Mail was delivered to Gwyllion Abbey by a regular courier. He carried letters and packages from the cargo hubs by the docks. Xin, in his duties as secretary of the guild, received the mail some time in the late morning. It was his duty to distribute what came in to whom it had been addressed. It was a minor facet of his tasks. It was one he usually did alone.

“At least let me help,” Cyril said.

“Go do your actual job,” Xin ordered the older man around. He kept the small stack of envelopes very close to his chest. “Your students need guidance.”

“My students need a job! A real job. How is it possible we’re not being offered anything at all?”

“Gwyllion Abbey has changed. As has its clientele.”

Cyril refused to accept that as an answer. In its glory days, the abbey received so much work, its wardens had to turn down some of the job offers. There was too much work and not enough wardens. He understood they’d lost many of their wardens, but to no longer receive any offers at all felt impossible. Even the smallest guilds were still offered government contracts for security operations. If something had stained the guild’s reputation to the point of being blacklisted, Cyril felt as though he would have heard about it. Xin being so cagey with the mail wasn’t exactly helping him with his investigation.

“At least let me see who they’re addressed to,” Cyril tried to negotiate.

Xin whirled around on the man. “Your job is as an instructor to our paying clients! I understand you got the old man drunk enough to agree to this idea, but I did not. Now go and do what we pay you to do.”

“I’m just looking for some help, man, relax” Cyril backed off the young man. His outburst felt driven by a very deep and very potent source of stress. Cyril assumed Xin had a girl giving him trouble.

“It’s a moot point all the same,” Xin said. “You have not returned with Wakahn Degatawa’s signed permission slip.”

“I’m getting it tonight,” Cyril explained. “His dad is having some fancy party. I’m supposed to meet him there.”

“The governor of Lyrique is? And you were invited?”

Cyril shrugged. At the SDO, he regularly rubbed elbows with governors, magistrates and all sorts of politicians. The novelty of political office had lost its glimmer entirely for him. Some wardens sought out every opportunity to be their sycophant. The sort of warden that wanted to play in courts and laws didn't fit in with real monster slaying. It was all lost on Cyril. He never sought political office, even if his strength as a warden could make him a popular candidate.

“You’ll have your permission slip,” Cyril said. “So can we get a job?”

“You can get back to work,” Xin’s words had lost their fire. The news of Cyril’s social engagement had knocked him off balance and deep into thought. Cyril could try to steal the mail from the teenager’s hands, but decided against it. He’d already started a fight with one of his coworkers. Abine still growled at him when they crossed paths. Cyril could play nice.

“Havin’ a row with the boss?” Bu asked from inside his office. Xin had imprisoned him in there to sign or draft some contracts. Cyril hadn’t listened to the specifics.

“When do you show me the perks of being in charge?” Cyril didn’t stop to chat, but spoke on his way out of the guild hall’s rear entrance.

“When I find one!”

Piper, Wakahn and Soraya were juggling. A team coordination exercise that Cyril had done in his youth. The three of them continually tossed sandbags at one another. The kids had filled the scratchy sacks full on their run that morning. Everything they did seemed purpose built to wring out as much sweat as humans could.

At the same time, the three kids hurled the bag in their arms over to their teammate on the right. Then they had to catch the one coming towards them from the left. When the exercise started they had only been a step away from one another. Their master had them take a step back every couple of rotations. The circle was only a quarter the size of the grinder, the guild’s practice coliseum.

“Catch your breath, wardens,” Cyril ordered. They had been about to throw, but restrained themselves at the last second. “And take another step back.”

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

Soraya nearly crumbled. The strain burned her back and her knees. Small cuts scored her hands. Just catching her breath felt like exercise. Cyril caught on to her exhaustion. He weighed whether or not to give the girl some respite. His instincts wanted to relieve Soraya of her pain. To allow rest for just a couple of moments. Mercy tempted him.

“Let’s go, wardens. One step back and begin again.”

To her credit, the girl did not complain. Wakahn did it for her. “Are you trying to break her before tonight’s ball?”

“What you all do after instruction is up to you,” Cyril replied coldly.

“Surely, a few minutes of rest wouldn’t kill us,” Wakahn said.

