“An efficient bureaucracy is one of the greatest tools of Evil. That’s why when invading Praes, you kill the functionaries first.”

– Queen Elizabeth Alban of Callow

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The early light of dawn was peaking over the horizon by the time we called to a halt. I was sore in all the wrong places and exhausted as well. The temptation to try experimenting with modifying my own body rose up in response to the pain, but I squashed it mercilessly. I wasn’t sure what it would do to me, and the consequences of a poor outcome would be dire. I would leave that until I was more sure of what exactly I could do.

Right before we left, we had packed what we could in as brief a time as possible. Olivier, no, Roland, wanted to leave as quickly as he could.

Despite my general exhaustion, I felt more alive than I had in months. I had a duty. Keeping Roland alive. He wanted to play hero and I would help him learn the ropes. It would give me something to strive towards until I found a goal of my own.

We were preparing to set up camp on the slope of a mountain east of Beaumarais. Maxime had started a fire, and I was cooking a stew over the flames. The others were setting up sort of makeshift shelter. Now that we had come to a stop, I had some questions that needed to be answered.

“So Olivier-”

“Roland,” he corrected me firmly.

It wouldn’t actually change anything in Beaumarais, but… if it makes him happy.

“So Roland, where is it exactly you plan for us to head?” I asked.

He frowned in contemplation. “For now, I wish to depart Procer for Callow. While there, we will do our best not to draw untoward attention.” He replied.

I didn’t have a good picture of the local politics or geography. I had only been in Calernia for four months. Most of my efforts had been spent learning to talk to people, as well as developing the one marketable skill that I had. With that being said, it was hard not to pick up some details in idle conversation.

“That’s the place currently occupied by the Empire, inhabited by Evil diabolists who summon demons and devils, right?” I inquired.

The idea seemed absurd. From what I heard, they even called their standing army the Legions of Terror. It was almost surprising that they weren’t ruled over by a dark lord who could only be killed by throwing a ring into the fires of Mount Doom.

“About nine years ago, during what is now known as the Conquest, Praes marched the Legions of Terror across the Field of Streges and conquered Callow. All the Princes were too busy sniffing at each other’s asses trying to work out who should rule the Principate to bother intervening.” Max explained.

“They are ruled over by the Calamities at the moment, correct?” I gave the broth a stir.

“That’s right, Taylor,” Max confirmed.

“The people with a reputation for killing every hero who sets foot into the area?”

Roland, I noticed, was avoiding looking at me now.

“Those would be the ones, yes.” Max agreed. I noticed he was suppressing a grin. I suspected he knew where I was going with this.

“So what part of that makes you think that heading there is a good idea, Roland?” I asked.

“I did suggest that accompanying me on my travels would be fraught with peril-” Roland started.

“We know it’s dangerous,” I interrupted him. “I want to know why you chose to come to Callow and not somewhere else in Procer.”

I wasn’t convinced that entering this place was the smartest idea.

“After the events in Beaumarais, the House of Light will have questions for me which I do not wish to answer. Whilst they still have a presence in Callow, their influence is much weaker than it would be if we remained within the Principate.” He replied.

“I bet Olivier hasn’t even figured out how we are going to get past the border without drawing attention.” Max added.

“Roland,” Roland insisted.

“Alright Olivier,” Max needled him. I gave Max a flat look.

“Fine, Roland, since it makes Taylor happy,” he deflated. I returned my attention to the pot.

I let the topic of conversation change.

“Is the border heavily guarded?” I gave the broth a taste. It wasn’t great. With what little we had brought along with us, though, it would have to do.

“Tighter than a whore’s purse.” Max said cheerfully. “They have border fortresses guarding every available pass.”

“And they would really take note of only three people?” I asked doubtfully.

“Three people with horses that all have the gift for sorcery? Maybe one wizard on foot wouldn’t attract notice, but not three.” Max explained.

“We aren’t going to enter Callow without at least being seen then.”

“So we leave the horses once we are closer and then try to sneak past on foot.” Roland proposed.

