-Stephan Zweig

"John, I'm glad I could reach you. I got your number from one of my contacts… Please call me back when you get this message. I have something to discuss with you. It may be important, or it may be nothing. You have my number now. I will be waiting."

"How long ago did Arista leave this message?" Moira asked intently, staring at John's phone as if it were a viper that might strike her at any moment.

"About… maybe twenty minutes ago?" John said uncertainly. "I came back here right afterward. I sent Sophia back when we got here so she could tell the others I might be a little delayed from what we originally planned."

"The call came through seventeen minutes and twenty-nine seconds ago," Tricia said casually, pouring over the interface in front of her. "The voicemail lasted for fourteen seconds."

John had originally intended to only share his worries with Moira, but the Warden's reaction to the unusual message was so strong, John didn't object to the meeting she called. All the same, with Moira, Lord Brighton, and Tricia now all inspecting his phone as if it were a hazardous object, he was beginning to regret his decision.

"Lady Arista is a very intelligent woman," Lord Brighton said after a lengthy silence fell over the room. "She seems to know which way the wind will blow long before we have even felt a breeze. What's more, she has functioned as a very public, very well-known mercenary organization with a moral standard. She has worked for most everyone within a hundred miles of this city at one point or another, but she has remained just consistent enough with her standards of operation that no organization could declare her to be biased or declare war against her… particularly with the power of her mercenaries behind her."

"Moral standard?" John asked, caught off-guard by hearing a former Warden refer to an Abyssal mercenary in such a way. "You just said she was a mercenary who has worked for everyone."

"Most everyone," Lord Brighton emphasized, shaking his head. "Lady Arista has a very checkered past, one she has tried very hard to erase. What details we know are limited, but her contracts and her positions in bargaining are very specific - she refuses to work for slavers, no matter the context, no matter the pay. All of her mercenaries follow the same oath, or they are excommunicated from her organization if they accept a contract she disagrees with. It's one of the few reasons we were not overly worried about her interference in our war against the Cabal and the Albidians; the Cabal's sex slavery is largely based in mundane fields, but even then, it was incredibly unlikely she would agree to work for them - that's why they tried to bribe her with you, the only thing around that breaks every rule. She's only human, and everyone is **** to compromise, of course… but if you were to choose a mercenary organization to guard your backside, hers would not be the worst."

"That doesn't make me feel any better," John grumbled. "Frankly, the fact she has my phone number in the first place makes me pretty fucking annoyed. Why is she leaving cryptic messages for me?"

"It's possible she had your number before I protected your phone," Tricia said casually, still not bothering to turn away from her screens. "You went a very long time before securing your device. As an upcoming mage it's entirely possible she secured your details beforehand if she was aware of you. Otherwise… you have mundane records. While I did purge as many of your public records as possible at Moira's request, there remain avenues from which she could have obtained your private information, potentially."

"Never thought I'd say this, but thank you for being so paranoid, Moira," John half-whispered, shaking his head as he continued to stare at his phone.

"I expect too much of you at times, John, but do not think I forgot what it's like to be introduced to this strange world," Moira said confidently, slapping a gauntleted arm onto his shoulder. "I have inducted many Knights into our Order, and I have seen what happens to those who do not take certain measures to protect themselves. Caution is never out of place in the Abyss."

"Be that as it may," Lord Brighton said, stroking at his chin, "all this is mere speculation on character. Perhaps we should see what she actually has to say?"

"You're secure in our Manor, with Sophia and the entire **** of the Order around you," Moira agreed. "If there is a proper place to call her, it's here. Even if she tracks you, she won't be able to do anything about it."

"I'll disable any connection from John's phone to our devices, just in case she found someone capable of bypassing my upgrades and protections on his phone and was planning to infiltrate our systems while he sheltered here," Tricia advised. "Also, please don a set of headphones. I'll forward the audio so that Lady Arista may not be aware we are all listening, even if she assumes so."

Tricia was silently working for only a few moments before she gave a nod. John glanced at the others around him before calling back the number Arista had used.

The phone rang for an uncomfortably long time. Silence reigned in the room except for all four of them listening uncomfortably as the ringer stretched on for far longer than John expected. After several seconds of listening, Moira started to twitch. Lord Brighton's eyes narrowed, but he otherwise did not move.

A short while later, Tricia chimed in quietly, "This has gone on for longer than any normal cellular device would wait. It's possible she has removed the voicemail system."

"She would never leave the phones unattended. Too many missed clients and opportunities. We shall give her a little longer."

Lord Brighton's patience was rewarded shortly after that. The ring tone stopped, and it was obvious the call had been answered, but for several seconds the line remained silent. John didn't bother to speak, wondering if the phone had been picked up and discarded just to stop the ringing.

"Is this John Newman speaking?"

The voice was hers, as best as John could tell. He'd only met her one time, of course… and it seemed as if that was months ago instead of just weeks… but she had a reasonably distinctive voice, and when he glanced up, Moira merely nodded at him.

