Dust billowed up in the midday sun, and the strong smell of parchment reached his nose as he opened the hatch. Steep stairs led down into a pitch-black hole. For the environment, he was surprised he smelled no mildew from the cellar. He studied the walls for the moment. Minor enchantments laced through the wood, most likely keeping the cellar cool and dry.

Not wishing to be caught off guard if anyone waited below, he conjured a ball of red-hued light—nothing too taxing—sending it down the stairs to illuminate whatever was below. From where he stood, all he could see were unstable shelves. Some held crates while others had simple folders and papers stacked neatly. Some were even bound together as loose-leaf pages.

Nagan chewed on the inside of his lip as he debated what he should do next. It felt like every step forward demanded two steps back. He was never meant to be here. Not just in this building, but in this town in general. He should still be in Carvolier awaiting trial, or at the very least, waiting for General Meixong to contact them. Maybe he could have finally gotten advice—real advice—on what he should do.

He just wanted to live.

No sound was made as he made his way down into the cellar. Dark shadows lingered at the corners, but none were large enough to hide someone. Nagan let out a sigh of relief at that. He was truly alone, down here and in the building itself. A small lamp sat atop a crate acting as a table, and Nagan debated if he should light it. He already conjured a ball of light, after all.

And I don't think some of these pages can handle being around any sort of flame, Nagan thought to himself as he regarded some of the older-looking papers, yellow and fragile enough to crumble. That was when he gave an unsure look around the room. But...where do I even start?

At least the most obvious starting point was towards the hatch. Not only were the papers newer, but he also once chatted with the bookkeepers within the Information Unit after seeing how large the archive was. All newer, more relevant documents were to be kept "within reach," and everything should be labeled by date and type at the very least. Thankfully, that system seemed to be universal, as there were small paper labels explaining the contents of the shelf.

1149, one year before the war began (And the year I started going to Carvolier, almost five years ago...). That was where he should start, and perhaps compare it to something recent if those documents have been moved down here yet. Despite what information he was looking for, Nagan couldn't help but smile a bit as he gathered different reports. It reminded him of pulling books from the library before writing a research report, something he groaned at back then, but now he couldn't help but miss it. Life was simpler back then when it was just him and Az in the dorm, either working on assignments or idly chatting. Something...he didn't have for long, Nagan realized. The war started halfway through his second year, and it wasn't long afterward that he was brought back as a soldier.

Nagan shook his head, warding away thoughts soon to follow. He had already been gone for so long he couldn't risk getting caught in the past.

Looking for what information was easier said than done since Nagan really had no idea what he was looking for. Was the Council underpaying them? Did they demand too much? Did they miss payments entirely? One of his assumptions was correct, even after glancing over the order reports for only a minute. Back before the Kinsmen took over the area, it looked as if the mine barely kept up with demand. Some might say that was a good thing, but the transcripts attached to each order said otherwise. Nagan recognized thinly veiled threats to stop working with them entirely—their primary source of income—if they kept pushing for higher pay. But was that truly enough for a town to side with the Kinsmen? Not that Nagan doubted it, but he still felt like there was more to the story than that.

He put aside the most recent order—five months prior when the mine was paid much more—and turned his attention to the census. One of the transcripts attached to the Council's order mentioned a lack of workers, and according to the census, there was indeed a rather severe depletion of people compared to the year prior. What had caused such a dip? Did people quit? Or...

It took a little longer to locate, but he eventually found transcripts not attached to any other documents. One asked for aid from the Council, only to provide simple antibiotics for a plague spreading fast around the town. While Nagan didn't recognize the plague's name—much less pronounce it—he did recognize the antibiotic specifically requested. It was a simple potion that could easily be made in large batches. He remembered Az ranting about how they were wasting time brewing them instead of a stronger one, and how much space they took in the warehouses. Nagan was sure it was the same he was given when he developed minor infections. But a mage's immune system was stronger than a mediocres. Something minor could be lifesaving for any other. And judging by the accounts, it would have been if the Council had granted it.

The more he looked into it, the more he understood why one would prefer the Kinsmen. The way the Council of Thirds treated these people...they were barely people to them. Requests for medicine were denied, quotas were increased as punishment, payment was withheld when they couldn't reach it...if people weren't dying from some illness, they were starving. They were even denied building materials for a school so children didn't have to travel so far. When compared to the Kinsmen who gave them that aid—who gave them what they needed and treated them as humans—

A crash and shouts sounded above the cellar, and Nagan's head whipped towards the hatch. They echoed faintly, but in all his years as a soldier, he knew what a fight sounded like, and it was growing closer. Someone cracked first.