“Kid, if we’re caught trying to sneak in, it will be a whole different kind of trouble.” Max replied.

The two of them continued passing suggestions back and forth. Invisibility was out, we didn’t know if the border fortresses had wards against it. They didn’t know how to teleport, and the books Roland had hinted that it was impractically expensive anyhow. I suspected I could pull it off, but without being able to see my destination, I was worried about ending up dead ten feet underground. I listened with one ear as I stirred the pot.

Suddenly, I struck upon an idea. It was bold and took refuge in audacity. Roland didn’t like it. Maxime approved of it from when I first suggested it, though. He laughed as if it was the best joke he had heard in a month.

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The day we arrived at one of the border forts, the weather was absolutely foul. Were it a little worse, you could swim while standing up. Fortunately, my plan didn’t call for subtlety. The outer walls were nothing more elaborate than what looked to be twenty feet of rock stacked on top of each other. There were no bastions or towers. The place was truly bare.

We approached the walls openly, warded against the downpour by a spell maintained by Maxime. To anyone looking on, it was clear sorcery was in use. The gate we were heading towards was open, although the guards stationed at it seemed to want to be almost anywhere else.

Somewhat disappointingly, the rain made it too difficult to properly make them out. A childish part of me wanted to see what genuine Legions of Terror looked like.

There will always be another opportunity.

As we passed through, we were led by a surly looking man towards a small office on the other side.

Stepping out of the downpour, it was almost uncanny how quiet it was once we were inside. There was an old man with dark skin and a bald head seated behind a desk. He looked up dourly as we entered. In the corner of the room sat a young, fair skinned girl smoking a pipe. She looked to be my age.

He muttered something in a language I didn’t speak under his breath. I’d bet he was complaining about the time of our arrival.

My hand tapped the side of my leg nervously. The nervous tick frustrated me. I found myself doing it often. Before I arrived in Calernia, it would never have been a problem.

I wish I still had my swarm.

“Girlie here doesn’t speak Lower Miezan,” Max pointed his thumb back at me.

He took a piece of paper from a pile on his desk and placed it in front of him. If I still had my glasses, I would have been able to read it from where I was. “Name and place of origin,” he stated in Chantant, without looking up.

“Maxime Redflame, from Apenun.”

“Roland, from Beaumarais.”

“Taylor…” I hesitated.

“From where?” He sounded like he was pulling out teeth when he asked.

“… from nowhere in particular.” I finished.

He paused his recording there and looked up at me. “If you want to be let in, you’re going to need to tell me where you came from.”

I realized it didn’t matter if I told them the truth. They had no way to verify it, and it would mean nothing to them.

“Brockton Bay, the United States of America. It’s all meaningless to you,” I answered in English.

“She’s not from Calernia,” Maxime interjected, grinning at the man.

The man harrumphed in response. “Reason for entry?”

“Roland summoned six dozen undead in Beaumarais. The House of Light took issue with it,” I explained.

“I didn’t mean for it to happen,” Roland protested.

“Of course,” the man muttered. “It’s always an accident. They never mean to. The demon was surely there all along. Diabolists are all the same when their plan inevitably fails.”

He turned to look at the girl and asked her something to her in Lower Meizan. She performed a complicated gesture, grabbed a knife at her left side, and then slit the palm of her hand. A spell manifested that I didn’t recognize. She said something back to him in reply.

His eyes sharpened and he looked up at us.

“Right, all three of you have the gift, although-” he bent down to consult his papers, “-Taylor here is somewhat of an anomaly, being from off the continent. This process just became a bit more involved. So I repeat, reason for entry.”

“Escaping religious persecution,” I explained.

“All three of you?” He inquired.

“Roland summoned the zombies. He was our direct superior. The House of Light doesn’t take kindly to that where we came from.”

“Right. In the event that you believe that the Dread Empire of Praes allows practitioners to freely summon up whatever creatures they like, allow me to disabuse you of that notion. We have strict laws here about what can and can’t be done.” He reached across the desk to his right and picked up a book. Opening it, he turned to a specific page and then pushed it across to us.

