With the help of rattling skeletons, their bones held together by magical muscle and sinew, the hermits unload food, meats, fabrics, and more. Enough for months, as if they were preparing to be snowed in after a massive blizzard. Almost all the hermits were a part of the flow of supplies. 

Almost. Only three hermits stayed behind. Zedaph had an accident with his two explosive friends, and while it wasn’t the first time, Grian wanted to keep an eye on the burns in case the magic lingered. Mumbo stayed behind as well, but for very different reasons. One, he was easily recognizable. Everyone knows the multimage that Dolios wants captured alive. Him and Grian are the only two who Dolios demands be captured alive. He also was in the middle of inventing some new contraption, and was not about to leave it behind and lose all his progress. Last Cleo saw of him, he was extinguishing burning locks of hair. She wonders if he’s made any progress, or if he’s burned all his hair away at this point.

Once Impulse and Tango have unloaded their share of the shipment, they go in search of their friend. Both still feel bad for burning Zed, even if it was by accident. And they’ve all been burned at this point in all their years together. But it doesn’t mean they don’t feel bad, especially leaving Zed behind. At least they brought back a caramel apple from his favorite stall in the market, as well as fresh hay for his barn and animal friends. 

“Zed? We have a surprise for you!” Tango calls, his voice twinged with mischief, as if they plan to prank their friend rather than give him a gift. No response comes from the flat roofed barn, except the distant bleat of a sheep. Tango looks at Impulse, fiery hair remaining vertical even as his head tips to the side. “Could he be taking a nap?” 

“You know Zed and his sleep schedule, he wouldn’t interrupt it, even when he wakes up on the wrong side of the bed.” Impulse waves it off. “He probably just isn’t listening, or maybe pulling a prank of his own. Let’s go in.” 

Impulse waves Tango through the gate, careful to keep the sheep, goats, and other farm animals from getting between Tango’s feet and causing his hair to ignite the dry hay in his arms. A horse nips at the bale, but Tango keeps it well away from catching fire. He’s relieved to lighten the load he’s carrying as soon as they're inside the barn. Both mages look to the bed tucked in the corner, but no Zedaph. Tango tosses the haybale aside. “He should be resting.” 

They clamber over the piles of hay, searching every nook and cranny for Zedaph. Even his cookie stash, which they let him believe is still a secret. But Zed is nowhere within the barn he chooses to live in. 

Concern pales both Impulse and Tango’s face, and Tango’s hair reacts in kind to the revelation. “Perhaps he’s being treated by Grian?” 

Tango doesn’t answer, already following the path across the width of the island, from one shore to another. Grian’s floating cloud, the quartz tower with large archways and a glass domed roof. Perfectly built for a sky angel, his wings and speed. Not so perfect for his roommate, and all of Mumbo’s redstone machinery, his own lanky body climbing up onto the solid cloud and stairs to sleeping quarters.

The redstone workshop at the base of the building has been cleaned up, though a few vials seem to have rolled away, as if they were grabbed then subsequently dropped. But, just like the barn, no sign of Mumbo. 

But there is a sound. Echoing from the glass dome, a sniffling, stifling cry escapes from above, followed by a gasping, shuddering breath. Impulse runs up the steps as fast as possible, each bounce from stair to stair accentuated with a tiny explosion to give him more speed. Tango blazes behind, fire burning bright as the sun as energy courses through him. He notices on the way up grey streaks against the pure white quartz. 

“Zedaph?” Impulse breathes, screeching to a full stop. In the center of the room, Mumbo and Zed are huddled close, holding on tight. Their eyes wild with fear, and in Zed’s eyes he can see a shared memory. A shared trauma him, Impulse, and Tango all share. Two hermits, holding onto each other like its their last hope. 

Only two. “Where’s Grian?” 

Mumbo opens his mouth, but a strangled cry only escapes. Tears fall from both their faces, shaking like leaves. Something bad has happened to their friend. Tango slides across the floor, grabbing Zedaph and Mumbo. “What happened? Where’s Grian? Are you hurt?” 

They both shake their heads, but finally Mumbo gathers enough of his voice to speak. It’s weak, broken apart like glass shattering. “He took him.” 

__________________________________________________

A cold, wet air fills Grian’s lungs, biting into his skin like ice on a cold morning. When he tries to open his eyes, the dull ache of his skull becomes sharp, forcing the angel to screw them closed again. Grian grimaces, trying to figure out why he has such a terrible headache. Did he hit his head in training? No, he wouldn’t have been allowed to sleep with the hermits hovering over him. Perhaps he drank too much. Once again, impossible. Grian knows what his hangover is like, and it’s not this. 

He realizes he’s definitely hanging, but not from drinking. Cold, hard metal presses flat against his wrists, suspended over his head. The iron bites into his skin, all his weight rubbing his wrists raw. 

“Good, you’re awake. I was starting to get bored waiting, though I do quite enjoy relishing in finally having my prize thirty years in the making.” The snide, even tempo of Magistrate Dolios’s voice hurts worse than any headache or wrist, and Grian finally manages to open his eyes. The cavern he finds himself in is foreign, not even remotely similar to the brick and iron dungeons where he last woke up in Dolios’s clutches. So long ago, it feels like. The Championship. At the time, he felt like he was at the top of the world. Now? Now he feels like the world was crushing him. 

Grian resists his bindings, but even when he kicks outward, his feet don’t even scrape the dank floor. He tips his head back, until the crown of his head collides with a smooth, hard material. Just at the touch, he can feel the oppressive energy of the crystal. In his vision, he sees the sharp tip of the massive gem. Each wrist is locked tight against the crystal, the nails buried deep in the crystal lattice. 

He looks around, searching for other hermits. For Mumbo, the last face he remembers before…

The memories flood in, cascading alongside the fear and panic. He remembers everything, every terrifying second. Leaving Zedaph to meet with Mumbo, he remembers the scent of marigolds on his hands, just after crushing the petals to make a paste for Zedaph’s burns. The quiet island, most of the other hermits gone. He remembers patting his pocket, the note from his best friend telling him to meet at Iskall’s place. 

But when he arrived, Mumbo was nowhere to be seen. It wasn’t unusual, Mumbo tended to get distracted and be late. So he waited, plucking orange petals from his clothes, hair, and hands. He should’ve noticed the way the wind shifted, becoming cold and stale, before disappearing completely. 

He should’ve realized something was very wrong when the grey stormcloud appeared. But he didn’t. He was so focused on waiting for Mumbo, then on getting rid of the flowers in his feathers, that he didn’t see the husks crawl their way free of the ocean. At least, not until the husk of a soldier came barreling for him, empty glowing white eyes and ashen, flaky form charging with halberd drawn.  

Grian squeaked, dodging the attack. Stumbled over the writhing form of a cactus cat, the fading spines still quite sharp, he was saved by a pair of not-grey arms. 

Not grey arms draped in wine red fabric, the hems decorated in gold thread. He realized who it was immediately, and scrambled to try and get away. But Dolios’s magic kept a strong grip, vines of black twisting and tying Grian’s wings to his back, while a hazy fog had grown around them. 

He remembers the feeling of Dolios’s hands in his hair, pulling him to his feet as he struggled and fought against the vines and the fog that filled his mind. Hands clawing at his binds, even biting the magistrate at one point. He remembers the taste of blood, iron on his tongue and Dolios swearing, blasting Grian with magic. 

And the last thing he remembers, before being knocked out and torn away from his home, was Mumbo’s face. Rounding the corner, completely oblivious to the fight occurring. It was at that moment that Grian realized, when his eyes locked with Mumbo’s that it wasn’t him that sent the letter. The confusion, of seeing Grian, the surprise on his face. He was walking towards the infirmary, dropping the box  in his hand upon seeing the sight before him. 

