Two mages stood in a dimly lit room, shadows dancing across their faces from the flickering torchlight. The grey-haired journeyman's jaw clenched as the echoes of hasty footsteps faded away. He turned to face his mentor, eyes narrowed.

Astolf's robes billowed as he took a step closer, leaning in with a scowl. "Master Coll, next time you need to scare some kids, do it yourself." His voice dripped with disdain, the eerie calm long gone from his weathered features.

The Master-Mage's lips curled into a faint smile, unfazed. "Still, as I was right, the boy was a mage, while you assumed he was not. Moreover, a golden rune-using one." He clasped his gnarled hands behind his back. "Quite an expensive sight!"

Astolf shrugged, the tassels on his shoulders swaying with the dismissive motion.

"Sure, as if a mere sliver of extra control and speed is worth all of the deadly incidents." He snorted. "Oh, and it ages poorly when you lose all the strength in the fingers.”

"One can never be too careful," The Master-Mage's voice took on a lecturing tone as he paced slowly. "Someone trained that boy and spent a hefty sum to apply the runes to his fingers. A criminal faction, perhaps? A cult? Or even a country?" He paused, savoring the thought. "Such things are done to train spies and killers."

Astolf rolled his eyes, exhaling sharply through his nose. "Or maybe he's just a runaway noble kid hiding from parents eager to marry him off to a girl he doesn't fancy. Or his father was an abusive mage, that's why he is so cowardly.” His voice was slowly rising.

“I don't care. The time you have spent in the Royal court turned you into a conspiracy theorist. Clearly, the kid isn't a spy, so he isn't my problem.” Astolf took out his pipe and lit it inside the room. “My problem is the hourly delay you created due to which I haven't gathered my things."

The old man chuckled, a raspy sound that grated on Astolf's nerves like nails on a slate.

"Maybe I could take in the boy? If only I wasn't too busy and old to take students." He stroked his beard contemplatively. "The speed of that spell was impressive. He could become a fine asset with proper training."

Astolf's nostrils flared, and he fixed the Master Coll with an icy glare. "You always say that, old man. You interview everyone and fail them all." His voice rose, echoing in the confined space.

"I spent an hour on this dumb investigation because of your inconsiderate use of magical scanning on people. You were asked not to do it, as it makes our colleagues uncomfortable. But you still do it! What next, are you going to stop and frisk your colleagues?"

He jabbed a finger toward the old man. "This is unacceptable, I am sick of you! I will file a report on you with headquarters for violating the rules on which the guild stands!"

Cole Ignassias: the Master Mage met Astolf's fiery gaze with an impassive stare, a heavy silence hanging between them. The old man's constant presence, his meddling and disregard for boundaries, had been grating on Astolf's last nerve for the past week. Before, it was offset by the Old Man's time spent in the Palace of Arshakion, weaving intrigues and plotting from the shadows.

But now, with the guild branch closing and Astolf's role as the person who was actually sustaining the guild's day-to-day operations coming to an end, the old man's antics were too much to bear. Astolf felt wrong, scaring kids was another order he shouldn't have fulfilled. Now he had to pack his own things in haste.

***

Arty was holding the forehead of his glassy-eyed friend, who was violently vomiting under the cherry tree in the far corner of the neat garden of the mages guild.

"Mate we've got half a cart to finish, go rest. I’ll smear a turd under their carriages, their journey ain’t be nice and comfortable." Arty was caring but looked concerned. His voice was slightly uneven.

"Don't, they are all madmen. That bastard was just toying with me, like a cat with a mouse. He looked at me like I was a pile of meat. If we met in a dark alley at night I would be dead." Ledas was clearly shaking his face paler than usual making him look terribly ill.

"Okay, I won't do shit. We’ll talk on this at the tavern evening. We are going to drink after this! We’ve the coin." Arty cheered his friend up to the moment a smile appeared on the face of the team's magician.

"I’m going to the tavern to fix myself." Ledas smiled at his friend, still looking a bit like a drowner from the bottom of a river, but a bit of rest and he would be like new.

Arty left his friend, and went back to get the job done in that pit of snakes.

Ledas sat on his knees under the trees for a few seconds and left the garden towards the back streets.

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Natural healing of his blunt wounds would have taken a week, but he could do it himself using magic.

He felt weak, as someone who can be tossed around or murdered on a whim. These bastards had a lot of fun. “I’ll fucking get you, cunts!” were the only words circulating in his mind. Power in his blood gently was reminding him about itself, as if asking to be used, but when he imagined himself using it for a payback he was quickly interrupted.

