For the umpteenth time, Stroud glanced to the Spirit Core wrapped tightly in a bundle of cloth at his side. He only breathed out after confirming it was safe.

Maeve was a ball of nerves as well, choosing to join him on the driver’s bench rather than idling inside the carriage. The steady thumping of her boots against the floorboard continued relentlessly as her knees bounced up and down. It was fortunate that the journey back was a much faster one, or Stroud thought he may have been driven mad by the incessant noise.

They were able to travel downhill, along the path that they had paved earlier in the day, following the winding brook that ran down from the mountains and cut through the valley.

The scattered pines around them eventually gave way to broader, clearer pastures, as they passed by the dormant fields and the homes of the serfs working in Baron Marwood’s fiefdom.

To the west, the greedy shadows of dusk extended their hands from the mountains and out across the whitewashed land. Though, try as they might, they were unable to completely suppress the sweat-like glimmer radiating from the sheet of refreezing snow.

Ordinarily, Stroud would have been content to soak up the view and admire the creamy orange hues of the sunset, but once again, he found his eyes drawn to the inconspicuous bundle.

‘Snap out of it,’ he admonished himself. ‘That prize is not yours to keep.’ It would be wasted on a cripple like him anyway. And Maeve was the one who had shelled out the vast majority of the staggering 12 gold Mors they had ended up paying for it.

Stroud had chipped in with some of his own savings, but he was sure to be reimbursed by the Baron. After all, some money could in no way compare to the value of greatly improving one’s strength as a Magus. In fact, there was a high likelihood he would be rewarded for helping secure such a precious resource.

If the Baron was able to use the energy stored inside the Spirit Core to complete his advancement, then the entire estate would receive many benefits alongside the man’s rise in status.

Yet, Stroud was unable to completely let go of his desire to possess and study the item in detail. Something inside him had sparked at the sight of it. For him, it didn’t represent a mere step forward in strength — it embodied an entirely new path. One that could allow him to circumvent the roadblocks he faced.

If beasts were able to use a Spirit Core to harness arcane energy, why couldn’t he do something similar? The idea of using an alternative energy furnace didn’t seem entirely far-fetched, and his heart ached with desire. As well as a degree of frustration.

He realized now that he’d been too focused on the conventional means of cultivation. Too quick to accept word for fact. And it was only when the Core had stared him right in the face, that this had occurred to him. But once it had, it was like a dam that had been impeding his thoughts suddenly burst, and all at once, a torrent of ideas struck him — each succeeding one with more force than the previous.

To accomplish his goals, he would need to open himself up to a broader range of possibilities. Humans weren’t alone in this world, and he wasn’t the first cripple driven to pursue the Arcane.

As Stroud’s mind stirred, he barely registered their progress homeward. He was too busy staring into the distance.

Fortunately, the dramoth lugging them along was experienced, performing a lazy turn to the left as it aimed up the slope toward the manor house.

“...Stroud? W-What’s that?” The panicky inflection in Maeve’s tone and their sudden, jerking stop, finally roused Stroud. He breathed in deeply, his eyes darting around as he surfaced from the sea of speculation.

“I… can’t be sure, Miss.”

He found that they had just crested the hill, arriving on the lawn that stretched toward the manor. And the object of Maeve’s attention was easy to pinpoint. Even a blind man would be hard-pressed to miss the massive bird warming itself in the final rays of sunlight.

It appeared like some strange cross-breed of a wyvern and an eagle. On its haunches, it sat as tall as the dramoth, unwittingly radiating its majesty. The beast craned its long neck, its large golden eyes blinking curiously as it regarded them. Those two bright orbs contained a surprising intelligence and they drew Stroud into their depths, filling his vision until nothing else remained.

Magic. In his old world, it had only existed in the far-off and mystical realms crafted by dreamers. But after transmigrating to this place and witnessing it firsthand, Stroud had quickly come to terms with its actuality. Or so he thought...

