A cloud encompassed the sky and fell to earth, suffocating all.

A single eye, watching him in the dark.

A river rushing beneath him, swelling, tugging, pulling him under. Suffocation. Suffocation.

Skippii bolted awake. He was sweating and steaming with heat, muscles vibrating with energy. He must have summoned his magia while he was asleep. His companeight rested soundly in the early hours of morning. Skippii clenched his fists and sat in silence for a while, listening to their breathing. He hadn't known it was possible for him to summon his magia while asleep, now trepidation darkened his mind. Could a particularly bad nightmare set him off like a blaze, trapping his companions in a burning tent with him?

Breathing deeply, he let his power leak back into the ground. Tenoris slept soundly beside him and Cliae curled up on his other side. All was quiet, except for a gentle patter of morning rains. A bluish-grey light seeped through their tent's opening. Grabbing his bundle, he rose, crawling over the legs of his companions as carefully as he could not to disturb them, and ventured outside. The air was crisp and rain cool on his bare chest.

Adorning his thorax and fixing his kuri, Skippii lit their fire with a simple command. Even in the rain and sodden earth, it had become an easy task for him. He had taken to calling the ability Enkindle Flames, for the purposes of Cliae's notations. As was routine, he sat alone in the early hours, drawing upon his magia, alighting his core. He revised his repertoire, familiarising himself with it, flexing his muscles and teasing a fraction of his power from the ground like plying a knife into a tree trunk before battle.

He was still getting used to the formality of the slave's ordinatio system, but had taken to thinking of it as parts of a legion acting as one. All legionnaires were simply men at their root, born from Auctoritas. Similarly, all of his powers came from the earth, captured in his core. It was their outfit and tempering which separated each of them, creating different roles on the battlefield.

Firstly, there was the raw offensive power of Blazing Fists and its sister power, Blazing Armour–they were his phalanx, his basic wall of offence and defence. Upon empowering a spear with the burning light of his halo, he could wield a Firetail Lance–the artillery of his armoury. And the most recent addition–seemingly the most powerful yet–Seismic Quake–was like a cavalry charge, swift and sundering.

Drawing energy from the earth, he detected its quality. During meditation in recent days, he had noticed that different terrains possessed different qualities of magia. The surface of softer, more forested terrain felt thinner to him, but more flammable, like the thinness of a hot flame; whereas the solid rocky earth beside streambeds was hard and brittle, like crackling coals. Each spoke more distinctly to a section of his core: the bright golden halo and the red gem at its centre. But between each was a peculiar emptiness, like a dark iris. Skippii probed it, but felt no response from the source, nor the magia in his core. Frustrated, he clenched his fists and directed his magia inwards, but all it did was bring him discomfort.

"Fine," he grumbled, tossing an unburnt branch onto the fire. "I'll figure you out soon enough." If it was anything like the other two elements of his core, unlocking its presence would mean expanding his powers. But for now, his priority was to tailor and control the magia which was already in him. In truth, he was apprehensive to expand his core any more–it had not come without consequence so far–and now would be the worst time for another explosion.

Dispelling his magia, he brought a pan to the boil on the fire and retrieved a pouch of herbal tea from his carrysack. As soon as the tea was prepared and the infused water touched his lips, his heart was reconnected with his home. He closed his eyes, and the nightmares fled before memories of the wagon which he used to ride in the wake of Legion III Platinum's march. A bird chirped nearby, just as his mother had used to sing peacefully. Skippii drank until his mug was empty, then opened his eyes, and a moment later, the morning call arrived. Trumpets blurted. The legionnaires emerged.

In the coming days, their superiors quested to keep them busy, tutoring them in basic siege craft and lining them up for drills. Nominally, they were taught to climb a ladder with their shields raised above their heads. To do so, they created slings for their spears and climbed one hand at a time up the side of palisade towers–diminutive compared to the grey towers of Nerithon. Skippii expected them to be drilled on facing cyclops, the apertorix, or a heretic magi. But no such drills came. Either their superiors were prioritising other activities alongside rest and recuperation, or else, such drills did not exist. He had faith that the tacticians would devise something, and one day soon, they would be taught how to dominate the enemy.

But each new evening, they retired early after lazy training, and soon became idle. Not tired, simply idle, with too little to eat, and the gloomy walls of Nerithon hanging over their heads.

Skippii and Cliae set out three times to search for a secluded spot in which to train, but with the legion stationary, all the surrounding lands were occupied by auxiliary troops, scouts and supply networks, outposts and hunting forays. Even though he was no longer ashamed of his abilities, he didn't wish to advertise them to the entirety of Legion V, who might not react as rationally as his Imperator had, nor did he wish to advertise them to the enemy. Watchful eyes of the city's tall towers were always upon them, and somewhere within the city dwelt a heretic of daunting power. The tale of Legion V's battle for Nerithon spread throughout their camp like the wind, retold on every legionnaire's lips, and each time Skippii heard it, the mention of the Urkrun magi dug like a maggot into his mind.

"I'll have to face him," Skippii said, suddenly realising it as truth. "It will be my duty."

Cliae and Tenoris sat beside him on the bank of a ravine. Before them, shapes rustled through the pinewood. Hunters with dogs, passing through to delve deeper into the wilderness in search of game.

"We all shall all face the enemy soon," Tenoris said.

"But it will be my duty," Skippii said earnestly. "I'm a magi, I guess. The Coven will need my help."

"Should they take your treaty of truce," Tenoris laughed. "They are stubborn aren't they?"

"Or afraid," Skippii said. "Or both."

"We'll show them the truth," Cliae said. "I mean, you will, in time. Your control is much better than before. They'll see sense. I mean… what choice do they have?"

"If what I have goes against the Pantheon, they might rather die than consider me an ally."

"And the whole legion with them," Tenoris said grimly. He sighed. "Foolish magus. They are more stubborn than the Gods. How does this division help us serve the divine?"

"Have you spoken to them since?" Cliae said. "Any word?"

"None. But…" He searched the rocky verge behind them, peering into the treetops above, then down the length of the ravine until he caught sight of a dark hooded figure sitting atop a rock on the opposite bank in the distance. "There she is. Arcanus Kylinissa Clarivoxa, stalking me. Maybe I should confront her."

"What good would that do?" Tenoris asked.

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"None," Skippii said. "It'd just feel good."

"She spoke in your favour during your meeting, didn't she?" Cliae asked.

Skippii sighed. "I guess… I don't like being spied on though."

"Be patient, if you don't mind me saying," Cliae said. "The Coven will come around. Focus on what you have to, what you can control. Your own mind, and power."

Skippii nodded, tossing a stick he had been fidgeting with into the ravine's shallow waters. "You're right. Once more with Seismic?"

"I'm counting."

That night, their companeight's campfire felt empty with so many of its members absent. Cur and Orsin had taken to frequenting a campfire in the Tonnage VI where some old companions of theirs were sleeping. Kaesii and Drusilla had become entwined in the gambling networks of Legion IX, and frittered from this tent to that, offering wagers and taking bets. Fulmin had volunteered his services at the camp's repositum and the field-smith who worked there at a ramshack forge, working overtime to keep the legion's equipment in good shape. Arius was often absent, as was normal for the elusive Clidusian man. Only Skippii, Tenoris and the two slaves Cliae and Oionos frequented the quiet fire during long nights. Together, they talked fondly of home, of their upbringing and mischief of childhood–anything to take their minds off the everpresent grey walls.

Cliae talked about his studies and the library of Clidus, whereas Tenoris flexed his knowledge on how to properly raise a calf and tame a bull. On the fifth night of them being camped before Nerithon's walls, Arius came to them. Skippii realised that he hadn't seen the man except in his bedrole for days, nor heard him speak. Oddly, that made him feel somewhat lonely.

"Care for some bread," Skippii said. "Oionos ground it from acorns. Took all afternoon, and this is what we've got." He held out a crust cob.

Arius waved his hand no. "I have news which concerns you, Skip." He knelt beside them by the firelight, staring for a moment into the flames, then piercing Skippii with his sharp silver eyes. "The Coven are moving. They have gone with a tonnage from Cohort V into the wild, into the west. Their purpose, I do not know. My friends do not know it either."

"Friends?" Tenoris said. "What companions do you speak of?"

"Clidusians. The scouts. My kinsmen."

"The woods," Skippii pondered. "What's there? A temple? Something… an artefact?"

Arius shrugged with his hands. "If you wish it, I shall discover for you."

Skippii considered his offer. "I'm bored of waiting around already… How far is it?"

"Seven miles, as the crow flies."

"I would rather see for myself," Skippii said. "If they're preparing to fight the heretic, it does concern me. I should at least know what they're planning, so when it happens, I'm ready to help. And my power grows. I can help. Don't you agree?"

Arius shrugged again, but Tenoris bobbed his head eagerly. "Yes, of course."

"But, I fear the arcanus won't let me get that far. Unless we deceive her." Skippii thought for a moment as a plan formulated in his mind. "Who amongst the companeight looks the most like me? Fulmin?"

"Orsin, from afar," Tenoris said. "You are the same height and build."

"Okay, tomorrow morning, after parade, set out with him… that is, assuming he's happy to play along. The three of you go ahead as though you're looking for a spot to train. I'll stay in our tent. The arcanus will follow you, if they're fooled. Then I'll head west and find their trail."

"Shall I go with you?" Arius said.

"I don't think so. It shouldn't be too hard to pick up on the trail of an entire tonnage trampling through the trees."

"But quicker, if I come."

"The thing is–thank you Arius–but I don't know what lies ahead. If I find them, they might detect me. I may have to confront them. I don't know… I hope I can avoid a fight, but I'd rather find out now than in the midst of battle. If it goes sour, I don't want you getting involved. No point you getting hurt."

Arius nodded silently. "As you wish."

