The dusk light dyed the priory's stone walls a warm, antiquated gold, but the warmth couldn't penetrate Erika's chilled body and colder heart. He sat slumped on the cold flagstones, the stinging pain in his elbows and knees intertwining with the fiery tear in his lungs. Shame, anger, and a deeper, more profound powerlessness clung to him like thick tar, making thought nearly impossible.
Footsteps approached—not Morrison's eager patter, nor Loren's precise lightness, but steady, powerful, carrying a familiar weight.
A shadow fell over him. Erika lifted his sweat-matted face with effort and saw Wolfgang's impassive features. The tall priestess, Lun Qin, and the shorter priest, Kaelen, had appeared behind him like silent statues, though Kaelen's mouth twitched suspiciously.
Wolfgang bent down. He didn't offer a hand, but with irresistible force, hauled Erika to his feet. Erika's legs buckled, barely able to support him, forced to lean on Wolfgang's iron grip.
"You did well."
Wolfgang's voice was calm, devoid of any warmth or praise, as if stating an objective fact.
"Faithfully executed the task I gave you."
The words acted like a key, abruptly prying open Erika's mind, stuffed full of exhaustion and humiliation. Task? What task? Could it be… that the days of running that made him the laughingstock, the impromptu, insulting race that had just ended… were all part of a task?
"Pfft—" Kaelen finally snorted a laugh, but after Lun Qin silently—seemingly casually—nudged his shin with her foot, it morphed into a strangled, odd cough.
Wolfgang didn't even glance their way. His gaze remained locked on Erika's face. "Now, go back, bathe, change. Then assemble at the priory gates."
The order was delivered. Concise. Clear. Unquestionable.
Erika's mouth opened, his throat too dry to make a sound. He wanted to ask, to demand an explanation for this absurd task, to question its purpose. But Wolfgang's bottomless eyes held no intent to explain, only the pure, unadorned need for obedience.
A mix of bewilderment and a faint, desperate hope—like a drowning man clutching at a final straw—made him close his mouth. He nodded, pulling himself free from Wolfgang's grip—though his body still swayed—and dragged his leaden legs, step by painful step, toward his cell.
Hot water sluiced over his body, washing away the grime and sticky sweat, but not the deep ache in his muscles or the weariness in his soul. Yet, as his cold, stiff limbs thawed, a strange clarity began to replace the earlier fog.
Wolfgang's words echoed. "Faithfully executed the task"…If running was the task, was the public shaming and expulsion also part of it? To isolate him from the other novices? Or to… ignite this indescribable mix of resentment and anger now simmering within him?
He recalled the absolute control in Wolfgang's "Mind-Blade" demonstration, the scars and the new Mark on his chest. A man like that—his every action likely held profound meaning, even if wrapped in a shell of cruelty and indifference.
"Assemble at the gates…"
Erika dried himself and pulled on a clean novice's robe. Dusk had settled, the Sanctum's lights winking on outside, casting a hazy glow. That faint hope within him began to swell. An assembly meant the next step. Perhaps, after this seemingly pointless physical ordeal, Wolfgang was finally going to begin real instruction?
Carrying this growing anticipation, he made his way to the priory gates as ordered.
The night breeze was cool against his freshly washed hair. Wolfgang, Kaelen, and Lun Qin were already waiting. Surprisingly, all three had shed their clerical robes for ordinary clothes. Wolfgang wore a well-tailored dark grey outfit that lessened his clerical authority and lent him the lean efficiency of a soldier or scholar. Kaelen looked as slouchy as ever in a somewhat worn brown leather jacket. Lun Qin wore a simple, deep blue dress, her tall frame still appearing cool and sharp even in casual wear.
Erika hurried over and gave a slight bow.
Wolfgang acknowledged him with a faint glance. Kaelen winked, his face wearing its usual "enjoying the show" grin. Lun Qin remained expressionless, as if detached from it all.
Just as Erika was wondering about the next move, two more figures emerged from the priory's shadows.
The old man, Morrison, and the youth, Loren de Witt.