He had envisioned arcane energy as a tool. One that he could use to clear a path to his answers. There was a system to it. Logic. And that stood within the bounds of what he could accept.

But the existence of this creature defied those bounds, shattering any pretext he had formulated in his mind to shelter himself from the fear of the unknown.

This beast forced him to confront a very different manifestation of magic’s presence. And he found this one much more difficult to acknowledge. This shouldn’t be real. It can’t be. Yet here it was, eyeing him with disdain.

His breath had long since frozen in his lungs, and there was a weight that had settled in his stomach, holding him in place. Heavy and oppressive. It was helplessness, and it told him that this beast was the hunter and he the potential prey. He surmised that the only reason it hadn’t devoured them immediately upon their arrival was that it didn’t view them as a worthy meal.

Why would the proud eagle dirty its beak in the mud, scrounging for worms, when it could just as easily savor more appetizing flesh.

The Spirit Beast crooned softly as it dipped its head and returned to preening its luxuriant white feathers. At first glance, the plumage rippled seamlessly under its silver beak, promising of a soft and inviting space to rest his head. But Stroud’s eye was not so easily fooled. He saw the sharp and menacing glint of the feathers’ edge as they caught the fading light.

Long seconds passed in agonizing silence before Stroud calmed his trembling heart enough to break his gaze from the creature and process the surrounding scene.

Calm. That was strange. Peace and quiet were the last things he expected to find in the presence of this monster.

Blood and viscera, smoke and rubble. These were the accompaniment of such a harbinger of death. And yet… nothing was out of place.

The servant’s quarters stood inconspicuously to the west, hiding behind a row of snow-burdened trees, while the knight’s barracks and the training grounds sprawled to the east — the dark green banners of the Marwood household hanging proudly from their walls. And to the north, across the lawn, soft sounds of merriment drifted out of the manor.

Stroud exhaled. Guests. A surprise for Maeve then? Possibly, but Stroud assumed he would have been privy to such arrangements.

An unexpected but powerful visitor. He deemed this the most likely.

After coming to terms with the notion that his life was not in imminent danger, Stroud managed to muster the courage to act.

“Allow me to assist you, Madam.” He stepped down, bundle tucked under one arm as his mouth turned up into the polite, close-lipped smile he always wore when attending to his duties.

Maeve didn’t reply — her face drained of all color — but she accepted Stroud’s aid and the two began their long, precarious walk through the snow across the lawn. They gave the beast a wide berth as they skirted around the eastern edge, looping towards the manor house.

It was with much relief that they found the maid, Susane, waiting for them at the bottom of the wide stone staircase leading to the home’s grand entryway.

She waved to them from afar when she caught their attention. Her mouth opened briefly to speak, but she seemed to think better of it and held-off until they drew closer.

“...My apologies, Miss Marwood. I was entrusted to wait for your arrival and escort you into the great hall; however…” Susane spoke in a hushed voice, her eyes flickering to the predator lurking nearby.

“There is no need to worry. I don’t fault your actions—” Maeve straightened out her clothes as best she could with trembling hands while Baron Marwood’s booming laughter resounded from inside. “Though, I would appreciate it if you could fill me in on the situation.”

“Ah, yes!” Susane startled, chuckling nervously as her outburst attracted a side-long glance from the beast. “Marchioness Adelais arrived not long ago to meet with your father.”

Maeve flinched noticeably but managed to gather herself. “Very well, give me a moment and we can head inside.” She smacked her cheeks a few times to bring a little blush back to them.

In the meanwhile, Stroud puzzled over such a powerful woman’s sudden appearance, especially during the Tide. The Marchioness had inherited the title of Warden and could be considered the true overlord of the northernmost fiefs in the principality. It was widely known that the prince didn’t bother much with anything related to governance aside from collecting taxes.

...What could a second-generation noble family like the Marwoods possess to attract her interest?

