"Absolutely not."

In front of me sat Malroy Hayes, a man lean as a knife and eyes sharper than a honed blade straight from the whetstone. His eyes were as cold as the Borelands-northern landscapes of Centralis-during a fierce winter, and I've always felt as though he could stab someone with his gaze. Formerly a Praxis Authoritarian for King Petrus' entry-level infantrymen, his voice has always been hoarse and baritone. He could be calmer than a serene stream during blackberry winter, then flip into a violent tempest at the drop of a hat. An unpredictable man, to say the least, and he happened to become the Leader of the most successful mercenary organization of Western Centralis.

I narrowed my mismatched gaze- one emerald green like the forests near the border to Menwelen, and the other a pale grey, almost silver- on him, standing my ground. "I can't pass up an opportunity like this, sir," I pushed, almost beseechingly, as I stood in front of his desk with the letter from the University of Veneficom in my right hand. My grip on the parchment tightened, crinkling the words into a knot of mixed frustration as the sweat melted the ink, as a candle melted from fire slowly but surely amidst the darkness swallowing a room whole.

This stubborn prick- the words flew into my mind whilst indignation stewed inside of me, bubbling and spitting anger like grease on a piping hot iron skillet. I needed this. All my life, I yearned to find my mother's homeland, especially after her passing. I still believe she was murdered that night, but the authorities speculated that no foul play was involved. There were no signs of blunt force trauma, no signs of any knife stabs or slashes, or signs of strangulation. I still believe she was murdered. My mother did not take her own life. If I can find living family members on my mother's side, maybe I can understand why someone might have taken her life. Or why she left Menwelen for the human lands, Centralis.

Malroy sunk his thin lips into a scowl. "Lucine," he seethed, taking a deep breath as he maintained his composure and his gaze hardened like glaciers formed over the Kyanite Sea at the northernmost reaches of the Borelands- a landscape invaded by frigid ice, with snow that hardens like stone. "If you try to leave before your debt is paid, I will end your life right here, right now," he warned me solemnly. He was not a man to lie or go back on his word. He would take my life if I did not repay the debt I owed for taking me in whilst escaping from the Bloodsewer at seventeen springs. Fortunately for me, I knew this before approaching him in his office. I would not be cut down. Not this day- not if I can help it.

I sharply exhaled as I fished out several pouches of gold coins and, with my available left hand, took several trips from my knapsack to place them on his desk in front of him. "This is what I owe you, sir," I replied, and stepped back as he observed the pouches of gold in front of him. I tucked a loose strand of dark brown hair out of my face and behind my ear. Years of saving and hiding my earnings- sometimes skipping meals to save the coin for my freedom from the Syndicate- are going to finally pay off.

He hummed as he assessed them and nodded. "That it is," he confirmed, and opened a drawer to his desk, and he shoved the pouches into his desk. A sharp exhale fumed from his nostrils, and he pinched the bridge of his nose in clear frustration. "You've put me in a tight spot, Lucine. You're a fine fighter, and getting rid of you reduces my clientele. But you paid your debt to me."

"There is nothing else I owe you. I want to be released from the guild so I may pursue an opportunity in Menwelen," I elucidated, calm and composed, yet unyielding in my stance to depart the Guild, the Syndicate, to become an arcanist through the University of Veneficom. My gift for magick is raw and untamed, and I have always yearned to channel that magical prowess into something... more. Focused- powerful, even. The further I delve into the magick manifesting inside me, the closer I am to learning about my mother- about her death, and why someone took her life from me.

Malroy raised an ash blonde brow toward me. "Menwelen?" He echoed, a peak of interest tinged in his voice. He leaned in on his desk, propped by his forearms as his gaze drew closer toward me somberly with a flicker of skepticism fixed directly on me, then darted his attention to the crinkled letter in my hand. "What opportunity leapt into your hands so suddenly?" he asked me, casting me a narrowed look- that assessing stare, like he's calculating the possibilities to have an advantageous rebuttal or offer to lure me back to the Syndicate. I can't let that happen. I won't let this Guild absorb me through apprehension of calamity, or perhaps, fear of the opportunity not being presented as what I assumed it to be- no. No, I will not let uncertainty sway me right now. I can't allow my emotions to sway my resolution. I must stand my ground without a single indication of indecisiveness to guarantee my freedom.

