Marek glared at a stone bridge spanning the river. Beyond, he could see a discernible shift in the architecture of the buildings. More elaborate structures, more windows, and an abundance of paint denoted the entrance into the Merchant District. He huffed, unable to deny a growing sense of disappointment. "I thought it would be different somehow. Not sure what I expected, but we did travel quite a bit, and yet... it looks so much like home."

Mags laughed beside him, and a few crumbs spattered the front of his shirt. In a voice muffled by biscuits, she said, "It's probably the bridge."

"Well, of course it's the bridge. But the people are dressed the same, and... I don't know, other than the size, feels like just another Ardean town to me."

His friend wiped a streak of honey from her chin and shook her head. "Logic have mercy on your dumb, sheltered soul. Marek, this is just another Ardean town! Only Swiftwall can be called a proper city. Every other settlement in the north was seized by Casteras in the last war."

Marek's frown only deepened. "Good to know the Kaiteras legacy has done so much for our country."

Mags gave him a shove and plodded ahead, stuffing the last honeyed biscuit into her mouth. She grinned at a passerby, who scowled in return and shifted the pack on her shoulder. They’d only brought the items they wished to sell or trade, including the bag of stolen loot. The rest, including their horses, they’d left in the room they’d be staying in at one of the town’s taverns.

"You've a gift for making friends," he said as he fell in line with the woman. "So well mannered."

Ignoring him, Mags brushed off her trousers and licked the fingers of her right hand obnoxiously. When she'd finished, she arched an eyebrow and asked, "So, you gonna tell me what fancy new abilities you got in that last fight?"

"I..." Marek tried before clearing his throat. "Haven't chosen any yet. How'd you know—"

"At this point," she said, interrupting him, “I figure if you fart loud enough, you'll gain a level or two. And you did cut down a number of kobolds."

Marek grunted. “Only one was Classed. Don't think it's that big of a deal."

"Thank the Old Gods the kobolds rarely unlock Classes," Mags threw back. "Otherwise, we'd have been butchered by a barrage of Spells or attack Skills. Most might have been mundane, but every one of those kobs were veteran fighters... Marek, few soldiers kill so many in their entire careers!"

Marek stopped in his tracks and faced the woman with hands on hips. "Don't bullshit me. I only killed a few."

“Six!” Mags retorted. “Six of the bastards, which isn't a heroic feat, but four you took on alone and on foot. And I watched you wrestle with a greater kobold and beat it unarmed!”

He glanced to either side, not comfortable with the volume of her words. "I did level up," he admitted at last. "Three times. I'm Level 15 now, and for some reason, I gained two more Skill slots. So... yeah, I have a couple of choices to make."

Mags punched him in the arm, immediately deadening the nerve running to his palm. "That's what I'm talking about! You've got to quit doubting yourself. You're the…” She bit her lip, eyes shining with mischief. In a whisper, she finished. "You're the blasted Remnant Mage. If you're going to save all of Ardea, you'll need a lot more than a few levels. Now, tell me what choices you have so I can help guide you a bit."

"I don't need your guidance, Magpie," Marek shot back with exaggerated indignance.

"Right. Well, humor me then. Let's hear it, and we'll both put our heads together so you've got the best shot at not dying. Unless you plan on using that boring Skill of yours.”

“Intuit works best with concrete information. I doubt it would help much.”

When Marek offered no other objections, she dropped the sarcastic tone. "Listen, you did save my life. I'd have been cooked and eaten by now if it wasn't for your freaky powers. I want to help in any way I can. That's all."

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Marek pursed his lips in thought. Then he took a step closer and asked, "You sure? I thought you were, I don't know, having a hard time with it all?"

Mags snorted. "I'm still jealous, if that's what you're after. Hells, I'm jealous of any asshat with a Class to their name. Doesn't mean I resent you for it. I'll either get one or I won't. In the meantime, the stronger you become, the better my odds of not being digested by a kobold.”

"Point taken." Marek wrapped an arm around the woman's shoulder and strode into the Merchant District. As they passed shop after shop, he told her the choices he'd been given. "Summon Familiar is the one I won't budge on. I'm terrified of it, not gonna lie, but what could be more versatile than a hungry little monster to call my own?"

"Not exactly subtle," Mags noted. "I take your point, though. You'll need to be careful when and how you use it. Seems like the perfect way to expose yourself."

