“Hi. I just popped out of the game to check up on something.” His gaze fell upon the lobby’s bookcase which now had two more entries stored within. ‘So, everything I read winds up here as well.’ Grabbing the one titled ‘Conquests of the Conclave’, he sat down at the table and flipped the book open.

“Aida, you said before that you can also help me with analyzing information, right?”

“Could you help me tabulate some stuff from this, please? A list of any events that may have led to a rise in the Conclave’s influence would be ideal.”

Moments later, a list appeared in front of him. He skimmed through it, confirming his hunch. Civil unrest, class inequality, national tensions and propaganda. ‘Whatever they’re planning, it’s not gonna be fun.’

“Fair enough,” he said, accepting the chain quest’s follow-up mission. “Now, what do we have here?”

‘Okay, so you get 10 points when leveling.’

Going by Dan’s reasoning, a traditional mage would invariably choose to focus on Intelligence and Power, with Vitality as more of a secondary concern.

However, if he wished to try his hand at being a battlemage, a warrior-mage hybrid, then he would have to invest a certain number of points into all six stats. ‘So… jack of all trades, or master of one…? Well, even if I change my mind later, going with Vitality, Intelligence and Power isn’t something I’d regret.’ His mind made up, he increased his Vitality by 5, his Intelligence by 3, and his Power by 2. ‘Alright, back to the quest at hand…’

“Aida, what can you tell me about Xeladia’s foreign relations?”

“I see… thanks again, Aida. I owe you one.”

For a moment, he could have sworn that Aida was teasing him. He pushed the thought aside and, with a clearer direction in mind, got up and entered the stone chamber. Beyond the crackling bonfire, the portal to Enoa awaited, and as he passed through it, he materialized inside his quarters at the Guild.

He beelined towards Arthur’s office and knocked. Once, twice, and as he raised his hand again, Liam’s voice rang out from behind.

“Master Arthur’s away on an errand.”

“Right…” Scratching his head and sighing, Drake peered at the lock door.

“What’s the matter? Maybe I can help,” said the boy, trying his best to put on a serious face. “After all, I’ve been named chief initiate! And that kind of means I’m responsible for you as well.”

“Oh?” Eyebrow raised, Drake stifled a chuckle and put a hand on Liam’s head. “Let’s say you can. I need to earn some money for a set of new clothes. This,” he said, pointing at his stained shirt, “isn’t exactly the most inconspicuous look. Any ideas?”

“Well, I can lend you enough if it’s only for that much.”

“Y-you can?”

“Yup. The guild gives us a monthly allowance for whatnot.”

“Are you sure?” he asked again. The boy smiled, forcing a sigh of resignation out of Drake.

“As long as you pay me back, I don’t see why not.”

Liam’s room was at the end of the hallway, close to his. As the boy opened a small chest placed at the foot of the bed, Drake scanned the room. The layout was the same: a bed with a hay mattress, opposed to a simple wooden desk. The only difference, a slim book resting on it.

“What’s that?” Drake asked, approaching the desk. “May I?”

“What? Oh, that?” Liam paused, pursing lips ever so slightly. “Yeah… go ahead.”

Gently, he picked it up. The pages, still barely bound together, had begun to yellow. The spine, however, was flawless. ‘Harwi’s Trials – From Man to Myth.’ He skimmed through a couple of pages before placing the book down. “I used to read stuff like this as well when I was your age.”

The boy’s eyes lit up. “You did?”

“Yeah. Although those were just stories. Fairytales my teacher used to read me. This on the other hand, seems like the real deal.”

“W-would you mind telling me some of those stories when you have the time?”

The question took Drake by surprise. “Yeah, sure. But there must be tons of better stories downstairs in the library, right?”

“I guess… But initiates aren’t allowed there.”

“Oh, I see. Don’t worry,” he said, trying to quickly change the souring mood. “I’ll be sure to tell you all the stories I can remember. Consider it a thank you for the loan.”

“Deal.”

With that, Liam placed 5 silver coins into his hand and ran downstairs. ‘The kid might be a tad too nice for his own good.’