The fear on Mumbo’s face matched Grian’s own, as he was dragged into the sea. A second later, a swift burst of sonic energy knocked him out. 

And now he’s here. Dolios saunters across the room, gathering ingredients and writing down notes. Grian swings his legs, and summons his wings to try and be free. But as soon as the blue and white feathers appear, they crumble into ash. Crushing weight sets in on his head, his shoulders, his lungs, and his magic, and the crystal he’s trapped against hums with power. “You’re quite different from the last angel I hunted. At least you fought back, but in the end they left me without the gift of their magic. This time, I’m not letting anything go to chance.” 

The magistrate sets his bowl of guts aside, approaching the crystal and Grian. His hands are clasped behind his back, shoulders straight and head held high. The weight of the oppressive dark magic doesn’t bother him. Grian’s not ready to give up just yet. He attempts to kick Dolios, but the dark mage stands mere centimeters out of reach. So Grian decides to use his words. “You’re kind of an asshole, you know that?” 

“I’ve been told that once or twice before, yes. But the rest of Lairyon loves me. And why wouldn’t they? I’ve brought prosperity to this kingdom, done more than that stupid rainbow king could ever do, and all of this because of my power.” Dolios sweeps his hands, vapors of dark magic swirling from his fingers as his fingers clench to fists

“Stolen magic. If the citizens knew, they’d hate you just as much as I do.” Grian reels back his head, and does the best he can to annoy Dolios. He spits on him. The glob of spit lands on Dolios’s cheek, the magistrate flinching, then reaching up and wiping it away. A fresh anger in his eyes. 

“And who would believe you? An outcast mercenary orphan? The last of your kind?” Dolios stoops low, plucking a husked feather from the floor. He walks back to the table, mixing the components and ingredients from his jars of death with Grian’s feather. “Your power is rare. Angelic mages are always powerful, a power I crave. You will be a wonderful addition to my collection of magic. The last of the angels to complete my set!” 

A fearful shiver ricochets down Grian’s spine. “You’re going to turn me into a husk?” 

“Oh, gods no!” Dolios laughs, so loud that it echoes off the cavern walls as he throws his head back, brown curls dancing across rich fabric. “I wouldn’t dare waste such magic to become simple energy for me and my beast. No, no. Do not fret, little bird, you will become so much more. I don’t plan to drain your energy. I plan to steal it.” 

The hunger in Dolios’s eyes as he turns, the concoction in his hand, Grian realizes what he's seen all this time in Dolios’s eyes. Hunger. A madman hellbent on taking what he sees as rightfully his.. A predator stalking his prey. And Grian was cornered, pinned. Unable to fight back, unable to fly away. Fear is replaced by terror, a sensation Grian struggles to fight back. He needs to think clearly if he hopes to survive. 

“The last angel died before my powers were…” Grian pauses, seeing the coy smile on Dolios’s face. 

“I always had a-” Dolios pauses, waving his hand nonchalantly before marking the ground around the crystal spires with dark seal. “-fascination with angelic wizards. A dear friend of mine in my youth was one. Ever since then, I knew I had to have that kind of magic in my collection. So strong, each and every one of you. With magic even the ancient ones revered. And now?” 

Dolios steps back, casting his magic circle. Rather than emitting color and light, it absorbs all color to make the pattern of his magic. He raises his hands, and two satellite crystals awaken. Darkness swirls in the lattice of the gems, mist eeking out through pores and filling the cavern with darkness. When the mist reaches the seal surrounding the crystal Grian’s chained to, the spire behind him, pressed against his back, activates. The pressure on his body, his magic becomes unbearable, breaking into pain. Like a harpoon through his chest, the dark magic takes hold. Biting down, biting in. 

They look like they’re burning, blackened to the stem, grey embers frozen at the edges of the leaf. It looks so much like the husk magic, and yet at the same time completely different. BDubs reaches up, fingers shaking as he plucks the leaf off the tree. “I think we’re going in the right direction.” 

He shows the once green leaf to the others. It’s as if the ground was saturated with dark magic, poisoning the trees rather than draining them. It’s impossible to distinguish the leyline from the rest of the earth around them. They've made it to the center of the Forest. They’ve made it to what Dolios is hiding. 

The canopy is thick, impossible to see even the crown of the trees. Grian wonders if he flew above the Forest of Memories, would he be able to see this black spot from the sky? Or has Dolios even thought of that? 

“Whatever Dolios is hiding, it’s here somewhere.” Xisuma states, pulling out a torch and lighting it using Tango’s hair. Tango objects at first, but when a distant rustle causes him to leap into Impulse’s arms, he allows the torches to be lit. 

“But where? We don’t even know what we’re looking for.” Doc snarls. He wanders deeper into the darkness, holding his torch high before turning and looking at the other hermits. Both his mechanic and mortal eye narrow at the guild. “It could be as small as a pebble, or so mundane we’d never pick it out!” 

Etho notices a shift in the darkness behind Doc, the swirling mist of grey and black cresting over an angled oval, creased down the equator. And he realizes he’s not looking at mist, he’s looking at slime. “Uh,” He whispers, “Doc, maybe tone it down?” 

But Doc wasn’t listening. “We’ve gone on some wild goose chase, when we need to cut the head off the beast while we can!” 

“Maybe don’t talk about killing beasts, Doc.” Hypno squeaks, realizing what Etho is seeing as well, He sees a grey tentacle, wrapping through the ashen ground like a sticky tree root, more creases all over the body. 

“Why? It’s clear there’s nothing to find here! We’ve searched through the most dangerous place in all of Lairyon, for jack shit!” Doc raises his torch to prove what he means, eyes wild as he stares down the hermits. With the increased light, the entire guild can see the monster behind Doc. Mumbo nearly faints, Stress feels sick, and all the hermits can feel the pressure of dark magic weighing on their chest. It’s like Gildara, but worse. 

“Doc….” Scar whispers, shaking as he creeps closer to the hybrid, trying to pull Doc away from the slumbering monster. They both trip over a slimy black tentacle, head over heels and the torch left behind. “Doc we found it!” 

Slumbering in the trees, a monster beyond anything the hermit’s have ever seen looms. It’s larger than a dragon, made of ebbing and flowing grey and black slime- which takes a moment for the hermits to realize is pure dark energy, pouring over the creature like an overcoat. Citizens’ lifeforce, their magic drained to create this multi eyed, multi-mouthed eldritch horror. Tentacles, dug into the ground, sap the energy fed by the leylines. 

This monstrosity, this manifestation of darkness, is still growing. Slowly, but surely, as it feeds off the leylines. This is but an infant, not yet born. And already it has done so much damage. 

“Oh my word.” Zedaph wipes away a few tears with the heel of his hand . “This thing has no soul. It’s just...pure hatred, pure catastrophe. Why would Dolios bring such a dangerous thing to life?” 

“What does it matter?” Beef shrugs, rolling his neck and preparing to cast his magic. “With this gone, Dolios will crumble.” 

“Hold on.” xB grabs Beef by the horns, holding him back. “We have no clue what this thing will do if it wakes up. What could it do if we attack it right now.” 

“xB is right.” TFC hums. “We would be foolish to fight a monster we know nothing of. Just like going in blind to Gildara, we won’t win that battle without knowledge.”

“So what do we do?” False makes the war hammer she summoned disappear, a bit disappointed. 

Xisuma looks at the ashen ground, following it back to the edge of the monster’s meadow. He sees the four leylines, in four cardinal directions. “This thing is being fed by the leylines. The leylines are set by the obelisks, which are powered by crystals. If we starve the beast before it can awaken, we can take away whatever Dolios plans to do with this.” 

“So...what? We just leave this thing here? Go back to breaking crystals?” Iskall shrugs.

