“You want to be an adventurer?”

Marcadeus looked incredulous. For him, it was just folding his arms and raising an eyebrow.

To Anthony, this was as openly disbelieving as the [Death Knight] got. He nodded, lounging back in one of two chairs in his room. The revenant was sitting on the other, covered in bandages and looking delighted at being able to raise its feet off the floor without falling over.

“Yep. Adventuring. Adventurer. It’s what I want to be, Marcadeus.”

His mentor looked down at him, unamused.

“Not even going into the practicality of a necromancer adventurer, you would be shirking your duties for the Necronum. This is a terrible idea.”

“Oh, come on, Sir Monroe. I know you used to be an adventurer. Killing monsters was how you got so many of your levels, right? You were a part of Midnight’s Call!”

Marcadeus looked conflicted for a moment. But only just. He returned to glaring at Anthony.

“That was in the past, yes. You know that I chose a dangerous path before joining the Necronum. But currently, your circumstances are different from how mine were. Becoming an adventurer is not the right choice for you.”

Anthony rolled his eyes. “How do you know that I can’t be an adventurer? I'm decently leveled in [Mage], not just [Necromancer]. That’s definitely enough to start out with. And plus, I need this, Marcadeus. I’m… I need a way to support myself. There isn’t anything else I’d see myself doing.”

His mentor sighed.

“You're [Necromancer]-classed. There's methods to hide it, but the risk will always be present on the surface. Disregarding that, there’s still the matter of the Necronum. You’re close to becoming an active member. Even if you have more privileges, you still need to be on call. That duty will be difficult to fulfill as an adventurer.”

Anthony gave him a flat look. “I'll figure something out. The Necronum isn’t just based in Drastum. I’m sure there’s plenty of branches all over Sorcel. It won’t be that hard to find me, Marcadeus. Just use one of those fancy trackers.” He gestured to himself. “And—I’m just a junior necromancer. It’s not like I’ll even be needed for much.”

He leaned back and crossed his arms, daring Marcadeus to correct him. The [Death Knight] looked like he was going to say something. Eventually, his mentor exhaled. In that moment, he looked tired. Old. Anthony knew that Marcadeus wasn’t ancient, per say, but he had seen a lot of life. A lot of death.

“Fine. If you wish to sign up as an adventurer, I won’t stop you,” his mentor said. “Lords know what you’ll get into now.”

Anthony blinked. He had expected Marcadeus to confer with other Necronum, or at the very least, take some time before coming to a decision. He’d made a choice right away, which was a welcome surprise in any case.

“Oh, uh, yeah. Thanks, Marcadeus!” Anthony hastily said before the [Death Knight] changed his mind.

“Don’t count it as a favor.” Marcadeus’ face softened, just a little. “If you’re serious, I can show you some assistance.”

Anthony's eyes widened slightly. Marcadeus was at least level thirty in [Death Knight], and his old adventuring team had been close to gold-rank when he left. A bit of advice could go a long way.

“Really? I mean—thanks! Again. I, um—how do I get started?” Anthony fumbled over his words, trying to find the right thing to say first.

“Hmm. Eager to begin.” Marcadeus said, faintly raising an eyebrow. “That’s unlike you. I suggest going up to the surface and finding the Adventurer’s Guild.”

Anthony glared at him.

“Wow, helpful. I meant besides the obvious, thank you. Is there anything I could do to prepare? Things to look out for?”

Marcadeus looked amused.

“The questions are getting better, but you should start with acting, not asking. Take a step forward, first. That’s what adventuring is about. Unless—you still need someone to hold your hand before starting?”

Anthony fought to keep glaring. He was used to this flippant side of the [Death Knight]. Marcadeus being completely somber with him was a foreign experience. He supposed it would only get worse now that his mentor was no longer his, well, mentor. Now that he had ‘graduated,’ their relationship would surely become something different than teacher and student.

