To Callum Santus, the end of the known world was an opportunity of the most serendipitous variety. It was, he believed, an olive branch extended by the one and only holy spirit of God to the common peoples of the Centrum. Callum had lived his life as a citizen of Goldcrest. He understood the depth of the corruption that plagued what was supposed to be the greatest city to ever be. The heroic founders of Goldcrest Metropolis had intended it to be a monument to human glory, but it had become something very different. In Callum’s eyes, Goldcrest was a monument to human failings. It was a state of secrets and lies in which no man’s gold was ever safe. It was a place where the carrot of financial ascendancy was dangled before every nose, forever out of reach. In the wake of the continental disaster, Callum had taken it upon himself to oversee the rebuilding of a better Goldcrest. Tonight, he would take the first steps forward on his holy mission. First, he would visit his mother.

The Praetorian Winehouse had loomed over Market Street for six hundred and seventy years. It had been contracted and erected by the legendary journalist Carney Willingam himself, immediately after his Manifest of Unity had brought the War of Silence to an end. After Carney’s death, it was sold to Beatrice Arkham. Even disowned and dishonored, Beatrice hated Carney for the ruin he had brought on her family’s empire, and Praetorian’s windows remained dark during her lifetime. Beatrice’s life was short, and on the day of her public execution, The Praetorian was seized by Cora Bella of the Mages’ Guild. Under the oversight of the Bella dynasty, The Praetorian became neutral meeting place for powerful politicians. Long after the name of the last Bella sorceress was scrubbed from the history books on cause of high treason, The Praetorian remained a mainstay of guild politics. Only sixty years ago, Callum’s grandfather Carleton Santus had purchased The Praetorian on behalf of his organization - ‘The Friends of Friends’. Its enchanted barrooms and secluded cellars had since become a breeding ground for workers’ unions and revolutionary ideals. Callum’s father Marcel Santus had passed away only yesterday, and for the last twenty hours, Callum had been the sole proprietor of this historical monument. He now spoke for his grandfather’s extra-legal ‘Friends of Friends’, and the responsibility of popular justice weighed heavy on his shoulders.

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Callum strode through The Praetorian’s open double doors with the authority of a prince who knew everything there was to know about his kingdom. The Praetorian’s doors were always open, as a matter of pride, but anyone who knew anything of Goldcrest’s culture knew it was a great statement of pride to walk through those doors. No bouncer ever guarded the building’s single entrance, but the reputation of the Friends of Friends was powerful enough to keep all but the most important people out. Callum jogged through rows of perfectly set tables and carefully stacked chairs. He called his friendly salutations to the three old-timers helping themselves to drinks at one of the establishment’s three bars. He bumped fists with little Benjamin Truco, the cleaning boy, and blew a kiss to his favorite hostess Maeve Atina. He descended three stories then to the Arcane Cellar, which he unlocked using his father’s favorite adage. From the Arcane Cellar he extracted two vials of cran-apple elixir, enchanted by the one and only ArchWarden Anastasia. The vials were for Callum’s mother, Sylvia Marie-Santus, who had been bedridden for weeks. She had been poisoned, and Callum had just learned the name of the woman responsible.