“We came here for more information, and that’s what we’ve gotten. Information is more valuable than action sometimes.” Cub of all people would know. He looks at the others, then continues to speak. “We have all the pieces put together, we can finally see the whole picture of Dolios and his insane plan. With all this, we can fight back better. We know what to do. We starve the beast, and turn all of Lairyon against Dolios.” 

-----------------------------------------

“Hmm.” A low silky voice dances in the dark office, gold trimmed sleeve blinding the wizard to his crystal ball. Curly brown hair rests on the other hand, elbow perched on a plush arm of his office chair. A chair fit for a king- no, a god. Soon enough. 

The single eye of the unborn beast closes. Eurynomos is far from ready, just a fetus at this point, but every day it grows stronger. The more stolen magic Dolios feeds the creature, the stronger it will be. The stronger they will be. Dolios is a patient man, he can bear to wait a little bit longer. 

What he can’t bear is the infuriating interference of these hermits. Dolios knew that Mumbo was powerful- how he drools for all that magic stored in one vessel. And the angel, he’s yet to add such divine magic to his ever growing collection. The rest? Fodder. Or so he thought. They’ve been persistent, and they’ve gained too much knowledge. Just when Dolios thinks he’s caught up in making new corrupted crystals, those damn hermits destroy another. Just when Dolios has destroyed a guild or village no one will miss, they swoop in and stop him. He should’ve killed them in the dungeons that day, so long ago. But now, they’re a problem. 

No time to explore the implications of that. Not after all the training, all the resource gathering they’ve done. No, there’s no more time to waste, no more preparing they can do. Today, no matter what happens, they will find out what Magistrate Dolios is hiding. 

TFC tries to psych himself up, despite every fiber in his old bones telling him not to go in. Ever since he was a boy, almost every story he was told warned him not to enter the Hangman’s Playground. The stories never quite explain what happens within these woods, but the tales of those who dare enter only got more horrifying as he got older. 

Grian, on the other hand, walks straight through the bushes and into the forest, much to the shock and horror of everyone else. He knows the stories, true and legend, he just doesn’t care. Soon after, Etho follows in, then Tango, Joe, xB, and Jevin. One by one, following after the cheerful angel, until only TFC and Mumbo are left at the forest interface. TFC places his hand on Mumbo’s back. “I wouldn’t recommend being last, with your back to the forest and all that.” 

It’s enough to get him moving, running to catch up with Xisuma. The Forest of Memories swallows the hermits whole, trees letting in only dapples of light across the ground. The smattering and ever changing light plays tricks with the hermits’ heads, flashes of things that shouldn’t be here appearing in their eyes, sounds that don’t belong in a forest playing distantly with the wind. 

They do their best to stay directly atop the red hued leyline of dark magic, Ren every so often recasting his spell to keep from losing the trail. They pass by a herd of goldhorns, grazing in a clearing alongside a wild herd of shleep. The night sky wool wisping into the air and playing in the distorted light. Zedaph almost runs off to join the shleep, were it not for Impulse holding him by the capelet. `Turuls and Anzus flit between full crowns of trees, the latter spitting water and breathing fire as it plays. 

It was a perfectly normal forest. But between every twitter, there was a scream. Behind every dappled ray of light, there was a world long gone. The Forest of Memories is sinking it’s teeth into the hermits. 

A flash of light blinds Stress, and she’s no longer in the calming, quiet forest, hiking with her fellow hermits. The sounds of birds and the breeze replaced by a low roar of voices and lush music. The snug, warm, and durable robes of her outfit is gone, rather feeling sterile, starch silk shift across her legs. She feels so exposed in the rich, beautiful dress. And when the light fades from her eyes, she’s standing in a grandiose ballroom. Her parents’ ballroom, full of people, all wearing similar dresses and suits. All wearing the same smile.

“What do you think you’re doing?” A shrill voice Stress immediately recognizes as her mother shouts. The tight bun of brown hair, the same shade as Stress’s own, leans down and hauls her skirts up. “These shoes are peasant wear! And look at your posture!”

“But mother,” Stress whimpers. 

“Don’t talk back! You are a lady, act like it!” 

“I don’t want to be a lady! It’s borin’, mother! I don’t want to use my magic to make swan sculptures,” She waves to the side, knowing that an ice waterfowl is just nearby. Of course she knows- this is her memories. “I wanna make something grand and beautiful! Something no one has ever made!”

The ball fades for a moment, like fog in the night, and her mother has been replaced by a different face. A face she knows, though is much, much younger. But his voice betrays the illusion. “Stress, stress! Snap out of it!”

Mumbo’s face regains his mustache, matching the grownup voice of her fellow nobleman, and something cold, smooth is pressed into her hand. The talisman fights away the illusion, until the mist has dissolved in the summer sun and her true family stands before her again. Twenty something concerned faces, BDubs and Iskall helping her stay standing. “I...I was back in Milliara, in ma family’s manor.” 

Xisuma shakes his head. “You were here the whole time. It must be the forest. It’s like what Queen Erlea mentioned, the forest uses our mind against us.” 

“Such a peaceful forest,” Cleo whispers. “Yet it harbors such dangerous magic.” 

“It felt so real. I knew it was a memory, but in the moment….” Stress shakes her head. “In the moment, I was trapped as a lady again.”

She runs her fingers over the talisman, then pulls it over her head. With the help of her friends, her true family, she regains her step and they move forward. But every shimmer in sunlight, Stress’s fears only grow. 

The forest isn’t after her. Xisuma is always the logical one. He’s deduced that the forest seems to play off people’s memories, latching onto their emotions. The ghost in Addows mentioned that she only thought happy thoughts, and the Forest didn’t have control over her. So Xisuma thinks happy thoughts as well, simple and to the point. He thinks of his fellow hermits, building his beloved tower. 

He built his observation tower with Ex. And just like that, the forest has found his weak spot.  He’s not standing among the trees, but rather in front of his observation tower. And only one other person was with him. Standing, hackles raised, was his brother. 

Ex’s white hair was luminescent in the sunshine of the Ashioll sea, red cloak discarded and tucked beside the wall of fresh, unweathered, and unblemished stone. No burn marks from Tango or Impulse, or mismatched windows after Grian would throw a rock just a bit too large. No, there were only two people on Eremita. 

Not anymore. “We can’t let any random person on our island! We hardly know anything about this poet guy, he could be working for the Council!” Ex waves his hand in the general direction, where their newcomer is tapping the end of his quill against his chin. Leaving an ink stain. “This is a place to hide, for us to be free, brother. You’re too trustworthy!”

“And you’re a coward!” X’s voice rises over his mask, forged by his brother to protect him from the sunlight. “You’ve blinded yourself with your own light, and you can’t see that we’d be stronger, safer with more. We can’t be a guild with just two brothers.”

“I never wanted to be a guild.” Ex surges till the twins are nose to nose, the supernova mage’s eyes burning with the heat of a thousand stars. Xisuma’s are as dark as night. “I just wanted somewhere for us to be free, aren’t I all you need?” 

The words fall from X’s mouths, stinging as he says them this time around. He should’ve never said them, but now he’s being forced to relive this horrible moment all over again. “I don’t need you, I never needed you!” 

Xisuma finds himself on the ground, his mask knocked loose. But the sunlight wasn’t the only thing burning his eyes. Blood falls across his face, perpendicular slashes oozing red ochre, and the same dripping from the end of his brother’s staff. 

In his foolishness, blinded by the sunlight, by his brother, Xisuma fights back. He summons his magic, and hurls twin lashes of void at his brother. Knocking him over, grasping against the frozen burns across his own face. Xisuma stumbles to find his mask, ignoring the blood. “An eye for an eye. You aren’t my brother.” 

The pain feels real, the sensation of the blood running down his face, the scent of ozone in the air feels real. But Xisuma remembers that day clearly- the worst day of his life. The day he lost his brother. And he knows he wasn’t crying. 

