Ferris was a country driven by, in my estimation, fear. Nobles feared losing their power and status. Mages feared failure and mediocrity. Commoners feared death. All of these felt natural to me, but one fear above all else was that of the bestial creatures who had once ruled over the land.

We—or rather, our ancestors, had beaten back the wilds centuries earlier, and those hard-fought battles had left within us an instinctive fear. Even now, long after the great beasts of old had come and gone, we still watched for their return. And that had led us to prepare, to ready ourselves against any new threats that might face our country.

Many decades ago, some king or queen had thought to turn these preparations against the ocean. Stories disagreed on whether they thought to guard against seafaring monstrosities or some plot by the Tinkerers, but the results remained the same. They had commanded the construction of a dozen massive fortresses along the coastline, designed to protect us along our western border.

No such attacks had ever happened, and none would for another decade, but those fortresses remained in use. Over the years since, their purpose had quietly shifted into a semi-retirement, a place for mages too old to be useful but too powerful to insult to languish until their deaths. The man who summoned Master Lysandra was one such mage.

I spotted the fortress from a long distance away and watched as we drew closer and rough details resolved into something recognizable. It was a massive stone structure constructed atop a hill overlooking the coastline. The oceanic winds had worn the walls and sea-facing facade, and stairs led down to a small dock designed to hold two or three ships at most.

Aiden guided us towards the docks with a deft hand and sharp commands. Sailors hurried about the decks, adjusting ropes and sails in something akin to a choreographed dance. I had done my best to decipher their movements in the week since we had left Aranth, but my understanding had barely progressed past "non-existent" in that time.

Our ship slid into place with barely a shudder, and soon, we were tied down with a ramp lowered to the docks. Master Lysandra had arrived on the top deck at some point and stood beside me, arms folded behind her back and a strange expression on her face.

The healer turned towards me, regarding my features with an uncharacteristically stern look.

"Are you ready?"

"Yes, master," I nodded.

She considered me for another second, then nodded, "Leave your things and your pet and follow me. Do not speak unless spoken to, and do not take anything I might say to heart."

Then, without another word, she strode past me and down the ramp, nodding once in Aiden's direction along the way. I followed, shrugging Cat off my shoulders and hurrying after the healer.

We walked up the water-slicked stone stairs, making our way up to the fortress proper. There, we found a gateway manned by several armored guards carrying spears and, past that, a courtyard open to the morning sky.

Something about it tickled my mind, or rather my memories, and I had to push the possibilities out of my thoughts as Lysandra led us through the courtyard and into the interior part of the fortress.

Inside, it was cold, dark, and damp. Torches along the walls and the carpet underfoot did little to lessen any of these, but thankfully, Lysandra kept us moving at a quick clip. She moved down various hallways, up the stairs, and past doorways without slowing, clearly intimately familiar with the layout. Her strange attitude persisted, though, and my one attempt at asking questions was met with a sharp look and a shake of her head.

Finally, we stopped before a set of large, dark wooden doors. Lysandra looked at me again, whispering, "Remember what I told you," before knocking three times.

Nothing happened for a heartbeat. Then two. Then, on the third, the doors swung inward, and Master Lysandra walked through. I paused for only a second before following.

Past the door had to be the lord's chamber. It was long and rectangular, with torches along the walls burning an unnatural crimson and a red carpet leading up to a massive wooden chair atop a raised stone dais. Seven figures were in the room, six standing while the seven slumped on the throne.

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The fortress lord was possibly the oldest person I had ever met, even more so than Master Barlow. He was an ancient, wizened man of skin and bone, bald with papery skin, a thin mustache, and a wispy beard. His robes, dark with patches of crimson here and there, hung off his hunched frame, and the ruby-tipped staff leaning against the arm of his chair looked titanic compared to his body.

None of that, however, detracted from the sheer power that radiated off of him.

Fire mana bled off his body in careless waves, giving off a feeling like standing beside a blazing oven. I could not name his mana density, but I suspected he was close to an Ocean if not one outright. If pushed, he could set my body alight with nothing more than a glare. Even his staff, inert at the moment, felt as if it contained a dozen times as much mana within it as my body. If I had a chance, I would love to take a closer look at that particular object.

The other six figures, mages all, ranged in age from their early twenties to late thirties. Each wore robes of the same coloration and style as the lord, and each was powerful in their own right. Notably, all six were fire mages, but I suspected that even combined, they could not match the depth or the burning might of their lord's mana.

The lord shifted on his throne, and I was almost surprised he had not passed away in the brief time it took us to enter the room and approach him. He looked over us both, cleared his throat, and spoke.

"Lysandra," the man said, a weak smile coming to his face. His voice was as wispy as his beard, so quiet I struggled to hear him speak, "Thank you for coming on such short notice."

