Chapter XII - Pursuit of Knowledge

Merliad's eyes came to recognize the darkness behind their eyelids long before they chose to open them, breaking the spell of fatigued resting that they had been under. A short breath through their nostrils was cut off midway by a deep, dull ache in the center of their head, leading them to moan softly and raise a hand to the bridge of their nose. Their body felt heavy with exhaustion, a feeling that they had become acquainted with after long, sleepless nights of study. This, however, felt different from just a lack of rest: it was as though their very soul was being pushed down, suppressed by a formless weight on their mind.

"...Hm? Oh, Merliad; you've awoken. I was beginning to worry you wouldn't."

Recognizing the voice that called to them, Merliad looked up, flickering candlelight illuminating their surroundings. They were seated at a circular table in a square room, their slouched posture causing a bit of discomfort in their back. Also seated at the table were Wymare and Yselt, the two's focus turned to them after their regaining consciousness interrupted their previous conversation.

"How are you feeling?" asked Wymare. "You fell like a ton of bricks back there."

"Mmgh..." Merliad grumbled as they shifted in their seat, wiping the grogginess from their face before answering. "I've certainly felt better. Pardon me, but... what happened, exactly?"

"We're safe now; you don't need to worry," Yselt answered. "We had to carry you here after escaping from the prison camp."

"And where is 'here'?" Merliad continued before looking pale with fright. "Those monsters aren't still pursuing us, are they?"

"No, we're back in our world now," assured Wymare. "It's a spare room in the Mage's Guild just past the door, but they can't follow us through to this side."

Still recuperating from their unwilling slumber, Merliad let out a sigh of relief, stress leaving their body as their shoulders sagged with the breath. "That may just be the most comforting thing I've heard in ages. I tell you, before I ran into you two, I was sure those small bearded men would be the death of me."

Yselt stifled an amused smile at the sheer absurdity of Merliad's recounting. Noticing out of the corner of his eye, Wymare shot her a knowing glance, leading Yselt to nod before taking a breath to keep herself from devolving into laughter. In that time, Merliad gathered themselves and sat up in their chair, placing their arms on the table as they prepared to start asking questions of the two Scadarah across from them.

"In any case, I see that the injury on your neck has faded, Yselt," they began, looking down and touching the center of their unmarked chest before continuing, "As has that hole in my breast. I know of no healing magic that can heal wounds of such severity..."

"It has to do with your Persona," Yselt replied. "That wound will only show itself in that other world, where you can call your Persona forth."

"My... Persona?" Merliad repeated, looking toward the table in thought. "How odd... I'm inclined to ask what you speak of, but... in my mind, I know the answer already. Is this instinct? Or... something more?"

"Estraven, I believe it was?" said Wymare, folding his arms over his chest. "The first time you call your Persona forth, it seems to leave a supernatural injury somewhere on your person. Mine is on my leg, Yselt's is around her neck, and yours is through your chest."

"How crude. Yet once I withdrew the staff that appeared there, I can recall no pain, nor any complications with my organs therein... Is there some significance to how the wound presents itself across individuals? This would be a fascinating subject of study, indeed..."

"You certainly seem to be taking this in stride, Merliad," Yselt noted, cutting into the caster's postulations.

"I thought they might," said Wymare. "Given the nature of the research they've been conducting, it seems only fitting they would be quick to grasp such abstract concepts."

"Hm?" Merliad looked up at this, drawn into what Wymare was saying at the mention of their research. "What... does my research have to do with anything? Am I missing something?"

Realizing that he had just thrown their conversation into the deep end, Wymare looked off to the side and sat up while rubbing his chin with one hand. He remembered well the promise he'd made during the earlier battle to bring Merliad up to their level of understanding, and so he took a moment to consider his choice of words. A stray thought also intruded on his mind, raising the question of whether or not Merliad could be trusted with all of the information pertaining to Parallel Brilan and what they were doing there. Looking back on the scene of their awakening, however, he recalled how invaluable Merliad's help had been in overcoming the giantess Shadow, and he steeled himself before answering the raised question, deciding that the full truth was owed to the Stézan caster.