It’s not real. Xisuma reaches up, and feels the wet stain. It doesn’t coagulate like blood, the tears that run from beneath his mask. It’s an illusion, Xisuma.

Logic is Xisuma’s strength. He wasn’t logical that day, but he is now. And he cries, for the loss of his brother, his best friend. He focuses in on those teas, something the forest can’t hide from him. He closes his eyes, feeling the guilt and sorrow. Wishing he wasn’t so cowardly to reach out and make amends. 

Distantly, he feels someone touching his arm, his hand. But it doesn’t feel like his body. A cool metal band slips around a finger, and he can finally find his way out of the illusion.

When he opens his eyes, he’s in the forest again, the illusion shattering and sparkling like starlight in the sun. Like the tiny stars his brother used to make when they were boys. Xisuma jumps out of his skin when a hand lays on his arm, feeling all too real. Joe stood next to him, other hand retreating from the moodring on Xisuma’s finger. The first newcomer to the island. He offers peace, but Xisuma can’t find it within himself. 

The forest is in his head, twisting his memories and reminding him of all his wrongs. Turning his mind against him. He can only focus on walking, follow the line of hermits before him. Wishing for the horrible thoughts to end. And wishing for his brother to be at his side. 

Xisuma isn’t the only one who lost his family. But at least his is alive. Zedaph, Impulse, and Tango tried to steel themselves in preparation of what they knew the Forest of Memories would bring up. They thought they were prepared, able to fight off the Hangman’s Playground. Both physically and mentally. Even Zed thought he’d be able to shepherd away the intrusive thoughts.

The forest is smart, however. And it goes for him before the others. Zedaph feels the heat against his face, and closes his eyes. He will not see that night. Zedaph hears the screams, of his own guild dying around him, and he hums to himself. He will not hear that night. He tries to block it out, to block out the forest, to refuse it access into his head to hurt him further. 

“Go, Zed!” The voice is so crisp, so real, it’s not just an echo of a memory. He can’t help but look up, searching for his guildleader. 

And he sees scicraft burning. He watches as the fire hurls across the sky, and ash coats the massacre in a fine layer of dust. But he realizes, experiencing this night all over again, that it’s not just ash dancing in the air. Mixed with the burning embers are the fragmented pieces of husks- those attacking the guild. Husks before he even knew dark magic existed. 

Zedaph collapses to his knees, alerting the other hermits to his vision. Impulse falls victim next, his face red as the sensation of burning is played through his head. As, in his illusion, he’s running through the fire. Calling out for the other guild members, even though he knows there’s no hope. He’s trapped in the past, forced to relive the day he lost his family. Until all he had left was Zed, Tango, and a memory. 

Tango rushes to try and retrieve a potion, liquid happiness that was brewed to perfection by Stress. He digs his hand through the bag of supplies, until his fingers close around...fabric. Tango retreats his hand, no longer digging through his backpack, but rather digging through the ashen remains of his guild. He’s holding a torn, burnt cape, stained in blood. 

In one fell swoop and one horrible shared memory, all of Team ZIT is in the clutches of the forest. It plays with their mind, their memories. Turn them on themselves, blaming themselves for the loss. Survivor’s guilt. The other hermits try to snap them out of it, placing talismans on them and forcing potions across their lips. 

It’s not until Doc takes control of Zed, and uses his friend’s magic to dispel the thoughts are they able to get ZIT in any state of relief. Doc feels horrible, but it was a necessary evil. The ZIT trio hold each other close, the thoughts lingering like mist in the morning, whispers of the forest still controlling them. 

Everyone’s head snaps, following the bird’s path as it comes to rest on TFC’s arm. Searching for the guildmaster of the Order of Hermits. Scar slips closer, awed by the opalescent white wings of such a noble bird. “I thought alicantos were only found in central Lairyon.” 

“It’s from the capitol.” TFC states, pulling the parchment from the parcel on the bird’s back. The scroll is stamped with a symbol everyone knows, whether the hermit is from the distant poor swamps of east Lairyon or the rich crystal mountains of the southern Fartop Peaks in the Lionheart Mountains. 

The scrawling laurels and crystals of the magistrate’s office. The alicanto pecks at TFC’s metal gloves, searching for food in the form of silver or gold. But every member of the guild has completely forgotten their divine visitor. They’re terrified of the contents within the parchment carried upon it’s back. 

“Oh my word, this is it! We’ve been found!” Mumbo shrieks, feeling his head get dizzy and light. He’s hardly been here for more than a year, and he’s about to get arrested. Years of following the rules, and the one time he goes rogue he’s been caught. 

“The arcane guard must be on their way. This is their letter telling us to surrender.” Cub shakes his head, watching as TFC opens the wax seal. 

“If we surrender, will they be light on us?” Ren questions, biting his lip and adjusting his sunglasses as Xisuma brushes past. He can smell the ozone scent of void on the previous guildmaster, pacing back and forth across the grass of the training field. Muttering something about his brother. 

“I’m not surrendering. I’m not going back to jail!” Doc crosses his arms and turns his nose up and away from the letter in defiance.

The entire guild, twenty something strong, creeps closer to TFC as his eyes scan across the parchment. The entire island is holding their breath, waiting for their guildmaster to tell the guild what’s waiting for them. Etho turns, falling into the shadow of the group and reappearing from TFC’s. “What does it say?” 

“We...it’s a contract.” TFC rereads the words again, and again. Trying to make sure he has everything right. That he read everything correctly. “The magistrate wants us, all of us, to go to a town called…” TFC squints his eyes and tries to read the name, before giving up. “Whatever, somewhere in east Lairyon. There’s been a disturbance that requires our help.” 

“All of us?” Xisuma stops dead, pulling off his mask so he can be sure he’s hearing everything right. “What needs an entire guild to take care of a ‘disturbance’?” 

“Forget that, why would the magistrate request the help of an illegal guild?” Doc waves his metal arm out, catching the attention of the alicanto. It hops free of TFC’s shoulder and swoops onto the puppeteer mage’s arm. Immediately, it begins pecking and pulling on the delicate materials and magic that makes his prosthesis. “Isn’t his entire job to arrest groups like us?” 

“That is kind of suspicious.” Iskall pipes up, tapping a gloved finger on the brown beard of his chin. 

TFC clears his throat, taking a deep breath. He brushes the white braid along his face, collecting himself. He needs to be the man in charge, cool and calm. “The letter isn’t officially from the magistrate’s office. It’s stamped like one, but it’s on personal parchment paper. The magistrate needs us because he can’t send official guilds without raising alarm. He wants this done discreetly, and none of the other council members agree with his actions.” 

“But us?” Cleo can’t help but agree with Doc. They aren’t exactly law-abiding citizens. They’re a mercenary group, flying under the radar of the Council of Lairyon. Doing the work they refuse to do, helping towns too poor to pay the hefty fees legal guilds require. “What do we get out of this? How do we know this isn’t some trap to lure us out of the Ashioll sea?” 

“And how does he know about us?” Mumbo adds, wringing his hands. 

“I...I don’t know, but I guess our reputation precedes us.” TFC nods to the guild hall, rising above the training grounds of the island on a soft hill. Where they can all talk. No one wastes time filing in, hungry for answers and completely ignoring the leftover breakfast still set out on the tables. The alicanto notices the metal cups, and sticks it’s head in search of a treat. And getting it’s golden crested head stuck in the pewter mug. 

“Well? Tell us what it says!” Stress bounces in her seat, short brown hair bouncing along with her.

“This town, Gildara, has been having what the contract only calls a ‘disturbance’ for the past few weeks. The council refuses to send a scout group, but the magistrate here says he can’t sit idly by and let people continue to get hurt. If we take care of the problem plaguing Gildara, we can…” TFC takes a deep breath, the excitement starting to fill his own voice. Calm, he needs to be calm. He’s the guildmaster. “We’ll be given the title of official guild, as well as a hefty sum of gold. We’ll get our magic license.” 

