Nova pulled Bishie by the shoulder. "Alright, all we have to do is walk down the hall and—"
Gala stepped between them, pulling Bishie gently behind her and pushing Nova away.
"What are you doing, Gala?" Nova demanded, forcing a brittle smile.
Gala's posture was instantly defensive, shielding the boy. "Did you think we'd forget what you just did, Nova?" Gala asserted.
"Whatever do you mean?" Nova disputed, his tone dripping with condescension.
Gala glared at him. "You know exactly what you did. You were going to let Jenti kill this child! And when we pleaded with you, all you did was laugh in our faces," Gala accused.
Nova chortled the same, dry laugh he always used in the Sect. "By the Greats, I'm quite the actor, aren't I?" He instantly composed himself, meeting Gala's stare. "As a matter of fact, do you think I can have a twelve-year-old on the team without some type of **steely resolve**. Bishie proved that even when terrified, he'll fight instead of breaking down and crying like a baby, unlike some people when they first joined." Gala rolled her eyes but remained silent, "Consequently, if he had broken down crying, I would've convinced Jenti to let me take his life on the spot. Why do you think I didn't make a defense against *not* terminating him?" Nova explained.
Gala relaxed only slightly, still guarding Bishie. "Nevertheless, then why put us through all of that?" Gala inquired.
Nova smirked. "You guys need to learn your place; you're all way too comfortable with disobeying me." Nova walked up to Gala, standing face-to-face with her. "Furthermore, we need a scholar on our side, and a good one at that."
She frowned and turned her head toward Bishie. "See this, our great leader in black, Bishie. Remember his arrogance well." She then stopped blocking him from Nova. "Don't get our newest sect-mate killed," Gala cautioned.
"Don't worry," Nova assured, taking Bishie's hand with an uncanny smile. He leaned in closer to whisper something to Gala, "I could've had half of this team killed on the spot and replaced within a week. Don't try something like this ever again." The statement rattled Gala to her core.
Nova took Bishie and left through the entrance. Gala turned around. Fable was the only one left, already absorbed in her book. "Following that, where is everybody else?" Gala queried, walking up to her.
"They slipped out just before your quarrel with Nova," Fable replied flatly.
"Well, shoot. I have another question," Gala added.
"Mhm," Fable mumbled, not looking up.
"What's the book called this time, now that Bishie touched it with us?" Gala asked.
Fable picked up the book by its spine, holding it up for Gala to read the title: _Children of Grimsnow_.
"I liked the older title better, though. 'Manickal Cluster' just rolls off the tongue, don't you agree?" Gala remarked.
"Gala, go find other people to bother. I have a job to do." Fable directed, shooing her away.
"Fine! I didn't even want to talk to you," Gala snapped. Gala stomped out the hall doors and slammed them.
Just across the way, Sam leaned against a wall. "Hey, Sam," Gala muttered, then gently slammed her forehead against the cool stone.
"What's up with you?" Sam inquired.
Gala complained, "I'm just wondering how much longer we're stuck here for? I'd kill time, but Fable's in a mood."
Sam responded, looking up at the ceiling, "Well, we have about... seven hours."
"Ughhh," Gala tried to slam her head against the wall again, but Sam blocked her with his hand. "Don't give yourself a concussion. Remember, we're in a god's domain," Sam warned.
"So?" Gala softly queried.
"The dining hall, Gala," Sam recounted, matching her tone.
"Oh yeah." Her eyes lit up like stars. "Immediately! Let's go, right now!" Gala exclaimed. She ran down the hall toward the dining hall, with Sam following behind her.
Meanwhile, Nova and Bishie arrived at the tailor's corner.
"Here we are," Nova declared.
Bishie looked around the old shop. In contrast to the grand, echoing halls outside, the shop was small, cramped, and comforting. The walls were decorated with samples of shoes, cloaks, and other mage accessories, and it smelled of old adhesives and worn leather—a dusty, woody scent.
An elderly dwarf emerged from the back, leaning heavily on a cane. He was dressed in thick, brown linen, and Bishie noticed several long, silver needles stuck casually between his lips, a tailor's habit. His face was crisscrossed with faded scars—deep lashings, Bishie noted—and his movements were shaky. He stopped, eyes falling on Nova's black cloak.
"Welcome, kind sirs, to my—" His voice faltered. "Ah, a Special Operative."
Nova turned his attention to the man. "Do you have time to squeeze in some modifications for me and a cloak for the kid?" Nova asked.
The dwarf's face crumpled in panic as he looked at Bishie. He sank to the floor, pleading frantically,
"Please, sir, I can't make the weapons any faster! You'll just have to be patient. I promise, tomorrow they'll be ready," the dwarf beseeched.
Nova immediately moved, with unexpected gentleness. He knelt slowly, meeting the dwarf at eye level, his expression shifting to weariness. "Old man," Nova soothed, his voice soft, a clear contrast to his usual tone. "I'm not here for the weapons, and this boy is not a young master. He's a new mage." He paused, placing a calm hand on the dwarf's trembling shoulder. "You're losing your mind again, Tinker. Your memory is failing you." Nova cautioned him. He spoke the words with a genuine note of concern. "For this purpose, I just need to speak to your granddaughter, Vale. Where is she?" Nova inquired.