I leaned in and picked it up. It was a list of laws involving magic. Details on who could and could not own a mage tower, bans on the sale of magical texts and restrictions placed on the summoning of devils and demons. There were other laws as well. Lists of which enchanted goods were allowed to be produced. Lists vaguely detailing what types of learning were restricted. Most of the laws we had no intention to break. The laws went on for multiple pages and took a while to read through. After I finished reading, I passed it to Roland.

“We won’t fuck with those laws,” Maxime said, when he was done reading.

“See that you follow them, or you will die.” The man replied.

The questions continued. Slowly, the man built a profile on us. Half an hour later and we were done. We were cleared to enter Callow. We climbed back on our horses and left.

When we set up camp for the night, we put up protective wards in the event of eavesdropping. Then, Roland finally allowed his incredulity to seep through. “We admitted to guilt for the events in Beaumarais, and they just let us through.”

“It’s not that surprising when you think about it,” I stated.

“Girlie’s right, Roland. The Empire doesn’t care whose daughter you fucked in Procer, so long as you don’t piss in their breakfast too. Being seen as just another wizard with more ambition than sense is simply fitting in here.”

“Reputation matters a lot to villains,” I agreed.

“And you have sufficient experience to call upon with villains, then?” Roland asked skeptically.

I debated what I wanted to tell him. After a while, I made my decision. If I was going to be travelling with him for a while, he would need to know something about me.

“Sure. I was a villain first before I switched and became a hero. Then I lost my Name before I ended up here.” I explained.

It wasn’t exactly true but… Max had already heard something like it, so I may as well keep my story straight.

“I was under the impression you served as a soldier,” he replied dubiously.

“When I told you that, I barely spoke a word of Chantant.”

“And how long were you one of the Chosen for?” He inquired.

“About two yearsHeroes and villains were different where I came from, though. My experience will differ from yours,” I warned.

“How did they differ?”

How to answer? heroism here compared to heroism on Bet really were two very different beasts. I didn’t want to give him the wrong idea.

“heroes in my homeland weren’t expected to win,” I began.

Both Maxime and Roland stilled at that.

“There were more than twice as many villains as heroes. Even though all the heroes banded together in one team, they lost more often than they won. This is despite the fact the villains all fought among each other as well.” I explained.

“How many of Heaven’s Chosen were there?” Roland asked.

“Hundreds.”

“And how big were the sticks they swung around, Girlie?” Max butted in.

“Keep in mind, my opinion is based on what I have seen so far, and I could be wrong,” I warned.

“To expect otherwise would be a folly,” Roland agreed.

“Well then, there is no point to even compare heroes.” I stated.

“And why is that Girlie?”

“Because our normal soldiers had weapons strong enough to kill everyone on Calernia over the course of an afternoon.” I poked at the fire with a stick absently. An awkward silence fell in the wake of my declaration.

Finally, Roland broke it. “What manner of weapons could achieve that?”

How do I explain planes?

“We had machines that could fly. They could travel from one side of Calernia to the other in a matter of hours. Some of them carried explosives. They could be dropped on cities from high up in the air. Since my arrival, I haven’t seen anything which could stop them.” I finished.

Roland looked sceptical, Maxime looked subdued.

“You’re no Gnome, Taylor. They’re just stories.” Roland stated.

I didn’t even know what Gnomes were, but it didn’t really matter. I didn’t need to convince them, it wasn’t like I was going to reinvent planes anyhow. So long as they trusted me to stick with them, I was satisfied. So I changed the subject.

“So, the reason that reputation is so important for villains is that you have far more enemies. You need to be seen as unbeatable, even though you aren’t.” I began.

“And how does that perception matter?” Roland asked.

“Because you aren’t unbeatable.”

“This is something that people are all aware of.” Roland responded.

“There is a difference between knowing and knowing.” I argued. “Even if everyone knows that the enemy isn’t unbeatable, if there is even a seed of doubt, then many opportunists won’t act. As a villain, this gives you a measure of safety. Your reputation alone prevents many foes from taking the chance to strike.”

