Chapter I

What a chilly breeze, perhaps it was what my ravens' feathers warned 'do not look to the northeast this day. It's not that I communicate with beasts, but ultimately it's what magic grants us, the lofty, the elevated. Such is the altitude that we dwell in freezing peaks. Every day I observe this snowy surge over the rooftops, and I would like to be here just to witness this sight. But my lords have other plans. I wish I were as useful as the mother flame's undulations around the year, as the winds move in winter or summer. But instead, my task is not as holy as some peasants and adepts believe. Daily, I converse with the ravens; I know I possess their eyes, but I must ensure they do not speak lies. These morning talks are only the beginning of my day. My masters have awakened, and it's not that I find out through a good morning; I hear their voice, my mind is vacated, the lie I call conscience in my position hides among my organs. They summon me; 'Has any Orobelo been born? Is there anything interesting crawling today?' 'No, your great excellency, only miserable stenches, slaughters, and foolishness.' 'Continue with your day, brother.' The fog dissipates, my sight, my hands, my body, my mind are mine again, although I don't know if my mind ever was since I've been here. I greet my brothers, beings clad in fine fabrics, golden laces, all with a configuration printed on their robes intended to conduct energy in different forms. This and the color scheme of our garments define each brother's holy journey. There are various types, and their purpose in this space we've stolen from the sky is different. There are slaves, simple mages, apprentices, and even the most powerful elders of our world. Our mission is to seize all the magic that exists on earth, killing, enslaving, and crushing anything that dares to rise and look us straight in the eyes. Perhaps after this comment, I confirm that my mind is mine, or perhaps I'm just an ant, a worker, and the queens of this hive don't find my rebellion significant as long as they get what they want.

I am the sight, and I am the pen of my brotherhood. Kings, villages, cry my name, 'Emsys addresses all of us.' People clean out the wax from their ears, sit in circles, and silence those on their right. The poor villages fall silent, the governments convene assemblies. 'I, Emsys, spokesperson of the most holy brotherhood of the Clavira region, beacon that guides knowledge, magic, and sorcery in the region, announce the descent of a delegation of illustrious brothers to recognize and remedy life in the region. Welcome them at your doors, prepare your women, slaughter 100 pigs, skin and extract their hides, prepare the fabrics, for this mission requires everyone, both soldiers and peasants.' Sometimes I don't understand why I'm here. Will I be the villain when they judge me? Or will I simply say I followed orders?

My mission and intentions are different; at some point in my life, they diverged into parallel paths, and all I have left is to think about how I would have wanted to be and act as I never imagined I could. They told me, 'Your gifts will be the eyes of our summit, your ravens will guard the region from the world's inclemencies, you will tell the workers when to plant, when to harvest.' But instead, I sniff out the magical trail of some exceptional being to deposit it in our catacombs or chambers if luck permits.

--Brother, what news do you have? Have they found that Orofist? Perhaps he's become aware?' This is Arne, the anatomist of Reden. Here are true obsessives who, regardless of whether their holy labor is to maim or mutilate conscious beings, do it because knowledge is more important.

--No, brother, I replied, maintaining good manners. The circle confirms its suspicions; it's likely that our target is already aware of his nature, although it will be difficult for him to hide his presence for another week.

--That only makes it more interesting, but regardless of his power, he doesn't understand what true magic is. Where did they say his trail was found? Despite his miserable intentions, he's right.

--In Angsiss, a brown mage was healing wounded after the battle of Tah when he felt the effects of his enchantment suddenly amplified, managing to heal almost 15 men in 15.7 seconds, which was the duration of his presence.

--Let's leave the details of that battle for dinner, the Circle speculates that the presence of this Orofist may have had an altruistic purpose or that perhaps he's sympathetic to Benefer Tah.

--It's hard to know, and handling so many possibilities doesn't lead us down a secure path. Angsiss is one of the kingdoms near the southern pines; its influence in the region is not negligible, as they provide the raw materials to sustain our research. Wrought iron is one of the best materials for magical conduits. The night is already here, and a slice of moonlight pierces the dining room; it's as if the star delineates the wicked from the most wicked. On the right, we have the young apprentices, and on the left, the consecrated mages. The Circle dines in the main hall of the fifth tower of Reden; every mage's desire is for the Circle to want to discuss an important matter since dinner is the time when results are presented.

--We should stick with the mines and the arms; after all, it benefits everyone to have a pact with us. Comments Fran, a mage of herbs and potions. He should consider serving himself some to repair the malevolent genetics he's been dealt, hairy and dwarfed. From his talk, all I remember are how monstrous his claws are, claws of some beast.

--The Circle owes almost all of its influence in Clavira to the Tah family, and it's not a crime to acknowledge it. One of our purposes is to show those monkeys what's important. Ultimately, beauty is not distinctive among the brothers of Reden; the gleam emitted from this brother's bald head makes my memories of his name fuzzy.

--I'm not afraid to admit; in fact, I'm grateful, but I don't want my sandals muddied just because they don't send the Mitran knife-throwers; those scum are like hounds.' 'I think those creatures only give Reden a bad name.

--I think the Circle was right to prepare a delegation to address the urgencies that disturb the quagmire.They gave very good results against the brown mages of the docks.

--Those mages are pathetic; they think that by wallowing with pigs, they'll achieve something. They pretend to be moralists.

--¿What about you, Emsys? You've been very quiet; surely you have an opinion.' The crystal-headed wretch mentions.

'I think the Mitran knives are an extreme measure, but given our intentions, it would be perfect for them to act while our delegation draws attention.

And as Fran uttered the first syllable, a dark figure burst in, twisting the air in the chamber. The food no longer wants to pass through the throat; the air is so dense, the blocks twist in Reden, everything becomes rough, dry, like a desert. Like Minjard, the main leader of the Mitral knives. "The circle needs you, brother Emsys," everyone is impressed, as Minjard is the face of important matters. I simply nod and accompany him, unable to ignore the trail of death this beast emanates. How many people has this being led to their demise? Perhaps this was my last meal, wasted by sharing the table with servile lackeys.

We have summoned you because we want you to be part of the retinue that will descend to earth, but in a more special way.

--You will accompany and chart a route for Minjard and his men to the forests that surround Ostin; they will extract the truth from that brown mage who aided Tah's forces and locate the Orobelo.

--Forgive me, your excellency, but I can do that from here.

--We are aware, but perhaps the Mitrales require other missions, and you must provide them with the routes for these purposes.

--Agreed, your grace. Apologies for the impertinence of my question.

--Continue with your talk, brother, and the good company of your brethren.

Now, I am definitely ruined.