Shiela might have been a Goddess with unfathomable wisdom and power, but the scenery of her grand night sky wasn’t any more inviting than her excuse of a heavenly guide.

I stood at the peak of a hilltop on a quiet porch. Dead streetlamps lined the stairs leading to the city below. Two oil lamps on the Guild’s doorstep were all to guide me down to society. Somehow, I seemed to be rather far from sea level…

Wooden rooftops filled the landscape. Crude tenements were crammed all around town. The type of buildings that looked abandoned when new. Light sources were sparse, for all but a glimmering estate at the very heart of the city. A noble’s mansion, no doubt. Its fence shone like a wildfire, as if the perimeter was burning.

A gust of wind pierced my cloak and grabbed onto the bare skin below my shorts. I took a breath, then wheezed a cough. The air tasted off despite the cold.

Two freaking moons.

I couldn’t read the world’s language. My clothes were improper, both for the weather and culture. I looked like a toad’s foot amongst a world of princesses. I was apparently going insane, and I didn’t have the slightest clue about what magic even was. At this pace, I’d be found dead in a ditch by morning.

While I was gazing down at the view, vision blurring from leftover tears attempting to escape, the door to Huss’s Guild creaked open. Two teenagers stepped out. The same pair I embarrassed myself with earlier. I wiped my eyes and took a deep breath to calm myself, though my reputation was already in tatters.

The harnessed man saw my reddened face. He approached me with a scowl. “You were down there with Darko’s group. I saw it. What business does a man like you have talking with legends?”

“None at all, it seems.” I avoided eye contact.

He stopped a good distance away from me. Some apprehension remained. “Are you a Gorth?”

“I don’t know what I am,” I said. “Just another failure, I guess.”

His companion clutched onto her belongings, genuinely on guard. She appeared like a smaller Shena with a softer face and less lively equipment. Scrolls of parchment poked out of her scuffed satchel, and I doubted they were for postal work. Innocent as she appeared, she saw me as a threat.

“If Darko didn’t kill you,” the man said, “you can’t be a Gorth. Darko wouldn’t leave evil alive.”

I stared at the view below.

“Are you listening?”

“Who exactly is he?” I asked, if only to distract the man from getting physical. “Darko. The Wyvern Slayer.”

The man’s gaze was disapproving to say the least. “Darko is, and I will argue about it, the strongest adventurer in the country. His old group defeated a loose Wyvern on their own. Anyone who has worked with him is famous. Any Guild he enters, he gains free access to the basement. The room where only legends are allowed, where only the most important conversations take place. You were down there with him.”

“Ry, let’s go!” the girl said. “We don’t have all night.”

“What business did a man like you expect from a legend like Darko?” Ry, he was called, loomed over my slumped figure, expecting an answer.

I would like to know myself, I thought.

“Ry!” the girl said. She grabbed his arm and tried pulling him away. A loose scroll fell from her satchel, but she didn’t seem to notice. “Ry, stop picking fights. Let’s go.”

“No, Em,” Ry said. “I’m not done with this sniffer. Answer me this, outsider. Did you believe you could join Darko’s group? Did you lie your way to an interview? This is no place for the weak. Get the hell out of Volés before you’re thrown over the border.”

I wanted to run. Anything to escape the situation. Perhaps I could become one with the grass if I hoped hard enough. What had I done to these people to deserve this treatment? Could they not see how miserable I was?

Before I could come up with half a response, a gust of wind sent the fallen scroll rolling down the sandy path, toward me. Em, I assumed the girl’s name was, made no effort to pick it up. She watched it roll until the scroll caught on my leg.

Hesitantly, I picked up the scroll.

My brain argued against my next move, screaming at me the whole way through. Ambitious conversations were like kryptonite for my nervous ass. A funny phobia for a former businessman specializing in negotiations and meetings, but there really wasn’t anything I hated more than putting myself in the spotlight.

Still, I approached the two. Slowly, to make sure my head wasn’t cut off. I knew I needed friends; at least neutral relations with the civilization around me. Weirdos were always the first ones poached out of society, and at this pace, my secluded and depressed self was first in line.

