The citystate of the Caldrisiout Republic was exactly as a city should be, in Martin's opinion. Built on a series of hills, with an impressive castle at the center, held in stark relief by the setting sun behind it. Ornate architectural flourishes visible even from kilometers away, but not so overdone as to be gaudy. A mix of light sandstone and wood, situated at the bend of a massive river. And, by all the stars above, ringed with a wall more than a dozen meters high, dotted with watchtowers that were actively manned by defenders.

He would have appreciated it even more if there weren't master cultivators doing battle in the surrounding lowlands. They had just dealt with this, and already they were thrown back into the fray. One of the combatants had snow-white hair, contrasting dark skin and bright teal robes. The other, angled as though attacking the city, was in what Martin had begun to think of as a "Laskarian standard" cultivator outfit, like a well-kept soldier, but his was in an eye-searing lime green. He had a flashier cultivation style to make up for the questionable fashion sense. Sheets of flame twisted into the shapes of animals were getting thrown at the better dresser, who was mostly dodging or deflecting with ambient mana.

"What do we think?" he asked the others.

"Anyone you know?" Adam said.

"Nope."

"The one closer to the city might be Mateus Cherifi. If that hair is anything to go by."

"Who?"

"A very talented formation expert," Devon answered.

"Fuck it," Martin said. He started at a slow jog, increasing speed until he was sprinting towards the dueling cultivators, flaring his mana the whole time.

"Which of you is the bad guy?" He shouted in Alrasian .

Neither cultivator paused in the battle but both answered.

"I am Scalia Ertös. I represent the Laskarian Empire and the Order of Decorra." A flame serpent came Martin's way with the words, but there wasn't a lot of heart behind it, and it was easily dissipated. "Help me put this feral dog down, and you will be rewarded."

"I am Cherifi, protector of this city. Join with him and know that the rewards you receive will be reunion with your ancestors."

That was enough of an explanation for Martin. At the last second, he angled towards the green-clad Laskarian. Every beat of his feet upon the ground pushed more mana into the earth, gave him more control over the surroundings.

It erupted. Fire wasn't a good way to block a traincar of rock barreling at you. Ertös put up a fight but Martin was too close, and this guy was no Dariella Zaelos, nor did he have the same high-level equipment. His neck barely resisted the edge of Martin's ax when it cleaved through. Though the weapon was melted beyond usefulness by the residual fire mana by the time the head hit the ground. He brought the ruined weapon back into his tattoo and turned to face the remaining master.

Devon and Adam made a slower approach, meandering over the rolling hills while Martin waited in a tense silence. It was clear Cherifi didn't see an assist in a fight as a good enough reason to let his guard down. Martin approved. The others finally joined the standoff.

"Devon. Wonderful." The flat tone said it was anything but.

"Mateus. Good to see you alive and kicking the Laskarians where it hurts. I take it you woke up, realized what happened, found a city with a Core to cultivate?"

"You seem remarkably well informed. Did you happen to be involved?"

"Nah, just heard the same story a few times over the last few years."

"So, you going to invite us in or what?" Martin reflected that relying on someone knowing Devon was maybe not the best way to ingratiate themselves. The prickly enchanter was an acquired taste.

Chirefi looked at where Martin was still standing near a corpse and made a decision. "Follow me. And be warned, betray me inside that city and you won't survive the results."

The statuesque man turned and stalked back towards the city, with Martin's party trailing behind.

Passing beneath the walls was a shock to his spiritual senses. The wards around the settlement thrummed with mana, far more intricate than anything he'd seen in the modern era. Martin could tell Caldrisiout was about as advanced as Verilia, having anchored the mana flows, but the smaller population limited the uses the Core could be bent to. And if his guess was right, every drop of the local mana was going towards defense. The formation expert had weaved defenses not just around the wall, but through the ambient mana flows themselves. Anyone seeking violence in this city, or anything contrary to his goals, was going to find out exactly what surprises were built in.

"You've been busy," Devon said.

Their host grunted in agreement. "This city was already being pressured by the expansionist goals of the empire. Standing battles are not my strong suit, so building up the defenses has been my focus."

"It's just you then?" Adam asked.

That got him a sharp look from Chirefi and Martin stepped closer to remind the man to stay polite.

"There are others, but no more of the ancients." He paused and looked more closely at Adam. "Like you. How did you learn to speak Alrasian, initiate?"

"Ahem. I have a degree from the Royal University of Merista in Classical History and Languages."

"Huh. And now you are in the presence of perhaps one of the more notorious enchanters in the world and …" he trailed off and looked to Martin.

"The Battlemaster of the Eternal Archive."

"It's been a complicated few years," Adam said.