The reaction of the guild is mostly positive. They had given up applying for their license ages ago- before Xisuma gave up his role as guildmaster. They were always rejected, and warned to disband every time. But the Order of Hermits only have each other. Leaving their island, leaving each other, was never an option. They’re a menagerie of people, of criminals and runaways, S-Class mages and academy flunkies. Some people are skeptical of such a proposal, others are ecstatic. All are curious.

“What an opportunity of the lifetime!” Grian whoops, his wings appearing with hardly even a thought. Magic overflowing through the sky angel wizard, held down by his robes by Iskall and Mumbo. “Did it really say for all of us?” 

TFC looks back down at the paper, before letting it fall so everyone else can see. The hermits butt heads trying to peak at the contract before them. Jevin shakes his head, slimy hair squishing and getting stuck against Ren’s wagging tail. “It’s really for us all. The whole damn guild.” 

“I never saw that many zeroes in my life.” Grian whispers, his voice quiet for once. “That could fix all the damage from our battle with those creepy creatures.” 

Mumbo looks back, seeing white bandages peeking out from the sleeveless red hem and blue cloak around his shoulders. They almost didn’t survive that- if it weren’t for Grian and his archangel aura they wouldn’t have made it. His train of thought is disturbed when False pushes herself in, hands planting with challenging eyes towards Tango and Impulse. “Maybe you two can finally fix that hole you blew into my forge.” 

“I quite like the cross breeze our...modification gave.” Tango rests a hand on his chest, a snickering smile appearing across his face. Mirroring emotions fall across Impulse and Zedaph at his side, peeking around his arms. 

“Then move out and make your own modifications!” False shouts, but a coy grin and sharp eyes appear across her features. This won’t be the first time False and team ZIT have gotten into a duel over their accidental explosion, and it likely won’t be the last. “Zedaph already has his own place.” 

“He lives in a barn!” Impulse moans. “I hate how pokey hay is.” 

“You say barn like it’s a bad thing. The sheep are great roommates, they don’t light their pillows on fire.” Zed stares up at Tango. Quips trade across everyone, ideas brought up and shot down as quickly as Scar’s terraforming magic, all what to do with the money offered before them. 

TFC snaps his fingers, the ruby in his other hand glimmering with the magic circle. Lighting up lanterns that hang from the copse of trees and nestle in rock outcroppings of the outdoor guild hall. The fire burns bright, blinding the order even in the midmorning sun. “We should decide whether or not we all want to do this. We’re a guild, we should vote.” TFC raises his right hand. “Anyone oppose this contract? Please answer honestly..” 

The hermits look at each other, but no one’s arm even twitches to put their hand up. The contract is too curious to deny. So much to offer, including an adventure. TFC nods, and lifts his left hand. “All in favor?” 

“We need to take care of it.” Impulse rises from his crouch, an easy smile on his face as he cracks his knuckles. “Let’s get this thing out of our hair.”

Impulse flicks his hands, shocking yellow magic appearing in the air. He pulses the magic forward, and a concussive blast ripples from his hands. The ground blossoms red and orange, dirt tossed across the group remaining on the train grounds. 

But when the dust settles, the crystal is nestled in the crater Impulse blew apart. Slime had been eviscerated, only the black rock left behind. He tries another explosion, focused and sharp. Still nothing. Impulse sighs, knowing he needs help.  “Tango, can you perhaps lend a hand, man?” 

Tango grins, cracking his knuckles and joining Impulse in the fight to break the gem. Leaving Zedaph with Mumbo. “Alright, I’ll put it to fire and you blow it to pieces. I got your back.” 

The two share a fistbump, and activate their respective magic in tandem. Tango’s pattern curls and pops red like a fire, while Impulse explodes yellow outward, shockwaves and blasts in his circle. Two impish smiles and fiery eyes look down at the tiny crystal.

And they don’t hold back. A wall of fire, so hot it turns blue, burning at the gem and it’s dirt surroundings. Warping the stone and dirt it nests within. Zed and Mumbo find themselves flung backwards by Impulse’s blast, their heads spinning and teeth rattling. Impulse and Tango managed to stay upright, hair sweeping back and feet dug into grass in an attempt to not meet a similar fate as their friends. Tango sees it first. “This stupid fucking gem won’t break!” 

Fire erupts around Tango, but he’s quick to tamper down any of his frustration, aided by his friends. Impulse and Zedaph join him, glaring at the crystal as they plot on how to destroy it. They don’t just want to break it- they want to obliterate it. The crystal siphoned energy from TFC, attacking him when he used it. Zedaph closes his eyes, grimacing as he remembers the black veins and pale skin that marred their guildmaster. His soft purple irises remain closed as Tango and Impulse continue.

“Maybe we can borrow False’s cannon?” Tango whispers. 

“I don’t think she’ll give us that ever again.” Impulse looks over his shoulder, seeing the dark oak and stone brick home, the forge nestled in the crook of the house. A part of the roof is new wood, but Tango and Impulse have still yet to fix the other hole in the back of the house. 

Zedaph opens his eyes, and sees Mumbo. Standing a distance away, shifting from foot to foot and watching the grass at his feet sway in the sea wind. Awkward and alone. “Hey Mumbo. You have lightning magic, right?” 

The multi-mage jumps back into reality, patting his foot over the indent he dug with his boots and tugging on the seam of his sleeve. “Oh, y-yeah. Not well, per se, but I have lightning magic.” 

“Maybe we can be a little cleverer- more clever? I dunno, whichever- about evicting this gem from existence.” Zedaph smooths his hair, nodding Mumbo to join the trio. “I’m not exactly the crystal guy, but gems tend to have a lattice structure to it, yeah?” 

“That’s what they taught us in middle school.” Tango chuckles. He tucks one hand under his forearm, still feeling the exciting energy of casting his magic. Hellbound magic was unstable, changing on a whim and easy to lose control. Not just of the magic, but of oneself. He spent years just training to keep himself in check, making sure he never falls victim to the nature of magic. Admit it’s danger, but find beauty in it, in the same way Zedaph sees a soul to shepard in even the most rabid animal, and Impulse can refine any explosion into art like a flower. 

“Well, if Mumbo can excite the lattice of the crystal, it will be less stable. You two can go at it with the booming and blazing, and bam! No more creepy gem wanting to take over our grandpa.” Zedaph rests his hands on his waist, looking around at the others.

Impulse and Tango are all in. Among the ZIT trio, Zedaph is the one with the craziest plans. The ones that always somehow end up working. But Mumbo isn’t so convinced. “You guys are placing a lot of faith on me and my magic. I don’t know if I’ll be able to control it like you want. I can hardly even summon it.” 

Just to prove his point, Mumbo opens his hands. A wobbly red circle casts in each palm, before falling apart. Mumbo’s shoulders drop, and even the tips of his robes collars seem to wilt with his emotions. 

“Come on, Mumbo. We’ve seen your power- you’ve got more than most of us combined. You’re a multi-mage, that’s so cool man!” Impulse’s cheerful excitement exudes off him like sunshine, rippling out like an explosion’s heat. And just as energetic. 

“You’ve been training with Grian and Iskall, and when you really put your mind to it, you destroyificate them.” Tango adds, grinning as he remembers seeing those two cocky hermits get blown off their feet by the newbie. “That’s not one but two S-Class wizards you can easily hold off. This wimpy little crystal should be trembling in it’s cleavage.” Zedaph and Impulse can’t help but giggle at the word. Still immature adults. 

“Bu-but I can’t control when that happens. We haven’t figured out how to yet.” When he’s not training with Grian and Iskall, he’s digging through Joe’s library and talking with Xisuma. So much power, it takes so much to call upon, to release. It’s like breaking open a dam, and the power rushes out of him when he does. If he’s not careful, it can take control of him, instead of the other way around. 

