[This work is inspired by the images, gameplay, and story of Atlus's Etrian Odyssey, as well as its sequels.]

Perhaps something like wanderlust has overtaken you. The other night you had a dream which was, to you, as meaningful as Noir's dream must have been to him.

In it you were a bird. You awoke in a nest in a tree outside of the village, surrounded by the absolute silence and the pink, fleshy light of dawn. You spread your wings and the wind lifted you up and out of the trees. Bright green leaves flew past your cheeks or brushed your neck like strings – trying to hold you back, perhaps.

You first soared around the village wall, watching the smoke rise from different chimneys as your neighbors began to wake up. Disheveled women in crooked blouses and skirts made their morning trips to the well to draw water, while shirtless and bleary eyed men gathered in the village square to discuss the weather and the work to be done later in the day.

And then you took off beyond the walls just because you could. You flew over rivers and lakes - gleaming handfuls of smoky dew clouded by groups of fish, weeds, canoes, or trash. You flew across wide plains and wove your way between the tree branches of a thousand forests until you wound up in Etria.

In your dream, Etria was ruined. Once the mystery of the Labyrinth was solved, the village had dissolved like a ghost. There was nothing. That was a fact, a real-world fact. This crushing reality made you realize that you were dreaming. And then, struggling to control your own collapsing dream, you felt yourself burst suddenly and inexplicably into flames.

When you woke up you were coated in a second skin of sweat, shouting to yourself (or to someone elsewhere), "I will not be...!" and the word "…consumed," popped into your head to fill the silence.

You have not told anyone about this dream.

Maurice surprises you again tonight when he tells you that you have an admirer, and that he's paid for your dinner.

"Over there in the corner," Maurice says. With a gnarled middle finger he indicates a man shrouded in a dark cloak. A shadowy figure watching you from the corner table with his two, blue, playful looking eyes. You've entered another world and it appears to be entirely cliché.

What is he, you ask, an actor? Is this a joke?

"Nope. Same guy I bought that book for yeh off of."

Really, is this a joke or not?
"Haha! No! I'm really serious!" Maurice continues to chuckle.

Well, you ask, does he want to talk to me?

"Dunno. Gave me this for you, though."

From under the bar Maurice produces a book bound in flexible, pristine leather. There is a design on the front of it that resembles some kind of complex knot. When you open it, you can't help but release a groan.

"Phoenix 27, Year 1212 to Tiger 4, Year 1214 – Circe Estrade, Keeper of Guild Crimson."

Guild Crimson was the first and only group to reach the bottom of the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. Afterwards, they vanished. About a year later the Labyrinth suddenly just…dried up like a puddle in the sun.

You look to the corner of the room where the cloaked man sat. He's standing now, making his exit. You wonder when you'll see him again and exactly what he's playing at and why he's chosen to give this new journal to you.

Maybe he's an eccentric writer, and these are a pair of his latest novels. Or maybe he's Ardell Noir. Your snicker to yourself. You imagine sharing a drink with Ardell Noir. You imagine Ardell Noir being drunk.

"A funny one this time? Good! Better than that clap-trap I bought you before. I almost regret it, you've seemed awfully lost in your own thoughts lately," Maurice says.

No, the book itself will probably not be a funny one. It might as well be a book of poetry.

Phoenix 27, Etria, Year 1212, The Journal of Circe Estrade, Peace

I am not the sort of person who believes that a sword is a metaphor for its wielder – my power is not drawn from something of dead iron, something not created by me, something which I often wield and have wielded for purposes other than my own. I do not identify with the shape of my sword, which is slim, straight, and crossed at the hilt. My sword is not an extension of my self.

My sword is a being all its own. Sometimes we cooperate and sometimes we are in competition. It is a strange relationship to rely on a being for your survival and at the same time to be competing with it for control of your own identity. I find that the same thing happens in large groups – are you a member of the group, or are you Circe Estrade?

I am in Verda Plaza with my partner Ludo Brash. City guards always travel in pairs since the Labyrinth began drawing more and more adventurers to the city. Our patrol routes are close, so that at any time two guards can whistle for two more guards to reinforce their position. And, with a different whistle, those two guards can call for two more and two more, and two more…and so on, so that the entirety of Etria's professional guard corps can be on any given scene in a matter of minutes.

Ludo is dozing on a bench and I am standing near the town fountain with one hand on my sword hilt. We are scheduled to be in Verda Plaza for the next half hour until we are relieved by another group.

Birds are flying overhead. They are a rare sight these days. The very privileged have begun to capture and cage birds as luxury items since they are becoming so rare. Birdsong is the finest form of music. The bards try to imitate it by constructing songs around birdlike whistle-calls. All of this, of course, is only making the birds rarer…and it is also making it somewhat more desirable, at least to the bards and the bird-sellers, that they remain rare.

The sun is high overhead and there are many clouds which cast a clockwork of moving shadows across the town. Warm sunlight and cool shade, where the breeze can be best felt, alternate in a kind of rhythm – a rocking, a lullaby. I cannot blame Ludo for nodding off to sleep ten seconds into our thirty minute stop. It was as if he sat into a coma. He has told me that his daughter keeps him awake at night telling stories and playing games.

