Snapping out of his reverie, the silver text fading away like smoke on the wind, Ril got up. He noticed that the city was louder than usual, the voices of guardsmen and the pounding of boots could clearly be heard from his alcove.

Worried now, Ril quickly gathered his meager possessions, and hightailed it down towards the eastern wall. Every time he came across a guard patrol, Ril found himself hiding in alleyways and behind barrels. As he crossed the city he became increasingly certain the guards were searching for him, for his assault on Godric.

Luckily, Ril managed to reach the eastern gatehouse without altercation with the local militia. The gatehouse was imposing. Made of the same, nearly indestructible, chalky black stone that was so common near the crash site of the chromagnum, the gatehouse loomed over the nearby houses, casting a shadow that seemed darker than it should be for this time of day. To the side of the large portcullis made of wrought iron, there was a small side door leading to the barracks for the soldiers manning the wall.

Ril made his way over to the barracks door, carefully cracking it open and peeking his head through the crack. Inside, a pair of guards sat around a small round table playing some card game. Both guards were wearing the Glotsk uniform of white and indigo, but were relaxed, with shirts untucked and weapons leaning up against the wall of the small lobby rather than strapped to their waists.

“Hey Darrow” said Ril from his place at the door.

The larger of the two guards jumped, dropping his hand of cards. He looked up at the door and spotted Ril’s distinctive locks peeking through the gap in the now opening door.

“Oh, come in lad” said the larger of the two guards “what is it that you need”

Meanwhile the smaller of the two guards, with barely a glance at Ril, was surreptitiously sneaking a glance at Darrow’s fallen hand.

“I’m heading over to the river to wash my clothes. Was wondering if you could let me out”

“You are going washing now?” Asked Darrow, clearly concerned “it’s getting on to dark, lad, and my shift ends in an hour. You’ll have to hurry if you want me to let you back in or you’re gonna be spending the night in the fields.”

“That’s alright Darrow, I’m going to be quick,” Ril reassured.

With a harrumph, Darrow got up from his chair, which on closer inspection was closer to a stool. The stool creaked mightily as Darrow lifted his paunch onto his feet and ambled towards the back of the room, snatching a bullseye lantern that stood ready near the door.

“Well come on now, lad, I haven’t got all day” Darrow said, without looking back.

Ril made his way across the barracks break room. Once Darrow’s back was turned, the second guard had dropped all pretense and had started lifting up Darrow’s fallen hand looking through the cards with a mildly hopeless expression. Shaking his head, and with a small smile, Ril followed Darrow out the rear and into a hallway that had murderholes periodically spaced on the right hand side. The black stone of the hallway seemed to suck the light out of the small bullseye lantern that Darrow carried.

Out the other end of the tunnel, Ril released the breath he had been holding. They had entered another room that was very similar to the break room that they had left yet this one had a wooden spiral staircase leading up to the second floor wrapping around the border of the room.

“Here you go, lad” Darrow said as he unlocked a small service door underneath the spiral staircase. “Stay safe out there.”

With a smile and a wave at Darrow, Ril made his way out of the guardhouse and began jogging east.

* * *

As Ril jogged away from his home city that never accepted him, Godric Glotsk stood stiffly in an ornate office. The office itself was up high, located on the fourth floor of the Glosk castle. Panoramic windows took up two of the four walls revealing a very complete view of the city of Elkshire. The third wall housed a fireplace carved with swallows taking flight. In it, a cheery flame burned. Behind Godric a thick oak door stood open to a drawing room with several plush couches surrounding another swallow covered fireplace.

Godric himself was standing in front of a mahogany desk that took up most of the floor space of the office. He stood ramrod straight, eyes looking straight ahead over the stern countenance of an aging yet still fearsome man. That man’s hands were steepled in front of him, a heavy frown contorting his face, as Godric finished reciting the events following the festival.

“To reiterate. You lost the orb?” said the man, frown deepening

“It was stol--” Godric started.

“To reiterate. You lost the orb?” interrupted the man

With a slight flinch, Godric replied “Yes, father.”

“It was not cheap acquiring an oversized sphere for you. Many sacrifices were made, and favors given so that you, my son, could be better protected against warp.”

“Yes, father.” Godric replied

“You will have to bond with a normal sized orb. There are ways of upgrading a normal core to an oversized one later down the road. They are simply expensive.”

“We can still find the thief, and retrieve the orb!” Godric said, meeting his father’s eyes for the first time that evening.

“Perhaps, but this...thief that incapacitated Gom, and handicaped Sonith did not have an orb of his own. It is likely that he bonded with the orb the moment he had a moment alone. So even if we found the wretch, the orb will be irrecoverable. Perhaps more importantly, the guard has been scouring the city of the only orphan with mirror hair. They have yet to find him, which means this little thief is remarkably talented at hiding, or he has left the city. If he has left the city, he will not last long alone.” Godric’s father said, calmly leaning back in his seat and moving his hands to his lap.

“Then we will track him down in order to punish him for assaulting a noble.” Godric retorted.

“We will be doing no such thing. You must start the journey to the academy if you wish to arrive early as you must.” Godric’s father said, then with a twinkle in his eye he continued. “Although you are correct. We must at least appear to respond to this slight. We shall send a tracker after this boy. With winter coming, there are few trackers, and even fewer killers, available to be spent on such tasks.”

Godric’s father leaned forward and picked up a large quill. Dipping it into an inkpot, the old man quickly wrote down a few brief lines in a notebook. Taking a pinch of sand from a glass reservoir next to the inkpot, he sprinkled the sand over the wet ink.

“Dismissed.” Said Godric’s father, looking up from his work.

Godric snapped a quick nod at his father, clearly still frustrated with the situation, but turned around and marched out of his father’s office without hesitation. Godric’s father, for his part, took the notebook and tipped it so that all of the sand poured back into the reservoir next to the inkpot. Tucking the notebook into his silk suit. The old lord picked up the quill once more, and returned to work, seeming to forget the troubles that his son found so troubling.