The Acolyte’s Guild stood in stark contrast to the Fighter’s Guild—where the latter was built like a fortress, sturdy and imposing, the Acolyte’s Guild was a monument to knowledge and magic. Towering spires adorned with floating runes stretched toward the sky, their symbols shifting and pulsing with arcane energy. Wide marble steps led up to an ornate entrance, where twin statues of robed figures stood, their hands raised in eternal incantation.
Nick and Ray ascended the steps, passing beneath a massive archway inscribed with ancient script. A warm, lingering energy brushed against them—some sort of ward with unknown effects or intentions.
The interior was just as grand, though in a different way. Unlike the lively chaos of the Thieves’ Guild or the rigid order of the Fighter’s Guild, the Acolyte’s Guild was a realm of hushed voices and candlelight. The air smelled of aged parchment, burned incense, and faint traces of ozone.
Massive bookshelves lined the walls, filled with tomes and scrolls of every imaginable subject. At long tables, acolytes and scholars poured over magical texts, muttering incantations as floating quills scribbled notes beside them. Some students practiced their spells in isolated study areas.
Ray scrunched her nose. “This place smells weird.”
Nick laughed. “You should get used to it. This place smells like ‘learning’.”
She gave him a suspicious glance. “What’s different about this kind of learning?”
He shrugged, motioning toward the high stone walls as they stepped inside. “Well, for one it’s a strategic target. You can cripple a medieval society just by burning down its libraries.”
She raised an eyebrow. “Are you planning to burn down a library?”
“Old habits,” he replied casually. “Also, if I were leading a war against the human nations, I’d take out places like this early on. Limit their access to magical knowledge, reduce the number of healers, and so on. Y’know, the basics.”
She frowned, staring up at the tall, stained-glass windows. “Right,” she muttered. “I’m sure it’s as simple as that.”
He grinned. “If it were easy to do that to an opponent, then they weren’t worth taking seriously in the first place.”
She huffed and crossed her arms. “So why are we here, then? I assume you want to learn more magic or something?”
“There’s that,” Nick acknowledged. “But, more importantly, we’re here for you.”
“For me?”
He nodded. “You’re learning healing magic.”
She scowled. “Why?”
“Because until you figure out how to control that aura of yours, you’re not allowed to kill things anymore.”
Ray gaped at him. “What?!”
“No more murder,” he said. “You’re on a strict, hands-off policy until you learn to control yourself.”
“But that’s—” She bristled. “You get to kill things!”
“I do, yes. Turns out I can control myself, so I get more privileges.”
She gritted her teeth. “That’s not fair!”
He sighed. “You know what else isn’t fair? Me having to deal with magical bloodlust because my teammate can’t control herself.” He patted her shoulder. “Suck it up. You’re on support duty for a while.”
Ray grumbled under her breath as they moved deeper into the guild.
The two of them weaved through the main hall, scanning for someone who could point them in the right direction.
“Excuse me,” Nick called out, stopping a passing apprentice—an exhausted-looking young man with ink stains on his robes and a stack of books in his arms. “Where do we go if we’re looking for an instructor?”
The apprentice blinked at them blearily, clearly running on minimal sleep. “Depends. You here to sign up for courses or looking for private tutoring?”
“Private tutoring, preferably. We need someone who knows their stuff.”
The apprentice frowned, shifting his books. “Well… there are a few instructors available, but if you want someone with real expertise and can deal with a few… eccentricities, you could try Master Rambalt.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “…eccentricities?”
The apprentice let out a long-suffering sigh. “You’ll understand when you meet him.”
With that, the apprentice scurried off, mumbling something about deadlines.
Nick turned to Ray. “An eccentric wizard in a magic tower? We’re either about to meet a genius, a lunatic, or the final boss of this city. Maybe all three?”
She scoffed. “If he turns out to be evil, can I kill him?”
“No.”
They wandered deeper into the guild, passing long wooden tables where robed scholars muttered over their open tomes. A few of them debated in hushed, urgent voices, pointing emphatically at the text in front of them.
Ray glanced around, unimpressed. “No signs. No directories. No helpful staff. How does anyone find anything in this place?”
Nick shrugged. “That’s probably the trick—if you can’t find what you’re looking for on your own in a disorganized mass of knowledge, then you deserve to get filtered out.”