Panicked, Nagan glanced back down at the documents in his hand, unsure if he should put them back or run while he still could. His training as an infiltrator told him to make it as if he was never there, but his common sense told him it didn't matter.

The choice was ripped from his hands when he heard the door slam open, hard footsteps quickly marching towards the hatch. Did someone see him enter? Nagan retreated back, his mind rapidly circling through his options. Should he hide? Did they see the light? He froze when he saw boots descending the stairs.

He was greeted by Darro's scowl.

"How did I know you would be here?" Darro growled, marching up to Nagan and shoving his shoulder. "For someone claiming to be a guiltless man, you must want the Council to think otherwise. What the hell are you doing here?!"

"I'm not—" Nagan flinched as another explosion went off nearby. "What's going on out there?"

"Do not change the subject! Don't you already know the Council is watching you? That the only reason you are here is for them to see what you would do?" Again, Darro took Nagan by the shoulders and shook him, a look of desperation Nagan had never seen before flash through Darro's eyes. "Nagan, I can't help you when you do things like this! You know I have to write a report to them about this situation—one that has already gone the absolute worst way it could have—we were all trying to help you, you reckless boy!"

"Then don't report me!" Nagan shouted back, shoving Darro away, feeling cornered and on edge. "Faen, if you saw what the Council has done to them—"

"Shut up! Don't tell me what you saw! How would I explain how I know what they did in the past when it was never in the mission to do so?"

"I said, just don't report—"

"I am not like you!" Darro roared. "I do not treat the rules as optional! I do not endanger my squadron by acting selfishly! I do not get myself involved in things I cannot control! Your mentality, your delusional ideology where you are in control and how you disregard consequences, is the reason why you are facing the death penalty for treason!"

But that wasn't my fault!

Time seemed to slow down as Darro continued to yell, and Nagan's eyes locked onto the stairs behind them. Someone else was coming down, someone who didn't wear a soldier's uniform. But Nagan found he couldn't move as his thoughts overwhelmed him.

We were all trying to help you!

As Faen said, you know the consequences of this. You've been a soldier for too long to not know, and you've proven yourself too intelligent to cite ignorance.

A Rasek! Master Honoria, why have you let our enemy into this room!

Victories and titles he has won, earning the moniker of the Time Mage on the battlefield. He has even gone so far as to claim that this is his war.

This is your war! Finish what you started! Now go!

Even as the stranger drew closer to Darro's back, a sword raised in one hand and a knife in the other, murderous intent gleaming, one voice ripped through Nagan's mind:

The battles to come will be unforgivable, yet you already stand at the center of it all. Your spirit tested, your will questioned, your resilience pushed to its limit. How far will you bend before you break? How far are you willing to stretch to achieve your goals? Will it be enough or far too little? Choose your path carefully, Time Mage, for time will be your ally as well as your enemy.

Time. Oh, how he wished he had more time. Everything in these past couple of years had happened too quickly. Every choice he has made felt both too great for one person to bear and insignificant at the same time. But did he truly have a choice before this? Giving the Codex to the Hooded Man...he was a child promised pain if he didn't. When he wanted to know what he had done, he was met with forced silence, his tongue threatened to be cut out. The Council chose him to join the army at the tender age of thirteen. They placed him and his squadron—his friends—near the front to do their bidding. They were sent on a mission where not all of them survived, all at their whim.

Was this...his choice?

He wanted to live.

By the gods, he just wanted to live.

Nagan stepped back.

•______________________•

Welp, shows how quickly my mental health fluctuates. Winter is really not my time of year I guess 🫠. For a little context, by the time this is scheduled to go live, one of my dogs will no longer be with us. Along with other factors, I'm really trying not to let the seasonal depression take over for any longer than it should. But don't worry too much for me! I'm in close contact with my doctor and therapist since I'm preparing to make a big transition in my life, going from a small community college to a large university, so it's a given that they're also there for me during the in-between, as well as my family. I have a good support system behind me, and I'm extremely grateful for them.

As for Heresy, I reeeeally hope I can finish it before I start at said university, cause I'm afraid if I don't, there might be a two year pause like what happened in the middle of Warfire XD. At least Heresy is at the half-way point (literally I have one more chapter planned before it's the end to part one). Hopefully I'll finish part one before the end of winter break, but we'll see.

But thank you to everyone who's stuck around so long! Wishing nothing but positivity and joy to all of you in 2024!