"It is my honor, Lord Sinnett," Lysandra bowed at her waist, and I followed her movement, "I apologize for taking as long as I did to arrive."

"Bah, I'm not going to keel over that quickly, despite what my minders think," the lord waved one hand towards the other mages, and that single gesture called his protestations into question. His arm shook, and it looked as if it might snap in half if he moved too suddenly.

"Of course, Lord Sinnett," Master Lysandra straightened, then gestured towards me, "Allow me to introduce my apprentice, Vayne. He is to be my assistant during my time here, and I ask that he be provided the same protection as my first student."

"Still only two students, eh? Too few for my tastes. Competition keeps them from getting too comfortable. Keeps them from getting any ideas about where they stand, right?" Sinnett's smile turned cruel, and he let out a half-coughing laugh. I noticed several of the other fire mages shift in place, doing their best and failing miserably to hide their discomfort.

Lysandra ignored the cruel comment, smiling as she replied, "Two is more than enough. Too many at once, and I find that I cannot dedicate enough time to either. Healers require a more...direct touch, I find."

Sinnett waved a shaking hand again, "If you insist. So, what lineage does this one come from? Some down-on-their-luck barony? The son of a count? Speak up, boy. What is your family name?"

The lord's thin, watery eyes turned towards me, and with it came the weight of his magic. I struggled not to quail under the sheer force of it and bowed again, trying to avoid thinking about how this was his passive strength.

"It is a true honor to meet you, Lord Sinnett. I am afraid I do not hail from any noble family. However, I grew up on the estate of the honored Duke Estton. I was sponsored for a time in the Academy, though I proved unsuited to this education. Since then, I have come to train under Master Lysandra to further my education as a noble healer."

It was a painfully meek, subservient display. I hated myself for every word I spoke, yet I hoped it was enough for the man. However, instead of responding, the lord remained silent. If anything, I found that the weight on my back doubled. After ten, maybe fifteen seconds, the fire mage finally grunted and said, "Straighten. I want to see your face."

I did as he commanded and found that the lord now wore an open sneer on his wrinkled face. He regarded me not unlike how one might consider a dead animal on the side of the road and continued, "A common-born boy? The son of a carpenter? A shepherd? Maybe a farmer? Lucky enough to earn the mercy of one of your betters, but you weren't content with that, were you? Hoping to steal more for yourself? Such arrogance."

"No, my lord, I—"

The weight returned, and this time, a burning heat came with it. I closed my mouth with a click, only narrowly stopping myself from reaching into my core for my Aether. Not only would it not save me, but it might provoke the lord into striking me down on the spot.

"You do not speak without my permission, boy. Is that clear?" the lord demanded.

I did not respond, as he had not given me permission. It seemed the wisest choice, yet strangely, that seemed to irritate the man more than ever. I felt the heat rise in the room, and sweat trickled down my back as the weight of his mana increased even higher.

Just as I was about to break, Master Lysandra intervened.

I felt her mana cover me, blocking the worst of it as she stepped forward and said, "Lord Sinnett, please forgive my apprentice for speaking out of turn. He sometimes lets his emotions get the best of him, as many young mages often do. I can assure you he will not make such a mistake again."

"He is my guest," Sinnett replied without looking away from me, "And he insulted me. It is my choice to discipline upstart commoners as I see fit."

"Normally, yes, but he is my apprentice. Is it not within my rights to discipline him as I see fit?"

Technically, Master Lysandra was correct. If a mage's apprentice spoke out of turn or insulted a noble, it fell onto the master to discipline them however they saw fit. The insulted party could, and sometimes would, interject their own opinion and even protest if they felt the punishment insufficient, but at the end of the day, it was not their choice.

Of course, none of that eased my nerves. Master Lysandra might not be happy if Lord Sinnett decided to char me to a crisp out of some sense of a bruised ego, but that was a poor defense at best.

Lord Sinnett stared at me for a long time still. The temperature in the room, weakened though it was, remained hot enough to send trickles of sweat down my back. I had stared death in the face several times before already, but this was the first time I was truly so helpless in a long time.

Finally, with a scoff, the lord waved a hand. The mana within the room abated just a hair, and I managed to catch myself from slumping over entirely. Instead, I remained still as I waited for orders.

"Leave us, boy," Sinnett commanded, once more breaking from norms. I paused, only to jump as Master Lysandra glanced over her shoulder to me and nodded.

The healer wore the same stern expression as before, but now there was a look in her eyes. It was not fear or even nervousness, but it carried a clear warning.

So, I bowed as deeply as I could without falling over, held the position, and turned before hurrying to the room before the lord of the fortress could strike me down. And the entire way out, I felt the once-forgotten tang of helplessness return to my mouth.

It tasted bitter.