Serriah nodded thoughtfully, her eyes reflecting a warmth that made him feel more at ease.

Borromeo swallowed hard, the weight of her words settling in. For the first time, he realized that he didn’t have to hide behind his sharp tongue to be noticed. This new sense of acceptance was both unsettling yet oddly comforting.

Serriah tilted her head with curiosity. “So why be a mage? Why not just become someone who will suit you?”

Borromeo paused. He took a deep breath, recalling the shadows of his past. “You see, I was born weak,” he began, his voice low but steady. “From my very first breath, I was marked by fragility. My mother, the Lady of our house, fell ill while pregnant with me. By the time I arrived, my body was already at a disadvantage… The creator must be kidding when he created me, He gave me a talent to boot, with frail shell, in a land where strength and power is everything.”

He glanced at the flickering flames, the memories of his childhood forming in his mind. “As the firstborn heir, I was meant to command my house, but my health made it easy for the vassals to dismiss me. They saw me as weak… a noble in name, but without the strength. My sisters, Evessa and Liora, flourished around me, filling the halls with laughter, while I hid my insecurities beneath a sharp wit and sarcasm.”

His gaze hardened, the pain of the past igniting a fire in his eyes. “After our mother’s death, my father became a shadow of himself. I watched helplessly as the vassals seized their opportunity, using father’s frailty to take control of the house, and eventually my own against me in a staged duel to prove my worth. They banished me, keeping my sisters hostage to solidify their hold to power.

Borromeo leaned forward, “I was thrown into a world that expected strength, with only my intelligence and rage to rely on. I realized I couldn’t become the man my title demanded through brute force. Magic became my only advantage—a way to wield power that surpassed mere physicality. I sought mastery over spells, pushing myself to my limits to create the strength I lacked.”

He met Serriah’s gaze, the resolve in his voice unwavering. “Each spell I learned brought me closer to my dream of vengeance and reclaiming my sisters. In a land where strength defines the peak, I chose to forge my own path, to prove that I could be formidable despite my body’s limitations. Beneath the sarcasm and biting remarks lies a promise to myself and to my sisters: I will return stronger and make those who betrayed us pay for their treachery.”

I’m sorry to hear that,” Serriah said softly, “but isn’t being a Velorian a threat to the empire, especially with you being an apprentice at the College of Mages?”

Before Borromeo could respond, Briken interjected, a knowing look crossing his face. “Remember the Arcans who helped the first Arcanum King, Alarion, establish the empire? They were Velorian too. Their legacy is woven into the foundation of this land. Besides…”, he added, side-eyeing the explorers with a hint of mischief, “they were constantly monitored.”

“Yep,” Lyt nodding in agreement. “Borromeo works for the College, after all. In Arcanum, anyone is welcome as long as they can provide support for the interests of the empire. If anything, his presence strengthens our ties, not threatens them.”

Borromeo felt a flicker of gratitude for their support. “It’s true,” he said, his voice steadying as he gathered his thoughts. “Like everyone else, I went through the rigorous process of entering the College. I was chosen by Grand Mage Elara Moonshine to be her apprentice, and I was sent here as part of my training. Elara was the one who helped me survive during my banishment. She saw potential in me when no one else would…”

He paused, the warmth of the Emberbrew contrasting with the chill of his past. “The College values capability over bloodlines. I’ve fought hard for my place, proving that I can contribute just like anyone else, regardless of where I come from. My magic is a tool for the empire, and I intend to use it to help reclaim what’s been taken from my family.”

Serriah considered his words, her expression softening. “I can understand that. It’s just... the empire has been wary of Velorians for so long. But perhaps your determination will change some minds.”

Briken grinned, crossing his arms. “Change is what we do best, isn’t it? Besides, Borromeo’s not the only one in this camp with a story.”

As Borromeo took another sip of Emberbrew, he felt the warmth of their words sink in.

At the dead of night, silence blanketed the camp, broken only by the rustling leaves and the occasional hoot of an owl. Suddenly, the stillness shattered. “Boom!!! ”. The sound of shouting and clashing steel pierced the night air, jolting everyone awake. Sentries shouting “We’re under attack!!!”

The ministry workers scrambled together, huddling with the mages as the soldiers instinctively took their positions, ready to defend. Panic flickered in the eyes of the workers, but Borromeo’s heart raced with a mixture of fear and adrenaline.

Briken’s voice cut through the chaos. “How can they get through the protective net? They’re just simple bandits! Bright South! Circle defense!”

But just as he spoke, the air erupted with a series of thunderous explosions, echoing around the camp. The ground shook as fire and smoke filled the air, sending sparks flying and chaos spiraling into action. The mage among the Cane bandits unleashed spells, and the camp erupted into a fray of violence.

