Fel released a pent up sigh as they approached the town gate.

The threes' walk had been uneventful. Hot and somewhat tiring, but not particularly difficult. They'd stopped twice— the first time to eat lunch and the second simply to rest on the side of the road.

Fel had taken the two stops as opportunities to write a pair of letters. One was for Amelia, and the other was for the Collegium itself. Both were made with the supplies Charles had brought, done in preparation for their arrival at the town's Messengers' Guild.

Besides that, he'd spent the time talking with Isabelle. Or perhaps being talked to by Isabelle? It was difficult to say.

She'd been enthused in her sharing of the specialty Class she held, which, Fel had to admit, was entirely reasonable— most people didn't hit Level 30 in their lifetime. The fact that she'd done so at such a young age, and without a combat class, spoke to an aptitude in overcoming challenges.

Still, he wasn't sure what a [Shadow Messenger] was. The concept, he could understand from the name, and she'd talked around the central points at least a half dozen times, but how such a class would actually function wasn't really... clear.

Or it wasn't clear to him, at least.

Fel took a step forwards, through to the other side of the gate and onto the main boulevard, but turned back at a tap to his shoulder. Charles was gesturing to a spot against the inside of the wall.

Tapping Isabelle in turn, Fel moved towards it, and they gathered out of the way of the road.

As they came together, Charles rolled his shoulders, taking the opportunity to set down his pack. The man began working at his arm, swinging it and shrugging in an apparent effort to loosen the shoulder joint while he leaned against the stone.

"Phwoo— Well, here we are. Welcome to Kelton, Fel."

Something in his shoulder popped. Charles grimaced and stopped swinging the appendage.

"I've gotta' hit some shops before they close for the day, but I just wanted to stop you and say, before I go—"

Pushing off the wall, he stepped forward and stretched out a hand.

"It was nice meeting you. And thanks for the magic work; It saved us a lot of time and effort, not needing to get another mage up there."

Fel took his hand and shook it, smiling.

"No, no— thank you. You two have been wonderful hosts, and I can't say that enough. If I ever manage to end up around here again, I'll buy you a drink or something. I wish you the best of luck with your farming, Charles. And Isabelle—"

"Nope," She cut him off. "I'm showing you to the guild house. Same destination, remember?"

"Oh, right." His smile wavered and he coughed into his hand. "Well, thank you again, Charles."

"Good luck, Fel. Safe travels, Isabelle."

"Bye Charles! I'll be back soon, yeah?"

They went off in their separate directions— Isabelle and Fel to the Messengers' Guild, and Charles... elsewhere. To collect equipment or arrange for his fields' harvestings, probably.

It was too bad, really. If he'd lived somewhere near Leudran, Fel could've seen the man becoming a friend. Or at least a friendly acquaintance. Isabelle too, of course, in spite of her high-strung tendencies. Still, Charles didn't — they didn't— and it was best not to dwell on such things.

Fel's head swiveled as he and Isabelle walked, taking in the scenery of the town. It was... quaint. Rows of two-story buildings lined the roadway, made of wood, and topped with clay-tiled roofing. A few of them had planters, the objects hanging along the outside of the buildings' second-story windows. They were shops, some of them, with people who bustled in, through, and by.

Again, quaint.

"So... you're picking up a package, you said?"

A group of men passed them, ribbing at and laughing with each other as they walked in the opposite direction.

"Mhm." Isabelle's head didn't move, but her eyes roamed the streets and roofs around them. "Not sure what it is, or who it's for yet, but the pickup date's been registered since last week. If I had to bet, however, it's probably going to be a present from one pining noble to another."

She grimaced and patted at her belt. "The younger ones love that kind of thing."

"Ah." Fel nodded along. "Well, those must be interesting."

"Errr— no, not really. It's not something I tend to keep up with."

As the conversation died, they walked on, moving towards a small temple and an older, bearded priest who was locking the doors for the night. Fel waved to the man as they passed, but received only a silent stare in return. He shrugged to himself— it was the end of a long day, and some people just weren't all that friendly.

Dismissing the oddity, Fel stopped and turned his attention to the building instead.

