“It’s a misunderstanding,” Fifteen insisted.

“I see, I see,” the guard captain nodded along. “So that’s all it was. Well, these things happen, don’t they?”

He then abruptly stood and smashed his fists into his desk with such force that it seemed to make his entire office rattle.

“Like hell it’s that simple! You’re lucky the duke didn’t execute you on the spot! What in the Dawn’s light were you thinking, traumatizing the young lady like that?!”

Nobody was sure exactly what happened in that room since none of the parties involved were willing to comment on it, but those details mattered little. The outcome was sufficiently telling. Thankfully, it seemed the duke’s daughter vomited because of nerves rather than poison or magic. The Sage of the Sands hadn’t even touched her as far as anyone could determine, nor did she resist being detained. She certainly could have. If the guild’s information was accurate, she was quite skilled as a fighter. It was common for mages to practice some form of martial combat since using magic against people was a big no-no, even as self-defense. The Sage was especially diligent in that respect. Actually, that was putting it mildly.

Based on what the guard captain’s inquiries had unearthed, it was legitimately concerning how much effort this foreigner put into things. If she wasn’t out on a job she spent all her personal time training her magic, mind, and muscles. Apparently the guild had to force her to take extended rests under penalty of expulsion. What kind of weirdo needed to be threatened into taking things easy? Then again, perhaps Captain Edwards wasn’t one to judge since he was somewhat of a workaholic himself, though he at least made full use of his paid leave. Point was, someone with the acolyte’s skills and height could easily have shaken off the duke’s men and made a run for it without so much as conjuring a spark. That she did no such thing had helped her case immensely.

“I apologize. It won’t happen again.”

That said, wasn’t she a bit too nonchalant about this? The ability to keep a level head was one thing, but she just sounded straight up bored. Annoyed, even. No, wait, wasn’t there something about that included in her dossier? Indeed, now that Captain Edward thought about it, several of the people interviewed as part of her background check commented on her poor social skills. He didn’t think much of it before, but it would appear she really was quite awkward as a person. Someone like that could easily make a sincere apology seem sarcastic on the surface. Honestly, he’d had his fill dealing with one weirdo and would rather not get involved with another one if he could help it.

“See that it doesn’t,” he sat back down. “However, don’t think you’re getting off the hook so easily. You caused quite a bit of trouble for both me and the duke, after all. We’ll need some time to figure out what to do with you.”

She nodded firmly. Didn’t seem too worried, though it was hard to tell since she insisted on keeping her face covered. Not that there was any particular cause for concern from the Captain’s perspective. His Lordship looked absolutely furious earlier, but everyone was a bit on edge right now. Once the duke cooled off he’d settle for the usual slap-on-the-wrist type of punishment. Like a formal apology from the guild, maybe some community service. He wasn’t the kind of petty man to hold a grudge over something this minor, especially since he was the one who summoned the Sage of the Sands. It might have been on his daughter’s behalf, but the responsibility for allowing the two to meet was still on his shoulders.

“Until then, I suggest you prepare yourself and make it quick. We’ve kept Brother Tacitus waiting long enough.”

“… Who?”

Ah, crap. In all the excitement he forgot to mention that, didn’t he?

“He’s a witch hunter dispatched from the main temple. You are to get your things, find him at the west gate, then accompany him to Roderick Asylum.”

The captain still wasn’t sure exactly what was going on, but at this point he really couldn’t care. He was just a middle-man in this mess, anyway. If he had any real say in the matter then both of those weirdos would’ve already been on their way, but his ‘honored guest’ insisted that the Sage answered the duke’s summons first. It was intended as some kind of test, from what Edwards could tell. She probably passed. Though neither the guest nor her host were aware, Brother Tacitus had been spying on their private meeting from outside the window even though it was on the third floor. How a guy that big, heavy, and giggly could be so sneaky was something the honest guard captain could never understand. He certainly wouldn’t have allowed it if he had the authority, but witch hunters were given a lot of leeway in how they carried out their missions. Besides, it was obviously better to have the man on standby just in case the sorceress tried something. Since he didn’t intervene, it was safe to assume he didn’t see or hear anything illegal or heretical.

