On the western side of the known world lies the continent of Petria. Just off its coast rests an island known as Ludovic Academy Island. As the name suggests, an academy spans the entirety of the islet—an academic city in its own right—where students and staff can find every facility, they might need during their time there.
On the eastern edge of the island stands a building whose architecture blends classical and modern aesthetics from the 4th Era. Constructed of brick and wood, it is outlined by marble with various stone carvings of historical figures adorning its high-pitched roof and arches. The entranceway is marked by calacatta marble columns and a pediment. This building is the History Department.
Within its halls, room 2-16 is filled with students. The midday light pours into the lecture hall through the windows, illuminating the classroom and the four columns of eight desks arranged in a semi-circle around the lectern. Each row, positioned further from the lectern, is elevated higher for better viewing. The classroom's walls are lined with bookshelves, filled with history books, accounts of the past, and various drawings of different ruins. The lecture hall is filled with the soft murmuring of the various young students that filled the desks.
The creaking of the entrance door by the side of the lecture hall shushed the students almost out of instinctual habit.
A young gentleman steps through the door. He wears a gold-rimmed monocle with a gem at the end of the right lens. His neat void-black hair and cerulean eyes complement his sharp facial features and pointed elven ears. He is dressed in a black coat over a white dress shirt, with a tie and black dress pants, in his left hand was a silver tipped cane. His leather shoes click steadily on the wooden floor as he strides across the room toward the podium.
"To get introductions out of the way, my name is Cecil Hollows," he begins "I am a professor in the History Department. For many of you, this is our first meeting, as I teach 'Historical Events of the 3rd Era and Theoretical of the Lost Historyin regard to the 2nd Era'. Since my class is considered advanced, most of my students are your upperclassmen."
His voice is firm and cold as he arrives at the lectern, placing his gloved hands on its slanted surface while scanning the student body.
"Classes should have ended yesterday for this school year. But, since our Covenant Laws have dictated that instead of starting your summer break today with the rest of your peers, you first-year students shall receive a mandatory additional lesson on Sorcerers—how they work, their historical impact, and, of course, the dangers of being a Sorcerer."
Cecil takes a second to adjust his monocle before continuing.
"To start, let us define what the Covenant is and what it is meant to do. Formed after the World War, which marked the end of the first half of the 3rd Era, the Covenant is a series of supernatural laws that separate Sorcerers from mundane people, especially when it comes to limiting their political power. One such law states that the sole ruler of a major power may not ascend beyond Stage 5. This law was created due to the Warlords—Sorcerers who forcibly took power after the fall of the Lancaster Empire in the 2nd Era, forming nations and initiating conflicts that led to the World War that shaped the first half of the 3rd Era. The full nature of the Covenant laws are unknown especially to mundane people."
Cecil pauses for effect, then asks, "What is a Sorcerer, and in what ways do they differ from normal people?"
He lets the question linger in the air for a moment before continuing.
"Sorcerers are any living creature who metaphorically walks one of the 24 Lineages that exist in our world. Each Lineage directly correlates to one of the Ancient Mythological Creatures. By progressing along these Lineages, Sorcerers undergo both biological and magical changes, gaining the supernatural abilities and natural instincts of those Creatures. Each Lineage is unique in both abilities and instincts."
He gestures slightly, emphasizing his next point.
"Of course, such biological and mental changes are not without danger. Sorcerers are constantly threatened by something called Distortion, which occurs when a Sorcerer loses control over their Lineage—or, in other words, when they can no longer separate themselves from the Mythological Creature. As a Sorcerer progresses through their Lineage, the line between them and the Mythological Creature becomes increasingly blurred. When Distortions occur, they must be eliminated, as they become a threat to both them and those around them."
Cecil turns to face the blackboard behind him, picking up a piece of chalk. As he begins to draw, he continues his lesson.
"Each Lineage is divided into ten Stages, which are categorized into specific Grades. Each Stage represents a point in the Mythological Creature's life cycle. Stages 9 and 8 are classified as Superhuman Grade. Stages 7 through 5 falls under the Saint Grade, while Stages 4 and 3 are known as Demigod Grade, with Stage 3 marking the point when a Sorcerer's Mythological Creature reaches adulthood. If Stages 9 through 3 represent the journey from childhood to adulthood, then Stages 2 through 0 are considered the Elders of the species."