“Girlie’s right,” Max murmured.

I smiled. I was about to thank him for his support when he continued.

“She has her head screwed on properly when it comes to fighting. Just ignore all of her relationship advice,” he finished.

Well, that was just rude.

“Anyway, that’s part of the reason why it doesn’t surprise me. We will be seen as just another group of overly ambitious necromancers coming to perform experiments that would be illegal elsewhere. Long-term, it probably even helps us stay safe,” I explained.

“How does attracting attention keep us safe?” Roland asked, sceptically.

“You told me they would investigate us. If they looked into Beaumarais after we left, then we were always going to attract attention. This way it’s not the wrong kind of attentionHeroes get killed here. Necromancers who keep their heads down don’t.”

If you spot this narrative on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

The easy-going banter continued for half an hour or so. We continued to debate the merits of the method of our entry. It was nice.

Roland turned in for the night not long after.

I was sitting on a rock at the edge of our camp, watching the clouds above, when Max sat down next to me.

“You should stop with the foreplay and share your story for real, Taylor.” He murmured.

“What do you mean?” I deflected.

What had I given away?

“Just because I was a drunk, doesn’t mean I had my head up my own ass.” He curled his left hand into a fist in front of him.

“You always wait to be invited in when penetrating a threshold.” He raised his index finger.

“You asked me about the Gods Above as if you didn’t believe they existed at all.” The middle finger came next.

“You have the gift, but you aren’t actually using it. You’re teasing Creation using will alone.” Up went the ring finger.

“You fed me a story involving Tyrants, Dragons, Demons, Dark gods, and Chancellors. It can’t be anything recent, and it doesn’t fit any history I know.” The thumb stuck out.

“And lastly, you were found in a ritual circle, in a place so exotic that nobody has seen its like before.” He finished with the little finger, then looked at me expectantly.

“We know you aren’t from Calernia Taylor, but it’s clear that you’re not from Creation at all.”

A sense of dread had seized me with every finger he raised. I tapped my leg absently while I framed my response.

“If I wasn’t from Creation, what would it mean exactly?” I asked.

He snorted.

“You’re worrying yourself too much about the wrong problem and not dealing with the shaved bear in the brothel. I can guess what’s worrying you. You read our stories about known creatures from beyond Creation. Now you’re thinking about what they mean to you.” He stated.

“I don’t know any stories that start with inviting a Devil into your house that end with a happily ever after,” I told him.

“You’re reading the wrong kinds of stories, then,” he grinned at me wickedly.

In spite of the vulgarity, I smiled a little.

“I bet whoever summoned you here was thinking that too,” he continued to joke.

“Ew, no.” I protested firmly.

“I’ve never been so far up shit creek that I ran into a demonor Devil. Most people never are. Nobody is fucked enough in the head to mistake you for one, though.” He stated.

“Why is that?” Aside from Angels and the Fae, they were the only extradimensional entities I had read about.

“Because if you were a demonor Devil, Beaumarais would have been sent to the hells the long before I worked it out,” he paused.

I felt like there was probably a flaw in that logic, but I wasn’t going to look for it.

“However, that still isn’t the problem that’s going to steal your knickers, Taylor.” He turned his head my way, locking his gaze with mine.

“So what do you think I should be concerned about then?” I challenged.

“Think, Taylor. You’re travelling with a hero in a story and keeping a secret from him. When does the secret come out?” He replied.

“At the worst possible moment.” I answered dubiously. I was aware of how strongly the locals believed their stories. That didn’t mean I bought into them.

He shook his head.

“You still don’t understand it, do you. Well, here is something you might believe. We’re heading into lands controlled by Praes. The place that is known for its mastery of magic. It’s certain that someone here will recognize you for whatever you are. Whoever they are, they won’t care to just let you travel around.” He explained.

That gave me pause.

He was right about the people here. In Procer, magic was reviled. In Praes it was apparently coveted. I had been so caught up in worrying about how Roland might cause problems for us that I never considered myself.

