Harrow's undamaged hip and sent waves of pain through him. He only managed to stay on the roof by almost ripping a joist from its bolts.

Using his incredible strength, Harrow swung himself back up—with no small amount of pain, and flung himself towards Tay. The obviously injured Tay barely had time to react as the big man crashed into him. They struggled as they fell to the cold stone below, each grasping for anything they could. Tay stabbed and Harrow punched, and eventually, they separated.

Harrow felt half a dozen sources of warm blood dripping from his body, while Tay struggled to even stand. But as if compelled by sheer will, Tay surged with energy. It was only after the fact that Harrow realized he was panicking. Bella had appeared behind him and had started to form her magic around them both.

Water surged like a whirlpool, growing into a sphere swirling fast enough to take skin from bone. In a single moment, they disappeared.

“NO!” Yelled Henry Carval, Tay’s new “Captain.” The man, unlike Tay, showed no sign of the battle as he sat at his desk. Tay was fuming. “But he’s still out there!” He pointed out. “Yes.” Said Henry dramatically. “Look,” He sighed. “We’ve just halved Harrow’s best fighting force, and no matter where he runs to, we’ll find him.” He said reasonably.

“So when do you plan to deal with him?” Asked Tay. He didn’t want ‘reasonable.’

“When the time comes, Mr. Mallor.” Henry sat back. “For the time being, you need to work on yourself.” He gave Tay a once over.

“Until your familiar comes back, you won’t be of much use to us as you are.” He said as he reached for a folder. “And, if I’m honest, your fighting skills could use some more polishing.” Tay ground his teeth. “Yes, Captain.” He said with mock respect. He turned stiffly and headed for the door. He stopped just before it.

“What did Harrow mean when he asked you what you were planning?” He asked, somewhat curious. Tay wasn’t sure, but he could have sworn that he saw a smirk on his face. “It was nothing, we can’t expect a murderer to make sense, now can we? Especially this one.” He smiled easily. “Now, here.” He threw the folder at Tay, and he read it. “Hungry Dogs team credentials.”

Henry waved as Tay looked at the folder in disgust. Tay didn’t notice that the smile had turned into something sour and malicious as he left.

“HA, look at this one.” Said Frankly Wester, the leader of the Hungry Dog Adventuring team as Tay walked towards them. Evidently he didn’t realize that particular fact. “He looks newer than us.” Tay doubted that. Out of the three members, none of them looked battle-hardened in the slightest.

The team leader had a short, almost buzzed blond haircut. He had just the faintest traces of extra skin around his neck. He had a broad sword that looked bigger than what he should be using. THe second member, a Charlie McDrin, was standing next to him, personifying the word “minion.”

He had a thin sword, but not a rapier, at his hip. His long, thin brown hair was flowing free behind his head. The third member was a younger Boy, maybe 16. He had a bow, with no arrows, of course. He sat as the others stood, looking to be outside the two man circle.

They stopped snickering as Tay stopped before them, throwing the folder at the team leader. “Your new member, Tay Mallor.” He said, holding any possible disdain in his voice from showing.

“You?” He asked with a chuckle. So he just doesn't care. Tay thought. Frankly’s smile dropped as he read the words on the piece of paper, turning into a deep—and rather funny, frown.

“Problem?” Tay asked with a pleasant smile. The team leader, or sergeant, huffed and shoved the paper back inside the folder. “Whatever, let's go.” He turned and trodded out of the guild building.

“Ugh!” Tay gasped as his back met the cold Stone walls of the tower. A level three monster surrounded the team, it’s dozens of tentacles waving wildly. Tay had just saved the idiot of an adventurer, Charlie McDrin.

He rolled as another flailing appendage tried to take his head. He cut as he moved, nicking the fleshy thing. He activated his spell, throw, and flung a ball of fire at where the tentacle was attached to. The flesh burned, and the tentacle fell to the ground, limp and harmless.

He heard the other team members struggling as they fought the higher level monster. McDrin was lying helplessly on the ground, curled into a fetal position. Frankly swung with abandon as he was blinded in the moment.

The only one that seemed competent was the third member, s Quincy Jones, the magic archer. He had wind magic and fired sharp, percies blasts of air that almost always hit their mark.