“Here? It wouldn’t. Out there? It would only take a few seconds. A few seconds of rest. A few seconds of carelessness. You think she’s hit her limit? Let’s find out. Soraya Hadessian. Are you quitting?”

Bells started ringing from somewhere far away.

“No,” Soraya mumbled.

“I can’t hear her, alright, she’s giving up,” Cyril said.

Soraya yelled, “No!” and threw her sandbag at Wakahn. The boy caught it atop the sack already in his hands. The unexpected weight folded him and he was on his knees in the dirt. “I’m not… quitting…” Soraya said.

Cyril had learned a bit about the kids across teaching them for a couple of days. He had learned how to make them angry, mostly. Soraya did not like being rescued despite Wakahn’s best efforts. She did not like being protected and she did not like being told to slow down. Cyril wondered if he had become cruel in teaching them and in learning how to manipulate them in these little ways. He had decided it would be worth it if any of his training kept his initiates alive.

“I’m going to find where you think your limits are,” Cyril said. "I'm going to bring you to that point. Then I’m going to find out where they really are. Then-"

A sudden clamor inside the guild hall caught everyone’s attention. Somebody moved fast and clumsily through its interior. Things sounded like they were breaking.

“Wait here,” Cyril said.

The kids disobeyed and followed him back into Gwyllion Abbey. There was no clear struggle, but the tables and chairs in the mess hall of the first floor had been pushed to the side. A wide path had been made towards the front entrance.

“What happened?” Cyril asked. Xin was the only one still inside.

“I don’t know,” Xin said. “They went after the alarm.”

They. Bu and Abine? But, what alarm? Cyril listened and only heard the bell tower. It hadn’t stopped. Its regular chimes were rung out in a musical pattern. A concise few tones. But, the bell hadn’t stopped. Cyril remembered living in Lyrique. He remembered being warned about what that could mean.

“Invasion,” Wakahn said. Cyril bolted for the stairs, climbing up to his room on the third floor. The kids followed him again, Xin in tow. “What’s happening?” Wakahn asked. He assumed Cyril knew, but he was only flying up the hall for a better look outside.

Cyril pushed his head out the window and scanned the shore. Smoke climbed into the sky from an unseen fire. A galleon in the docks was listing heavily towards its port side. The many buildings between the abbey and the town center made it difficult to gauge the source of the trouble. Abine and Bu had known where to go, but they were out of sight. Cyril couldn’t easily follow them and wouldn’t know if they were even headed in the right direction.

He tried to feel for signs of possession, but nothing fell within the range of his spiritual sense. Standing next to two possessed initiates only obfuscated his detection.

“We should head towards the docks,” Piper said. “That’s where most of the people are!”

“Migtrolio Marine will have the port covered,” Cyril said. “If the boss went that way too, then we’d only be adding to the crowd there.” He did a quick double take. “And nobody said you were coming with me.”

Piper looked disappointed, but more than that she looked worried. The girl wasn't just rearing for a fight, her eyes stayed put on the brewing destruction of her city. Cyril sympathized. He was trying to treat them like wardens. To yank away the opportunity to help people with the strength they nurtured felt cruel. Cyril was faced with a similar decision as before. Was letting his initiates into the town a mercy? Or was it foul of him to deprive them of the chance to make a difference?

“He’s right.” Cyril had to look at him to make sure Xin was the one to say it. “Well, you are. We don’t know anything about this alarm. The bell tower could be reporting any number of incidents.”

“‘The tower,’ they’ll have a better idea of what’s going on.” Cyril spun the ring about his pointer finger. A nervous habit. One of deep thought. “Piper and Wakahn will go there.” He looked at the young boy. “Find out who’s in charge,” he looked at Piper, “and get answers.”

The two didn’t waste time looking disgusted at the thought of working side by side. They fled Cyril’s room and bounced down the stairs.

“Xin and Soraya, you both stay here. If people need help they might come to the guild. Give them shelter and wait for word from the two of them. I’ll trust you to make the right decisions when they come back.”

“What are you gonna do?” Soraya asked.

“What I do best,” Cyril mounted the windowsill and dropped three stories to the dirt. He landed on his feet. Soraya had never considered the fun of jumping out a building and into danger. She mounted the window to follow him. Xin pulled her back.

“Stay put!” Cyril ordered. “Defend the abbey!”