“I’ll think about it,” I told Max seriously.

“Make sure you think fast then. The boy needs to know. Ideally, before we get into a fight with a diabolist, and they chain you down with wards.” He declared.

And I did think about it. I didn’t make a decision then as I stared up into the clouds. Instead, I thought about all the difficulties that lay ahead. Callow was pushing the limits of what was safe for me. Praes would be off limits entirely. It bothered me that I hadn’t even considered that aspect of our safety when we decided to come here.

Maybe I was even more lost than I thought.

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We were on the road for a while before we eventually arrived in Ankou. It was my first time since being found by Roland that I had seen a proper city. It was both bigger and smaller than I expected. The city seemed to sprawl out, as if it had grown over time rather than been planned. Most of the buildings only had a single floor and had slanted slate roofs.

Shortly after our arrival, we sold our horses and rented a place to stay. It was frustrating being in a land where I once again didn’t speak the local language. Considering we were planning to stay for a while, I had time to learn. For a while we lived simply. Maxime and I would pay people to bring us herbs, then profit off of the potions we made. Roland would sell enchanted wares that weren’t banned or restricted. Farming implements and household tools that didn’t rust.

In addition, the two of them offered their services as healers. I would have tried to do the same, except I didn’t know the human body well enough to have a hope in hell of pulling it off.

The plan was for us to keep our heads low and escape notice. To solve problems without drawing attention. I had stopped experimenting with new powers for a while, simply because I didn’t know if what I was doing could be detected. I also didn’t know how closely we were being watched. Better to play it safe for now, rather than see us all dead.

I had been told that the Eyes of the Empire were always watching. I didn’t know how true that was, but it was best to be cautious nonetheless. The threat of ever present watchers hanging over my back made me very aware of my need to be invited into residences. It was even more frustrating than before.

It almost felt like we were back at the tower in the Knightsgrave. There were some differences though. The only books on magic we had were the ones we had carried with us. In order to learn more, Olivier was forced to resort to experimentation. The ban on the sale of magical treatises was absolute. We couldn’t learn more on magic without enrolling with the Legions of Terror. None of us were keen on that.

The diversity in species was what took the longest for me to adjust to. Orcs were real here. Big, bulky, with green skin and large teeth. Not only were they real, but they walked the streets of Ankou as part of the Legions of Terror. Goblins and Ogres existed as well, I just hadn’t seen one yet.

Early into our arrival, a local gang tried to intimidate us into paying for protection money. After they had been incapacitated and handed off to the guards, we weren’t bothered like that again. The guards asked me to please be more careful when defending myself in future. Sending them running away covered in bruises was not considered acceptable.

It had taken me effort to suppress the laugh.

Roland and Maxime had given me a crash course on Callow’s history. The Black Knight had literally crucified people who disagreed with him during the conquest. I hadn’t seen anything like that happening so far during my stay. If I had, I certainly wouldn’t have been able to sit by and just let it happen.

A month into our stay and the news of Princess Constance’s death arrived. It was late evening. The three of us were hunched together around a table at one of the nearby inns. Then we heard the news. A city in the middle of nowhere, fought over by two Proceran Princes. Then the sky above was darkened by metal as the bombs began to drop.

At the news of the deaths, many of the locals began to cheer. The casual disregard for life here made me wish for Earth Bet once more. I had killed people, but I hadn’t done it because I enjoyed it. It was just something that needed to be done. What was there to be happy about this anyhow? Two fighting armies were annihilated to the last man because they went digging through the remains of a modern city. It was like they were cheering at the boot pressing down on their necks.

The civil war had briefly stalled into a lull. Prince Dagobert and Princess Aenor had allegedly called for a temporary cessation of hostilities while the matter was debated in the Highest Assembly.

At that, the cheers died down.

We paid and left shortly afterwards.

My emotions were a complicated mess. I was upset, my anger was dark and undirected. There wasn’t a good outlet for it. I had heard more about the Gnomes since the first time Roland mentioned them to me. An unseen force, keeping the people of Calernia in the mud. Learn too much, and they would erase you from existence.

