A single brass-rimmed window filtered in the golden haze of Solthar's late afternoon. Shelves lined with mismatched tomes, sealed jars of curious powders, and an old clockwork owl took up the opposite wall, ticking softly as if alive. There was a wooden bed tucked in one corner, sheets untouched with stacks of pillows of velvet and brocade.

  Marguerite sighed, tired from the constant use of magic. It had been a week since she had pulled Sol into her little witch's den. She has been staying at a decent house nestled in the wealthier district of Solthar, but one that was sealed from outside interception.

  She left her room and descended the staircase as the scent of roasted vegetables and warm bread greeted her. Dinner was already laid out on the polished oak table.

  "What a surprise. I didn't know you were so good at cooking." Marguerite took a whiff of the steaming bowl, and immediately took a seat.

  "I used to cook for the kids at the orphanage." Sol smiled softly as he recalled. Marguerite's eyes softened, but he quickly changed the topic to the pressing matters at hand. "Have you found Loen?" He asked.

  "Unfortunately not a trace... I am afraid Silas might have..." She didn't continue, "But I doubt he would go that far..."

  "You do trust him..." he added, "that inquisitor."

  "He was an acquaintance of my mentor, though I do not personally like him myself," she replied, chewing her food, "Let's say he is useful at times."

  They are both super weird! She thought to herself.

  Sol remaind silent, finding it hard to finish his own portion.

  "It's still not strong enough to last long," Marguerite breaks the silence, arms crossed, "The Sun Cathedral could still forcibly pry their way in. I'm just a rookie mage."

  They finished dinner in the gentle glow of the brass sconces, the quiet was punctuated only by the clink of cutlery. It was the first time he had ever been somewhere that felt... safe. The quiet hum of both magic and machinery reached his ears, but rather than being an annoying buzz that was always present in the streets, this was a calming tune to them.

  "Stay in the guestroom for a while longer. I don't want you to suffer from the symptoms of magic exposure." She states. Sol nervously chuckles, sitting on the chair across from her.

  "The trial sign ups start soon, I will have to leave regardless." It was his first time being in a place so comfortable, he almost did not wish to go back to the bustling city.

  Marguerite scoffed, but not without a hint of warmth. "Persistent boy. Why do you want to throw yourself into that nonsense so badly?"

  Hearing that, Sol visibly droops and Marguerite apologizes with guilt framing her face. He shakes his head.

  "It was just me, and Finnian. I did not like being confined to a room in the orphanage, so he took me to watch the trials..." He recalled with a pained smile. "I promised him I would one day be a winner of the Trials."

  "I... apologize, Sol," Marguerite stated sincerely, "I will lift the seal of this house at dawn."

  Sol stood up, knees feeling numb, "That we will worry about at dawn, but let me ask you something." He pulls out a crumpled paper from his pocket. She unfolded it in her hands and it's a pathetic mimicry of the Sun charm.

  "Are you able to replicate this?" He gave her a badly drawn replica of the Sun charm on a paper.

  "Is this—" Marguerite's eyes lit up in shock and awe, "An ancient relic? The Sun charm!?"

  "Well..." He sent her a crooked smile. "It was given to me by someone... I didn't know it was an ancient relic." Granny Lethea was truly someone special...

  "Do you... not have it anymore...?"

  "No," He responded with a droop of his shoulders, "Guess I wasn't careful enough." Seeing his shift in behavior, Marguerite chose not to pry.

  "I can do many amazing things with magic, Sol." She began, attempting to cheer him, "But I cannot forge a relic of the Sun..."

  "Oh..."

  They finished the rest of the dinner in silence.

  "Go to sleep now. I will be outside, and keep watch for you." She bid him night by the stairs, "It has been a long day. Good night, Sol."

  "Good night, Marguerite." He left her standing there, with a soft smile mirroring her own.

  That night, he drifted into a dreamless sleep; no memories, no cryptic visions, no haunting nightmares. Just the quiet comfort of her magic rippling through the room.

  When the dawn arrives, Sol saw the seal in the room has been lifted, and he took his chance to sneak out. Though, he chose the window rather than the door, shy of disturbing the owner of the house. The fabric of a cloak he chose to adorn, weighed on his shoulders like guilt, and he thought it will just stand him out even more.