Morrison was in his usual stained grey scholar's robe, hair a mess, eyes glittering with excitement behind his thick lenses. Loren, meanwhile, still wore his immaculate, gold-embroidered white formalwear, utterly out of place in the casual evening atmosphere. His face was impassive, habitually holding a snow-white handkerchief to his nose and mouth as if the air carried an unbearable "common" scent.
Erika's heart sank slightly. Why were they here? Was the next task connected to these two as well?
To his greater surprise, the four adults—Wolfgang, Kaelen, Lun Qin, and the newly arrived Morrison—began conversing naturally, like acquaintances. Wolfgang was still terse, with Morrison doing most of the chattering, Kaelen interjecting jokes, and Lun Qin listening in silence, but the atmosphere was far from that between strangers or mere observer and subject.
"Let's go." Wolfgang offered no further explanation. With that single word, he led the way, striding out from the priory gates and into the Sanctum's night streets.
Erika, his mind a whirl of questions, didn't dare ask, silently falling in step. He found himself studying Loren, who walked not far from him.
Even in the dim twilight and streetlamp glow, Loren's posture was ramrod straight, his steps measured, as if on parade, not a stroll. The fine clothes shimmered softly in the light, complementing his pale, delicate features. The handkerchief remained in place. His ice-blue eyes looked straight ahead, a palpable disinterest and mild distaste evident for the bustling street life, the complex smells of food, and the curious or reverent glances from passersby.
Watching him, Erika felt a complicated stir of emotions. The humiliation of being bested by his "standard" and "efficiency," an instinctive aversion to this haughty demeanor, and a thread of curiosity he was reluctant to admit. Why was this noble youth, with his apparent high birth and talent, here? What was his connection to Morrison, and to Wolfgang's group?
The party moved through the lively streets, finally stopping before a restaurant that looked unassuming but was scrupulously clean, with warm light spilling from its windows. A wooden sign carved with a simple tankard read The Old Oak Cask.
Morrison pushed the door open first, greeting the owner behind the counter with familiarity. Wolfgang and the others followed.
Inside was more spacious than it appeared, the air rich with the scent of baked bread, stew, and ale. Wooden tables and chairs gleamed from polishing. A few patrons conversed in low tones in a warm, relaxed atmosphere. Their entrance drew some notice, but the patrons, sensing the air of Wolfgang's group, quickly returned to their conversations.
Wolfgang chose a quieter booth toward the back. Kaelen plopped down beside him unceremoniously. Lun Qin sat quietly opposite Kaelen. Morrison squeezed in enthusiastically on Wolfgang's other side. Loren, after a slight frown and a critical appraisal of the wooden chair, sat with fastidious care at the far end of the table, slightly apart from the others, the handkerchief still in place.
Erika stood, unsure. This was nothing like any scenario he'd imagined. Not harsh training, not secret instruction, but a… seemingly ordinary dinner?
"Sit." Wolfgang indicated the spot opposite him, next to Lun Qin.
Erika obeyed, his body still stiff from the day's exertions. He stole glances at everyone present.
Morrison was already brandishing a menu, enthusiastically recommending the house specials to Wolfgang as if he were the host."…Trust me, Wolfgang, the grilled lamb chops and rye ale here are unmatched in the Sanctum! And their mushroom soup uses at least three types of the freshest from the woods…"
Wolfgang listened impassively, nodding occasionally.
Kaelen had already summoned a server and ordered a large, foaming tankard of ale, taking a deep, satisfied gulp."Ahhh—perfect! This place hits the spot. Much better than that watered-down 'Sacred Dew' in the Sanctum!"
Lun Qin said nothing, quietly observing the wooden coaster before her as if detached.
At the other end, when the server offered Loren the menu, he pushed it away lightly with his fingertips. His voice, muffled by the silk handkerchief, was cool as he ordered the plainest, presumably "cleanest" dish."Steamed whitefish. Sea salt only. A glass of water."
The server, seemingly accustomed to such requests, noted it down respectfully and left.