People considered them to be myths, so I had dismissed them as unimportant. Knowing they were real strongly changed how I felt. I didn’t know what to do about them, or even if anything could be done about them. They were a significantly more advanced foreign nation, dictating how everyone on Calernia lived. It was unlikely I would ever have the power to do anything about it, but… I knew that if I ever found myself in a position where I could contest them, that I would do something.

I didn’t even understand the point of what they did. What benefit was there to keeping down an entire continent of people that are almost certain to one day rebel against you?

Regardless, their presence meant that I needed to be careful. I didn’t want responsibility for a place being blown up, simply because I said too much. I didn’t even really know what counted as too much. In the aftermath, Roland and Maxime took my stories far more seriously. It didn’t surprise me.

We left Ankou shortly after. We purchased mules and a wagon, and then set out on the road once more.

It was four months into our time in Callow when we stumbled upon our first major problem.

We were stopping over in a small town between Ankou and Hedges in the Callowan heartland. We had rented rooms at one of the Inns and were planning to stay for a week before we moved on. A day into our stay, a family stumbled in.

The husband carried a small girl in his arms. She looked to be six years old and was frail, sickly. Her pale skin was clearly soaked in sweat. What I guessed to be his wife was clutching his arms tightly as they came in.

“You’re the travelling Wizards?” The wife asked nervously.

“That we are. Do you require our assistance?” Roland replied.

By unspoken agreement, he was usually the face of the group when dealing with customers. He was more approachable. I was the face of the group when dealing with threats.

“It’s our daughter, she hasn’t woken up for two days. Nothing we do works. We think that she’s sick. Can you try to heal her, please?” She pleaded.

Wordlessly, we made space on the table. The barkeep looked at us sourly as we did so, but said nothing. After half of an hour of trying to heal the girl, both Roland and Maxime looked like they had swallowed a lemon. The parents looked on nervously as they worked.

“It is not within our means to heal her. What ails her isn’t an illness.” Roland told them, sombrely.

“What do you mean? It’s obvious that she’s sick!” The husband shouted out angrily.

“Somebody has pulled her soul out from her body. Physically, she is fine.” Roland explained.

“You mean some diabolist did this to her?” The man said, his voice hoarse.

“That is the likely explanation.”

“Can you do anything about this?” The wife asked.

“I would talk this over with my companions and then speak with you on the matter in the morning.” Roland declared.

They left soon after, having told us where they lived when they did. We made our way to the rooms we were renting, and then Maxime put up a ward. The space in a single room was cramped and there wasn’t enough seating for all of us. So we sat huddled together on the floor.

“We have a problem,” I began.

“I think it’s a big one.” Maxime agreed.

A “Problem” is how we referred to any difficulty that specifically involved Roland’s Name. So far, nothing major had happened. He helped to resolve small issues. Solving disputes between locals was the extent of his heroism.

This was a notable step up. If we weren’t careful, we would draw the Calamities' attention depending on what we did.

“Someone pulled the kid’s soul right out of her body. That makes this a murder,” Maxime began.

“The child is not dead yet,” Roland stated firmly.

“She’s missing her soul, she’s as dead as Callow’s royalty.” Maxime replied.

“We do not know what manner of use her soul has been put to, but if it has not been used to fuel a working yet, it could still be restored.” Roland continued to argue.

Max and I did not protest the statement, even if we both found it to be unlikely.

“This is a small community, with just under a thousand residents at most. The Praesi presence is barely felt here. The local militia does not have the talent to handle a problem like this. We should claim this cause as our own.” Roland suggested.

I was sorely tempted to agree. When I had decided to follow Roland, I had not expected him to truly keep his head down. He was much more level-headed than I thought. The amount of inaction we were experiencing was making me restless.

“Where do we start investigating?” I asked.

“You’re going along with this girlie?” Maxime looked surprised.

“Roland’s right, we are best suited for this.” I argued.

