Norman found himself in an old abandoned outhouse of all places. After stepping out of the open-hanging door, he looked around himself, all alone. “I don’t think we’re there yet.”

The bamp fog may have been nice to breathe, but the moisture made his clothes all wet. Norman looked around, a little bit fuzzed about what had just happened and where everyone was. All around him were no familiar faces or places. He only saw trees, large ones at that, and dense yet short foliage covering the ground.

“What sort of trouble did I get myself this time?" He tried looking for landmarks. "This fog doesn't feel right. Is this some sort of spell? I need to get out of here. Wait, I can use that."

He lifted his palm and chanted the word as he remembered it.

“Flicker flare.”

A small soft yellow light the size of a baseball floated over his palm. Despite the cute appearance, Norman felt sick just looking at it. One by one, they formed in his palm and circled him. He sent them on their way to search for anything or anyone. Though they soon escaped his vision, Norman could see through them like small security cameras.

However, this was not without some consequences.

“So that’s how it is. Truly an unforeseen move from you, Tobias.” A familiar yet awful voice whispered inside Norman’s head. He knew exactly who it was. After all, it was one of the requirements to use the spell.

“I was correct. You Norman's are but cowards, masters of the underhanded arts.” The voice continued.

Norman tried to bear with the words, no matter how nastily they stabbed him.

“Do you enjoy stealing other people’s hard work? Perhaps you have no talent to create your own? Or are all psychemancers as evil as they say?”

Norman couldn't take it anymore. “That's none of your business. You lost, Daniel." He snapped.

“I do not recall myself dying, or are there new definitions of defeat?”

“Shut up, or I'll bind you to a mug.” Norman dropped to the ground.

"Hahaha! That would still be better than being used by you."

"I can switch you out, and I'm honestly leaning on that option."

“Now, now. Can't you see I'm just trying to spark a conversation?" Norman could feel the smirk on Daniel's face.

"You aren't really good at that, or do you dukes talk regularly like that?"

"Try understanding my point of view here. What if you woke up inside someone's mind all of a sudden? You didn't even ask for consent.”

Norman found new motivation to concentrate on the spell.

“I get it. I won’t get anywhere by taking the piss with you, but I got to ask. Where are all the others you have stolen from? Can't I see them or did you set them free?”

“I don’t need to tell you,” Norman said.

“You made me share your mind without permission. The least you can do is give some answers.”

Norman stayed quiet.

“Well?” Daniel's voice echoed louder.

“Sigh. There's only one other with you, but I guess she doesn't want to talk with you."

"Doesn't want or can't?"

"Take a guess."

“But there is someone besides me, this ‘her’ you mentioned. She's the one with the invisibility spell, ain't she?” Daniel's speech returned to his less formal self.

Norman turned silent again.

“Oh, come on. You can't get into the juicy bits and then suddenly stop."

“She’s my big sister.” Norman blurted under the pressure.

Even Daniel knew to give a small break to Norman before continuing.

“So, is she alive?” He asked.

“Barely.” Norman dropped his head.

“So, I'm probably alive as well?"

“You should be, just in prison."

“We must be caught then. What prison?”

“Shaoghal.”

“Fuck. “Daniel let out an angered sigh. “Is Fynn there too?”

“No, he sold you out, but that was planned, wasn't it?" Norman asked.

“It was our only choice. I hope he is doing alright.”

“And I thought you cared for nothing."

“Family sticks together, even though we're a pile of shit."

Norman had no reason to agree but gave a small nod.

“By the way, do you know how to get out of here?” He asked.

“What the hell is this place? Gaunnes?"

"Yup," Norman said.

“What are you doing here?”

“Finding Avalon."

Daniel was silent for a turn. "Alright. Wasn't expecting that. So, you looking for the realms or something?"

"Yeah."

"And that's what you were after back there too?" Daniel asked.

"Yep. We just happened to run into each other. Wasn't that fun?"