"Yep, I agree. Anyway, with the last Skill Point, I'm torn between Wraith Step, Phantom Bolt, and Wailing Chains. The first is a movement Ability that grants instantaneous travel up to forty feet. It also stuns or even harms creatures I pass through while using it. Phantom Bolt is tempting ‘cause it's a ranged Ability, the only one I'd have other than fumbling with your old bow. Basic in a way, but I'll be able to blast stuff with ease, and it doesn’t cost much ether. Oh, it's also an evolvable Skill, which I think means I can choose various paths of progression when I reach certain thresholds."

Mags sighed. "You don't know much about any of this, huh?"

"No, I don't. Most everything feels like a guessing game at this point."

The woman pinched the top of his shoulder and gave him a little shake. "Ah, let's not worry about that. I mean, there's a Death Mage lurking about, you're in the process of going mad, and an entire kingdom is hunting you down. Who cares about a little ambiguity? Now, what about the third one?"

Marek chuckled. "You're a horrible person; you know that? Anyway, Wailing Chains is just bonkers. I can fling a pair of ghostly shackles on an enemy and bind it in place. The range is way shorter than Phantom Bolt, only fifteen feet, and it doesn't cause immediate damage, but over time, it leeches a portion of the target’s life energy back to me."

"Nasty!"

"Mmhmm."

Mags nodded as she considered the three options and finally gave her opinion. "Okay, well, it might feel awkward to use a bow, but you can do it. You killed a couple monsters and you haven't even practiced recently. Save the ranged Skill for later. And the chains are... well, creepy, disturbing, and downright incredible. From what you've told me previously, though, don't think you need much more ether unless we find ourselves in a real battle."

"Wraith Step?"

"Yessir. Movement abilities never sound as impressive as they really are. Most only speed up movement, and few cover much ground.” Solemnly, she added, “Forty feet is impressive, Marek. If you use it right, you'll be a proper murderer in no time."

Marek groaned. "Again, Mags, you reveal yourself to be utterly lacking in tact or principle. I was thinking Wraith Step as well. That settles it, then, and… would you look at that?"

"Purple door," Mags said. "Not much on the outside, but hey, it is positioned between Lysander's Linens and The Ship Charcuterie. It must be reputable!"

Marek blinked at the shop to the left of the purple door. Outlandish in the extreme, he was nearly overcome with a desire to investigate. "A nautical-themed charcuterie store. Think they sell boat-shaped cheese?"

"They better. If not, it’s just wasted potential.”

Marek drew in a lungful of air and eyed the purple door. The window of the shop had a slight haze to it, textured so prying eyes wouldn't be able to see into the depths of the store easily. Despite this, he found the cat he'd been told about. "Hello, Pickles," he said before grasping the knob and stepping inside.

The enormous cat pranced across the aisle before them, pausing just long enough to toss a slow and deliberate blink their way.

Then a disheveled gentleman emerged from a back room. "Hello there!" he called. "Up and about your business early, are you? What brings you to Middlebrook Miscellany?"

Marek cleared his throat. Only when Mags had shut the door behind him did he answer. "Una sent me," he said calmly. "She told me I'd appreciate meeting a Mr. Shutterkeep. Is that your name?"

The man's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "Una, you say? I didn't know her caravan had arrived yet."

"Things have been chaotic since the raid," Marek said, hoping to win the man over with logic. The cat brushed up against his leg, reminding him of Una's words. "Hey there, Pickles. You're just as cute as she said."

The shopkeep barked out a laugh, the sound jarring in the small confines of his store. "If by cute you mean fat, maybe! Ah, very well. If Una trusted you with my name and that of my rotund familiar, I suppose I should trust you as well."

Shutterkeep scuttled toward them, his movements precise and calculated. Stopping a few feet away, he surveyed the two travelers at length. A smile crept up to his mouth, where it perched like a wary bird. He smoothed his wrinkled vest, sharp eyes sparkling. “Why don't you two come with me? Best speak of private things where prying ears can't reach us, eh? I'm sure you've much to discuss."

The shopkeep waddled past and out the front door. As he held it open for Marek and Mags, the cat slipped out ahead of them. With few options, they followed Mr. Shutterkeep up the street.

Proud and stepping lightly, Pickles accompanied them along the way.