Raya Vania Finick was a Noblewoman, and as such, there were certain things expected of her. Foremost, she was to act with dignity and grace that was befitting her position. Everything from the way she walked, talked, and ate had all been refined to an elegant, dance-like degree. From the moment she would wake, to the blissful moment she would sleep, someone had always been there to assure that she was acting her part.

That had changed when she became an Adventurer.

Adventuring for her hadn't been about fighting monsters and becoming stronger. She enjoyed it and wouldn't give it up for anything, but to the young girl that she had been, it represented a dream of hers that she had secretly held. And from the first day after her realization, her life changed.

She did what she liked, awoke when she wanted, ate until her stomach ached, and went away from the manor when she fancied. It was freedom, and it was good.

But that didn't last long. Not when people began to suspect her potential. Not when her father began to suspect.

Tornin Indris Finick had been a non-factor in Raya's life; always too busy with matters of state to mingle with his Daughter, or anyone he did not suspect to be a danger to him or his realm. But everything had changed when his people reported Rayas rapid growth. It was like he had become an entirely different man.

But don't mistake this change to be of a fatherly nature. In fact, she would have much rather him have stayed a distant figure who she barely knew.

Raya's days under the tutelage of her father were ones of repetition followed by pain. She could not speak unless to ask questions regarding her training. She could not ask for breaks even as her arms grew like stones; unable to hold her weapon. Her father preached of training not just her skills with her pollsword, of which she quickly grew deathly proficient with, but also her hands.

Raya could remember many nights when her maids had to do everything for her because she couldn't move her limbs. She hated that. She loved her maids like sisters and couldn't imagine having grown up without them, but the feeling of helplessness that came with her evenings were exhausting beyond any physical exhortation.

Her days bled into weeks, and her weeks into months. Her life passed by so quickly, and the days she awoke disoriented and unaware of where or who she was did not not help. But actually, funnily enough, those moments were something she always looked forward to. She liked forgetting, if even for a moment.

When her father couldn't attend her training sessions, his hand picked instructors would fill in for him. And somehow, in their own twisted way, they were worse. Where her father would always hold back and only use enough strength to only just overwhelm her, the instructors were weaker. But unlike Tornin, they would always fight as if to kill her.

Whenever she brought this up to him, he would always wave his hand and brush it aside, saying she was simply too inexperienced to tell the difference between a life and death battle. Though he would always ignore any crippling injuries the duels would inflict on the instructors.

Eventually, he assigned her a team and had her scale the tower ceaselessly. It took years for her to grow strong enough that she could start rebelling against her father.

And now, as she walked through the halls of the Finick manor, she was the personification of both her childhood teachings and her later growth. Her favorite black billowed lightly with every step just above the marble floor. It was perfectly simple, and the same kind she wore almost all the time.

Her feet were bare, cold against the stone. If she could, she'd go in such light clothes everywhere, but she had fought too many battles to know armor was a necessary evil.

She soon stood before the door to her fathers study where he had summoned her. It never changed. Unlike the many other doors that lined the long hallways that portrayed Intricate scenes and creatures of Phorina history and wildlife, it was simple. Two thick pieces of wood without detail or luxury.

She knocked on it, the sound of the blows falling away immediately. A voice came to her ears as if from beside her. “Enter.”

She pulled the doors open easily to reveal a mess of a room. Scrolls lay on the floor, open and dusty, some splashed with inc. Books were piled high off of their massive shelves in every corner, and the large table that her father sat atheThe curtains for the tall windows were drawn shut, and Magic crystals drowned the room in a depressing light. The room smelled of pipe smoke.

“You called, Father.” She said in greeting. Tornin didn't look up from his desk. “The door.” Raya nodded and pulled the slabs of wood shut.

She waited several minutes as her father scribbled away in a thin book, almost like a diary. Eventually, he stretched and stood up.

He was tall for a human, even compared to Raya who often looked down on others. He walked over to a dark fireplace, a hand stretching out towards it. The cold wood inside suddenly lit as a flutter of sparks fluttered towards it. Her fathers magic was a rare sight, even for her.

He turned Towards her after a moment, his sparkling eyes assessing her. Some might have looked away from their gaze, and in fact she had once done so, but now was different. Neither of their eyes were that of a normal human anymore.

“How has your progress been?” He asked. “Fine, father. I suspect I shall be evolving soon.” Tornin nodded. “Tell me, Raya; when was the last time you went into the tower?” The heiress did not speak.

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“I believe it's been over a week, if my people are correct.” He expected her to answer, but he turned away when she did not.

“My dear daughter, I don't need to remind you of our promise, do I?” He asked. Raya kept her composure well. “Of course not, Father.” Tornin raised his brows.

“You don't? Then please explain why you've been stagnant.” He went to pull open a curtain, but decided against it. “Why, even your teammates have been slacking. I would hate for them to fall too far behind you. They might not be able to keep up with you in the future if they do.”

Say nothing. She thought. It would only be used against her.

He let out a slow sigh. “Daughter, I need you to get to level 5. And I need you to do it soon. A conflict is soon to be upon us, and if we are not ready, we will be swept up in the forgotten annals of time.” He looked her straight in the eyes. “I will not have it.”