Though, if Captain Edwards had to be honest, Tacitus was the most suspicious one of all.

“Well? Don’t just stand there, Miss Sage. You have a long trip ahead of you.”

“… Yes, sir.”

The woman stood from her seat and slowly dragged herself out of his office. As expected, she wasn’t thrilled about it. The officer had never heard about this asylum before, so he could only assume it was in another province altogether. It was sure to be a taxing journey even without the pressure of a witch hunter looming over her, least of all that guy. Regardless, he had his own problems to deal with. The hostage situation had revealed quite a few flaws in the guard’s coverage, and addressing those was far too much work for him to be worrying about others. He’d probably have given the asylum matter a bit more thought if he realized the Sage’s mental state was in a far more dire condition than simply ‘not thrilled.’

Fifteen was filled with so much dread that her thoughts resembled a foamy whirlpool. Was what she did to Raela really so horrible as to send her to an asylum? No, if she actually messed up bad enough for an execution to be on the table, then that was definitely the preferable option. In theory, asylums were meant to rehabilitate mages who had literally gone mad with power. In practice, it was more like a prison. Only about a quarter of those committed were ever discharged, and even then they were at risk of a relapse. A psyche tainted and twisted by one’s own magic was almost impossible to heal with humanity’s limited understanding of the condition. They always said those afflicted with power-madness never felt it even after they’d gone over the edge. To call such people a danger to themselves and others was a monumental understatement, and it would appear Fifteen qualified. Why else would they be sending her to one such facility somewhere far away? With a witch hunter to keep her in line, no less.

The sorceress remained in a fuzzy daze as her body went through the motions of packing her things for what was likely the last time. The thought to flee occurred to her, of course, but even in her irrational state she knew it would be pointless. The guild had a sample of her blood, which they could use to easily track her down, and this Brother Tacitus would no doubt subdue her by force once they did. Not to mention that, if she really had developed power-madness, an asylum was the only place where she stood any chance at recovering, however slim. There was a silver lining, actually. Her odds would be better if the mental malady was found early, before it fully developed. Perhaps Emerick noticed the signs and brought them to his superiors’ attention, only for that fiasco at the duke’s estate to confirm those suspicions.

Acolyte Two-Fifteen was almost at the west gate by the time those terrible thoughts drew back and some semblance of clarity returned to her mind. She didn’t even realize it because she was moving on autopilot, but she showed up in her work gear – padded robes, shoulder-bag full of supplies, a bundle of leftover staves, and a fully-loaded potion belt. It would surely look suspicious if a prisoner showed up looking so battle-ready. Indeed, traveling lighter and less-armed was smarter no matter how she looked at it. Unfortunately, it was too late for her to go back and redo her luggage as she just made eye contact with the hunter. It was her first time seeing one in person, but there was no doubt who that towering, knightly figure was. The massive sword, bucket-like helmet, and long green cloak were dead giveaways. Hopefully he wouldn’t get the wrong idea and assume that she was planning on fleeing the instant his back was turned. Perhaps a spirited greeting would reassure him that the sorceress had every intention of complying with the church’s doctrines.

“Two Hundred and Fifteenth Acolyte of the Order of Ash, reporting as ordered!”

It was the first time in a long while she spoke in such a high voice and was nervous as hell, so it came out a bit shaky and weird.

“Heh. Hah! HAHAHA!”

He laughed. Was this a good thing? Well, it was surely a more promising sign than getting chained-up or yelled at.

“That’s such a mouthful I don’t think I’ll need to eat lunch!”

His jovial tone dispelled some of her anxiety, only for it to spike back up when he walked over and suddenly loomed over her. Like with the northlanders, she wasn’t used to dealing with those taller than her, especially this up close, so she couldn’t help but flinch a step back.

“Think we can cut that down to, oh, I don’t know, three syllables or so?”

“… Fifteen is fine,” she squeaked out.

“That’s a number, not a name!” he scoffed, probably. “Did your parents really hate you that much?!”

That was a far more loaded question than he probably cared about and she didn’t feel like it was a good idea to lecture the terrifying gentleman on her personal history and foreign culture, so she caved in rather quickly.