He pauses again to let them soak up the information.
"These are classified as either Elder or Divine Grade, with a further subdivision. Stages 2 and 1 are considered Angelic, while Stage 0 is called Archon. Archons were the rulers, also classified as the gods, of their respective Lineages. The only beings in recorded history to have reached Stage 0 are the Ancient Gods of the 1st Era and the Heretical Gods of the 2nd and 3rd Eras. It is from Divine Grade Sorcerers that the term 'Divine Houses' originates—essentially, families that have, at some point, birthed an Elder Grade Sorcerer, such as my own House Hollows, with the Ancient Angel, Galileo."
Cecil continues, his tone measured and calm.
"Each Stage has its own name, often corresponding to a specific job type that directly correlates with the abilities and instincts of that stage. The origins of these job titles have been a great mystery for historians and arcanologists, especially because they can differ between eras and contexts. These titles often come with new abilities, which can enhance previously acquired ones. Such abilities are not limited to just supernatural powers but can also include physical and even cognitive augmentations. While difficult, Superhuman and even some lower stage Saint Rank Sorcerers can be killed by normal humans, especially with the rising growth of technology, but even so it would take a lot of preparation to do so."
He turns to face the class again.
"As a Sorcerer progresses and nears the form of their Mythological Creature, they also experience an increased lifespan. Such as our beloved Headmaster and Founder, Albus Ambrose-Volsung, who is a Stage 4 Sorcerer who has been alive since the latter end of the 3rd Era."
Cecil then points to a chalk drawing of the Petria continent on the board, specifically highlighting a peninsula separated from the rest of the landmass by a chasm.
"To help you better visualize the potential power and danger that Divine Grade Sorcerers wield," he says, "during the end of the 2nd Era, an Angelic Sorcerer created what we now call the Frozen Divide, which separates the Fane Peninsula from the rest of the Petria Continent, with what is said to be a single swing of their blade. The validity of such claims remains unknown."
"To become a Sorcerer, one requires a recipe, the rarity and difficulty of acquiring one are among the many reasons Sorcerers are so rare and heavily sought after. At higher Stages, the recipes also require the completion of a Milestone before the consumption of the ingredients. There are two types of ingredients found inside of Sorcerer Recipes: Primary and Secondary Ingredients."
Cecil reaches into his blazer and pulls out a vial filled with a mostly colorless liquid, other than the soft golden tint.
"This is Gold Freesia Extract, one such Secondary Ingredient. Secondary Ingredients, also known as Anesthetic ingredients, are not necessary like Primary Ingredients but rather are used to help numb both you and the Lineage, reducing the chance of rejection and immediate distortion. The more Secondary Ingredients used the better. However, Secondary Ingredients are not universal for each Lineage and even between Stages, the possible Secondary Ingredients can differ."
After he finished showing the extract to the students, he slipped it back into his pocket before returning his cerulean gaze to the students, checking for questions.
"Primary ingredients are the base requirement for Sorcerer recipes. Unlike Secondary Ingredients, they hold the means to advancing to the desired stage. Like Secondary Ingredients, they differ between Lineages and stages."
Cecil lifts his right hand, taking off his monocle, and presents it
"This is what is called a Sacred Artifact—treasures that, unlike Enchanted Objects, contain something called a Sorcerer Emanation," he said, tapping the gem, "granting the treasure a higher level of power at a cost."
"Just like with Sorcerers, Artifacts contain Grades: Safe—equates to Superhuman, Euclid—equates to Saint, Numen—equates to Demigod, Apollyon—equates to Divine. The Emanation is the most important part of a Primary Ingredient. It is the Mana—the essence, in each ingredient—and the synergy between them that must fuse with your own. These Emanations can be obtained in various ways: mixing ingredients, retrieving them from another Sorcerer who has lost their power, or even through the artifact itself. Each Emanation correlates to a specific Stage of a specific Lineage."