“Just give it a shot. You never know until you try!” Zedaph pushes Mumbo in front of Tango and Impulse, and retreats. His magic isn’t exactly useful in this situation. 

Mumbo’s quaking in his boots. “Oh, oh dear. Well, I guess I’ll just-” He raises his hand, fingers shaking as he draws up his sigil. A blossoming red lotus of redstone and electricity, flecks of magic falling away like embers. They drift into the sky, carried up towards the bright blue atmosphere and fluffy white clouds. Zedaph can’t help but notice that they look like sheep, his ungulate allies in the barn he calls home. 

When he looks back down, the circle has been cast. But what the trio sees erupt from Mumbo’s hand looks less like a great bolt of red lightning, and more like a static shock stained ruddy. Mumbo whimpers, watching it disappear like the embers of his circle. He doesn’t have the courage to tell the trio he told them so, because he’s so focused on his own failure. 

“Aww, it’s okay Mumbo. Just try again- I’m sure you can do it.” Zedaph, dares to step forward, giving a hearty pat on Mumbo’s back. Zedaph grew up in the rural countryside around Foresta, where everything is rough. Calloused hands from years of farming give the tightest hugs.

And a weak city boy like Mumbo just wasn’t prepared for Zed’s strength. There was no malice, but his lanky body just couldn’t handle the slap on the back. He stumbles forward, hands catching himself on the ground- and sparking the magic deep within him. Magic flows freely from his fingers, redstone forming a circuit along the verdant grass and into the crater Impulse has created. Magic rushes through him, overwhelming each and every atom and fiber of his being. He doesn’t have control of his magic. His magic has control of him. 

The circuit connects to the gemstone, the dust illuminating and lightning ricocheting free from the trail. Mumbo blinks, his eyes filling with red light as magic takes over his whole body. So much magic, uncontained by a circle. 

“Guys, do it now!” Zedaph orders, noting the way the dark crystal rocks in the dirt. It glows from within, red light and lightning escaping the darkness of the opaque gem. Being ripped apart by Mumbo’s astounding magic. Zed knew Mumbo was strong- but this? This is unlike anything he’s ever seen. Including two different forms of magic. 

Impulse doesn’t waste a second. He waves his hand, casting a spell and snapping his fingers. The crater grows deeper as the dirt erupts in an explosion, smoke illuminated by deep red and yellow fire from Tango’s magic. They don’t  stop, they don’t let up. Only when the dust settles and smoke clears away, Mumbo’s circuit going dead, does Zedaph dare to peek into the cavity caused by his friends. 

The crystal has been obliterated. All that’s left it dust, caught by the wind and scattered into the azure waves of the sea around them. Team ZIT celebrates the defeat of the crystal, grabbing one another and pouncing on their backs. Howling with joy and rubbing their knuckles rough into each other’s hair and back. Mumbo stands up silently, bolts of lightning escaping from his hands. Striking around him, turning the grass a burnt black color. And growing stronger.

“We did it, guys! We showed that stupid crystal it messed with the wrong guild!” Impulse cheers, his smile so wide across his face it hurts his cheek. 

“Mumbo, dude, that was incredible.” Tango looks over Zedaph’s shoulder, brushing dirt off of the pink capelet. Mumbo doesn’t answer Tango’s compliment. He’s just standing in the grass, eyes closed. Zaps of lightning grow more frequent each second. “Mumbo?”

Zedaph steps away, pulling free of Impulse and Tango’s touch. He reels back as a bolt of lightning nearly hits his leg, all his blond hair standing on end. “Mumbo? Mumbo can you hear us?” 

Mumbo’s eyes snap open. But those grey irises, filled with inquisitivity and anxiety, are overshadowed by a glowing red. Sparks like static electricity crease free from his eyes, staring blindly out. Mumbo’s not in control of his magic. Impulse is the first to notice his feet losing connection with the ground. “He’s going into a power surge!” 

Impulse and Tango run into the lightning storm, each grabbing a sleeve of Mumbo’s black robe. Holding him down, their faces creased with pain when lightning courses into their body. They can feel the air turn to ozone, the scent of a storm on the horizon. Tango clenches his teeth, digging his heels into the ground. They shouldn’t have pushed Mumbo when he wasn’t ready. He needs to have control of his magic. “Zedaph! Do something!” 

Zedaph is already summoning his magic circle, the intricate spell requiring a number of motions to draw it up. Taking control of an animal is one thing. A human is something completely different. And a friend, more than anything. He hates having to remove their free will- but Mumbo isn’t in control. He has to do something. Impulse slips from his grip on Mumbo’s sleeve, fingers digging into the gold trim near the newest guildmember’s ankles. The grass is becoming further from Mumbo’s feet, weightless like a feather. 

“Mumbo!” Zed calls as he casts his spell. The two souls find a connection, Zedaph pulling on Mumbo’s soul. Trying to bring sense back from the senseless entropy of magic. Zedaph is standing still, but his face is contorted as he works to calm his friend down. He’s a shepherd mage, this is his job. To herd minds in the direction he so pleases. Animals, humans, he has the ability to speak to things beyond human language. To people beyond talk. To Mumbo, trapped and warped in his own magic. “Mumbo, calm down. Take control again.” 

Zedaph’s voice was no louder than a whisper, but to Mumbo it was a roar. His eyes blink away the red that blinded him, falling back to the ground with a stumble. His mind feels hazy, his body two steps ahead of his actual consciousness. Grass brushes against his hands, a gentle tickle against tingling skin. He finally looks up, and finds he’s not the only one on his knees. Zed has fallen down, his face pale but still smiling. 

Mumbo struggles to stand, struggles to understand what happened. Until he hears a crunch at his feet. He looks down, moving his boot out of the way. The blades of verdant green have been charred black, rocks and dirt flung aside. Like lightning struck the ground. “Oh, oh dear.” 

Scar scurries back to the group of hermits, looking around at the massive, sprawling city. A shadow casts over them, the pillar representing one of the eight core values set by the king. Kindness, casting it’s long shadow over the bright pennants and green canals of the streets. Wooden buildings stand on stilts, resting on the steppes and tiers of the city. From beside and beneath the houses, waterfalls pour over mossy and verdant lips of ground, water traveling through the city like blood through veins. Little boats carry messages, their fabric sails filled magically. They bob down the canals, bumping across lilypads and the flowers that live on circular islands, tipping over waterfalls but never losing it’s precious mail. 

And already, the hermits can see the center of the city, the heart of Lairyon. Three large buildings, white as aged cypress trees, and just as old. The castle, with gleaming towers that stretch out like branches, home of King Sor. 

In the center, a stout building with twin water wheels, spinning in their eternal race to nowhere. Moving water across all of Milliara, like a heart pumping blood. Water is the lifeblood of Lairyon, the island nation. The structure is a feat only completed through the help of all the cities. Metal from Dwarveil, flown in with cooperation from Foresta and Edenswell- their magic and animals. The mill, built by the brightest engineers from Darlon, and the water moved with the aid of Rivera and Watercrest’s magical affinity. 

And to the right, the newest building. The capitol house, home of the magistrate and Council of Guilds. It’s they who make the laws, with the magistrate as the elected head of the people. Vaulting windows that spiral up the shortest building of the three, and the flag of Lairyon at every corner and trellis. That’s where the hermits are going. The capitol building, to meet with Magistrate Dolios. Some call him the People’s King- elected by the populace, but in power almost as long as the young king has been. The people just keep electing him every new season. 

Doc rubs his shoulders, glancing out the corner of his eyes as they walk over a bridge, white twisted roots and pennants bearing Lairyon’s colors inviting the hermits into the city center. “Doesn’t this feel wrong, you guys?” 

“What do you mean?” Jevin tilts his head, slime squishing and a lock of his blue semi-liquid hair falling into a cowlick. 