"Yeah, this is John… that was a hell of a voicemail you left me," he responded, casually. "Something going on?"

"No, it's- well, nothing I can prove, anyway."

"That's not very reassuring," John said quietly.

"It's hard to deal in the Abyss with any certainty, you should know that by now. But as someone who deals with a lot of soldiers-for-hire and a lot of contacts with more mana gems than morals, you hear things."

"What kind of things are you hearing? And what exactly is it going to cost me to find out?"

"This one's on the house, John. These aren't the kind of valuable rumors that I can sell for a high price - they're the kind that are likely to get someone killed."

"I dunno, information that could keep me from getting killed sounds pretty valuable to me," John said sarcastically.

One of Tricia's drones floated in front of John and projected a holographic screen in front of him. The only thing on it were large, bold words - "Hear her out, but don't agree to anything!"

John rolled his eyes and sighed.

"But let's say I believe you want to help me from the goodness of your heart. What kind of information are we talking?"

"Springfield has been pretty quiet lately, ever since the Cabal got put out of action. Only big factions are the three you've allied with; there are a few smaller ones here and there, of course. The Apothecary, a few local Fateweavers servicing the area, a variety of individual guilds focused around specific tasks… but they're all neutral, so that's no issue. Springfield should be calmer than it ever has been before. So why is it every mercenary I've tried to recruit for the last week has refused to come here to meet me?"

"Maybe they're just scared of the Order?" John suggested. "You did say they're not all the greatest people."

"Perhaps. But why now? It didn't happen during the war. It didn't happen immediately after it, and the Order might have more uncontested hold, but the Order and I have always had something of an understanding… we stay out of each other's way, until we don't, and even then it's nothing personal. Neither of us gains much by destroying the other except a lot of fresh graves to decorate our lawns."

"She's stalling. Get to the point!"

Moira backed up the text she'd apparently had Tricia send through the drone by silently slamming her fist into her open palm.

"While I appreciate you trying to warn me," John grumbled, "I'd appreciate it more if you could be a little less cryptic."

"Someone is coming for you, John. I don't know who, I don't know why - though if the rumors I hear about you are true, I can guess what they see in you. That offer to join me still stands, by the way."

"Pass."

"Shame. Anyway, I wish I had something more concrete to give you… nobody is willing to give me a name, or tell me when they're coming, else I'd have already hauled my ass out of here. All I know is that most of these guys who are turning down my very generous offers to new recruits are not the kind of people to shy away from anything short of overwhelming odds. Whatever has them running, it's big. Big enough that even a rumor has grown men covered in battle scars pissing their pants like children."

"I'll keep an eye out. Thank you, Lady Arista."

"Don't thank me," Lady Arista growled. "Whatever is coming after you has to be bad enough that it's a threat to all of Springfield. Pass the message on to that Warden friend of yours."

"I'll let Moira know," John agreed, raising an eyebrow at those surrounding him. "Tha-"

The line clicked off before John could even finish. Double checking that the connection was completely off, John took another look around the room. Lord Brighton seemed lost in thought, Tricia was as unreadable as ever, and Moira had a dark look falling across her face.

"Lady Arista has never given anything away save for a black eye or an execution… and she often charges admission to those," Moira growled. "This is a trick. I’m not sure how, but it is."

"A trick to… put me on my guard?" John asked, uncertain. "I'm not sure. It's almost too suspicious; either she wants us to be prepared for some kind of trick or she genuinely has good intel."

"Well," Lord Brighton said solemnly, "were we to assume that was the case, there is only really one group she could be referring to that we know of. The only organization with an interest in John Newman."

"The Albidian Society," John growled, shaking his head. "But could it really be them? If they were so interested in me, why wouldn't they just walk in here? Moira and I nearly died fighting one of them. How many are there? How many could it even take?"

"We don't know much about their organization, so it's difficult to make any assumptions," Moira said, shaking her head. "They hold no known territory, they have no established bases we know of, and they have had operations in most every city in the entire midwest over the past fifty years or so. They are generally quiet and reserved, but when confronted directly, they never hesitate to fight to the ****. What I can safely say about their individual power is not particularly reassuring, but it's not damning either.

"We have encountered half a dozen Albidian mages since coming to America that we recognized as confirmed agents of their organization. Twice the Albidians fled before we could engage them properly, and were never seen again. Once, they slaughtered most of a squadron and vanished before reinforcements arrived to secure the scene. Three more times, including the engagement you were a part of, we executed their agents with minimal casualties. One of those was before I became a Warden."

"They are not weak by any means," Lord Brighton said when Moira paused. "There is no doubt in my mind that every mage of that organization is a powerful foe. They do not tolerate weakness, disobedience, or a lack of subtlety. But all that said, their greatest allies are their subtlety and their secrecy, so far as we know. Their lack of presence suggests a lower number of mages than most guilds, and despite their obvious focus on quality over quantity, so few mages are willing to associate that it seems they do not have the raw power to face any major organization."