"Sorcerer Emanations are the most important parts of Primary Ingredients mixed together. The Mana in each ingredient, and the synergy between them, are vital. Emanations can be created in various ways — from mixing primary ingredients to retrieving an emanation from a Sorcerer who has, for one reason or another, lost it. Each emanation correlates to a specific stage of a specific Lineage." It is because of these Emanations that Sacred Artifacts possess unique abilities—and equally unique negative effects—mirroring the traits of the Sorcerer and Stage they originate from. Because the Emanation holds the Mana of the Primary Ingredients, it can act as a substitute for them. However, it cannot replace Secondary Ingredients. The method of absorption doesn't matter; what matters is that the Mana of the ingredients fuses and synergizes within the body."
A hand rose from a student. Cecil pointed with one long finger.
"Yes, Ms..." He glanced down at the roster. "Albright?"
"How do Sorcerers know when they can advance? How do Sorcerers know what abilities they have gained from each stage? What exactly are Milestones? And how can we become Sorcerers?" she asked in a single, breathless burst.
"Excellent set of questions, Ms. Albright. Let me start with the easiest questions to answer."
Cecil turned back to the blackboard, erasing it with a few practiced strokes before taking up the chalk again.
"What exactly are Milestones? Milestones are by definition, 'An action or event marking a significant change or stage in development.' An Advancement Milestone is an action or series of actions a Sorcerer must complete alongside consuming their Primary Ingredients to advance to higher Stages."
He placed back down the chalk before he turned back and continued.
"As for how one becomes a Sorcerer: as I said before, acquire a Lineage Recipe. These are often held by organized groups, governments, or religious bodies such as the Theocracy. Alternatively, you could find a Sorcerer willing to take you under their wing."
Professor Hollows let out a sigh.
"As for the other two questions… I'm afraid I cannot answer with complete certainty. I myself am not a Sorcerer."
There was a pause.
"Sorcerers must integrate with a Stage before advancing to the next. They inherently know, once integration is complete. Each Stage bestows instincts, residual memories or impulses, from the Mythological Creature associated with the Lineage. It is through these instincts that Sorcerers come to understand their new abilities."
Another hand rose the moment Cecil finished answering. This time, the student didn't wait for the professor to call on them before launching into a rapid string of questions.
"If Sorcerer Lineages originate from the Mythological Creatures, then what about Supernatural Monsters and Sorcerer Beasts? What about the various races—Beastfolk, Merfolk, Dragonkin, Avians, and other humanoid species? How do they, if at all, relate to Mythological Creatures? What makes Mythological Creatures unique enough to have Lineages? And how did we even learn about the Sorcerer Recipes?"
Cecil's cerulean gaze locked onto the student with a sharp glare, causing them to flinch. The student awkwardly raised their hand in an attempt to salvage some decorum.
"Yes, Mr. Lee?" Cecil said, his already cold tone now touched with frost.
"S-s-supernatural Monsters. w-why do they n-not have unique l-l-lineages? And h-h-how do the other r-r-races relate to the Mythological Creatures? W-w-where did we learn the recipes? S-s-sorcerer Beasts?" Mr. Lee stammered out, voice shaky.
Cecil sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose.
"To answer your questions, at least to the best of my knowledge: Only Mythological Creatures possess Lineages. The reason for this can be traced back to the creation myth, if you choose to believe in it. Personally, I think it's simpler than that: they were the first lifeforms born from nothingness, and in doing so, their species were granted more power over various aspects of reality, allowing the existence of these Lineages."
He let his hand fall from his face as he began to smoothly pace slowly across the front of the room.
"Races such as Beastfolk, Merfolk, Dragonkin, Humans, etc… we believe to be the descendants of Mythological Creatures, one way or another. But the many interspecies unions over time have caused most of our naturally formed Sorcerer Emanations to fade. This has had several side effects, most species now appear mostly Human, save for a few distinguishing features. Many natural abilities have also been lost. For example, Avians can no longer use their wings to fly. Elves, like myself, no longer live as long as we once did, now reaching only ten to fifteen years beyond the average human lifespan."
"As for Supernatural Monsters…" Cecil paused. "We don't know their true origins. They seem to arise from a variety of sources—some birthed from Distortions, others mutated by unstable mana. That alone may explain why they can't form Lineages. And Sorcerer Beasts? They are just normal creatures that have gained Sorcerer Emanations one way or another."