Erika watched, his confusion peaking. He couldn't comprehend why Wolfgang had brought him here, to dine with such a mismatched group. Was this also part of the training? Or was there a deeper purpose he couldn't discern?
He ordered a stew and bread, similar to Kaelen, his body desperately needing the fuel.
The food arrived quickly. Morrison attacked his meal with the same unrestrained gusto as his appearance. Kaelen drank and bantered with Morrison, occasionally trying to draw Lun Qin into conversation, earning only faint looks in return. Wolfgang ate swiftly, his movements still bearing a soldier's efficiency; he seemed to be merely refueling, indifferent to the taste.
Loren, using the restaurant's silverware—which he had meticulously wiped with water—dissected his bland fish with surgical precision, each morsel entering his mouth as if part of a purification ritual, not a meal.
Erika ate his stew in silence. It was better than he expected. The warm food dispelled some fatigue but sharpened his awareness of the bizarre situation. He felt like an audience member who had stumbled into an unfamiliar play, unable to follow the plot or decipher the relationships and motives of the actors on stage.
As the meal progressed, the atmosphere growing slightly more convivial under the efforts of Kaelen and Morrison, the old scholar suddenly turned his attention to Erika. He wiped his greasy mouth with the back of his hand, his eyes behind their thick lenses gleaming with inquiry as he looked at Wolfgang.
"Seriously, Wolfgang, this 'free-range' enlightenment of yours—while the process is… well, quite entertaining," he chuckled, glancing meaningfully at Erika, "isn't the efficiency a bit low? The boy has decent material. I quite like that feral, untamed energy. But just running can't be…"
He paused, lowering his voice slightly but increasing its persuasive tone."How about lending him to me for a few days? Just a few! We've got a new batch of artifacts from the Boiler ruins. Let him get a feel for them. Might stimulate some interesting reactions! Surely more valuable than just burning calories here, no?"
Erika's heart jumped. Boiler ruins, new artifacts—the terms were alien yet deeply alluring, hinting at a deeper, more real world of power. He instinctively looked at Wolfgang.
Wolfgang didn't pause in cutting his food. He didn't even look at Morrison."Not yet."
The words were flat but carried absolute finality.
Morrison looked stung. "Not yet? When will it be 'yet'? When he's run himself into a pack mule like you? Research needs samples, observation, stimulation! You're wasting precious—"
"His body is the foundation that carries everything," Wolfgang finally lifted his gaze to Morrison, his eyes sharp as blades."An unstable foundation, exposed to any knowledge or power beyond its capacity, will only lead to collapse. Do you want to turn him into another 'interesting case' in your lab, Scholar? One who overloads and shatters?"
The final title was laced with cold mockery.
Morrison's mouth opened, then closed. Under Wolfgang's overwhelming stare, he finally muttered something discontentedly and returned his attention to his lamb chop, though his eyes still darted toward Erika, full of unquenched curiosity and calculation.
Kaelen seemed to find the exchange amusing, chuckling softly.
Loren, who had been eating quietly, finally looked up. His ice-blue eyes settled on Erika for the first time with real intent. The pure scrutiny and disdain were gone, replaced by something inscrutable—an assessment, as if gauging the quality of the foundation Wolfgang spoke of.
Erika looked down at the remains of his food, his mind churning.
Wolfgang's words felt protective, yet they also mapped out a harder, potentially more solid path. Morrison's offer, while dangerous, smelled tantalizingly of forbidden knowledge.
Once again, he saw himself clearly in a complex game. Wolfgang, Morrison, even the aloof Loren—all were potential players. And he, the pawn, or the newly planted seed, found his future direction seemingly being decided by these casual words over an ordinary dinner.
He gripped his wooden spoon, knuckles white. He was clear, utterly clear. But with that clarity came deeper confusion and a heavy, foreboding sense of the unknown path ahead.
The dinner continued in its delicate, complex atmosphere. Outside, the Sanctum's night deepened. And Erika knew his own night was perhaps just beginning.