Although Marcadeus didn’t seem like he would ever get tired of being an irritant. Anthony dropped the glare and sighed.

“Whatever. No hand-holding needed. I just thought you’d give me some ‘assistance’ right away.”

The [Death Knight] gave him a measured look.

“You need to start by yourself. My help will come later, if you truly need it. After you sign up at the adventurer’s guild.”

Anthony pressed his lips together.

“Fair enough.”

He got up from the chair and stretched his arms, eyeing his bloody clothes. Despite his ragged appearance, he felt good, thanks to the healing potion and some sleep. He suddenly had the urge to wear something clean and walked over to his dresser, pulling out some fresh clothing. The revenant curiously watched him shake out a tunic and a pair of socks before Marcadeus whispered something in its ear. The two turned around as Anthony stripped and put on clean clothes.

“I’m done,” he said when he was finished. The revenant looked back at him with a confused look on its face and Anthony suddenly had a thought. He asked, “Hey, Marcadeus, how do I look?”

His mentor made a show of inspecting him.

“Why, Anthony, with your eyes. I believe they are located below your forehead. Is that the answer you were looking for?”

The eyes in question narrowed.

“Marcadeus. Dammit, I mean, how do I… how would I…”

“Go on,” the [Death Knight] prompted. He had an idea where this was going.

“Do I look like someone—someone who could be an adventurer!” Anthony burst out.

“Ah,” Marcadeus said. “That’s difficult to say. Adventurers tend to be a varied sort. I wouldn’t worry about your looks, in any case. People won’t look at you twice walking into the guild.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Anthony demanded.

“You’re starting out; don’t worry about appearances,” Marcadeus easily replied. When Anthony opened his mouth to continue, the [Death Knight] held out a hand. “Enough. This train of conversation has gone on long enough. Before I get distracted any further, I want to discuss your revenant.”

Anthony gave a guilty glance at the undead. He figured Marcadeus had had a reason for knocking on the door before breakfast, and it wasn’t to discuss adventuring, to be sure.

“Er, what did you want to discuss?”

“Your revenant. It’s… unusual. Highly unusual. You did well with choosing a traditional altar ritual, and the end result is effective for its tier. But—it has a designation.” He gave Anthony a piercing look. “How, exactly, did you manage that?”

“I… I don’t really know,” Anthony said. “I don’t think it was me, actually. You have to be at least a level thirty [Necromancer] to create designated undead, right? And I’m not at that level. So…”

“So you were not responsible,” Marcadeus finished. “It’s nothing against you, but I didn’t think that you were capable of creating designated undead at your level.”

Anthony didn’t know whether to be relieved or exasperated. “Well, okay, I guess. But if you already knew that, why’d you have to come to me?”

“You seem to forget that the revenant was created under your power. If there is anyone who could impart something to determine why it received a designation, it would be you.” Marcadeus said.

There wasn’t anything wrong with that statement, and Anthony had to think furiously for an answer. Why hadn’t he asked himself this earlier? It was his designated undead. His designated undead. He mentally flashed back to his time in the dungeon crypt. What could’ve done it?

Ehm, there was the upgraded dead body. Yeah. Can’t forget that. And… the animation spell. And the mindweave. And the altar. And the… runes? Yep, runes. And the being-in-the-dungeon thing. And—

“—Wait, do I, like, make guesses? Because I don’t really know anything solid.” Anthony spoke up.

Marcadeus sat down in the vacated chair and steepled his fingers over the small table. “Guesses are fine. Please continue.”

Anthony sighed in mock outrage at having his seat stolen and put his hands in his pockets. “Like I said, I’m only guessing, and it’s not like I know much about designations anyways. It could have been the body—that [Death Weaver], Nel-something, was at least level twenty, right? Maybe he made it… I don't know, high-quality enough.”

Marcadeus gave a brief shake of the head. “Unlikely. Although I know Nelstein has the capabilities, he wouldn’t have taken any complex lengths with your request. Physically shaping the body of undead to the extent of designation is an arduous process, and one that I doubt Nelstein took. The price for that service is high, especially for someone just passing level twenty.”

