Soraya rushed through the urban maze under the echo of tenth ring. She spent too long getting ready. Too long asking for directions. Too long helping that nice florist pick up all the seeds she spilled. And now, too long getting lost.

She’d visited the guild before, toured its quiet annals and met its jolly, old boss. But, when pressure set in, her mind always seemed to lose composure. She turned a corner and let out a breath. There it was. Gwyllion Abbey was in disrepair, but it was her guild now. The boss delivered her initiate badge that very morning. Swore her in as a member of the Abbey and told her to meet the guild’s newest instructor. A whirlwind that had sent her into a nervous frenzy.

Soraya was fifteen. Short for her age, shorter than her sisters had been at least. A fact they never forgot to remind her. Not that they were too cruel about it, Nadia had even offered to tie Soraya’s black hair into a complicated fishtail, slipping a cute yellow ribbon into the braid. The real challenge was finding clothes suitable for work. She was eventually forced to steal her brother’s trousers, tying them up with a thick leather belt. Soraya pulled a white jumper over that to disguise the ill fit. Already it had been smeared with dirt and some sweat.

Soraya did not find her instructor at the guild’s entrance. Sat on the front stoop was another girl and a guy, both about her age, she reckoned. They sat far apart and did not bother to look at one another. Even her approach did not break their icy tension.

“Good morning!” she attempted. “Are you here to meet Master Cyril as well?”

The girl didn’t stir, but the boy did.

“Good morning, Miss Hadessian,” he greeted her with a bow. Soraya curtseyed in return, spreading the dress of her jumper on reflex. “I didn’t realize we’d be apprenticing together.”

The boy recognized her. She thought his face was familiar, but no names were jumping to mind. She clutched her chin and turned it, like a dog turning its head askew in confusion. Soraya made no show of disguising her forgetfulness.

He was well put together and tall. Athletic, like a dockworker, but without the hard edges that labor carves. No calluses or scars. He had an aquiline nose and rich, dark hair, dyed lighter on the sides. The boy’s skin was a dark brown, darker than his eyes. He wore a high-collared vest and short-sleeved shirt underneath (a newer fashion from the Eastern Continent, she noted). His pants flared at the knees over shiny black boots. A string of dazzling turquoise beads hung from his left ear.

The boy was about to end the mystery, but she didn’t let him. “No, no” she said. “You’re that… guy’s… son! The captain… guy!”

“I’m Wakahn Degataga,” he supplied politely. “And you’re close, but my father is Nakamo Degataga, the governor of Lyrique.”

“That’s what I said!” she quickly added nervously. The two had met, she remembered. They may have even been forced to dance together at one of his father’s elaborate balls. Those social engagements were rapid flurries of meeting strangers over and over. Few people actually stuck in her mind.

To his credit, Wakahn seemed undisturbed by her gap in memory. “I have a penchant for faces, Miss Hadessian, please pay it no mind. And to your initial question, yes, we are both eager to study under the new master. Xin let slip that he-”

“Don’t speak for me,” the other girl said. Growled more like. The very sound of her voice shattered Wakahn’s sunny disposition.

He smiled sarcastically, “Ah, for a moment, Miss Hadessian, we both lived in bliss. A world removed from that girl’s existence.” Wakahn may as well have been spitting when he said “that girl.” Soraya learned their tension was less icy and more like a boiling hot hatred. “Did you enjoy our short-lived respite?”

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“Uh…”

The other girl faked a loud retching sound.

Wakahn seethed. “Is it so far out of your reach to even pretend to be a lady?”

“Clearly it’s not out of yours,” the girl shot back.

The strange girl was thin and pale. Her red hair was unruly and unbrushed, falling down her head in thick locks. She’d messily cut the sleeves of her dark tunic and paired it with dark trousers. White bandages concealed her left wrist up to the elbow. A silver chain decorated her neck, but little other care seemed to be given to her appearance. She wore no makeup or perfume and Soraya noticed no piercings on her face or ears. Soraya was also embarrassed to notice that neither of them had pinned their initiate badges to their clothing, as she had.

“I’m Soraya Hadessian,” she tried to interrupt their brewing argument. “You only need to call me ‘Soraya,’ Wakahn. We’re going to be working together after all.”

“If you insist,” he replied in that practiced, charming voice.

“Piper,” the redhead introduced herself, but didn’t stand.

“What’s your family name?” Soraya asked. Even if only a little, she wanted to build some rapport with a girl her own age.

“Don’t have one, ‘Miss Hadessian.’” Piper mocked Wakahn’s respectful tone.

“The less mind you pay her, the better,” Wakahn advised. Soraya wondered what history existed between the two. If the girl really didn’t have a family name, then she didn’t run in the same social circles as the Hadessians and the Degatagas. But, to afford the tuition fees at Gwyllion Abbey was not an inconsequential sum for working families. Perhaps the girl had a special relationship to the guild or one of its members to be allowed to study.

The question churned into frustration. Soraya didn’t like thinking too hard on what made too little sense. If she got to know the other girl well enough, the answer would come sooner than later. Unlike their instructor.

Master Cyril sauntered up to the trio of teenagers, quelling their quarrel. He appeared somewhat unwashed, but clean-shaven. His dark hair was greasy and his red coat had seen better days. He shaded the morning sunlight with a hand.

“Don’t let me stop you,” Cyril said. “But, if you’re going to fight, you have to do it out back. Guild rules.” Wakahn and Piper considered the offer. They sized one another up, but neither one took the chance. With the mood less stormy, the man smiled. “Fine by me. My name is Cyril. I guess I’m your instructor, but I’m used to working with the best wardens in the world. If you try to be anything less than that, you won’t be able to keep up. Any complaints?”

The three kids didn’t respond. That seemed to please the middle-aged man.

“Great!” He turned on his heel and started walking. Piper and Wakahn were quick to follow. Soraya skipped to catch up, looking back at the guild hall.

“Um… Master Cyril, I-”

“Oh, devils, kid, you don’t need to call me ‘master,’ just ‘Cyril.’”

Soraya tried to speak again. “Sure, Cyril. What- Where are we going?”

“Master Abine usually ran us through physical drills in the morning,” Wakahn suggested.

“You learned under her?” Cyril asked. He was leading the trio away from the guild, but not towards the city. They were traveling southeast, towards the city limits. Towards the untamed territories.

“Piper and I both did,” Wakahn said.

“Well you’re welcome to go back to her if it pleases you,” Cyril said. “I don’t think I’ll make for a very good teacher anyways. But, to answer your question, we’re heading to the edge of Lyrique.”

Piper groaned. “That’ll take us an hour walking.”

“Better pick up the pace then,” Cyril snapped his coat and took off. For him, it was a light jog. But, to the kids, he might as well be sprinting. Piper responded immediately and chased him down. Wakahn waited for Soraya. He waited to see what she would do.