Four months after the first snowfall of the season, a warm wind blew across the continent, melting away corruption-filled snow and evaporating the accumulated madness lingering in the air. The warmth roused hungry demons from their winter burrows. It thawed trees that had lain dormant and spurred the growth of new flowers, grass, and crops sewn in the final months of fall.

The seasons were relatively uniform in all twelve provinces, from the outposts near the Great Western Forest to the harbors near the Sea of Demons. There were regional variations, of course. Delphi, for example, was situated on the steep lower slopes of Mount Parnassus and bordered the Gulf of Corinth. Due to the influx of heat, the snow in the city was mostly melted, except for the northwest portion built atop the mountain slope. Rivulets ran down the mountainside and pooled in the soggy and unworkable fields.

"You know, they never teach you to appreciate good roads in school," said Lawrence as he skipped along the dry and well-maintained paving stones leading up to the walled city in the distance. "I mean, clay roads and dirt roads are technically roads, but they're not roads like this wonderful feat of engineering." He jumped onto a card and held out his hands. "See? Barely any vibrations! There's no need to hold on for dear life!"

"There will be if you don't get down from there this instant!" growled the cart driver. Lawrence, embarrassed, hopped down and joined his companions, who had returned their wolves at an earlier city and were traveling by foot.

"Seriously though," continued Lawrence. "You don't realize how much you miss roads until you end up trudging through a snow-covered swamp in the middle of spring. Then you accidentally fall through the ice, and it takes your friends a good fifteen minutes to fish you out. I suspicious amount of time, might I add. It almost felt like you were delaying the rescue."

"To be fair, I didn't want to get wet, and your vitality was strong enough that a bit of exposure to the swamp's light toxins wouldn't have any long-term adverse effects," said Sorin. "In my professional opinion, the fifteen minutes of personal discomfort on your part while I figured out how to extend Python Coil and fish you out were a worthwhile tradeoff.

"Besides, I managed to improve my skill range to 50 feet. That's a big win. Do you remember that giant albatross we had to keep tied up while Stephan mauled it to death? That thing would have been a nightmare to deal with if I hadn't tied it up.

"One could say that your fifteen minutes of suffering were instrumental to our victory."

"I agree with Sorin," said Stephan. "Mostly because I found the entire affair funny. You should have seen that look on your face when you swallowed a mouthful of that swamp water. And to be fair, Daphne could have accelerated the process if she'd put down her spell book for three seconds to melt the ice."

Daphne, who was reading while walking, briefly put her book down. "I was leery about evaporating a bunch of swamp water and filling the air with Hope knows what toxins," said Daphne. "Also, it was hilarious. I took notes on the entire process and intend to write my scene into my next book."

Lawrence glared at all three of them, then looked to Gareth. "What about you? Couldn't you have shot an arrow with a rope at me or something?"

"I'm with Stephan on this one," said Gareth. "It was hilarious. Remember that problem you were having with not seeing anything below grade when there was too much snow? It completely disappeared after that incident. So it was doubly worth it."

"The snow makes it difficult!" snapped Lawrence.

"And yet, we saw instant improvement," said Gareth with a grin. "Face it, you were just lazy."

"Let's not all get worked up, everyone," said Stephan. "The gate's coming up. And by the looks of it, it's going to be a long lineup." They crested a hill to see carts and pedestrians in lineups three miles long. The shortest line was for merchants, followed by that for cultivators, then mortals. The longest line was for farmers who were coming in to sell whatever surplus remained of their crops after an abnormally mild winter.

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"Don't worry, I've got this," reassured Sorin.

"You sure?" asked Stephan. "You've been gone for over three years."

"Things work a little differently in Delphi than in other cities," assured Sorin. "We'll be fine." He led his companions directly past glaring cultivators and frowning merchants. Fortunately, the strongest cultivators present were Bone-Forging Cultivators, as flesh-sanctification cultivators were allowed to bypass the lines and enter the city at their leisure.