He inhaled deeply, then continued, voice steady.
"As for how we discovered the Sorcerer Recipes… that is a bit more complicated."
Cecil's gaze hazed in contemplation
"The history of Sorcerers stretches all the way back to the First Era and the time of the Ancient Gods. But it wasn't until after the fall of the Continent of the Gods—Arcadia—and the beginning of the Second Era that Sorcerers became more widespread. This makes it near impossible to determine exactly when or where the knowledge of the Recipes originated. All we have is myth, and the line between real and fantasy is blurred when it comes to myths."
"In the myth, the Ancient Sun God—Lothric—rose from the Endless Darkness of the Zeroth Era. Alongside the other Ancient Gods, he ushered in the Age of Fire, beginning the First Era. It is said that when Lothric emerged from the Darkness, when he emerged it is said that the Nine Protogenoi gifted him with the knowledge of the Lineages to help guide the world."
A deep, resounding chime echoed across the island, cutting through the warm silence of the classroom. It marked the official end of the academic year—and the start of summer break.
"It seems the class, and the school year, have finally reached their end," Cecil murmured with a sigh of relief.
The students filed out, their excited chatter fading quickly. Within five minutes, the classroom was silent and empty, save for Cecil himself.
He moved methodically, collecting his belongings from both the classroom and his office, every movement deliberate and fluid. Once satisfied, he stepped out into the empty corridor, the soft click of his boots echoing off the stone walls.
As he approached the exit, a gravelly voice called out from behind.
"Professor Hollows."
Cecil turned.
Standing there was a short, broad-shouldered dwarf, older and stout. His greying brown hair and beard were both braided, adorned with various metal trinkets. He wore silver-rimmed circular glasses, a cotton-grey shirt and pants, and a thick leather apron lined with pouches and hanging tools.
"Professor Ripley, to what do I owe the pleasure?" As his shoulders unconsciously relaxed.
"You are a hard one to catch, I almost missed you" Ripley grumbled, crossing his arms. "The headmaster is looking for you in his office."
Cecil raises an eyebrow "He did? I assume he didn't mention why, did he?"
Ripley snorted and shook his head "Funny joke. All he mentioned was he found an opportunity that you might be interested in."
Cecil adjusted his monocle with a sigh. "Thank you, Professor Ripley. I'll head there immediately."
Not giving him another glance, he resumed his walk out of the History Department. As he exited the building, the soft sea breeze brushed past him.
"Why are you following me?"
Ripley shrugged, stepping into pace beside him. "Just curious about what kind of opportunity Ambrose has for you, kiddo."
"Didn't curiosity kill the cat?"
With a hearty chuckle. "Ah, but satisfaction brought it back."
Cecil adjusted his monocle again with a sigh and continued toward his destination: the Main Academy Building.
Each of his steps was efficient and measured as he strolled past the various shops that lined the roads—businesses meant for students and staff alike. The streets, usually bustling with activity, had quieted, only a few students lingering who were staying an extra day.
After about half an hour, they arrived at a towering structure in the heart of the island. The polished stone walls were adorned with intricate carvings and statues of three Ancient Gods. On the left stood a majestic celestial dragon surrounded by stars, Janus, the Ancestor of Dragons. On the right, a blindfolded giant with a set of scales in one hand and a skeletal scythe in the other, Morvagur, the Giant King. At the center, rising in flame, was Lothric, the Ancient Sun God in the form of a Phoenix.
The building felt more like a temple than an academy.
Two ornate wooden doors marked the entrance, opening into a grand lobby. The floors were polished vinyl, etched with delicate patterns, and a half-circle desk sat across the room, staffed by two secretaries—an older woman and a younger man, most likely her apprentice. Behind them, a bifurcated staircase rose, splitting at the landing.
As Cecil approached the desk, the older secretary glanced up from her papers and spoke without hesitation.
"The Headmaster is waiting for you in his office, Professor."
"Thank you, Madame," Cecil said, striding past toward the stairs.
"I'll wait down here for you, Cecil," Ripley called, heading toward a nearby seat with a lax wave.
Cecil didn't respond as he ascended to the third floor, stopping in front of an ornate door. A brass nameplate to the side read:
'Albus Ludovic Ambrose-Volsung'
He knocked three times with the back of his gloved hand and took a step back, waiting.