“Wait, that’s possible?” Anthony burst out, now curious. “[Death Weavers] can get designated undead at level twenty?”

Marcadeus smiled. “You’re just beginning to delve into the full potential of necromancy, Mr. Crishaw. Yes, shaping mundane flesh into far superior materials is a feat [Death Weavers] are able to perform from early on. If skilled enough. But—that is another matter. By my understanding, Nelstein was not responsible for the designation of your revenant.”

Barely listening, Anthony still had to get over the fact that Nelstein could’ve just designated a corpse. A while ago, Marcadeus had introduced him to the [Death Weaver] to get inspiration for his graduation project, and from Anthony’s first impression, his fellow Necronum apprentice had been a dry, eccentric student. Not quite the ideal partner in creating powerful undead.

“Anthony.”

Anthony’s head jerked up.

“Oh, uh, what?”

“Is there anything else you are able to contribute?”

“Er, yeah.” Anthony scratched his head and looked around, noticing that the revenant seemed to have gone into torpor. “What about the mindweave?”

“What about the mindweave?” Marcadeus parroted. “Don’t ask me. It’s your job to explain, Mr. Crishaw. I recall that you never bothered to give me a detailed report of your project. Why don’t you start with that now?”

Anthony groaned.

“Lords, it’s too early for this. I’ll get working on that, Marcadeus, I swear. But I don’t have anything for you right now”

Marcadeus raised an eyebrow.

“It seems that my expectations for anything productive this morning were in vain. I will continue to await full details on every aspect of your revenant. Since the “secret” part of your project clearly didn’t necessitate thorough documentation, I’ll accept a final report. Please include a summary of altar rituals and integrated reanimation techniques. A minimum of twelve pages ought to suffice, due in, say, a month’s time.”

Anthony grimaced, “Yes, Marcadeus.”

The [Death Knight] got up from the chair.

“In that case, I’ll leave you be. I do hope that this new pursuit of adventuring turns out successful. Be sure to give your revenant a suitable disguise if you decide to bring it out.”

Anthony was relieved on the inside that Marcadeus wasn’t going to bring up anything else. He nodded and awkwardly stood back as the taller man made for the door.

“Alright. Thanks, Marcadeus. I’ll, uh, see you.”

Marcadeus turned to go, but stopped halfway.

“Ah. I thought that you would have reminded me.”

He turned back and reached for a small pack by his side. Anthony watched—and then he realized. His eyes grew wide as Marcadeus pulled out a dark circle, broken at the bottom, on a thin chain.

“Your final project. It was admirable, if ill-documented.”

Anthony held back a snappy remark. Mardeus continued.

“Your vision was true. Execution, sufficient. And the result? Well, I’ve done an evaluation. It passes. This means that you are due to receive your token.”

He held out the necklace. Anthony held his breath and reverently took it in both hands. It didn’t look very special, but that was the point. The Necronum wasn’t about flash and pomp.

Marcadeus’ eyes glittered and he touched his left hand to his sternum, where an identical necklace was tucked underneath his collar. Anthony put his token on and copied Marcadeus, reaching up with his left hand. The metal circle pressing into his clothes was cold under his fingers. A symbol. A cycle, broken—for that was the Necronum.

Anthony bowed his head as something invisible passed in between the two members, there in that moment deep beneath the surface. When he looked up again to the sound of a door being closed, Marcadeus was gone.

Talk about a dramatic exit. He clutched the token, tracing the thin metal. Maybe it was his imagination, but the circle pulsed in his hands, like a living thing. He tucked it into his shirt and stiffened, feeling the cold metal against his skin. It didn’t warm up like any other metal would and Anthony slowly forced himself to relax.

From now on, the token would always be there, chilling him. Always reminding.

One of ours.

| New Trait: [Deathbound]

| [Necromancer] Class is now Hidden

— -

So. Breakfast. That needed to be done. Or eaten. Whatever. Anthony stopped thinking about the token and shook the revenant. It stirred and looked up at him, black eyes sharpening.

Master.

Anthony winced at the mental tone. He still wasn’t used to his undead talking back.

Oh, um, hi. The talking’s over. Marcadeus left.

The revenant stood up and looked around.

That is good. Am I needed, master?

Anthony shook his head.

Uh, no. I’ll be headed out for some things, you can follow me if you want. And—you don’t need to call me master. Please. Just Anthony is fine.

Yes mas—Anthony.

Anthony had to conceal a grin after remembering an early interaction with Marcadeus. He coughed and glanced around the room for anything he might need before going out. His gaze alighted on the coin purse and he grabbed it, cinching the thin carrying strap around his waist. Money secure, he put his hand on the door to the hallway and stopped. There was something else he forgot.

Oh. The revenant. Anthony turned around, seeing the revenant right behind him. It looked back, questioning. Anthony shooed it back a bit and looked at the bandages. They covered its exposed arms, winding under its shirt and down its lower body, from what Anthony could tell. Marcadeus had probably taken it to Nelstein to get it patched up after seeing its condition from fighting the monsterfolk.

How do you feel?

The revenant seemed to be caught off guard by this. It looked around as if expecting someone else to answer, but Anthony tapped at the bandages.

Are you fine for these to come off?

The revenant nodded.

I am fully functional.

Good enough. Anthony started unwinding the bandages, thanking whoever had made them so that they didn’t stick to the revenant’s skin. After a minute in which Anthony, somewhat uncomfortably, had stopped at the bandages covered by its shirt and pants, they were done. The revenant no longer looked like a demented mummy covered in blackish bloodstains—just a normal corpse. Still fairly repulsive to most people, but Anthony was taking anything he could get before going out. He looked the revenant up and down one more time before opening the door and stepping into the hallway.

There wasn’t anyone else, which was expected, being early in the morning and that. It was all the better for walking over the communal bathroom undisturbed. Anthony entered the wash chambers and went for a stall, followed by the revenant. The undead found itself blocked and it looked down, confused.

Anthony had an arm out to stop it from following.

Don’t come in here. This is one of the things I need to tell you about. Acceptable behavior. You don’t go into the bathroom with other people unless you want them to get mad at you.

The revenant withered under the mental reprimand and turned around.

Yes, Anthony.

The necromancer made sure it was well gone before dropping his pants and sitting down.

“Undead.” He grumbled.

— -

After he finished his, ahem, business, Anthony exited the stall and sluiced some water over his hands from the washbasin. He shook his hands to dry them and left the bathroom. The revenant had been standing motionless by the wall and it followed him down the hallway, walking to the stairs going down.

Anthony?

Yes?

Why is following people into the bathroom not acceptable behavior?

Anthony half-opened his mouth and shut it with an audible clop. He stopped just before the stairway and turned to look at the revenant.

Okay. Erm. There’s this thing called ‘privacy’ that people like to have when doing certain things, which means that they don’t want other people to intrude. Going to the bathroom involves privacy, and you’re not supposed to disturb that.

The revenant nodded.

I see.

Anthony rubbed his eyes and turned to descend the stairway. The revenant looked at his back thoughtfully before following.

“Good morning, Grace. How’s it going?” Anthony said when he reached the ground floor.

The receptionist briefly glanced up at him, then the revenant, before looking back at her desk.

“Hello, Anthony. Surface time is a quarter after the sixth hour.”

That was Grace. Punctual as always. And as immune to casual conversation as a wall of ice. Anthony wryly glanced at the [Scriptorian] write something with the pen she seemed to always have at hand and looked away.

“Thanks, Grace.” He sighed and pushed the front doors of the building open, stepping up onto the narrow street.

