"Your nocturnal wanderings end here," Finlay's voice a hushed murmur that barely reaches Gabriel's ears.

Gabriel’s attention is reluctantly torn from the window as he responds, his voice equally quiet, "It's going to claim another life. It snatched a woman from her bed right in the street, and... it tore her apart as she screamed."

Finlay’s whisper comes back laced with a growing edge of annoyance, "We are no heroes."

However, Gabriel's focus shifts as he notices soldiers beginning to knock on the doors of the nearby homes, seeking witnesses. "We should at least try to help them," he suggests.

"If you can manage it unseen," Finlay concedes.

As the soldiers' knocks echo at the door below the window where the creature disappeared, Gabriel’s eyes catch the glint of broken bottle on the cobblestone. He picks up a jagged shard, checking its balance. As the door swings open, revealing a bleary-eyed man, Gabriel arcs his arm and sends the glass spinning into the open window. The sound of shattering glass within the room captures the soldiers' attention at once, their heads snapping up to the window. From within the house, a twisted screech slices through the night, the sound grotesque and unnatural. The guards instinctively reach for their weapons.

One of the guards shouts, "To me!" And within moments, five more guards converge on the scene, including one with the insignia of brass griffons gleaming on his pauldrons. "Inside, second floor," reports one guard.

The sergeant adorned with brass griffons steps forward, his demeanor commanding as he addresses the homeowner. Gabriel, from his shadowed vantage point, sees not just fear in the man's eyes, but a palpable terror directed not at the creature's screech, but at the sergeant himself. "Lead us upstairs," commands the sergeant, his voice brooking no argument.

The man falters, his retreat halted by the doorway he clings to. His lips tremble, but no words escape them. With a nudge from the sergeant, the man is ushered inside, the group of soldiers enveloping him as they pass the threshold, save for one who is instructed to keep watch, his gaze locked on the window above.

A hush descends, deep and total, as if the world itself holds its breath. Then, abruptly, the silence shatters under the weight of screeches and authoritative shouts, "Fan out!", "Target its limbs!", "Get down!" The sounds of battle emerge in the street.

And then, in a burst of chaos, a form launches from the window. The beast appears, gripping a soldier by the face. It hits the ground with a sickening crunch, the soldier's visage a splatter of blood as the creature lands.

The creature is a grotesque perversion of human form, its skin marred by countless cysts bulging beneath its pallid surface. The left side of its jaw is monstrously enlarged, creating a lopsided, nightmarish visage. Its hands, ending in crooked, claw-like fingers tipped with blackened nails, drip with fresh blood.

In the street, the lone soldier left on guard confronts the monstrosity. He lunges towards it, sword aimed at its gnarled arm, but the creature reacts with terrifying swiftness. It seizes the soldier by his breastplate, its movements a grotesque twitch of malice. In an instant, the soldier is on the ground, pinned beneath the creature's loathsome weight. Its claws dig mercilessly into his chest, tearing through armor and flesh alike. His helmet skids away, revealing a face contorted in horror as the creature's gaping maw inches closer.

Gabriel, sword in hand, feels the urgency to act. But Finlay's grip on him is unyielding, a silent command to stay back. In a swift motion, Gabriel twists. With a grunt, he hurls the blade at the creature. It spins through the air, a deadly whirlwind of steel, whistling in the night. The sword finds its mark in the creature's neck, burying itself deep, the spinning motion causing it to jerk violently upon impact.

It collapses, its weight bearing down on the soldier beneath. The man's eyes, wide with shock and pain, seek out Gabriel and Finlay, who should be shrouded by the alley’s darkness.

Finlay's voice, a whisper of urgency, breaks the tension. "We're leaving." He tugs at Gabriel, guiding him away from the scene of carnage. As they retreat, Gabriel catches a glimpse of the sergeant appearing from the house, barking orders. One of the soldiers moves to apprehend the homeowner who stares at the creature in shock.

Finlay steers them both through the alleys, away from the scene. The shadows swallow them as they navigate an intricate network of narrow desert passages.

As they emerge the grange comes into view. Finlay lets go of Gabriel, his pace slowing marginally. "Every single time you let impulse guide you, regardless of your noble intentions, you're not just gambling with your own life," he says, his tone edged with severity. "You're also placing your sister, myself, and many others at risk."

