Northern Shore of the Conquest Sea, Telva.

In the afternoon, the grand harbor of Telva was still bustling without pause. Amid the continuous sound of steam whistles, countless ships of all sizes came and went across the lively docks. As the largest port city in Cassatia, Telva was brimming with vitality beneath the early spring sunlight.

The areas near the docks seemed even more prosperous than other parts of the city. Streets bustled with crowds and vehicles, flanked by endless rows of shops, all kept thriving by the heavy foot traffic. Yet not every part of the city needed to be bustling for a shop to survive.

Not far from the busy dock district, on the western side of the city—tucked deep within a maze of alleyways far from the main roads—lay a network of narrow, intersecting lanes. These shadowy, damp alleys were unreachable by direct sunlight. Fetid drainage water flowed beneath worn cobblestones, and the walls on either side were weathered and crumbling.

Within the gloomy alleys, a woman dressed in a dark trench coat, wearing a low hat and a face mask, moved carefully along. While walking briskly, she kept a cautious eye on the few scattered pedestrians in the alley. After turning a few corners, her gaze sharpened as she spotted a shop up ahead by the side of the alley.

It was a run-down herbal shop with an old facade and no signage. A few stalls extended from the entrance, displaying dried herbs, strange powders, and oddly shaped minerals.

The woman paused for a moment in front of the old shop, then stepped inside. After a brief exchange with the elderly woman who owned the place, the shopkeeper weighed and packaged some powdered herbs for her. The woman tucked them into her coat pocket and handed over several banknotes.

Having completed her purchase, the woman left the herbal shop and returned to the alley. After a quick glance around, she picked a direction and moved forward. She hadn’t gone far before she found her path blocked by a stray dog. The scrawny golden retriever was sniffing her intently, as if trying to identify her scent.

“Shoo!”

Frowning, the woman gestured to drive the dog away. The stray immediately darted to the side, showing no aggression or inclination to bark.

Seeing this, the woman didn’t think much of it. She continued walking swiftly through the maze-like alleys. Despite the labyrinthine twists and turns, she never hesitated in her steps, as if she were deeply familiar with the layout.

After walking for quite some time, she turned into an even narrower alley. At the end stood a grimy wooden door.

She quickly approached the door and knocked in a rhythmic pattern. Then she stood still, waiting. But after some time, the door remained closed.

Frowning slightly, she was just about to knock again when a voice suddenly called from behind her.

“Miss Mist-Swallow.”

She turned and saw a man standing at the far end of the alley. He was short in stature, wearing a brown cloak and a wooden mask—an outfit similar in its concealment to her own. She blinked in surprise before speaking.

“You’re… Mr. Red-Stave?”

“Yes, it’s been a while, Miss Mist-Swallow. It’s been more than a month since the last gathering, hasn’t it?” the masked man replied.

Listening to him, Mist-Swallow spoke cautiously, “Mr. Red-Stave… you came for this month’s gathering as well?”

“Of course I did. But as you can see, no one’s here. Mr. Stepstone isn’t around. This month’s gathering is canceled.”

Red-Stave’s voice was calm as he spoke to her. Mist-Swallow’s brow furrowed further as she responded.

“Stepstone isn’t here? That’s strange. He usually gives advance notice if a gathering is going to be canceled. But he said nothing about this last month.”

“I don’t know the full details either…” Red-Stave replied.

“Normally, yes, he gives us a heads-up. But clearly, something’s wrong—there’s no one here, and no message left. That can only mean Mr. Stepstone might’ve run into trouble.”

Red-Stave’s tone was low and serious. Mist-Swallow, visibly unsettled, shook her head and responded in disbelief.

"Mr. Stepstone ran into trouble? That’s impossible... Mr. Stepstone is such a powerful mystic—how could anything happen to him?"

“That’s hard to say, Miss Mist-Swallow. Mr. Stepstone has told us before—there’s always someone stronger in the mysticism world. Nothing is ever truly impossible,” said the man known as Red-Stave. Hearing his words, the woman called Mist-Swallow murmured in disbelief:

“No way… If even Mr. Stepstone can have problems, then just what in the world has happened…”

Seeing her visibly stunned expression, Red-Stave took a few steps closer and lowered his voice.

“To be honest, lately the atmosphere beneath the surface has felt... off. In my circle, two people have mysteriously disappeared—vanished without a trace. No one knows why. And now this situation with Mr. Stepstone? I’ve got a really bad feeling…”

Red-Stave spoke with evident caution. Hearing this, Mist-Swallow couldn’t help but respond in a worried tone.

“A bad feeling…? Just what exactly is going on?”

“I don’t know. But from what I’ve heard, none of the circles are peaceful lately. You’d best be careful too.”

After that, Mist-Swallow and Red-Stave chatted a bit more and once again tried knocking on the door at the end of the alley. Still, there was no response. Eventually, the two gave up waiting. After a brief farewell, they left the scene.

After leaving the alley, the woman wandered the edges of the city, her expression troubled. After wandering for quite a while, she finally emerged onto a bustling avenue. There, she took off her mask and drew a deep breath, glancing at the many carriages passing by.

She raised her hand to hail a cab. When one stopped before her, she quickly opened the door and climbed in. Once seated, she gave the driver an address:

“Please take me to the south gate of Gold Grace Neighborhood on Autumn Wood Street.”

“Understood. Please hold on, miss.”

With that, the cab driver urged the carriage forward, weaving through the city streets toward their destination. As they bumped along, the woman gazed out the window, her mind full of anxious thoughts about everything that had just happened.