"An opportunity to enhance my potential," I responded, vague but not too far from the truth that it would be considered deception.

"Potential in what, precisely, Lucine?" Malroy pressed further, unyielding and blunt as he continued to stare me down, pinning me down as though we were in a sparring match in the training hall. In this circumstance, we may as well be sparring. Our words are honed blades, ready for the match, prepared to swing and cleave through each other.

I narrow my mismatched eyes at him. "That is my business alone, sir," I rejoinder tersely, my sharp response cleaves, but he seems to dodge swiftly as he hums with perched eyebrows in intrigue.

"You're still in my estate, if I'm not mistaken," he countered, and his response slices, yet I manage to weave out of the way as I scoff at his remark.

"I don't owe you anything any longer," I retorted, my black weathered boots causing the floor to squeal under my weight as I approach his desk, and he leans back in his seat. "No longer can you hold me here. I'm departing the following morrow by first light," I informed him resolutely, sheathing my blade in this match as I swivel on my heel and begin to take my leave from his office.

"You either depart my estate tonight," Malroy began, and I spared a glance behind me with my green eye, the left. "Or you will be slain on sight," he warned grimly.

I huff from my nose with a sardonic smile playing on my lips as I turn to face him one last time. "I wouldn't have it any other way, Malroy," I quipped, a sharp edge to my words liked a hidden dagger as I pull open the rustic, iron clad door then close it as he snaps: "Keep my name out of your mouth, filthy cross-" and the door sealed firmly shut before she bothered to listen to the rest of his spitefully sourced sentence.

I felt a bounce in my step as I strutted down the empty halls, decorated with ornate paintings from high-ranking officials and framed contracts from previous elitist clientele- few alive, most long buried. Dukes, Lords, Duchesses-even from a long-departed King from the Southern region of Centralis, King Orphien, known for his wickedness and sadistic tendencies.

Unfortunately for him, he would be executed by his own military officials years later for not only discreetly placing the hit on his previous wife, a Princess from Maphaeia. Maphaeia is an archipelago East of Southern Centralis- and this hit being uncovered by a spy for Queen Naseria, who orchestrated his downfall for the attempt on her life. But, it was primarily for the relentless military campaigns he could not afford to start or maintain, and resulted in hazardous conditions for thousands of his infantrymen. Not a leader to aspire to become, for certain, as he clawed endlessly for glory and reverence for his 'conquests'. Now, his signature is hung on display in the Syndicate wall, his memory remaining solely for his cruelty and imprudence that cost thousands of lives.

Hopefully, if I am to be remembered for my potential and my actions in this life, it is not for cruelty or doltishness. It is kept alive through humility and impartiality. My mother's words still ring true to me as I walk this world: The moon weeps and the stars remember-

"We step in moonlit tears under Mavena's splendor," I whispered the final words under my breath, a ghost of a smile finding its way to my lips like a lost soul that received retribution at last. Her memory has kept me alive since her untimely departure from this world, and the last physical memory I have of her is the pendant she gifted me on my tenth nameday, when spring has been welcomed in its return after the wrath of winter with the sweet and eager snowdrop rising first to greet spring after the long gelid season.

The main hall thundered with activity. The roars of aggressive elation and excitement reverberated through the walls and the ceiling, creating an air of booming intensity trapped in the main hall. A brawl in the center of the room- Ebar and Heser- threw swings at each other eagerly and vehemently. Both crass and thickheaded, in my opinion, and not worth the time to watch them.

A gaggle of mercenary members circled the brawling pair like a herd of crows, eager to witness the possibility of death and violence. Plenty in the circle either caterwauled or applauded Ebar and Heser during their brawl, even encouraging further violence between the two by throwing instigating statements.