I held out my hand and offered the scroll. “I talked with Darko about other matters. I’m sorry for my manners. Your legends are unfamiliar to me. You can beat me down if that’s what you want. I won’t be joining your Heroes. I don’t even know how to cast a single spell yet.”

Bullshit and feigned confidence. The magic trick of my profession. Although I was never particularly amazing at my job. I was fired, after all.

Ry eyed me suspiciously, but took the scroll, never taking his eyes off me. He handed the scroll to Em, who slid it into her satchel.

“Are you a mage too?” I asked Em.

She shied back.

“What do you mean ‘too?’” Ry asked. “Are you pretending to be a mage?”

“I wouldn’t know if I was. Darko claimed I was talented in magic.”

The pair stared at me. “Liar,” Em said. “That’s impossible. Mana chords are rare amongst women. Near impossible amongst men—less than a hundred are alive today.”

“I guess I’m an anomaly,” I said. “Someone called Remy examined my mana chords.”

“And you expect us to believe that?” Ry said, frowning. “Where is the proof?”

“I’ll show you, but you two will have to help me in return,” I said. “By any chance, are either of you literate? As in, know how to read?”

Ry stood his ground. “Em? You think he’s going to curse us?”

“If this fellow has the skills for curses, I’ll accept my fate as a fooled idiot,” Em said. She turned to me. “Why the question? How will our ability to read prove anything you’ve said as valid?”

I pulled out Darko’s letter. “If you could read this out for me, I’m sure both of us would understand the situation a whole lot better.”

Em glanced at the letter with suspicion and doubt. Doubts that I shared. If Em ran with the note, I was screwed. But, hell, I had a backup plan. If things went south, I could always send myself back to Shiela to complain ahead of schedule.

Reluctantly, Em accepted the letter and unwrapped it.

“That’s Darko’s signature!” Ry said. “What does it say?”

“Hey, Jord,” Em read. “By the time you read this, I will be out of town. I’m writing this on behalf of business, and business only. I’ll cut your fingers off if I see you on my trail.

“I apologize beforehand for the decisions of our drunkard Darko. We know you’re busy with your projects, but I’d kindly ask you to stop whatever alchemical crimes you’re committing for this one moment. It’s a tough ask, I know. If you perform it without grumbles, I might consider offering my hair, too.

“The man before you has awakened. He requires a teacher, simply put. You know the deal. Make sure he learns how to weave mana. Though, I believe you might want more out of him. He is, after all, the exact student masters have looked for. Signed…

“Darko.”

The teens stared at the note in disbelief. I took the opportunity to grab it from Em, back into the safety of my pocket. I desperately hoped I wouldn’t get jumped and robbed.

“Drunkard Darko?” Ry gushed. “Who wrote this?”

“Must have been Remyer,” Em said. “You men are so lazy, even your legend hasn’t bothered learning to write.” She sent me a look. “Who is Jord? What creep are they talking about?”

“I don’t know,” I said. My muscles were still tense. “Darko said he’s a great mage. A former teacher.”

“A former teacher, Jord...” Em thought for a second, her face growing concerned. “Could they mean, Jordan Feryah?”

“The mage who got exiled for kidnapping the Princess?” Ry asked.

“That’s him,” I said.

“No way,” Em gushed. “Jordan was exiled. He has a bounty on his head! He lost his license years ago. We must have the wrong person. It can’t possibly be him.”

“It’s Darko we’re talking about,” Ry said. “Anything is possible.”

“So, you’re saying that Darko sent this—” Em glanced at me, speaking softly. “—mage to an illegal teacher who's hunted by the King himself? They’re all in trouble if this goes public! Everyone involved would face contracts behind bars!”

“The royals wouldn’t care,” Ry said. “Darko is strong enough to ignore laws.”

“Oh, the royals absolutely would care,” Em said. “There’s nothing royals love more than to squash a perfectly competent and honest adventurer into exile. Mostly honest.”