“Then, Zeena.”

It was a name she didn’t feel comfortable about sharing, but if that’s what he wanted-

“Hmm,” he backed off. “Nope, don’t like it. I’ll just call you Miss Name-too-long!”

Okay, now he was just being an ass.

“What about your kitty-cat? You have one of those, right?”

Oh, crap. She was so lost in her own misery that she completely forgot about Bahm. Now that she thought about it, she had no idea what would happen to the extra-large familiar. Knowing how the church operated, they would likely kill him on the spot just in case their bond contributed to Fifteen’s mental instability. For better or worse, the saber-tooth had sensed her unease and intuited she intended to leave town even though she didn’t send him any conscious communication all morning. Hearing the witch hunter’s words, Bahm leapt down from his hiding spot atop the gate’s ramparts and growled menacingly at what he perceived to be a threat to his sworn sibling.

“Wo-hoah! You don’t see that every day, do ya?”

The man in question took it all in stride, pointing and nodding as if the ferocious beast’s threat was nothing but a parlor trick.

“C’mere and give us a hug!”

The saber-tooth did not take the man’s mocking tone or spread-armed stance in a positive light. Though he was slowly gaining some understanding of human language and mannerisms, he couldn’t help but give into his feral instincts and pounced on the knight. He knocked him over and tried his best to maul, claw, and bite him to death. Yet, despite being pinned by the much larger and heavier creature, Tacitus skillfully avoided every attack while laughing loudly.

“Hahaha! Feisty fellow, isn’t he?! I see you’ve trained him well! Hee-hee! Stop that, it tickles!”

Thankfully, it seemed as though only Fifteen saw the assault for what it was. The other guards stationed at the gate just looked on with a mix of annoyance and confusion. It really was hard for them to take this seriously when the ‘victim’ was giggling like a child the entire time.

“Sorry about that,” one of them approached the stunned sorceress. “Brother Tacitus means well, but he’s a wee bit touched in the head. That’s what the Cap’n says, anyway.”

“I… see…”

Was it really okay for this guy to be entrusted with transporting a potentially power-mad mage? He clearly belonged in an asylum more than she did.

“So, uh, I’d be grateful if you could call off your friend. They’re making a scene.”

Fifteen glanced around. It would appear the soldiers were well-informed and maintained their composure, but the nearby citizens were already fleeing while screaming about a monster attack. It wasn’t a good look for anyone involved.

Get off him. He means us no harm.

That simple yet firm mental command seemed to do the trick and the saber-tooth pulled away from the strange man. The beast remained on alert, but was clearly less hostile. The knight instantly hopped to his feet, his equipment scratched up but otherwise unharmed.

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“Man, that was fun!” he merrily declared. “This trip might not be so bad after all! Oh, right! I’m Brother Tacitus! Feel free to call me Tacky if you like having your bones broken! You good and ready to go, Miss Name-too-long?”

“… I don’t know. Do you think I am?”

She wasn’t being snarky, but genuinely asking if he was fine with her battle-garb. Tacitus leaned towards her and thoroughly looked her up and down a few times, armored hand on his helmet’s chin.

“Looks good to me,” he shrugged.

“Then let us depart.”

“Alright, I’ll let us.”

Having said that, he stood firmly where he was, arms crossed and foot tapping impatiently. Was he… waiting for something? Oh, it was one of those things, wasn’t it? The prisoner had to go first so the escort could keep an eye on her? It took the sorceress a few awkward seconds to get the hint, but it would appear her guess was correct. The knight’s heavy footsteps followed her own as soon as she started walking. Bahm walked by her side as usual, though something about the witch hunter clearly bothered him. This didn’t seem to be an echo of Fifteen’s worries, so she couldn’t help but wonder why he was so riled up.

What’s wrong?

Is that one a human?

Should be. Why?

Smells wrong. Moves wrong. Too strong. Too fast.

