At first his eyes followed specks of dust that floated down the ceiling. Next, he tried to count each barb on his quill pen's feather. Then, he flicked his finger against the fringes of his hair. When he got bored of even that, Pempe leaned back in his chair with a sigh, the page of parchment of his book on his table still empty.

“I'm running out of ink,” Pempe voiced.

Behind him on the bed and snuggled under a blanket with a thick book in his hand was Kingston. “That's because you keep dipping the ink but not write anything. That's how ink works.”

“Why are you here?” Pempe asked snappily.

“It's my room too.”

“I know that. But why are you still here? Why not go out? Take a walk and take in the sights?”

“It's cold.” He looked up from his book.

Their room was one of many in a long mount of dormitories. Buried under dirt, surrounded by brick walls, the room was just big enough for a desk, two beds, a shared cabinet for their clothes, and a rack from their coats. A single window in the centre end of the room angled up and out of the mount. Snow had partially covered the window pane that separated them and the world outside, letting in only streams of outside glitter. A single crystal lamp dangled from above them.

“Why are you here?”

Pempe stood and turned before sitting back down, hugging the spine of his chair. “I'm trying to come up with new battle formations. Something that covers everything.”

“Impossible,” Kingston quickly replied. “You can't expect to be prepared for all contingencies with a simgle formation.”

“I know. But–”

Kingston put down his book. “Is this why you've been sulking lately?”

“I have not been sulking,” Pempe was taken aback. “Why would I be sulking?”

“I don't know. We've won four fights now. We're nearly at the end of winter. A whole half season since the qualifiers and now we're at the quarter finals. You should be ecstatic but you've been wearing a frown the whole time, staring at your little planning book.”

Pempe sighed. He looked around the room, trying to find something else to talk about to avoid the topic. Perhaps an unspawn will burst through he walls and save him the trouble. Kingston was his closest friend but he always felt the latter could read him as easily as books and clear as day.

Unable to find an escape, Pempe admitted, “I'm worried. The last match, you and Seks got knocked out. The one before that was me and Trini. Enneya was the last woman standing in our second round and you and her fell in the qualifying. I'm just trying to find a way to win one without losing any of us.”

“This is... very unlike you, Pempe,” Kingston worried noted.

“How so?”

“You're the practical one of us. I'm supposed to be the one who's empathetic.”

Pempe raised a brow. “Somehow, that does not make me feel any better.”

“Do you know why everyone keeps looking to you to lead? It's because you think on your feet. You see the optimal solution in the toughest times and you make choices that would be hard for anyone else.”

Pempe looked away. “But what if it's not just holograms and training next time? What if on the train over I made a mistake and the entire bridge collapsed under us?”

“It didn't.”

“What if?”

Kingston looked annoyed. “What do you want to hear? That your fears are unfounded? Because they're not. You want me to tell you to stop leading the charge because you'll make a mistakes.”

“That's...” Not wrong. He felt the pressure ever since seeing Enneya knocked out of the ring and Kingston being cut down. As they got stronger, as they grew older, the opponents they faced raised the bar higher and he worried one day they would not cross it.

Kingston clicked his tongue. “It's not going to change. People like us look to people like you because you act before the fear sets in.”

“Why me?”

“Because you're better at it. Because you don't hesitate. It's not the same as having no fear.” His friend huffed “We got into this school knowing full well what's at stake. Then we decide to fight for what's right, risking out lives, because we think it's worth it. It's more likely than not we will end up losing one of us.”

“And you're okay with that?”

“Of course not. But I'll have to be when the time comes.”

“But you're not the one making the call when the time comes.”

“You're right. That's you.” Kingston looked up sombrely. “You're just in a slump. You know as well as I do that not doing anything when the sails are cut is uncountably worse than doing something as the ship is sunk.”

Pempe got to his feet and sighed. “I don't know what that means.” He crossed the room and grabbed his coat off the rack. “I'll take a walk. Clear my head a little. Maybe you're right about the slump.”

“Sure.” Kingston smiled. Then, his eyes opened wider. Pempe knew that look. It was one of recognition. Those many times when Kingston seemingly sees something that no one else could. His friend opened his book and returned to it, but said, “You should take your weapon with you.”

“Why?”