"Essentially... do you remember how easily I was able to understand your research? Back when you caught me listening in at the Royal Library?" Wymare began. "Well, I only understood you and asked the questions I did because your research was exactly the information we'd gone to the Royal Library for. We were trying to learn more about what the world behind the door was and how it functioned."

Realization began to shine across Merliad's face. "You're talking about the collective unconsciousness... That's what that world is?"

"In short, yes. You told me that the theories you'd studied suggested that our shared experiences created a collective of sorts. Put simply, it's just that: a twisted version of our reality that is given form by how people in our world think and feel. We've come to call it Parallel Brilan."

"It's... It's almost exactly as I'd hypothesized," Merliad said breathlessly, blinking repeatedly and tapping their foot against the floor as their mind raced. "But if that's the case, then... i-it's so much more than I had expected! The deviations are far more significant than I could have imagined... But then, the human mind itself is a strange, unpredictable thing, so I suppose a world shaped by each one of them would be appropriately bizarre to match..."

Wymare and Yselt shared a side-eyed glance as Merliad rambled. Their researcher's intuition had been spurred into high gear by what they were being told, leaving the two Scadarah laborers with little room to add to their vocalized thoughts.

"...The strangest deviation by far, though, has to have been those foul monsters!" Merliad exclaimed after some time of unorganized prattle. "What were those horrid things, anyhow? I don't see how they fit into the collective unconsciousness in any way."

"Those are Shadows," Yselt explained. "We don't fully understand them, but they're formed by human thoughts just like the rest of Parallel Brilan. Most of them appear as strange creatures, but some of them are more closely tied to people in our world, like the version of my brother you saw."

"Intriguing... I suppose that sort of representation of notable figures in the collective mind is congruent with my research, though not in the way I had anticipated." Merliad's foot continued to bounce up and down beneath the table as they digested the information being given to them. "Hmm. It seems that the promised land does not come as promised."

"I'm... not sure what you think was 'promised.' But in any case, Shadow Clerebold's prison is our main focus right now," explained Wymare. "If we can confront him in there, we may be able to shift his way of thinking and put an end to his conniving actions."

"How would you go about doing that?"

Merliad's simple follow-up gave Wymare pause. He looked to the side with a finger curled against his chin, realizing that he still had not established the proper way to change a person through their Shadow. Both Yselt and Merliad looked at their red-haired ally as he considered his answer, which, to Merliad, was enough of an answer in itself.

"...Hold a moment. You don't mean... you don't know how? Please tell me your efforts thus far haven't been so ill-founded."

"Umm... Well... M-Maybe you could help us with that?" Yselt offered, a sheepish look on her face. "Y-You would know more about how that world works than we would, after all..."

Merliad sat back in their chair, their brow furrowing and their lips pursing as they pondered Yselt's proposition. The emotional part of them was glad at the thought of aiding the two that had kept them safe after the strain of their awakening had put them out of commission, but their logical side was quick to overrule that notion. Their gratitude to the Scadarah across the table from them did not overrule the fact that Merliad didn't know them well enough to trust them to the extent Yselt was suggesting.

"...I am not one to give up the fruits of my research so freely if they are to be used for wanton violence," Merliad replied after some time. "Having seen the power you two wield, I do not doubt your ability to fight your way through that place and its forces. However, I take pride in the work I do for the Guild, and I do not do it to arm anyone with the ability to harm others. I may loathe Clerebold and the power he has over me, but I will not ally myself with any operation that could see him slain if not laid out to the letter."

"W-We don't want that either!" returned Yselt, sounding offended at Merliad's suggestion. "Remember that this is my brother, no matter how corrupt he may be now!"

"I haven't forgotten," replied Merliad, calm in the face of Yselt's raised voice. "But what guarantee did you have that felling this Shadow version of him would be non-lethal for the real Clerebold? Or were you hoping that a mere parlay would make him have a change of heart?"