A calm, melodic voice, with a distinct eastern accent, replied almost immediately.
"The door is unlocked, my dear friend."
The office beyond was an organized chaos—towers of books stacked high, trinkets and baubles scattered among them, paintings lining the walls, and in a display case sat a staff of interlocking pieces adorned with rose motifs.
Near the back, behind all the clutter, sat a desk. Behind it was a young man, looking no older than twenty-six, with an almost ethereal appearance. His robes, his long, fluffy hair, and his cloud-like eyes were all shades of white.
He looked up at Cecil briefly, then back down at the stack of papers before him.
"Headmaster, you wished to see me?"
"Give me a moment, my dear friend. Just need to finish up these papers Madame Lily insisted I complete."
Cecil adjusted his monocle with a soft sigh. Something in the corner of his vision caught his attention, a painting. One he was sure hadn't been there during his last visit to the headmaster's office.
It depicted five figures, gathered at what appeared to be a villa overlooking the city of Etheridge.
As one stares at the painting their eyes are immediately drawn towards the center where a woman sat, legs crossed, hands folded in her lap. Even seated, she exuded height and presence. Her outfit was a sleek black and white suit with faint red accents, a black rose adorning her collar. Her layered hair, a striking blend of white and black, was styled in a long ponytail with asymmetrical bangs. Her sharp, thin face bore a blank expression as she stared forward, unblinking. To her left stood two figures, and to her right, the remaining two. Closest on her left was Albus himself—unchanged from how he appeared now, standing tall and smiling, his signature staff in hand. Beside him stood a shorter woman, at least a head smaller, with a cropped bob of black hair. She wore a dark brown suit and black gloves that lent her an almost surgical air. To the right of the central woman stood a delicate-looking individual, their lithe frame draped in elegant black robes with golden lines. The fabric left their shoulders bare. Their crimson hair, styled in a long ponytail with asymmetrical bangs, mimicking the first woman's style, covered one eye; the visible one was a gleaming amethyst, striking and strange. A thorn-like tattoo snaked along their neck, and they wore a cocky, confident, relaxed smirk. The final figure, furthest right, was a small woman with a soft, round face and long, inky black hair. She wore a plain black dress without ornament. She felt the most plain of the group even from a painting you can feel how she wasn't completely in the moment.
"Sir," Cecil asked, gaze lingering on the painting, "who are the people in this portrait? I recognize Ms. Volsung... and of course, yourself, but the others?"
Albus glanced up from his paperwork and followed Cecil's gaze. "Ah. That is my family," he said, a faint smile curling at his lips. "The painting dates back to the 3rd Era. I found it again while visiting the villa on my recent return to the Evernia Continent, in the East."
He set his writing utensil aside and—almost unconsciously—crossed one leg over the other, folding his hands in his lap in the same posture as the woman in the painting. His cloud-colored eyes twinkled with fondness.
"The woman in the middle, as you said, is Rosalie Sicar Volsung: my adoptive mother, founder of Theocracy, and all that. To her right is, despite what 'his' appearance may suggest, my elder brother: Raziel Hermes. And at the two ends: the Lestrange Twins: Yennefer on the left, Asteria on the right."
He motioned toward the seat opposite his desk. "As much as I'd love to continue discussing the eccentricities of my family, that isn't why I summoned you, Professor Hollows."
Cecil leaned his cane against the chair as he sat, his posture as composed as ever.
Albus rifled through one of the towering stacks on his desk and, with practiced grace, retrieved a folder. He offered it to Cecil across the desk.
"I received word from my old friend, Lady Nightingale," Albus began. "An ancient ruin has been uncovered in the northern stretch of the Stella Desert." He folded his hands again, voice calm yet rich with weight. "Given your role as our prized historian, I've recommended you to join the expedition."
Cecil opened the folder, scanning the contents—maps, official letters, reports. He raised a single brow as his eyes flicked up toward Albus, lips pressed into a neutral line.
"Me, sir?"
"Who better, my dear friend?" Albus replied easily. "You have an in-depth mastery of ancient tongues and histories. Besides, it wouldn't hurt to add newly discovered potential 2nd Era ruins to your research portfolio."