  Outside, iron-limbed lampposts still burned with pale gaslight at the early hours, and carriages rolled past with the shutter. As he walked, the opulence bled away from the wide lanes narrowing into crooked alleys. The wealthy district slowly faded away, and the houses become smaller, while the smog becomes thicker. Colors dulled from polished bronze into stained browns and grays of the industry.

  The Trials in Solthar welcomed everyone regardless of the class and background. Though, Sol himself did not feel comfortable being around the higher class, where conversation swirled around imported wines, and fortunes were displayed as casually as anything. To him, their small talk felt like another language, one he had no desire to learn.

  He stood before a small booth among the many stalls in the busy marketplace, a very familiar woman sat behind it; her blond hair up in a bun.

  "Miss Sophia?"

  "Oh it's you!" She beamed so bright, and Sol panicked seeing her recognize him despite the cloak. "Looking to sign up?"

  He nodded stiffly, forcing himself to swallow the panic. "Y-Yes." And she passed him a page and a quill.

  "It's been a while, how have you been faring these days?" Sophia leaned forward in curiosity with hands under her chin.

  "Just... fine. And how have you been doing, Ms. Sophia?" He asked, and she sighed upon hearing that question.

  "Life in Solthar is harsh for us visitors. Smog and malnutrition have taken many lately, and it makes me quite nervous staying here," Miss Sophia said. "I recently met a traveler with excellent medical skills assisting the sick, though he refuses to accept the money, or even a compliment!"

  He chuckled at that, "It's nice to have someone showing kindness in this desolate land of steam. That's rarer than relics!"

  Sophia agreed. "Absolutely, once I am done with my part time reception, I will volunteer to assist him for sure!"

  Sol slid the paper back to her, mentally worrying at his terrible disguise.

  "I assumed you would have return to Vitruvia after acquiring that relic?"

  "Well, I actually got scammed by a girl who talks to much the other day and lost some money." She said with a pained look, "Be careful of the scammers around these parts, Sol."

  He smiled at her, though he was well aware that scams were common in the poverty stricken streets. He had grown up roughly, jolted around be strange men looking to steal and kidnap even. He hoped Miss Sophia would be protected by the blessings of the Sun until she stayed here.

  "There seems to be more patrols lately, so be careful around these parts. Don't do anything reckless." She gave him a close eyed curve of her lips, judging his strange attire.

  Sophia glanced at the small line of hopefuls that had appeared behind him. "Last year, two front-runners never made it to the final. They say it was the Trials' hazards, though it seems as if the hazards knew who to aim for…"

  They chattered for a short while, just enough before a queue could begin to form. In that very moments, someone had arrived who did not belong to the noise of the marketplace, nor amongst the competitors.

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  Heavy steps stopped behind him.

  The air seemed to taut up like a thread pulled harshly.

  When his golden hued gaze landed on the newcomer, Sol's fingers went rigid around the quill. His breath stilled, instinct tightening his spine before his mind named the threat.

  "Inquisitor...?"

  Sophia blinked past Sol's shoulder in confusion.

  "Inquisitor...?" She mimicked.

  Then said man, Silvanus stood there, coat brushed clean despite the soot in the Solthar streets. His silver eyes carried the kind of calm reserved for executioners who never questioned the blade.

  Sol's foot twitched. A gloved hand settled onto the counter to cease any unnecessary movements.

  "Far too eager to sign your name onto things that require clarity of soul," he commented, and anger flashed in Sol's eyes for a moment at the words.

  Sophia swallowed. "Is... there an issue, Inquisitor?" She sounded unsure of the title, choosing to speak it in a whisper..

  Silvanus did not acknowledge her. His gaze held only Sol's as he continued, " You try to cross the boundary of a barrier that should not have yielded to an untrained boy. Only death would await you there."

  "And you are here to lecture me on that?" The boy taunted, taught by the best witch of all time (in the future.)

  The inquisitor tilted his head at the sudden response, studying Sol as if comparing him to a memory only he could see. "You did escape the demands of Sun's decree, do you really think it will go unpunished?"

  People along the line shifted uneasily upon seeing the exchange. The stall seemed smaller beneath the authority of the Sun's disciple.

  Sol's pulse hammered. He forced out the only words he could manage: "I didn't do anything." A whisper.

  "That," Silvanus murmured, "is what concerns me. If you have not done anything, why does the Sun demand you, hm?"

  "Inquisitor, should you really speak in puzzles?"

  "Very well." He turned, looking over his coat-clad shoulder as signal for Sol to follow.