The temple wasn't large, squashed firmly between the two businesses at its side as it was, but it was tall and bright. The peaks of its roof were capped with a white stone that practically glowed, and a stained-glass window shone from the top of the tower that rose from its back. He wondered who it was dedicated to. Not one of the nature gods or goddesses; they weren't much for city temples. Not an ocean focused diety either, given the town's lack of a port. Perhaps it was a—

There was a sharp prod in his side, and Fel flinched away. Isabelle was behind him, leaning close, her brow furrowed as she stared.

"You good? You're doing the—" She waved an arm, gesturing at him in general. "— zoning-out thing, again."

Fel glared back at her. "Yes— I'm good. Doing fine." He straightened his robe. "What's with the jabbing?"

She rolled her eyes. "I'm just getting your attention." Taking hold of Fel's arm, Isabelle began pulling him down the street, her pace increasing as they walked. "Here, come on. We've got places to be; no time to stop!"

Past a group of stalls, out of the way of a cart and horse, and squeezing through a herd of gossiping laborers, they traveled. Isabelle turned a corner, dragging Fel off the main road, and her braid whipped to one side. The sidestreet they entered was smaller but equally well-kept. It was a lane of humble shops and businesses that flashed by as Isabelle pulled Fel along behind her.

"Are we in a rush all of the sudden?"

"Nope; just impatient!"

She dragged him a few blocks more until finally, there, up ahead of them, a large two-story building came into view. Out front of it hung a sign.

Messengers' Guildhouse

A letter, sealed with plain, unembossed wax, was illustrated beneath the words.

Both Isabelle and Fel came to a stop at the door, with Isabelle disentangling her arm from his.

A moment to brush themselves clean, and the two of them entered. Heads around the room snapped up as the door opened, but almost immediately returned to their business. Fel took a look around, his eyes skimming over the surrounding space.

Straight ahead sat the primary message desk, the station headed by a brown-haired receptionist. Behind the man's chair hung a large map of the known world, the image taking up the entire wall above his head. Messenger-guild stations were marked on it with red dots, their locations spread from one side of the map to the other.

To Fel's right, there was a gathering of [Messengers]— They rested at the tables and benches which covered that section of the room. A wooden board filled with pinned delivery requests sat in the middle of the arrangement, and Fel watched as a man ripped one of the papers off, bringing it across the room to the desk at Fel's left.

Said desk was the delivery desk; it was the hub for ordering and accepting package deliveries from or as one of the guild's [Messengers]. The station was manned by a tall, green-scaled—

Fel broke from his passive observations and peered forwards, focusing more intently.

A lengthy green-scaled Naga. The Naga— Fel was fairly sure he was male— sat with his tail curled around himself, a large metal sheet on the floor beneath him. His face, blunted into an extended snout and covered in scales as it was, displayed a rather flat expression as he spoke to the messenger before him, but his tail was twitching in time to the man's words.

"Huh. Surprised to see one so far north. They're usually—" Fel broke off once more.

He'd forgotten he wasn't in the North anymore. Was Kelton close to the equator? It had to be, if there were Nagas living in the town— they didn't do well in the colder regions.

Pulling himself together, Fel realized he'd been standing in the doorway for nearly a minute.

Isabelle was waiting, her fingers tapping against her side. She stuck out an arm as Fel turned to her.

"Finally, I thought you'd died standing." She was grinning as she spoke. "This is it though. It was nice meeting you, yeah?"

Fel blinked, then broke into a smile.

"Yeah, it was. Or— I mean, it was nice meeting you. As well."

He gave an awkward chuckle, and they shook before beginning to turn away.

"Oh! Wait, before you go—"

Drawing a hand out from her bag, Isabelle extended a bottle to Fel. "Here, the last of what I owe you from our agreement. One mana potion— I hope it comes in handy."

"Oh— no, I don't—" Fel stopped himself. He did need it, and it was only as much as they'd already agreed.

Giving Isabelle a quick, thankful grin, he took the proffered bottle.

"Thank you, it will."

"Sure thing!"

A final, emphatic wave, then she turned away.

Fel walked up to the guild's main desk as Isabelle split off, making her way to the Messengers' delivery station.