“I’m ready,” Maeve announced after she’d fiddled with her appearance to an acceptable standard. She marched up the stairs ahead of them without waiting for a reply.

***

The great hall of the Marwood manor was a room Stroud knew well. After all, he’d cleaned every nook and cranny of it on multiple occasions. Though, it had been a while since he’d last done so.

It was an esteemed space — the pride of the Baron’s wife. As it was the only area in which she was given permission to display the family’s relatively meager wealth.

In the span of Stroud’s five years in the service of the estate, the hall’s decor had undergone multiple iterations. Ranging from bold, ostentatious finery of purple and gold, to the more inviting and earthy tones reflective of the Marwood household’s colors.

But this year, Lady Marwood seemed to be aiming for subtle elegance. Silver, sapphire, and bronze predominated.

Inside the hall, milky marble slabs were inlaid into the floor, their smooth surfaces reflecting the warm light of the myriad candles that adorned the chandelier hanging from the vaulted ceiling.

Everyone within the room bathed in the soft amber glow as they sat around a long table. It was a work that had been commissioned from a carpenter in Ebbinside who had built the current Chief’s longhouse. He was renowned for his ability to breathe life into wood through his fine engravings, and his skill shone in every petal and stem of the flowers wrapping around the table’s legs, base, and crust.

Stroud abruptly ceased the roaming of his eyes as they stepped deeper into the room. The subdued chatter that had accompanied the sharp clinking of silverware petered out as Susane announced Maeve’s presence.

“Greetings: Father, Mother, and esteemed Marchioness.” Maeve curtsied to the sole guest in attendance and removed her cloak, which Stroud received while trying his best to ignore the weight of the surrounding gazes. There was one, in particular, that sent a shiver racing down his spine. He noted that in the silence, the room had suddenly lost its grandeur, feeling more hollow and foreboding than anything else.

It was fortunate that he was not an object of attention like the young Madam because Stroud felt himself naturally shrinking away from the pressure. He sought out the nearby shadows for relief, finding solace in a corner.

Breathing out his fear, Stroud closed his eyes.

The Marchioness exuded a more refined pressure than her companion outside. It was well-contained and sharp in the way she wielded it — stifling, like a blade pressed against the throat.

First, it had been a beast, and now it was man. In such a short time, Stroud’s sense of safety had been stripped away by both, leaving him feeling vulnerable. He hated it.

Because their strength had told him what he really was. A fragile and hollow shell.

His senses had improved to the extent of allowing him to vaguely gauge their power, but he had no ability of his own to shield himself with.

Although, for once, time was on his side.

Stroud breathed in, feeling the rapid beating of his heart and the blood racing through his veins. With life, there was hope. He opened his eyes and turned his attention back toward Maeve.

She glid confidently across the room in her flowing ruby dress, drifting past the arched windows and the paintings that hung between them. Both mediums displayed the fiefdom frozen in time, painting a contradictory backdrop to the girl’s fiery appearance that threatened to set all around her aflame.

When she arrived behind her appointed seat at the long dining table, she received a welcome nod from her father.

“Please, have a seat, Maeve. I was just telling Lady Adelais about your trip to Ebbinside. I take it everything went well?” Baron Marwood swept his hand in a broad, inviting gesture, smiling fondly. There was a half-empty glass of wine in front of him and his roasted chicken had been picked clean; by all appearances, he was at ease.

But Stroud easily picked up on the stiffness of his words and the faint beads of sweat glistening between the compressed rolls of fat on the back of the man’s neck. He too was struggling to protect himself against the powerful woman’s acute presence.

In fact, Lady Marwood seemed to be the only one enjoying herself. She sat next to the Baron, her eyes upturned with self-satisfaction. Hosting the Marchioness was likely something she would brag about to her friends for years to come.

As for the esteemed visitor, Stroud didn’t dare look her direction errantly. But judging by the flat tone of her voice, she was none too pleased with her current reception. “Yes, it is unusual that I get the chance to venture this far from the capital or Frostrane, and I’ve found myself intrigued by Lord Marwood’s tales of the northern hunters and their rituals.”

