Ifirit hovered over the shoulder of his summoner, the young man standing in a disorganized line with a dozen other members of the Red Cross Guild. The Guild headquarters were just behind them, the large red cross looming bright in the sunlight.

Ifirit had kept his silence for the last few days and Tay. His mood seemed to be worse than bad. Even as he stood with the other guild members, a scowl followed him at every moment. He couldn’t really blame after he heard Tay’s story. But it was severely affecting not only Tay, but also Ifirit. Their connection was noticeably stronger than when he was level 1, and that had both good and bad side effects.

Ifirit often found himself growing annoyed, having to suppress the emotion before it could dampen his abilities. Anger was the bane of efficiency, after all.

Tay hadn’t spoken to Ifirit since their meeting with Alexander, and in fact, he hadn’t spoken to anyone. Ifirit hadn’t noticed anything as of yet to warrant any concern, but like with water and rocks, it would take time to erode.

He did hope that today, he might be able to take his mind off those unpleasant events. Although he suspected that it would be from the mind numbing boredom of the monotony of guard duty.

Tay would be patrolling the city along with other members of the guild, and members of the cities guard force. Although Tay hadn't ever signed up for it, all guild members would inevitably take at least one shift every month. The regulations said it was to keep the members grounded, to remind them that they, in a way, served the people.

That was a fine sentiment, but the truth was that they were forced to do it because for one, they didn’t have enough people who were interested in the—admittedly small—incentive. And secondly, they had to fulfill their weekly quota observed in the agreement that the Captain and Baron signed to keep tensions lowered during the early years of the city.

At least that was what Ifirit had discerned during his bouts inside the HQ and around other Guild members. Tay had been assigned to a two team squad with an unimpressive man. Ifirit saw Tay’s frown deepen when he saw him. And Ifirit couldn’t help but frown as well, however impossible that was. And oddly, he was rather certain it wasn’t because of their link.

Then Ifirit stopped, leaving his summoner to walk ahead. The orb that made his form slowly didn’t move, but his vision did. It turned slowly towards the white bulbous tower. From where he floated, it was sitting perfectly between the houses and buildings. It seemed to be deceptively small from where he was.

But as he looked, he felt that the flames of his form were being pushed and then pulled. If he had blood, it would have turned cold. One other time he had felt a tower’s power from the outside.

The towers worked like giant de-manaizing points for the world. They take excess magic and turn it into living monsters. That magic shouldn't be noticeable from outside of the tower, even by a spirit like himself.

There was two events that could do that. One was a Flood, which meant that there was a monster that had broken through the walls of the tower. The other was a wave.

Waves were when the tower absorbed too much magic. This creates monsters and so much magic that even the altered space that the tower resides in—which is the reason for its smaller size on the outside— can not fully suppress it.

Ifirit was going to have to pray that a monster didn’t gain sentience…

A figure hidden in a deep green cloak walked along Second Street, a basket hanging on their raised right arm, for their left arm was beyond any hope for healing. “Three please.” They said, their voice hard and slightly gurgly. The woman selling large loaves of bread smiled as she was handed 10 hulvs in the form of half a silver coin.

She wrapped the bread in white cloth and sealed it with a tac. She didn’t let the figure know it, but she tried her best to peer into the hidden deep cowl that hid their face. Although she stopped as she saw the side of the cloak twitch as she must have locked eyes with theirs.

“Thank you.” They said, almost painfully. The figure put their items in the already full basket, seeming to strain from the weight.

The figure declined more than a few offers to help them, garnering worried looks from those around her. The figure knew better than to allow such a thing for that would inevitably lead to some sort of pity-driven desire to help them after this, and that would lead to them being driven away in disgust. Such was the price they had knowingly paid. They would simply struggle that day as they had for so many. At least until the day it all finally ends.

A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.

After struggling with the basket, but only dropping it once, they finally made their way home. The Black Light block was, in truth, as far from a ‘home’ as most could get. If one didn't hear the distinctive gasp of someone who had been backstabbed, or the sound of something pleading for help at least once a day, then that was a good day.

But they had made it home. And it was the perfect place to go if one didn’t want to be noticed.

Her little plot of the cesspool was on the ‘outside’ of the block—or as ‘outside’ as one could get. There weren't any buildings that actually faced outwards. That made them go unnoticed even within the block, which again, they liked.