Finlay halts, exhaling a regret-laden sigh. "Bringing you into this... I knew it was a mistake, even if it meant losing the support of Uther's forces," he admits, the words heavy. "But I'm not the one making the decisions, and now, you're already here."

"You would have just left that man to be torn apart—"

"Yes, I would have!" Finlay interjects sharply, his whisper fierce with suppressed anger. "He's a soldier under Barnes' command, a man you'd have butchered on any battlefield."

The argument lingers between them. Gabriel, feeling the string of Finlay's rebuke, remains silent. "Let's get back inside," Finlay finally says, his voice quieter now. They slip back into the grange, the door leading to the tavern closing with a soft click. Inside, Astrid sleeps on, undisturbed by their absence. Finlay and Gabriel find their makeshift beds, the straw rustling as they settle in.

Sleep is slow to come for Gabriel, his mind replaying the night's events in a relentless loop. But eventually, exhaustion claims him, dragging him down into slumber.

Gabriel's sleep is disrupted by a rustling activity around him. His eyes flutter open, settling on Finlay, who has already abandoned the comfort of his makeshift bed. The man stands by the gate, listening intently, his features etched with concern as each sound from outside seems to amplify his tension.

The innkeeper enters the grange. He carries cups that emit trails of smoke, the aroma of brewed leaves, fresh grass, and a whisper of fruitiness wafting through the air. "The guards have sealed off the city," he informs them, distributing the cups with a steady hand that belies the rasp of his voice.

Finlay, taking his cup, narrows his gaze on the bearer of bad news. "Any idea why?" he inquires, a note of concern threading through his words.

The innkeeper nods, his expression grim. "House searches in the northern part of the city. And it seems Godric's church is somehow involved," he divulges.

"Thanks," Finlay acknowledges, his mind clearly racing ahead to the implications of this development.

Gabriel and Astrid accept their cups with dubious looks, the steam curling upwards as they stare at the liquid. The innkeeper reassures them, "It's just tea. But if you're wanting food, best come inside. Looks like no one's going anywhere for a while."

Finlay exhales a deep sigh. "Grab some breakfast. I need to figure out how we can get out of the city. Stay inside, don't venture out," he instructs them with a stern tone, before escorting them to the tavern and promptly exiting through the main door.

Gabriel takes a seat at the bar, the background filled with the innkeeper's culinary symphony, the sizzle of eggs, the popping of sausages, the inviting scent of toasting bread. The ambient frustration of the patrons forms a low backdrop, a chorus of grievances and muttered swears directed at the guards.

Astrid joins him, concern furrowing her brow as she observes him. "You look ill," she remarks quietly. Her attention diverts as the innkeeper sets down two hearty plates. "Thanks. What's your name?" Astrid inquires, offering a grateful smile.

"People just call me Harshwin," he responds, each syllable straining through his rough vocal cords. His gaze lingers on her a moment longer before he adds, "You're holding up alright?"

Astrid hesitates, her confusion fleeting before she replies, alluding to more than just the present situation. "She's been ill for a long time. Barely conscious, mostly in pain when she was... I thought I'd be alone afterward but I'm glad he came get me." Her voice trails off, a mixture of grief and relief in her eyes.

"Finlay’s a good man to those in his care. He'll make a fine father," he says with a note of conviction, his voice a gravelly comfort before he's pulled away by another patron's call.

Their meal unfolds quietly, the only sounds being the clink of cutlery and the distant murmur of conversations from other tables. Gabriel and Astrid savor their food, the rich flavors of the meats intermingling with the robust seasoning. Gabriel occasionally pauses, his attention drifting to the ebb and flow of the tavern's patrons.

He watches a trio at a nearby table, settling their account. They had feasted on the same fare as Gabriel, plus one pint of ale. The coins they leave behind, six silver and five copper, catch his eye. Such a sum would fetch a far lesser meal in the northern part of the Isles.

As Astrid finishes her meal, she rises, excusing herself with a soft, "I'll be back in a moment," before disappearing further into the tavern's depths.

Gabriel's gaze sweeps the room, seeking the innkeeper. He's considering a second helping when a man slips into the seat beside him, despite the abundance of empty spots. The man's attire is unremarkable, but Gabriel recognizes him as the soldier he saved last night.