Soon, they arrived at their destination: a quiet residential area along the northern riverbank of Telva. The surroundings were peaceful and well-maintained, clearly home to people of some means.

After getting out and paying the fare, the woman entered the neighborhood and walked along a landscaped path dotted with sparse spring flowers. She approached a residential building, stepping over soil mounded at the entrance from recent pipeline work in the flowerbed, and entered.

Climbing quickly to the fourth floor, she stopped before an apartment door, took out her key, and opened it. Once inside, she locked the door behind her, leaning against it with a sigh of relief. She took off her hat, revealing short chestnut hair, and hung it on a coat rack.

She was about to head to the kitchen to put away the herbs she’d just bought when a voice suddenly startled her.

“Ah, you’re finally back.”

Startled, the woman spun toward the sound—and saw an unfamiliar man sitting on the living room sofa.

He was a handsome young man with short hair, dressed in a sleek and well-fitted outfit, casually sipping a steaming cup of tea. An opened tin of tea leaves sat on the table in front of him—her own private stash.

“Who are you?! How did you get into my home?! Get out or I’ll call someone!”

Frightened, she stumbled back several steps, grabbing for a nearby knife as she shouted at the stranger on her couch. Fear was clear in her eyes.

“No need to be so hasty, Miss Mist-Swallow. My name is Brandon. I’m here specifically to talk to you. The street isn’t a convenient place for such a conversation, so I figured I’d pay you a visit at home—somewhere we can talk quietly. Don’t worry, I mean you no harm.”

Brandon spoke plainly, his demeanor calm despite the tension. When he casually said her secret alias aloud, the woman flinched slightly—then replied, still wary.

"You... you know that name of mine… Are you also one of those operating beneath the surface?"

"Of course. Just like you, I’m a student of the mystic arts. But I’m not from around here—I just arrived in this city, unfamiliar with everything. So I was hoping to find a local to help me understand the lay of the land a little. I’d like to trouble you for a bit, if I may."

With a faint smile, Brandon spoke calmly to the woman before him. Hearing his words, she remained wary as she continued questioning him.

"You say you’re from somewhere else? Then how do you know I study mysticism? How do you know my codename? And how did you find out where I live?"

"How I knew you were an mystic researcher… that’s simple. Earlier, you bought glow-leaf from an old herb shop in the west side of the city. I could also smell dry tidefish powder and red-stalk fruit on you. With those three ingredients, you can brew a calming tea that eases early-stage cognitive poison symptoms. That’s something only people who dabble in mysticism would ever need. So I knew from that point."

Brandon sat on the couch, casually explaining while watching the woman. Hearing his analysis, she froze slightly, then widened her eyes and snapped back.

"You were following me?! You were there at the shop?! No… no, wait—there weren’t two people in that store. You shouldn’t have been there!"

"Ah, yes… ’following you’—while that’s technically true, I prefer the term ’keeping an eye on you.’"

"Keeping an eye on me?"

"Exactly. I did start watching you after noticing your connection to mysticism. I saw you attend one of the monthly gatherings, watched you chat with your peers—it’s where I heard your codename. Then, on your way home, you hailed a carriage and spoke your home address out loud. I happened to be nearby at the time, so I came here ahead of you to wait.”

"As for how I figured out which building was yours—when you got into the carriage, I noticed some Mother Blossom petals and mud on your shoe. Only one apartment block in this area has both fallen petals and muddy tracks at its entrance. So I checked around, picked up the scent of the herbs you’d bought, and waited. Since you weren’t due back for a bit, I let myself in for a cup of tea."

Brandon smiled as he finished his calm explanation, while the woman’s fear slowly turned into stunned disbelief.

"You… you were close enough to the block when I hailed the cab in the west part of the city… that must be a mystical ability! You’re not just a mystic student—you’re an actual Awakened, a true practitioner!"

Her astonishment was clear as she looked at Brandon, who simply smiled and said nothing. Realizing the truth, her hostility quickly melted away—she knew that showing open defiance toward a true Awakened would be incredibly foolish.

"Um… Mr. Brandon, please forgive my earlier rudeness. It’s an honor to have someone like you visit my humble home."

She let go of the knife she had gripped earlier and spoke to Brandon with deference, her expression now a mix of nervousness and awe. It was obvious she understood how dangerous it could be to provoke someone like him.

"Haha, there’s no need to be so tense. As I said before, I mean you no harm. I just came to ask a few questions about the city."

Brandon took another sip of tea as he spoke. Hearing this, the woman responded quickly.

"You want to ask about something? Please go ahead—if I know anything, I’ll answer."

"It’s nothing too major. I just wanted to ask if you know about the White Craftsmen’s Guild…"

"The White Craftsmen’s Guild… yes, I do know about it. That’s the organization Mr. Stepstone belongs to—he’s a well-respected Awakened here in Telva. From what I’ve been told, he’s a member of that guild. He also hosts several mystical gatherings in the city. I’ve been fortunate enough to attend one of them."

She answered candidly, and from afar, Dorothy listened through Brandon and thought to herself.

“Stepstone… affiliated with the White Craftsmen’s Guild, organizes low-level gatherings in the city… sounds like the role Aldrich played in Ivengard. Do all members of the White Craftsmen’s Guild have this habit of organizing meetings?”

“And apparently, Stepstone was supposed to host a gathering today, but there’s been no sign of it. I wonder why it was canceled… Isn’t the White Craftsmen’s Guild supposed to value contracts and reputation? They wouldn’t flake so casually…”

With that thought, Dorothy had Brandon continue the inquiry.

"Miss Mist-Swallow… do you know where the White Craftsmen’s Guild’s stronghold is located in Telva?"