Tyrus hit the door so hard it bounced off the inner wall.

"What now—!" Someone yelped from somewhere ahead.

The guild's common room lurched into stillness. A few Cliffview folk leaning over the second-floor balcony jerked back, then edged forward again, peering down at the boy in the doorway—blood-smeared, hair wild, eyes too bright.

On the first floor, the scene was nothing like what Tyrus had braced for. There were no broken windows, overturned tables, or even a lesser hound foaming in the middle of the hall, ready to tear out the throat of the nearest person.

Instead, Meuren was crouched behind the reception counter, only half his face peeking over the top. In front of the desk stood Igneal, Apostle Alaran, a gaunt man in Explorer Guild finery, and the elderly woman Tyrus had seen in the chapel earlier... the one with the cane and sharp eyes.

All of them turned to look at him.

Igneal's lip curled first. "You look absolutely unsightly. Why are you covered in blood?"

Tyrus glanced down at himself. His tunic was stiff with dark splatters from chest to wrist, with a few patches dried on his knuckles and neck. He shrugged and said:

"It's from a lesser hound. Not mine, if that's what you're asking."

"Of course, that's not what I was asking. A lesser hound isn't enough to spill your blood. You should at least look presentable in front of an Apostle and a branch leader."

Tyrus let that comment pass. His attention slid past Igneal, taking stock as he shuffled to the group.

Alaran stood with his hands folded in front of him, pale blue and white robes unblemished, as if he'd just strolled out of a quiet library.

Next to him, the gaunt man in the Explorer Guild uniform stood ramrod straight. His cheeks were sunken, like he skipped more meals than he took, but his clothes were neat and carefully pressed. Not a smear of dust on him either.

The old woman leaned lightly on a carved cane, her hair close-cropped and white, eyes shrewd as they swept over Tyrus's bloodstained clothes. Her worry was clear enough, but she said nothing for now.

Tyrus's brows knit. He caught no marks of battle on any of them, and that bothered him greatly.

For a moment he hesitated, then addressed the one he instinctively trusted most.

"Apostle Alaran," he said, straightening a little, "why weren't you and the branch leader out there helping the guards? There were standard hounds and a greater hound in the pack, and only a few explorers fighting with the watch. It looks like Cliffview is short-handed."

A brief, awkward silence followed. The gaunt man and Alaran exchanged a glance. The man in guild attire spoke first, voice dry.

"I am not a fighter, boy. Could you not tell with a glance?" He spread his hands, pointing at his thin frame. "I'd be free food. I value my limbs and life intact and leave swinging swords to explorers and trained combatants."

Tyrus narrowed his eyes slightly and, almost out of habit, extended his mana sense toward the man.

Nothing responded in the branch leader's body. No hum of a mana heart, no pathways glimmering with stored energy. Tyrus pushed further, just to be sure, but came up short.

Wait, what? He's an unblessed, working as a branch leader?

He'd just assumed that the branch leader was a sorcerer just like Fiona's aunt. Selena had set the bar in his head: a branch leader was someone like her—a sorcerer around the master level, terrifying in a fight, sharp as a dagger in all things administrative. He'd never actually checked the others.

Then again... he rarely checks if a person he's just met was a sorcerer or not. Maybe he should get into the habit of using mana sense for every new person he encountered so as not to be surprised down the road.

But now that he really looked at him, the man didn't carry himself like a fighter. His shoulders were narrow, and his posture loose in this situation. No calluses from a sword, or even scars. His posture screamed 'desk work and meetings,' not 'battle and beasts.'

Alaran noticed the confusion on Tyrus's face and smiled faintly. "You're not wrong to ask. Many would assume the same, especially if Selena was your first branch leader. But the Explorer Guild does not primarily select branch leaders for their combat prowess."

The gaunt man inclined his head. "I am Darros, branch leader of the Cliffview Explorer Guild," he said. "And as you most likely gathered, not even remotely a warrior."

"A branch leader who only knows how to swing a sword is a liability," Alaran continued. "They must be well-versed in operations and logistics, finance, personnel, and stability. They arbitrate contracts, manage resources, and ensure the guild's presence contributes to the town and establishment rather than destabilizing it."

"You'd be surprised how many crises are solved with ink and paper," Darros added dryly.

Tyrus listened, still processing. So Selena wasn't the standard, but an exception? Maybe several exceptions stacked on top of each other. She was a Lockhart, after all.

"And as for myself," Alaran said, "my skills lie more in exploration than direct combat. I travel to poorly documented regions and record safe routes, local beast populations, ecological changes, and hazards. This information is forwarded to the guild to update its records and enact safety measures."

He gave Tyrus a small, knowing smile. "It is, in part, how I rose to the rank of diamond."

Darros scratched his cheek with one knuckle. "I asked Apostle Alaran to investigate the lower region of the High Plateau. Just to see if there was some underlying cause for the increased beast activity and to give us time to prepare defenses. With help from my contacts, we acquired his help for Cliffview."