"We haven't gathered enough information to rule on that front." Wymare was now leaning forward a bit with both arms on the table, having moved to speak up before Yselt could to prevent her from saying something damaging in her emotionally charged state. "But that's exactly why we need your help, Merliad. We chose to do this because an attempt to change him would benefit everyone under his control. I, for one, won't sit idly by when there's something that I could be doing that could help."

Merliad paused at this. Wymare's words seemed to have had an impact on the studious caster, but that faded as they steeled their nerve and dryly replied, "...How noble. But answer me this: did any of the laborers you say are suffering under him ever ask to be 'helped'? Or are you being presumptuous in an effort to justify what you've already decided to yourself?"

"So we should have let the Shadows overrun you and kill you, is that it?" Yselt snapped, an angered scowl on her face as she shot out of her seat while slamming both hands onto the table. "How can you speak as though this doesn't affect you!? And it's not just for the other laborers! Can't you understand that I want to save my brother from the person he has become? Or does caring about family mean nothing to you!?"

"Yselt, settle down!" Wymare reached up and put a hand on his ally's shoulder, giving her a stern look as he tried to guide her back into her chair. "Someone might hear us if you shout like that."

Yselt's angered gaze swung to lock onto Wymare as he spoke, pain from Merliad's insinuations flashing in her eyes as the sparks that had lit her fuse. After a few huffs and puffs through her clenched teeth, Yselt sighed and sat back down, her fury fading into a saddened frown. Satisfied, Wymare turned to look at Merliad once again, preparing to apologize for Yselt's outburst. But the words stopped short of passing through his lips, paused by what he saw upon turning his gaze.

Merliad's previously stern expression had broken under Yselt's tirade, looking hurt by what she had said about them. Their slightly slack-jawed expression and rapid blinking belied their struggle to process the words lobbed at them, and upon seeing this, Wymare worried for a moment that they had just lost the caster's cooperation in their effort, and so he rushed to say something.

"S-She didn't mean to insult you, Merliad. Please, don't take it-"

"No... It's quite alright," Merliad interrupted, their previously stern tone deflated. "I... I haven't been the most forthcoming in all of this anyhow."

The caster folded their arms across their chest and looked away from Yselt and Wymare, leading the two Scadarah to look at them with curiosity and concern. An awkward, heavy silence filled the room for a time, with Wymare and Yselt feeling that it wasn't their place to speak until Merliad did. Thankfully, the caster soon took in a deep breath and began to do just that.

"...You are already aware of the fact that I arrived in this kingdom after leaving Stézar. My mother and father lived in the city of Eaucrest, where they birthed and raised me very comfortably. I wanted for nothing as I grew up, always having delicious food, comfortable clothes, and a warm bed to rest my head upon. And yet... I was one of the rare cases where the empire's propaganda failed to warp my perception of the world. In the history between Stézar and Brilan, where they showed us unprompted Brilanian cruelty, I saw the violence and misdeeds inflicted by both nations. Their fixation on the wrongs committed upon us as a nation and a people did nothing to answer the questions I had about why that justified continued bloodshed and aggression toward our southern neighbors.

"It wasn't only a matter of propaganda, either. Stézar's culture is harsh and strict, with so many things expected of the people born there. The men are sent to the Imperial Yazata in Veraghna or shipped away on seafaring vessels to propagate Stézar's dominance of nautical trade, and the women are kept at home to raise the next generation while working the farmlands for food and the mines in the mountains for raw materials. I hated it... all of it. It was no choice of mine to be born there, so what debt do I owe those in power that would let them decide my fate for me?"

The deep lines in Merliad's face, formed as they tensed their expression further and further, were only somewhat visible to Wymare and Yselt as the Stézan caster turned their face further and further away from them. As they waited for the story to continue, Merliad's body visibly shook, their shoulders jolting up as their eyes squeezed shut. For a brief moment, Wymare thought he saw a damp glimmer appear in the corner of Merliad's eye, but they rubbed their face against the sleeve of their Mage's Guild robes just as quickly as it had formed, breathing in through their nose before speaking again.