“Perhaps,” Raya said with just the slightest hint of sarcasm. “If you told me what's going on, I could be more motivated to grow.” Torin grunted and sat back in his chair.

“All you or anyone else needs to know is that our power will be needed for the future of this city.” He began writing. His eyes didn't fall upon her again.

“You will spend the next days in the tower.” Raya opened her mouth, but Tornin waved a hand. “You may leave, Daughter.” Raya glared at him, but he did not care. She turned, opened the doors, and slammed then shut.

The rest of Raya’s day was spent in quiet rage as she scaled the tower.

Perhaps rebellion wasn't quite achievable yet.

Tay whistled to himself as he stared at the sudden desert before him. It was like looking at a lake, like the contrast between lush grass and the vast pool of water. Almost unnaturally, the forest he had been riding through cut off, replaced by sand. Although saying “almost” is a disservice for there was most certainly nothing natural about the desert.

No one actually knew why such odd phenomena happened or how they persisted over centuries as this one had. Theories went around, of course. Some believed that these odd biomes were the work of powerful magic entities, and others think that they are the result of great battles between level 10 adventurers.

It was certainly possible, Tay thought. If the stories held any truth, level 10 was akin to godship. It is said that their battles split mountains and forged chasms.

Tay felt Coin prance below him, her muscles tensing and twitching. She didn't want to be there. Patting her neck, he swung his foot over the saddle and onto solid ground. Just feet away, the desert’s sand started. It was oddly inviting. It stretched out as far as the eye could see, only ending when its massive circular shape curved out of sight, miles away.

Tay quickly grabbed everything he would need from the saddle, making extra sure that his water flasks were full. He took his rations, his coverings, and made sure his magic bag was tightly squired to his belt.

He slowly undid Coin’s saddle, laying it off to one side. The horse shook and neighed, jumping around excitedly. Then he pushed her away, and the horse stopped moving.

“Go on, girl.” He said softly. He couldn't, or wouldn't take the animal into the desert. She was looking healthy compared to when he bought her. He was still bitter to find out that he had been scammed. But the people of Frisus village had helped him to nurse her back to health. We'll, in truth, he hadn't done much. Mainly he just asked a few questions that would be useful for a prolonged journey. The one to really help the horse was a young man, Jack Meyer.

He smiled, remembering the nice family. It had been 5 days since he left the village. Jack and his brother, Thomas Meyer, had directed him to the fastest path to the desert, or the pond as it was lovingly named.

Their parting had been somber. Tay thought that they had become friends, even in the short time they had known each other. That thought alone made him grimace because it forced him to think about his other friends, those back in Finick's Bay. We'll, he honestly didn't know if they were his friends anymore, if they ever were.

He would find out when and if he returned.

But right now, he had something that he had to do. Someone he had to find. His very first real friend. Someone who had fought for him, alongside him, and who had died for him, in a way. His little familiar. Mysterious as it was, the being had never once done something to hurt Tay. It was funny, of all the beings he had known, he knew the least about Orby, yet his bond with the spirit was the strongest.

“Go on!” He said louder. The horse didn't listen. She stared at him, almost intelligently. Huffing, he led the horse to a small pile of grain. He hoped it would stop her from following him. The horse sniffed at the grain, then blew out, the pile scattering a little.

“Stay.” He ordered. The horse looked unimpressed. He slowly backed away, watching the creature closely. Eventually it began to graze on the food, but her eye never left Tay.

He steadied himself as he stood before the barrier he knew existed. It was part of the reason that there was such lush greenery so close to the sand dunes. He stretched out his hand, and felt the hot sting of dry air.

With a deep breath, he stepped forward into the wall of heat.

Kimbe Franks hustled down the busy highway of Second Street, his arms holding a black cloak over his body. His eyes darted From person to person, the spotter looking like a man mad with stress. He bumped into people without even noticing; so focused was he on those farther in the shadows of the magic street lights.

He often glanced behind him, looking at alleys as if each one held something he feared. He soon turned off the main road. He followed a winding path that led to a shady looking market. Housing and buildings Surrounded It on all sides. He quickly made his way to a small shed in the corner of the square. The top of the building was open, as if a giant had simply cut the roof away.

Birds chirped as he entered the building, and in the middle was a stand with a stack of papers and envelopes, they were small, just the right size to fit on a messenger bird.

He took the pin on the stand and began to write.

Hello, my name is Kimber Franks. I write this message with hope that my suspicions about you are correct.

I currently have information that you will find most desirable. Information they could change this city forever.

If you are interested, go to 341D, 3rd Street. I will find you then

PS - This is about Henry Carval.

Kimber folded the piece of paper, his hands shaking. He put it in one of the small envelopes and sealed it. Looking around, he found the cage he wanted. He inserted a gold coin into a slot, and magic surged for a moment, then the cage opened. He took the small animal in his hands, putting the letter in a pouch on its leg. He let the bird go with a helpful throw and it fluttered away.

He hoped he was making the right decision.

He shut the cage and left, not paying anymore attention to the name “Mr. Black,” who the bird flew towards.