Nyal wasn't sure how long he sat in the forest, but the sun was low in the sky by the time his stood up, knees dirty and arms stinging from the heat of the flame. His arms were trembling, and his his legs were weak as he walked towards the river.

The animals had come back not long after the two people had left. They ignored the strange man sitting in the middle of the forest, the only movement his chest as he moved. They continued to ignore as he made his way into the river. It was almost like he didn't exsist.

The skin on his hands, arms, and face had become red and blistered. He could feel is sting and burn as he moved. Looking down, he could see blood seeping out between the cracks of his blistered skin, falling down his arm like lava.

He dropped his arms into the cool water, grunting. It wouldn't really make a difference in a second, it just felt good. He pulled them back up to his sides, closing his eyes and concentrating. He could feel the magic wash over him, over his arms and face, a cool soothing feeling that relaxed him.

When he opened his eyes, the pain was gone, and his skin was back its normal tan. He sighed, feeling like he was about to drop dead in the water. While the water could heal his injuries, it didn't stop him from feeling exhausted.

He moved backwards, sitting on the back, his legs still dangling in the cool blue water. Sometimes healing left him feeling drained, especially after a fight like that. He hadn't learned how to use it in the middle of a fight. He could fight, or he could heal, never both.

But at least he can do it. There are only two other warlocks in the realm who can heal. One is a retired old man, the other still a child. It was an extremely rare trait in warlocks, not passed on genetically, just gained by luck of the draw, as far as the Guild knew anyway.

Some people believed that healer warlocks were the Gods chosen few, their favourites. Nyal didn't believe that. Not with the life he'd had so far.

He was only alive now because of his ability to heal. If he didn't have it, he would have died years ago. He wounds from the battle could have easily killed him if he left them to get infected, which was a very literal possibility for those who couldn't heal.

He definitely would have died if that winged woman hadn't saved him. He didn't understand why she did. She hadn't done anything else throughout the fight, why step in and get herself hurt then? He couldn't make any sense of it.

The whole thing had been strange. He'd never heard of a warlock or any other creature that could breath fire. Nor had he seen one with wings like that. The man had been familiar, perhaps someone he'd seen when he last went to Ammos. He couldn't quite remember.

He tried to think, but no one came to mind. He was too distracted, and the only face he could remember was King Wyndel's, and only barely. It was starting to hurt his head trying to figure it all out.

There was a possibility that someone at the Guild would know. He had to go there anyway, if he remembered correctly. Gods, that seemed like so long ago. Had so much really happened in one day? In the space of a few hours?

He stood, wiping mud off his bottom and legs. He would change later, it didn't matter to him right now. He pulled his coat tighter around himself and turned, going the way he had been before everything happened.

He wasn't sure how long it took him to get back to Dreeva, he was just grateful he didn't run into anything else. The city loomed up ahead of him, wide stone walls encompassing the entire thing. Watch towers dotted the walls, and tiny men could be seen walking along it. Within the walls was a bustling city of stone buildings and thatched roofs. The occasional keep could be seen, becoming more common the closer you got to the centre. They were the homes of the rich, extravagant buildings of stone and glass, each with their own walls and their own watch towers.

In the centre of the city was the castle, where King Leopold and his children lived. It too had huge walls, and many guards to protect it. The castle was lined with huge windows, from the tops of the many towers, to the bottoms of the halls. It was made of the same grey stone as the rest of the city. The stone was a common export and the city's main source of income. The castle had tiled peaked roofs, and balconies aplenty. It was a beautiful sight for someone who was arriving in the city for the first time. For Nyal however, it was quite boring. He had seen much more extravagant castles in his travels.

He walked up the from the edge of the forest onto the gravel road that led from Dreeva to all the small towns throughout Skodur. He wasn't far from the gate, maybe two hundred metres. He was close enough that the guards on the wall saw him. He could see them stop what they were doing, turning to look at the strange, dirty man who had just clambered out of the woods.

He followed the track, stopping at the large metal gate that blocked the city from the outside world. A watchtower sat above the gate, where a few guards stood, staring down at him.

"State your name!" a guard bellowed in a deep voice.

"Nyal Belthorne!" Nyal yelled back.

"Sure you are," another guard said, "Look at you!" Confused, Nyal looked down at himself and winced. Of course they didn't believe him; he looked like one of the farmers who worked in the dirt and mud outside of Dreeva.

He sighed, waving his hand. Water seeped out from the bottom of his pants, forming a smooth ball in front of his face. He guided it up, dancing it in front of the guard's face before slamming it into the ceiling of the watchtower. He grinned in satisfaction at the groans the guards made when the water dripped down onto them in one big rush.