Beyond the courtyard gate, the world came alive with folks darting every which way. Drake felt lighter, as if a weight had been lifted off of his shoulders. To actually see people strolling down the streets as opposed to it being a rarity. It felt… right.

He glanced at the clock, barely visible in the corner of his view. ‘Not even noon. I’ve got the rest of the day to search for clues after I get some new clothes.’ While most paid him no heed, some averted their gaze and kept their distance. Needless to say, not being at the center of everyone’s attention made things a thousand times better.

It wasn’t long before he found a tailoring shop. The lady behind the counter shot up as he walked in, her wry smile reminding him of a certain young shop owner.

“Welcome, sweetie! So, you’re looking to buy some new garments,” she chattered, hovering uncomfortably close to Drake. “No wonder, given the state of this shirt… Well, you’re in luck! Just for you, I’m willing to part with this stylish shirt, made of the finest Kradoan weave money could buy, for just 8 silvers!”

Barley able to even follow the woman’s flow, he retreated a step as he saw the light pink shirt that she had fished out. “Thanks, but…”

“Oh, not quite to your taste? No worries. Mrs. Lana has you covered. How about…” She turned and stopped at the sight of the 5 silver pieces nestled inside Drake’s raised palm.

“I really appreciate your willingness to help,” he said, eyeing Mrs. Lana’s confused expression. “But I only have 5 silvers to buy a simple shirt and a pair of pants. Do you maybe have something within that price range that I could check out?”

“Oh, sorry honey,” she said, her machine gun cadence now gone. “For a moment, I thought you were one of those Strangers. Loose lips, looser purse strings. Of course, we can find you something nice for that amount as well.”

Fighting the impulse to correct Mrs. Lana, he simply smiled. Soon, they had picked out a pair of dark, grey pants and a simple, light blue shirt, for a grand total of 4 silvers. “If you don’t mind me asking, from where did those Strangers get so much money? I mean, I doubt most of them had the time to earn it themselves.”

“Some might have, who knows? It’s not like we know all that much about them. But most of them probably got it from alderman Morris down in the plaza, two days ago. Let’s just hope that the Conclave knows what they’re doing. Some people work a lifetime and they can’t even get close to the amount those Strangers got. But it’s no use being bitter,” she smiled, sliding the clothes towards Drake. “Will that be all, sweetie?”

“Yes, thank you. Could you also tell me where I could find the nearest inn?”

“Just turn left once you leave the store and then make a right when you reach the smithy. Take care now!”

He nodded and waved goodbye as he left. Before going any further, he ducked into an alley and opened his menu. ‘Do I actually have to change clothes, or is there some sort of interface that I can use to equip something else?’ He found nothing of the sort, but when he tried equipping items directly from his inventory, his new clothes instantly swapped places with his starting gear. ‘Neat.’

On his way to the inn, one particular shop caught his attention. The quill-shaped sign swayed gently above the open door leading inside the stuffy bookstore, where a pudgy old man eyed him with what could only be described as pure disdain.

The selection seemed limited, with only a dozen or so displays, each in turn housing just two or three books. The reason behind this apparent scarcity soon became apparent.

‘One gold for a single book?’

Drake brought up his interface and opened the basic guide Aida had given him. The information within shed some cold water on Drake’s plans and also put Liam’s savings into perspective.

With that, he took him his leave, unwilling to bear the shopkeeper’s piercing stare any longer.

The red LED built into the side of the desk, labeled ‘Incoming Call’, sprung to life. A gentle chime resounded within the room as Hardwick pressed the button next to the light.

“Sir,” said the voice via the intercom, “while you were away, Mr. Rigsby dropped by and left a drive for you. I’ve placed it on your desk.”

“Thanks, Frank. Have a nice evening.”

“You too, sir.”

Despite the silence that now reigned, the LED remained lit.

“Anything else, Frank?”

“Nothing sir, just… maybe try to get some rest tonight.”

Hardwick glanced at the desk’s display. 10:22 PM. He had long since lost his notion of time. “Will do. Good night, Frank… and take a few hours off tomorrow morning, alright?”