The old woman finally spoke, voice gravelly but clear. "He's right. Without Darros's guild connections, we wouldn't have gotten an Apostle to care about a mining town like ours."

Alaran dipped his head to her. "Lady Halen exaggerates my generosity. I go where my duties and curiosity align."

Igneal made an impatient sound in his throat. "Enough with the pointless explanations. Branch Leader Darros, you still haven't answered my question."

Branch Leader Darros turned his gaze from Tyrus to Igneal, shoulders slumping slightly.

"About Scourge," he murmured. "Is it true they're responsible for the collapse in the mine? And Cliffview isn't the only target?"

This story has been taken without authorization. Report any sightings.

His eyes flickered to Alaran as he spoke, as if hoping the Apostle would deny it.

Igneal rolled his eyes. "I already told you. The Apostle confirmed there was no falsehood in my words."

Alaran gave a simple nod, though he did not elaborate.

Darros exhaled, the breath shaky. "Scourge… targeting mines. Multiple mines…" He rubbed at his temples. "If they cut off ore flow from Lockhart territories, Ironworks will suffer… and the empire's armories with it. I will see if I can get in contact with Branch Leader Selena."

He held out a hand. Light flared in his palm, shaping into a small, glassy orb. On his other hand, a metal ring gleamed faintly as he tapped it to the orb's surface.

The communication tool flickered to life, pulsing with light at two-second intervals as it sought a connection. Tyrus watched, expecting to see Selena's amused face appear any moment. However, ten seconds passed, and no one appeared.

Darros frowned. He tried again, searching, but the tool dimmed once more into a dead sheen.

"Selena always answers when it's urgent," he muttered. "Or at least someone in her office does."

Igneal cupped his chin. "That makes three communication tools that haven't connected to Lockhart territory."

Tyrus's head snapped around. "Three?"

"Mine, Sir Wayne's, and now the old man."

Darros scowled and said, "I am not old, Lord Igneal..."

Tyrus blinked. "When did Sir Wayne try?"

"When I found him helping Lady Halren organize the miners and their families earlier," Igneal said. "I ordered him to contact Father, though he had not responded. Now Darros cannot reach Aunt Selena either. It is… unusual. But to assume something catastrophic has happened is ridiculous, so there is no cause for concern."

Are you sure about that? I think this situation is a big cause for concern!

Tyrus's mouth tightened. "If three different tools can't connect, something must have happened to your family. This can't be a coincidence you can shrug off."

"Do not jump to wild conclusions." Igneal scoffed. "Lockhart territory is not so fragile that it can be crippled overnight. Father has layers of protection and contingencies. It is more likely that some interference is disrupting long-distance connections."

He paused, eyes dropping to the floor. "Though it is a problem that I cannot inform them about what has occurred—what will occur—with our mines."

Out of the corner of his eye, Tyrus caught Sir Wayne's face. For the briefest instant, he thought he saw the knight's lips twitch, though when he focused again, the knight's face was as solid as stone.

Was that my imagination?

Tyrus pushed the thought aside. "So what will you do now? If you can't reach them with tools, how are you going to warn your family?"

Sir Wayne stepped forward before Igneal could answer. "It is about time the young master paid a personal visit to Lockhart territory. You have been away from home for a year, Lord Igneal. Family Head Lockhart and the others will want to see you. This situation provides the perfect excuse."

Igneal frowned, then slowly nodded. "That's not a terrible suggestion, actually. But we should return to Valis first and check Aunt Selena's guild. If she's there, we can coordinate with her. Afterward, we'll use the gate within the Grand Tower to travel to Ironworks. It'll be the fastest route."

He tapped his Lockhart amulet with a finger. "I'll continue trying to activate my communication tool along the way. If Father answers partway through the journey, all the better."

Sir Wayne placed a fist over his chest. "A wise plan, young master. We should make preparations at once; delays will only work in Scourge's favor. I will get hold of a carriage, ensure the horses are well-rested, and gather provisions."

Igneal waved a hand. The knight bowed and strode out of the guild. Once the door shut behind him, Apostle Alaran chuckled.

"Lord Igneal, you're remarkably busy for someone your age. I have rarely seen, much less heard of, a young man so eager to travel, hold an explorer tag, and meddle in matters of regional security."

Igneal scowled. "Young man, Apostle. And I am not eager. I joined the Explorer Guild because I was bored and had nothing better to do at the time. Life at home was… stifling my development."

The man arched an eyebrow, but did not press. "Boredom can sometimes lead us to our most significant callings."

He turned to Halren. "As for Ulvur's replacement, I will send word through the Temple of Thasmian's channels. There may be a priest or priestess willing to relocate to Cliffview and tend to your people. Branch Leader Darros will keep you informed."

