Seth paused at the sight of the new quest.

“You expect me to believe none of you saw this coming?” he asked his minds.

When have we ever predicted the notifications? One of them replied sarcastically.

“So this is all a coincidence?”

Call it what you want. As long as we gut that snake, that’s all that matters.

Seth didn’t like this. He didn’t like this one bit. His minds were keeping secrets, playing games no one mind should play. If they were learning to predict the quests and he didn’t know, who knew what else they would be able to do. They could lead him to something too dangerous and he would be none the wiser.

He tracked forward in the snow, waded through it. Snake tracks guided him forward as evening darkened to night.

Moonlight guided him, pale and bright. It was full and boastful, prideful in its brightest blue. Seth let it guide him. The dark was ally to assassins and nocturnal. He was none of them.

He was beginning to lose track of how many trees he’d turned at when his minds stopped him.

We think we’ve got a problem.

Seth stopped, a leg a half-step forward. “What’s the problem?”

Four o’clock.

“Four o’clock.” Seth snarled. “What do you mean four o—”

He turned to his right. A step behind him, eight trees removed on his right, he saw the problem. For a moment he wished the light of the moon had not been so bright, then he wouldn’t have seen it.

“That,” he said, looking at the two bodies rested against a tree, “is a problem.”

He made a move in their direction, paused, then reconsidered. The light of the moon blanketed everything but it was still moonlight. Pale as it was, somethings could still go unseen in it. He turned his attention to the snake tracks he was following then back to the bodies. He repeated the action twice, considering much, contemplating.

“Mark it,” he ordered his minds, then turned back to the bodies.

He waded through the snow. It was no less thick here than it had been at his shelter. However, it was sturdier here, fuller. Walking through it was like relearning Jabari’s steps all over again. It hurt to do.

He was close to the bodies when he stumbled. It was a simple action born of no mistakes. He did not kick a stone. He did not miss a step. He did not place his foot wrongly. He simply stumbled.

He caught himself easily. Faltering steps under moonlight was unbecoming of a seminarian. He was sure of at least that.

The steam from his breath drew his attention from his stumble. It was odd, not in the fact that he could see it but in how much of it there was. Keeping the bodies in his periphery, he focused on his breath. Tasking his broken minds, he counted the breaths.

One, two, three, four, five, six, seven, eight, nine, ten, eleven, twelve, thirteen, four—what the hell?

He understood the mind’s shock.

“How many did you count?” he asked another mind. He knew he wouldn’t like the answer.

Six.

That’s bad, a mind thought. Very bad.

The steams from his breath continued to rise up in front of him from tasked nostrils. Fourteen breaths in six seconds. He knew Jabari’s breathing technique made him breath fast, but not that fast.

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The growing warmth in his body was becoming a slow furnace. Soon it would blaze within him. He shook the thought and pushed forward.

He stumbled again and cussed at the forest. Regardless, it wasn’t long before he was in front of the bodies.

The bodies were half-buried in the snow and he was forced to dig to see all of them. His hands were still digging out chunks of snow when his minds brought his attention to another oddity.

Despite his bare palms digging at the snow, his hands were not numb. He also did not feel cold. He dug dipper still, building a ditch around the bodies. He watched smoke rise from his skin each time it touched snow. Panic flickered through his mind at the sight. It came and went. Came and went. It was an odd experience, as though his mind refused to succumb to it while it refused to be ignored.

His ditch complete, he reached a hand up and placed it flat against his chest. His heart was beating rapidly, too fast to be safe. But it did not affect him, apart from his breathing and stumbling twice, he was alright.

He was also hungry.

He reached into his side pocket and removed a strip of meat. He brought it to his lips and paused. Staring down at it was like staring at an incoming Igor during a sparring session: horrible for his health, yet inevitable. There was no part of him that didn’t know it was responsible for his current state.

He shoved it back into his pocket with a half-mumbled cuss. He was killing himself and he knew it. Again, he thought to blame his minds. They were responsible for the stupidity that was his decision to feed on a reia beast, even if it wasn’t strong enough to be iron rank. Its rank did not change the stupidity of the decision.

Still, he couldn’t hold it against them for long. He was still alive. A far cry from the starving boy he’d been for most of the test. He could only hope he could survive long enough till the end of the test. The seminary would fix him after that.

How dangerous is it? a mind asked.

Knowing what it meant, he reached a hand to one of the men and lifted an eyelid. The body was cold to the touch but he barely felt it. He released the body and did the same to the next.

“Brown eyes,” he noted. “Not too dangerous.”

They were not soul mages. In a test like this, anything that could kill a soul mage would kill him without having to try.

Next, he studied the bodies. A quick glance had him correcting himself. It was not a matter of anything, but anyone.

One of the men had been pierced through the heart. The killing blow had been made by a blade six inches wide.

He touched a finger to the wound, identifying it as the seminary’s healer had taught them to. The entrance was rough, jagged. The culprit had struggled to deliver the blow. The wound made a squelching and cracking sound from the almost frozen injury that threatened to disgust him as he pushed two fingers inside. It was as unkempt as the entry. It had not been a clean blow in any way.

The bodies were clad in warm fur cloaks, battered and torn. They were cut up horribly, outcomes of the fight that had ended the men’s lives. While one man had been stabbed in the heart, the other had been stabbed in the neck. Both injuries were painfully rough. And so were the deep cuts that riddled their body.

Their opponent or opponents—whoever they were—had gone for power over finesse.

Seth pulled one of the bodies from against the tree. He unburdened it of its cloak. The cold might not be seeping into his body now but it didn’t mean it wouldn’t later on.

He turned the cloak on himself, rested it over his shoulders.

He returned his attention to the bodies and was searching for any more useful items when his eyes caught on something in the snow. He reached for it and pulled a piece of cloth from the snow. It resembled something ripped forcefully and was stained red in blood.

Something about it was familiar and he rubbed it between thumb and forefinger. He knew the texture. It was grey and soft. Taking a piece of the cloth of one of the bodies between thumb and forefinger, he did the same to it.

They were not the same. Closing his eyes against the decision he was about to make, he took a piece of his cassock between thumb and forefinger. He repeated the action and frowned.

He opened his eyes. “You have got to be kidding me.”

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Emergency Quest: [The Missing Brother].

You have stumbled upon bodies in the aftermath of a short lived battle. Each one has suffered a dire fate, and whatever had inflicted it upon them has lived long enough to escape the scene of the massacre. However, a piece of clothing has been left behind. A seminarian was here. A brother is missing. Find him.

Objective: [Find your brother: 0/1].

Reward: Mental Fortitude.

Consequence: None.

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Seth took a deep breath. “I guess the snake will have to wait.”

He turned away from the bodies and looked around. He stood in place, searching. He didn’t know how long he was there before he found a clue.

A blood stain on a nearby tree caught his attention. It was a weak imprint but a definite one. Whoever owned it had clearly survived. Now, all he had to do was find them.

“C’mon,” he told his minds, “We have a brother to find.”

We really hope it’s not Forlorn, one of them complained.

Seth reached into his cassock pocket and popped a piece of meat in his mouth as he moved. He chewed casually, wading through the snow.

The action was reflexive, and he frowned after the third bite.

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[You Have Been Poisoned.]

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At this rate, another seminarian would find themselves with an emergency quest with him at the end of it.

But until then, he had a brother to find.