A reply never came, but Hardwick knew that Frank had heard him. His assistant had never failed to meet his demands and often times ended up working just as late as him. “Good kid,” he mumbled, getting up from his chair. He was now probably one of the few people still present in the building, apart from the security team. Not that the situation would have been any different during the day, the vast majority of his employees possessing only a virtual desk and not an actual physical space in the office.

He had always focused better in his office, as evidenced by his makeshift bed, the couch near him. And schedule had remained unchanged for years before Prism’s launch. Six to be precise.

Still on his feet, he ran his finger across the desk’s spotless screen, bringing up his inbox. He inserted the drive and tapped the ensuing system notification.

A popup window appeared as he opened the file. He entered his key-code and waited for the file’s decryption. Hardwick squinted as he read the title, an exasperated sigh escaping him.

“So, in the end it comes down to this…”

The document’s lengthy preface, interlaced with a hefty legal overtone, irked him. ‘Damned NDAs.’ As he scrolled down, he hoped that they had at least listened to his advice to postpone their plans.

However, his expression darkened the closer he got to the file’s end. '…upon consideration, all losses mentioned have been deemed acceptable.' He shut off his desk’s display, somehow containing the urge to slam his fist into it. ‘Losses? Is that really all they are to them…?’ He ambled near his office’s entrance and fiddled with part of the wall paneling.

Revealing a hidden scanner, he placed his hand on it. Moments later, a part of the wall slid open—the entrance into his private lounge. In it stood little more than a leather recliner and a coffee table, on top of which rested a Visor. Hardwick closed the door behind him and, sitting himself down, placed the virtual-dive helm on his head.

“Enter Nexus,” he said, his face finally relaxing into a resigned smile.

The room’s white walls vanished. A vivid sky, dyed in shades of orange and purple had taken their place. He found himself standing in front of a large, stone pantheon. built upon a smooth, marble platform. The edges of the marbled floor ended abruptly, placed on what appeared to be an inverted pyramid-like structure. Around him, for as far as the eye could see, were shattered masses of earth and stone, suspended within the heavens themselves. A sea of floating islands.

Hardwick made his way towards the temple’s entrance, his footsteps the sole disturbance in a massive sea of emptiness. The arched entrance loomed more than a dozen feet above his head. Inside, the chamber seemed devoid of light.

“Hello, old friend.” He stopped after a few steps and raised his head, gazing into the darkness. “Our… friends are making their move,” he murmured.

Only then did a large figure stir in the shadows. Hardwick’s voice gained intensity as he continued, his eyes narrowing onto the being within.

“I think it’s high time for us to make our own. After all, it’s only fair that we answer them in kind.”

“Hey, toots, ditch that peasant and come hang out with us!”

The sight of the three goons wearing studded leather armor nearly made Drake gag. Not minding them, the young waitress placed a wooden tray of food in front of him and smiled. He handed his last silver coin to her and sighed as she gave him 6 coppers in return.

“Don’t worry about them,” she winked, patting him on the back. “I’ve handled far worse than them.” She then turned around, unperturbed, and walked over to the rowdy three’s table. “Coming!”

‘She’s a real pro.’ Unwilling to fully lose his appetite, he grabbed his cutlery and concentrated on his meal: a thin, but well-cooked slice of meat with a side of something resembling a roasted red beet. He didn’t know what to expect, but it had to taste better than the stale crackers he still had. As he bit into a piece of the beet-like side dish, his eyes lit up. ‘Tastes almost like a slightly sour sweet potato.’ It went well with the mild taste of the grilled meat and, before he even realized it, Drake had finished the entire thing.

‘Huh, that’s quite the stat buff. A level’s worth, actually. Note to self, pick up cooking in-game as well.’

He slid the tray away and leaned back in his chair, sizing up the inn’s patrons. Most were simple soldiers, judging by their equipment. The only table that stood out was that of the three men. And since they were in the habit of shouting everything, Drake had no problem hearing everything they said.

The supposed leader of the three, a tall and lanky man with a scar over his left eye, got up and trudged towards the waitress. She had just finished serving another table as a hand grasped her shoulder.

“Come on,” he said, trying to make her face him, “sit with us. You’ll find our company to be worth your while…”

In one fluid motion, she turned and sidestepped, freeing her shoulder. “I’m so sorry, sir. But I’m still on the clock.”