Gabriel holds his composure, feigning puzzlement. Yet, the soldier leans in, his voice a hushed whisper. "A man reported his sword stolen at this inn today. The same sword that saved me last night, hurled from an alley by someone resembling you."

Gabriel maintains his facade of ignorance, but the soldier subtly slides a ring off his finger, his eyes transforming from a human blue to a reptilian red. "You are a chimera," Gabriel breathes out in a whisper, tension coiling within him as the soldier slips the ring back on, the guise of normalcy returning.

The soldier's whisper carries a note of gratitude. "I came to thank you. My superiors ignore that I could have seen you." He signals to Harshwin, and as he slides five copper coins across the counter, he inquires, "Do you have a cake I could take with me?"

Harshwin accepts the coins with a nod and disappears into the kitchen. The soldier's voice drops lower. "Did you notice anyone else near that house last night? Someone with dark green eyes, brown swept back hair, standing about one seventy tall?"

Gabriel's curiosity piques. "Why do you ask?"

"The owner of the house was arrested. He confessed that his son's 'friend' visited last evening. They exchanged words and a stash of parchments. His son had been meddling with magic, and it seems he invoked the spell contained within those pages. And as usual, it went awry, and he became the beast we met," the soldier explains.

"As usual?" Gabriel probes. "As in, does magic typically result in catastrophe, or has something like this happened before?"

The soldier exhales a breath heavy with regret, realizing his slip. "This was the third case in two weeks. The first victim boiled from within, the second turned into a disfigured mass. Each time, it's that young man teaching a kid magic before giving him a fatal spell."

"I'm sorry, but I haven't seen anyone else," Gabriel answers.

Returning with a bundle of brown bread adorned with confit fruits, Harshwin hands it to the soldier. "Not a word of this to anyone," the soldier implores softly before taking his leave.

Turning to Harshwin, Gabriel ventures, "May I have another serving?" The innkeeper nods, obliging, and soon another plate is set before him.

Gabriel takes his time with the end of his meal, savoring each bite. Astrid rejoins him, settling back onto her seat. The room is filled with transient individuals and parties, mercenaries, and adventurers whose weapons are propped against the walls. People who drift through the city, stopping only to find their next escort or bounty.

As the morning wears on, Gabriel, perched on his stool, recounts the eerie tale of the previous night's events to an attentive Astrid.

Eventually, the steady cadence of the morning is interrupted by Finlay's return. He slides into a seat beside them, his arrival punctuated by Harshwin's mechanical act of sliding a pint of ale before him. Leaning in, Finlay's voice is low and urgent, "We have a couple of options. We could stay put, but you'll miss the guard selection, setting us back three months. Or, we make our exit tonight along the city walls. I'd leave my cargo, but that's something I could arrange later. It also means we could have to fight a few guards."

Gabriel, absorbed in thought, adds to the conversation, "We might also consider looking for the one the city's after. Dark green eyes, mid-brown hair pushed back, standing around one seventy. Apparently, he's the one who gave that spell to the creature last night, a spell that cursed him into becoming that beast."

Finlay's eyes narrow, a hint of suspicion lurking within their depths. "How did you come by this information without leaving this place?" he inquires, his tone sharp.

"The soldier I saved last night thanked me, and usefully for us, he talks too much. His superiors don't know we were here because he's hiding from them that he's a chimera that can see in the dark."

Finlay exhales a heavy breath, a mix of relief and frustration. "You were lucky. Next time, you might get yourself interrogated," he cautions. "I caught a glimpse of that man fleeing the scene when you ran toward the screams. I’d recognize him if we crossed paths again."

With a final swig of his ale, Finlay gestures for them to follow. They slide off their stools, the wooden legs scraping against the floor in a chorus of movement.

"Where are we going?" Astrid asks with curiosity.

"We're going back to the house," Finlay states with a firm resolve. "There might be something the guards overlooked."

Finlay leads them through the winding streets, coming to a halt at a corner of an alley that affords them a discreet view of the house. It stands quiet and apparently unattended, with a single large sheet of paper affixed to the door.

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“Wait here a moment,” he instructs them, his voice low and steady. “I need to check if there are any hidden sentinels on watch.” With that, he blends into the shadow of another alley, his form quickly disappearing.