Maeve savored a long sip of wine before she replied, “I must admit that it was actually my first experience with their Solstice celebration, Your Grace. But it was indeed interesting...” She went on to explain all that they had learned from Hastyr that afternoon: the details of the hunting trophies and their use in the sacrifice to the spirit of the mountain.

“Is it really as you say?” Marchioness Adelais exclaimed, a hint of surprise creeping into her crisp voice.

“Just so, Your Grace. If not for the danger that roams these lands in the dark, I would have liked to stay and witness more of the rituals for myself—if only for the atmosphere,” Maeve replied, echoing a similar sentiment to what Stroud had felt earlier in the day.

“I should think anyone would,” Lady Adelais replied before adding offhandedly, “Such an opportunity is rare… But I don’t think you returned completely empty-handed, correct?”

Stroud’s heart skipped a beat as he clutched the bundle tighter against his chest.

She felt it. And his immediate thought was that she would claim it. No one here would be able to stop her.

While Stroud cowered — the Baron panicked. Maeve had lost her voice. The three of them were shackled by dismay and indecision alike.

Only Lady Marwood had the bravery to speak. The woman’s eyes roamed around, confusion swirling within them as she tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear. “What is it, Maeve? Did you find something nice? I’ve been meaning to take you shopping for some new clothes...”

Maeve was still unable to respond — a lump caught in her throat, but in her place, the Marchioness laughed earnestly. The sound of it was bewitching, though the effect was quite the opposite as the three frozen members of the dinner party suddenly regained their senses.

“Be at ease,” Lady Adelais appealed, covering her mouth with a dainty hand, as her chest trembled with suppressed mirth, “I would never covet something I had not earned myself.”

She turned her attention to Baron Marwood before she continued, the man meeting her gaze as best he could while forcing smile. “My only thought was that it was an endearing gesture on your daughter's part, and I selfishly wanted to share in the surprise.”

He raised an eyebrow at that, easing back into his chair somewhat as he glanced over at Maeve.

“L-Lady Adelais speaks the truth, Father. Stroud and I came across a stroke of tremendous fortune while searching for a gift to aid you in your advancement…” Her voice trailed off as she gestured to Stroud with her eyes.

Head down, he hurried over and presented her with the wrapped Spirit Core, scurrying back to his corner immediately after.

Maeve had everyone’s undivided attention as she unraveled the cloth to reveal the steadily pulsing orb. And for the first time that evening, Stroud felt the pressure of the Marchioness recede. He greedily inhaled oxygen into his deprived lungs, afraid that he wouldn’t receive another chance.

“Is this…?” the Baron began, fresh sweat precariously dripping down his forehead. His eyes were locked on the object in his daughter’s hands.

Lady Adelais seemed to take pity on the man as she spoke up once more, “May I?” she gestured questioningly. “I think I should be able to shed some light on its origins for you.”

“O-Of course, Your Grace,” Maeve fumbled out, placing the Core down on the table and retracting her hands.

An unseen force guided it over to the Marchioness in the next moment. She reached out, but she didn’t touch it. Instead, she kept her hands hovering just above it like a fortune teller would with a crystal ball.

During her lapse in concentration, Stroud took the chance to finally observe the woman.

He wasn't surprised to find that she looked much younger than someone who had reigned over the reaches for decades should. Her midnight blue hair was draped over her shoulders, appearing silky and smooth just like her pale, unblemished skin. A sharp and valiant brow accentuated her refined features, but behind that beautiful mask, lurked an indescribable chill. Stroud felt as if he was staring at a wasteland of naught but ice and torrents of hail as he looked into her stony grey eyes.

Fitting, Stroud thought, for the one who rules over the north.