"My family couldn't understand me. They were diehard supporters of previous emperors, even through their campaigns of hiring mercenaries to attack Brilan as proxies. And because I was my parents' only child, I could feel all of them looking down on me, foisting their expectations and beliefs onto me as the next of the family. I... I couldn't take it."

"...And... that's why you left?" asked Wymare, his voice soft and quiet.

"It was all I could do," Merliad confirmed. "I was through having my understanding of the world constrained for a political agenda, meant to nurse a centuries-old grudge. And although I loved my mother and father, they were incapable of helping me in this matter. I was only thirteen at the time, but I knew it was the only option I could allow myself. I wouldn't stay there a second longer."

"I'm... so sorry," Yselt whispered, deeply regretting her earlier choice of words. Feeling as though she had no right to say anything further, she withdrew into herself and remained silent after offering her apology, overcome with emotion in the face of Merliad's story.

The room was quiet for a few more seconds. With Merliad holding back tears and Yselt looking as though she wanted to disappear, Wymare looked between the two, a characteristic look of thoughtfulness crossing his features. He sighed, letting the tension in his shoulders go, and then spoke his piece.

"...There's nothing to be done about what's happened in the past. But we've given a lot to get to where we are now. And if we ran from the opportunity to incite change, even on a small scale, that chance might never come again. If I'd never stepped through the door to that other world..."

Wymare paused and looked to Yselt before continuing. "...And if you hadn't followed me, Yselt, we'd be resigned to our lives as laborers until the day we dropped. I know I would have regretted that."

Yselt looked up to meet Wymare's eyes as he spoke, showing that she was listening. Seeing this, Wymare then turned to Merliad, saying, "And you, Merliad. If you weren't able to find the courage to leave your family, where do you think you would have ended up? There was a chance you would have found nothing upon arriving here, and you also could have gotten lost in the mountains and never been seen again. You knew the path before you was treacherous, but you accepted the risks because you knew that the opportunity was worth chasing."

Merliad's eyes, shut tight to keep the tears from flowing up until then, slowly opened and turned to look at Wymare. The caster said nothing, but the look in their eyes told Wymare that they acknowledged what he was saying.

"Now, speak the truth. Do you believe the risk of pursuing Clerebold's Shadow outweighs the positive changes that would come with his tyranny being reined in?"

"...The risk is a man's life, Thiebaut," Merliad muttered in response after a moment's consideration. "You would assume that kind of responsibility purely on conviction?"

"I would," answered Wymare with a serious nod. "Because with your aid, we can take more caution in ensuring that the worst outcome here doesn't come to pass."

For a spell, Merliad was quiet again. They shifted a bit in their chair to stare directly at Wymare, looking deep into his crimson eyes and searching for any hint of insincerity that followed his bold words. Their search failed to bear fruit, however, as all they saw in their tear-blurred vision was a crisp simplicity in the young man's gaze, revealing an openness that masked an unknown depth beneath.

"You know... I would regard myself as experienced in the art of keeping secrets," Merliad mumbled. "So why can I detect no trace of dishonesty in you? Are you being truthful, or are you simply a master of masking your thoughts?"

"This would be quite a far-fetched long con in the latter case, don't you think?" replied Wymare with a coy smirk.

Merliad had a quiet laugh at this answer, replying, "I suppose so. I... I must apologize; I've had a defensive quality beaten into me by the need to hide my true self. I didn't want to come across as hostile as I did."

"N-No, I was out of line as well," Yselt piped up. "It was wrong for me to speak rashly on matters I knew nothing about."

"Hm. Then let's say we were both at fault and call it even," Merliad proposed, a smile creeping across their lips for the first time in what felt like ages. Yselt seemed relieved at their willingness to move on as well, and Wymare let out a deep exhale, glad to see the apprehension in the room defused.

"Well then, back to the topic at hand." Merliad sat up straight and rubbed the last of their stifled tears away, still smiling as they said, "A more detailed and thought-out plan will still be needed before any critical decisions are made about that world; on that, I must insist. But in the interest of crafting such a plan, I will share what findings I've made, should they be of use to you."