After a warren of narrow cobblestone streets they arrived at a modest house in a wealthy neighborhood close to the center of the city. It was crawling with even more defenses than the outer walls, if that was possible. Martin almost hesitated to enter, especially while still recovering but they needed some help.

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They were ushered into a comfortable sitting room, a dip in the floor contained a low table and plush pillows where they lowered themselves to lounge. Their host offered around some sort of fermented milk liquor, which Adam abstained from and Martin and Devon both accepted.

"You're assistance outside, and Devon's reputation, as questionable as it is, has gotten you to my home. But I need more before we go any further."

It was Devon who narrated the story, describing the last years from his perspective, escaping the people attempting to entrap him, journeying to Verilia to meet up with Martin and Laurel, and eventually their infiltration to the vault of his sect, and the mad dash to Caldrisiout after. He told it straightforwardly, making the tale almost boring, but not everyone could have Martin's flair.

"Now we need some help getting back to the other side of the Empire. That's why we came here. The city states dominate the area around the river, and we were hoping to ride it to the sea."

"You're not planning on staying then? I'm sure some of those same city-states would happily have you as their Core cultivator."

Martin tensed at the suggestion from Mateus. He would never abandon the sect like that, but Devon wasn't a member of the Eternal Archive. The man was a friend, but friends didn't have to live next door, and this was a good offer for him. An alliance spanning either side of the empire would be difficult but not impossible to manage.

The enchanter, either ignoring or blind to Martin's concern, waved a nonchalant hand and continued drinking. "I"m going to set up in Merista somewhere. Maybe Lanport. Not sure yet. I'd make you the same offer to come back with us but I think we need people on this side of the Empire or we'll be in trouble."

The admission eased some of Martin's concern and the conversation drifted into calmer waters. Mostly negotiating for some resources and fast enchanting on Devon's part to get passage upriver publicly, and downriver for the actual escape. The hope being that they would throw off any pursuers by traveling the more dangerous and Laskarian-populated southern sea. A longshot was still worth taking when it didn't cost them much.

They spent the next three days doing just that. Behind the defensive formations baked into the city, the three of them could truly rest for the first time in months. Martin actually slept for more than a few hours each night, and Adam cracked a real smile when Cherifi submitted to an interview about some of his cultivation methods. Poor Devon was being put to work, collaborating on the design for additional rings of defense, both out in the countryside the Republic controlled, and in case of a wall-breach for the city. Along with a stone-attuned treasure Martin had found earlier on their journey, it was a good deal as payment. As much as he loved exploring new places, the rest was more important. Besides a quick walk to find some local food, and the purchase of a painting he found in a street market, Martin settled in at Cherifi's residence to wallow in the safety. Leaving would come all too soon and it would be back to constant vigilance.

***********

Adam looked at the boat and had the vague notion of turning right back around and marching behind the walls. While he wouldn't admit it aloud, he was starting to come around to Martin's views on the matter. Adding defensive structures to Verilia might be a good idea. It didn't mean the ranting over lacking walls the others had indulged in over the last few days was acceptable. Adam was allowed to criticize the city because he had been born and raised there. Anyone else should stick to compliments.

Their break had been too short, but he was afraid if he pushed to stay longer he would never leave again. And they needed to get back. The situation was worse than they had bargained for and the empire had enough high level cultivators to throw them away on random infiltration missions, which meant their own cities must be teeming with them.

A few days spent relaxing with Martin had been helpful, along with processing Devon's ranting, but there was a growing urgency to get the information back home. His indifference had subsided, but the others cautioned him that the memories would remain, and that he should hold on to them rather than try to forget. Adam knew they were right, and was confident a few months in his own space, surrounded by his books, would be the best medicine.

The boat they were boarding was a let down after traveling the first part of their journey on Martin's personal craft. It was barely more than a barge, but it was going in the direction they needed and had a large enough crew for them to get lost in, so board it they did. In their attempt to avoid suspicion, they were working as all around crew members, doing grunt work to pay for their fare. It was going to be a dirty, smelly week down the river. Adam consoled himself that at least this time he would be allowed to speak. Laskarian was the dominant language of trade on the continent, so any accent he may have would be unremarkable to the regular crew. He had his misgivings about the plan, not the least of which was Martin and Devon passing as poor workers when they walked around with the confidence of spoiled princes, but he didn't have a better idea.

The beginning of their trip proved him right. The days were full of repetitive, mindless chores where Adam did as he was told. To their credit, the others did the same, but something about their attitude still left the rest of the crew skittish and standoffish. Traffic on the river had been constant, being a major trade route, but their barge didn't stop, crews working around the clock to keep them moving, using a combination of sails, poles, and a cracked steam engine when all else failed. From what he could discern this was a standard practice for ships like theirs. Leverage the speed of the river to get downstream as quickly as possible, to account for the much slower pace on the way back up, burdened with whatever trade goods they could get.