If you spot this story on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

“Is the letter a fake, then?” Ry asked. “An attempt from this sniffer to get to Darko? He could very well have lied about this letter. Forged a signature.”

“If that was the case,” Em asked, “why in Akona’s name would he show the letter to us?”

“Um…” I tried to say in between.

Ry puffed through his nose, then laughed. He turned to me. “You’re for fucking real then? Darko actually sent you to an illegal mage?”

“I believe so,” I said.

Ry laughed louder. “Oh, don’t worry. We won’t tell anyone.” He held out his hand, now smiling. “I’m Rykar. You can call me Ry. I’m sorry for doubting you. Just friendly suspicion. I hope you understand.”

I faced the hand, surprised. Perhaps even pleasantly surprised. Bullshit and confidence really do achieve one’s goals. I accepted his handshake. “I’m Cill. Nice to meet—”

My hand exploded. So it felt like. Ry squeezed my hand so hard I thought veins would pop. I tried to keep my composure, but the pressure was too much. I let out a squeal.

Ry released my hand, shocked. He looked around like a bully who accidentally hit too hard.

Em pouted at him. “Ry! He’s a mage. He doesn’t channel vigor.”

“Ah, right,” Ry said. “Sorry…”

“Nice to meet you,” I said, finishing my sentence. My hand was red, eyes watering. How was this kid so strong? His hand was smaller than mine. I thought I had a firm handshake.

Ry smiled awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. “So, Cill… Where is Jord? The letter didn’t mention where to find him. If you need a guide, we’ve lived our whole lives in this town.”

“You wouldn’t know any churches in the area?” I asked.

“The church?” Ry asked. He grinned. “Come with us. We’ll show you. It’s an honor to help Darko’s associates.”

Em looked as if she wished to argue. Ry ignored her look and stepped down the stairs, toward the heart of the city. Em pouted but walked after Ry. I followed last.

“Just so you know, I’m not associated with you or this crime,” Em said. She spoke from over her shoulder, walking a few steps ahead of me. “We’ll show you the church, and nothing else. We can’t be blamed for offering directions. If anyone asks, you and I don’t know each other.”

“Of course,” I said. “Thank you.”

Em nodded. “I’m sorry about my companion. Our jobs haven’t paid as much as we would have liked lately. Ry has been on edge.”

“That’s thanks to your timidness, Em,” Ry said. “Darko’s associate won’t snitch on us. If we don’t get caught, no crimes will be listed.”

We continued in silence, Em pouting at Ry’s back. Moonlight alone showed me where to place my foot. My descent was embarrassingly careful. Ry walked fast, and the stairs had no guardrails. I felt dizzy. Some food would have helped. I wasn’t starving yet. I just hoped someone would feed me when things got bad. Currently, Shena’s tea was all to recover from my three-day slumber.

“Are you really a mage?” Em asked quietly.

“So everyone says,” I said. “What about you?”

“Isn’t it obvious what I am?” Em asked. She readjusted her bag of scrolls.

“Sorry,” I said. “It’s my first day in the country.”

“Liar,” Em said. “Volés is a three-day trip from the border.”

“I was asleep on the way here,” I said. Technically true. “The awakeners' coma, they say. I’m clueless. Please, be patient with me.”

“I’m an incantator,” Em said. “A mage without mana chords.”

“Ah,” I said. “The ‘Corruption’ only eats at mana chords, right? I’m apparently going insane by the second.”

“All people ever talk about are the corrupt mages,” Em said. “What about all the awesome ones, like Remyer? The mages who don’t have to spend a fortune burning a scroll to cast a simple spell. You mages have it easy compared to us.”

“What do you mean?” I asked. “Are they different from you?”

“Of course you are,” Em said. “I’m an incantator. I don’t cast spells through the control of mana. I burn disposable scrolls. All I own are low level-spells, and even this bag costs a fortune. You don’t want to know how many fireballs I’ve wasted burning muggers.” Em wore a gloomy look. “I’m jealous. I would happily live under a noble’s rule if it meant I could cast a spell all on my own.”

