“Ciro!” I shouted.

But it was too late.

The crowd swarmed, pushing me back and forth, shoving me left and right in the already narrow alley. The voices grew louder and louder still - not shouting in anger, no, but a rising cheer. The once shocked and still expressions of the street turned to that of joy, for here he was, a hero of lore finally returned.

I tried shouting for him once more, but even my loudest scream would have trouble finding him. I caught his eyes just once as he was pulled away, pushed and pulled to the middle of the street, and saw an unfamiliar slack-jawed expression of sudden shock.

“He’s back!”

“I knew he would finally return!”

“Is it really him?”

“Ciro! Ciro!”

I tried my best to squeeze forward, but the gathering, shouting crowd was far too thick to pass. He was gone.

I scanned around me, trying best not to panic, looking for any empty space to gather myself. It was then, searching left and right, that I saw these villagers up close for the first time. Each pair of eyes that met my own seemed to have the same misty white glare, and familiar necklace hanging loose around their necks.

Blood Mages.

There had to be dozens of them, all packed into this tiny alley, all trying to get to the now long-lost Ciro. Young, old, and seemingly from all across the entire realm of Lucerna. Here they were, packed around me. A situation in which, only weeks ago, would terrify me.

As my back hit the corner of one of the many small shop stands, I was hit by an uncomfortable heat. Upon impact, a scattering of willow-weaved wards fell to the ground, and I hurriedly picked them up. Away from the cool of the small underground passageway, I was assaulted by a sudden unbearable warmth. Yet these villagers wore heavy cloaks, fur-lined tunics, and hats, seemingly unfazed.

I was reminded of when I first met Ciro, back when he was still in his tiny hermit shack on the side of the mountain. He too wore heavy clothes, burdened by his lack of magic.

“CIRO,” suddenly bellowed a voice down the alleyway.

It was then that the crowd’s excited yells suddenly turned to hushed murmurs.

I stood on the tips of my toes, trying my best to see the source of such a dramatic reaction. I then stepped forward, weaving until I suddenly hit an opening in the crowd. There Ciro stood, with the gathering slowly parting, leaving him alone in the middle of the broken cobbled alley. In front of him stood a tall woman, hair in thick braids, and heavy leather gloves in fists at her side. Even from this distance, I could read a fury behind her mist-colored eyes, stark against her dark skin.

“Milea,” spoke Ciro, almost in a whisper.

It was then that the woman suddenly turned away, back to him and the crowd alike, and walked away into the dark of the alley. Ciro took a hurried step towards her before quickly turning around and locking eyes with me. I stood, frozen in the sudden lax of commotion, and still holding a small rune in my one good hand.

“You, quickly. Let’s go,” he called, beckoning me forward.

We walked quickly, finally catching up to the tall woman, who did not slow her pace. Every person we passed seemed to lock eyes with Ciro, and we were met with either cries of joy or confused whispers. The tunnel winded left and right, walls packed tight with wards and oddities alike, and I found myself in an uncomfortable layer of sweat.

“Ciro,” I said, struggling to keep up, “Do they not use magic here?”

“No magic here. Anasilan,” he grumbled, wiping his forehead with his sleeve.

“What?”

“You know, an anasilan. Blocks the magic.”

I shook my head.

Anasilan. A type of ancient fae, very rare. Only a few mentions in all of my readings, having been almost completely hunted and killed to extinction. Giant hunt parties were organized to find the beasts, often hidden deep underground in tunnels beneath small villages. The strange and ghastly creatures feasted not upon the townfolk, but on their magic. Once thriving communities would find their crops dead, their flames dimmed, and once simple magic now impossible.

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“Why… why don’t they kill it?” I asked.

Ciro shook his head, frustrated.

“Peacekeeping. No magic - no problems,” he chuckled, shaking his head. “You should see the camps without one, it’s chaos. This is one of the largest - all because of the anasilan.”

The woman we were following then ducked through a low doorway, stepping into a brightly lit room. I followed Ciro as we walked into the circular room with a tall, stone carved ceiling. In the center was an impressive obsidian - lined anvil, reflecting the flame-light of a nearby forge in dazzling sparkles. The oppressive heat of the flames, matched with the warmth of the tunnel made me feel as though I was suffocating.