The shortest line was naturally the merchant line. This was also where the guard house was, as merchant inspections took the most effort and earned the most taxes.

"Hey!" shouted a guard supervisor as they approached. Like Sorin and friends, he was also a Bone-Forging cultivator and one who'd reached the third grade. "No cutting in line! No exceptions!"

"Don't worry, I just came to speak to your guard captain," said Sorin. "If he's displeased about anything, I'll accept full responsibility."

The guard looked over their group and noted the silver one-star Hero Medals affixed to their worn-out and dirty clothes. This was enough to give him pause but not enough to warrant special treatment. What tipped the scales was the identity document Sorin provided the man. It was a golden plaque etched with twin coiled serpents.

"What did you say your name was again?" asked the guard supervisor.

"Sorin Kepler," said Sorin with a smile. "Sorry to trouble you."

The moment he said these words, a powerful aura erupted from the guard house. A man in golden armor wearing a violet cloak emblazoned with a Delphic Sun emerged from the guard house. He was, like Governor Marsh, a Flesh-Sanctification cultivator.

"At ease," said the man when the guards saluted, and everyone within a hundred feet of him, excluding heroes and prominent figures, kneeled. "Let me see that document."

He grabbed the golden identification document, looked between it to Sorin, and squinted. "Sorin Abberjay Kepler, is it? Son of Lorent, Abberjay Kepler, former Clan Leader of the Kepler Clan?"

"That's me," confirmed Sorin. His words provoked gasps from local merchants, who immediately retrieved communication devices and fired off messages.

"Then everything appears to be in order," said the Flesh-Sanctification guard captain, handing back the identification document. "My name is Captain Derringer. Would you mind handing over your identification documents, young heroes, so I can take note of who entered alongside Young Master Kepler?"

Everyone but Stephan's jaw dropped. They passed along their steel identification plates along with their hero medals. The supervisor from before ran over and jotted down their names, then ran back to the guard house after a short dressing down from the captain.

"How has Delphi been?" Sorin asked the guard captain casually. "I've been away for a few years. Same old problems, same bad actors?"

"There have been a few changes since you left, Young Master Kepler," said Captain Derringer. "But most of them are internal to your clan, so I'd rather not waste your time with second-hand accounts."

"And what about the gulf?" asked Sorin. "Is it still quiet, or does it look like we'll be having a proper tide this year?"

"Experts say we should still have three years but that we should prepare for an early arrival just in case," said Captain Derringer.

"Many thanks for the assistance, Captain," said Sorin.

"Not a problem," said Captain Derringer. "Let them through!" The guards and the merchants parted, and within a minute, Sorin and friends were walking inside Delphi proper.

"That. Was. Awesome!" exclaimed Lawrence, unable to contain his excitement. "That guy, he's basically as strong as the Governor was. And he was still tripping all over himself, trying to make you happy!"

"It seems the classism in Delphi is quite extreme," said Daphne. "I suppose that means I'll need to adjust my behavior."

"It's the same when I return to Ephesus," said Stephan. "Any major clan is basically royalty in their home city. That's particularly so in Delphi since over half the physicians in the city are connected to the Kepler Clan or the medical school they run in some way."

Sorin nodded. "You don't want to upset the people who might be looking after you while you're critically ill. I try not to throw my weight around too much, but after trudging through the mud and cold for four months, I really didn't want to stay outside until nightfall. Gareth, is something bothering you?" The archer's eye was twitching wildly.

"Nothing," said Gareth. "Nothing at all."

"Something is clearly wrong," said Sorin. "Just spill it out."

"Well," said Gareth, looking over his shoulder warily. "I heard there was a pretty heavy tax at the city gates. Given how many demon cores we're carrying around, I thought we'd be out at least a few thousand gold."

Sorin and Stephan exchanged a look, then burst out laughing. "My friend, if anyone dares try to charge you the gate tax, just talk to me, and I'll have it sorted out. This is Delphi, everyone. Many people hate the Kepler Clan here, but few are brave enough to antagonize it."