Gabriel and Astrid keep their gazes brief and cautious, ensuring they don't draw attention to themselves by looking too intently at the house. As they stand watch, a young girl with flowing brown hair brushes past Gabriel. A sudden, subtle vibration from his ring causes an involuntary twitch in his hand, pulling away his finger from her proximity. She moves past them, only to come to an abrupt halt a few paces beyond, her body rigid as if the sight of the notice.

Gabriel gives Astrid a subtle tilt of his head, gesturing towards the girl who has stopped in her tracks. In a quiet voice meant only for Astrid, he speculates, "She might know the one who turned last night, she has a lot of magic."

Astrid gives Gabriel a puzzled look at the end of his sentence. Her expression softens as she takes a step toward the girl, ensuring her demeanor is as non-threatening as possible. "Hi, I'm new around here, and I haven't made many friends yet. Do you live nearby?" she inquires with a smile, her voice carrying a warm inflection.

The girl, momentarily startled by Astrid's sudden approach, recovers, though her eyes still hold a touch of wariness. "Yeah, I'm just from down that way," she responds, nodding toward a quaint house nestled behind a well-kept hedge.

"Oh, lovely," Astrid replies, injecting a note of cheer into her tone. Her gaze, seemingly casual, drifts to the notice on the door, feigning ignorance. "What's that on the door there?" she asks with curiosity.

The girl hesitates, her eyes darting to the notice then back to Astrid. "I... I don’t know," she stammers, her voice rising in pitch, betraying her.

Astrid gently prods, "You seemed quite interested in it a moment ago."

The girl casts another glance at the door, biting her lip in hesitation. As Astrid subtly signals Gabriel, the girl makes a move to leave, her discomfort growing. "I really should be going," she insists.

Astrid steps closer, intentionally herding the girl towards a nearby alley. She quickly scans their surroundings for onlookers and, seizing the moment, nudges the girl gently but firmly into the secluded space. Gabriel, in a coordinated maneuver, catches the girl's arm and softly tosses her deeper into the alley.

The girl's panic is palpable as she raises her hands defensively. Astrid's voice turns icy, "Don't even think about weaving your hands, or I'll take them."

Gabriel positions himself behind the girl, effectively cutting off her potential routes of escape. Astrid leans in, her voice steady but insistent. "Do you know the mage from that house?" she inquires.

The girl, seeking any respite from Astrid's penetrating gaze, turns towards Gabriel, only to be met with an equally impassive stare. She falters, her voice trembling as she confesses, "He... he's a friend of mine."

"And the one who taught him magic?" Astrid presses, her tone unyielding.

At this, the girl's eyes dart between them, her resolve wavering. She takes a step back, but Gabriel gently nudges her forward. Astrid's revelation is direct, "The last spell he was taught turned him into a beast that's no longer living. We need to find his teacher before there's another tragedy."

Overcome with emotion, the girl's composure breaks, and she succumbs to heavy sobs. Gabriel and Astrid exchange a quick glance, both aware of the risk her cries pose in drawing unwanted attention. They wait, a tense vigil, as her sobs slowly subside.

When she's regained a measure of control, she offers them a shaky piece of truth. "We... we have lessons at night, beneath the Ebonwood School," she divulges, her voice fractured by her tears. "There's a class this evening."

She swallows hard, a fresh wave of sorrow cresting as she continues, "I sensed something was amiss. Some of our group vanished, and he... he just didn't seem to care at all." Her admission hangs heavy in the air.

Gabriel's attention diverts to Finlay, who stands sentinel-like at the corner from which they had disappeared. With a curt nod, he signals to the girl, his voice firm, "Go home now." Brushing away the remnants of her tears, the girl rises to her feet and shuffles towards the house she had earlier indicated, oblivious to Finlay's presence.

Once she's gone, Finlay steps forward. "Next time, conceal your faces. We need to protect your identities for the long haul," he critics. He gestures for them to follow him deeper into the alley's concealment.

"The house is under the watch of at least three sentinels," Finlay reports in a low tone. "But given what you've just uncovered, we'll take a walk past that school instead."

Finlay leads them through the winding alleyways until they emerge onto a desolate street. Along that street, near the city walls, stands a dilapidated building. At the entrance, a weathered stone plaque bears the inscription 'Ebonwood School'.

Finlay strides past the school, his gaze casually sweeping over the surrounding buildings and the mouths of alleys. Gabriel and Astrid follow his lead, mimicking his nonchalant survey of the area.