In the turmoil, Borromeo fought back, his face beading sweats and writhing in pain, he channeled his remaining mana into a spell, but fatigue tugged at him. The attacks he cast were weak. As he struggled, a bandit in darkness lunged at him with a glinting dagger. He felt the weight of their blows, and before he could react, he was overwhelmed.

Serriah fought valiantly beside Borromeo, her needle sword darting in and out of towards the bandits, her dagger protects, but even her skill was no match for the sheer number of bandits. One managed to overpower her, dragging her into the fray as she shouted for help.

“Hold the line!” Lyt commanded, his voice cut through the noise as he rallied the soldiers with him to defend their position. But the bandits were relentless, their laughter mingling with the cries of battle as they advanced. It’s hard to defend if you have no idea where the attacker is.

As the fight intensified, the mage among the bandits conjured a spell, casting a thick fog that enveloped the camp, obscuring vision and throwing everyone into disarray.

“Help!” Borromeo shouted, his panic rising as he scanned the chaos around him, searching for his companions.

Without missing a beat, Arch sprang into action. “Everyone, cover your nose and duck!” he yelled. He grabbed all his Embermist flasks and hurled them high into the air, shattering them against the branches above. The sharp, acrid scent of Embermist filled the air, a stark warning of the impending danger.

“Fireballs! Now!” Arch shouted to the mages.

The mages responded quickly, conjuring fireballs that sailed through the fog and ignited the Embermist. Brilliant flames erupted, cascading light through the thick veil of fog. The heat surged, causing the fog to evaporate in a sizzling rush, clearing the vision for the defenders.

Lyt observed Arch’s quick thinking , recognizing the recruit’s resourcefulness.

As the fog dissipated, a chilling realization swept through the camp. The attack is no more, along with Borromeo and Serriah, had vanished into the night, leaving only the echoes of battle and the faint smell of smoke hanging in the air.

Arch whispered, despair creeping into his voice, his knees weakening. “It’s too late… They’re gone.”

The group stood in stunned silence, the weight of their loss settling over them like a shroud. The night that had promised safety had turned into a nightmare.

After helping up a soldier, Lyt observed the aftermath of chaos, the weight of his responsibility palpable. But this time, he knew he couldn't remain a mere onlooker. He called to Arch, “Hunter!”, gesturing to the Mystlens, signaling him to put them on.

Arch quickly grabbed from his utility belt and donned the Mystlens, and the scene transformed before him. Suspended in the air were faint traces of reddish yellow mana residue from the Embermist.

He scanned the surroundings quickly and noticed a dark, purplish trail leading to a large oak tree within the forest. The path was marked not only by the mana trail but also by disturbed leaves.

Without hesitation, Arch shouted to Briken, "Sergeant Briken! Strengthen the circle defense! Soldiers, set up positions! Mages, lay down detection and protection veils! Get the wounded to the center!" The urgency of command in his voice was enough to spur the camp into swift action. Briken, with a sharp nod, led the soldiers in forming a defensive line, while the mages raised protective barriers, “Bright South! You heard the man!”

Arch gathered five soldiers, calling them to follow him. As he moved, Lyt fell into step beside him, joining the small unit tasked with tracking down the elusive bandits.

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They arrived at the back of the massive oak tree, the place where the blackish-purple mana trail abruptly ended. Suspended in the air, the dark mana floated in a burst-like pattern, as if it had exploded outward. The ground showed no sign of disturbance, no footprints or broken branches. It was as if their quarry had simply vanished into thin air.

Arch exchanged a glance with Lyt, realization settling between them.

"Soulcaster…" Lyt whispered, his tone heavy with dread and horror.

Arch commanded the soldiers, his voice steady but tense, “Form a circle defense… Arms up…

As the soldiers moved into formation, Arch struggled to keep his composure. His hands trembled slightly, and his vision blurred for a moment, dark thoughts filling the edges of his mind. “How could I let this happen?” he thought, the weight of his perceived failure pressing down on him like a physical force. His breathing grew shallow, and he found himself unable to look his men in the eyes. The whispers in his mind grew louder, telling him he wasn’t good enough.

“I should’ve been better, stronger, smarter… They’re in danger because of me”, he thought bitterly. His shoulders slumped, and the mask felt suffocating, as though it too were condemning him.

Arch drew in a sharp breath, his resolve wavering as he opened his mouth to shout the next order, but Lyt’s firm grip on his shoulder snapped him back.

“Hunter, this just turned into a Defender mission,” Lyt said, his tone calm but edged with urgency. Let’s go back and regroup. The base needs to know about this.”

Arch blinked, the adrenaline surging through him momentarily fading. The pursuit still burned in his mind, but he could feel Lyt’s grip grounding him.

Arch finally nodded, the haze of frustration and guilt lifting just enough for clarity. He turned to the soldiers, his voice steadier but weary. “Back to camp. Let’s regroup.”