"This is all raw speculation," Moira warned, cutting in over her father's reassurances. "Despite our best efforts, we have never captured an Albidian alive. We have never been able to secure even a single relic of theirs; every mage and every item is laced with enchantments designed to destroy them on loss, to obliterate every trace of their being the moment whoever leads them decides they have been defeated, and even then… overcoming them is climbing a mountain all its own."

"I have tried countless counter-spells, numerous mana-disruption fields, and at one point Moira even hired several Fateweavers to attempt to isolate an Albidian from external sources while disabling enchantments," Tricia said quietly from the background. "Whatever spells and enchantments have been utilized on the Albidians and their equipment, capturing them and interrogating them has proven almost impossible. There is one record of another organization capturing an Albidian… but they claim that when an invasive mind-reading technique was used, the Albidian's body was liquefied immediately, severing the connection and rendering all future attempts at reading void."

"None of this is reassuring," John announced loudly, annoyed at the nonchalant pessimism he was picking up in the room. "Why exactly is this supposed to make me feel better?"

"It isn't," Moira said, her voice more tired than annoyed. "But we have come quite a ways since the engagement against the Cabal that ended with you aiding the Order against that Albidian mage… and saving my life. Our powers have grown considerably, John, and though we cannot be sure of how powerful our foes are… if it were you and I alone against their forces, I think we would at least prove a worthy hunt. With the full might of the Order on your side, we can protect you, so long as you do not wander too far."

"We also have reason to believe the man that you encountered was one of their more powerful mages, perhaps even their second in command," Lord Brighton added, nodding his head. "We've long suspected the Albidians would have attacked us directly if they had the strength to destroy us; we've disrupted numerous operations we suspect they have had a hand in, and we've killed a few of their men, as they have ours. They have not taken kindly to opposition from others. I suspect they believe that we are beyond their ability to take in a direct confrontation… and I trust their estimations of their own power. The man you faced was an Arcanist as well, which likely means that he was one of their most powerful mages, though that is only a guess."

"What exactly is an Arcanist? I only remember a lot of purple sigils and runes floating in the air."

"Not… inaccurate, technically," Lord Brighton said, stroking his chin thoughtfully, as if re-evaluating John based on his over-simplified explanation.

"An Arcanist is a mage who specializes in focusing pure mana. It's a form of… what text did Moira send you?" Tricia hummed as she scrolled through screens on her computer. When she found what she was looking for she clicked her tongue in distaste, but continued anyway. "A bit simplified, but… "Manifestation Magic", I believe you are familiar with? Creating physical constructs of mana is a reasonably advanced form of casting; Arcanists specialize in forming runes, typically, which have various effects based on their construction, placement, and sometimes incantations. In addition they often have the ability to manifest weapons of pure mana, which are as powerful as the mage themselves."

"In other words, compared to the Cabal thugs, he was on another level all along. It is to be expected since he was allowed to operate openly and alone in potentially hostile territory, something they tend to avoid - which is why I attempted to let him leave instead of fighting us. Normally the Albidians would prefer not to show off in such a direct manner, much less to die, but that one was particularly bold. If it were not for you, after all, I would have lost my life."

"It's possible that if their strength is not so much greater than we suspect," Lord Brighton said, his voice layered with caution and hesitation, "that you and Moira, along with your creations, would be able to defeat them, especially with the Knights of the Order at your back. Needless to say, if we can ever manage to pin those fools down, I'll be accompanying you both - and that will be a fight to see. Tending to the home be damned, I'd gladly burn this manor down myself to stomp out those heathens at last."

"Of course," Moira interrupted immediately, "this is all assuming that Lady Arista is even telling the truth. If she is not, you have even less to worry about. Conduct yourself as you will, John Newman, but I would suggest limiting your trips alone until we can be sure what we are up against. You have… something of a record for being surprised."

"Yeah, don't remind me," John grumbled. "I'll head back to my world for a little while, let everything settle down. I'll probably just leave from here - I don't have anything important back at the house, and warping back at the Manor is safer for now. Contact me on the drone if there's anything I need to know."

"We will, and you can use one of the storage rooms so you don't frighten any of our Knights on your return. Stay safe, John. Moira, let's organize patrols around our territory and the neutral zones in Springfield."

"I agree; if the Albidians are in the area, there's no reason to be caught off guard. We can scout for newly established Barriers and see if some of the abandoned mundane buildings have been…"

The voices faded to obscurity as John closed the door behind himself. Making his way through the Brighton Manor, John headed to the most secluded area he could remember. There was probably a storage closet or something similar nearby, but he used the time to think over what had just happened.

"Why Arista? Why now? What does she want out of me? Why would she call us over rumors? None of this makes sense… I mean, she did try to recruit me again, maybe she's just hoping I'll pay back the favor…"

John grumbled to himself all the way to an empty storage room, then promptly vanished into the void between worlds.

He was blissfully unaware of the internal turmoil of a certain mage, across the vast town of Springfield, who was in the middle of a personal crisis…