Shadowing Luca's footsteps, Miklos had walked briefly down a straight, spacious passageway upon entering the mouth of the beast, before the ceiling abruptly vanished above his head. Presently, he found himself standing in a massive, spectacular dome-like interior flattened at the top; the presence of stairs on his right suggested that there were even more levels beyond this one.

For all his imaginative capabilities were worth, he had envisioned a dingy, grimy, and an all-round primitive dwelling for a community deranged enough to call the Wildlands their home. It was in fact quite the contrary, and to say that the exiled mages had completely and utterly revolutionized the entirety of the volcano's interior would have been nothing short of the truth.

For one, Miklos hadn't counted on visibility, but the dark basalt smoothened and refined by years of grueling hard work were cast with a warm, welcoming glow by the multitude of oil lamps which hung on its walls. Openings of varying shapes and sizes cut into the rock allowed drafts of wind and sunlight to flood in, exposing the rowdy, ongoing bustle of activity inside.

Above all, four great pillars forming the points of a rectangle dominated the central area with their sheer height and build - yet Miklos's astonished gaze upon them also drew a sense of peculiarity. He imagined that the mountain's occupants once embarked on an ambitious mission to force upon artistic embellishments in the pillars' makeup, but that had only resulted in several oddly-misshapen bulges. In Miklos's own residence, pillars adorned the vast halls and along ivory corridors. He didn't know the means through which craftsmen produced them, but he figured this probably wasn't it.

As he took in his surroundings, Miklos became faintly aware that several heads were now turned towards him, having already taken notice of his entrance into Orichon. They assessed him with sharp, intense stares. Instinctively, Miklos shrank closer to Luca and adopted a hard, resolute look of defiance.

"I don't care, you're going to Leina! Right now!" a voice asserted.

A few steps ahead of them, Rei was being assaulted by a feisty, ginger-haired girl as she tried to disentangle herself from the stubborn grip of the twelve-year-old. Krea, on the other hand, was nowhere to be seen.

"NOW!" the girl screeched. Miklos winced, then glared at her.

How annoying.

"Well, there goes the little banshee again," he heard Luca mutter.

"I'll look her up later," Rei said as she tried to ease her wrists out of the younger girl's grasp. "After dinner, perhaps?"

"No! What do you have to do that's so urgent anyway?" Bright amber eyes scrutinized Rei with piercing skepticism.

"We brought back a newblood," Rei answered.

Miklos figured that meant him.

"Too bad then, that's gonna have to wait. Loric isn't back yet."

"He's not? Then-"

She didn't let her finish. "And that also means, off to Leina you go!" she yelled. "What are you thinking putting this off anyway? You're gonna have some real ugly scars!"

"Okay, alright. Alright. I'll go now," Rei relented, letting loose a tired, exasperated sigh. Clearly, that brief conversation had drained her, and she allowed herself to be dragged right past the duo. Before she could be compelled up the stairs beside them and out of their sights, Rei managed to exchange cryptic nods with Luca.

They disappeared from view.

"Who on earth was that?" Miklos scowled. "She's annoying."

"A word of advice, kid. Unless if you intend to be pestered and hounded every day for the rest of your life, it will serve you well not to get on her bad side. She can be quite the little devil when she wants to be." Luca grimaced, as though the mention of it evoked several unpleasant memories in his head. "Her name is Mirabelle. She is the daughter of our cooks."

"You have cooks working here?" Miklos asked in disbelief.

"Yes, you twit. How else do we feed ourselves? Have you tried Rei's cooking? It's appalling."

"I'm not a twit!" Miklos retorted indignantly.

"Also," he corrected, "they don't work for us. They are a part of us, even if they aren't mages themselves."

"I didn't know Orichon takes in non-mages."

"What? No. You are hopeless." Luca gave Miklos a look which the boy interpreted to be disparaging, and possibly accompanied by a string of sarcastic comments lined up in his head. "That's not it! Our people have been residing in this sanctuary for at least two generations - there are bound to be unions between Orichon's members. Children born in the Wildlands and those outside are no different. Some turn out out to be mages, others don't. Mirabelle's parents belong to the latter group."

"How was I supposed to know that?" Miklos growled, his nose twitching in annoyance.

Their momentary banter was promptly relieved when three males jumped in on them. A rough, affectionate shove from the back had Luca stumbling forwards before he quickly regained balance, whipped around, and caught the offender in a vice-like grip by the cuff of his sleeves. He gave it an upward twist.

"Owww! Son of a bitch!" The boy yelped.

