Though it was tradition for parents to handle their children's education, Arn had decided to approach the Small Council himself. He would first discover how the transition between apprenticeships worked and what becoming a Charmcrafting apprentice might entail. He fully intended to arrange the new mentorship before announcing to his parents that his decision was final. Arn didn't want to give them a chance to try and mess it up for him.

By the time he left the clan house, the sun had already climbed a quarter of its daily route. Winters in Nysaros were vicious, some days were bearable, peaceful even, but all could change in the blink of an eye. One could suddenly find themselves in the midst of a blizzard if they weren't careful. So he took care to dress appropriately, with a second pair of deer pelt trousers and three pairs of socks. His coat was so big he looked almost round. Dressed that way, Arn needn't worry about any surprise weather.

Taught by experience, Arn picked up a number from the door guard before entering the Small Council hall. His mood sank upon seeing the receptionist, who appeared so similar to the one from Kalarhan that they could be mistaken for siblings. Unless they were indeed siblings. Arn's worries were for naught as the receptionist, though resembling his peer, was very accommodating and polite, and the wait for Arn's appointment wasn't quite as arduous as he feared.

Arn soon followed the long-nosed man through the hallways of the old building. These were well-tended, with no peeling paint or chipped decorations of any sort. Instead, the walls were adorned with pristine tapestries of Nedreal and the ancient stories of the spirits. They soon arrived at the office of the council member in charge of mentorships and education. The receptionist knocked on the door, peeked in, announced Arn, and left after bidding Arn go inside.

Arn read the name on the door "Beor Sar Whitesteppe - Mentorship and Education." He pushed the door open and entered the office. The differences between Kalarhan and Nysaros continued to grow - the office he entered was clean and well organized. It had a single open window, and a peculiar council device held the cold of the winter at bay, with only the fresh air and muffled sounds passing through.

A middle-aged man sat behind the nearly empty table. He wore dark orange robes with golden frills and sported a short beard. Each hair of the beard lay precisely as it should, and so did the hair on his head, which was peppered with grey at the temples. Behind him and across the entire wall stood wooden shelves with tomes and scrolls and other devices. Arn recognized a light emitter on one of the shelves, with its blue crystal dim at present. A distant croaking sound drew his attention away, and Arn glanced at the open window.

"Come in, Arn - I don't bite, I promise!" Beor said.

"Thank you, sir," Arn replied and sat on the oversized chair before Beor's desk. "It's not what I expected."

"What were you expecting?"

"The other room - in Kalarhan, I mean - it was somewhat less organized."

Beor laughed, and Arn smiled in response. The gesture relieved some of the tension he felt.

"Ah yes, all tease me about it - but what can a man do? A habit is a habit. Enough about me. What can I help you with, young man?"

"I've been mentoring with Mallory -"

"Mallory? Mallory Eastbloom? The one from that town in The Heartland?" Beor asked.

"Yes, he is our historian. My parents arranged the mentorship a few months back."

"Ah yes, yes yes, Nyra and Atrel of the Stonefather clan. I remember now. How do you like it then?"

"It's fine," Arn replied, and Beor chuckled, "It's fine, but I think my heart isn't in it."

"Not surprising, I remember you as a child - quite the adventurous spirit," Beor said and smiled. Another distant croaking echoed from the open window. Both of them looked this time.

"Adventurous maybe isn't the word my family would use," Arn said, "after some thought, I decided to change my mentorship to Charmcrafting."

"Change it to Charmcrafting," Beor said, and his brows raised just a tad.

"Yes."

"Most unusual," Beor replied and adjusted himself in his seat. He took out a white pipe and some tobacco from a drawer in his desk and prepared it for smoking. He puffed at it, and an inscription on the pipe briefly glowed with a golden light. "What made you choose such a path? Your clan has quite a reputation in Apothecary, and I believe your uncle Leod works at the smithy. So why not follow their routes?"

"I, I don't know. I wanted to study Charmcrafting."

"You might want to consider it more carefully. It's not an easy path, I tell you that." Beor said.

Arn took a deep breath. He wasn't looking for another debate on the matter; this was supposed to be easier. He wondered why people presumed to advise him on issues that were non of their business. Even when these people technically dealt with those issues - still, he wanted them to just do as he asked.

"No need for that, no need for that," Beor said and raised his palms towards Arn - it was then that Arn noticed a golden ring with three triangles, two at the top and one at the bottom, engraved on the otherwise plain surface on one of Beor's hands. As soon as he saw it, Arn felt the presence of his leaf charm that his father gave him. It didn't turn cold or warm; he was simply and suddenly aware of it.