Yselt's reserved demeanor lit up at this, an even greater wave of relief washing over her at Merliad's approbation. "R-Really? Oh, thank you! I promise you won't regret it!"

"Yes, well, I'm already in rather deep with all of this, so I hope you keep to that promise," said the bemused caster. "Once we're done here, I'll need to go and organize my notes for this matter. I'll have a lot to sort through, especially considering how much speculation we're undertaking at present. Ooh, should I withdraw some relevant texts from the Royal Library so I have the direct sources on hand? Perhaps that would be wise; although..."

Merliad's thoughts rapidly devolved into incomprehensible mutterings, the words spilling forth like water from a stream as they pored over the many ideas they had for applying their studies to forays into the world of Shadows. Despite their inability to follow what the caster was pondering, Wymare and Yselt were glad to see them in such a state, as it suggested that they had fully moved on from the earlier depressing conversation.

"Well, that certainly could have gone smoother," Wymare remarked to Yselt. "But I'm glad we were able to get them to agree in the end."

"Yes, I feel the same," Yselt agreed. "So, do you believe they'll take us up on what we talked about earlier?"

"I would hope so. But even with that aside... I can't seem to shake the feeling that we're forgetting about something."

"Hmm; is that so?" Yselt tilted her head attentively. "Well, keep thinking about it. Perhaps it'll come to you in-"

"Oh! Wait a moment!"

As Merliad's voice cut through their conversation with alarm, Wymare and Yselt turned to look at their new ally, seeing a look of appalled realization dawning on them.

"Is it the case that, er... 'Parallel Brilan' can be entered by any common soul who happens upon its entrance?" asked Merliad. "That's a massive hazard to the people of the castle! Those Shadows are dangerous!"

"Not quite," Yselt chimed in. "Normally, the door is invisible. When we first discovered it, I didn't see it until Wymare touched its handle."

"Which begs the question, actually..." Wymare interjected, "How did you see the door, Merliad?"

"I... don't know," Merliad replied. "I recall following you two through the halls of the Mage's Guild, reflecting on the unethical nature of my actions, and was surprised to find a door at the end of the hall where I knew there had been none before. Is there something that can trigger one's ability to perceive it on their own, perhaps?"

Merliad turned their attention to Wymare at this proposition, looking at him as though testing their hypothesis against his reaction. In response, Wymare folded his arms and thought as well. He returned to when he had first seen the door, remembering Yselt's quiet sadness as she'd puzzled over how her brother had changed. Listening to her story had reawakened his desire to change the system that kept them down, and it was then that the door revealed itself to him. With this in mind, Wymare looked back to Merliad to question them.

"You said you were reflecting on your actions. What do you mean by that?"

"Hm? Well, it's a bit foggy now," Merliad recalled, "But I believe my thoughts primarily laid with Brilan's obsession with the castes. I knew Clerebold to be far from the sole Brilanian elite who placed exaggerated importance on them, but yours was the first case I'd experienced where it was so petty and small in scope. It got me thinking about those in power who are corrupted by their status, seeing it as sufficient justification in itself to look down on those below them."

As Merliad recounted their thought process, Wymare seemed to follow their words with great interest, piecing together a theory that could answer the caster's earlier question. "It may have something to do with those thoughts, then," he explained. "When Yselt told me about her brother for the first time, I was taken aback and felt just as you say you did. It was then that I could see the door. Perhaps it... reveals itself to people who want to fight injustice?"

Wymare's logic faltered into speculative guesswork toward the end, leaving Yselt and Merliad to consider what he'd said. "So the door can only be seen by people who desire change, or by people who see someone else interact with it?" Yselt summarized. "How strange... Why do you think that is?"

"We can't be sure," Merliad replied, deep in thought. "The visibility of the door being tied to our thoughts is an idea that pairs well with the nature of the world beyond it. After all, if it is given form by everyone's minds, we three must also be included in that 'everyone.' Even if we are far more exceptional than average Brilanian subjects..."

"You know... we could be even more than that, if you'd be willing," Wymare stated, looking toward Merliad with an earnest expression.