Their house was rather thin, tall, and long, which made it a pain for them to move around in. They put the basket on the shelves that they only barely fit under, and removed a pair of gloves from Their hands. Their hands were wrong; Twisted and dark like someone had poorly molded a clay sculpture.

And then, seemingly without warning or cause, they swung around, magic forming around their hand, and launched a bolt of hyper-condensed wind at a dark wall, the green hue of wind magic clearly visible in the dim candle light of her home. The powerful spell clashed against the wall with such great force that everything in the long room was pushed violently to the floor. But not only had the spell not done anything—the wall was still intact somehow—but a thin sword was at her neck.

“How about we don’t destroy your home?” Asked an amused voice. They tried to look behind them, but whoever was holding the sword applied the faintest of pressure, and they took the hint, stilling themselves.

“You were quite difficult to find, even with the Raya’s resources.” A man crouched in front of them, somehow still only a head shorter than them. The half-Oltian, as they knew the man was, raised a hand and removed the hood of the cloak.

The face that was revealed would have made anyone look away in revulsion, but the man simply looked at her with a thin smile. “Fire is a terrible thing sometimes, isn’t it?” The woman, as she was, stared back with defiance. Her face was much like her hand; her nose had been burnt so badly that most of it was missing, and parts of her cheeks were so thin that you could almost see the white teeth behind. Her white hair was thin in some areas, and simply gone in others.

Her bright green eyes certainly hadn’t been injured in the fire…

“Impressive, that is.” He jerked a thumb at the undamaged wall where the spell had been shot towards. The woman narrowed her eyes. “It’s good to be ready.” She said measuredly. The man nodded.

“Do tell me; why does someone like you,” He glanced back to where her powerful spell had dispersed. “Live in such a horrid place, Ms. Castillo?” His voice held on odd note, almost like he was questioning his statement of her name—which is what it was—-while being wholly sure that he was correct.

“An old woman like me can’t choose such luxuries as you, Mr. Bouma.” She winked. The man smiled. “Always interesting how people here seem to know things you wouldn’t expect them…” He mused dryly.

“I guess it’s to be expected from someone as capable as yourself.” Said the voice from behind Ms. Castillo. It had an odd accent, that of a man. Alexander Bouma nodded. “Indeed. You have some impressive feets in your younger years, you know.” The burned woman's eyes turned sharp.

“At just sixteen you became a level 2 adventurer with a respectable team. Reaching the top at seventeen was, might I say, quite admirable.” Ms. Castillo glared daggers into Mr. Bouma. “And then, without warning, you disappear only to be found as a nanny to an unimportant family…Quite odd, Ms. Undrin Castillo.”

Undrin surged forward, her hand wrapped in a blade of wind. Alexander flung his body to the side and swatted the woman's hand away. He caught her before she fell to the ground, his actions having unbalanced her.

“You have nothing to worry about, Ms. Castillo.” The woman scoffed as she pushed herself away from the Half-Oltian. “No?” She asked venomously. Alexander shook his head. “No. We simply want to ask you about your time as a nanny.” He shrugged leisurely.

Undrin looked behind her, seeing the man who had held her at sword point. He wore a combat oriented suit that fit well with his slicked back white hair and dangerous, but not unfriendly, brown eyes.

“I’ve no idea what you mean.” She said honestly. “I think you do.” The man said simply, an edge to his voice that fit his demeanor more than Undrin realized. “More specify, I think you know what happened on the day that Mrs. And Mr. Mallor died, and where you received those burns.”

The woman held her silence, her face emotionless. Alexander shrugged again. “I had not come here expecting you to simply tell us. I would actually be disappointed when you’ve tried so hard to keep hidden for so long.” He took a step back. “If it wasn’t for your grandson, you’d have left this city a decade ago.” He raised a hand in explanation. Undrin’s eye twitched.

“No, I came prepared.” He explained. “You see, my friend Alen over there is a rather interesting wielder of earth magic. He has, for many—very explainable—reasons, developed a skill set well suited to some subtle arts. One of which helps someone relieve stress from their shoulders—figuratively, of course.”

Undrin tried to run again, but found that her hands were bound tightly in an iron grip. She could see this person, but felt that it was a female.

“I think you’ll tell us the truth that I have been expecting to hear, and it’ll be for the better for both of us.”