Once they have put some distance between themselves and the school, Finlay speaks in a hushed tone, "Noticed anything unusual?"

"No," they both respond in unison.

"There's a bird perched atop the school. It looked strangely still," Finlay says, leading them to the seclusion behind a nearby house, out of direct sight from the school. He bends down, plucks a small pebble from the ground, and with a flick of his wrist, sends it sailing in a broad arc toward the school bell. They retreat into hiding, the pebble's impact with the bell sending a clear, resonant chime through the street. Yet, when they chance a cautious glance, the bird stays stoically in place, indifferent to the bell's reverberation.

"Most summons can't hear," Gabriel recalls.

"Yes," Finlay agrees, nodding. "If we alert the guards, that bird, will see them coming. And it's likely not the only one."

He contemplates their next move, weighing the risks. "If we want it handled tonight, we'll need to deal with it ourselves."

Gabriel can't help but let a note of sarcasm seep into his voice, "After all your talk about staying out of sight and not playing the hero?"

Finlay resumes walking, his steps purposeful as they rejoin the main street. Over his shoulder, he responds, "Potentially killing guards would draw far too much attention. And a botched escape could jeopardize everything. Taking him down ourselves is the least risky move we have."

Astrid chimes in with a practical edge, "Then we'll need those masks you mentioned."

Finlay nods, acknowledging her point. "That's on the agenda. Head back to the inn and stay in the grange. I've got some preparations to make," he instructs, handing them a pair of rigid papers. "These declare you as Vale citizens under your aliases. Keep them with you unless you do something … criminal."

With that, their paths split, Gabriel and Astrid returning to the grange.

Under the cloak of night, with the sky veiled in thick clouds, only a faint glimmer of light filters through the darkness. Gabriel and Astrid, drop their regular attire and belongings in the grange, donning themselves in black garments provided by Finlay.

Finlay briefs them in hushed tones, a sense of urgency underpinning his words. "Our target will be with his apprentices, some of whom might resist. Here's a potent sedative," he says, handing them each a small vial. "It's strong enough to incapacitate an adult with a few cuts. Coat your blades with it before we go in."

He pauses, ensuring they understand. "I'll handle the mage myself. While I'm engaged, your job is to get the students out safely. They shouldn't be involved in this, nor should they be caught by the guards or worse."

Finlay spreads out a detailed sketch on a flat surface, his finger tracing the lines and contours of the school's architecture. "This is the layout of the building. The cellar can only be reached by one staircase, right in the heart of the structure. It's likely he'll have other lookouts along the most direct route there," he explains, his index finger pausing at a marked window. "We'll slip in here and navigate through these adjoining rooms, circling around to approach the staircase from an unexpected angle. He may sense us there, but by then we'll be upon him."

He then reveals another paper, this one showing the interior of the cellar. "The cellar is divided into several small storage rooms, all leading to a large central room, which we'll appear in." He pauses, allowing them to absorb the layout before folding the papers and tucking them away securely.

"Depending on what kind of magic he wields, we might have to make a quick escape," he cautions them, his expression grim. "If I say run, you don't hesitate, you don't look back. Just run. Understood?" His gaze meets theirs, ensuring their comprehension.

Gabriel and Astrid nod solemnly, the weight of the task ahead clear in their eyes. They sheathe their weapons, ensuring their equipment are tightly set up.

They exit the grange, each armed with a short sword and daggers. They navigate through the streets towards the school, their movements cautious, avoiding any unnecessary encounters. The night envelops them, making them barely more than moving shadows.

They approach the shadowed outline of the building. The same avian sentinel Finlay had noticed earlier perches unmoving.

Finlay approaches the window with stealth, his blade slipping between the frame and the latch with the slightest of sounds. The window gives way, and they slip into the room, one by one.

They navigate the building with caution. Every doorway they pass, they scrutinize for the gleam of watchful eyes, but the building is as still as the grave.

As they draw one doorway short of the staircase, a voice drifts up to them, a steady monologue punctuated by the cadence of teaching. They pause, and in unison, they dip their blades into the vials of sedative, the liquid gleaming momentarily before they wipe it down the length of the metal.

They edge closer, each muscle tensed for swift action should they be discovered. The voice continues unabated, lecturing on the intricacies of the ether and its pathways through the body.

Upon reaching the foot of the staircase, they're greeted by the sight of five young students seated in a circle around a figure. The man's description aligning perfectly with what they had been told.

Finlay springs into action, his arm whipping forward as he flings a flurry of daggers at the man. With swift strides, he closes the distance, drawing his short sword for a finishing blow. But the need for it evaporates as his target, impaled by the thrown blades, collapses to the ground.

A student, caught in a surge of panic, begins to conjure an ice projectile, but Astrid is quicker. She tackles him to the ground, neutralizing the threat. The other students, shocked and fearful, stumble backward until they see Gabriel. He points sternly towards the stairs and commands, "Go home, now!" Without further protest, they scramble away including the one Astrid releases, heeding his directive.

Gabriel and Astrid converge on Finlay, who is standing over the fallen mage, a look of wary contemplation on his face. "Every mage I ever faced had defenses, spells that react to aggression. My daggers were meant to trigger and exhaust some of them," Finlay explains, his voice low but clear in the dimly lit cellar.

Astrid rummages through the satchel fastened to the mage's belt. She finds two tomes nestled within, a compendium of complex glyphs and incantations, and a personal journal, its pages chronicling a list of pupils and their teaching.

She flips through the journal with a careful eye, and a particular entry catches her attention, a detailed account of the mage's pursuit of a new spell, one designed to significantly enhance the physical prowess of its caster. He expressed his uncertainty about the spell, documenting sickening trials as he describes the consequences of the spell's iteration when casted by others.

Astrid swiftly tears out the pages holding the students' information. She then replaces the books, ensuring they stay with their owner, the pages bearing the names now secured in her possession.

"I'll alert the guards to his presence," Finlay says with a decisive tone. "Get back to the grange, change out of these clothes, and wait for me. I'll dispose of these outfits on my way back," he orders as they move back to exit the building.

As they turn to ascend the stairs, a palpable shift in the atmosphere halts them. A thick, choking presence floods the cellar, emanating from the body of the mage they presumed dead. Ether weaves around him, extracting the daggers and sealing his wounds. The man's body begins to convulse and reform as he stands, encasing himself in a protective sphere just in time to deflect another of Finlay's daggers aimed at his throat.

The mage's eyes lock onto the trio, and he starts an incantation, his voice rising above the silence of the cellar. Finlay is a blur of motion, closing the distance in an instant, his sword meeting the mage's barrier with a shower of sparks. Gabriel joins the fray, their combined efforts a relentless storm against the magical shield.

With a resounding crack, the sphere shatters, the backlash sending both Finlay and Gabriel staggering backward. Unfazed, the mage completes his spell, his body undergoing a grotesque transformation. He grows, his frame becoming a towering mass of muscle, his skin stretched taut with burgeoning veins and fresh stretch marks.

Regaining their composure from the explosive force of the mage's defense, Finlay and Gabriel quickly reassess the situation. Finlay feints, drawing the mage's attention with a swift movement. He narrowly dodges a retaliatory blow, the mage's fist cutting through the air where he stood.

Gabriel takes advantage of the distraction, lunging to the side with a thrust aimed at the mage's torso. The mage's flesh proves unnaturally tough, the blade penetrating only slightly before it's halted by the dense muscle beneath.

Meanwhile, Astrid capitalizes on the chaos, darting behind the towering figure. Her blade flashes, delivering a series of swift, precise cuts across the mage's back. They're shallow, unable to truly damage him.

Finlay sees his opening and surges forward, sword poised for a lethal strike. But the mage is quick to react, his right hand ignites with a fierce conflagration, unleashing a torrent of flame in Finlay's direction. With a deft roll, Finlay evades, shedding his coat as it catches ablaze and casts it aside, his face still concealed by a mask.

Astrid and Gabriel back away, momentarily put on the defensive as they await the mage's next maneuver.

Breaking the silence, the mage boasts, his voice laced with arrogance and a hint of surprise, "You are fast. I would have thought you'd be reduced to ashes by now."

Gabriel, circling the mage warily, responds with a taunt. "So, you can still talk? I was under the impression that your spell would render you a mindless brute, much like what happened to your student."

The mage sneers, "My error was in seeking permanence. I've found that by limiting the spell's duration to mere hours, I can control it. Given time, I will extend its efficacy to days, then months, and eventually, years."