Cecil glanced down at the folder, brow furrowing. "But the papers specify 'Sorcerers only'... and, as you know, I'm not one. Not yet."
Albus raised an eyebrow, a sly smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth. "But you do plan on becoming one, don't you?"
"Yes... I do. I just…" he hesitated, then sighed, "have no desire to take needless risks. I may already have the Emanation, but I still want to gather as many of the Secondary Ingredients as possible beforehand." He exhaled, the tension in his shoulders betraying his unease.
"I already have the required Gold Freesia Extract. But I still need three grams of Dragonblood Powder and a freshly plucked Blinkwolf eyeball. Blinkwolves are already hard to find—and even harder to catch. And Dragonblood Flowers only bloom in the winter, back in Evernia…"
His voice trailed off.
His eyes lifted slowly to meet Albus's, realization dawning with a soft, tired sigh. "...You already got it, didn't you?"
Albus laughed, clearly pleased with himself. "You know me too well."
He reached into a drawer and retrieved a small leather pouch, tossing it across the desk, toward Cecil, who caught it deftly.
Cecil caught it with practiced ease and opened it, inside were soft clumps of deep crimson-purple powder. Opening it, Cecil found the faint scent of crushed herbs and iron—the glint of exactly three grams of purplish-red powder. Dragonblood Powder. Not a flake more, not a speck less.
Albus leaned back, hands folded with a level of calm patience. "The first step is always the hardest. But once it's taken... the rest will naturally follow."
Cecil said nothing for a long moment. He carefully slipped the pouch into his pocket. His fingers lingered on the edge of the fabric. Then he stood grabbing his cane with his left hand, giving a short nod to Albus.
"Thank you, sir. And... I'll take up this assignment."
Albus raised a hand to stop him mid-turn, retrieving two more items: a folded note and a package wrapped in waxed parchment and bound with a black ribbon.
"Thank you for accepting, Professor Hollows. The ship is at the harbor—it'll take you as far as Grandport City. From there, you'll need to find the vessel named in that note."
Cecil took the items, studying the package for a moment longer than necessary.
"The package," Albus added, his voice quieter now, "is to be opened if... no—rather, when you become a Sorcerer. Just remember..."
His eyes met Cecil's, serious now, though not unkind.
"If you don't take the first step yourself, the world will push you. Better to start walking on your own terms… then be dragged by theirs."
Cecil gave a small nod. "Thank you for the advice, Headmaster. I'll remember it."
He slipped both the letter and the package into the inner pocket of his coat, turned, and left the office without another word.
As he left the room and stepped into the dim hall, he paused. His hand came up to his monocle, fingers absently massaging the Emanation at its endpiece, lost in the swirl of thought and memory.
Each step away from the office echoed softer than the last. But they echoed all the same.
As Cecil reached the lobby, he settled his monocle back over his right eye, his fingers lingering on the frame for just a second longer. His eyes scanned the space and quickly landed on Ripley, who was sprawled across three chairs, fast asleep.
"Wake up, Professor Ripley. It is unsightly for you to be sleeping here." Cecil said, giving his colleague a gentle shake. Ripley yawned and stretched before pushing himself up, rubbing his eyes as he glanced at Cecil.
"So? What did the Big Man want from you?"
"He offered me a position on an expedition—newly discovered ruins in the northern Stella Desert," Cecil replied, already moving. "I need to stop by my quarters to grab a few things before heading to the harbor."
He handed Ripley a folder as they exited the academy building, heading toward the teacher quarters.
"If I recall… weren't you just up there a few months ago during your break, Ripley?"
"I was," Ripley nodded. "Visiting that city that's been calling itself the 'City of Progress.'"
"Did anything interesting happen while you were there?"
"Found a kid," Ripley said casually. "Not much younger than you. Same Sorcerer Lineage as me. Had some potential, so I offered to take him on as my apprentice."
Cecil raised an eyebrow. "And?"
"Said he had to think about it. Wasn't ready to leave his city yet. Good lad—loyal to his family, even if adopted. So, I gave him the Stage 8 recipe as a gesture of goodwill… and as a form of investment, so to say."
