First they came for the Northlands, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Northlander.

Then they came for the Nations of the West, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a Citizen of those strange lands.

Then they came for the East, and I did not speak out—

Because I was not a member of their Republic.

Then they came for me.

Hear my plea.

The last of our [Folk Hero] have been lost, and The Black Roses are becoming exhausted. Our allies are falling, slivers at a time. As if the Empire has no concern for life, it is clear they will gleefully lose a thousand battles simply to win a single war.

We stand beside the edge of this cliff, inching closer by the day, with our swords drawn for the final, bitter, fight.

I only ask the Kingdom stand with us, before it is too late.

....

Even as I was left in peace, with the sensation of watching eyes no longer a concern, I slept poorly that night.

Atop the thin blanket, with Gregory's knife tucked safely on my belt, I lay staring up at the ceiling. I would say I was lost in thought, but it was much the opposite. There was too much to think of, and I'd given up.

My thoughts towards the future, my goals in this strange world. If I would ever see home again- if I even wanted to. As I forced my eyes closed, I felt as if I did so in an effort to shut out the world. As if prying at some method of letting my mind spin itself out. Slowly, I let exhaustion take me, breathing settling into the careful pattern that I'd learned through my spell practice, as my pulse settled.

And I drifted.

As if rocking back and forth, or a leaf on a windless day. I began falling towards a place that was familiar.

Where a sky of colorless shades fit above an endless ocean of black glass.

There was no lingering mana to draw me within the fabric of that place: yet I could recognize the boat, rocking on the sea of night. Far from shore as we were, I could see the glint of gold, waiting should our vessel dare approach. Where the throne loomed like a mountain, watching over its ever-expanding territory.

Turning about, I could see the waves were already awakened, as if I were a stone thrown into an endless puddle. Ripples shook out, polished glow showing hints to the darkness below. Until, of course, these too did settle, leaving nothing but stillness behind.

There, the two of us waited in silence. Myself, and the man who held the oars. The skeleton wreathed in shadows.

As time passed, the oars began to move in a patient manner, guiding us along the unseen currents. Though the silence never broke, I found I did not mind. For there were no words to speak. Nothing like that was needed, I simply understood that I was being shown something.

The coast blurred, scenery shifting, cliff face rising up from the sandy beaches that had once held the coast. Where, atop them, dark forests of strangeness and death waited. With each passing of the oars, we leap ahead. Miles blurring together in an instant, until the motion finally drew still again.

The waves had returned. More numerous and violent than I had ever seen. Cresting shards of glass, cutting into themselves. Sharp and jagged edges, stirring up whirlpools that sank to disturbing levels below.

But I paid these no mind, as my attention was commanded by a skeletal hand, pointing towards what I was meant to see. There, my eyes followed to the sight of sails.

We were no longer alone.

Heavy and dark, they rose above the ocean. Masts like spears towards the sky, stained with red, and violence, as they cut a swath that parted the waters. Waves rose and fell with supernatural grace, sending jagged edges along the surface of glass.

But it was the emblem, emblazoned upon them, which stole my attention.

A horrible shape, I'd hoped so badly to put behind me and forget.

I watched them, until I awoke once more.

[Skill - Rank up] - [Void Walker - Lvl 4]

The message faded, even as a sense of relative urgency lingered.

The dreams had been creeping up in regularity, as had the Skill. This wasn't the first time it had recently ticked up another level.

Which, was worrisome.

Dressing myself for the day ahead, I wasn't sure if I should be concerned by that fact. There hadn't been any information on the subject in the fort's library of texts. Or at least I hadn't discovered any yet, and I suspected asking about prophetic dreams might make me seem mentally unstable, so I'd resisted the urge to ask Neriah if he knew of anything.

Though, there was one person I might be able to ask.

Glancing down the knife now tucked beside my dagger, I considered leaving it in my room for a moment.

Then, I considered what the Guildmaster might do, if I tried.

Her note had indicated that wasn't an option. Besides, if I played along, she might be willing to answer some questions. Saying, of course, I answered some of her own.

And that I could find her, in the first place...

I frowned at the thought.

There was no way I'd be able to find her unless she decided it, and I had the nagging suspicion that she wanted a lot more than conversation...

Stepping out into the halls, I mulled over my best course of action. Dealing with dangerous women wasn't a subject I could say I had a tremendous amount of life-experience with, but it was clear that she wanted something specific from me. And something that, perhaps unfortunately, didn't involve getting me between the sheets.

