Lisa sat at the grand oak table in the Baron's expansive library, surrounded by towering shelves filled with books bound in rich leather and gilded with ornate lettering. A single shaft of sunlight filtered through the high, arched windows, casting a golden glow over the workspace she had claimed. Scrolls and heavy tomes sprawled around her, their contents a mixture of magical theory and dense diagrams.
Her current task was to study the basics of runes—a fundamental aspect of spellcraft. The open book before her displayed a series of carefully drawn runes, each accompanied by precise explanations of their functions.
Lisa sighed, pushing a strand of her fiery red hair out of her face. Her quill tapped against the table in a steady rhythm as she read the same line over again for the third time:
"The rune of Flow ensures a continuous stream of mana, enabling the channeling of energy between components within the magical construct."
"Boring," she muttered under her breath, her mind drifting far from the dry text. Her thoughts turned instead to Vince. She bit her lip, stifling a giggle as her imagination painted the memory of him hauling himself out of the canal at the back of the house of Pearl. His drenched clothes had clung to him, water dripping from his hair as he grumbled about needing a bath.
"Moist boy," she whispered to herself with a grin, earning a sudden, deliberate throat clearing from nearby.
Lisa jolted upright, startled. Across the room, Doonin stood with his arms crossed, his earth elemental orbiting his head like a crown of stones. The squat, stocky mage raised a thick eyebrow, his eyes full of mild disapproval.
"Lady Lisa," Doonin said, his deep voice rumbling like the earth itself, "you'll find daydreaming far less effective than studying those runes in front of you. Unless, of course, you intend to build a spell construct from wistful thoughts."
Lisa flushed, trying to maintain her composure. "I wasn't daydreaming," she protested, though her voice lacked conviction.
Doonin snorted, his elemental shifting slightly in what seemed like agreement. "If you truly wish to master magic, you must understand that runes are the foundation of all spellcraft. Ignore them, and you'll never progress beyond lighting a candle."
He extended a hand, drawing mana into his palm, and traced a glowing rune in the air. The lines shimmered with an earthy brown hue, forming a symbol that pulsed faintly before fading. "Flow. It guides the mana where it needs to go. Without it, any spell will collapse on itself."
Lisa sighed, feeling both chastened and intrigued. "I get it," she said, pulling her book closer. "I'll try harder."
"Good," Doonin replied, his tone softer. "You have potential, Lady Lisa, but potential means nothing without effort."
As he walked away, Lisa shook her head, turning back to the dense text. Her quill moved over a piece of parchment as she began copying the runes, her earlier distraction fading. The sunlight shifted as the afternoon crept on; and though her thoughts occasionally strayed back to Vince, she forced herself to focus.
The foundation of spellcraft wasn't going to learn itself.
The golden afternoon light spilling into the library shifted, turning deeper and softer as the sun began its descent. Lisa stretched, her fingers brushing the edges of the open book in front of her as she leaned back in her chair. Hours of studying had left her shoulders stiff and her mind foggy with information. The precise, rigid structure of runes felt overwhelming, and her parchment was covered in countless scribbled notes and half-finished diagrams.
Despite her efforts, her thoughts refused to stay tethered to the material. The memory of what happened at the Pearl flitted through her mind. She shook her head, exhaling in frustration.
"Focus, Lisa," she muttered to herself.
The words barely registered as her gaze wandered toward the library's arched windows. She caught a glimpse of the training yard below, and her resolve crumbled. Standing up, she gathered her books and notes into a neat pile, deciding she'd done enough studying for the day.
As she walked through the keep's stone hallways, Lisa passed a window overlooking the keep's inner training yard and stopped in her tracks. Below, a familiar figure caught her attention.
Vince stood shirtless in the center of the yard, his training sword raised. Sweat glistened on his skin, the afternoon sun highlighting the taut lines of his muscles. He moved with precision, dodging and parrying blows from several of the keep's soldiers.