They arrived at Cecil's quarters shortly after. The room was modest but refined—lightly decorated, with a central desk in front of a door that led to the bedroom. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with historical texts and scattered antiques. Cabinets held more obscure volumes and catalogued items.
Cecil moved quickly, grabbing a rectangular, leather-bound suitcase with a handle and beginning to pack with cat-like elegance.
"Do you expect him to take up your offer one day? Pass me my gun case, please—it's on the top shelf."
"Most likely," Ripley replied, walking over to the bookshelf. "The lad seemed like he wanted to accept but just couldn't take that first step."
He reached upward, stretching onto the balls of his feet to grab the plain black leather case.
"Bloody tall people," he muttered. "With all this unnecessary vertical space…"
He handed the case over to Cecil, who placed it on the desk and opened it. Inside lay a well-kept brass revolver, Ripley looked almost impressed with the weapon but didn't comment on it. Without fanfare, Cecil holstered it and secured it to his belt.
"Let's get going," Cecil said, snapping the suitcase shut and grabbing it with his right hand. "The last ships of the day are about to leave."
The two professors started down toward the harbor. The closer to the harbor they got the streets, once quiet, were gradually filling with activity, students and staff alike making their way across campus towards the ships before evening fell.
"The expedition isn't for another month," Ripley huffed, dodging between taller pedestrians. "So what's the rush, kid?"
"Just because the expedition hasn't started doesn't mean there's nothing to do ahead of time," Cecil replied. "I believe the Heimwind is the ship scheduled to depart for Grandport. I usually only pay attention to ships heading toward the Dumnezeu Capital—or, if I'm lucky, directly to Goldenleaf City."
Ripley snorted. "Why would I know? I don't take Grandport to get back to Din'canhwyll."
At Cecil's curious glance, he sighed and continued, "I head north and stop at Rhig'arian to visit family and old friends. From there, I head to the foot of Grey Mountains, take the Southern Entrance into my nation, Aur'bryniau, and usually rest at one or two cities before reaching Din'canhwyll."
Both professors pushed through the crowd, Cecil taking care not to bump into anyone while trying to keep Ripley in his sights. The dwarf's shorter stature allowed him to weave effortlessly between the students and staff, his surprising nimbleness belying his older age.
Cecil briefly lost sight of him—then a hooded passerby collided into him, sending them both sprawling to the ground.
"I apologize. I wasn't watching where I was going." Cecil said calmly, standing up and helping the stranger to their feet.
The moment the passerby stabilized themself, they rushed off without another word—leaving behind only a folded letter, sealed with velvet-red wax, stamped with a large M above a smaller V.
Cecil stared at it for a moment, frozen. His grip slowly tightened, crumpling the edges of the letter before Ripley's voice pierced through the crowd.
"KID, WHERE ARE YOU?"
Cecil looked up, peering over the crowd, slipping the letter into his coat as he bent down and grabbed his cane and began pushing his way toward the source of the shout. It took several minutes of maneuvering through the sea of people before he reached Ripley, who was impatiently tapping his foot.
"What took you so long?"
"I bumped into a stranger. Helped them up and apologized."
"Hmm. Whatever. Come on, I found the Heimwind, it's a bit further down."
Without waiting for a reply, Ripley turned and led the way through the crowd. Cecil fell into step beside him, casting one last glance behind them.
"I have a question, Ripley. One that pertains to Sorcerers."
Ripley raised an eyebrow. "Hmm?"
"Is it truly worth the risk to become one? I've seen time and time again that Sorcerers end up as miserable fools. Broken more by their own Lineage and their own minds than any outside threat. It's not enemies they struggle with most, it's themselves. They sacrifice their personality to instincts that aren't even theirs."
Ripley didn't answer immediately. When he did, his tone was quiet but firm, almost talking towards himself rather than Cecil.
"Cecil, power always comes at a price—whether now or later. But power is also the foundation required to fulfill ambition. You just have to ask yourself: are your desires worth the cost?"
He paused, then added, "And instincts don't change a person. They just offer a new perspective."
The words of Albus and Ripley, echoed in Cecil's mind long after he and Ripley parted ways, long after the Heimwind set sail from Academy Island toward the city of Grandport.