Though, maybe she wanted that too.

Hell, if that was all I needed to do to get answers, I'd probably commit to it as a best-case scenario, but I had my doubts. She was quite difficult to get a read on, but that seemed far too simplistic a solution.

Mind clouded by these thoughts, I fetched myself breakfast from the kitchens, making sure to pass a few compliments to the cooking staff, before heading towards the Scribe rooms.

I didn't make it that far.

"Nice knife." Karen stopped me short with an arm outstretched in my path, as I made my way to the hall.

I hadn't noticed her. Cloak on, hood up, I realized she'd probably been waiting in the kitchen since before I'd arrived.

"It is." I answered, unable to pass further. Carefully, I tried to step around her, but she moved with me: blocking the exit.

"Tell me, where'd you get it?"

"An old friend." I answered, glancing about the room. Quiet had fallen, conversations muffled.

There were a lot of people watching.

This all just screamed "trouble."

"Playing stupid, then?" Karen stepped in, delivering a hard shove that sent me back a pace. Her Attributes were nothing to scoff at, as I stumbled.

"I'm not playing anything." I shot back, barely catching my balance. "Let me through."

"Not until I get my knife back."

"What has you so certain this is your knife?" I asked. "I'm sure there are plenty of others that look similar."

Carefully, I looked about the room. Either those who were present were already in on this, or they just waiting to see what came of it: but no one was going to intervene.

Which was either very good, or very bad... I wasn't decided.

"Because that knife look's an awful lot like mine." Karen retaliated. "And it went missing last night, along with a large number of other things from my room."A case of theft: this story is not rightfully on Amazon; if you spot it, report the violation.

I could connect the dots. The Guildmaster had said I needed a "Push" hadn't she? This was a real frustrating method for going about that, though. Wrecking Karen's room and framing me for it...

"Speak up, why don't you?" She pressed, her voice raised. "Tell everyone how you stole from me."

The murmurs around us were immediate, and I resisted the urge to curse.

There's a fine line between a push and a death sentence.

"It's my knife." I answered, calmly and clearly as I could, making my announcement audible to anyone else in the room. There was no sense in making things worse than they already were. "And I didn't steal it from you."

"Liar." She shot back.

"I'm not-"

"I don't know what the Baron saw in you." She cut me off. "But Roggar's right: once Empire scum, always Empire scum."

There were a few murmurs at that.

"Let me pass." I tried to settle the building pressure of anger in my chest.

The magic was well on its way to riling up. Even with both of my fists held tightly shut, I could feel the prickling sensation of pressure and heat in my palms.

As if the fire hated her as much as I did.

"Don't think I will." Karen answered, hand falling towards the sword on her hip. "I'm not moving until you admit to your crimes."

"I didn't steal anything from you." I stated, again. "Whoever wronged you, it wasn't me."

All truth. Walking a rather fine-line, but still the truth.

"Liar." Her sword shifted, pushing down in preparation to draw. "I don't like your tone."

It seemed that diplomacy had failed me. Settling things with words had reached a dead-end, and enough was enough.

Maybe my magic really did hate the woman, because the pounding in my ribs had breached whatever mental floodgate I'd erected to stop it, and had begun spilling out. As if eager to be free of its confinement, fire was leaking out between my fingers, spitting hot smoke and wisps of mana.

It was pissed.

I was pissed.

"Back the hell off." I warned, raising my palms up. Fire exploded to life with a loud crack of pressure. My own anger easily fed into the magic, two small orbs of intense heat erupted. "I see what you're doing, and if you pull that sword I make no promises you'll be alive when this is over."

It was a good line.

I meant every word of it, but I immediately recognized my mistake as Karen's lip curled, and her hand didn't hesitate.

She wasn't scared.

Those eyes of hers were far from friendly, looking at me as if looking at something to be removed.

The hushed mutters around us had completely silenced at the sight of Magic, and people were carefully trying to extricate themselves from the developing situation. My open threat hadn't helped much on that front. What, with people all but tripping over their own feet to get away. Several bowls hit the floor, spilling the morning slop of breakfast onto the stone.

I tensed, flaring my magic further. Giving her one more reason, on top of a list of other pretty good reasons, why she should just stop. Why this was really stupid, and was going to end very badly for both of us.

But it didn't matter.

I could tell, she was really going to do it.

Even staring down Magic, two duplications of a spell that would probably set anyone to "deep-fry" directly in front of her, and she was going to do it.

