Dressed, ready, and waiting for the artifact to be done, Velvet went over her stash of spells, materials, charms…

 

 In the end, she had settled on using spells from the Pride and the Tyranny Paradigms, since she knew several mages pertaining to it, the spells they used and their behaviors.

 

Also, they were complementary Paradigms, with Tyranny being the combination of Pride and Wrath, so a mage from one of them using spells from the other was normal.

 

Not that they usually did it, since they were too prideful to employ an unideal Paradigm. Or, at least, Velvet hadn’t seen Drifa, Igern, Ethra or Nebura doing it.

 

Maybe because using another Paradigm would mean that their own wasn’t perfect for them, and they could’t allow that.

 

Anyway, three minutes had already passed from the five that Alchor gave her to get out, and the artifact was still trying to pinpoint the pocket dimension entrance.

 

And Velvet was starting to feel nervous, her fingers fidgeting with the sleeves of her suit. Tristan had told her that maybe her “loophole” entrance was already found and closed, but, honestly, she had assumed that it would work.

 

Hell, she had prepared as if it was gonna work. She had called for the Goddess of Darkness blessing for it. The artifact now failing would not only be a disappointment, but an absolute loss of time and resources.

 

The sound of stone scraping against the wall opposite her, right at the fourth minute mark made her click her tongue.

 

“Come on, you useless thing…” She muttered.

 

“Say, how’s Tristan doing?” A voice came from the wall, making her flinch. It was the same as before, Alchor’s.

 

“Fine, I guess? Went to welcome the Pioneer Three’s arrival.”

 

“So he managed to grow enough for them to buy his inventions? Good.”

 

“She.” Velvet corrected Alchor.

 

“Hm? Oh, I see. She found a flesh mage too? Good, good.”

 

A flesh mage? Velvet paid attention to that. I need to contact one to see if they can heal Madam Dorna…

 

“By the way, kid.” Alchor continued. “That portal doesn’t seem to be opening.”

 

I can see that… “I still have half a minute.”

 

“Twenty seconds, in fact.”

 

Refraining herself from groaning, Velvet looked almost anxiously at the artifact. 

 

Well, more than anxiously, accusatory.

 

Then, when ten seconds remained, the artifact shuddered, its behavior changing and starting to turn its faces in a very… determined way.

 

“Color me surprised.” Alchor said, a small tinge of shock in their anonymous voice. “It worked.”

 

Letting out a shaky but confident chuckle, Velvet clapped once. “Of course, it’s Tristan’s work, after all. Have some hope!”

 

Alchor sighed, the hole in the wall progressively closing once again. “How quick do kids grow…”

 

“Yes. That’s what we call ‘Childhood’s End’, haha.” Velvet said, looking at the now stabilizing portal. “When kids learn what they will become, as they become unrecognizable for adults.”

 

At least, I doubt Madam Dorna would recognize me now. She thought, right before entering the portal towards the Traversa’s pocket dimension.

 

…

 

On the Mergifari’s Harbor.

 

Tristan turned her head from her pocket watch. Based on her calculations, the Pioneer Three was two minutes away from reaching and docking at the harbor, while Velvet should almost be done with Alchor.

 

And, once she did that, the artifact would take around two minutes to work.

 

Two minutes was the time limit. If it wasn’t done in that time, then the artifact at the other side had already been found and destroyed. No ifs or buts.

 

The chances were fifty-fifty, a coin toss that decided ten years of waiting, and from where Tristan’s future advancement depended.

 

If the artifact didn’t work, she would have to give up on that information, as much as it bothered her. But she only made one gamble to get the entry.

 

More than one, and the Traversa’s would discover them and get extremely paranoid, increasing the security to extreme measures.

 

So she had this only chance, which depended on the artifact and Velvet.

 

She wasn’t afraid of the artifact being found and modified to set up a trap, anyway. It was impossible to do, at least not without its other part, the one Velvet now held in her hands.