"What's cracking, Leo?" Luca said slowly and deliberately. "Not your bones, I hope," he smirked.

"Zen! Alistair! Help me out, you lazy cunts!"

"He's a rank one mage, whaddaya want us to do?" His two companions stood casually to one side, their fiery black eyes dancing with amusement. One held a proud face that commanded attention and seemed almost regal in appearance. His friend was the complete opposite. With hair that fell over his eyes in a dark, tangled mass, the frame of his body was also characterized by a perpetual slouch. 

Without realizing it, Miklos had taken a step backwards.

"Look, the kid's totally weirded out," Leo laughed, then winced in pain as Luca tightened his grip. Without warning, the older male released him and the boy crashed to the ground. He was back up in a flash, and all three redirected their attentions towards the alarmed newcomer.

Miklos might have suspected the trio to be brothers, but their distinct features told him otherwise. Pulled back into a crooked, devilish grin, Leo's lips revealed sharp and pointy canines that completed his wild, roughened appearance. His olive-green eyes glinted in an impish-like manner. 

"Hey there, newblood. The name's Zen," the male with the proud face grinned. "You look like you're about to piss your pants. Seriously.The latrine's that way," he teased, pointing in some ambiguous direction with his thumb.

Miklos was getting more irritant by the second.

"Holy nuts, check out those venom burns on his face," Alistair exclaimed and closed in for a better look while his victim tensed and balled up his fists. "Y'know, people don't usually try to get comfy with vynax spiders."

"Leave me alone already!" Miklos suddenly flared.

The three males paused and blinked in surprise. Quite evidently, they had not expected a reaction of that sort.

"Woah, loosen up, kid. We were just horsin' around," Leo raised his hands. "Alrighty, proper introductions then. I'm Leo, nice to meet you. That's Zen, and that's Alistair," he gestured. "They are both asshats," he shrugged, "and I like to think that I'm smarter than the two of em' put together."

Miklos did not respond. His thoughts were preoccupied with studying some odd, curious-looking symbol etched onto the palm of Leo's hand. Besides, he would have said something along the lines of them all being asshats, and that wouldn't have been too wise - not especially to a bunch of unpredictable crack-heads he barely knew.

"We ain't asshats, stop tellin' that to every newblood that comes in," Zen protested vehemently and proceeded to reach for Leo's throat. Alistair charged his lower torso.

In the next few moments, pandemonium ensued as they struggled with one another.

"Well, you are in good hands now," Luca said with a mischievous glint in his eye.

"Huh? What is that supposed to mean?" Miklos frowned.

"It means that I'm leaving you here with them," was Luca's casual response. "Temporarily," he added when he registered Miklos's horrified expression.

"No way! I'm not staying here with these lunatics."

Luca ignored his objections. "Leo," he called.

There was no response.

"Leo!" he yelled. All three ceased their heated scuffle and looked up expectantly.

"Babysit him for me, will you? You still owe me a favor from yesterday."

"Aye, aye mister," Leo gave him a lopsided grin. "Catch you later."

"Excellent." With that, Luca strutted off much to Miklos's utter dismay and horror. What was he supposed to do now? Stand around and look idiotic? He entertained the thought of slowly inching towards the exit back where he had come from, but that was rapidly dismissed when he remembered there was nowhere to go. He was in the Wildlands, and as crude as they were in their speech and mannerisms, at least the boys were not trying to have him for dinner.

"So! Newblood, what's your name?" Leo sidled up and placed an arm forcefully around Miklos's shoulder, propelling him forwards.

"Miklos," he answered as nicely as he could. Through gritted teeth.

He was half-dragged towards what appeared to function predominantly as Orichon's dining hall enclosed within the four pillars. Horizontal rows of more than a dozen long wooden tables and benches filled the large space, and a good number of them were already occupied. It was through his observations of the people's movements and activities, that he also noticed that Orichon's members tended to drift around in threes.

Miklos was maneuvered towards an empty table and forced onto the bench, while the others spread themselves around him. As soon as their bottoms touched their seats, all three launched into synchronized fidgeting.

Leo drummed all ten fingers continuously against the wooden table. Alistair unbuttoned his sleeves, buttoned them up, and unbuttoned them again. Zen's eyes flickered everywhere, drifting from one thing to another, and then back to Miklos.

"Aren't you gonna tell us what you can do?" He looked earnestly at him, before directing his gaze elsewhere again.

"Can you conjure poop? We don't know anyone who can do that." Alistair grinned, still messing with his sleeves in an unconscious frenzy.

Miklos narrowed his eyes. "You're kidding, right?"