There were a few people out and about, probably morning workers, and Anthony looked back with a bit of worry at the revenant before setting down to a nearby serving house. In Drastum, the space between buildings was just wide enough for two small wagons to pass through side by side. Cramped, yes, but room was at a premium in the underground and you either got used to it or left. And leaving meant either waiting for a flare, or… well, you couldn’t really leave any other way.

But the point was that the narrow streets meant everyone passing by got a good look at the revenant. Most of the early morning-goers minded their own business and looked away after a glance at the pale figure, studiously hurrying past. Others were less accepting of the death magic in plain view.

“Damn freaks.”

Anthony heard someone mutter as they passed by. He didn’t turn to see who it was. The revenant shrunk a bit at the words and Anthony could only frown at the worn stone of the floor. Maybe bringing the revenant along wasn’t the best idea. He should’ve listened to Marcadeus and given his undead a disguise before going out. Despite Drastum being one of the rare cities which didn’t persecute necromancy, nobody liked dealing—or even seeing, let alone being in close proximity—with undead.

But nothing to do about it right now. Anthony grimaced and let the frown fade away. He’d get a disguise, with proper makeup and spells, for the revenant. But later. Once he had breakfast, at least. He’d go to the mercantile sector after.

Anthony?

The revenant mentally spoke up again, knocking his thoughts off-kilter. Anthony couldn’t help but wish that it would be less inclined to ask questions every five minutes. The first few times were endearing, but now, the mental badgering was becoming tiring. He forced back a sigh and shot back a mental response.

Yes?

Even though the revenant was behind him, Anthony could see its face in his mind, blank as only the undead could be and as innocent as a baby.

Is it not acceptable behavior to look at people who are changing clothes?

“What—”

Anthony nearly sputtered out loud. He hadn’t been expecting that. He turned to look at the revenant for the second time that day and slowed down.

Why… are you asking?

At an earlier time today, your mentor told me to not look while you changed clothes. Is this also an event of “privacy”?

Anthony noticed that they’d reached the serving house, Hallings and Cut, out of the corner of his eye. He pulled the revenant to the side of the street, near the entrance where fewer people would take notice of them.

Yes. Definitely. Changing clothes is private. People without clothes are private. Don’t look when that happens.

The revenant nodded carefully. Anthony sensed another question coming and quickly deflected it.

No more questions. I want to eat breakfast first, in peace and quiet. You can ask me after.

With a slightly hurt look on its face, the revenant nodded again.

Good. Try to be unobtrusive. I’ll do some talking, order food, and we’ll find a table.

Anthony gave the revenant a pat on the shoulder and pushed open the door.

There were only a few people eating, with a group of three at the front and two more individuals sitting at small tables. They all looked up as the necromancer and the revenant entered the bar. There was probably a joke somewhere in there, but Anthony didn’t bother thinking about it. He locked on the scent of frying mushrooms and took a straight line to the counter.

Hearing footsteps, a man came out of the kitchen, wiping his hands on an off-colored apron. He squinted at the revenant and looked at Anthony, who was standing in front.

“If I’ll be damned, it’s the necromancer boy! Been a while, eh?”

Anthony smiled awkwardly.

“Um, hey, Grendon.”

Grendon laughed. “Didn’t think I’d see you again, Anthony, not after you stopped coming these past weeks. Thought you up and moved away. What’s got you back? Not that I’m complaining, mind you.”

Anthony yawned to buy some time to think. He couldn’t well tell Grendon that he’d been training to complete his Necronum membership. That was a one-way disaster for secrecy. He’d just have to make up a lie. Or… a half-truth.

“I had a project. For, uh, school. It took up a bit of time, and I couldn’t come here. Sorry.”

“Ah, education. Brushing up the books, haven’t you?” Grendon winked. “I’m sure that project must’ve been a real piece of work, keeping you away.”

Anthony was pretty sure Grendon didn’t buy the story, but he didn’t mind. The proprietor wouldn’t pry.