"That's right!" Yselt concurred enthusiastically, nodding along with what Wymare said. "Since you have a Persona of your own, you could come with us to Parallel Brilan! We discussed it while you were still asleep, and we'd be glad to have you fighting alongside us as a team!"

"As a team, hm?" Merliad cocked an eyebrow at this. "I would have appreciated being involved in such a discussion from the onset..."

Wymare and Yselt both looked a bit embarrassed at being called out in such a way. The shifty looks and sheepish grins on their faces amused Merliad, who paused for a brief chuckle before continuing.

"...But I'd be glad to agree to that. After all, this is a matter deeply intertwined with my area of study. It would be rather injudicious of me to do anything less than insist on joining forces."

Merliad's answer seemed more than satisfactory to their new allies, indicated by how their expressions shifted to ones of enthusiasm and happiness. "Wonderful!" cheered Yselt, smiling big and bright as she went on to say, "We'll be sure to get in contact with you next time we plan on venturing in!"

"Glad to work with you," Wymare concurred, reaching his right arm across the table toward Merliad and holding his hand out to shake on their agreement. "To a productive alliance," he said with a smile.

Merliad took a second to look at Wymare's outstretched hand, their gaze looking over to the two Scadarah they'd just joined forces with. The unreserved happiness on their faces was a welcome sight to the caster, who had not been offered even a gesture as simple as a handshake for any genuinely pleasant reason in quite some time. Feeling their allies' positivity spread to them, Merliad smiled as well, brushing some hair out of their eyes before clasping Wymare's hand in their own and shaking.

"From what you've shown me thus far, I have few doubts that it will be anything less," Merliad remarked in the midst of the handshake.

Wymare nodded, agreeing with the sentiment expressed by their newfound ally. In the seconds that passed before the handshake between him and Merliad came to an end, a disembodied voice echoed from the corners of his mind, whispering familiar words into his ear.

I am thou, thou art I... A new alliance has been forged.

The winds of change shall grow and swell, spurred on by this newfound power.

As ye awaken to the Magician Persona, the power of thy bonds shall see thy journey through...

The Magician Alliance with Merliad has reached Rank 1!

"Now then, I must go," Merliad said, withdrawing their hand from Wymare's before rising from their chair. "If I'm to help our cause as we've discussed, I will need to spend a great deal of time organizing my studies and gathering relevant material. In the interest of that, I will be retiring for the night."

"Are you sure you're okay to go by yourself?" Yselt asked, also standing up from her seat. "You're not still saddled by your Persona awakening, are you?"

"Well, I'll certainly sleep well once I can afford to," the caster said with a bit of humor. "But you needn't worry. I feel fine now."

"Where should we go if we need to speak with you?" asked Wymare as he followed the other two and stood up.

"It would be troublesome to use my quarters as a place to convene," replied Merliad. "I reside in a hall populated with others who belong to the Mage's Guild, and if even one of those people caught us meeting there, it would be disastrous for the lot of us. There is, however, a slot on the door to my room that functions as a depository for letters. If you can leave notice there on days where you plan to enter the collective unconscious, I will be diligent about checking that."

"That sounds manageable!" agreed Yselt. "And this room doesn't seem to be used very often. We can plan on making this our rendevous for now, as it's very close to the door."

Merliad nodded at this while walking to the door of the side room they had been talking in. They grasped the handle and prepared to leave for their quarters, but before they turned the handle, they looked back to Wymare and Yselt, smiling with appreciation and tranquility.

"I will not soon forget what you did for me today. Once again, you have my thanks."

And with that, Merliad was gone, exiting the room in a relaxed manner after checking to ensure the hallway was clear. Now alone together, Wymare and Yselt waited to leave until a good minute or so had passed since Merliad departed, eventually maneuvering through the quiet halls of the Mage's Guild castle wing side by side.

"So... what should we plan to do now?" Yselt asked after some time of silent travel, looking to her friend for a response.

"We should wait to go back until Merliad has finished collating their notes," answered Wymare. "Now that they've agreed to work with us, it's only right that we work in tangent with them on all things related to our work beyond the door. It'll be best to lay low for now, I believe."