Back at the camp, the tension remains thick. The command team had hastily set up a mission tent near the roadside, using a makeshift brick table cluttered with map as they huddled to strategize. Soldiers formed a reinforced circle defense perimeter. The atmosphere buzzed with the urgency of preparation, each movement laced with the weight of their recent encounter.

The next day, before the sun came up, two escorted messengers had been sent down Heroad in opposite directions, to report and seek reinforcements.

The soldiers, breathless and shaken, relayed their encounters, voices overlapping as they described the attack.

“They were waiting for us, sir,” one messenger said, still catching his breath. “A band of them. Looked like the same group that attacked camp… but with a mage casting some spell. We barely made it back.”

The other messenger nodded, his expression tight with fear. “You too? They blocked our path both ways, then. We tried to split and slip past, but every time we regrouped, there they were, as if… as if they could predict our movements.”

Lyt exchanged a dark look with Arch, muttering under his breath, “Just as we thought.”

Arch tightened his grip on the table’s edge. “A Soulcaster,” he said, his voice a harsh whisper.

Briken's face was tense. “We’re certain of this?”

Lyt nodded gravely. “Most probably. Heroad is a stretch of almost thirty tow oakspans, and if they can be at both end of the road almost simultaneously, the may be using space-travel magic. Only a Soulcaster can do that.”

“Then it must be the mage that escaped my outpost. I reported this to the head office, and told the explorer who passed by in my outpost a month ago…” Briken already caught up.

“Yeah, I already thought of that,” Arch said in a daze-like voice while patting his chin.

“Hmmm? What? Briken turned his head to Arch clarifying.

“I mean… Since you have reported that, Sergeant… We already have looked at it and had the same conclusion…”, Arch tried to remedy.

“Oh… All right… sire…” Briken was now sure who is this explorer.

Arch tried to steer the direction of the subject. “Then we’re facing something far worse than we thought.” He took a deep breath, his resolve hardening. “We need to rethink our defenses… fast.”

With a sharp, clear whistle, Lyt summoned his raven. The bird swooped inside the tent, landing gracefully on his outstretched arm as the room quieted, all eyes fixed on the exchange. Lyt carefully inserted a flat rectangular crystal lined with metal. About three embers in length and one and half in width, half in thickness glowing faintly, to the raven’s clutchsaddle.

Briken’s brow furrowed in curiosity as he watched. “What is that, exactly?”

Arch leaned over, “Spectralcast,” he said.

“But… isn’t it too small?” Briken asked.

Lyt chuckled under his breath, his eyes gleaming with mischief. “Explorer unit special. You’d be surprised what we can fit in a small package.”

He winked, and with a soft nudge, sent the raven soaring into the night, carrying their message to the base. Everyone watched in quiet awe, the glow of the Spectralcast disappearing as the bird melded into the darkness.

As Arch roved the defense parameters, his Mystlens gleaming faintly in the moonlight, he kept a sharp eye on the area surrounding the massive oak tree. The night air was cool, and the sound of crackling fire from the training mages filled the silence. Arch’s mind was still heavy with thoughts of Serriah and Borromeo “ Where they? Would reinforcements arrive in time?”

Suddenly, there was a flash of light, and a fireball, misfired, ricocheted off the ground. It shot in Arch’s direction before anyone could react. The fireball grazed his arm. The air around him shimmered with the heat of the blast. He staggered back, but the enchanted cloth of his garments absorbed most of the force, leaving only a singed edge on his sleeve.

Arch blinked, his heart still racing, but no burn. Just a slight sting. He stretched his arm, checking for any pain.

Before he could inspect further, the voice of mage broke through his thoughts. "I’m sorry, I didn’t mean…"

"It’s fine," Arch cut him off quickly, though his voice was strained. "Don’t worry about it."

Arch turned to the Ministry mage and asked, "Will the fireball die out on their own, or should we douse them with water?"

The mage hesitated, looking at the fireball for a moment before responding, "Usually, yes, they should just burn out…

“Huh,” Arch’s eyes narrowed as he scanned the flickering flames. There was a faint, almost imperceptible figure drawn in the tree trunk above the fireball landed.

"Cadet!", Arch called sharply. "Go find Explorer Mentor. Now!"

The soldier, seeing the urgency in his tone, sprinted off without question. Arch didn’t move, his eyes tracking the anomaly in the fire's aftermath, his instincts telling him that something new was hidden there.

“What’s your name?” Arch asked.

The mage hesitated for a moment before responding, “Fyrric, sire Fyrric Heartguard…”

“Fyrric. Your element is light?” Arch inquired, his eyes narrowing.

The mage affirmed with a nod. “Fire and light, sire.”

“Call me Hunter. Come with me… Quick.”

Fyrric looked confused, but before he could question further, Arch grabbed him by the arm and they both sprinted toward the spot where the fireball had landed, now nothing more than faint flickers in the underbrush.

