I walk for a bit, sometimes veering of in to the wrong direction till somebody shows me the way again, but eventually I reach the building. It's a large and imposing structure, made from sturdy wood and concrete slightly embedded in the mud. It seems like it could withstand any attack; its sides are riddled with defensive positions, and every trench seems to lead to that exact building. As I approach the entrance, I see an older man in his 40s, perhaps leaning against the wall, his salt and pepper hair slightly blowing in the wind, smoking a cigarette he is holding in his black gloved hand.

He looks up as I approach, and recognition flashes in his eyes. "You're the new recruit, aren't you?" he asks with a hint of suspicion, blowing a plume of smoke out of his mouth.

I nod. "That's me," I reply, unsure of what to say next.

He looks at me for a few moments before sighing and stubbing out his cigarette. Rodrick," he says, offering me his hand. Millian, I answer, taking his offered hand and shaking it. "Come with me," he says, and without waiting for an answer, he starts walking inside.

I hesitate for a moment before following him, not sure why he wants me to come with him.

Every area inside is well lit, leaving no space in the shadows. There are a few tables scattered about, and occasionally there are people seated around them. A blonde headed woman catches my eye as she seems to wave at us. All of them are disregarded as the man moves toward a door in the back, only shortly raising his gloved hand to acknowledge the woman in uniform.

The floorboards groan in protest as we walk, and I hasten my pace to keep up with him, quickening my stride until I am walking beside him.

"How did you know I was new here?"

I ask, trying to sound casual.

He turns to me. "the way you walk."

Irritated, I look down, trying to see what he means. But no matter how hard I look, nothing seems off about the way I walk.

"I don't know what you're talking about," I reply finally, my voice slightly defensive.

He turns the doorknob and motions for me to go inside.

“Just kidding, it’s your grimoire; there's nothing wrong with the way you walk,” he says with a laugh.

He nods at my grimoire. “Keep that shit hidden,” his voice turning serious "You're walking around with a death wish on your hip."

He opens up his coat, revealing a grimoire on his hip next to a gold engrained flatman. The leather cover being brown, with its pages bound in red. "I'm not the only mage in here," he says, motioning to the others in the room. "All of them are; nobody is showing it openly for a good reason. Enemies don't particularly like opposing mages, so don't advertise yourself like a peacock." Perplexed, I look at him and back at my own book, which lies painfully obvious in the open.

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

Quickly, I fumble around my holster, trying to unbuckle it.

Rodrick doesn't seem to wait for me, because the next time I look up, he is already a few steps ahead of me.

Not wanting to be left behind, I stumble after him.

We walk in silence for a few more seconds until we come to a stop at a pair of stairs. He turns around and looks at me. "Are you finished?” he asks, raising his eybrows questioningly his eyes looking at me, trying to reattach my holster.

as the buckle finally closes. I look up at him, silently nodding.

He nods approvingly before motioning for me to follow him. We start to climb down the stairs, the sound of our boots echoing through the building. At the bottom of the stairs, Rodrick opens a door, motioning me once again inside.

The room we enter is circular; a big red angry line on the ground divides the room into two parts. One side is ruled by modern weapons: heavy water cooled machine guns next to bolt action rifles. The other side can be considered the opposite. Polearms reminiscent of the medieval era, next to bows and crossbows.

"The armory!" Rodrick says, dismissingly waving his hand.

"I was told you weren't given a weapon; we have to rectify that," he says, stepping forward while scanning the room. "Anything that tickles your fancy?" he adds. Completely ignoring the medieval section, I naturally walk towards the guns.

As I step across the red line, I feel my head snap back as a hand tightens around the end of my collar and pulls. I’m dragged back across the painted line and find myself looking at Rodrick's creased eyebrows.

"Boy, if you want to kill yourself, how about doing it in a way that doesn't kill me too?" He angrily gruffs me out while gripping my coat tighter. "Didn't they teach you anything?" he now almost screams. Quickly, I shake my head, at least as much as physically possible, with his hand almost suffocating me, head movement doesn't come as naturally.

As abruptly as his hand took hold of my coat, he now released it. I rub the area that hurts, hoping to ease the pain. His expression shifts from disbelief to fury in a heartbeat. But this time, his anger is not directed at me.

With a mighty kick, he sends one of the weapon filled shelves crashing down to the floor. I hear a snap on impact.

With a sigh, he turns to me. "If somebody asks, it was already broken before we got here." He lifts his gloved hand, pointing at the red line. "Mages and gunpowder don't go well; they tend to end in explosions, so don't go near modern weapons." His voice is still tense. "I assume, since they forgot to tell you that important bit before coming here, they didn't teach you how to use these either," he says now, pointing at the medieval weapons. Hesitantly, I shake my head. Wrong answer, I guess. As I can see his nose flare up, his hands balling up to a fist, and his gloves crunching under the pressure, his rage is again poorly hidden. He quickly scans the room, walks towards a shelf, picks up two items, and pushes them into my arms, "I quickly have to talk to someone" he murmurs. Without acknowledging me any further, he storms out of the room.

Juggling with the two new items in my arms and a bit confused, I stumble after him.

Bashing through every door we previously came through. We finally march through the entrance area. The blonde woman is still sitting next to the table where I last saw her. Her face and all of the others are turned towards us, which is not surprising since our entrance cannot be considered silent.

A passerby quickly dodges Rodrick, possibly feeling the anger emanating from him. The blonde woman's formerly friendly face shifts to worry as she sees him marching through. Quickly, she pushes herself out of the chair, intending to follow us.

My attention shifts as my nose catches the faint smell of burning tobacco.

Following it, I see a trail of smoke tumbling through the air, originating from Rodrick. I must have missed him shoving a cigarette into his mouth.

As we step out into the sun. A worried, high pitched voice yells from inside at us to wait.

But Rodrick doesn't even slow down.