"Alistair can conjure poop out of his mouth, if that's what you're askin'," Leo quipped.

"Talks shit all damned day long," Zen nodded in agreement.

Their words and manner of speech blended so seamlessly together that Miklos found it somewhat intriguing to observe. Though, he was hoping Leo would stop with whatever he was doing with his fingers. It was getting on his nerves.

Then, he remembered the symbol which had caught his interest earlier.

"Leo, right? That thing on your palm. What is it?" Miklos inquired.

Green eyes stared quizzically at him for a second. "Oh!" Leo exclaimed. "This?" He held up his palm. "I, er," he furrowed his brows in concentration. "I specialize in summoning elementals from the astral plane," he went over the words slowly as if he were reciting unfamiliar words from a text. 

Sure, that explains things. Miklos wanted to roll his eyes. For starters, 'astral plane' was completely foreign to his ears.

"Krea is amazing though," Leo said a little wistfully. "She's the best summoner we have."

He resumed his incessant drumming.

Thrum thrum.

"Too bad her condition can't be helped," Zen shrugged. His eyes roved around distractedly.

Thrum thrum.

Miklos's curiosity was piqued. "What condition?" he pressed. He had a feeling that it could explain what happened back at the lair of the vynax spiders.

"It's not in our place to go around tellin' that to others y'know. Ask her yourself. Or Rei. Or Luca," Leo chastised.

Thrum thrum thrum.

"Jeez, will you stop that?" Miklos glowered.

"Stop what?"

The only response he received was a deliberate, snickering laugh behind him that prompted all four of them to swivel their heads towards its source. Immediately, Miklos picked up on the tension that was visibly permeating from their violent glares and taut bodies angled at the perpetrator.

"Still going about your barbaric, uncivilized ways, I see."

"Shut your goddamn pansy face, Cavlon," they growled in perfect synchronization. Miklos got the feeling that this had been rehearsed multiple times before.

The person before them struck Miklos as being no older than Leo's rowdy party, yet the cold, supercilious manner in which his ice-blue eyes roamed briefly over people, objects and scenery as though they bored him to death reminded Miklos of an arrogant old fart who had seen all there was to see in this world. Even then, most elderly people didn't have that sort of contemptuous expression set dead into their faces. However, Cavlon was sleek and neat in appearance, and that conjured an image of Luca in his head. Both wore black short-sleeved coats over tunic shirts.

"I heard they have been making space in the wind drakes' enclosure. Why don't the three of you move in?" Cavlon remarked scathingly, not in the slightest bit perturbed by the fact that he had just been called a pansy face.

"We'd totally hate to bump into you there, that's what," Leo hissed. The increasing hullabaloo was drawing stares all around them as Miklos searched for an opening to worm his way out.

"I don't see Balthazar or Zuri around. Let's get him." Zen slammed his fists onto the table and shot up.

Cavlon only snorted at their display of enthusiasm. "Very funny. For a bunch of rank three mages, I highly doubt you can do much. Even on my worst day," he gloated.

"Wanna bet?" Alistair yelled.

All three pairs of irises started to glow a deep shade of gold, then. . .

"You know the rules," a gruff voice spoke suddenly. "You want a fight, take it to the sparring arena. Even then, no combat magic is allowed."

Unnerved, Miklos studied the intervening figure of authority with trepidation. Thick brows framing a pair of deep-set eyes were furrowed in a solemn expression, and they belonged to a burly, masculine man well over his thirties, dressed entirely in black. His long coat stretched below his knees, accentuating his striking height which he capitalized fully by staring down at the guilty parties involved.

Overall, a highly intimidating man - even to Leo and his companions. Miklos noticed that their rigid postures had slackened, and in their eyes, fury replaced by reluctant submission.

"Let's go, Miklos," Leo said coldly. Miklos felt fingers wrap around his arm, and he was hauled up from his seat on the bench.

"I can walk by myself," he muttered. As much as he wanted to take off as fast as he could, Miklos had no desire to be compelled from one place to another.

"Not so fast," Cavlon interrupted. He shot the boy a disinterested, cursory glance. "That's the newblood Rei's team brought in, isn't he? I saw them enter earlier."

"Yeah, so what?" Leo scowled.

Cavlon let out a snort of laughter. "Really, with Rei and Krea on the team, it is anyone's guess how they get anything done. You must agree, Balthazar."

The solemn man in black said nothing, but spent the next few moments assessing Miklos with a cold, potent stare. Abruptly, he turned to go, leaving Miklos with an unsettling feeling in his gut.

---

A/N: Hallelujah it's raining characters. 

Sorry bout that.