I couldn't decide if she was insane, or just confident. Was there something I didn't know here? Some sort of special ability she had, that made her certain of victory?

Was she just that angry? Roggar had been the one with the temper, but Karen always seemed far more the calculating-type.

Unknown variables aside, I steeled myself, mana surging even further. The resource began to drain, but I deemed it necessary.

I'd seen what some of the Skill attacks the [Guard] Class possessed could do, and impressive as some of those were, I knew at the end of the day her weapon was still just a sword. The blade would either come in quick, right hand drawing it at an angle, or it would be flicked forward and put into position for a sudden thrust. Likely towards my heart, eye, or neck. If the blade took on an "aura" I might already be in range, but there was a limit to how far it would reach.

If I timed it right, I could backstep while I attacked. She might still hit me, but the result would be a serious problem for her, considering our choices of weaponry. It was a simple fact that neither of us were going to be able to block one another, so if I survived the first clash, the area-effect of intense heat in her direction had a good chance to blind, blister, and seriously wound.

If I managed to hit her dead on, she might be crippled.

If... if if if.

There were quite a few, major, "if" lined up in a row. I wasn't happy about that, but mapping out possible outcomes was plausible. I'd have to plan on the fly. Either keep attacking while I held the advantage, or make a break for it when I spotted an opening.

But, I'd be in a far better position than she would.

"Last chance." I stalled just a bit longer. Planting one more doubt, that might just make her reconsider how much of a train-wreck this was about to be.

She wasn't having second thoughts. No, from the looks of it, I knew we'd be settling this any second.

Well, at least she'd be seen as the aggressor. She'd draw first, and from that point on I'd have reasonable cause for self-defense. I wasn't half-starved and dying of thirst any longer, and I'd been seeing a steady creep of improvements with my Attributes.

If I had to fight, I wouldn't leave things half-finished.

No: I was going to burn her alive.

The fire in my palms grew. Primed and ready: the orange began to shift into a pale blue, as if taking on a life of their own. The embers they spat out seemed to buzz and spark with power, traveling upward on the drafts of air forming around them.

In response, Karen leaned in, leg stepping forward, arm shifting for the coming strike. I did much the opposite, fire ready to engulf and devour-

"Enough!" A sudden impact smashed through the air, delivering a thunder-crack blow of force that sent both of us stumbling backwards.

I found that Gertrude stood between us. With her sleeves rolled up past her elbow, glowing ladle in hand, her expression was dangerous.

"I won't allow fighting, not in my kitchen" The [Chef] declared. "It stops here."

"Get out of my way, cook." Karen growled. "This has nothing to do with you."

"That's [Chef] to you, girl." Gertrude spit back, eyes narrowing. "If you want to duel, the field is right outside, but you won't be doing it in here."

"You think that you can stop-" As Karen shifted, the ladle leveled on her, taking a darker sheen as the Skill that wrapped around the wooden instrument magnified in force. She stopped at the sight, expression of irritation turning into concern.

She wasn't scared of magical fire, but she was scared of a ladle.

Quickly, I made a mental correction to my original assessment of the [Chef]. Gertrude was clearly much more dangerous than I'd imagined.

"Don't test me." The [Chef] warned. "You're decades short of surviving it."

Karen, to her credit, seemed to take the warning to heart. Straightening out her posture, her sword hand fell away.

Seeing that, Gertrude turned on me, letting out a loud huff, satisfied to see I had let the flames I'd summoned die out. She nodded, accepting things as they were.

"Whatever conflict you're settling; you need to do it somewhere else." She announced, shooting both of us a stern look. "But considering who's involved, I'm sure the Baron is already on his way down here."

Thankfully, she was right. It seemed that some of those who fled the kitchen, had a destination in mind, as a few awkward seconds of silence were all we had before the storm of a man arrived.

The sound of heavy boots on fast approach was the only further warning before a heavy arm smashed a door aside, ducking under the frame to loom above us.

"What is the meaning of this?" The Baron's rumbling voice seemed to shake the very stone beneath our feet, and I was certain I saw dust fall loose from the ceiling, as he stepped through. "Explain!"

Suffice to say, what followed was not a pleasant conversation.

I'm not certain if it was favoritism for Karen and myself which spared us, but I have to imagine it helped. As did confirmation that I'd repeatedly attempted to deescalate, which shifted the blame.

A little, not a lot.

But that was enough.