Daniel sighed deeply. “What an awful thing to say. Well then, I guess I will tell you something in return."

"No thanks," Norman said.

"That's not an option anymore." Daniel laughed.

Norman didn't like that a soul under his command could pressure him like that.

“Our family is known for this illness that kills most of us sooner or later,” Daniel explained.

“I see.” Norman amused himself with the thought that the family was inbreeding.

“My father was a fool, well a loving fool. He would rather let us live as a normal family than a royal family. He didn't care about the people and let some chump from another branch take control. He died in those conditions, and I became the Duke.”

“Can we get to the interesting bit? Assuming there are any."

“I’m getting there! But there is just one thing that very few know.”

“Which is?”

“There is no disease. That is just something the public thinks, well, some in the family believe in the superstition.”

“What is it then?”

“Think it this way. This disease gets more and more frequent when rising above the latter in the family or if there's someone you don't like. The chump who took control died to it too."

Norman gasped. "You kill each other?"

"When needed."

Norman thought for a moment. “But, then who killed your father?”

“That is the secret that only I know.” Daniel laughed under his breath like an old engine. “I did.”

“But why?" Norman was still processing.

“I had no choice! That fool was going to let us all die away in poverty!”

“What about your brother?"

“He doesn't know, and won't need to. He will lead us to a new age. I know it in my bones.”

Norman felt sick to his stomach. Sure, he hated his parents as well, but a thought like that never crossed his mind.

“Did you kill your mother as well?” Norman felt solid anger.

Daniel's silence took Norman off guard.

“There's always a balance between fortune and misfortune, or maybe it's all bad karma,” Daniel spoke softly.

“What type of person mourns their mother yet prances around about killing their father?"

“Then what are you? A paragon of morals? You bury the truth like I buried my mother, but it still makes you a liar. Both of us have brought someone down for power. We both acted out of desperation, and it has brought us here.”

Norman gritted his teeth with anger. Seething hate twisted his face. “We aren't the same. I regret my mistakes every day; You would do it again every time."

“Maybe I would, but one cannot change the past, and now we both carry sins on our backs. The ends might not justify the means, but there are only so many means that are not an end for you.”

“To this day, I cry for the things I’ve done. Your eyes told me everything I needed to know. However much hate fuels you, your eyes only get colder.”

“What a pitiful man you truly are. We would not be standing here if the world was run by people like you."

"And it would be burning if it was only run by the kinds of you. Only a man like you would turn this spell into that."

“If you don’t like it, then return it to me,” Daniel asked with refined anger.

“I can’t." Norman let out the fact.

“You can’t, or you don’t know?”

“I can't return a spell. I wouldn't have any if I could.”

"Nonsense! You took the opportunity!"

"You were going to kill us!"

"Then take it like a man and continue going forward!"

“Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!"

“All this sad talk about your sister, yet you're just fine using it. I have not gone insane, have I? What was it that you said? 'how can you cry for your mother when you killed your father?' then how is it different from you ruining other people's lives?"

“It's not the same!"

“No, Norman. We are the same—two equally despicable people. Neither of us truly cares about others, but I've chosen to only care about myself. I've come to terms with who I am. It’s a dog-eat-dog world out there! You can’t pick and choose how you like! It’s either you or them. Choose, Tobias, choose!”

“That’s it!” Switched the spell.

“What a pitiful existence you have.” Daniel sighed as his voice vanished.

After he made sure Daniel was gone, Norman took a breather.

“What was I thinking?” He stared at nothingness.

“Norman...” Lisa called out.

“I'm fine.” Norman heaved with anxiety.

“I am always there for you. You aren't alone.” Lisa faded.

“I need to find them, whatever it takes.” Norman stepped forward.

At the ominous church, the chanting escaping from the door’s cracks made Orel hesitant to try to open it. He collected his courage and gently knocked at the door. Nothing happened. Orel tried again, this time to push the door open, yet it would not budge no matter which way he tried. Finally, he went and banged on the door, which finally silenced the humming.