“Tomorrow we should split up. The town is small, we can cover it more easily. We’re looking for signs of magic use, possibly diabolism.” Roland mused.

“One of the wenches downstairs mentioned a Praesi wizard living in a small house just outside the town. Achlys of Aksum.” Maxime added.

“She is the most likely actor,” Roland stated.

“I don’t think it will be her,” I said quietly.

“Why not Achlys of Aksum?” Roland inquired.

“She has lived here for a while. The locals all know she is here. If anything like this were to happen, she knows she is the first person who will be blamed.” I explained.

“Who could oppose her here, if she was at fault?”

I thought it over. While it was true in the short term, nobody here could likely oppose her. My time in Callow had taught me that the Legions were not to be crossed. Come to their attention, and they would see her imprisoned before the day was out.

It struck me then. I had spent so long not involved in an investigation like this that we were going about it the wrong way.

“We need to investigate the scene of the crime first,” I stated firmly. “Talk to the parents, find out where the girl has been. Find out where she was found and who she has talked to. We also need to ask around about if any other similar deaths have occurred. Is this an isolated case, or part of a larger pattern.”

Roland eyed me contemplatively. “I take it you have some experience with this kind of investigation, then?”

“I do,” I acknowledged.

“I will liaise with the townsfolk then, you meet with her parents and Maxime can visit the witch. Are we all in accord?” Roland asked.

We both gave our assent, then left to our respective rooms. The next day, we split up. I made my way towards a rather sad looking house right at the edge of the town. I knocked on the warped wooden door. Heartbeats later, I was greeted by the father.

“Oh, it’s you. Where’s your friends.” His voice was surly and his face splotched. His eyes were red. It looked as if he had been crying.

“We split up. We are going to try to help. We think this was done deliberately, which means someone was behind it. Do you mind if I ask you some questions?”

Grudgingly, the man let me in.

I was pointed towards a rickety chair. He and his wife sat down opposite me. Then, I started to interview them.

Where had their daughter been the past few weeks? The same places she always had been. Had she at any point been out of their sight? No, she hadn’t. Was she acting any differently recently? She had been growing more and more tired for the past week, before she eventually no longer woke up. Had she met anyone new? No, she hadn’t. The questions continued.

I wasn’t making any progress.

I tried not to let the frustration get to me. The process reminded me of my time with the Wards. The same sets of procedures. The same lack of results.

Eventually, on a whim, I asked to see the child’s possessions.

There wasn’t much. She slept on a cot near her parents, in the same room. A wooden doll and a top. I felt a pang of sadness. My childhood had been a dream in comparison. The most notable item was a surreal portrait of the girl, with a castle behind her. It was well done, but as far as I could tell, there was nothing magical about it.

When I asked about it, they told me they had paid a travelling artist for it. He had stopped by a month past and the price was cheap enough they found it worth the cost. Apparently he was staying until the start of Autumn, before moving on.

With nothing to show for it, I left.

I went out into the street looking for Roland. Hopefully he would have made more progress than I did. I couldn’t find him. Eventually, I stopped at a stall selling ripe oranges.

“Do you know where my friend Roland went to. About this high, has brown eyes and hair, and wears a distinctive coat?” I asked, gesturing with my hand.

“Buy an orange, and I’ll tell you,” the man said, snorting.

I shrugged and did so.

“He was asking all of us some questions, then he out that way.” He pointed out of the town.

There were a couple of derelict buildings in that direction, but not much else.

Maybe he found a lead.

Thanking the man, I headed to where he had pointed. I passed a couple of buildings, then slowed as a man called to me.

I turned. He was short, only coming up to my chest. His features were wiry, with black hair going on grey, a goatee, and a toothbrush moustache. His teeth gleamed as he smiled at me. “Miss, would you like to take a look at some of my paintings?”

I was about to reject him offhand, but then I recalled the portrait owned by the victim. It had been well done. I was unlikely to buy one, but there was no danger in taking a look.

Let’s see what he has.

“Alright,” I agreed.