“I mean...we should be more careful, man. We’re an illegal guild walking into the center of the law. Most of us have been on the wrong side of this man and his rules about guilds for years.” Doc tugs on the sleeves of his robes, the tattered ends sticking out like a sore thumb around high society. 

“You’re just being paranoid, dude.” Ren snickers. “Not all of us are hardened criminals that have done time in prison. Just you, Doc.” 

“Besides, the magistrate said if we investigated that mega problem in Gildara, we’d become a legal guild. Well, now here we are to claim our reward!” Iskall adds. 

“Why now, is all I’m asking.” Doc picks up his pace, falling in step with Xisuma. “How many times have we been rejected to be a new guild? I mean, we tried to follow Dolios’s law and get a license, but we were always rejected for no freaking reason! It’s not a fair law, but now all of sudden he wants to give us what we were denied? And why not ask any other guild?” 

Xisuma tightens his lip, though no one but him knows. His mask is on, protecting him from the sunlight. “We can’t go into this assuming anything. We did what the magistrate has asked, despite the clear violation we are in with his own laws.” 

“Just...remember that.” Doc slinks back, falling into step with BDubs and Zedaph. Both of which would rather not be in the busy city center. Guilds have been restricted by law, one of Magistrate Dolios’s early orders passed. A licensed guild is moderated, inspected. Safer than an unlicensed guild. At least, according to the capitol, they are. 

But unlicensed guilds have their reasons for existing. It’s expensive to run a legal guild, so missions often come with high expenses. The Hermit guild picks up work legal guilds would refuse, helping poor towns who can’t afford such high commission fees. To many of the hermits, the laws of guilds are too strict. They don’t allow for creativity, for individuality. To belong to a guild has become a status symbol few poorer or uneducated mages can attain. The knowledge stays within the guilds, and especially the Council of Guilds has become a country club of sorts. The new nobility. 

“It’s been a long time since I’ve stood here.” Stress whispers, looking up the steps of the capitol building. 

“Right there with ya, mate.” Mumbo runs his bottom lip over the hairs of his mustache, looking around. Hoping no one notices him. Stress ran away from the high life. Mumbo was abandoned by it. The guild walks up the steps, an odd crew seen at the crown of the kingdom. A mix of criminals and nobles, mischief makers and rule followers, quiet souls and crowd pleasers. And their magic is just as varied. Guild members and other government officials stare as they enter into the grand hall of the capitol, clean pressed robes a harsh contrast to the battle worn and road weary hermits. Grian still has hay sticking out of his hair. 

The staircase, with velvety red carpet and marble steps, is blocked by giant magical swords. Guards wield the blades, keeping what they can only imagine to be riffraff out of the offices. “State your business, wizard.” 

“We are here to meet with Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma states, lifting his chin proudly. The guards don’t move, only glancing at one another. X rolls back on his heels, the awkward silence prolonging until he’s popping his lips just to fill the void. He typically likes that stuff too. “I expect he knows we’re coming, right?” 

“Why would the magistrate, the leader of Lairyon, want to see a bunch of mongrels off the streets?” One guard hisses, nose wrinkling. “You all reek of backwater, why don’t you return to your-” The second guard is cut off as his sword pulls away from blocking the stairs to point at the hermits.

“What do you think you’re doing to my esteemed guests?” A clear, calm voice cuts through the air. A voice that demands the attention of every single person in the hall, including every hermit. The guards turn, looking up the stairs. And standing at the top, hand resting on the stone railing, is Magistrate Dolios. 

Curly brown hair, the color of fertile soil fresh from a morning rainfall, sweeps down into a tame ponytail, framing a tanned face and charismatic blue-hazel eyes. A soft smile creases between the magistrate’s beard. Purple and red robes flow down the stairs, a golden tassled belt denoting the man as the magistrate of the Council. “You put those barbaric weapons away, and let these good people of Lairyon up the steps.” Dolios looks to Xisuma, nodding his head and placing a hand over his heart. “I have been anxiously awaiting your return.”

The guards don’t hesitate to follow the magistrate’s orders, sheathing the weapons and letting the hermits pass by. Most follow Magistrate Dolios up the stairs, though Doc can’t help but give the arcane guard some trouble on his way past. For once, they can’t do anything to arrest him. The hermits follow the magistrate up into the offices, walking along the velvet carpet with awe. Most have never seen such riches in their life. Dolios’s words are just din. “I’m so glad you arrived completely unharmed. But may I ask...where is your guildmaster?” 

“TFC? He went back to our compound to research a specimen he found in Gildara. He didn’t want to waste a minute, so he left alone.” X responds, stepping through the door that Dolios opens. 

They’re in his office. It’s large, but the space feels tight. It’s full of artifacts and trophies, both manmade and organic. Zedaph immediately shrinks in, the head of a bakunawa mounted on the wall beside him. Impulse and Tango look around as well, all three members of team ZIT unnerved by the office. Something doesn’t feel right. But Dolios is perfectly at home, sauntering behind his desk and sitting down. His eyes run across the hermits before him, picking up a white feather from his desk as his eyes pass over Grian. “So, tell me. What did you find in the town of Gildara?” 

Joe steps up, repositioning his glasses on the bridge of his nose and clearing his throat. “When we reached about five kilometers from the town of Gildara, we became aware of the earth turning grey, like ash. But not just the top layer- the entire ground was devoid of life. Crops that grew died, and wooden poles were beginning to rot. When we reached the town, it was completely uninhabited. We soon discovered a crystal deep within the well of the town, which was unaffected by any magic we threw at it.” 

Dolios nods his head slowly. “So how did you take care of the problem?” 

“We...We didn’t. Two people- who we can only describe as being simple husks, devoid of thought, life, or energy beyond basic magic- appeared, attacking us. The crystal then lashed out, and we were only able to make it retreat before falling back ourselves.” Joe bites his lip. 

“You asked us to investigate the disturbance, Magistrate Dolios.” Xisuma steps up, brushing out the top of his outfit. “We took care of the crystal, sending it into dormancy. But the people of Gildara are gone. I think this requires more researching before we can truly do something to break that crystal. Based on my albeit limited knowledge- they don’t really cover this kind of magic at the academy- I do believe this crystal was corrupted by dark magic.” 

The office is silent, Dolios staring at the hermits. Finally, he sighs. “That is rather...disturbing news. Do you have any idea who could be behind this?” All of the hermits shake their heads in unison, thought team ZIT becomes distracted by something fluttering on the wall. “Unfortunate. Well, your work is valuable to my cause. I have learned a great deal from this.” 

Dolios stands, hand waving. The door behind the hermits opens, allowing the harsh light of the hall into the dark office. False raises an eyebrow. “So...does that mean we’re a guild now? A legal guild?” 

Mumbo steps back as he sees a dangerous glint enter Dolios’s gaze, though his lips never turn away from the charismatic smile he wears like jewelry. He closes his eyes, hand raising to cover his mouth. But it does nothing to hide the laughter, growing as his shoulders bounce and he leans back in his chair. It’s a low laugh, reverberating from the chest like a growl. “You really believed I would give you the honorable title of a licensed guild...just for that?” 

Doc rips forward, hand waving across and nearly knocking half a dozen knicknacks from the Magistrate’s desk. A few papers lift up, but the magistrate places a hand over them without even looking away from the puppeteer. “We did what you contracted us to do! You said we’d be a legal guild!” 

“You mean this contract?” Dolios’s fingers dance across a parchment paper, bearing the signature of the Order of Hermits’ guildmaster. TFC’s crawling, stout signature. He lifts it up, showing it to all the hermits with brazen eyes. A devious curl appears at the corner of his soft smile, and he snaps his fingers.

