Soon, Cypur was home. Almost. After a smooth landing on the platform in the Fourth Ring, he peeked out the window, but couldn't tell where he was. There was a gate behind the facility, and he almost glimpsed a sign, but a brush of trees concealed the view. He knew of one port facility in Cormeialette, but not anywhere else. For security reasons, they were kept secret.

And invisible. He recalled. But that's up for debate.

As the ship shut off its engines, he waited until the door opened to make a jump for it.

Footsteps approached.

Damn! Cypur swiftly hid between boxes, curling up as tight as he could. From the shadows, he saw a female Sorcerer wearing the tight uniform that those in lower police ranks always wore. He'd seen a few of them always looking like they'd been inappropriately fitted for some sick aesthetics. Her short-cropped yellow hair was an unusual mark and she wreaked of stale spells. If he'd known how to undo a spell with a snap of his fingers, he could reveal her true looks in a flash.

Like we did in the olden days. Cypur couldn't help but wish he'd browsed those forbidden archives more. She came so close to his hiding spot, nearly climbing into the ship. He kept as still as he could, shallowing his breathing.

"Autopiloted," she commented in an icy tone. She called behind her. A male with green hair came over muttering swear words under his breath and yanked her out. They fell backwards on the ground together and struggled in the mud for good thirty seconds.

Cypur held in a mirth. What were these jokes of policecitizens of the Fourth Ring? Like the policewoman. They were all jokes!

Once he was sure they were gone, he carefully emerged, locking his eyes on a pile of crates near the platform. Dashing out of the ship, he dove between the stack of crates.

"Starlights," he whispered, heart thumping. Voices could be heard talking about getting the ship back to the Fifth Ring. Cypur chanced a peek, slipping back into the shadows.

There were three adult, experienced, policing Sorcerers blocking his way to the gates. The other direction was dense forest. Being held back to Apprentice level meant that he could only teleport to places he could clearly see. Cypur had good eyesight, but not that he could see through trees.

Damn, he mouthed. The only way out of this was to wait for them to leave.

Or cause a diversion?

Cypur blinked. Was that his thought or his Faud's?

Faud?

What?

Did you tell me something?

No, why? His Faud sounded genuinely perplexed.

Would his Faud, or could his Faud lie to him? Didn't he already though? About the reason he killed?

Cypur shook his head. But I figured out why. It was to protect. He didn't even tell me. But why would I think outside of Sorcerer rules when I've...

He didn't have time to finish that thought. The Sorcerers' footsteps were nearing.

"Jaspengiven!" the commander yelled, making him flinched. "It's an order, not an if-you-can-possibly request. The policeship should be in Port Five. Get it over there. And grab those crates while you're at it!"

There was no time to think. Cypur had to do. A mischievous grin tugged at his lips. It was like when Polar Eyes jumped up and down on that bridge knowing the policemen couldn't condemn a life-sentences criminal any further. And whatever they didn't know about the Unescaping Escape Artists, would remain their own mystery.

Whatever they don't know, well, not what I'm capable of. He searched his memory for one spell. All that was needed was a small diversion.

Faud?

Yes?

We're going to make it windy.

Right.

He called on his Faud. The magick in the Fourth Ring was thick and here, untapped magick tingled in the air. The wind spell he merely thought. White swirls of magick held sparkles of gold.

No gold, Faud. We don't want to be found.

The gold vanished.

"What's going on?" came the female's call. "Jaspengiven!"

The answer was erased as a surge of wind howled, blowing crates into the sky. Cypur got to his feet, spreading his arms, calling the wind spell a second, a third, a fourth time. Stronger and stronger. Leaves, dirt, grass, all needed to obscure his escape. The roaring wind listened to his command. Running across the way, he made it to the gates unseen as the adult Sorcerers tried to call on their Fauds and stop the wind of wreaking havoc. He nearly laughed for their efforts were mere shoulder taps. Tentatively pleads to stop it. The sky turned black, clouds churned above, and he felt it.

My magick. Cypur grunted as his Faud dropped out of his chest and looked at him from below. Big googly eyes, lolling tongue, and mouth turned up in an eager smile.

You did it!