There was no line, and the receptionist looked up at Fel as he approached.

"Yes sir, how can I help you?"

"Hello—" He took a deep breath. "—I'd like to have a [Message] sent. Well, two, actually."

"Certainly, we can do that. And how will you be paying?"

Fel scratched at the side of his chin. The Collegium had a system in place for its professors, for when they traveled on school business. A courtesy, of sorts. He wasn't technically on school business at the moment, but considering the situation—

Chuckling, Fel shook his head; he didn't have another option. He'd explain when they got back in contact, and whichever bureaucratic council members monitored the funds in the meanwhile would have to suck it up.

"The Collegium standard account. Noah Fel."

The receptionist blinked in muted surprise, taking Fel in from top to bottom. His eyes paused briefly on the two distinct holes in Fel's robe, before continuing upward to the broken glasses atop Fel's head.

"You're... part of the Collegium?" He hesitated and stood. "Well, If I could have you wait here for just a moment."

Fel watched as the man exited from behind the counter, entering a room in the back. When the receptionist returned, he was holding a small, palm-sized, and semi-translucent disk of glass, which he placed on the table between them.

'Ahem,' the man coughed into his hand. "Precautions for the courtesy accounts— I'm sure you're aware. If I could have you confirm...?"

"Of course."

Leaning forwards, Fel spoke clearly in the direction of the liar's-glass. "My name is Noah Fel, and I work for the Collegium."

The glass flashed green, and the receptionist nodded, tapping it once.

He began to pick up the disk, before stopping once more. Looking back to Fel, the man's eyes narrowed, ever so slightly, and he slid the disk slowly back onto the table. "My apologies. If I could have you state your job in the institution?"

Fel quirked an eyebrow. "Professor. I work for the Collegium as a professor."

The glass flashed green again under the receptionist's watchful eye.

A small exhalation of breath. The man nodded again before standing to return the magic-item back to its place in the other room.

When he came back, the receptionist gave Fel an apologetic bow, before continuing in his duties.

"What location are you attempting to reach?"

"The Collegium, Leudran branch."

The receptionist turned to inspect the map behind the desk. Grabbing a stool from the side, he took a step up and gestured at the northwestern continent. His finger rested on the region's top-most peninsula.

"Here?"

Flicking down his glasses and closing one eye, Fel peered at the map. He nodded and pushed the glasses back up. "That's the general area."

"Will a messaging chain be acceptable? None of our mages would be able to send this far at once."

"That'll be fine."

"Excellent— give me one moment, sir."

The receptionist stepped down again and moved the stool back to its previous position. Rummaging beneath the desk, he brought out two blank pieces of paper and placed them on the desk before him. Then he looked at Fel.

"Pre-written, or dictation?"

"Pre-written, for both. They're for the same location." Fel handed the man Amelia's letter first, followed by the one meant for the Collegium, informing the man of their respective recipients as he did so.

Taking hold of the first letter, the receptionist placed it above the blank paper he'd retrieved. A hand flicked out to grab a quill from the inkpot off to the side. He inhaled a deep breath, let it out, then stated his words calmly.

"[Send Message]"

Hand and quill blurred across the empty paper— the ink was picked up and deposited in a fastidious rush. A near-perfect copy of Fel's letter, down to the flecks of ink on the page, was being created before their eyes.

Five— maybe six seconds passed.

The receptionist put down the quill and picked up the newly finished letter in its stead. His brow scrunched, and the paper stretched tightly between his hands. A blue mist began to flow between his palms and—

Pop!

The paper disappeared in a small flash of light.

He shook his hands and began to repeat the actions with the second letter. His actions were slower this time, the copying taking almost twice as long as it had for the first, despite the two letters' similar size and contents. The mist was thinner too; the man's Skill strained from being used twice in such quick succession.

Pop!

But that was normal, as far as working with Skills went.

Letting out a sigh, the receptionist leaned forward against the desk. He looked up again to address Fel, just a bit breathless from the exertion.

"They're sent. I assume you'll— you'll be waiting for a response?"

"Yes, though I'm not sure where I'll be staying yet. If I could ask you to hold any replies until I return?"

