Steely-eyed, Reeve carefully dripped the Chanterelle Fairy’s blood into the tonic. Three drops in total splashed into the florid purple liquid before a cork stopper was then hastily stuffed into the vial’s mouth.

Reeve finally exhaled the breath he was holding. He lifted up the glass tube and turned his wrist in a slow circular motion, watching as the concoction swirled, hissing and fizzling angrily.

Success—! The older man smiled, but the elation of triumph was short-lived.

A blurry grey figure stepped out of the wall and into his lab. “Is that the last one?” it asked. The cold voice cut straight through Reeve, unhindered — like a frigid gale.

“...Yes.” His reply was soft as his free hand twisted the fabric of his robe.

“Good. We’ll depart for the interrogations immediately. News reached us yesterday that requires verification.” The Lapis Servator glided toward the lab’s exit soundlessly.

Goosebumps crawled across Reeve’s skin as he collected the necessary supplies and followed after the man. For years he’d interacted with these elite agents of the Headmistress, but they still gave him the chills every time they appeared. They reminded him of the tales of wraiths and other ghastly spirits that the older boys on his block used to scare everyone with.

Floating through the walls unseen and unheard… always watching. There was hardly any true privacy at the Sanctum, even in The Nidus

Lady Adelais was constantly peeking into their lives, searching for angles and secrets in order to draw them deeper into her grasp. Thoughts wandering astray, Reeve’s body tensed up as they walked through the dimly lit tunnels.

In his mind, every shadow held another pair of eyes. Be it the Servators or the lingering tormented souls — the caverns within this mountain were filled with a suffocating malevolence. He knew only a fraction of the city’s dark history, but he understood that it grew bleaker with each passing day…

The dungeon wasn’t far from Reeve’s lab, so they arrived quickly.

Behind the bars and narrow, grate windows were many empty rooms. Reeve looked into each as they passed, remembering clearly the faces that once looked back at him.

He had pitied some and loathed others, but no matter his feelings toward them, it did nothing stem the growth of the pit of guilt in his gut. And soon, it would be expanding further.

Near the end of the long passageway, five Tundra Walkers were being held. They were positioned closely together because it always appeared to all the prisoners that there were never any guards, and they would often take chances to communicate with each other.

Reeve could hear their whispering fade as his footsteps approached, but before they made contact, the Servator in front of him stopped. The man turned around and stuffed two pieces of parchment and a set of keys into Reeve’s hand before slipping into the walls to watch.

One — he already knew — was his orders, while the other turned out to be a portrait. For a moment, he admired the skillful depiction of a handsome young man with long, silky hair and a heroic jawline.

Looks like I’ll be busy in the coming days… Reeve mused after he moved on to his instructions.

The Walkers were starting to infiltrate the city in greater numbers. Concerning the overall conflict, this didn’t mean much — as he was confident Lady Adelais was purposefully allowing them to do so. But it did promise that more prisoners would be filling these halls, and that meant more work for him.

Folding up the papers, Reeve replaced them in his hand with one of the tonics he had just finished brewing. He approached the first prisoner. The faint jingling of metal echoed through the dark chambers... the lock clicked... the rusty gate screeched… and soon, he stood before the man trembling on his knees.

“Drink this,” Reeve ordered right away. He knew he needed to get this over with quickly or his nerves would betray him.

The Walker complied, slowly lifting his shackled wrists and accepting the vial with both hands. As quickly as he could, the man uncorked it and swallowed the contents, grimacing as the hot, bitter flavor scorched his tongue.

Reeve remained still, waiting impatiently for the signs that indicated the tonic was taking effect.

Cloudy eyes, a swaying body, and a low mumbling were what he needed to see before he proceeded. It didn’t take long.

Moving to the prisoner’s side, Reeve supported him with one hand while he roused the Nura in his Sea and sent it streaming into the second layer of his mindscape. The Charming Voice spell sigil lit up resplendently, dispatching waves of alluring power into his lungs.

When he opened his mouth to speak, a faint, pinkish mist poured out. It distorted and amplified his words, transforming them into an irresistible tickle in the subject’s mind.

The Walker was already fidgeting, anxious to reply as Reeve asked: “Do you recognize this person, friend?”

He held up the portrait in the prisoner’s line of sight.

“I…” the man was eager to please, but even so, he wouldn’t lie. “I don’t…”

Disappointed, Reeve stepped back.

Without his support, it wasn’t long before the bewitched man slumped onto his side, twitching as the fog in his eyes grew denser. He wasn’t long for this world as the Chanterelle Fairy’s poison went to work.

“Useless scum.” A rough, shard-like dagger slid across the man’s throat as the Servator rose from the ground, revealing his body from waist to head.

A thin line of blood spread across the pale skin, but before it could drip onto the floor, Reeve had a hand positioned underneath. He captured the blood essence infused with poison in an empty beaker. This was his reward.

The Servator waited until a suitable amount was gathered before he spoke again, “Quickly. Onto the next...”

The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

Neither the second nor the third prisoner recognized the man in the painting either. Nevertheless, Reeve methodically collected his blood; although, he was beginning to doubt if the information they’d received was accurate.

It wasn’t until they reached the fourth Tundra Walker that something a flicker of recognition flashed deep within the man’s pupils. “...He should be a Son of Darkwater, but not an inheritor of the main lineage. I only… I only feel like his features look very similar to someone I know…”

“And who would that be?” Reeve’s gaze was leveled over the man’s shoulder, directed toward the back wall.

“Vennu — one of the three Heads—”

Before the prisoner could complete his thought, the Servator struck.

“That’s enough, for now. Make sure you have enough of those tonics ready in the coming days, Reeve. I’ll make sure you have plenty of Darkwater tribesmen to question.”

Sinking back into the earth, the Servator chuckled softly. “Who knows? You may even have enough blood to complete your project before the year is up…”

Reeve sighed, feeling the hollow darkness in his body expand as he knelt down and cradled another lifeless head. He at least had to ensure the essence of this man didn’t go to waste.

***

Lingering within the soothing fragrance, Stroud inhaled deeply.

“I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of drinking this one before,” he remarked.

“Indeed, it is a new blend.” Dowd smiled from across the table. “This is one I’ve been working on devising myself for a long while.”

“Well the smell alone is quite remarkable,” Stroud praised. He took a sip, savoring it carefully before offering an opinion. “Hmm… it reminds me of the white tea we had a few weeks ago. Though, the sweetness is much more understated in this blend. It's just a personal preference, but I’d usually go for the opposite.”

Dowd similarly took a sip, swishing it around in his mouth for a few moments. “I’ll take that into consideration. I may not be steeping it for long enough. Now… what brings you in today?”

Stroud placed down his cup and reached into his coat to retrieve his list. He slid it across the table to the Magus. “I’d like to submit a request for materials.”

Mulling over the items recorded on the parchment, Dowd nodded periodically. “I must say, Stroud… I’m impressed by the amount of Merits you’ve been able to accumulate in such a short time.” He looked back up. “None of this should be any problem.”

“Great.” Stroud smiled casually, while inwardly — he heaved a sigh of relief. He was basically spending all his earnings at once, so he’d been worried about a shortage of stock. Well, either that or a series of inquiries into why he needed such a large variety of Spirit Beast blood…

Reaching a lull in their conversation, he hesitated briefly before deciding to ask a question that had been nagging at him. “Instructor Renfry…? There is something else I’d like to ask — if you have any time to spare.”

Dowd set the list to the side and joined his hands together in his lap. “Go ahead, young man. I have long enough before my next lecture to answer a question or two.”

Exhaling a deep breath, Stroud jumped right into it, “I was shopping in the outer district a few weeks ago when I happened upon the arrest of a Stray — or a Cosmae. I’m… not sure if there’s a difference between the two, but anyway, I was curious about them.”

“Ah yes…” Dowd leaned back, stroking his light beard. “I did hear that one had slipped into the city recently. What would you like to know?”

There was so much to ask, but he knew it was best to shoot directly to the heart of his doubts. “Do they also cultivate like humans?”

“They do... But their methods differ greatly from ours.”

Stroud’s heart started pounding in his chest. “H-How so?”

“The Cosmae do not have a Sea of Nura, and instead condense what they refer to as an ‘Astral Heart’.” Dowd seemed to sense his agitation. The man’s far-off look disappeared as he paused to eye Stroud closely. “Don’t go getting any ideas. Humans are not capable of replicating their techniques.”

“Right…” Stroud breathed out. He was doing his best to calm himself and his efforts stirred the frost seed. Ice-cold clarity washed over him, but rather than snuffing out his burgeoning ideas, it led to a whole host of new ones. “As I said — I was simply curious. That’s all.”

Dowd clearly didn’t buy it. The Magus frowned. “Let’s stop here. I’ll submit your request for materials. It shouldn’t take longer than two days, but I’ll send a note down to your room when they’re ready for pickup.”

“Many thanks, Instructor Renfry.” Stroud stood up and bowed. “I’ll be taking my leave…”

“All right, go on…” Dowd waved him off brusquely, but Stroud didn’t mind. He exited the room in a daze and tramped down the stairs at the end of the hall.

‘I need to ask Hrer if there is any way to submit special requests to Lady Adelais…’ he thought as he crossed the Borean Tunnel.

But instead of heading toward his or Maeve’s quarters, Stroud stalked to the staircase winding down into the lower halls. The seed was starting to circulate out of control again and he didn’t have the wherewithal to properly interact with others.

Right now, he needed to be alone. So into The Nidus he went.

In a short while, the soft whir of the array starting up in his lab sounded out. Its constant, low buzz soothed him somewhat, and as the heavy door slammed shut — he released a blissful sigh.

Only here, did he know peace.

Stroud walked over to his desk and cleared out a space for him to draw talismans. Sinking his focus fully into the task was the best method he’d found to distance his mind from the cold energy of the seed.

So long as he worked for a suitable amount of time, all would come to pass. And fortunately, there was still a portion of his weekly commission that needed to be done.

The quill in his hand dipped into a vial of Spirit Blood Ink as he glanced over at the Spirit Hands diagram. It was a fairly simple Evocation spell that Alchemists commonly used when they didn’t have a helper around to assist them with their experiments.

Most of the talismans he worked on for Lady Adelais were very similar to this — supportive spells that weren’t worth engraving in the Spirit Locus, but were still useful in different ways…

Whisking gracefully across the beast hide, Stroud finished the first one in a matter of moments. His full focus was locked in on the image of the spell model in his mind. Another was completed shortly after.

Three talismans, then five… quickly piled up next to him. But as his hand reached out to place down the sixth, it brushed into something unfamiliar.

It was soft and it reminded him of hair or fur. Absentmindedly, Stroud turned his head.

...Shit, he cursed. I thought I already got rid of these guys.

A rat sniffed curiously at the talisman on top of the stack, completely ignoring Stroud and his hand. Its dark fur was sleek and jet black, and it was a decent size larger than the rodents that occasionally plagued the Marwood estate.

Annoyed, he swatted it off the table. These things had a nasty habit of only popping out the walls when he was lost in his work. And they were fearless — as evidenced by the undaunted charge the critter made back up the leg of his desk.

Even after he knocked it away a second time it still came right back.

Praising the rat’s persistence in his heart, Stroud reached out and grabbed it by the neck. He snapped the fragile bone, killing it. He already knew from experience that it would continue bothering him until he did so.

Sighing, he placed the small body to the side and returned his attention to a blank slip of parchment. Disposing of the body would have to wait until he made his return to the Sanctum.

A few minutes later, Stroud finished up his eighth talisman. There were only two more to go before he was done with this spell, but as he moved to reapply ink to his quill, he saw a small black figure plunging its face into the inkwell.

Fucking rats, Stroud snapped another neck.