Cyrus revealed his leather pouch and presented it. His teacher remained silent at the sight, and his searing gaze flared like the neon lights of a vacancy sign back in his homeworld as he scrutinized what was unveiled before him.

"Why are you showing me this, boy?" Latriaen eventually broke the long pause, his tone solemn. "You should know how valuable spatial storage is." Without waiting for a response, Latriaen picked up the pouch, and his eyes burned even brighter as if trying to peer into Cyrus' soul. "I could kill you, you know. And these dead muutappih would be your slayer, with anyone none the wiser of the truth."

For a tense moment, the Ork appeared to consider such a prospect.

Here it goes. Cyrus took a deep breath. His hand slowly moved toward the towering arcanesmith as a gesture of 'trust.'

"I don't believe you're the sort of person to do such a thing, Teacher," he said, offering a slight 'smile.' "And I know this pouch may be more valuable than my life. It's just—" Cyrus paused mid-sentence and pulled out the metal case Latriaen gifted him weeks ago. "...Believe it or not, I don't have much other than my camera and this pouch." There was a slight pause as he slightly gripped the box. "But this gift is a sign of how you seriously honor our connection, forced or not. And I wanted to repay it."

Another pause that was soon broken by the Ork's snort. "So, what, you're offering me the pouch? Seems too good to be true."

"I'm not that crazy." Cyrus performed a tentative smile to break the heavy air around the two before looking behind the man. "But this entire vein could be the start of showing my appreciation." —His voice then lowered into a secretive whisper— "But it's not just that. If you want, I could lend you the pouch should you need it. Or... should you wish to explore what makes it tick? I mean, if that's possible."

That final thought reminded Cyrus to take a picture of his pouch sometime in the future. Meanwhile, Latriaen remained silent and contemplative. His searing gaze alongside the faint shimmers from the magic vein behind him were the only sources of light in this part of the cave.

"Good. It seems that you know some propriety... Cyrus," Latriaen eventually said, turning to the wall.

Cyrus inwardly sighed but kept his face neutral as he watched his mentor turn around with a molten palm. He hoped that his little show left a good impression on the Ork. After all, this was a master arcanesmith. A magical vein and even the spatial pouch mattered little against the approval of a powerful teacher who could create as easily as he could destroy. And this was a plan for the future as well. One day, Latriaen's contract will end. But that did not mean their relationship would last so long Cyrus was clever about it. So once Latriaen handed him a large metal chunk, Cyrus let out a brilliant smile, shadowed by the darkness around them.

"By the way, Teacher," Cyrus asked, inspecting the orichalcum in his hand. "What's the worth of this vein?"

"Enough to put a poor man in one of those large houses those weak 'nobles' of yours like to flaunt," Latriaen flatly remarked as he carved out another chunk. "And keep him happy for the rest of his life."

Wait. What?! Cyrus nearly choked. Did I make a mistake?!

It took all his effort to keep silent as he watched Latriaen make a fortune before his very eyes. The next few hours were relatively calm. Cyrus had reluctantly relinquished the wealth before him for potential brownie points. Besides, it's not like he could melt metal or rock anyway. In the meantime, he practiced his fine flame manipulation as Latriaen taught him. Cyrus also applied it to his light runes for better control as well. Occasionally, an echo or two would stumble out of the exit tunnel. And Cyrus was forced to clean that up, too.

"Seems easy, doesn't it?" Latriaen remarked, tossing a metal chunk onto a growing pile.

"What do you mean?" Cyrus asked, wresting his spear from an echo's skull.

He then watched it crumble like a puppet with its strings cut off before focusing on Latriaen. By now, there was a large hole in the wall, and the Ork was forced to stick his arm through for more metal.

"These echoes." Latriaen pulled out a brown runic crystal the size of his head and tossed it on the pile. "Mindless little things. They have no tactics, nor are they a threat."

Cyrus grimaced but held his tongue. He didn't want to mention how he could have died on his first trip down here. Meanwhile, Latriaen threw out another chunk and pointed at the emancipated and skeletal husks scattered along the floor. "Don't be fooled. These pitiful things are nothing but bugs that get in the way. Even among the weakest class, these are nothing."

"You mean weaker than revenants?"

Latriaen shook his head and returned to his carving. "No. There is a term you people call... evolved? It's when an echo of one grade is close to ascending to another." He glanced back at Cyrus. "So don't get complacent just because you killed these these wretches."

Cyrus' gaze turned to the dead. 'Evolved?' Something to research about. But that was not now. In truth, Cyrus was getting tired of standing in the dark and slaying... 'monsters.'

"Hey, teacher," Cyrus said, moving toward the pile. "I'm going to keep Bird company. Is it alright if I leave the pouch here for you?"

"Fine. Go." Latriaen waved him off. "But store what's on the ground first."

Cyrus nodded and did so. Once done, he left the pouch with Latriaen and left the cave. After stepping outside, he met up with Bird, who surprisingly stayed close to the tunnel. Time passed. By now, that stale, light began to fade for the oncoming darkness of nightfall. So, Cyrus gathered his pack and told more stories to his companion near the tunnel. And when he got bored with that, he returned to one of his passions.

Click

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

Cyrus smiled at the sight of the landscape along his screen. A smile that slowly shrank as his attention shifted toward the North. Past the rolling hills and trees was the city of Avalorn. Its walls were no longer visible, but Cyrus stared nonetheless because just eastward of Avalorn lay a plateau that hid a small, empty village.

It disappeared... Cyrus' gaze narrowed. Or so Lord Dílis says.

Too late to stop now. What started as small thinking grew and grew into a festering parasite that clung to the back of his head. Now, Cyrus wanted, no, needed to know just what the city lord had found. But Latriaen's voice coming from the tunnel broke his focus.