"Besides," he continued. "I have the Imperator's blessing to walk freely amongst the legion. It shouldn't come to that."

"Are you certain?" Tenoris said. "They may be hostile if you sneak upon them."

"Then I'll go in blatantly."

"They might hurt you," Cliae said.

"They might," he laughed bluntly. "But I won't let them."

The next day, after Orsin had agreed to his plan, Skippii waited inside their tent until the afternoon, then set out, leaving behind his spear and shield and thorax armour, taking with him only his kuri and cloak. Tenoris said a prayer for him as he departed, evoking Oyaltun to watch over and protect him. Though he appreciated the gesture, Skippii felt that his kuri would protect him better than the distant audience of an, until recently, uncaring God.

Getting out of Legion IX's camp was as easy as it had been that past week. There was so much activity through the palisade gates that he was barely noticed by the watchmen amongst merchants and slaves with their mules carrying wares, firewood and messages. He followed a well-trodden path west through the recently lodged forest, veering north on what trails he could find until mid-afternoon, when he came upon a wide path winding up through the foothills.

Stopping to rest, he looked back the way he'd come. IX's distant camp hid behind the nearby canopy, the colours of its tents and banners getting lost by his surroundings. But the city beyond it stuck out like a granite cliff, dwarfing the legion's dwellings. Its walls cast a shadow upon the Legion V surrounding it, and from within the walls rose the dense smokestacks of furnaces–forges working defiantly to render weapons of war. The second battle of Nerithon approached, and if Legion IX's Coven could not defeat the heretic magi who presided over Nerithon, then what hope did the Auctoritas have of victory?

"I may call upon your power, er the battle for Nerithon." Skippii repeated the Imperator's words to himself. The more he thought about it, the more he became certain that he had to bridge the divide between him and the Coven; not through begging or servitude, but by showing them that it was necessary, that his power could not be ignored. That was his legionnaire's duty, as unorthodox as it was. He could see that clearly now.

He waited for a time, watching to see if the arcanus was on his trail. But the path behind him remained empty. Not wanting to waste good fortune, he set out again. The way for miles had been trodden flat of bracken, and thousands of footprints were held in the mud. The sun set behind the hills early in the evening, though the sky remained bright. His journey was quiet, but for birdsong and the scamper of small animals in the undergrowth. But tailing him was his anxious mind, like flies buzzing past his ears. He contemplated what he would say to the Coven? How would it be best to act? He would not show weakness, but he shouldn't appear brash either. All his life, he had only ever dealt with the likes of legionnaires, where a direct approach was best. However, the Coven were of a different ilk–fanatics, not fighters, not simple men.

It would be best to remain undetected for the time and spy them out. Discover what their quest entailed. Then he would decide his next move.

As evening settled around the forest, Skippii caught a whiff of smoke. His senses tingled and he awoke from a monotonous pace. Climbing a hill, he took to the branches of a tree and scaled its trunk for vantage. The smoke rose from behind a nearby hill which rose above him. If he was to approach stealthily, he couldn't take the same road which the Coven had made.

He set off at a wide berth of the hill, climbing into the steep forest. Slowly, as quietly as he could, he crept through the trees towards a rocky post where the foliage finned and his view of the encampment below would be clear.

Crawling upon the rocks, Skippii gazed down at a clearing below. The forest all around was in the process of being felled by legionnaires. A camp was being constructed, but not one the likes he was used to. An oval palisade spread over the flat of the hilltop. Beside it, legionnaires worked tirelessly like slaves to construct lodges and dig ditches. Skippii squinted in the diminishing light and thought he saw men with spades toiling at a riverbank, redirecting the flow of water towards their camp.

Three people draped in dark blue robes with yellow trim strode amongst the labouring legionnaires, examining their work. Skippii watched resentfully. Legionnaires were meant for fighting, not slavery. But he reminded himself that the Coven's task was of utmost importance. He would have to rid himself of prejudice and quell his resentment if he was to convene with them on equal terms, and form an alliance. Perhaps to do so, he would have to present himself not as a legionnaire, but a magi, just like them. A magi of the Imperium, not the Pantheon. The distinction meant little to him, but he assumed it was of great importance to them. Perhaps, if he demonstrated his power, he could earn their respect. Magus revered the arts of magia. Only, he couldn't risk presenting himself as a threat, they were already too wary of his allegiance.

Skippii bit his lip, deep in thought as he watched the legionnaires move like red-spotted ants, constructing a hive. He knew he must act, but he could not discern how. What was the most tactical way to proceed? What would his tutor–Thales–advise him now?

Something moved in the forest behind him.

He turned in haste, but remained crouched, not to reveal himself to the encampment below. Behind him, a figure in a black robe approached. Skippii held up his hands to show he was unarmed, and cleared his throat.

"I'm not a spy," he stammered. "Auctoritas. Ninth Legion, Second Cohort. Skippii Altay."

"I know who you are," said a familiar voice, and out of the shadows emerged the arcanus, Kylinissa Clarivoxa.

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