Lisa's face immediately flushed. She wasn't sure if it was the sight of Vince; or the fact that she couldn't look away.
His movements were fluid, almost effortless, as though the sword were an extension of his arm. The soldiers surrounding him weren't holding back, their strikes coming hard and fast; yet Vince matched their attacks with ease.
One of the men lunged forward, his blade slicing through the air in an arc. Vince ducked low, sweeping his sword upward in a maneuver she recognized as The Falcon Rises to Meet the Hawk. His blade clanged against the soldier's, sending the attack off course. With a quick pivot, Vince twisted into The Wolf Snaps the Jaws, the strike stopped as it laid against the soldier's neck.
The soldier stumbled back, laughing and shaking his head. "You're faster than you look, lad," he called, stepping out of the circle as another soldier took his place.
Lisa found herself smiling, her heart racing as she watched.
"Miss Lisa," came a smooth voice from behind her, startling her out of her thoughts.
Lisa whirled around to see Barnaby, the keep's ever-dutiful butler, standing a few paces away. His smile was faint but knowing, his hands clasped neatly behind his back.
"You've been watching Master Vince for quite some time," Barnaby said lightly.
Lisa's face turned an even brighter shade of red, and she stammered, "I… no, I was just…"
The butler raised a hand, cutting off her flustered explanation. "There's no need to explain, miss. However, your father is looking for you. He's asked that you meet him in his study."
Lisa nodded quickly, desperate to escape the situation. "Of course, Barnaby. Thank you."
With that, she turned and hurried down the hallway, her hair seeming to steam as her embarrassment radiated off her. She could still feel Barnaby's mirthful gaze on her back, and she groaned inwardly.
Lisa reached her father's study, pausing to compose herself before pushing open the heavy wooden door. Inside, Baron Thornvale sat behind his grand oak desk, his fiery red hair streaked with a few strands of gray. He was hunched over a stack of correspondence, his brow furrowed in concentration.
"Father?" Lisa said softly, as she stepped into the room.
The Baron looked up; his expression softened as he saw her. "Ah, Lisa. Come in, come in."
She moved closer, arms neatly folded in front of her as she waited for him to speak.
"I wanted to talk to you about something important," the Baron began, setting down his quill and leaning back in his chair. "The situation in Maze has grown more dangerous by the day. Between Rorik's men and the outlaw mage, it's clear that the keep is no longer the sanctuary it once was."
Lisa frowned. "But we have the guards…"
Her father held up a hand to silence her. "The guards are stretched thin and can't protect everyone. I've decided to send you to Argenthal Academy early."
Lisa's eyes widened. "So soon?"
The Baron nodded, his expression firm but kind. "I was planning for you to leave at the end of the season, but the city has become too volatile. The academy will be safer, and you'll have access to the best magical training available."
Lisa hesitated, her heart sinking at the thought of leaving Maze, and other things. She wanted to argue, to insist that she could handle the danger, but her father's expression left no room for negotiation.
"I understand," she said finally, her voice quiet. "When will I leave?"
"Within the week," the Baron replied. "Preparations are already underway."
Lisa nodded, her shoulders straightening. "I'll be ready."
The Baron smiled, reaching out to place a hand on her shoulder. "I'm proud of you, daughter. This is the right decision."
As Lisa left the study, her thoughts were heavy. The corridors of the keep felt colder, emptier, as she wandered back toward her quarters. The idea of leaving Maze was daunting, but a small part of her felt a flicker of excitement at the thought of Argenthal.
She glanced out of a passing window, catching one last glimpse of the training yard below. Vince was still there. She pressed her hand to the cool glass, her chest tightening.
"You better make it as well." She said to the empty hallway.
The clang of steel rang out in the warm evening air as Vince's sword met his opponent's. His body moved instinctively, ducking and weaving as he parried another blow, his training blade shifting smoothly into The Hawk Chases the Hare. The strike connected with a sharp tap against the soldier's shoulder, drawing a grunt of acknowledgment.