But just Tay and Quincy weren’t enough. They were like mildly annoying bees to the monster, and they needed to fall back. Lunging forward, Tay moved to the archer. “We need to leave, now!” He yelled as he blocked attacks.

“Agreed.” He said quickly. “They both instantly lept for one of the two other members and grabbed them. They tried their best to drag them out, but Frankly was too entranced in his own brute strength, and Mcdrin was nothing but dead weight.

With the most strength he could muster, Tay grabbed the man's leather armor with both hands and spun, and flung him across the floor. The act made Tay stumble, but it had worked.

Quincy managed to get Frankly out by wacking him with his bow over the head.

Tay tried to make a run for the door, but soon found it to be blocked. The Fey didn’t want him to leave. Knowing there was no other option, he turned and readied himself to fight. He knew he wouldn’t win.

“...Help?” Something in his head asked, almost in a pained voice. It startled him at first, but then he recognized this feeling. Without thinking, he gave the once inactive spell, power.

Flame surged from him like the floodgates of a dam being opened.

Like A great phoenix rising from the dead. “Orby…” Tay gasped. His eyes stung as he watched the new, and improved, Spirit of fire. “...Tay.” The voice said again. It was Orby. “ where’ve you been, friend?” He asked as a smile crept onto his face.

“Time. None.” The Spirit said. Tay realized that he was right, and he refocused on the enemy in front, and around him. “Any ideas?” He asked.

“Burn.” The Spirit said, a hint of anger coming across Tay's mind. Though he knew it wasn not his own. And then, as if reluctantly, It added, “Run.” Burn and run. Tay thought. He couldn’t agree more…but how.

“You. Run. Watch.” Tay understood, but only ran after his familiar prompted again.

Ifirit was furious. In all his time as a Spirit King, he had managed to keep any and all emotions within himself. He praised himself for that ability. But now it is different. He had been kept on the side as his puny little useless body slowly, and painfully formed something moderately better.

And finally, after all that time, what does Ifirit find? His summoner in the colors of those witches, inside the tower with incompetent adventurers, fighting a level 3 Fey practically on his own. Knowing answers would have to wait, and already feeling that the effort it had taken to talk to Tay was beginning to wear on him, he wanted to get this done quickly.

He would apologize later for the strain he would put on his summoner.

He began to channel power through his body. It was greater than what he had been able to do previously, and he exploited that. Using his old spell, he launched a great pillar of Flame at the monster’s flesh

It burned like dry wheat on a field. But he wasn’t done. Using his new spell, he formed two balls of fire, the most he could manage. They floated freely from him, and acted like miniature versions of himself.

With nothing more than basic thoughts required to control them, he sent them out. They burned through the tentacle at a shocking rate for a level 2 being. Ifirits speed had been improved as well, and he made good use of it.

He couldn’t beat the thing in a straight brawl, so he needed to out manuvare it. Puting what power he had left over from using his other spells, he boosted himself forward. Flying at greater speeds than any horse could dream of, and being three times as small, he dodged the attacks of the Fey expertly.

His Drones soon had half the room cleared of the monster's flesh. Though one soon made a mistake and was caught cleanly by an enraged appendage. Scraping the bottoms of his, and his summoner's reserves, he created one more. It flew out, away from immediate danger as soon as it was born.

There were two ways to kill a level 3 Fey. The first was to destroy enough of its mass quickly enough that it could not regenerate it before it died. The second way was to destroy the only part of it that still resembled a normal living creature. This spot was known as the epicenter. That was where Ifirit and his Drone had been trying to get to.

Normally, it would be harder to eliminate the creature the second way, but Ifirit felt like proving a point today. Recalling his Drone as they finished off and other tentacle, Ifirit charged forward, all power to the signal bellowing pillar of fire.

Tay watched anxiously as his Familiar weaved its way through the looming tentacles like they were no more than vines in a forest. Then suddenly, and, Tay thought, recklessly, Orby Charged into the midst of the chaos.

He held his breath as smoke plumbed out of the cavern's mouths and into the cave where he stood. He cared not for the smoke, but rather for his friend…his only friend now.

And then as Orby came rushing out of the cavern, a trail of fire behind it, Tay smiled and touched the semi-hard shell of the Spirit. “It’s good to have you back, friend.”