I shared the look. I was jealous too, of anyone who didn’t have to deal with whatever I was about to experience.

The cramped city started after the stairs ended. With buildings came smells. The worst of the wooden construction of Volés (Shiela help me if I ever had to pronounce the name) smelled musty even from the outside. And where mold didn’t pinch my senses, a subtle smell of fertilizers and waste made sure not one bit of fresh air made it to my brain.

The dirt path was wide enough for two small car lanes, though the only traffic was on foot. Occasional metal lamp posts were in place, but all of them were dead despite the darkness. Something about the mood felt off, as if the city wasn’t alive at all. If I picked a house from the street, I doubted a grandma would offer me cookies.

A lamp flickered on, making me jump. The light stayed for a second, followed by a goodbye screech. The lamp died. So did my heart.

“Jesus!” I said by reflex. The others looked at me weirdly. “What’s up with this city?”

“Mana blackout,” Ry said as we walked from one dark alley to the next. “It’s been like this for two weeks now, and officials aren’t doing anything about it. The royals in Volés have been exceptionally useless. Count Felrish claims that the mana wells have emptied and that we’re only waiting for them to recharge. It’ll be fixed, he says. But his words are proven as lies. The wells are as healthy as ever. The power is going somewhere else. Someone is taking it.”

This world has power, then? I thought, suddenly hopeful.

“The count is trying to buy himself time before the King himself gets involved,” Ry said. “He knows he will lose face if he can’t solve the blackout. He’s trying to appear useful and independent at the cost of his own people’s livelihoods. It’s a mess, this whole city.”

“I see,” I said. It seemed my promised ‘happy country’ had its problems too. I just hoped I wouldn’t have to take part in fixing any of this. “Is there anything I need to know? Any streets I shouldn’t visit? I’m sorry for visiting unaware. I didn’t have time to study your customs and culture. I kind of just fell asleep and woke up here.”

“Volés is not dangerous, don’t worry,” Em said. “We’re secluded and rich with natural mana. Outsiders like to call our town the ‘asshole of Kroses Sol.’ It’s a good nickname for an agricultural city with nothing but farms surrounding downtown. If we truly are assholes, then that means the rest of the country must be eating our waste. I quite like it here.”

“I would agree,” Ry said, “if not for our Count applying for the position of dumbass. We aren’t producing crap without mana powering pipes. Not to mention, the cultists’ arrival has turned everyone into skittish little sniffers, afraid of stepping out of their homes.”

I was about to ask about the cultists, but bustling noise in the distance broke my thoughts. Lights shone below. It looked as if torches were spread over what appeared like a market square.

The closer we got, the louder the sounds. They sounded like cheers and shouts, as if a gladiator battle was taking place. “What’s going on?” I asked.

Ry frowned. “You’ll see. We can’t take a detour this time.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

With no response, the two turned the corner, stepping into the market square.

It turned out, the fire I had seen from above wasn’t an illusion, nor was it for decoration. A mob of a few hundred people filled the square, lifting their torches at the Count’s estate. Some yelled, others stood around with their torches lifted. Everyone made their presence clear. I couldn’t make out words from their yells. It wasn’t ear-piercingly loud, but annoying enough to ruin sleep.

Holy shit, I thought as I followed Ry and Em through the side of the square. We passed market stalls and merchants, all looking tired. Most stalls were empty, few fruits remaining at the bottom of their containers. None were filled with customers. Merchants didn’t bother advertising, not even smiling at us as we passed.

I would have long turned back if not for Ry’s confidence in clearing a way. He picked the least angry parts of the mob, shouting for people to move. I stayed close, making sure not to get lost in the crowd.

We moved at a steady pace until something stopped us. A frail man standing with a support stick stood in our way. The man glowered at Ry from below.

“Adventurers,” the man said. “You pathetic excuses. Why is the city still out of power!”

“Your enemies are over there, sir.” Ry pointed at the count’s estate. “We are on your side. Complain to the royals, if you want this over quickly.”