“I read the wind.”

“Why do you always say that?”

Kingston shrugged and Pempe sighed defeated. He decided to take the advice. His weapon was not particularly large. The shortened barrels of his gun meant the whole thing slipped easily under his coat into the holster that was worn at the back of his waist. He took a few more minutes to wear the leather belt and retrieved his weapon out of the cabinet before leaving the room.

The dormitory's corridor was harshly empty. It was the middle of the day and most of them had left to explore Rubicum's wonder. The earthen tunnel stretched straight towards branches, sharp corners, and around rooms inhabited by fellow students, teachers, and other competing Spellblades who had managed to book lodgings there. Most of the others stayed at the inn around the town. While many had been eliminated from the tourney, they still stayed within the city to watch the competition play out and more were coming in each day to view the quarter to finals. Finally at the exiting tunnel, Pempe stepped outside.

Winter was coming to an end. With just three more days left in the season, the snow had died down considerably and edging greeneries were mixing cerulean with the teal crystal foliage of the previous season. The path winding between tree houses, buildings, and gardens were mostly cleared of snow to a light dirt brown. The day was bustling with activities. Tourism built during the tourney seasons and the cold weather meant most work was on hold until Fall.

Pempe decided to simply walk, taking in the cool air and forever dew scent. He made towards the market district where the crowds were even larger. Stalls had been set up in place of a field and pedlars peddled trinkets while sales sold shale. There were food carts and street performers. Hawkers and barters. The place teemed with the living and he approached a bun cart that smelt of fresh baked bread with lingers of meat and sauces from its side.

The woman at the cart saw his approach and greeted, “What will you have, sir?”

“A frankfurter, if you will,” he requested, digging into his pockets for pence and pieces.

A rumble through the crowd and a woman screamed, “Help! A thief! Guards!”

Pempe turned instinctively to the sound of the voice as the thick crowd was parted and pushed. A thin built, curly haired hume birthed from the wall of masses. The hume looked to her left and right, deciding on a road of escape. The people around them muttered and pointed, some with looks of conflicted inaction, as if speculating if acting was in their best interest.

Another man, a dark haired, brown coated human walked up to the thief. “Hi!” The coated man's voice echoed into the crowd. “You look lost, madam thief. Can I help you?”

The hume thief pulled out a dagger and pointed it to the coated man. Pempe reached behind his back and drew his shotgun. In trained motioned, he pulled the slide of his gun back and loaded in one of his seed pellets. Without thinking further or even taking time to confirm his aim, he fired from the hip.

As if a hand reaching out, the vine shot tackled into the thief with force, net shape wrapping up from body to sole and knocking the hume off her feet. The crowd behind backed off from the woman that tumbled and everyone else clapped and cheered. A human woman appeared from behind the crowd, looking confused. Then, she saw the thief on the ground and her purse by the roadside. Guards started gathering edge of the scene.

The coated man who was nearly stabbed walked up to Pempe as the confusion, murmurs, and celebration mixed.

“Thank goodness you were here,” the man said. “I used to be a thief. She would have just turned a corner into the crowd and disappeared without a trace if not for you.”

“I...” Pempe replied, dumbfounded at everything that happened in the short time frame. “What were you thinking, sir? Going up to her like that was dangerous. You could have been seriously injured.” He looked at the commotion around them, making sure nothing else happened out of his attention.

“Oh, I'll be fine, boy. Middle name's danger. Actually, I don't have a middle name. But sure was good to have you take the lead there, right?” The man winked.

Pempe's focus was caught. His attention tunnelled on the man before him. “Who are you?”

The man grinned. “I've got many names. Traveller of Time. Warrior of Chronos. Pausa Alvet. Howard Galloway. The Man with the Answers. But at the end of the day, I'll be the one whose life you'll wonder about after I've saved yours.” Then he dropped the smile and shrugged nonchalantly. “Or I'm The Watcher. Your pick.”

Pempe blinked.

The man vanished from his eyes. Pempe looked around stunned as guards approached to the victim and the scene to apprehend a thief and gather statements. One walked up to Pempe, asking who he was. It was only by instincts did he manage to take his badge out of his pocket as he realised no one else aside from him and the wailing thief seemed to have seen The Watcher come and go.