“Is there anyone there?” Orel asked.

“What type of sanctuary does not allow travelers inside?” Isao crossed his hands.

“I don’t want to be near all these graves.” Slacume shivered like a small dog left outside in a snowstorm.

Echoing footsteps traveled next to the door, and soon a croaky voice answered as if pressed next to the door on the other side.

“What is your business here?” He asked.

Slacume read the hint and answered straight away with a shriek. “Were the ones sent by Duke Lionel!”

“The party? Yes, the Barghest is a true terror, but there are other problems.”

“Um, it's gone now,” Orel butted in. "We killed it."

“Oh." The voice stopped for a moment. "I am most thankful for your actions, but the danger persists.”

“You mean the fog?”

“Yes, it has surrounded us. The people are too afraid to leave their houses, not that they should.”

“Are you the priest here?” Isao asked straightforwardly.

“Excuse my rudeness; I am father Ostwind. I have most of the village here, where we will hold until the fog releases us.”

“Do not worry, a brother from another faith. We shall find a way to release the curse that has befallen your lands.”

“Ah, a fellow priest. I give my blessing to you. Please take this token with you. Please ask for the people to seek shelter if you find anyone wandering outside.” Ostwind slid a copper plate with a seal of the church from under the door.

“Where should we go?” Orel asked.

“If only I could give you advice of direction, but I must ask your aid first. Our greatest danger is the boggards. The once helpful brownies have become enraged and causing havoc. Could you please get rid of them? They live in the forest south of town.”

“I see. We’ll try and sort it out.” Orel said.

“Thank you. I must consult the survivors now. Please return safe and sound.” Ostwind’s steps echo away.

Slacume seemed even more nervous than before as the trio walked on the road south of the village, passing by barricaded houses.

“The situation is direr than I could have imagined. This is something Magistrate would need to handle, not us.” Slacume said while biting his nails.

“We've handled this sort of stuff before." Orel tried to sound confident to ease Slacume's anxiety.

Slacume was not moved by the effort, as it came to him as it was, shallow words spoken with little to no care for the danger they were facing.

One could see a peek of light in some of the windows or a person watching, only to hastily back away. The whole village was silent, while even the slightest creak or bash made Slacume jump and stumble. The road was no longer muddy but cobblestone, while the houses ranged from slightly modern to old wooden houses with tile roofs. Many of them had a chimney, but only a few had any smoke coming out of them. The town had an antique countryside feel to it as if trapped in time. The fog was slightly thinner there, only reaching around Orel's knees, but it seemed to raise even to the tallest of buildings at some points. Looking behind, Orel could see the tall church tower vanishing into the mist.

“By the way. What’s a boggart?”

“Think of it as a house spirit, as a fairy turned evil. Normally they are nice and all, called brownies, but if they go mad about something you did to them, they turn into boggarts. I haven’t seen them myself, they’re regional, but I’ve heard they look worse for wear."

"You believe in spirits?" Orel asked.

"Well, the city churches tell you otherwise, but you've seen what it's here like. Magistrate tries to keep them under control, but you're here, so you can guess how much they care."

“Evil spirits, wreckers of homes. I shall lay their souls to rest.” Isao said confidently.

“So, you're from Gaunnes, right?" Orel asked.

“Yes, from Tuathcol village. I’ve lived here my entire life, but my family came here from Libertas.”

"So you went to a mage school?"

“Um, yes, I did. Those snobs at magistrate only took me in because they were interested in spirit affinity, and I couldn’t pass an opportunity like that. They only gave me the second-lowest education level, but it was enough for me to score this job.” Slacume answered humbly.

“Is Magistrate like a school or what?" Orel couldn't tell.