She shot him a glare. “Can I get filtered out?”
Before Nick could respond, a sudden burst of blue flame erupted from a nearby study table. A frantic acolyte flailed at the air, his robes smoking as his fellow students scrambled away.
“Wards, you fool!” a red-faced instructor barked, storming toward the scene.
Ray watched, then tilted her head at Nick. “Okay, maybe I do want to learn magic.”
They stopped another passing apprentice, a lanky young woman with ink-stained fingers carrying a bundle of scrolls.
“Hey,” Nick said, keeping his voice casual, “we’re looking for Master Rambalt. Where can we find him?”
She gave him an incredulous look. “You’re looking for Rambalt? On purpose?”
“Yup.”
She pointed toward a winding staircase at the far end of the hall.
“Top floor. Look for the crooked door. Can’t miss it.”
“Crooked?” Ray questioned.
“Believe me,” the apprentice muttered, already turning away, “you’ll understand when you see it.”
Nick nodded in thanks, then motioned for Ray to follow as they crossed the hall and ascended the narrow staircase. The further up they climbed, the less polished the architecture became—marble floors gave way to worn stone steps, and torches flickered with eerie blue light instead of normal fire.
At the top, they arrived at a heavily scratched wooden door, slightly off-kilter on its hinges. A brass plaque, dented and tarnished, was affixed at eye level:
Master Quincy Rambalt
Archmage, Scholar, Do Not Disturb (Unless Interesting)
Nick read the sign, then went to knock.
The door swung open before his knuckles touched it.
There was nobody on the other side.
Ray tensed. “You ever seen a self-opening door before?”
Nick nodded. “Literally all the time. They’re pretty dang common at supermarkets.”
They stepped inside.
The room was chaotic brilliance, an impending avalanche of literature. Stacks of books teetered dangerously on every available surface, scattered scrolls fluttered with an unseen wind, and strange brass instruments hummed with magical energy. An unlit candle hovered absently in the air, waiting for someone to remember it existed.
And in the center of the mess, a wild-haired middle-aged man in tattered robes paced furiously, gesturing at nothing as he argued with thin air.
“—I told you, that theorem is outdated! No, no, no, you have to account for planar drift—how many times must we go over this?” His silver-white hair stuck up at odd angles, and his spectacles were crooked as if he’d forgotten they existed.
Nick cleared his throat. “Uh… Master Rambalt?”
Rambalt froze mid-step, snapped his head toward them, and pointed a bony finger directly at Nick.
“YOU!”
Nick blinked. “…Me?”
Rambalt squinted. “No, wait. Not you. Her.” He jabbed a finger at Ray instead.
She stiffened. “What?”
He leaned in, studying her closely. Then snapped upright with a frown. “…No, that’s not right either. What was I doing again?”
Nick exchanged a glance with Ray. “…You tell us?”
Rambalt clapped his hands together. “Ah! Never mind. Since you’re here, you must have questions! And I have… mostly answers.” He spun toward a cluttered desk, rifling through mounds of books with zero regard for their organization. “You’re here for training, yes? Tell me, do you prefer instruction through lecture, guided experience, or direct infusion?”
Ray stared at him. “Direct infusion?”
“Magnificent!”
“Wait…!”
Rambalt grinned and held up a thick leather-bound book. “Skill books. Fascinating things, aren’t they? The fastest, most efficient way to gain magical competency.” He shoved a tome into her hands. A Practical Guide to Keeping Idiots Alive was etched into the cover in an elegant gold script.
Ray held it like it might bite her. “…It’s just a book.”
The wizard gasped. “Blasphemy!” He yanked it back. “Oh. You’re right. This one’s useless.”
He tossed her another tome. She grunted under its weight, scowling at the title.
Lesser Heal.
“This one is a skill book. No studying, no tedious lectures, just instant results.”
She sighed. “And how did you know we were here for healing magic?”
Rambalt sighed dramatically as if personally offended by her lack of faith. “Auras, my dear girl. Yours, in particular, is screaming at me. Loud, unstable, practically glowing with violent potential. That, combined with the fact that you’ve been here all of five minutes and you haven’t set anything on fire yet, tells me that you’re here to learn the less destructive arts.”
Then he glanced at Nick. “Your friend’s aura tells the story of a man who’s seen far too many injuries. Assuming you care about him at all, it doesn’t take a genius to assume you’re here to learn healing magic.”