"Right, that makes sense. It might be nice to take some time off from there now and then anyhow. Ooh! We can explore the capital some more!"

Wymare smiled and nodded along with Yselt's excitement at the prospect of more leisure time. Seeing as they were in agreement to wait for Merliad to come to them with the materials they'd promised, it seemed like a fine idea to him. With the promise of carefree city exploration waiting for the two on the other side of a much-needed rest, Wymare and Yselt made their way toward the labor unit floor of Castle Gornemant, eager to see what tomorrow would bring.

. . .

The candle mounted on Clerebold's office wall burned and flickered as it neared the end of its wick, its melting wax slowly but surely dripping down to the base of the candle holder. The labor unit supervisor was seated in his chair as the candle neared the end of its lifespan, staring at it with a level, expressionless gaze.

The holder set up on the wall had a back panel that indicated lengths of time depending on how long the candle had been burning. Each candle lasted a day before needing to be replaced with a fresh one, and the one that now burned on Clerebold's office wall indicated that the time was somewhere around 10 in the evening. He'd finished the paperwork that required his immediate attention hours ago, a fulfillment of his duties that should have released him to saunter to his personal quarters for a peaceful night's rest.

"...Where is that imbecile...? How long do they intend to keep me waiting?"

Instead, they had remained in their office long past their normal time, awaiting another visit from Merliad. They had yet to report on their findings from that day, and Clerebold wanted to be there to receive it in person, intent on continuing to show that his threats toward the caster were more than mere posturing. But as the hours dragged on, a gradual evening silence fell over the castle grounds, and Clerebold was left impatiently listening for footsteps to indicate a visitor's approach, only to be let down every time they passed by his office and continued without stopping.

A yawn snuck its way through Clerebold's mouth as he waited. Although he had been determined to hear what Merliad had found that day, the allure of sleep called to him, leaving him annoyed as he resolved that he could not and would not sleep until the caster made their stop. The information he held over them was too damning for the caster to simply blow him off, he reasoned, and so he stayed seated in his office's chair, arms crossed and a frown deepening on his face as he watched the wax of the candle clock drip away beneath its burning wick.

Perhaps he had overestimated the caster's ability to collect the information he desired. It wasn't impossible; after all, the filth that flowed along the Eaucrest River from Stézar to Brilan could hardly be expected to be of value. The northern empire would never let valued members of their society aboard the migrant vessels that floated down the river that carved through the mountains, landing in the Brilanian city of Loftwey as their gateway to the southern kingdom. It was a shame, Clerebold mused while shaking his head - a piece of valuable blackmail like what he held over the meek caster was such a rarity, and it just had to be wasted on an incompetent Stézan whelp.

"...Glad we got so much done today! I'm looking forward to laying my head down for the night, though."

A familiar voice, muffled as the sound passed through the gaps in his office door, startled Clerebold out of his bored deliberation. In a rush, he shot out of his chair and pressed his ear to the door, straining to hear the conversation with greater clarity.

"I'm glad as well, but I know what you mean. A lot happened today, after all."

The muscles in Clerebold's jaw and shoulders tensed. It was with dismay and rage that he recognized the voices as Yselt and her cellmate, the Thiebaut boy. Their voices carried through the halls of the Scadarah labor unit's living space, unabated in the evening quiet, and so Clerebold continued to listen to their dialogue from the other side of his office door.

"I hope Merliad is able to get plenty of rest," said Yselt. "It seems like they've been through a lot, even up to now."

"Well, I can't imagine being a Stézan living in the Brilanian capital is a simple path to take," Wymare replied. "That much has likely been true for as long as Brilan and Stézar have existed."

"If you ask me, even being a Brilanian in the Brilanian capital can be tough. You can get by in the alleys, but it's... well, not fun."

"That reminds me, where should we go after class tomorrow? I'm sure that bakery's not the only place you've had in mind to show me."