The contract goes up in flames. Ash sweeps past the hermits, carrying all their hopes and dreams along with it. “Why would this nation need a pack of roaches like you? I will let this unlawful congregation of...miscreants pass through Milliara for now. But you all are in direct violation of my laws, and must disband at once. You are dismissed.” 

“That’s not fair!” Grian shouts, scrabbling up Mumbo to get a better view- a better place to yell from. “You contracted us to investigate Gildara, you contacted us yourself! You-” 

“You need to learn to stop squawking your mouth, little bird.” Dolios cuts him off, twirling the feather in his hand. Zedaph notices red stains on the pure white barbs. “I recommend you all leave my office now, before your privilege as esteemed guests becomes the misfortune as unlawful intruders to the leader of Lairyon’s own office. I will repeat myself only once more. You are dismissed.” 

Doc is the first one out. Storming through the guild, muttering “I told you so” under his breath. Zedaph races out next, tears pricking at the corner of his eyes. Tango and Impulse are close behind their friend. Once every last hermit is out, the door slams closed, and the same guards that met them at the bottom of the stairs have arrived to escort them out. 

-----------------------------------------------------

“TFC? Where is everyone?” TFC looks up, pulling the magnifying piece from his eye and setting down the black crystal. Before him, a knight in shining armor has appeared, or at least the closest version the hermits can find. 

“Ahh, Wels. What took you so long?” TFC grumbles, returning to his inspection of the crystal. The short tone sets Wels aback, brows furrowing. Their guildmaster is typically overjoyed to have a hermit return from a mission. Hugging, checking them over for wounds, and asking about the job done. 

“You know Alphasgard. Just a bunch of sticks in the asses.” Wels shrugs, feeling his shoulder ache where the bone and skin is still healing. Those rogues thought they could torture him for information, but they just made him mad. “Nothing I haven’t dealt with before. Got some pretty sick scars to show off when the others return. Where are they?” 

But TFC isn’t listening, back to prodding the crystal with a metal needle. Scraping at the lustrous surface. Wels steps away, setting his shield down at False’s forge before returning to his home. He glances back at TFC’s crystalline cave. Something isn’t right. TFC would be hounding Wels to take a look at his scars. He always berates the younger members for being so reckless, but then pats them on the back- quite rough- and congratulates them on another great tavern tale earned. But TFC is alone, on the empty island. How long has he been the only one here? Just him and that strange crystal? 

“We’ve been training for this day for like, ever and ever. We’ve all seen what you’ve got on the training grounds. You’re ready Mumbo.” Grian shoulders his pack and pulls his hair free from his cloak. Mumbo has been packing since they left the guild hall, but his roommate just finished shoving his underwear into his backpack. Mumbo isn’t sure why he continues to live with Grian- he may have been the only person he knew when he joined the guild, but that was a year or so ago. More than enough time to build his own place. 

Grian nods towards the open archway of his home. Most of his place is open windows, wide enough for him to easily fly through white pillars holding up the glass dome. Protecting Mumbo’s stock of redstone, inventions, and his bed on the lower floors. The two wander down the quartz stairs, feet bouncing against the strengthened cloud that the tower sits upon. It took Grian and Scar days to find the right consistency of cloud that could hold up a building and people. Grian couldn’t help but want to lay down and bask in the cool droplets, playing in it like snow. 

But Mumbo keeps him on the right track, continuing down the stairs and across the bridge to the main island. Above them, they can hear BDubs shout from the top of his jungle tree, grabbing hold of a vine and sliding down. His landing isn’t that graceful, but his rebound is almost immediate. He shouts, waving to Keralis and sprinting down the dirt path. 

Mumbo and Grian pass by Joe’s library, lanterns blown out and books missing from their shelves. Including a few from a locked cabinet- his most important and dangerous books. In the distance, they can also see TFC’s gem cave has also gone dark, the crystals without the glimmer of light refracting through them, and the deck of Cleo’s shipwreck is devoid of ghosts and zombies. Her crew has been sent back to slumber while she’s gone. Grian jumps out of the way as Zedaph, Tango, and Impulse come rolling out of the barn. Tussling with one another, laughing and trying to beat the others to the guild hall. False is still at her forge, sweeping her hand and finishing the touches of another weapon. 

The guild hall is awash with talk, excitement, and nerves. They’ve never had a whole guild contract- it’s always been less than five, with one instance of about ten hermits to a single job. That was their highest paying job- until today. Normally, they have to curate their teams to the task at hand. The girls go into situations that need strength, team ZIT when they need a carrot and a stick. Transport missions often go with Etho, Scar, and Cub, and infiltration works best with Doc and Ren. 

False walks up the steps, plucking a pastry from the pile of food generously made by Stress. Her belt is filled with knives, and her backpack is swinging with various blades, all handcrafted. She tosses a saber to Cleo, who catches it with ease from midair. TFC clears his throat, looking at the collection of wizards before him. “Is that everyone? Do we have a headcount?” 

“We’re all here.” Xisuma states, pulling his mask over his face as the sun starts to rise. He may not be the guildmaster anymore, but he still takes a headcount every time they’re at a meeting. It’s just his instinct to. 

“Good, great. So, Gildara is a small town in the northern plain of Lairyon, which means it’ll be a few days' journey. Unfortunately, we’re too large a group to use Cub’s magic, and he’s never even heard of Gildara, much less been there. So that’s a wash.” TFC shrugs, and the hermits near Cub ease his apologies away. “We need to stay together, and be alert on our way there. We’re a large group traveling, people may ask questions. Does everyone remember our alibi?” 

Everyone nods their heads. Almost everyone. Mumbo leans over to Iskall, biting his lip. “Dude, I forgot it!” 

“That’s right- you’ve never been on a mission before.” Iskall leans back, listening to TFC as he continues down his list of preparations. “We aren’t a guild, we’re a circus troupe. Our magic isn’t regulated that way, and all you have to do is some silly tricks with your magic and they’ll just keep on going.” 

“But I can hardly get my magic to appear!” Mumbo’s eyes widen. 

“Then you’re just a clown.” Iskall grins, and leans away from Mumbo. 

“I think that’s everything I have listed here. Does anyone have any questions?” TFC rolls up the paper, slipping it into his messenger bag. Tucking it between bags of crystals- all charged with moonlight and ready for anything they’ll face. 

“Did the contract say anything about what we’ll be facing?” Joe questions, tapping his quill on his chin. 

TFC shakes his head, the braid in his beard rustling against his tunic. “No, it just said a ‘discrepancy’ has been occurring in Gildara. I can only assume the magistrate needs us to do more than just go at it with our weapons, but rather understand what’s happening.” 

“Why else would he offer such a large sum of money?” Grian points out. He knows he grew up poor, one orphan of many in a village that was ravaged by an uncontrolled magical fire. But even a noblewoman like Stress seemed alarmed by the price the contract brought. 

“It still seems too good to be true.” Doc whispers, but he’s not going to back out. He’s never one to shy away from a fight, a challenge. And what better than being a criminal that is getting paid by the very magistrate he despises? It’s too sweet a treat to deny himself. 

Zedaph sits up, eyes blinking back to himself. “The sky turtles have arrived! Let’s not waste another minute!”

He’s gone before anyone else, even the rest of his team, can process what he said. Running over the hillside to the sandy beach below the hill. Grian is up next, wings appearing and his tongue protruding from his lips. “Last one to the mainland has to pitch the tents!” 

That gets everyone to their feet. Tango casts his magic circle, red wings like a dragon’s appearing and sending him into the air after the angel. Disappearing into the thick fog of the Ashioll sea. And for the rest of the guild, those without the ability to fly, they have the sky turtles. Massive beasts of islands far off Lairyon’s shores. Flippers that double as wings, feathers flapping in the air as easily as they move through the water. Gentle giants, as old as the islands that they move between. Older than wizardkind. And they love Zedaph, his easy voice and soothing magic.