Indeed, it was hard to imagine anyone could escape that vicious assault without serious injury, even if they were a witch hunter. As far as Fifteen was aware, their order specialized and trained to fight rogue wizards and their ungifted underlings – people, not monsters. There was clearly something unnatural about the man, but that in and of itself wasn’t surprising. Witch hunters were infamous for their inhuman feats, and it was often speculated by those in the robed community that all of them were alchemically enhanced in various ways. Nasty stuff like transplanted monster tissue or intentionally mutated glands. The Church of Dawn publicly derided that sort of thing as dangerous and unethical, yet secretly dabbled in those very arts just to further their secret agenda. Or so the rumors claimed. The organization had its fair share of detractors and skeptics so it wasn’t rare to overhear such allegations, which Fifteen usually dismissed as baseless slander.

I agree.

However, there was no denying the evidence in front of her eyes. Brother Tacitus clearly wasn’t normal, and it was safe to assume that neither were the others in his order, but was that actually a bad thing? There was no denying that witch hunters were exceptionally effective both as enforcers and deterrents. Without them the number of people who broke away from the Ordo Mystica’s regulations would be far higher. The sorceress was well aware that quite a few of her colleagues privately complained about the ‘tyranny of the church’ and how it ‘limited their potential.’ She likewise thought some of the regulations were a bit too stifling, particularly the self-defense ones. The Order of Ash was more lenient in that respect, but overall she preferred the midlanders’ way of doing things. The rules were stricter, yet the benefits were greater. On that note, though she knew it was wishful thinking, she expected their asylums offered better care than the miserable holes back home. She honestly had no idea what this Roderick facility was like.

Or, for that matter, where it was located.

“Excuse me,” she looked over her shoulder. “Where are we headed?”

“Hm? Weren’t you briefed about the mission?”

“Mission?”

“Yeah. Mission. Y’know, the one we’re on?”

“We’re on a mission?”

“Well, duh! What, did you think we’re going to an asylum just to sightsee?”

“… Aren’t I being committed?”

“Ha! As if! You’re way too much fun to be stuck in that smelly old place!”

It took her several seconds to process those words and rethink the day’s events. The new context made her realize she had yet again misunderstood the people around her and that she wasn’t actually getting locked away. The wave of relief that washed over her was so intense she nearly tripped over her metal leg. Granted, she now had a whole new slew of worries to fuss over, but if this was church-sanctioned work then that changed things.

“I want to hear this briefing.”

“So you really weren’t told anything, huh? Such a shame,” he shook his head. “It seems I underestimated Captain By-the-way. I never would’ve thought he’d make such a huge blunder. Very irresponsible.”

He was, of course, omitting the fact that he told Edwards next to nothing in the first place. Even their destination was something the other party had to pry from the witch hunter’s bizarre thoughts. Fifteen had no idea about any of this and couldn’t help but nod in agreement. Several silent seconds later she realized her de-facto client wasn’t planning to elaborate unless she gave him a prod.

“So, can you tell me about the asylum?”

“Absolutely!”

“…”

“…”

“Please do so.”

“Sure. Might as well.”

To summarize a long and meandering conversation, Roderick Asylum was the second-largest facility of its kind within this kingdom’s territory. It was situated two-thirds of the way from Cherrytown’s frontier region to the royal capital and was home to roughly sixty patients. This particular institution was for lost causes that other asylums didn’t have the room for. It was indeed intended to function more or less as a prison, though it was closer to a retirement home. Power-madness could manifest in many ways besides psychotic behavior. Quite often it would result in hallucinations, paranoia, delusions, amnesia, and other such symptoms that made people act in strange and unpredictable but not inherently violent ways. These were considered mild cases that didn’t require much in the way of security, and Roderick Asylum existed to give such people a safe place where they could live out the rest of their days in relative peace. That all changed about four weeks ago.

“What happened?”

By now Fifteen suspected the truth behind the guard captain’s ‘irresponsible’ behavior. Talking with Brother Tacitus about anything even remotely serious was like pulling teeth, and if she didn’t ask those obvious questions then they’d never get anywhere.

“Moon fever, that’s what.”

“Never heard of it. Does it have anything to do with echo dust?”

“The hell’s echo dust?”

Tacitus apparently had no idea about it, but Fifteen refused to believe that was actually the case, considering his occupation as an agent of the law.

“… It’s also known as moon sugar.”