“Don’t. That doesn’t belong to you!” Ledas heard his father’s voice in his mind again. That voice wouldn’t even allow him to fantasize a bit, it was not magic, but something ingrained in him from his childhood. He clenched his fists, it felt unfair.

He assessed his options: A turd? Easily removed with a spell. Poison? He has none. Magic? Good joke. Stealing? The wagons transporting equipment were probably protected.

Ledas found a place with no witnesses: a closed latrine and quickly summoned a ball of flame in his hands. He submerged his fingers into the flames bringing his facial color back to normal and his mind into a more clear state. He took time to focus on his magical perception, an ability uncommon even among the mages: no one was following him, at least not a mage.

He should have done that before summoning the flames, but he wasn’t thinking with a clear head. It is not like his head was clear now, because he was heading back towards the guildhall.

He decided to observe from a distance, hoping an opportunity would come for him to give mages some petty payback.

Cole Ignacias exited the building and left with three guards without waiting for anyone else. Who needs proper security when a court mage is in the carriage?

During the second hour, the porters finished their work, did something else, and received their payment from the bloodthirsty journeyman. The man was commanding the event, leaving from time to time and returning with some chests and bags which he loaded on the last wagon. Most of the mages were already sitting in the carriages or smoking just outside.

It was a chance. The guild's second-floor windows were open, and he knew that one was seen only from an alley.

Ledas put on a worker's hat, attached a fake mustache he kept in his performance suit, and moved towards the opportunity. A cheap fake mustache didn't mesh well with his youthful appearance, and if anyone would pay attention to him, the stache would be the only thing they’d remember.

The whole action took around 10-15 seconds. Walk up, check that there is no one in visibility, climb the water pipe, get into the window, and look around again. The room was empty.

He moved into the corridor. There were four or five bags there near the ladders. Sounds started to come from downstairs, and someone was climbing up.

Ledas silently grabbed one of the more expensive-looking bags and glided back into one of the empty rooms, hiding behind the wall.

His heart was racing. Not out of fear, no! Out of excitement. He closed his mouth with his hand to slow down his breathing as he clenched his trophy.

“Eat this you jerks” - he thought to himself while doing his best to listen to what was going on.

"These are the last ones, right?" a female voice asked.

"Yes, be careful, there are vials in the black one" a now familiar and menacing male voice replied.

"It's sad leaving this place. I grew used to it, to be honest." The woman's voice reflected her words.

"I did what had to be done." the journeyman replied.

"Wait, it was you?" The woman asked.

"Yes, the guild in Tigranakert is no more, so I guess there is no reason to hide it." The man sounded exhausted as his footsteps started to be heard on the ladder.

Ledas' body was tight as the couple continued their discussion while moving down.

After he could no longer hear them, Ledas exhaled, remembering how to breathe again. They hadn't noticed the missing bag. He moved back to the open window, looking from the side of it if there were any people in sight. "Jumping down is an option, but it will be too loud and can break the contents in the bag. Actually, what’s even in the bag?" Ledas asked himself.

Before he could investigate it, footsteps from the ladder returned. After a quick scan of the alley Ledas formed runes on his hands to arrest his fall. He stood up on the windowsill and jumped with his eyes closed.

___

Astolf walked quickly through the second floor, but all the rooms were completely empty. He did a scan of the first floor and concluded that his travel leather bag was probably somewhere in the carriage. There was nothing magical in there to scry for.

Near the entrance to the no-longer guild hall, he handed the keys to the building to the new owner and got inside the last carriage.

___

At a distance, on the opposite side of the square, in a dark loft, a woman was looking through the window. She was observing the mages leave the building and crossing their names out on a piece of paper. Unexpectedly she saw a glimpse of someone not on the list breaking into the side window on the second floor by climbing the pipe.

"Should I?" she asked herself. "No, I shouldn't".

When only the last carriage remained, she saw the burglar jumping out from the same window. Instead of collapsing though, he softly landed on the ground and moved quickly through an alley putting a leather bag into a cloth one. Sadly only his back was visible. But still…

The woman raised her brow. "Should I?" she asked herself again. Looking at the list there was only one name left. "I probably should." She jotted a sentence down onto the paper, and after a minute she crossed out the last name "Astolf Z.".

The door knocked in a secret code. "Ma'am, it is Smoothy, your attention is required!"