"Oh, of course not! There's a performance pavilion in one of the nicer neighborhoods that always has one bard or another playing lovely music. There are also the perimeter walls; they have stretches facing the east and west that anyone can visit. The view there is..."

Yselt's voice faded away as she proceeded away from Clerebold's office, and he soon found himself unable to overhear them any further. What little he had managed to pick up on, however, was already enough to make his mind race. He was privy to the two's previous outing to the bakery thanks to Merliad's surveillance, and the notion that they were eager to set aside yet more time for each other set off a twitch in Clerebold's lower left eyelid. Even more alarming, however, was the fact that they seemed to have met with Merliad not long ago. Was that the reason they had failed to appear in his office? Had those two rodents intercepted the caster somehow?

Never outwardly showing the true depths of his anger had been a principle Clerebold adopted in the early stage of his tenure as supervisor. But at that moment, Clerebold was truly, supremely cross, a deep, dark scowl forming on his face as he angrily clenched his teeth together. He felt his nails begin to dig into the skin of his palms as his hands clenched into fists, arms trembling with how tightly his muscles were clenched, and it wasn't long before he felt a sharp piercing pain in his right hand followed by a warm trickle along the skin.

Clerebold growled loudly, the stabbing pain and bloody mess of his new palm wound adding a second layer of wrath atop the raging heat that burned within his skull. The labor unit supervisor stormed to his desk, grabbed the handle of one of the desk drawers, and yanked it open with all his might, violently jerking the piece of furniture out of its corner. Stuffed between the front of the drawer and the organized stacks of parchment within was a pair of black leather gloves, and Clerebold ripped them out before tugging them over his hands. The bleeding was continuing to flow, now spilling down his wrist in a crimson stream, but the gloves at least made it so it wouldn't stain any important documents.

"Impertinent waste of air..." Clerebold growled, angrily righting his desk before shuffling through the displaced papers that had now become jumbled and unkempt after the abrupt movement. He was already formulating the proper response to the Thiebaut boy's transgressions, and he yanked the following day's assignment ledger out from under the toppled sheets, snatching the feather quill out of its inkwell at the same time before furiously writing in the vacant task lines of a handful of laborers. Searing red pulsed in the sides of his vision, the feeling of his pulse throbbing in his veins hitting him like the beat of a drum as he scrawled away.

Angriff, D. - 417B Discipline

Útok, O. - 417B Discipline

Basqin, P. - 417B Discipline

Breathing heavily through his nose like an angered bull, Clerebold lifted his quill from the list, staring down at the ink as though he was expecting it to dry faster under his gaze. Satisfied with what he'd just done, Clerebold took a shaky breath through his mouth, steadying his hand as he reached into his supervisor's robe and pulled out the stained, yellowed scrap of paper from where he knew it to be. He pressed the folded note to his forehead with both hands, squeezing his eyelids shut and leaning into it slightly as though he were in the arms of a loved one. His breathing steadied a bit after he maintained this position for a minute or two, and as he opened his rage-filled eyes, he seemed determined to see the decision he'd come to through.

"...Worry not. She shan't stray from the path. I will see to it... I will see that she can smile for us again."

With his words to an invisible addressee spoken, he lowered the worn-down paper and stuck it back into the folds of his robes. He looked up from his somewhat slouched posture, his sight coming to rest upon a copy of the list of laborers he kept on the wall directly above his desk for record-keeping purposes. He zeroed in on the name Thiebaut, W. in particular, and he rose from his chair to lean over his desk as he removed the leather glove from his right hand.

Dipping the tip of his thumb in the blood that had pooled in and begun to dry on his palm, Clerebold placed his thumb on the parchment and dragged it across the name of the wretch floating around his sister. The name Thiebaut, W. was now smeared with Clerebold's blood, the scarlet smudge crossing his name out in a far more dramatic fashion than others that had been crossed out in the past. Those other names had only been amended once the respective laborers had been dealt with, but as Clerebold tugged the glove back over his bloodied hand, he felt no hesitancy in the presumptive nature of this redaction.

That red-haired rat would be put in his place. And that place, Clerebold had decided, was not within his labor unit.