Nick raised an eyebrow. “That’s one hell of a guess. A bit on the nose to be random, I think.”
The wizard smirked. “Magic is about precision, boy. Lucky guesses get you vaporized.”
Ray scowled at the Lesser Heal skill book in her hands. She turned it over as if expecting it to dissolve into ashe, then shot Nick an irritated glare.
“You’re really making me do this?”
“Yes.”
Rambalt folded his arms, watching them with keen interest. “You make it sound like an insult. Healing magic isn’t just a passive discipline, you know. Healers have control over life and death. If your teammate leaves karma rabbit turds in your sleeping bag, you can feign incompetence and let them die.”
Ray scoffed. “I’m not—” She bit back whatever she was about to say, gripping the book tighter.
The wizard’s grin widened. “You’re not what? Not interested? Not capable? Not special?” He tilted his head. “Or perhaps… you’re not human?”
Her grip on the book tightened. “…What?”
“I’m talking about emotions, of course.”
“…Right.”
“It’s natural to be afraid. Healing isn’t for the weak of heart.”
She stomped her foot. “I’m not afraid of anything.”
Rambalt chuckled. “It’s simple, really. If a person truly cares about someone, they should learn how to keep them alive.”
A flicker of something passed over Ray’s face. She didn’t respond right away.
For a long moment, Ray just stood there, jaw tight, staring at the book. Then, she sighed and tucked it under her arm. “Fine,” she muttered. “But I’m not happy about it.”
Nick smiled slightly. “Thanks.”
Rambalt clapped his hands together. “Marvelous! Now that the existential crisis is out of the way, let’s move on, shall we? I do take payment in gold, of course, but I’d be more interested in learning something new if you are capable.”
Nick pondered for a moment before pulling out the book he looted from Jantzen’s body. He set it on Rambalt’s desk.
“We found this and aren’t sure what it is. I was hoping someone of your caliber might recognize it.”
The playful glint in Rambalt’s eyes vanished. He reached for the book with unexpected care, his fingers running over the cracked leather as his expression darkened slightly. He flipped it open, his gaze darting across the pages of intricate, flowing script.
He muttered something under his breath. Something Nick didn’t catch.
“You recognize it?” Nick pressed.
“Oh, vaguely,” the wizard said, his voice smooth but not entirely convincing. “It’s old. Dangerous, most likely. Possibly forbidden. Definitely interesting.”
Ray crossed her arms. “That’s a lot of ‘maybes’.”
“The best discoveries always start with ‘maybes’,” he replied lightly. He shut the book with a quiet thump, looking up at Nick. “You said you found it?”
Nick nodded. “Recovered it from someone who wasn’t using it anymore.”
Rambalt’s lips twitched. “How fortunate for you.”
Nick narrowed his eyes slightly. He wasn’t sure he liked that phrasing…
The wizard leaned back, tapping his fingers against the book. “I’ll need time to study it. Proper translation takes patience, you understand.”
“How long?” Nick asked.
“Come back later,” Rambalt said, waving a hand. “2 PM in the morning. Sharp.”
Ray groaned. “That’s not a real time…”
Rambalt waved a hand. “Of course it is. Also, bring sweets.”
Nick sighed. “Any preferences?”
“Chocolate pastries.”
Ray rolled her eyes. “I swear if this whole thing is some elaborate ploy for free snacks—”
“Don’t be silly,” Rambalt interrupted. “Of course its all a ploy for free snacks. See you in the morning. Don’t be late!”
Recognizing the dismissal, Nick steered Ray toward the exit before she could start arguing again. The door shut behind them with a quiet click.
They walked in silence down the spiral staircase.
Nick glanced at Ray. “You okay?”
She scowled, shifting the book under her arm. “I’m fine.”
He smiled. “You’re thinking about what he said.”
Ray tightened her grip on the book. “Shut up.”
He chuckled but let it go.
They stepped back into the main hall of the Acolyte’s Guild, leaving behind Master Rambalt’s chaotic domain—unaware that inside, the wizard was still staring at the book, his expression unreadable.
His fingers traced the ancient symbols slowly, thoughtfully.
“Very interesting indeed,” he murmured, eyes gleaming.
Project Knightfall 