“It would be over already if you adventurers did something!” the man said. “I’m sure the cult is behind this! The fake cult! Take it out already!”

My heart began racing. The crowd in our immediate surroundings cleared an area, watching the scene.

“We are on our way,” Ry said. “Blocking us won’t get mana back to the city.”

“I don’t care about mana,” the man said. “The cult took my sister. Won’t you bring her back? I can’t pay, but… isn’t this something you adventurers should help with!”

Em stepped forward. “What does she look like? What’s her name?”

“Lya,” the man said. “She’s a big annoying wretch. You’ll know when you see her. Please, bring her back.”

Em nodded. “I promise to try my best.”

The man looked doubtful but moved out of the way, grumbling, “Pathetic adventurers.”

Ry didn’t glance back as we passed. Em looked worried.

“Bring death to fake Azetoth and his pretender cult!” the man shouted after us.

“Death to Azetoth!” the crowd repeated. “Death to the fake cult!”

Ry kept moving, and I followed him. We didn’t stop until we were out of the crowd.

“What is the cult?” I asked, the mob’s shouting still loud behind us. “Darko talked about it too. Is this the same one?”

Ry and Em shared a frown. “The cult of Azetoth. You know, the old myth.”

“No,” I said. And before I was made fun of, I added, “I’m not from around here. Your myths are foreign to me.”

“It’s a tale from the Dragon Wall,” Ry said. “You know, the place where legends fought monsters during the Age of Dragons. The war that Dragon Eater Cerdri ended. Surely word of this has reached wherever you come from. The most uneducated of serfs know the legends of Cerdri.”

“Ah,” I said. Sweat beaded on my face, and not only from the heat of the torches. “Cerdri, of course.”

Ry nodded. “The original Azetoth was Cerdri’s acquaintance in history. A strong and respected mage, until Azetoth betrayed the Defenders to start a cult in his name. Some crazy events are written in history regarding the cult’s activities. Azetoth had all sorts of weird ideologies, but mostly his cult’s goal was to end the world because humans are apparently unhealthy to the world.”

“Not exactly,” Em said. “That’s what they recorded in books, but the books were written by Cerdri’s followers—the ones who ended the cult. The cult’s own writings were burned and ridiculed.”

“Are you saying Cerdri was in the wrong?” Ry asked.

“No!” Em said. “I’m saying we don’t know much because the cult is practically ancient. Stop redefining the words I use.”

“You’re too hard to read, Em.” Ry sighed. “Point is, people are unsure whether the cult existed at all. Most had forgotten them, until a few months ago, when some crazy group of sinners resurfaced in their name. Their new leader took the old identity, calling himself Azetoth. They’re the kind of people who violate the Order of magic for the sake of breaking rules.”

“The Order is not something sane people break on a whim,” Em said. “Followers of the group proudly call themselves ‘cultists.’ That alone shows how crazy they are. It’s not a group we should mess with.”

Ry frowned. “The cult is a bunch of losers, that’s all. The rewards for catching one are exaggerated. The guild wants to get the problem solved quickly.”

“A lot of young mages have gone missing lately,” Em said in a near whisper.

Ry sighed, shaking his head. “Cill, you saw the poster, right? Fifty copper marks for a dead cultist, and ten silver for a living one. The guild wants them alive to figure out what’s behind all this. The rewards are insane. We’re going for the quest after dropping you off. We’ll live for months if we catch a single cultist.” He turned to Em. “Which is why I’ve been telling you—”

“Ry, you dimwit,” Em cut in. “Do you think I can’t count? Of course the rewards are insane. It’s a death cult we’re talking about!”

Ry shook his head and shrugged at me, as if I was supposed to understand him.

“And what if…” Em asked. “What if the cultists really do use black magic?”

Ry didn’t seem to hear. He lifted his head towards a stone chapel. A sculpture of a crescent moon was built into the tip of the triangular roof. “We’re here,” he said. “Now, where is our heretic hiding?”

[Cillian Bermeyer]

[Level one]

[Recent awakener]

[Abilities: Fireball, Carillia’s assistance]