"You're going to sit there and take that from a cornstalk like Ebar?"

"My grandmother could throw a better swing than you at eighty while relying on a cane!"

"Don't tell me you're going to take that crap from an oaf like Heser!"

I navigated through the raucous crowd of mercenaries, their boisterous laughter and loud shouts reverberating around me like an overwhelming tide. Every few moments, a sudden jostle would surge through the throng, as men and women gestured wildly or exchanged animated barbs, their exuberance nearly turning dangerous. I had to be quick on my feet, deftly weaving between clusters of burly figures, sidestepping calloused elbows and fists that swung in exuberance without a thought. The air was thick with the scent of sweat and smoke, and I remained ever alert, acutely aware that one wrong step could lead to an unintended confrontation amidst the chaos.

Suddenly, I felt a tug on my wrist. I espied pale and slender fingers coil around my wrist like a snake's lithe body wrapping around prey. My attention darts to find a longtime companion tugging me along the outskirts of mercenaries. Her black hair held the night's shadows, dark and glossy as raven feathers, which was plaited into a long braid dangling just above her hips. The usual red ribbon holding her hair together at the end of the braid.

"Thylane," I managed to say, trying to suppress the startlement and confusion rising up my throat as quickly as bile. "What are you doing?"

Either my voice was lost amidst the thunderous echoes of mercenaries shouting and clashing around us, or she was intentionally choosing to overlook me in the chaos. Finally, we managed to weave our way through the jostling bodies and slip into the relative quiet of the entryway, where the din of battle faded to a dull roar behind us. As we stepped into the dim light, her striking steel blue eyes locked onto mine, filled with an intensity that made me concerned. What compelled her to drag me out of the room so abruptly? I was going to weave my way through the throng of mercenaries eventually. What was her rush?

"Divine save us, it was absolutely chaotic in there," Thylane groaned, her voice tinged with a mixture of relief and frustration as she pulled down her weathered hood, revealing a tangled mane of dark hair that framed her face. The lines etched on her face spoke of countless battles fought and survived. "Now, where are you going, Lucy?" she pressed, urgency threading through her tone as if my next words held the power to change everything.

Her gaze narrowed, searching for answers I wasn't yet ready to provide. She was a good friend, despite a spare few of our differences. But a worry began to slither around my consciousness, coiling and tightening around me, and aching my stomach into a pit of pity and concern. If I confessed that I was departing the Syndicate and leaving her behind, would she despise me for as long as she lived? Maybe not. However, I was hoping to evade her before my departure to avoid a confrontation with her.

"I'm..." I trailed off, the words slipping past my tongue like treading on a river iced over. I had to tell her. Of all the people in this Divine forsaken Guild, Thylane has a right to know of my departure. No one else would care or notice my absence. But Thylane would. In the moment of resolution, I seized the opportunity to tell her: "I'm departing the Guild. For good."

Her eyes widened, stunned- yet beneath the shock, a flicker of hope shimmered. "Where?" she asked, her voice barely above a whisper as she pressed for an answer. I hesitated only a moment before surrendering. "Menwelen," I said. I found myself speaking the words before I had a chance to grasp the full weight of my actions, as if they were slipping from my mouth unbidden, each syllable a fleeting ghost of thought.

Her eyes sparkled with a brilliance reminiscent of the Northern stars, illuminating her face with an ethereal glow. "As am I," she replied, her voice soft yet confident, leaving me momentarily speechless. I found myself utterly mesmerized, words escaping me as disbelief washed over me like a tidal wave. She skimmed in her pocket, and the piece of parchment combered me back into reality. "I'm traveling to Veneficom," she told me.

"That's my destination as well," I told her, and relief washed over me as I studied her. She seemed to radiate an enchanting aura, revealing magical qualities I had overlooked until now. How had I missed the signs that glimmered beneath the surface? Was I simply oblivious until now? Did she mask her magick energy to protect herself against unbidden attention? A wave of relief washed over me, dispelling the confusion that had lingered in my mind like a stubborn fog. Without a second thought, I drew her into a tight embrace, feeling the gentle pulse of her magick energy against me.