“Oh. Yeah, that’s a way funnier name,” he giggled.

“So the moon fever and moon sugar are related?”

“Dunno. Probably. I mean, they’re both from the moon, right?”

Fifteen didn’t know about the disease, but she had heard a thing or two about echo dust. It was an illegal narcotic substance supposedly made from fragments of Logoth. The moon in question was shattered during the War of the Ancients and a huge cluster of its remains remained in orbit, but bits and pieces occasionally fell from the sky. The drug derived from these rocks greatly increased the user’s magical output and significantly reduced the intensity of the backlash. If magic was a double-edged sword, then echo dust sharpened one side while dulling the other. Those without the gift could use it as well, though in their case they just got a sky-high trip without ever leaving the ground. Echo dust had a major drawback besides its addictive nature, however. It greatly increased the risk of power-madness, so those who abused it often wound up in asylums. It wasn’t a stretch to imagine Roderick had quite a few addicts on site, and their attempts to smuggle in contraband might have caused or contributed to this outbreak.

“What does moon fever do?”

“Oh, it’s nasty. It makes people all white and flaky and bumpy, and they leak pus all over the place. They’re like zombies, but even more gross.”

The sorceress didn’t like the sound of that. What he described was dangerously close to something she read about in the Order of Ash’s forbidden archives. Well, they’re called ‘forbidden’ but in reality ‘limited’ was a more accurate term. Any acolyte could gain access if their grades were good enough, and Fifteen had always been top of her class. The Ordo Mystica had a similar practice, but getting into their stash of grimoires required a much higher level of trust and competency than acing some tests. That aside, the ancient tomes that the sorceress was allowed to peruse described a malady that seemed very similar to the one Tacitus described. If this was indeed the same disease, then the church was likely to be better informed and more careful about disseminating that knowledge. Fifteen had never heard of moon fever before even though the witch hunter spoke of it like it was no big deal. Admittedly that was how he spoke about everything, but the flame-flinger believed her hunch was accurate.

“This flaky skin, is it impervious to mundane attacks?”

“Think so. Heh. Otherwise there’d be no reason for me to bring along someone as hot as you. Oh, and your magic will help, too! Hahaha!”

So this ‘moon fever’ truly was Logoth’s curse, in which case the link to echo dust was most likely not just circumstantial. Logoth wasn’t just the name of a broken moon, but also the dwarvish god of magic, history, and knowledge. According to legend, the celestial body was the deity’s physical form and when it appeared in orbit it sparked a long and ferocious rivalry between him and Eona of the elvish pantheon. It was a territorial dispute of sorts, caused by their overlapping domains of moon and stars. Whether those celestial politics were real or imagined, it was documented fact that Logoth’s decimation during the War of the Ancients had been orchestrated by Eona’s most dedicated supporters. People back then really had far too little restraint for the absurd power they wielded. No wonder the Church of Dawn worked so hard to avoid an encore performance.

Going back to less credible sources, the moon’s destruction dealt a fatal blow to the god of magic. In his final moments, he mustered all the power he had left and unleashed a terrible curse upon the mages of the world. Not just on the elves who had slain him, but also upon those who either stood idly by or failed to protect him, dwarves included. Quite the spiteful fellow, Fifteen noted. The curse in question poisoned the mind and polluted the body, turning those affected into mindless, murderous husks who embodied the dead god’s resentment and thirst for vengeance. They relentlessly attacked anyone who wasn’t one of them and wizards directly exposed to their tainted magic would end up joining the ranks of the damned. Physical attacks were pointless against the afflicted and most forms of magic would only be half as effective. Fire spells were their main weakness, which would certainly explain why Fifteen’s presence was needed.

“Do we just purge the infected when we get there?”

Honestly, she hated to reduce an affliction like that to something as innocuous as ‘moon fever.’ It was grossly misrepresentative of the condition’s severity. However, arguing about it was pointless so long as she and Tacitus were on the same page.

“No, no, no. Not purge. Neutralize.”

“Right… So can I just level the place?”

It would make her job a lot easier if she could drop a Meteor on it, though she suspected it wasn’t going to be that simple.