"Believe me now?" he shouted, letting out a laugh as the gate opened, with no word from the guards.

He wandered in, immediately at ease at the sight of people bustling about, going through their daily routine. Men walked around with sheep or goats, looking for someone to trade with. Women wandered between stalls, glancing at the products while the shopkeepers tried their hardest to convince them to buy. Children ran around their mother's skirts, playing tag and giggling loudly.

It was a soothing sight compared to everything else that had happened today. Nyal meandered through the paved streets, ignoring the looks he got from the men and women around him. Some people very obviously recognised him, giving him strange and surpised looks. There were some children who pointed and tugged on their mother's skirts, trying to get their attention and show them the famous warlock that was walking near them.

He smiled at some of them, laughing as they giggled. He greeted a toddler that had run up and tugged at his leg, reassuring the mother when she had come up and apologised, grabbing her young daughter.

He eventually made his way to the Guild headquarters, which was attached to the side of King Leopold's castle. Most of it was underground, but the parts open to the public were above ground.

The guards around the castle walls knew who he was, seeing as most of them were Guild members hired by the king. He did get questioned about his clothing, but his just ignored it with a wave of his hand. He wasn't in the mood to explain what had happened to him to people who wouldn't be able to do anything.

He moved to the side of the gigantic castle, where the entrance to the Warlock Guild of Protection sat, looking unimportant despite being the main source of protection for the entire realm. There was a Guild building in every city, but Dreeva was the main one, where most of the warlocks were trained and given assignments.

As he walked in through the large wooden doors, he caught sight of Maris, the woman who organised appointments with the higher ups in the Guild. She waved to him, grinning, before her eyes widened suddenly. Nyal already knew that whatever it was would not be good.

"Nyal!" Maris called, waving him over. She was an older woman, with greying auburn hair and wrinkles around her eyes and mouth. She wore a plain brown dress, with white sleeves that went down to her elbow, and a cloth tied over her head to stop her hair from getting in her face.

Nyal stopped in front of her, letting out a yelp when the small woman pulled him down into a tight hug. "Evening, Maris," he greeted when they pulled away.

"Hello, dear," Maris replied, looking down at Nyal's appearance in disdain. "What in Veridun happened to you?"

"Uh-"

"No! Don't answer, I don't want to know," the older woman said with a shake of her head. "And there's no time for you to get cleaned up, by the Gods." She sighed. "You're wanted downstairs, Silas wants to see you."

Nyal groaned, "That can't be good," he sighed, "I'll have to talk to you later then." She nodded at him, pushing him in the direction he needed to go in. Nothing Silas ever had to say to him was good. He could feel the dread pooling in his gut at the idea of talking to the older man. Of all the things he had to do, talking to Silas Eustani was not something had expected or wanted.

He turned left, down the long hallway that led to the stairs. He walked down the uneven stone steps into a dimly lit hallway. A man walked by him, nodding at him. Candles lit the hall, throwing dim orange light against the stones. Wooden doors lined the walls, some open, most closed. The occasional warlock moved down the hall or between rooms, nodding or smiling at Nyal as he passed.

He found himself at an intersection, with three ways for him to choose form. He knew by now which one he had to go down to see Silas, and he knew which one led to the sleeping quarters of the warlocks in training, but he didn't know where the other one led. He'd never had any reason to head down there.

He turned left again, down yet another hall with more doors lining the sides. At the end of the hall was a door made of dark oak, a golden handle in the middle below an ornate door knocker. He pulled the smooth handle of the door knocker and tapped it against the wood. He waited for someone to answer, sighing and leaning against the hard stone.

The room was normally used as a conference room by Silas and a few others, namely King Leopold. It was more brightly lit than the rest of the rooms in the building, with many candelabras on as many surfaces that could hold them. A long table sat in the middle of the room, lined with cushioned wooden chairs. Another door sat off to the side, where Silas's office was. The room was lined with many portraits of former Guild leaders, all looking regal and confident.

The door swung open, and a young man Nyal recognised as one of Silas's many children stood there, staring at him with wide, discusted eyes. "What in Veridun-"

"Don't ask," Nyal replied, pushing past the man and into the room. Silas turned to look at himwith dull green and a permanent scowl. The warlock had only just turned fifty, but his hair had turned grey long beforehand. There were many jokes within the Guild that it was caused by the stress of the job.

Others were in the room, two more of Silas's children sat at the table, not paying attention to the new addition to the room. Sitting across from them was Jeremiah Mirchusko, the head of Skodurs military. King Leopold Manani was looking at him curiously from the head of the table, his second son, Herbert, sneering at him next to him.