The man’s face contorted, his nostrils flaring as he reached out to grab her again. His hand, however, touched nothing as a deafening crash resounded throughout the inn. Flat on his back, he stared incredulously at the waitress who had shoulder thrown him. “Y-you fucking CG bitch…”

His two buddies had gotten up, dagger and mace at the ready. Seeing this, the waitress put her right hand on her hip and sighed. “Sorry boys, but this won’t do. I’m afraid we’re going to have to ask you to leave.”

“We?”

Multiple chairs creaked in unison as town guards, the inn’s regulars, turned to face the three troublemakers.

“I’ll remember this…” growled the tall man with the scar as he slowly retreated. “C’mon boys… we’ve got work to do.”

Still taken aback by the waitress’ nimbleness, Drake couldn’t help but stare. She smiled at the guardsmen and, noticing him, came near his table and leaned against it, grinning.

“Told you I’ve handled worse.”

“Yeah, I can see that,” he said, peering at the inn’s entrance. “What was their deal, anyway?”

The woman snorted as she placed her hands on her hips. “No idea. They kept rambling about pulling off a job. The Conclave’s lost it, I tell you. Who in their right mind would hire those goons for anything?”

‘Wait, just like that…? Shit…' He glanced at the door but the three had already left. A moment later, he was up and running. “Sorry, but I’ve got to go!”

As the waitress watched him bolt out of the inn, she sighed. “Men…”

Outside, Drake frantically looked around. He spotted a group in the distance that fit the trio’s appearance and dashed towards them. As he got closer, he slowed down. ‘Yup. Hello, Scarface.’ He trailed them from afar, past the town square and all the way to a small garden. Beyond it, the three went inside a building, that Drake could liken only to a derelict church.

He stopped near a wooden bench, just close enough to keep watch over the entrance. Atop the two towers flanking the arched doorway, stood men dressed in priestlike clothes. Three in each belfry. And the more he observed them, the more apparent one thing became. ‘Six lookouts. Two guards at the main entrance. Yeah… just your average, everyday church.’

An hour later, his patience had nearly run out. ‘Damn it. I can’t storm the place, I can’t leave, and even if they come out and I follow them, what the hell am I supposed to do against three people, all by myself?’

He sighed and glanced around, his eyes shifting between the white-robed men. However, one of them stood out. A young man keeping lookout from a nearby alleyway. Unlike the others, the light gray robes he wore had caught Drake’s attention.

It then dawned on him. ‘That’s… an initiate!’ The young man kept shifting his gaze between him and the church. ‘Of course, Arthur had to have someone keeping an eye on these guys.’ Hoping it would draw the initiate’s attention, Drake raised his hand and conjured a meager blue flame between his fingers.

Sure enough, after making sure no one had seen him, the young man crossed the street and circled around the garden. “You’re… master Arthur’s new pupil,” he said, coming up next to Drake, his sight still set on the Conclave building. “What’re you doing here?”

“I followed those three here,” he said, sizing up the young mage. Although no older than twenty, his brow was already streaked by shallow creases. And his long, brown hair did a poor job of hiding the weariness in his eyes. “They were talking about a job.”

“So, Morris already has work lined up for them…”

One by one, lights flickered to life in the buildings nearby as twilight fell over Bord. Not long after, the gates opened and several people, including the trio Drake had followed, came out into the street. “That’s them,” he said as the three men headed down a small street, away from the church. “Where are they going?”

“Apart from a few houses, the only thing down that way is Bord’s trading post.”

“We should probably let Arthur know.”

“You do that. I’ll follow them.” The young mage turned to face him, holding up a tiny gemlike sphere in his hand. “Drake, right? The master can get in touch with me using this, so tell him Percy’s trailing them.”

“Wait a second. It’s already getting dark and I barely know my way around as it is. You’ll get there much faster than me, so let me follow them instead.”

Percy stared at him for a second, eyes narrowing. He seemed to mull something over before shaking his head and handing him the sphere. “Alright… This is a Link Sphere. Channel mana into it and you can talk to whoever’s using its pair. Don’t make me regret this,” he said, taking off towards the Guild.

‘I’ll try my best.’

Requizition

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