Astrid's voice rises in anger, cutting through the tension. "Why experiment on those kids? Couldn't you have discovered that on your own?" she demands.

The mage's posture shifts, a grotesque mockery of human shrug as he replies, his voice slurred and distorted as if his form could barely hold the human speech. "I'm under time constraints. Every day, that accursed church gets closer to uncovering me. I cannot afford the luxury of years, or even months, to refine my spells to perfection!" he yells.

Gabriel's expression contorts with revulsion, his stomach churning at the thought of the mage's actions. The words spill out, filled with disgust, "You're sick! A madman that must be put down!"

Finlay hurls three daggers at the mage. Reacting with instinctive defense he catches two in his forearm, using it as a shield to protect his face. Gabriel seizes the momentary distraction, driving his blade into the mage's thigh. As the metal sticks into the flesh, he releases his grip on the hilt to dodge a furious barrage from the mage.

The mage's right hand ignites once again, but Gabriel's reflexes are quicker. He delivers a forceful kick to the pommel of the sword still lodged in the mage's leg, driving the blade even deeper. The mage sweeps his fiery hand toward Gabriel, but Finlay intercepts, seizing his wrist and redirecting the inferno harmlessly into the earth. Under the relentless pressure, the mage's knee buckles, the embedded sword slicing further with each movement.

Finlay presses the attack, his sword singing as it carves wounds across the mage's arm, torso, and leg. But the mage chants quickly, his flesh knitting back together, sealing the cuts as he wrenches the blade from his leg. He sneers triumphantly, "You just can't kill me, so why even—"

His taunt is cut short as his body lurches forward, the confidence draining from his face. Finlay smirks, "I've never heard of a spell that could cure poisons. Got any potions for that?"

The mage stumbles, his hand thrusting to the ground in a vain effort to keep his balance. Astrid strikes, her blade slashing across the backs of his knees and ankles, crippling him. Gabriel reclaims his sword from the ground.

The distinct clatter of boots on stone alerts them to the guards' approach. Without a second thought, the trio makes a break for it, racing up the staircase, weaving through the rooms they initially entered from.

The night envelops them once again as they dash from the building, the sound of the guards' approach echoing behind them. Outside, the cool air of the evening is a sharp contrast to the heat of battle. They stick to the shadows, blending into the darkness as they make their way back towards the grange.

Finally, the familiar sight of the grange comes into view. They slip inside, their entry as silent as a whisper, closing the gate with care behind them.

Finlay's eyes meet theirs, a hint of respect in them. "Well done," he whispers. "We'll lay low until we get news of the city's lockdown."

In the dim light of the grange, they shed their dark attire. As they settle into their makeshift quarters, the adrenaline still pounding in Gabriel's body quickly gives way to fatigue.

As Finlay bundles their dark attires and weapons before disappearing by the gate Gabriel mind clouds rapidly, dragging him into deep slumber.

The first light of dawn gently nudges them from their slumber as the familiar rasp of Harshwin's voice accompanies the clink of ceramic. He enters with a tray bearing steaming cups of tea, the aroma a comforting herald to the new day. "Good news," he announces with a hint of cheer in his rough tone as he hands out the cups. "They've apprehended their man, and the city's lockdown is lifted."

Finlay accepts his cup with a nod of gratitude, his sight turning to the cart. "Then we are leaving immediately," he says, setting is fast emptied tea aside. He attends to the horses with an expert eye, checking their hooves and ensuring they're fit for travel.

Gabriel and Astrid take to the task of opening the gates, the heavy wood groaning as they push, allowing Finlay to guide the cart out of the grange. They hop onto the back of the cart, settling into their spots for the journey ahead.

As they prepare to leave, Harshwin approaches once more, this time offering slices of the same dense, sweet cake he'd sold to the soldier days before. "Have a safe journey, kids," he says with a genuine warmth that softens his otherwise gruff exterior.

With a final wave, they leave the grange behind, the cart's wheels rumbling over the cobblestones as they make their way through the awakening city. The gates loom ahead, now open and unguarded.

Glancing over his shoulder Finlay says, "We'll make a brief stop tonight, just long enough to rest the horses," he declares. "After that, one of you will need to take over the reins and drive through the night. We need to make up for lost time."

As they pass the gates, they finally resume their journey towards Stormwatch.