“Anyways, Anthony, I’ll say you’re here for breakfast. I’ve got some cap-eyes in the back, beans, and bread. Real good stuff, that bread, wheat. The last shipment’s kept a while, and a new one’s coming up soon, so I can get you a loaf cheap right now. Two coppers plus three more for the full meal. What’cha say?”

Anthony gently felt at the money in his purse through the fabric at his hip. He had… three of the rod-like marks and three spare coins of coppers left. Each mark was fully loaded—holding five coins together—so just counting the coins, eighteen coppers in total. If he was careful, it’d be enough to last a few more meals in Drastum, at least. He took the spares and peeled a coin off a mark.

“Four and I’ll take it.” Anthony placed four coppers onto the counter. “I don’t want to see any sawdust in the bread.”

Grendon gave him a wounded look and swept up the money. “You’re cutting me on the first day back, Anthony. That was one time with the bread. It’s been fine ever since.”

Anthony shook his head in mock disbelief as the [Cook] went back into the kitchen. There was nothing worse than starting on a loaf of bread and finding that half of it was gritty powder.

After a short wait at the counter, ignoring the mixed glances thrown his way by the other patrons, Anthony saw Grendon come back with a platter of dishes. The [Cook] slid a cup of water and a plate in front of him; big, flappy cap-eye mushrooms, a mash of boiled beans, and a hand-sized loaf of bread. Nothing special, but that was Drastum fare.

“Enjoy.” Grendon nodded at him and moved down the counter with more food for the group of three. Anthony let the smell of the food waft over his face and inhaled. He caught the revenant looking at him and brought the plate away from his nose hurriedly.

Come on, we’ll sit down.

He walked over to a nearby table and pulled out a chair after setting the plate and cup down. The revenant followed suit. Anthony began tearing the bread into pieces and, after discovering that there was indeed no sawdust, covered them with beans.

The revenant watched with a combination of aversion and fascination as Anthony began cramming the contents of the plate into his mouth. After an impressively short amount of time, the [Necromancer] was finished and sat back, wiping his mouth with a cloth. He took a draft from the cup and looked up at the revenant, who was staring at him with the unnatural stillness only undead could have.

Mmm. I’m done. What did you want to ask?

The revenant took a while to respond.

Is eating food always like that?

Anthony looked down at the scraps of food and liquid on the plate. Maybe he had been a bit too… voracious when eating in front of the revenant. A bit lacking in civilized behavior. Not that he didn’t know table manners, but… he’d been hungry. And it wasn’t like undead cared about table manners. Right?

Ah, not always. It’s a bit complicated. If there aren’t people around to bother, you can eat in any way you want. But sometimes there’s special behavior you need when eating with others. I mean—food’s going into your mouth either way. But sometimes you need to use cutlery, like forks and knives. And spoons. Although spoons are for a specific type of food.

The revenant looked confused and Anthony let his mental tone trail off. He wasn’t great at explaining things, and it wasn’t helping to deal with an overly curious undead who knew absolutely nothing about behavior and culture. The only reason Anthony was bothering to explain clearly was because he knew this would come up later.

Okay, let me try again. When eating with manners—which is acceptable behavior—you only let food touch the plate, the cutlery, and the inside of your mouth. Don’t use your hands and keep it from getting on the table, your clothes, and other body parts.

The revenant looked more confused, if that was possible. Anthony sighed. He was making it as concise as he could, but he wasn’t someone good with words like a [Teacher] or an [Orator].

The revenant’s eyes flicked to the plate.

I understand that manners are a part of acceptable behavior while eating. You said this involves controlling the food by not letting it touch your hands and the outside of your mouth.

Anthony wasn’t sure where this was going, but he played along.

Yes. That’s etiquette. Manners. You don’t have to remember it all, but just keep it in mind if you eat. With other people.

The revenant nodded slightly.

Controlling the food is part of manners, which is part of acceptable behavior. When eating, you did not follow the manners and did not have acceptable behavior. What were the consequences of these actions?