Silas let out a scoff, bringing Nyal's attention back to him, "Could you have at least looked liked you belong in this city?" he snarled, "Look at yourself, Nyal. Is this really how you want to look in front of His Highness?"

"There was-" Nyal started.

"I don't want to here it right now," Silas growled, "You can tell me after. For now, take this. By the Gods." He handed Nyal his coat. It was baggy black thing, more than enough to cover the dirt and mud that covered Nyal's clothing.

With a sigh, Silas sat at the opposite end of the table, gesturing for Nyal to sit near him. Herbert Manani wrinkled his nose as he walked past, eyeing Nyal with contempt.

"Your majesty," Nyal greeted politely as he sat, only getting a small nod from the King in return. He was also an ageing man, with a bald patch at the top of his head and dark grey hair around the sides. He usually wore the crown to hide his baldness, but today he didn't bother. There were wrinkles around his dark brown eyes, on his forehead, and around his mouth. He had a very skinny face, all angles and bone, the skin sagging at the cheeks. He was old, almost ninety and close to death.

"Sir," he directed to Silas, earning nothing but the usual scowl. Nyal had never seen the man smile at anyone who wasn't one of his kids. He looked around the table, taking in everyone's faces. The all looked sad or scared or worried, the reason why, Nyal had no idea. Something had happened. Something bad. And so soon after he had run into that fire breather and the winged woman.

"Alright," Silas started, glancing around at everyone, his gaze soon resting upon King Leopold, "Not many of you would know any of what I am about to tell you, but it is a matter of importance as of yesterday night.

"All the Kings of Veridun, as well as the warlocks who run the Warlock Guild of Protection in each city, monitor the movements of the Key," Nyal frowned, he knew this much, Silas had told him a while back, "It had been decided not long ago, that Ammos would be the next city to hold the Key," With that, Nyal's frowned deepened, and he tensed up in his seat, "Last night, Prince William was instructed to take the Key to Ammos and hand it over to His Majesty, King Wyndel. As far as we are aware, the exchange did happen, but they were attacked not long after. King Wyndel has been murdered, as well as Prince William and his party. The Key was taken in the attack."

Everyone, bar Leopold, Herbert, and Silas, gasped at the information. Nyal sat straight in his seat, staring at Silas with wide eyes.

"By the gods..." Jeremiah Mirchuskow muttered.

"Taken? By who?" one of Silas's children asked.

"We don't know," Silas replied.

The room erupted in offended roars and worried cries. Nyal stayed silent, choosing instead to watch as havoc burst out around the room. Herbert stood from his seat, yelling something at one of Silas's daughters. Leopold did nothing to stop him, sitting as silent as Nyal.

Jeremiah was leaning back in his seat, bellowing at Silas and gesturing wildly about, his face crimson. Nyal turned away from the squabbling siblings and angry military man, fixing his gaze on his king.

King Leopold watch in silence, his gaze flitting about the room. He locked eyes with Nyal, who was too shocked to look away. The old man's eyes dropped to the table, hands slowly curling into fists against the wood. With a sigh, he stood.

"Silence!" he bellowed, his hands clenched around the edge of the table. Everyone froze, looking at the king. Very slowly, Silas's children sat back down in their chairs, looking at the table sheepishly. Jeremiah switched his angry gaze from Silas to the king, while Silas sat back and ran a hand through his grey hair, "Silas, keep going."

With a sigh, Silas continued, "We don't know who took the Key, or where they are now. We can assume that they are heading for the Gate, but we don't know where that is right now, and the Gate Keeper isn't telling us anything.

"What we do know is that this could be very dangerous if we don't find whoever did this quickly. This has never happened in the history of Veridun, and there aren't many procedures for how to deal with it. King Leopold has instructed me to keep this between us, and not to release it to public until it is necessary, if it is necessary.

"As to why I am telling all of you, well, for most of you that would be obvious, you're either high up in the Guild or members of the king's staff," Nyal frowned again, he wasn't either. So why was he there? "All of you will have specific roles in figuring this out. Men have already been sent to Ammos to investigate. Each of you will be sent somewhere in Verdidun to see if you can find whoever did this..." Nyal zoned out as Silas began to give out assignments to the people in the room, only tuning back in when he finally heard his name. "Belthorne, I want you to stay here in Dreeva and find out what you can."

Nyal frowned, unable to register the information. When it finally clicked, he sat up straight in his chair, giving Silas a look of utter confusion. He had just been given the mission to Fiume, and was completely prepared to leave, but now he was being told to stay. He had to stay in Dreeva and try to stop the realm from falling into chaos.