The far more interesting aspect of the journey was what lurked outside the boat. Between his shift and his dinner, Adam paused at the railing to watch the salamander lazily swim upstream. It was larger than he was, and if one of the regular crew hadn't pointed it out, he would have missed the drab-brown beast as it blended in with the muddy water. It was large enough that he was sure it had to be a spirit beast, but the crew insisted they had been there since before the city states were founded. Adam took them at their word but verified later with Martin, who revealed there were plenty of spirit beasts on the river, but they were mostly giving the boats a wide berth.

The docks of Ropewaro came into view only half an hour before they reached them, having been hidden in a wide meandering bend of the river. Not much stood out to Adam, and he was forced to admit if he'd seen one port he'd seen them all. The last major city-state before the delta became a morass of marshgrass and poisonous snakes, the rulers of the city had taken a risk a century before and dredged a canal to span the dozen kilometers to the ocean. It had paid off, and cemented the city as a capital of trade and the major passageway for exchange between the eastern and western halves of the continent. A cacophony of a dozen different languages and shouting sailors filled the air, to the point it faded into the background as Adam let the whole place wash over him.

Getting off the ship was easy, getting into the city was harder. A confused mob was forming at a choke point at the main thoroughfare into and out of hte port. A hand gripped his bicep, pulling Adam back until he was leaning into Martin's larger frame.

"Keep the veil up, but be ready to run," he whispered in Meristan. As Adam craned his head to look around, the grip on his arm tightened. "Don't look. But they're screening entrants to the city."

His blood ran cold. The shock at being back on high alert was so much worse after their relatively mundane river ride. He could feel his mind perched on a precipice, ready to spiral back into unthinking numbness.

"Stay with me," Martin murmured, and Adam did his best to comply. "Deep breaths. Just a normal stroll through smelly docks."

The attempt at humor fell flat but Adam took the advice to heart and started breathing in one of the meditation rhythms he used to cultivate. His heartbeat calmed down and he avoided hyperventilating, but he didn't kid himself that he was passing for casual the way the other two were. Devon looked like he was just upset to be forced into the dockworker outfit, and didn't have a care in the world about any sort of screening for magic users. When he noticed his hands were shaking, Adam shoved them deep into his pockets.

Their group was only a few people back from the checkpoint, This was it. His breathing threatened to pick up again but he was beyond being able to control it. His hand flailed and gripped the flask on his hip for comfort.

It was their turn. The three of them stepped up behind another few members of the barge crew. Now that they were at the front, an officious looking young-woman appeared. Adam didn't miss the logo embroidered on the shoulder of her shirt, a match with those magehunters who were trying to break into Devon's sect.

"Reason for entering the city?"

"Shore leave," Martin said in the accented Laskarian in use on the river.

"Hmm." The three of them were looked up and down for what Adam was sure was longer than any of the other groups. "Keep that one in line," she said, pointing at him.

He panicked until Martin's hand casually brushed where his own was clutching a flask, and he realized the gesture had more than one connotation.

"Will do," Devon said.

The three of them entered the city. A few blocks later they turned down an alley and Adam sighed at the release. He went to lean against the side of the building but was tugged along by Martin, still clutching his arm.

"She made us," Martin said.

"What, how can you tell?"

"Pupils dilated, breathing sped up when she looked at us." Devon was the one who answered. Despite never having been to the city before, he was confidently leading them through a series of twists and turns. The bamboo buildings were getting more run down the further they went. Eyes watched them go from men likely to pass out in a tavern after a night of carousing to easy marks in over their heads.

"What do we do?" Adam asked.

"Plan hasn't changed, just sped up," Martin said. "It will take her too long to find someone who could actually stand a chance of tracking us, we slip out into the delta, get to the coast, and then smooth sailing all the way home."

"This isn't even a Laskarian port," Adam grumbled.

"This Order of Decorra – and we still need to discuss what a stupid fucking name that is – must be expanding from the Empire. If the city didn't have their own cultivators, they may have struck a deal. Beast waves are no joke. Or she's undercover and no one here recognizes the insignia. We don't really have the time to figure it out."

After that all his focus went into keeping up. A few street toughs tried to accost them at one point, but Martin and Devon didn't even slow down while they dismantled the would-be thieves, sending them to the ground and continuing on their way. No one else confronted them after that.

They reached an abandoned storm grate and forced their way through and out of the city, keeping up the breakneck pace. An unpleasant evening trudging through a swamp and then Adam was looking at the southern ocean. The rocky shoreline was barely a consideration as Adam was ushered first into a boat to get out of the shallows, and then back onto the Tide's Defiance. It seemed several lifetimes had passed in the months since they disembarked an empire away. He suspected that his yearning wasn't enough to guarantee an easy voyage home, but he sent the thought into the universe, just in case.

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