"Well, technically it's an academy, but they train everyone from the military to the elite and do close work with them. They have big schools in the capital, Laghcastle, and Morcane in the middle parts. I went to the one in Morcane since it works with us regular mages."

"Wow. I wonder what it's like."

"Not great. I felt more like a test subject than a student, but they helped me with my spirits."

“Spirits are not to be meddled with or controlled.” Isao detested the thought.

“No, no, no, I don’t control them. I just ask for help.” Slacume corrected.

The menacing eyes between the white robes made Slacume freeze. Orel could feel the tension but could only watch from the sidelines.

“Work out your own salvation. Do not depend on others." Isao grunted.

“I don't know why they help me, but I need them,” Slacume explained frantically.

“Understanding is the heartwood of well-spoken words. I am disappointed in you, forest-dweller.”

Slacume would have raised his voice if it was anyone else than Isao. Orel wouldn't go in between. He felt it was something the two needed to figure out themselves. The three continued down the road with silence on two sides, with Orel deciding to stick with Slacume from pity alone.

Snorting disgust, Slacume couldn’t bear to look Isao in the eyes. He wobbled along the street with hands in his pockets, kicking rocks around. A nonstop stream of mumbling followed him, nearing Orel’s ears.

“What is the deal with that monk? Judging me like some goon.” Slacume kicked a rock. “You know I’m not like that, don’t you?” He turned to Orel.

Orel hesitated but needed to say something after being called out.

“Well, no, but you know, it's easy to make misconceptions when you don't know each other.”

It was not precisely what Slacume wanted to hear, but he couldn’t entirely deny it either. He didn’t answer anything more than a slight grumble. Even though Slacume was much closer to his age, Orel didn’t feel comfortable speaking to him. He couldn’t exactly say if it was Slacume's personality or that he hadn’t talked much with anyone of his age for some time. It reminded him of school, where he had many friends, but most left the small village for better education. Perhaps that was why it was easier to be with people like Norman or Deras, someone older and wiser, a source of wisdom and advice. Living so far from the coast, Orel would rather spend his time with his family, and once his father left, Deras would take him on some of his trips.

Orel couldn’t hold the insight for too long as the forest was starting to unfold ahead. It was full of trails filled with mist and slender yet long trees blooming with colored leaves in shades of orange and red. Whatever their situation was, they had to continue deeper into the dark woods. Isao held the lead, following a trail of inhuman footprints to the mist before Orel and Slacume could catch him. The two decided to follow the scrambled prints, trying not to think about how many tiny feet had gone through it. The forest in Albion was very different from Pohjola, where only a few needle-bearing trees could stand the cold weather. The coastal humidity and mild temperature made it easy for plenty of flora to flourish. Green moss cushioned their steps, covered by leaves while veiny roots of the mature oak trees sprouted from the ground.

Bushes, both wide and barbed, blocked some of the routes. Marks that something or something had passed had become ever so visible from the broken branches on trees to bushes had been cleared. They were close now. After some small hills and streams, Orel and Slacume arrived at the beginning of a mystical clearing. The trees withered to the center until only dead husks remained. Like the bushes, no leaves bloomed on them, and grass grew in yellow patches. It seemed to emanate from the epicenter. A dark burrow, yet one not one that formed naturally. Rocks of various sizes supported it from the sides, and many lay next to it, having been pushed out of the cave.

“That’s where they must be hiding.” Slacume pointed to the opening.

Imprints covered the muddy ground in small yet long footprints with almost no spot remaining clean. Ore could count dozens of tiny, yet clawed footprints. He also noticed that a pair of sandals had already passed the field and gone inside.

There was no time to stand around and wait, but somehow the thought of the cave terrified Orel, almost to the same extent as Slacume, who did his best to keep himself from panicking. With the rising fog creeping behind them, the two slipped down the wet, muddy opening inside the dark chasm. Though they did not know it, a special night was beginning. A dark full moon rose to the sky, yet it too would become red with the blood that would be spilled that night.