He couldn't help but lift his head in a Narsy move. It was good to be back.

Well, I'm exceptional, you know? When Cypur's hand met the iron gate, the wind stopped and he could hear the Sorcerers groaning, calling out orders, trying to find out what happened. He spotted a meadow through the trees and teleported.

"Starlights!" he shouted when leaves grazed his skin, his Faud squealed, and he came to a stuttering stop, falling face first into a cold pond. Gasping, he scrabbled out of the water. He checked his magick energy. As low as it had ever been.

I should've known better! He cursed himself for being so pretentiously stupid. As he leaned against a tree, muddy cold water lapped at his feet, soaking into his socks. No energy to move. Zero. Not even if it meant saving his toes from frostbite. The glistening meadow he'd seen was farther away, but close enough that he could tell it was frozen solid. Possibly spikey and dangerous to fall onto.

He groaned at his foolishness. Frozen rain would have encapsulated everything it touched. When the warm days returned, everything would resume as if nothing had happened. It would be months away though.

With a sigh, he lifted his feet out of the water, hugging his knees to his chin. Being back, feeling his magick surge, and having a Faud friend at long last gave him all the wrong ideas. He was exceptional, but not limitless. Powerful magick needed to be paced, not used up.

But you can't stay here.

Cypur lifted his head. The voice was clearly not his or his Faud's. It was male, but not Precense or Arius. Could it be Daero?

Faud?

Yes? It's cold here.

I know. I did a stupid thing. Do I keep calling you Faud?

The Faud was silent for a while. "Well," he spoke this time, "Ryerden said a name means full connection and I guess when that happens, it'll come naturally."

Means I'm not fully connected with you.

Vice versa. His Faud nodded.

"Y-You know, damn," he said as his teeth chattered against his own will, "I thought I would come back. Find Wes, ap-apologize, and we'd f-find Charmteller."

And be fine.

Being back didn't make anything fine. It only reminded him how miserably alone he was here. Especially now. He didn't even know where he was. There wasn't even the fear of death. He would freeze, but not freeze to death. His Faud was curled up beside him. They would be fine together, but Cypur had to move. He didn't come all this way to sit in a Wintertine infested forest. If only he had some indication of where he was.

I smell something! The Faud sprung up, flaring its nostrils.

You can smell things? Cypur lifted his head and sure enough, the scent of freshly baking bread came on the breeze.

Follow the scent. It was the voice again.

Cypur bristled. Whoever this voice was, it was truly some weird Sorcerer.

"Like I'm some dog, voice. If I do, you better show yourself."

To his surprise, a laugh came into his head, nearly throwing him off balance.

Such spunk. The voice said with a chuckle. Like me at your age. Which was a long time ago.

Now the voice was aging. As if an old male were sending his voice into Cypur's head. There was no way of telling if this voice was trustworthy, but what Sorcerer would help him? Besides, maybe by the time Cypur found the male, his magick would be back to normal energy levels and he could fight him if there was any danger.

"Fine then. Show me the way." Cypur resigned. "This is stupid," he muttered under his breath.

* * *

As the day turned to night, Cypur lit the way as Faud followed the scent.

"Then we'll find out faster who the damn this is," He gritted his teeth, "and whether to thank him or not," he grumbled. Cypur could imagine Wescherlie having the time of her life in this situation. She'd probably bounce around and follow the scent, making a game out of it. She would laugh, giggle, and kick up the ice. She would tell him to lighten up and that if whoever at the other end turned out to be mean, she would get them, and they would be sorry.

His vision blurred as his chest tightened. Cypur paused to rub his eyes.

"I'm coming Wes. Hang in there." Cypur spotted his Faud far ahead, bouncing up and down in front of a log cabin. From within the cabin poured a comforting orange glow. Checking magick energy, Cypur pronounced a teleportation spell, landing on the doorstep where the scent came. Before he could check the name on the door, it swung open to a Lizlerrin with a long white mustache that turned into an upside down 'U' as he smiled.

"Thereanbold Rygnaemere!" Cypur gasped, nearly falling over in awe. This male was one of the greatest Archs in Sorcerer history!

"Well," Thereanbold said, "seems I don't need to introduce myself. Come in, Cypur."