"We've got what I came here for." He stepped out and tossed the pouch over to Cyrus. "Now, we'll continue training your survival skills."

Cyrus nodded. Two more months of training. By then, he would be close to the adept rank. And one step closer to becoming a full Wayfarer. As the group found a relatively safe path down, Cyrus reflected on his time in this world.

It's hard to believe it's only been a few months.

How different would his life be in a year? Or two? Would he be exploring some unknown ancient ruins? Or would Cyrus be imprisoned in Avalorn, trying to find an escape? Only time would tell. Soon, the two reached the base of the mountain. They set up camp, and Cyrus prepared dinner. And was he hungry. Better yet, there were no signs of those mountain lions. So, he may have a silent meal yet.

Cyrus sat by the campfire and opened his icebox, which released frosted air. Across the flames was Latriaen. The Ork was focused on a bar of orichalcum. His fingers were as bright as heat torches as he shaped the metal like clay.

"Hey Teacher," Cyrus began, pulling a chunk of venison from the box. "What is orichalcum used for in arcane smithing?"

Latriaen remained transfixed on the bar, slowly shaping it into a spiral as the metal burned incandescently.

"Orichalcum is used to stabilize arcane weapons by actively infusing enchantments with mana," he grunted. The near perfect spinle shape didn't seem to his tasts, so he crushed it, flames escaping his pressed fingers. Only to start anew. "It is one of the fewest metals that can naturally absorb mana without large concentrations of earth affinity. And weapons made with it have their enchantments last significantly longer than those without."

"Oh?" Cyrus was surprised. "No wonder you said the vein was worth a fortune."

Not that he was upset that none of it was his. Nope.

Latriaen grunted. "When it's on the market, this stuff sells out almost instantly. Even a handful could drastically change how enchanters set up their circle."

"I see," Cyrus replied, observing arcanesmith ply his skill. "And... an enchanter's craft is their secret?"

"Yes," the Ork gruffed, not bothering to look at him. "An enchanter would likely slap you for one of their runes, let alone a circle diagram."

Oh... good to know." Cyrus shook his head, placed his venison on the pan, and hovered it over the fire. "So, where to next?"

Latriaen stopped and gazed into the flames.

"Your detection skills are appalling," he said, not caring for Cyrus' grimace. "So we're heading to the silken grove. And we won't leave until your ears become so sensitive that they'll bleed at a mosquito's buzzing."

"Silken grove? Why is it called that?"

"Because of all the spiders."

Cyrus choked, nearly dropping his pan. Spiders? Why did it have to be spiders?!

He coughed. "And where is that?"

"Northeast, past Avalorn."

Avalorn? But that means... At that moment, a ruined hamlet flashed in Cyrus' head. But the question was: Should he ask? A battle was waged. Cyrus wanted to visit that place and see for himself what happened. Had it truly disappeared? Meanwhile, his expression was as blank as he cooked his meal. Suddenly, he wasn't so hungry anymore. Should he? Should he not? Would he regret it? In the end, the parasite in the back of his mind won over.

"Teacher," Cyrus said between gritted teeth. "While we're out here, there's a place I'd like to visit."

Latriaen turned to him and silently waited.

Cyrus gathered his resolve. "It's just that... There's a place near Avalorn I know about. A couple of houses surrounding a black pond."

It will happen again, Cyrus thought, gripping his pan tightly. Attacked without a reason why.

Meeting Caitríona had shattered any hope of Cyrus ignoring the circumstances of his arrival. His self-imposed shield of ignorance was as flimsy as any other. Because reality would always break through, it was just a simple question of when. Now, Cyrus had to build another shield with knowledge—one that wouldn't break under pressure. But at the same time, he had to be careful about it. For the protection could quickly transform into an anchor of responsibility. And should the master mage before him agree, then Cyrus had the strength to investigate where it all began.

"Where is this place? Show me," Latriaen commanded.

Cyrus nodded. He then retrieved a map and displayed it to his teacher, pointing out the location of the hamlet.

Latriaen remained thoughtful for a while, causing Cyrus to conceal his internal nervousness behind preparing his meal.

After a brief silence, Latriaen nodded and spoke in his usual gruff voice. "Alright."

But then that question formed on his face, and Cyrus was ready for it. Here it comes.

"But why? There are no active villages around Avalorn. I've checked." Latriaen shifted in his seat. "So, you've probably heard about an empty husk."

Now, it was time for partial truth.

"Teacher, I'm not from Avalorn... or any city-state," Cyrus confessed after a deep breath. "Until a few months ago, I'd never heard of city-states." Seeing Latriaen's fiery eyes show slight surprise, Cyrus pressed the attack. "The reason why I'm asking is because I woke up near that place," —His voice softened— "And what I hope to find there are clues about what happened to me."

Latriaen's fiery gaze intensified. "I heard of a man imprisoned a few months back from Crioía. That was you?"

Crioía? Who? Regardless, Cyrus nodded, face solemn. "Yes, it was. Believe me when I tell you I was lost and stumbled into Avalorn. If it weren't for Lord Dílis, I don't know what would have happened."

Latriaen fell into a silence. But wait. Was his gaze softening?

"So, people call you 'fog folk'?" Latriaen muttered, breaking his silence. "Explains all your stupid questions." Another pause. "And you're looking for your home? A way back?" Cyrus remained silent. He wanted Latriaen to draw his own conclusions so he would have plausible deniability. It betrayed one's trust, but Cyrus was willing to risk this gamble to avoid talking about his homeworld. And Latriaen interpreted his silence as confirmation.

"Then, we'll head there as soon as we can."

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