“Oh! That sounds like a fun idea! Sadly, there is no fun allowed on this field trip.”

As expected, the church wanted the building intact. Were there survivors, perchance? If her old information was accurate, the asylum’s staff shouldn’t have fallen under the curse’s influence, so there was a chance some of them were still alive and in hiding even after all this time. Or maybe there were some important records or tools whose loss would be a major setback. After all, asylums were also places of research. Allegedly. Regardless of what this mission was meant to preserve, success doubtlessly demanded they clear the asylum inside and out, which meant close-quarters combat was all but inevitable. It was far from Fifteen’s ideal range, but the church clearly believed she could manage if they were sending her in alone.

Actually, that wasn’t exactly the case.

“Will you be joining the assault?”

“Of course! I just love getting drenched in moon zombie juice! It does wonders for my skin! Hahaha!”

Well, that was a disturbing mental image, but also somewhat of a relief. The afflicted wizards could still wield magic, and who better to deal with hostile spell-slingers than a witch hunter? Even if his blade wouldn’t do much, he could still distract and block the enemy to buy Fifteen time. This would normally be Bahm’s job if it was just the two of them, but she feared the saber-tooth might be out of his depth. So far they’d only faced fairly basic monsters together, and as skilled as he was, he likely wouldn’t fare well against magic users inside a building where his movements would be limited. Actually, would the familiar even be allowed to partake in the assault? He was a beast so the curse shouldn’t have an effect on him, but Fifteen couldn’t be sure.

“What about Bahm?”

“If the big kitty wants to take a pus-bath with me, I won’t say no!”

Do you think you can handle it?

She’d been sharing most of her thoughts so far with her familiar, so he should have a firm grasp on what sort of challenges awaited them.

I want to try.

Well, that was curious. He clearly wasn’t confident, yet was eager to face the danger.

Why?

The loud human. The one who rode the giant chicken. She disrespected us. I must defeat her.

In other words, he wanted to put Azyra in her place and saw this as an opportunity to hone his mage-fighting skills. Fifteen certainly appreciated the sentiment and had no complaints. Obviously it wouldn’t be good if her familiar just mauled a fellow guild member out of nowhere, even if there technically weren’t any guild regs against it yet. However, this wasn’t just about Azyra. If another cabal of witches caused an incident and dragged Fifteen into it, having Bahm around would give her a lot more self-defense options. Nn that note, if her partner was going to be facing hostile spellslingers in the near future, then it surely couldn’t hurt to ask a genuine witch hunter for some advice. Bahm seemed to like the idea quite a bit.

A bit too much, it would seem, as he instantly turned around and pounced on the knight for the second time today.

“Woah! Guess you want to play some more, huh?!”

It was nothing like before, however. Tacitus didn’t let himself get pinned down and deftly avoided the feline despite the sudden lunge. Furthermore, he actually seemed to be taking this a bit more seriously as he held his stupidly long sword with both hands, though he had yet to remove its sheath. The two stared each other down for a few tense moments before Bahm roared loudly and he reared up on his hind legs. He brought both of his front paws down upon the man with all the force he could muster. Or so it seemed, but Tacitus he didn’t even need to move as the attack landed just short of him. It was a heavy, powerful blow that seemed to shake the ground in an oddly familiar way.

“I see, I see! A thunder mage, eh?!”

Another powerful roar was the answer he got.

“Very well! I’ll show you some tricks if you can land a hit on me!”

As the two engaged in what was sure to be the first of many spars, Fifteen couldn’t help but be impressed. Not with the physical prowess on display. A saber-tooth and witch hunter going at it full-throttle was certainly a sight to behold, but she was far more interested in their ability to communicate. Only one side was capable of human speech, yet Bahm instantly understood and accepted the knight’s challenge. Brother Tacitus didn’t disappoint either. Though he was somehow worse at casual conversation than Fifteen, he had no difficulty grasping the saber-tooth’s intentions and desires. This ‘men talking with their fists’ thing was something the sorceress had heard about before but never thought she’d actually witness. Now that she had the chance, it would surely serve as a valuable case study.

Then again, the mysteries of meathead-to-meathead communication were probably left unresolved.