[A few short words have been scratched into the margins: verdant, fertile, enwrapped, embalmed, balmy, love. There are others, it looks like, but they have faded and cannot be read. It is a significant list. Exactly why these words and why in the margins is a mystery.]

There is such a silence in Verda Plaza that it puts me at peace. Many adventurers are exploring the Labyrinth at this hour. In the early morning and in the evening, the Plaza will be filled with their gleeful voices, their carousing, the smell of their sweat and the food being prepared for them. That, too, makes me feel a certain way. I do not want to feel that way today, though, and so I am thankful that I will be patrolling elsewhere come dusk.

That was the scene today. Reliving it now as I rewrite it, I realize that it was an empty day. I was in a very reflective mood. I still am. Ludo was trying to interest me in some gossip, something about a traveler from afar, but I don't think I was a very good conversation partner. I will have to apologize to him somehow. Maybe I'll buy him a pastry tomorrow.

I'm astonished by how pathetic I've been lately. I'm allowing my past to control my present – and why should I let it do that? I am the gatekeeper of my own mental state. I am an accomplished swordswoman, a dutiful city guard, a pillar of the community. I am a leader. And I am mired in past love. Disgusting. I wish I were stronger, but every day it feels like I learn that I'm not what I want to be.

Enough brooding. No one likes a brooder. Tomorrow Ludo and I will be visiting Radha Hall to speak with the Chieftain's secretary about some special orders.

Phoenix 28, Etria: Radha Hall, Year 1212, Guild Crimson

Ludo and I were called off of patrol today to Radha Hall by a messenger for the secretary to the Chieftain. When we arrived at Radha Hall, the secretary himself was there to greet us.

"Sergeant Estrade, Corporal Brash. A pleasure to see you," he said with a sweeping gesture of one arm. He had brilliant red hair – curly, tall, like a desert rock shrouded by a tumbleweed, all the color of a wasteland. He wore glasses. For fashion, I assume, because I noticed that they were just frames with no lenses. Sharp uniform – something I'm still jealous of.

"Mr. Secretary, sir. Reporting," I said. These politicians like to pretend to be personable, but I prefer to remain professional. How can they care? Why should they pretend? Either way, we both have a job to do. Duty first. Always.

"Please! Haha, relax! Step into my office, there's someone I'd like you to meet," he said. Ludo snorted.

"You want me to wait here? Is Circe getting a medal or something?"

"Nonsense," the secretary said. "Nonsense, I need you both for a special project. You've been hand-picked by the Radha itself to form a new guild," he began to lead us through Radha Hall towards his office. Everything in Radha Hall is tall and slim, silver and blue. I put one hand on my sword. This was its realm, the realm of duty. It had led me into a trap. Or so I thought.

When we arrived in the secretary's opulent office (a carpet, a fireplace, hundreds of books lining the walls…for heaven's sake, a songbird in a cage in the corner) I saw the stranger who was waiting for us. He stood to meet us and the look he appraised Ludo and I with surprised me. It was like a campfire leering at a pile of firewood. Not sexual, though I did get the feeling that we were nothing but tools to him. He had a mess of black hair and was dressed in an expensive suit which he had probably spent upwards of a month trekking through the wilderness in. He had a brown leather satchel with him which he had placed near his chair, on the floor within kicking distance of his mud-covered and worn brown boots. Metal gleamed from under the fold of the satchel's cover in the light of the fireplace – gold, silver, copper, and something black.

[Another list is in the margins. You can make out the words: fire, pierce, song, dirt, exultation, control, smile.]

After several tense seconds of sharing glances between the three of us (which the secretary seemed to take great joy in observing) the man smiled.

"Hello. My name is Ardell Noir; I'm a Hedge Alchemist from far away. A place called the Ethereal Academy where they train Alchemists and study the world and its workings," his voice was like the rustling of iron in a blacksmith's coals.

"Sergeant Circe Estrade of the Etrian Guard."

"Circe! This is the traveler I was telling you about, the one who all the rumors are flying around for!" Ludo erupted. The secretary, now sitting at his desk with several glasses of water in front of him, peaked his fingers and listened to us. He smiled wryly. To my pleasure, Noir's smile widened…but genuinely, not ironically.

"Ludo, please!" I said.

"But…"

"It's quite alright, Sergeant. Ludo is your name? What rumors are flying for me?"

"Oh, lots of them. Saints alive…we've had alchemists here before, but they say that you're incredibly talented. They say that you've traveled through the Reclaimed lands, fighting with the wilderness, burning whole forests to the ground. They say that you're a champion of humanity, that you control lightning like nature herself – you're a living storm. Bad luck, too. I hear none of the Inns will let you stay with them because you're such a danger."

"Ludo, this is very rude," I said. The man has a tendency to ramble. He is an insatiable gossip, not unlike his wife. I eyed the bird in the corner: blue on top, white on bottom, with a black mask across its downcast eyes.