I pulled away and stepped toward the front doors to the guild. Clad in iron with rustic and outdated design. I bit down on my bottom lip to suppress the elation surging inside of me as I approached the doors. "Why didn't you ever tell me you knew magick?" I inquired, my curiosity bubbling to the surface, past the intense excitement as I pushed open the heavy, ornate doors of the guild, which slammed shut behind us as we trekked past Malroy's estate grounds, which had sparring platforms on either side of us, looming in the distance like silent sentinels.

Thylane shrugged nonchalantly, her expression unreadable. "It never came up," she said, her voice measured and calm, as if she were discussing the weather rather than a secret she kept tucked away from me for years- as I did with my magick. A seed of doubt began to sprout in my mind, but I chose to set it aside. I know what I had to sacrifice to earn my freedom. I don't know if Thylane is ready to confess what she had to do to receive hers. Almost every member of the Syndicate owes Malroy in some way, shape, or form- ranging from gold, favors, to even pledging loyalty to him. For years, knowing Thylane, I never pried to find out her deal with Malroy, and she didn't pry at me for mine. A mutual, unavowed agreement. But now that we are officially unshackled and let loose, curiosity began to stir as I wondered what she had to sacrifice to leave with me.

As we journeyed along the weathered, cracked road, its surface softened by a lush carpet of moss and wild weeds, we finally approached the quaint, close-knit town of Roulun. The path meandered through the undulating landscape, unveiling views of stone houses, their rough exteriors adorned with straw carefully packed over the wooden planks. These ridged wooden surfaces not only gave the homes a rustic charm but also served a vital purpose, effectively insulating the dwellings from the biting cold that swept through the Borelands, where winter's chill often felt relentless. The scene was a harmonious blend of nature and craftsmanship, inviting us deeper into the heart of one of the few resilient communities left in the North. Most are abandoned, sordid houses, crumbling from neglect and suffering from abandonment by the townsfolk who fled for a more forgiving environment.

As we neared the town's edge, the wind howled like a starving beast, tearing through the brittle trees. Carriages lumbered past, their wooden frames wrapped in layers of fur pelts and stitched leather, crusted with frost. Every wheel turn let out a groan of protest against the frozen earth. The townsfolk moved like bundled phantoms, cloaked in heavy fur coats lashed over oiled leather, their breath misting in the air like fading spirits. In the Borelands, wet and cold weren't mere discomforts- they were killers, and everyone dressed like they knew it. A low murmur threaded through the crowd like wind through brittle branches- scattered chatter that hushed whenever we drew too close. Some townsfolk stole glances from beneath fur-lined hoods, their eyes sharp and unreadable. A few let their stares linger, laced with quiet hostility or wary curiosity. In Northern Centralis, outsiders are not welcomed- they're studied, judged, and kept at arm's length, like a frostbite creeping too close to skin.

The silence pressed in, thick and suffocating, gnawing at the edges of my nerves. Every crunch of our boots against the frostbitten ground felt too loud, too exposed. Beside me, Thylane's steel-blue eyes flicked from shadow to shape, restless and searching- not for danger, but for distraction. Anything to look at. Anything to pretend the tension between us wasn't piling up, slow and heavy, like snow gathering on a roof before the inevitable collapse. However, there was something else also goading at me and hounding me for answers like a cur relentlessly barking at the door without rest.

"What did it cost you to leave the Syndicate?" I finally asked, my voice steady despite the storm of uncertainty brewing within me. For a fleeting moment, I saw her demeanor shift; her bright eyes dulled, and an unmistakable wave of guilt washed over her face. The shame etched into her features made my heart twist, and for just a heartbeat, I hesitated, almost wishing I hadn't asked the question at all.

Thylane fidgeted restlessly beneath the rough fabric of her faded leather attire. The weight of her words hung heavily in the air as she sighed. "Everything."