He started to walk away, beckoning that I should follow. He had an exaggerated cheerfulness to him that put me on edge. The folds of his oil-stained patchwork clothing flapped around comically as he moved, and I was surprised he didn’t trip himself in the process.

We arrived at what looked to be a gypsy caravan. It was painted just as obnoxiously as he was.

He opened the door to one side, then let the both of us in. It was a dingy, claustrophobic space with not much room to move. The fumes of oils were overpowering, and I found it difficult to breathe. Paintings were strewn from one side of the place to the other. Slowly, my eyes roamed, taking it all in.

His art was exceptional.

The first painting I looked at depicted a forest at twilight. Fireflies flickering in the leaves of trees, which were just starting to turn from green to gold. The forest floor was a mess of rich greens, reds, and browns. Lastly, peaking through the leaves of a bush the faint hint of bottle-green eyes could be seen, as well as the tail of a fox.

I turned to the next painting.

It was of a waterfall, flowing down the edge of a cliff and pooling in a lake at the bottom. The scene was dark, tranquil. I moved on.

“They’re beautiful,” I whispered.

“My thanks. I truly do try to capture the essence of a place when I work,” the man smiled.

Then my eyes fell on one more painting. It was a landscape. Part of a skyline I had seen before. Tall metal buildings reaching to the sky. Chicago, from my time during the Wards.

Before I even realized it, I was walking towards it.

“Where did you see this?” I asked softly, my hands trailing along the edge of the canvas.

“In Procer. I was lucky enough to see this sight before the Gnomes burned it to the ground. I feel like it’s missing an element, though.” He added.

“Really?” I asked.

“It is incomplete. Why don’t you tell me what you think needs to be added?” He asked.

I looked at the piece more critically.

“The streets are too empty. A city like this would always busy, at all hours of the day. No one person could ever claim a part of it for themselves. There would always be somebody with them, no matter where they went. You could never be alone.” I found myself answering.

“And so the city lacks its soul,” he agreed.

I felt a sting in my arm. A prick, as if by needle. I turned around to complain, but saw that he wasn’t beside me.

Must have been an insect.

“Do you mind if I paint you into it?” he asked.

The question caught me by surprise.

“You want to paint me into this?”

“Why wouldn’t I want to paint you into it? Doesn’t the painting speak to you?”

“It reminds me of something,” I admitted.

“You want to buy it, correct? I can already tell.” He smiled at me as he said so.

I thought about it for a moment and found to my surprise that it did. It was a piece of my past, frozen in time forever.

“Yeah, I’ll buy it.”

He took out an ornate wooden brush. It was covered with detailed engravings, and fine white hairs extended from the ferrule. Then, he began to work.

It was mesmerizing to watch.

I waited while he painted me into the foreground. His rendition of me was flattering, with fewer scars and a carefree smile on my face. Two hours later, and I left. I gingerly carried the painting with me, careful not to touch any of the still damp paint. After depositing it in our wagon, I decided to settle in and wait.

That night, we met up again at the inn and discussed what we had found. Not much progress had been made. Roland had talked to the Townsfolk and learned there had been strange noises coming from the derelict houses. After investigating, it turned out to be an infestation of rats.

Max had spoken to Achlys. She was a gregarious old woman who lived all on her own. She sold medicines to the locals, but otherwise seemed mostly harmless. We had made no progress so far.

I showed them the painting. Roland said it made for a good purchase. A token reminder of my first day in Calernia. Max looked worried about something, but said nothing.

Two more days passed while we were staying in the town. Two days of fruitless investigating and frustration was starting to mount. Aisling’s parents were panicking, as it seemed like there was nothing that could be done.

I found myself fatigued. I pushed on in spite of it. Exhaustion was not the worst problem I had dealt with, and we only had so much time to solve the problem before we would need to move on.

On the eve of the second day, as I was drifting off to sleep, I heard a voice. It came from far off, as if it was echoing across a large body of water.

“You will make a marvellous painting.”

“Impart.”

And then everything changed.