The man blinked, the panic slowly receding from his eyes as he focused on Nova's face. "Vale... my granddaughter." His breathing slowed, replacing the ragged gasps with deeper, slower breaths. "She's in the back. I'll go get her," the dwarf replied.
Nova helped the dwarf to his feet with careful support, retrieving the dropped cane and pressing it gently into the old man's hand. "Go slowly, Tinker. No rush." Nova advised.
"Nova, what is this place?" Bishie queried, keeping his voice low as the elderly dwarf slowly shuffled into the back room.
Nova glanced around, a flicker of something close to respect in his eyes, quickly masked by his usual icy demeanor.
"This is the best manickal tailor I could find. They're unparalleled when it comes to integrating enchantments into fabric," Nova explained.
"No," Bishie countered, stepping closer to a dusty display of rune-stitched boots. "I mean Jenti's domain. This entire place looks so old, like time never moves here. Like a museum."
Nova leaned against a counter piled with spools of iridescent thread.
"That's just how Jenti likes his architecture. Grimsnow and his domain are around 400 years old. Timeless, in the worst way. Therefore, you should have known that if you were paying attention in class," Nova retorted.
Bishie frowned, rubbing dust off a glass case revealing shoes underneath the grime.
"I remember hearing something about 'Jenti the Liberator hailing from the land of Lupero,'" Bishie mimicked, mocking the rote history lesson's tone.
He lowered his voice again, glancing at the empty doorway to the back room.
"But this place is just filled with dwarfmen—old ones, strange ones, whom I _don't_ know why they're here. They don't look like they serve the Liberator willingly," Bishie observed.
Nova moved with alarming speed, his hand shooting out and covering Bishie's mouth instantly, clamping shut his observation.
"Ignore him, Vale," Nova snapped.
A woman about Bishie's height came out of the back room and chortled. She was dressed in a patched white shirt beneath a sturdy pair of **overalls**. The front of the overalls featured a large, bulging pouch that was clearly stuffed with various spools of thread, tiny tools, and what Bishie recognized as elemental runes etched onto paper, inactive and waiting to be charged.
Bishie stared openly at the large pouch. "What are these?" he whispered to Nova, gesturing toward the runes and tools spilling from the pocket. "Are they used to 'thread' the magic?" Bishie queried.
Nova gave him a warning look. "Later. She's the professional. Just watch and learn," Nova directed.
"Is this an appearance or something?" she joked, catching her breath.
"No, actually, he's the newest mage in Grimsnow," Nova confirmed.
Vale's laughing calmed down. "Therefore, I'm guessing you're looking for a new cloak for him," Vale surmised.
"Yeah, that and some modifications to my own," Nova stated.
"Alright, that's simple enough. I just need to take some measurements." Vale walked over to a nearby table and pulled a well-worn, flexible measuring tape from behind her ear, leaving a glint of residual metal on her skin. She spoke with a needle resting lightly on her bottom lip, her eyes constantly sizing up Nova. "I just need you to stand on the platform." Vale instructed.
Nova walked onto the platform to take his measurements first. Vale adjusted three devices connected to the platform to measure his dimensions. She lifted up his arms so the devices could take the proper measurements.
"What modification do you want specifically today?" Vale asked.
"I want you to give me the new tactical cloak your grandfather had been designing," Nova requested, putting down his arms.
"That'll be like 5,000 nitche. Easy for you," Vale commented.
"Yeah, I don't have the money, but do you think you could put it on payments? You know I'm good for it," Nova cajoled.
"You asking for payments, Nova? Ha, that's rich! However, I'll try to get it approved," Vale chided.
Next, Bishie approached the platform and stepped onto it, mimicking Nova.
"Alrighty, what's your name, kid?" Vale inquired, deftly removing a needle from her mouth and tucking it into the lapel of her own jacket.
"It's Bishie," Bishie answered.
"Cool name," Vale remarked, starting to adjust the devices for his measurements. "What type of cloak would you like?"
"Does it have to be a cloak?" Bishie wondered.
"Not necessarily. Your friend Ian has a modded 'cloak,' but it's basically a jacket," Vale explained.
"So, can I get a coat?" Bishie asked.
"Sure. Light or heavy?"
"Light."
"Cape or no cape?"
"Cape, but can it be sewn in?" Bishie requested.
"Sure. I just need a few days. Furthermore, I'll have both the coat and your modifications ready; they'll be shipped out to Retelina within a week," Vale promised.
"Great," Nova acknowledged, taking off his cloak. "I also want you to salvage this cloak and use the materials for the new cloak, 'cause I like the thread enchantments on this." He handed it to Vale and headed out of the store with Bishie. "You don't want to say goodbye?" Vale probed. "Stop being weird," Nova retorted as he waved goodbye.