 

And she had made more than sure that no one had the smallest access to it, with the tightest security systems she could think of, guaranteeing that.

 

So, the idea of Velvet walking into a trap was impossible, for not to say stupid.

 

The only way someone could hijack her devices was that they were, at minimum, all-seeing.

 

And there was no mage, enchanter or sorcerer, blessed by gods or possessors of an Esca with that ability.

 

None at all.

 

An official mage approached her, his long and loud steps denoting a noble, holier than thou personality.

 

Tristan side eyed him, making him stop.

 

“Where is Ceres?” The mage asked, when, obviously, he didn’t find the guy in question.

 

“If you can’t see him, then he isn’t here.” Tristan answered, nonchalant.

 

“His presence was required today. We warned him with time.”

 

Looking at the insignia at the mage’s chest, Tristan guessed it was one of the representatives for the Snowbreak Project on the Mergifari. Not someone that could harm her job with them. “Go search for him then.”

 

The mage scoffed, turning around and walking to his companions.

 

“He is late.” He told them, exasperated. “Of course the Disappointment of the Mergifari would disappoint.” After a few seconds, he sighed, pressing his temples. “You and you, bring him here in less than two minutes.”

 

The two nominated mages flinched, but did as told, disappearing in an instant.

 

Tristan closed her eyes, humming slightly. Ceres had told her that he was going to play some poker with Siberiald Ropertti, so…

 

Those mages would need a lot of luck to find them. And some more to get out unscathed.

 

She looked at the horizon, towards the sea. The Mergifari’s Harbor, or, at least the one which was active when the other ones weren’t, was outside the “Market” zone that was open during the Selection.

 

That zone was now completely closed off, under Udulluay’s own petition, as it was all the time when the Selection wasn’t on the way.

 

What previously was a transcurred, silent, active and concealed market was now enshrouded in shadows, with nothing visible from where she was.

 

Until the next Selection, all entry was prohibited, and no one knew what Udulluay did there. Even so, every three years, when Tristan went back during that time, she found everything exactly as she left it, so she wasn’t exactly worried.

 

The devil had been there before her, and will remain there after her.

 

Speaking of the devil in question, it was also at the harbor, perched on a black staff, looking at the sea.

 

Every now and then, he turned his head around completely, staring unblinking at some mage. Mage who then proceeded to stop whatever they were doing in panic.

 

Knowing some of the things Ceres had taught the devilish bird, Tristan was sure some of the times he did that were on purpose.

 

As she thought of that, Udulluay turned to look at her, and, if owls could grin, she was sure that he would be grinning.

 

Then, he turned his head even more, looking behind her.

 

Not turning around, Tristan waited until the steps behind her stopped.

 

“Did they get you in the end?” She asked Ceres.

 

“Guess.”

 

She didn’t see any of the two mages ‘escorting’ him, or rushing to tell the S.P. Representative that they found him, so the answer was probably not. Ceres came on his own.

 

Not that Tristan was going to play the ‘Guess’ game thingy, choosing to keep staring at the sea instead.

 

Ceres walked a few steps more, passing her and laying against the railings.

 

It was strange, comparing Ceres to this place. An extremely common man, surrounded by the surrealist air that accompanied most mages.

 

He didn’t carry any artifacts, defensive or offensive, and neither did he wear magically enhanced clothes.

 

He looked exactly like the kind of man one would find at a pub, or a casino, instead of a Mergifari resident.

 

“Look,” Ceres said, pointing at the sea. “The ship is exactly on time. Not a single minute late.”

 

Tristan looked at the zone he pointed. Indeed, between the thick fog, a silhouette was starting to appear, becoming clearer and clearer, starting by the bow’s figurehead.

 

A woman’s head, wearing a raised warrior’s helmet, with her hair siding over the hull, almost reaching the middle. An air of defiance and beauty emanated from the wood sculpture.

 

The figurehead of the Pioneer Three.