"Understand that my job is to make sure that you know what you're walking into. Charmcrafting is perhaps the longest and most difficult path one can take. You'll have few supports available and many challenges to face."

Arn furrowed his brows, counterarguments already formed in his mind. Beor continued despite his reaction, "if you're certain, and your mind's made, I must tell you that no mentorship is available for Charmcrafting, not here in Nysaros at the least."

"If not here, then where?" Arn asked.

"Naradael, of course. All Charmcrafting apprentices begin at the capital city. The Inspectorate likes to keep a close eye on that particular profession. But what don't they keep a close eye on, right?"

Arn was taken aback by this, and he wasn't sure whether the news of Naradael or Beor's frankness about the Inspectorate was the bigger surprise.

"They," he wallowed and found his throat to be surprisingly dry, "they keep an eye on all things to protect us," Arn said.

"Yes, yes, of course. The Inspectorate protects us and knows best, for it knows more about us than we do ourselves, doesn't it?" Beor said. He smiled lightly though the gesture didn't reach his eyes, which now were cold and piercing. A chill ran up Arn's back, and he sat upright. Beor maintained their eye contact until another croak reached them, then a few more.

"Pesky birds," Beor said. He rose from his seat and closed the window. "An Unkindness by the sounds of it," he said upon returning to his chair.

"An unkindness?" Arn asked.

"Crows."

"The birds?"

"A group of crows are called an unkindness," Beor said. "You've met an agent of the Inspectorate, haven't you. Ossagar, was it?"

Arn flinched. How did Beor know? He then calmed himself, for it must not have been a secret from the council, for they would have known the identity of the man who took Arn to his first Inspection. They work with the Inspectorate, don't they? He hoped.

"Arn, are you alright?"

"Yes, his name was Ossagar."

"Assuming he is as talkative as the others, you must have a new appreciation of the work they do," Beor said and smiled, a gesture that once again failed to reach his eyes.

"I've only met Ossagar, and just for a few days - I'm sure-"

"You're quite perceptive," Beor cut him off, "don't downplay your own intellect." That disconcerting smile again. Arn wanted to leave. The desire to do so grew in him with every word Beor spoke. "Anyway," Beor continued, "if you do follow your new path, you'll see quite a few things for yourself. I am certain of that."

"My mother did tell me of the beauty of The Heartland," Arn said.

"Yes, indeed - I hear Indarapan has many secrets of great beauty, both visual and for other senses. Quite a rich history behind it." Beor watched Arn for a beat. "You've had somewhat of an adventure already, didn't you? Facing one of the chief agents of the Rebel Clans."

"The Rebel Clans?" Arn asked, unable to stop himself. How did this man know so much, and why did he bring it up - all Arn wanted to do was get a mentor for his Charmcrafting. At least, that's what he wanted earlier - now, all he wanted was to leave.

"Hmm," Beor mused and puffed on his white pipe, "perhaps it isn't my place to tell you about the hounds - erm - the Rebel Clans, that is," Beor said and smiled. "The Inspectorate has it right, Arn. With the Tjoreal..." he said and paused, watching Arn for a second, "with the Tjoreal, we get access to the power of nature around us. The power we lost centuries ago. But it keeps us safe too - who knows what would happen if one were to access that power without protection, what unbearable trials they may subject themselves to?"

"I, I don't know, I don't know about any of this, I was here -" Arn started but was cut off by a town constable who barged into the office.

"My apologies, councilman, but I have word that the Black Warden has been seen!" the man said, breathless from exertion. Arn heard sounds from the hallways - people running and loud voices.

Beor sighed, then rose from his seat. "Come with me, Arn. This isn't a matter for a young man such as yourself," he said and lead Arn out of the office and through several hallways. People passed them by, some in a hurry, while others less so. They finally reached a large door, which Beor opened and motioned Arn to enter.

"Please stay here with the others. Then, once we are able, we will arrange for your return to your clan house. This is the protocol, I'm afraid," Beor said.

Arn followed the instructions, too overwhelmed to ask any more of Beor. Who is the Black Warden? Why was it such a big deal that he had to be in a safe room? He looked at the other people in the room. All were either very young or very old. The receptionist was there too. Arn sat down on one of the chairs. This was not at all how he expected the day to go - again.