Halren's eyes glistened. "You've already done more than enough. Cliffview will remember Apostle Alaran's name."

"I have merely done what my station and conscience required," Alaran replied. He looked between Igneal and Tyrus, the lines at the corners of his eyes deepening with warmth. "May Thasmian guide your steps with truth and justice wherever your journeys lead."

He inclined his head and glided toward the door, robes hissing across the floor. The room exhaled once he was gone.

Darros turned back to Halren, already beginning to speak in a low tone about planning and other tasks Tyrus ignored. Meuren rose shakily from behind the counter, muttering something about beasts flying through the windows.

Tyrus nudged Igneal with his elbow. "Where's Fiona?"

Igneal adjusted his collar, expression smoothing into something approaching bored disdain. "At the chapel, under that Mevena statue, trying to recover her mana. She insisted the deity's 'presence' would help her meditate faster."

He snorted, folding his arms. "She's out of her mind if she thinks some carved stone has a drop of divinity left in it. There's no mystical connection that will speed her recovery. It's superstition dressed up as faith."

"Or maybe," Tyrus said, "she just wants to get back on her feet and help fight the beasts. Unlike a certain someone, who's been standing around doing nothing but talking."

"It is a shame the guild chose a branch leader utterly helpless in battle," Igneal said, glancing back at Darros. "But who am I to criticize their hiring decisions?"

The type to criticize anyone and everyone without a care in the world, Tyrus thought.

Tyrus shuffled out of the guild, Igneal trailing behind him. He tilted his head, listening hard. There weren't any distant howls or the clash of steel and fang hanging in the air, which was a good sign already.

"I don't hear anything from the eastern fields anymore," Tyrus said. "They must have finished the last hounds. Reo and Grant are probably helping the guards with the wounded."

"Fantastic," Igneal muttered. "And now the unblessed will beg Fiona to patch everyone up again."

Tyrus pretended not to hear that and turned on his heels, facing the chapel, which sat adjacent to the guild. Stained glass windows glimmered faintly along its sides, though most of the color had been dulled by dust and age.

A thought foreign to Tyrus flickered through his mind as he drew near. Eaubrus stirred, the shift in his shade like a muscle clenching. Tyrus's shadow, long in the slanting light, seemed to writhe subtly under his feet.

"What's wrong this time, Eaubrus?" Tyrus asked inwardly. His hand was already on the door handle. He pushed, and the wood groaned, swinging inward.

Mevena's chapel was smaller than the cathedral at the basin. Three short rows of benches, worn smooth by years of use, flanked a central aisle. Lanterns in arched alcoves burned with steady flame, their warm light pooling on paintings decorated with leaves and vines. At the far end, on a slightly raised dais, stood a statue of Mevena herself.

A handful of Cliffview citizens huddled behind the benches, eyes wide and fingers knotted in prayer. Two priests in simple green-trimmed robes stood near the front, murmuring reassurance. All of them had turned when the door creaked open wider.

"I do not know," Eaubrus replied. "But my instincts warn me... You should avoid stepping inside that place."

The hounds' warning came too late. The moment Tyrus' foot crossed the threshold, cold swept over him. It felt as if a thousand icy fingers reached up through the floor, raking over his skin, inside his skin, through bone and muscle alike.

A spike of agony lanced through his chest. For an instant, it felt exactly like a white-hot stake had been rammed straight into his heart. His mana pathways erupted with searing heat, liquid fire pouring through them in chaotic streaks, racing up his spine, down his arms, into his skull.

He collapsed to his knees, breath violently punched from him. Fingers dug into his shirt at his sternum as if he could physically pry the pain out. Tyrus tried to scream, but no sound came out.

His vision flared white. Through the blinding light, something moved. Just beyond the base of Mevena's statue, where the shadow from her robe pooled deepest, a figure stood.

Their face was obscured by a veil of living vines, thin stems and tiny leaves draped like a curtain. Petals—if they were petals—fluttered faintly beneath the greenery. He couldn't see facial features, but he felt a gaze like a mountainous pressure on his soul.

Not wary exactly, but… enraged?

Tyrus felt the wolf tear free of him, leaving his side and disappearing, abandoning its shadowed spot beside him and dissolving into the chapel's long, narrow shadows. The instant Eaubrus separated, the worst of the pain snapped, cut in half as if some connection had been severed.

The veiled figure flickered, then vanished, like mist blown away.

Tyrus sagged forward, palms slapping against cool stone. Sweat poured down his face, stinging his eyes. He sucked in air in ragged pulls, heart pounding like it wanted to break its way out of his ribs.

The burning in his pathways faded from raging inferno to angry throb. After regaining his composure, he dared to lift his head.

A dozen pairs of eyes were locked on him, mouths hanging half-open in shock. The only sounds were his harsh breathing and the distant, muffled clamor of Cliffview's citizens slowly filling the streets to inspect the damage.

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