The walls were lined with heavy bins, filled with odd ores and gems the like I had never seen before. Shimmering black, turquoise, and crystal brilliant stones spilled out of small sacks, stacked high and tucked into crevices of the cavern wall. The woman faced away from us, sorting through a batch of material on a high wooden table, as if we weren’t there.

I turned to Ciro, who also seemed unsure of what to do. He cleared his throat.

“So the brave hero returns,” spoke the woman, still not facing us.

“Milea-” started Ciro.

“Who’s the girl?” she interrupted, “Someone new to fight your battles?”

She finally turned to face us, eyes still filled with the same silent fury as before.

“Because clearly you have not returned to fight again, no,” she spoke, stepping towards us.

I looked at Ciro, unsure, but he remained frozen, brow deep in concern.

“Little girl, what is that in your hand?”

I jumped. I looked down to see I was still holding one of the small wards in my hand that had fallen from the shop stand.

“A ward?” she asked, grabbing my good hand with her heavy glove. “Why do you have this?” She turned to Ciro “Teaching her your paranoias already? Making her carry around these silly things?”

“No, I -” I stammered.

“And her armor - is that… No, impossible. Is she wearing -” the woman pulled my arm towards her and to the nearby flame. She twisted it left and right, studying it with intensity. She wore a heavy-chained necklace, affixed with a large stone, unlike any I had seen before. When the flame hit it, it seemed to glow a soft blue. “This can’t be…”

She turned to Ciro, wearing an expression of both bewilderment and frustration.

“This little thing has the Halmore armor? For what reason? And how?”

“I - She -” stammered Ciro.

It was then that the woman froze, eyes staring at my worthless, blackened hand, limp at my side. She pulled it to her face, turning it left and right in the flame, same as she did the armor.

“Was he with you when this happened?” the woman asked me, gray-white eyes staring into me.

“Who? Ciro? Yes -”

Her eyes shot new daggers into Ciro. She dropped my hand.

“A new fighter for the cause, and you almost get her killed by void mage?” she turned away, back to the tall wooden table, “That is why you’re here, right? To get her a weapon? Your halberd looks the same as the day I made it. Yet here she stands, unarmed and with a blackened hand,” she sighed.

“Yes - she needs her weapon,” Ciro finally spoke, clearing his throat, “Milea…”

“I’ll do it,” spoke Milea, not letting him finish, “For her, not for you. Can’t leave a girl out here unable to protect herself. Seeing as you’re no help.”

Ciro exhaled. “Thank you.”

“Don’t thank me yet, old man. As great of a blade I can forge, it’s useless without the blood. And I’m not the one who asks her for it.”

“The blood?” I asked.

Ciro closed his eyes, pained.

“Oh? So you remember then?” Milea’s cold expression broke into a small smile.

“Is she still in the same place?” Ciro sighed.

“Same place.”

“Fine, fine… We’ll worry about that later though. Weapon first,” said Ciro.

Milea nodded, then turned towards us, staring at me intently.

“Hm,” she grabbed my arm again, “Certainly not a mace wielder, this one. And I doubt she would be able to lift a halberd, let alone use it. Tiny thing.”

“Maybe daggers? She’s quite fast,” interjected Ciro.

“If I wanted your opinion, I would have asked, old man. Daggers would put this impressive armor to waste. Tell me - how did you get this? Did you pay for it?”

I shook my head, then looked at Ciro, unsure. He nodded in approval. She could be trusted.

“I… I don’t know where to begin.”

“I have time,” said Milea.

And so, I told an incredibly abridged tale of my story so far. The ceremony, Lumo, the dragon, Castle Locus, and even standing before Solia herself. Milea stood stoic the entire time. After I finished, there was a long silence, and I watched the blacksmith cross her arms and lean back against the table.

“And you want to give this girl mere daggers? No, you cannot cut off Herculea’s head with mere daggers,” she gave a hearty laugh. “No, you need a proper blade. You need to defend yourself, protect yourself. There will be a time when you can’t hide behind foolhardy men.”

I nodded. There was nothing I wanted more.

Milea stared at me again with the same intimidating intensity, looking me up and down, then gave a quick nod.

“I have it. I know what needs to be done,” she said, turning back to her wall of heavy tools and stacked metals on the tall table. “Leave me to work. No interruptions. None.”