"Well done, lad," the soldier said with a grin, stepping back and lowering his weapon. "You're quicker than I gave you credit for."
Vince nodded, wiping sweat from his brow. Sweat dripped down his bare chest and arms, damp and uncomfortable, but he barely noticed. The day's training had left him exhausted, but it always made him feel better. The past week had been one of grief and confusion, yet here, in the rhythm of the fight, he felt a calm he couldn't explain.
A group of soldiers nearby had stopped their sparring to watch. One of them, a burly man named Gregor, let out a low whistle. "Not bad for someone fresh to the blade," he said, his tone teasing but not unkind.
"I'll take that as a compliment," Vince replied with a half-smile, resting the training blade on his shoulder.
"That it is, lad," Gregor said, clapping him on the back. "But you've earned a drink tonight, that's for sure."
Another soldier, Oren, leaned on his sword with a sly grin. "We're heading to the Roosting Owl after this. You should come along, Vince. It's been a long week for everyone."
Vince hesitated, glancing around at the circle of expectant faces. The Roosting Owl was a tavern he'd heard about from the keep's guards, a popular spot for the Baron's men to unwind. A part of him wanted to decline, to retreat to his room and lose himself in the magic book waiting for him. But another part; a quieter, more insistent voice; told him that he needed this.
"Alright," Vince said finally, his smile widening. "Count me in. But let me clean up first. I don't think they'll let me in like this."
A chorus of laughter greeted his reply, and Gregor slapped him on the back again. "Smart lad. We'll meet you at the main gate in an hour."
As the soldiers dispersed, Vince sheathed the training blade and walked toward the keep's main building. His muscles ached from hours of sparring, but his steps felt lighter than they had in days. He wasn't sure what he would find at the Roosting Owl, but for the first time in a long while, he felt the pull of normalcy.
The sun dipped lower as he crossed the courtyard, his thoughts drifting to the stories he'd heard about Maze and its labyrinthine past. Tonight, perhaps, he could hear more.
Vince made his way to his quarters, passing through the keep's wide stone corridors. The air was cool, a welcome reprieve from the heat of the training yard. By the time he reached his room, the aches in his muscles had deepened, but the anticipation of a night out with the soldiers kept his mood light.
Pushing open the heavy wooden door, Vince was greeted by the sight of the small but well-furnished room. A copper basin filled with fresh water sat on the table, and a clean towel was draped over a nearby chair. Barnaby had been here. Vince smiled at the butler's quiet efficiency and stripped off his sweat-soaked clothes, splashing the cool water onto his face and arms.
After a quick wash, he changed into a fresh shirt and trousers, the fabric lighter and more comfortable than the training garb he'd worn earlier. He adjusted the belt around his waist, its plain buckle a sharp contrast to the finely made clothes Lisa and her father often wore. His sword leaned against the wall, but tonight, it felt out of place. With a moment of hesitation, he decided to leave it behind.
The main gate of the keep was lively, even as the sun dipped below the horizon. The soldiers he'd trained with earlier were gathered there, dressed in casual clothes and exchanging banter with the gate guards.
"There he is!" Gregor called, spotting Vince as he approached. "The man of the hour!"
Oren grinned, nudging one of the guards. "You should've seen this lad out there. Took us all to school, didn't he?"
The guard, an older man with a wiry frame, gave Vince a once-over. "We'll see how he holds his liquor. Training's one thing; keeping up at the Roosting Owl is another."
"Let's not scare him off before we even get there," Gregor said, laughing as he threw an arm around Vince's shoulders.
The courtyard lights cast long shadows as Vince stepped out of the keep with the soldiers. Their laughter and teasing filled the crisp evening air, the camaraderie already infectious. Gregor kept up a steady stream of jokes, and Oren's dramatic impressions of their training mishaps had the guards at the gate chuckling as they let them pass.