I, uh… Anthony stopped, thinking back to how he ate and what he told the revenant. I should tell you that what I’ve said about acceptable behavior is nice and all, but there’s different layers and examples. Sometimes, acceptable behavior changes. Like when eating, you don’t always need perfect manners if you aren’t in a special occasion.

The revenant looked less confused.

Acceptable behavior isn’t absolute?

Yes. That’s it. Anthony felt relieved.

Does this also apply to following people into bathrooms and watching people without clothes?

Anthony’s thinking stopped again. He looked around, which was silly—nobody could hear a mental conversation—but he couldn’t shake the superstition of someone reading his mind.

Um… well, yeah. Sometimes. If you think a friend’s in trouble in the bathroom, you can go in and help them. Like if they’re drunk and fall down. Or if you see someone bleeding onto the floor. Going in then is acceptable behavior. And when there’s people without clothes, it’s, um, uh… well, never mind. Oh, wait—if someone’s hurt, you might have to take some clothes off to treat the injury. Like if someone gets stabbed, you—well, not specifically you, but whoever’s helping—need to expose skin to give them bandages and stuff.

The revenant nodded.

So circumstances change what acceptable behavior is.

Yep. You have to evaluate it for yourself.

Anthony smiled as the revenant relaxed its posture. Maybe it wasn’t hopeless, after all. He took a look around, seeing that Grendon was talking with a handful of new customers. They must’ve been in mental conversation for longer than he’d realized.

Okay, anyways, that’s it for manners while eating. We really should get going. There’s things I want to take care of.

He got up from the chair and pushed it in. The revenant imitated him. Anthony didn’t miss the way the new customers’ eyes snapped to him and the revenant when they got up, but he walked over to Grendon anyways.

“Hey, Grendon. Thanks for the bread. No sawdust. Uh, it was nice seeing you.”

Grendon didn’t bat an eye at the awkward words.

“Of course there wasn’t any sawdust. That last supplier got cut for cheating the flour. And whaddaya mean by ‘it was nice seeing me?’ What, you’re leaving Drastum?”

Anthony gave a weak chuckle.

“Well…”

Grendon stopped wiping down the counter.

“Oh, damn. I wasn’t being serious. Why?”

“I can’t stay underground forever, Grendon. I’ve finished with… school, and I need something else to do. That’s why I’m going to the surface.”

Grendon straightened. “Then this’ll be the last time I’m seeing you?”

Anthony shook his head.

“No. I’ll keep coming here until the next flare. Then, I’m taking a jump aboveground.”

Grendon shook his wryly.

“Figures. Just when I thought I had you back. At least you didn’t wait till the last moment to spring it on me. I’ll have you for, what, three more days before you leave?”

“It's something like that. I’m not really sure when the next flare is, but it’s soon. There’s still some time for me to get all my things arranged.”

Grendon exhaled heavily. “Guess a lad like you couldn’t stay here forever. Can’t blame you for that. A shame, though—won’t be able to say I’ve got a necromancer as a regular.”

Anthony nodded and put his hands in his pockets. “Ha. Well, I need to go. Thanks again for the food.”

Grendon waved a hand. “It’s what I do. Don’t let me keep you.”

Anthony smiled, genuinely. He wished there were more people like Grendon in the world. The [Cook] had been one of the few friendly faces he could meet with in Drastum, outside of Marcadeus. It’d be painful to leave, but his heart was set to the surface.

Come on. Let’s go.

Anthony turned around, seeing the revenant right behind him as usual, and walked to the door. A push and a few steps and they were out on the street.

Now. Back to business. Anthony looked at the greater number of people out and about, then at the revenant’s pale figure. Oh, right. A disguise. Looks like it was off to the mercantile sector.

Anthony opened his purse and counted his money again. Three marks, all holding their coins minus one. Fourteen coppers.

…

How expensive was makeup, again?