The woman closed her eyes and inhaled through her nose, savoring the organ’s aroma before she deigned it timely to explain herself, directing her words to Maeve and the Baron.

“I am unsure of the knowledge you possess in relation to Spirit Cores — as even I would not claim myself to be an expert — but I see it fit to mention this: in the same way that our aedetari methods allow us to manipulate our Nura in favor of certain elements, Spirit Beasts are able to attribute their Cores.”

A flash of enlightenment passed across Baron Marwood’s face to which she nodded and said, “It is as you expect. Consuming the Nura inside of a Spirit Core can be harmful or wasteful if it is not inclined similarly to your own.”

“Then…?” the Baron inquired hopefully.

Briefly, Stroud thought she may be playing a trick on them in order to claim the prize for herself, but her next words set him at ease.

“No need to worry, for your daughter is surely blessed by the heavens. I can say with confidence that not only is this a 2nd Grade Core, but it also contains pure Nura of the wood element. While not perfectly suited to the predominantly light attribute that you cultivate, it should still prove a great boon to your advancement. Congratulations.”

Baron Marwood trembled, appearing on the verge of tears. “L-Lady Adelais, I-I don’t know how to thank you…”

“Thank me…” she chuckled. “Thank your daughter, you dolt.”

“You’re absolutely right, my apologies. ” the Baron laughed with his whole body, causing the plates atop the table to quake and his wife to lower her head with embarrassment. “Maeve… thank you, dear,” he squeezed out.

“Your welcome, Father.” Maeve’s face flushed a bright red that almost matched her hair as the Marchioness gazed between the two, smiling gently.

“I knew my choice was the correct one,” she mused out loud. “Now, I think it's time to move on to the true purpose of my visit.”

“Ah, yes. Of course…” Baron Marwood puffed himself up. “What might we be able to assist you with, Lady Adelais?”

The woman stood up from her seat and moved around the back of the chair, resting her hands upon the top rail. “Recently, I have decided to step down from my position and pass on my title to my eldest son. He’s already approaching the end of his first century, so it's about time he started gaining experience… but I digress. I don’t wish to idle away the remainder of my days, and therefore, I’ve decided to open a new Arcanium up here in the edge of the reaches.” She swept her eyes over the table as her words dropped to the floor with the weight of a boulder.

“The prince has agreed with me that the Arcanium in Magend is insufficient, and he as offered up a significant amount of resources to help me in this endeavor. But…” she held up a finger, “A suitable location and resources are not enough on their own. An Arcanium must have apprentices as well.”

The eyes of the Baron and Maeve were alight with passion as Lady Adelais’ purpose became clear.

“Lord Marwood… I would like to extend an invitation to your daughter, pending a brief assessment.”

“Really—!” Maeve yipped before swiftly covering her mouth with both hands.

Adelais nodded. “Christopher was an acquaintance of mine in the past. And one of the few peers I considered to possess a talent comparable to my own. His understanding of Spellcrafting was unparalleled. If not for his late start as a Magus…”

For a few breaths, the woman lost herself in her memories. Providing enough time for Baron Marwood and Maeve to communicate with silent gestures and meaningful stares.

“It would be our honor to have Maeve attend your Arcanium, Lady Adelais.” The Baron bowed his head, as did Maeve and Lady Marwood.

“Wonderful. Following the Solstice, I’ll be sending representatives out to verify the results of an affinity reading and confirm the health of each candidate. Then, after the First Crossing, the new term will begin in the Spring.” Adelais clapped her hands together and waltzed over to the foot of the table.

When it seemed as if she would head directly out the door, Lady Marwood called out to her. “Y-Your Grace, is there nothing else we can offer you during your stay? The hour is getting late…”

The Marchioness brushed off her words without breaking stride. “No need. My schedule is tight at the moment. There is still more recruitment to be done. Word doesn’t spread as easily this time of year.”

As if pushed by a violent wind, the doors swung open, and like a fleeting breeze, Adelais vanished from sight.