I was once again reminded (by no small amount of ear-drum rupturing shouts) that Karen had a real name, which wasn't Karen, but "Solas." I was also shown the Baron's lie-detection abilities, in no uncertain terms. He stared the both of us down, demanding we answer his questions. Then, he accepted our responses, before passing judgement. In a very [Lord]ly way, I might add.

"John's not lying." He announced. "Whatever happened, he wasn't involved. That's the end of it."

"But he has my knife!" Karen- I mean, Solas, insisted.

"Is that her knife?" The Baron glanced at me, demanding I answer.

"No." I replied, warily hugging the line that separated truth from falsehood. "It is not her knife."

"Where did you get it?" The Baron pressed.

"It was left to me by a friend."

He squinted at me, scars creasing in concentration for a moment, before shrugging.

"That's that, the matter is settled." He stated, accepting it. "Get him out of here while I deal with this one." As he brought his attention back to Solas, he motioned to a [Servant], who took me by the arm and lead me away from the kitchens.

"I can walk on my own." I prompted, as we turned the corner of the hall.

"Oh, but a strong [Mage] like yourself would surely hide any injuries to save face." The [Servant] replied, dramatically, pulling me farther along the hall. "We must get you to a [Healer] as soon as possible." She stressed, as she quickened her pace.

"I'm fine." I replied, trying to tug my arm free. "Besides, I've heard the [Healer] isn't particularly pleasant when they see their patients for foolish reasons."

"I must insist." She pressured, pushing open a door, in an effort to lead me into what appeared to be an... empty storage room.

I slowed, turning to really look at her for the first time.

Had there really been a [Servant] like this in the fort? Someone with this figure? Her dress seemed to fit a little too tightly to her waist, and that hair...

I caught a familiar, sly, smile.

"You've got to be joking." I said, stopping where I was.

"Why would I ever joke about something so serious?" She asked, innocently. "If anything were to happen to you, why... I just don't know what I'd do."

I waited, as her smile widened.

All at once, her Title and Class dropped away, as did her appearance. Features and clothing fading off, no longer quite so visible.

"A shame you're so attentive. I could have tended to your wounds, you know. Just the two of us." The Guildmaster laughed. "It would have been fun."

"You realize I could have been killed by that stunt you pulled." I yanked my arm free, angrily. "The hell was that?"

"Oh, it wasn't all that bad, was it?"

"She would have killed me." I answered. "Solas and her friend, Roggar. The both of them have had it out for me since I was brought in. In fact, if they'd had their way, I'd already be dead."

"I think you'd manage just fine." She replied, settling her laughter at the sight of my frown. Shamelessly, she pouted. "Come now, John. I was right there. Regardless of what happened, if anything did go wrong, I would have stopped it."

I rubbed at my eyes, letting out a breath I'd apparently been holding.

The Guildmaster was probably telling the truth.

Probably.

"That some sort of Skill?" I asked, settling my composure.

"What, this?" She asked innocently, shifting back into a [Servant], then a [Guard], then a [Trader], before slipping back into her normal, undefinable, self.

I blinked, and she was gone again. Reduced from my senses, back to the basic sensation of watching eyes and a general compass direction.

"I wanted to ask you about the Blessing." I pressed. "About what it means."

Silence answered, as her presence faded further.

"Seriously?" I muttered, catching the faintest echo of a woman's laughter from somewhere down the hall. "After all of that?"

I waited for a moment, awkwardly standing in the hall, but no further responses could be heard. Shaking my head in frustration, I made way to the Scribe rooms, where my quill worked itself just a little deeper into the parchment than normal. Neriah raised an eyebrow once or twice at the creases in the papers, but perhaps the occasional puffs of smoke that lifted from my writing hand made him reconsider saying anything.

That night, I returned to my room without dinner. Instead I settled for chewing on a stale piece of bread I'd stashed away in my desk and a few pieces of dried meat, while I furiously read through a book I'd thought might be promising- but ultimately turned out to be useless. "Temples of the Kingdom" was utterly vacant of information that I could utilize, only referencing the more modern cathedrals dedicated to a "Church of Sun." There was nothing about old or forgotten Gods, or blessings of any sort.

As the hours stretched on, much to my dismay, the Guildmaster did not grace me with her presence.

Closing the book shut and lying down for the night, I tossed and turned until morning. No matter what I did, I awoke from fitful dreams of violent sails, and approaching danger.

Then, morning came:

Brought in by a pounding on my door, the scent of smoke, and the incessant ringing of bells.