  With a parting nod to the worried Sophia, he kept his hood low as he trailed the inquisitor through the marketplace. Crowds parted as if moved by tide, leaving a clear path before Silvanus. Sol watched the man's authority in motion, the kind that did not require shouting or violence, only presence of the one who declared judgement.

  It was the same market he had fled through last night. The boy shuddered at the memory. Then as the market closed, it opened into another space. The familiar, vast, and empty amphitheater, devoid of a crowd this early morning. It's stone floor was pitted with the scars of old duels, and names carved that were half-erased by the arrow of time. Carrying echoes of proclamations, the wind whispered through the empty arches.

  Silvanus stopped close to a pillar, a remain of the ruins. Sol digs his feet into the concrete, ready to flee.

  "You are required to answer three questions. Here. Now." The man said before he leaned in, close enough that Sol could smell the faint metallic tang of the lantern's consecrated oil. "Do not run again." The warning spread through Sol's bones like frost. But another presence stirred behind Silvanus.

  A violet shimmer flickered in the cracks of the pillar beside them, and emerging from the violet ripples through the pillar with her cloak hood drawn low, staff pressed tight to her side was Marguerite. Her voice cut through the silence, aiming at the man, "I believe the Cathedral has other priorities today, Inquisitor."

  Silvanus did not turn to acknowledge her. "And I believe you are two hours late for your mentor's symposium."

  Marguerite's jaw tightened. "He is a candidate for the Trials, now. Detaining him during official registration breaches article fifteen of Solthar's dueling accord." She lectured, flipping open a book with her magic, reading through the laws of Solthar with a thumb on her chin.

  A relic from when the Trials were bloodier than law allowed. Detaining candidates now being frowned upon. Although, it did not appear to be obeyed in Solthar like any other law... Sol sighed inwardly, giving up hope.

  "That article applies to citizens," Silvanus answered. "Not anomalies."

  She remained quiet at that.

  He shifted his gaze back to Sol, eyes narrowing this time. "The market glass broke last night. Ten panes, different streets... Should that now signify the use of strange magic?"

  Sol vaguely remembered that, but hearing him speak of ten broken panes, he frowned.

  "You were sighted near one," Silvanus confirmed.

  The amphitheater felt suddenly colder. Sol would have preferred to be thrown into the dungeons beneath Solthar, accused of heresy, than bear the gaze of the man who wore black among pure white-robed disciples.

  If there was any anomaly here, it is you! He thought, mouth locked in a neutral line.

  Silvanus watched him long enough that the space between them felt measured, before he broke the silence.

  "Who pulled you out of the mirror breach last night?"

  Sol felt the pressure against his ribs. His throat locked. The reflection in that window, he recalled, and the hand that was not a hand. No answer he gave could align with reality. But then, again, reality was never normal to him.

  "I fell," Sol murmured. He lied.

  Silvanus's gaze flickered. "Incorrect. Try the truth this time." He ordered.

  Besides them, Marguerite's fingers tightened around her staff, but she said nothing. She knew intervening now would turn a verbal test into an arrest.

  "No one pulled me. I panicked. I ran." Sol forced breath into his lungs as he repeated himself.

  "Is that so?" The man commented, clearly unsure, unconvinced.

  Next question.

  "You've been at the center of trouble before, haven't you, Sol?" He folded his arms as he began to recall, "Warehouse fire. No bodies pulled out before the flames ate them. Do you recall?"

  "I don't," Sol answered. His brows furrowed at those words. It was not how he had remembered it.

  "No witnesses. No survivors. Just you, conveniently, had been there," the inquisitor continued, "The orphanage, then? You returned carrying your... friend. The one they say you were closest to."

  "...I didn't start it."

  "Yet no one will say you didn't. No one left to say anything, in fact. You've been a shadow passing from one ruin to another."

  "You think I wanted any of this!?"

  "Hiding in the ruins it leaves behind, like that cottage you had been escaping to."

  "What do you mean?" Sol looked up for the first time in their conversation.

  "The house has been abandoned for decades. You were alone there... but maybe, you thought otherwise."

  "N—No... Me and Finnian used to stay at Granny's. She was old, her legs had been cursed by the flesh eating curse of Arkansis...she couldn't walk—"

  "Is that so? Somehow, you made yourself believe you were not alone over there." Silvanus said, his words had began to make Sol uncomfortable more than he had been around him.