Once they arrived, Arch wasted no time. “Can you cast something that will provide light?”

Fyrric hesitated, but after a moment, he nodded. “Yes, sire.” He raised his wand and cast a soft, shimmering light. “Elaris...”

The pale glow illuminated the area around them, but as Arch scanned the tree trunk, the mark he had seen earlier still wasn’t visible.

Arch frowned. “I’m sure I saw something here. He muttered to himself, “Fire, huh. Something that provides light…, and warmth…”

He turned back to Fyrric. “Do you have something like a fireball spell? Something that provides light and warmth without burning?”

Fyrric thought for a moment, then responded. “That would be Elaris Fioren…

“Good. Cast it,” Arch instructed. His hopes are getting high.

The mage nodded, stepping closer to the tree trunk and directing the spell there. As he released the magic, the spell glowed with a soft, golden warmth.

In an instant, the mark Arch had seen earlier appeared, faint but undeniable, glowing softly against the tree. Arch’s breath caught in his chest as the meaning of it sank in.

The enemy hadn’t just left physical traces behind—they had left a subtle magical mark, one that only became visible with the right spell. It was a sign, a marker that would help guide the bandits, maybe when their mage wasn’t around.

Lyt arrived at the spot where Arch and Fyrric stood, his brow furrowing as he took in the situation. “Hunter...?”

“Mentor,” Arch called, motioning for him to wear his Mystlens. Lyt did so without question.

The mark glowed softly, a faint symbol etched into the tree. Lyt’s gaze remained fixed on it, his mind turning over the implications. The bandits weren’t just leaving traces—they were using something far more subtle, a system to move through the forest.

Arch muttered to himself, “We’ve been looking for physical signs… But this… this was the real clue.”

Fyrric, now fully aware of the situation, hesitated before speaking. “Sire, what does this mean?”

Arch let out a slow breath before handing the Mystlens to the mage. “Here, take a look.”

Fyrric reluctantly accepted them, and once again, the mark was illuminated before his eyes. “Ohh…” he murmured, his voice tinged with awe.

Arch met Lyt’s gaze, the weight of the situation now fully sinking in. “The bandits are better organized than we thought. And if they have more tricks like this, we’re in for a much tougher fight.”

Lyt nodded solemnly. “Let’s go back to the camp and think through this. My raven just arrived”.

At the camp, the tension in the air was thick. Arch stood in the middle of the activity, his mind still focused on the mark they'd found.

"There's no explorer around the area. We’re spread thin. Eldrin, Gaius, and Tamsen will be coming with reinforcements. They’ve already reported to the emergency contact with the King and secured additional forces. We’ll close off Heroad until we resolve this matter."

Arch frowned at Lyt’s words. “So it’s really a Defender now, huh?”

Lyt nodded, his expression grim. “Yes.” Arch looked over at his mentor. “Then this mission is yours now. When will the reinforcements arrive?” Lyt hesitated for a moment, then spoke. “If they ride nonstop, they’ll be here tomorrow night.”

Arch’s agitation was evident in his posture. “We can’t wait that long…”L yt held his gaze, steady as always. “I know. But we don’t have a choice.” Arch clenched his jaw, reining in his impatience. “We need to do something now.”

Lyt placed a firm hand on his shoulder. “We will. Just not without reinforcement… We’re dealing with someone out of our range.”

Arch stood before Lyt, his face set with determination. "Let me go tonight. By the time others are here, we might have an idea of where their base is."

Lyt’s gaze lingered on him, the hesitation clear in his eyes. The weight of the decision pressed down on him. Serriah and Borromeo had already been missing for a night, and with each passing hour, the situation only became more complicated. They couldn’t afford to wait any longer. “All right,” Lyt finally said, his voice low and resigned. “As soon as they get here, we’ll follow immediately. If you found them, do not engage without support.”

Arch nodded firmly, his tone unwavering. "Noted." His voice carried the familiar discipline of his military background, a reminder of the world he’d left behind, but still carried within him.

With that, Arch prepared for the mission. His equipment was checked, and his heart was set on the task. He had no time for doubt—only focus. Fyrric would accompany him, offering his light magic when needed. They saddled Oaken, Arch’s Drakesteed.

Before he mounted, Lyt caught his eye, his voice quiet but filled with a knowing urgency. “Good luck, Hunter. Eyes sharp…”

Arch met his gaze, his expression solemn. “Shadows deep,” he responded.

Briken saluted, “We’ll follow soon enough, sire. I have a score to settle with that mage.

“I’ll be expecting, sergeant…” Arch entertained Briken’s salute.

With that, Arch and Fyrric spurred their mounts forward, disappearing into the darkness. The only sounds left in the camp were the rustling of leaves and the crackling of distant fires.