The streets of the upper district were alive. The warm glow of lanterns lined the cobbled roads, and well-kept houses boasted manicured hedges and polished stone facades. Vince hadn't often ventured here during his time at the Pearl. It was a world that felt alien: refined and orderly compared to the chaos of the city's heart.
As they approached the Roosting Owl, its inviting amber light spilled out through its tall, paned windows. The carved wooden sign above the door depicted an owl mid-flight, its wings detailed with precise craftsmanship.
Gregor was the first to push through the door, his booming voice greeting the bartender before Vince could even take in the interior. The scent of roasted meat and spiced wine hit him immediately, mingling with a faint trace of incense that lingered in the air. The polished wooden tables and chairs were arranged in neat rows, and tapestries depicting heroic battles adorned the walls.
"Ah, the Baron's finest gracing us with their presence tonight," the bartender called, his thick mustache twitching as he smiled. "Been a while since you brought a new face."
"This one's special," Oren quipped, nudging Vince forward. "You won't find a swifter blade or a quicker wit in all of Maze."
Vince shook his head, embarrassed, but smiling despite himself. The soldiers had a way of making anyone feel like part of their fold.
Gregor pulled out a stool at a corner table, gesturing for Vince to sit. "First rounds on me," he said, slapping a silver coin onto the bar. "But don't get used to it, lad. This generosity doesn't extend to second rounds."
As the group settled in, mugs of spiced wine and frothy ale were distributed, and the first toast was raised to the "undefeated champions of the training yard." Vince laughed as the soldiers exaggerated their own prowess, their humor lightening the lingering weight in his chest.
When the conversation shifted to stories of Maze, Gregor leaned forward, his voice dropping to a conspiratorial tone. "You know how the city got its name, don't you?"
Vince shook his head, intrigued.
"Well," Gregor began, "it wasn't just named for its streets, though those are enough to get anyone lost. The mages who founded Maze built it atop a labyrinth, an actual maze, hidden deep beneath the city."
"A labyrinth?" Vince asked, his curiosity piqued.
Oren nodded, his grin widening. "They say it wasn't made by men, or at least not ordinary ones. The stones down there are massive, carved with runes no one's been able to read since before the first emperor sat on the throne."
Gregor added, "Some folks think it's why Maze became a center for trade. The city grew up around it, layer by layer. That's why the streets twist and turn like they do just following the chaos below."
"Treasure hunters have tried their luck over the years," Oren said, taking a long swig of ale. "But most never make it back. They say the labyrinth's cursed; or worse, protected by something."
Vince sat back, letting the story sink in. He thought of the whispers he'd felt, the sense of something vast and ancient watching him. Could there be a connection? The thought was as unsettling as it was thrilling.
The soldiers shifted back to lighter topics, regaling Vince with tales of their most embarrassing moments and close calls during patrols. Gregor recounted a time he'd been chased through the slums by an angry goat, earning howls of laughter from the table.
Vince found himself relaxing, the weight of the past week easing as he listened to their stories and shared a few of his own. He told them about some of the antics he'd witnessed at the Pearl, carefully avoiding any details that felt too raw or personal.
"Never thought I'd say this," Gregor said, raising his mug, "but you're alright, lad. You can be counted as one of us."
The words struck a chord in Vince. He raised his own mug in silent acknowledgment, feeling the warmth settle in his chest
The night air was cool as they left the Roosting Owl, their footsteps echoing along the empty streets. The city had quieted, its bustling energy replaced by the distant hum of crickets and the occasional bark of a dog.
Vince walked with Gregor and Oren back toward the keep, their laughter still ringing in his ears. The stories of Maze stayed with him, intertwining with his own thoughts about magic and the whispers of the elemental he felt drawing closer.
As they reached the keep's gates, Vince waved off the soldiers' goodbyes with a smile, watching as they disappeared into the barracks. The quiet of the courtyard felt heavier now, but not unwelcome. He tilted his head to the stars, their light dim but steady.
I needed this he thought as he moved off to his room.