  "Y—You are not making sense, inquisitor. What makes you think I was always there alone? Finnian would take care of Granny Lethea, I accompanied her until they both passed." The young boy's voice wavered, but Silvanus' flame confirmed it's truth. It did not rage, simply sitting calmly within the lantern as he watched it from the corner of his eyes. "She was—She was real!" Sol pleaded, but Silvanus disagreed once more.

  How could they not be real? Why was his memory playing with him? Everything began to fold inwards. Why can't I remember her face clearly?

  "I let you run before—" Silvanus sighed. "because I know someone in these Cathedral walls is aware of the fire within you. Watching you. All that you've done will be held against you if you do not abide by their will."

  "I—I don't know what to do anymore..." He gripped his cloak over his chest, using it to anchor himself to the reality. Silvanus doesn't comment as Sol tried to recall anything, but his memory feels distorted.

  The amphitheater tilted. The pillars surrounding them leaned at the wrong angles, as if they, too, questioned their permanence.

  Marguerite took a half-step forward, but Silvanus raised a single finger without looking at her, halting her like a spell of obedience.

  "Third question," the inquisitor said softly. "And this one will decide whether you walk out of here or leave in chains." He stepped closer. The lantern-light touched Sol's cheek like the edge of a blade—one that the man had summoned to test his truth and lies. "What followed you out of the mirror?"

  The world went silent enough that even the distant gears of the city machinery seemed to hold still.

  Sol's chest tightened. His lungs felt too small for the air.

  Something had followed. He remembered red eyes, the shape of himself but not himself. He remembered the sensation of being observed from within the glass long after he had escaped. He remembered breath on his neck that wasn't breath.

  His mouth stayed shut.

  "You are withholding," Silvanus murmured. "There is residue on you that even my flame cannot parse." He pressed, "Something was summoned by you. Something claimed you. Say it."

  Sol's voice came out raw. "I don't know what it was."

  The lantern's flame rose, testing the words. It did not flare in a lie, nor did it subside against the truth. It wavered, just as uncertain as they all were.

  The witch tensed, watching the instability with fear and confusion in her own eyes. "He's telling the truth. He really doesn't know…"

  Silvanus inclined his head a fraction, acknowledging both the flame and her commentary. Then he spoke the words that broke the stalemate.

  "Very well. You have passed."

  "Passed?" Sol blinked once, twice in confusion. Marguerite mimicked him.

  "Three questions," Silvanus said. "Three answers true enough to be of use, but do not appear delighted, you are not to be trusted."

  Marguerite's relief was just as brief. "Then we're free to go?"

  "No," he said. "You will escort him out of this area and make certain he does not try to encounter anyone on the Cathedral grounds. You're free to go for now, if you wish to. But remember, they are watching. So don't act too rashly."

  Sol and Marguerite stiffed. The Sun's disciples were merciless, executing without hesitation. To be standing before one sent a cold weight through him—he had never felt authority this absolute! Would Silvanus be keeping him here for something more than observation?

  Disciples were trained to read lies the way others read scripture. If Silvanus wanted him dead, he would have been swallowed by the flames, the inquisitor commanded. The young boy had heard stories, where that flame consumed a man, and it ate him from the inside out, leaving no ash.

  "I will hunt what he met," he said. "I will hunt what is there to be hunted."

  He turned, the lantern swinging once, bleeding green fire across the amphitheater floor. Then he walked toward the far exit, as if the ruins were merely a corridor he had already mapped.

  Marguerite seized Sol's arm the moment the inquisitor's silhouette vanished. Her fingers were ice-cold.

  "Come. Quickly! Before he changes his mind."

  And Sol let himself be pulled.

  By the time he returned to Marguerite's house, the streets were less quieter now, and faint echoes in a distant kept him alert. Sol slipped inside through the ajar door, careful not to dirty the heavy carpets that decorated the floorboard elegantly.

  The room smelled faintly of herbs blended in the lingering warmth of the magic. Marguerite took a seat at a small wooden table they always ate at. A a simple breakfast laid out.

  Sol dropped down opposite her with a short thanks.

  "There is a door for us to use like normal people. Though, I guess you are far from normal."

  "I had sign up," he replied, breaking a piece of bread. "I did not wish to disturb you. After all, I am in your debt."

  Marguerite smirked, pouring herself a cup of tea. "We will go over that later, but please do make yourself at home. You will insult me otherwise, dear Sol."

  Somewhere in the city, a bell tolled three times, it was the final warning before the Trials' entry closed.