"We have a two-week holding for all messages, that shouldn't be an issue."

"Fantastic! Thank you, very much."

"Have a good day, sir."

Making his way to a bench at the side of the room, Fel collapsed into it and smiled.

He'd done it. He'd sent a message to his sister, the Collegium had been informed of the issue, and his immediate concerns were solved.

Food and proper shelter would be a problem for the coming days; he was dead broke and would need to find work of some kind while he waited for a response. Still, that was an issue of little consequence. Mage-work was always available to some degree or another, and it paid well as a rule. He'd be set in no time at all.

A mental pause.

Speaking of mage-work, however...

Fel checked his Mana.

Ah, still 16%. Of course.

Fel took the bottle Isabelle had given him out from his robe's pocket. The liquid shimmered behind the glass— blue, magical, and really gross to drink.

A mana potion.

"Well, If I'm going to be doing more magic," Fel muttered, "bottoms up."

Uncorking it, he drank. The potion went down like cold grease. It was slick, cool, and tasted of burnt leather and grass. Retching, he managed to keep the concoction down; it was an abysmal combination of flavors.

Fel wiped at his lips and grimaced. He'd taken a mana potion before —most mages had— but it was always best to avoid the substance. They were useful, like a healing potion, but in no way the same. Where drinking a healing potion induced a person's mana to fuel accelerated healing, mana potions dosed the drinker with unbound mana, the effect of which was that the person temporarily gained more mana at the cost of diluted power and control over his or her mana-pool.

The potions were also addictive, medically dangerous, terrible tasting, and of decent cost to produce, but those were side notes.

Looking around, Fel waited for the potion to kick in. He wasn't sure what he'd be doing next. His messages had been sent, he was in a secure location, and now all he needed to do was find work and wait.

"Hm..." Fel murmured to himself, dropping his head against the wall. "This place probably has a few jobs I could do... or maybe the adventurers' guild? They'd have the housing, at least."

He stretched, shifting in place, and placed the bottle off to one side.

"Yeah, probably the adventurers guild for now— see if I can work out an agreement for staying in one of their rooms."

Shaking himself, he made to stand.

Then he paused. The back of his throat tickled with heat— it wasn't hot exactly, just warm and irritating.

The feeling flared, and he gave a hacking cough. Fel caught himself against the bench, frowning as he waited for the irritation to pass.

The feeling spread; an uncomfortable warmth that traveled downward, towards his chest. Shifting, Fel rubbed the bottom of his neck.

He coughed for the second time, and the room flickered. People who'd been passing by jumped forwards, their movements jerky. The feeling of heat grew hotter, spreading further through Fel's body. Down to his heart. Past it. Spreading to his shoulders and gut. Now it began to burn. Fel lurched.

Something was wrong. Something was very wrong. The potion? Had there been something in the potion?

No— why? The feeling reached upward, and his head spiked in pain.

He got up and took a step. Two steps, then he stumbled against the wall. He needed help; something wasn't right. The burning had spread throughout his body, and it—

He was on the floor.

People's heads were turned towards him. He didn't remember falling.

Fel made to stand again, pushing against his knees. He tried to open his mouth— his breathing hitched.

On the floor again. More people. More heads.

They were closer again; a crowd that hadn't been there just seconds prior.

More people. Pointing. A few that approached.

Fel retched against the ground.

A man's callused hand on his shoulder— through his shoulder?

The man was stumbling back.

Fel felt cold. Burning— no, freezing. Empty? He couldn't focus; he'd felt like this before.

His mana— what was it at? Four percent? No, less. Three?

A buzzing in his head.

Isabelle was in front of him. Her eyes were wide.

Two percent. His skull— gripped in a vice as he flinched away.

She was shaking him, pulling him up.

On the floor again.

One percent. Still falling.

An icepick, driven through his brain.

He couldn't see; he couldn't move.

Gods, please— not again. Why again?

A smudge of colour. The room blurring, back into sight.

He stretched, reaching outward, towards the figures that surrounded him.

One reached back— a hand, making contact.

Everything flickered. The colour— taken back.

The hand slipped away.

Empty.

Darkness.

 

And the message, once more: