Wystan half-expects chains and prison cells immediately after passing the gatehouse. What he sees is nothing short of ordinary for a castle on a smaller side. A complete letdown of epic proportions.

The tower in the rumor is described as a dreary dark place, yet Wystan doesn't see anything like that, despite the unkept outside. Flickering candles in the golden chandeliers. Red and green and gray carpets. Wood dotted with garnets and emeralds as part of almost every chair, table, and even the cabinets in some places. He'd think he has somehow found himself in one of the Emperor's vacation homes.

Now settled in, he trods down the curving hallway. Where is the damn dreary part? There is even a hearth in his assigned bed chamber with a pile of firewood that awaited him in the nearby corner. He's been told to light the fire in case it starts feeling cold with the temperature drop in the evening. He's still not sure if this is a dream. Perhaps a very vivid hallucination?

At this point, he'd like to see signs of moths and mice because the number of people manning the castle shouldn't be enough to keep the whole thing running. Arrival was a quiet affair, with several servants welcoming them. Alexei gave a few orders, polite as ever with a blinding smile on his face, and then took off before Wystan could grab his attention in search of...food for the feast tomorrow as he informed everyone present. As mentioned before, the whole reception was anticlimactic. What's left is to investigate. Wystan's instinct has never been wrong. And this whole situation reeks with the pungent smell of conspiracy.

The night comes and he lights the fire in his room, orange and gold licking toward the chimney. Tomorrow is a new day and he needs rest.

***

With dawn walls light up to ashen gray, furniture gleams, and decorations grab his eye before he determinedly goes in one direction.

The main residence is not grand— not like the one in Summer Brooch at the very least —but it's easy enough to sneak around. Wystan thinks back to his childhood, the loneliness that followed after his father's death and his siblings' rise in society. The adept stealthiness that he employs now, was born from the boredom and curiosity brimming under his skin.

As the youngest in the family, no one paid him any attention. The twins rose among the elite and Paxton followed in their footsteps, becoming a commander in the Army. Mother handled her duties as an Empress, always meetings, meetings, meetings—so Wystan and Faye were left to fend for themselves.

Granted, Faye did participate in some of the events with their significantly older siblings, but grand balls and boring nobles' gatherings where the wine was consumed in more than advised quantities weren't really Wystan's favorites in the past. Nor would any of the mentioned activities become anything beyond annoying obligations further on. Hence skulking around the court became his favorite pastime after the old tutor died and Leroy replaced him. Of course, learning a secret or two and then shoving it down fellow court dwellers' throats was usually just a perfectly fun addition. Now that he thinks about it, no wonder everyone wanted to get rid of him.

Silent and quick-stepped, Wystan easily evades the unfamiliar staff while he searches for Gauge's bed chamber. The man should be bunking with Kelcie in the other wing. As the two unofficial leaders of the Lost after Wystan, they got the next best room. Which means Wystan will see both of them at once. Kelcie should be back.

Stretching, stone-paved hallways connect both wings of the main housing. However, Wystan abruptly takes off down the stairs while evading a stern-looking servant —a butler perhaps? He did have that air. 

Wystan stumbles upon the kitchen, judging by the sounds and scent emanating from behind the closed entrance. Deciding to look further, he goes down the hallway that gets less and less lit farther he goes until a thick stone wall spreads to encompass the stretch, effectively forming a dead end. There's a door on his left, the only closed one since the kitchen, the others half-open with food stores inside. Looking closer, the lock is rusty and old. He picks it, pretty much sure he won't find anything substantial. The hinges squeak as the door opens to the sight of scattered half-closed crates of non-perishables, and further left jars and containers lining the double shelves at one side of the room.

Nothing to find here. Back toward the kitchen, it is. 

And when he arrives, his senses tingle. Not exactly, but it's akin to premonition, this feeling of rightness. He's always had it, has used it to gather intel, avoid unpleasant situations, and make himself scarce when the time called for it. Hell, he survived too many battles just interpreting it correctly, with this soft pinging "yes" in his head steering him in the right direction, or a bit louder "no" gripping in the corner of his mind to leave, to survive. The screeching was particularly loud that day before he entered Kyneburga's study.

"...in the town. Perhaps it's gettin' more aggressive."

Oh, someone's there. Good.

"Fool! Don't talk crap 'bout the dragon. You know his E—Lordship doesn't like it. He broods and broods. Do you want to see 'im pout at the mirror for the next few days, Anna?" A man asks with a dose of sarcasm large enough to be felt through the wall.

The conversation is held in Zmayan dialect but Wystan pays it no mind because are they talking about Alexei? Must be considering all the staff listened to him upon their party's arrival on the premises. And the dragon? Aggressive? Did something happen? Wystan knows something has been amiss since they first came close to this place. Especially since the townspeople would not acknowledge the beast's existence, much less tell them its whereabouts.

"No," replies a pouting female voice that must belong to Anna, whoever that may be. "But the beast's hunting grounds are gettin' closer to the housings and townspeople are talkin'. Maria told me the hunting party saw it fight the boar! They ran before they could see how it ended."

Again, Wystan hears Zmayan. That is, to be honest, unexpected. He can understand the language, his speech is passable, and he can recognize some of the Glagolitic letters at a glance. But that doesn't mean the dialect belongs here. Or anywhere nearby. The Southern Lands border with Krayeva, a small kingdom in the southwest, and beyond that is the largest mountain range on the continent. Zmaya kingdom is located on the other side of the Empire's borders so hearing the language here makes him wonder... Because before the last war ended with several agreements signed, Zmaya had been one of the more dangerous foes. Hence why the Empire's Army had taught all recruits the basics of their language just in case.

"Well, good riddance! That boar was annoying already, we don't need it running around where people reside."

"But the people will talk. Have already started." Anna's voice gets quieter and Wystan strains to hear the rest. "It's gettin' too close to humans, ya know?"

The man snorts loudly. "So was the boar, but at least the dragon doesn't attack people unprovoked."

Footsteps become louder and louder, making Wystan realize he needs to get lost. Really, really lost. Acting scatterbrained works wonders. So Wystan gets back a few steps then stomps toward the kitchen and, accenting his words with the perfect hightown posh, he hollers, "Is anyone around?"

"Yes, yes," the man replies. "Here."

An older individual opens the double doors, letting out wafts of pleasant cooking. There's garlic and rosemary, maybe thyme and sage, but the most pronounced is the smell of meat.

Wystan can see the whole room and behind the person who answered his call is a younger woman who must be Anna from the conversation. She glances outside, wide-eyed and frazzled, but gets back to cleaning a cutting board without much fanfare.

"I'm so glad I have found someone," Wystan bullshits with an air of gratitude thick in his words. Servants are always the best source of information. They see and hear things and gossip among themselves, though usually keep their mouth in check around others. Still, if one can build a good rapport with them, it's a completely different story. Back in Summer Brooch, Wystan has been on friendly terms with all of the working class in the castle. The knowledge of using gossip as a currency is a useful skill to have. He's a guest here, but the approach is the same. Don't mess with the cook because you might end up served piss. Politeness is the greatest weapon one can wield, and being approachable gains you friends in places you can't reach.

"Esteemed guest," the man says, his words now sounding more like the Empire's standard but with the thick accent coating them. From the uniform, Wystan would say this is the main cook. "You are lost, no? The stairs there will lead you back up and then go left." The probably-cook is smiling but it doesn't reach his eyes.

"How embarrassing! I just arrived and I'm already causing trouble." Wystan own smile is genuine. He is causing trouble in a way, but they don't need to know that. "Thank you for letting me know the way back." He nods to both of them and concludes the seed is sown because the man can't seem to mask his surprise in time. However, the poor girl just glances at him like he grew another head. Oh, well.

Wystan walks away, gait louder than his normal. He has several enchantment scripts inscribed on the leather of his boots, all the best work of the Empire's guild of Enchanters. Once the door latches he immediately touches the one he wants, sends a trickle of his power through the lines, curves, and symbols, and rounds back with footsteps lighter than a feather.

"Did that Broochian just thank us?" Anna asks incredulously. "Us?"

"Keep yer tongue in check. Y'know how they hate when we call them that."

"Bah, they act like brutes and expect us to be polite. Arses, all of them."

"Well, this arse acts better than the regular arse and I heard their nobles are usually even worse so we're in luck. Might even give us some coin for good service so smile at him like yer life depends on it."

Wystan smiles. Coin, good to know. Soon all the servants here will be eating from his palm.

Gauge greets him outside of his room. He has changed out of the muddy clothes and shaved. Now smooth skin lessens the lines of his features.

Once Wystan is inside, the man doesn't offer him to sit, just closes the door behind himself and slaps a paper with a pre-prepared script of silence on the wall. The room seems similarly furnished to his own; a bed that could fit several people, a wardrobe, a closed-off space where Wystan assumes a wooden tub is, and a lounge area across.

"I can't find Kelcie," Gauge says.

Wystan narrows his eyes. "Explain."

"She usually fucks off to wherever she deems the best place to find out stuff."

Yes, Wystan has become familiar with the brand of insanity that is Kelcie so that's not shocking news.

Gauge paces from one wall to another, flats of his shoes digging into the black and white carpet, before he stops and brushes his fingers over his short hair, making the longer strands on the top stick into the air. "We have a system in place, y'know," he says. Wystan doesn't know but from where this conversation is going, he should find out soon enough. "She should've reported already, like a preliminary thing. She can investigate whatever shit she finds fun afterward."

"Let's not panic yet." Wystan thinks back to Kelcie's tight expression, makeup, and the shawl obscuring her most prominent features, something tight curling in his chest. They're missing something and it might be important.

"Why would I panic?" Gauge replies with an unhinged grin on his face. "We've hit the goldmine if she's busy, I'm sure."

Ah, Wystan's forgotten about Gauge's own brand of insanity. Those who join the Lost stay for a reason. Not everyone's cut out for that kind of work. But then again, it's not like Wystan can judge. The battle of Lissana's peak is always sitting heavy in the back of his mind.

He shakes it off and opens his mouth to reply, but just as he does there's a ringing sound coming from the silencing enchantment on the wall.

They both stare at it.

"Someone's knocking on the door," Gauge says idly.

"How do you know?"

The man beams as though Wystan gave him a compliment. "I experimented a bit and now we have an announcing-silencing script in our arsenal."

Because a non-enchanter experimenting with enchantments that can explode in your face is somehow a good thing. On the other hand, announcing-silencing? What kind of name is that? If Wystan survives this travesty of a quest, he is defecting to Zmaya. What he had seen of their soldiers during the war seemed more reasonable than any of the shit he's been exposed to recently.

Gauge answers the presumed knocks, completely ignoring Wystan's deadpan stare. He must be immune to it by now, Wystan guesses.

The butler Wystan hid from half an hour ago and accidentally found the kitchen stands at the entrance, shoulders straight and a strict expression on his face. From what Wystan remembers during the arrival at this place, the man should have no distinct accent, unlike the rest of the staff.

"His Lordship is expecting you in the Great Hall," the man says quietly. "Hopefully, boar meat will be up to your tastes."

Wystan's eyebrows twitch in a stalled attempt to arch toward his hairline. Of course, what did he expect? Boar meat is on the menu.