"I really don't mind," Noir said. "It's true that I've traveled through the Reclaimed lands to reach Etria and it's true that I am more powerful than most Alchemists. Though, my strength is not for the sake of my talent but for science," he said. From his satchel he produced a pair of metal gauntlets. Most Alchemists are not allowed to wear them in public. They're as good as live explosive devices. My first instinct was to seize them immediately, and so I must have started forward a bit because Noir held them protectively against his chest.

"Ah…excuse me. It's just that…" I began.

"He has permission from the Radha, Sergeant," the secretary said. He spread his arms wide, palms up and pointed towards his desk. "Water?"

"You see here," Noir continued once we all had glasses and were seated, "this is a Philosopher's Stone. It's new technology developed by the Academy which I've…stolen." He indicated a small purple stone which was set, somewhat clumsily, in the center of one gauntlet.

"So you are an Alchemist and a thief. Two groups known for their recklessness and disregard for public safety combined into one body. Mr. Secretary," I turned my head away from Noir's offended glance, "why is this man here, and why does he have special permission from the Radha to display his gauntlets in public? The town guard has enough trouble keeping order with all of the regular adventurers around and now…"

"He is not a threat. You should let him finish, this is very interesting," the secretary said. Condescension was clear on his face and in his voice.

"As I was saying," Noir still sounded offended. He settled back into his chair and his scarf and hair stood out like a cactus' quills or an owl's ruffled feathers. "As I was saying, the Philosopher's Stone is new technology. It allows a formula's power to be magnified many times over. Therefore, I have to put less of my own energy into the Ex Nihilo Device…"

"The what?" Ludo asked through a glass of water.

"The gauntlets. I put in less energy to achieve the same effect that many Alchemists achieve with a normal input. My strength reaches greater heights than most Alchemists can dream of."

"Not at all cocky about that, either, are we?"

"Ludo!" I said, though I appreciated his comment. Ludo understood this and smiled sheepishly.

"I am proud of what I am and the tools I have at my disposal, yes," Noir said.

"Your highs are higher and your lows are higher too, huh? Simple enough," Ludo said with a shrug.

"You three will be forming a guild," the secretary chimed in. "Ardell here has defected from Ethereal Academy with the Philosopher's Stone, and so he is an employee of the Radha…just like the town guard."

"If we're forming a guild then that means you want us to enter the Labyrinth. You're reassigning us," I said.

"That's right."

"Then…what are we?" Ludo asked. "His protection? Or are we supposed to keep tabs on him, make sure he doesn't blow up a tavern?"

"No," Noir said, but the secretary said at the same time, "Sort of."

The two men exchanged glances – Noir's hostile and the secretary's amused.

"You will do as we say or we will turn you in to the Academy."

Noir settled back in his chair without another word. He didn't look as if he took that threat seriously – and with his Philosopher's Stone, as I understand it, I doubt that he would have been threatened by any ordinary Alchemist or Academy. Something else was keeping him under the Radha's thumb.

"Sergeant Estrade will be the guild's keeper. With Ardell in tow, the Radha has confidence that your guild can penetrate the Labyrinth like no other guild before you. You will reach the greatest depths…and you will extract the Labyrinth's greatest treasures…and these treasures you will give to the Radha to use as it pleases."

"For the good of Etria," I said. Ludo snorted.

"I wish I had your faith," he said.

"What we use the materials you collect in the Labyrinth for, Corporal, is not your business," the secretary said. He began to tap his fingers on his desk in a familiar rhythm. A bard's song, yes. It was Cerulean Sky, My Love is Lost.

"We will call ourselves Guild Crimson," Noir said very suddenly.

"Like blood?" the secretary asked.

"Like a fire," Noir said.

"If it's like a fire, we should call ourselves crimson-orange-yellow motley," Ludo said with a grin.

"Although you may be one, I assure you that I am not a clown. We will have no motleys," Noir said. He did crack a smile, though.

An unpleasant fellow. But a professional one. I don't like him, but I can work with him. And unlike Ludo, this is a mission that suits me well. I know he is worried about how much the news of his entering the dangerous Labyrinth will concern his wife and daughter, but this is a good mission and is for their safety. The hard materials like wood, iron, and minerals that we gather will be used to make new weapons to conquer the Labyrinth with. They will be used to build our town into a great city. The herbs that we find can be used to make medicines, and the animals, fruits, and vegetables can make food to enhance our lives.

"Guild Crimson," I said. Noir nodded. I watched him watching us, still appraising Ludo and I. It is unpleasant to be the subject of another person's scrutinizing gaze. For me, at least. Ludo did not appear to notice – his eyes were directed towards a bust of the Chieftain in the corner of the room.

I do not know if Ardell Noir understands what a horror the Labyrinth can be. Ludo has lost many friends to its depths. I've seen so many people in grief because of its all-consuming maw.

It was only later that Noir shared with me, as we walked through Radha Hall, that he believes there is a solution to the problem of the Reclamation in the Yggdrasil Labyrinth. The Reclaimed lands have not reached Etria or anywhere near her yet. But we get news from far abroad that it is destroying this continent. Just last month we lost contact with a major trading partner of ours.

This all concerns me in only one way: it threatens the safety of Etria. I will do my duty. Duty, always. For Etria's safety and prosperity, I exist. I must keep telling myself that. But it's killing me inside.