Tanzania, a remote archipego consisting of five small isnds with a popution of no more than ten thousand.

  One the smallest of all isnds there lies a massive crater, created by a meteor supposedly responsible for turning once was one isnd into five. However, such an event is not what gives the historic site its notoriety.

  Rumours and stories have been passed around, ciming that the crater emits an unusual energy that causes people to grow a strong, unrelenting aversion to approach it any further than a few hundred metres. Those that have the wherewithal to press on despite their fear descend into the depths of the crater, and are never seen again.

  Much like any legend, there’s always some truth involved.

  If you were to ask the unfortunately brave souls that persevered, they would tell you that at the very bottom of the crater, there lies strange sigils and other markings contained within a gigantic chain circle. Not longer after their incredible discovery, they would take in their st gasp of air. For this secret must not be shared, as it is the entrance to the base of the World Tree Tempr.

  A magic circle shimmers faintly as a young man with pale gold hair and sharp fuchsia eyes steps out of it.

  “Sir Roald! Are you alright?!”

  The tempr responsible for guarding the circle hastily rush forward to lend their aid. The one known as Roald Ashencroft is in a horrid state, his hair thoroughly disheveled, his raiment torn and heavily singed, his face battered and his armour scuffed and dented.

  “Don’t worry about me, brethren. Are any of the cardinals avaible?”

  “Uhhh, no Sir Roald. They’re all in the midst of discussing important matters.”

  “I see. I’ll be heading to the infirmary.”

  “Yes, Sir Roald.”

  As he rests in his bedchamber, Roald’s mind wanders back to his encounter with him.

  The damage to his armour? Entirely insignificant. To his body? Inconvenient, at best.

  But what of his pride and honour?

  (To think that he made me use Light Magic. That damned Blighted One.)

  “Welcome back, Roald.”

  “Hey, Roald. Are you okay?”

  A youth with a grey bowl cut and bck eyes dressed in a loose fitting robe enters without knocking. His stern face gives him an appearance simir to that of an overly strict headmaster.

  Behind him is a girl with reddish brown hair tied into a rge side-lock dressed in a flowing floral dress. Her beautiful, sculpture-like face gives off an air of kindness, and yet hidden within lies a surprising level of malevolence.

  “I implore you to knock, An. It’s common courtesy.”

  “Why should I knock when entering my own domicile?”

  “I’m here as well, Roald.”

  Roald turns away from the both of them, clearly disinterested in their company. The one called An continues despite his comrade’s dismissive behaviour.

  “I heard some of the lower ranking knights talking about how you returned from one of your explorations in shambles. Just what happened?”

  “Yes, yes. I’m very curious!”

  Roald sighs heavily, finally relenting and facing his allies once more.

  “Where are Regulus and Troy?”

  “Regulus was sent to China and Troy to West Africa. They’ve been sending more searches for more weapons due to an increase in outside interference.”

  (Hmm, so the higher-ups are taking notice.)

  “During my little escapade, I came across a weapon.”, Roald expins causally. “I obtained momentary possession of it, but I was foiled by members of the accursed Enigmatic Society.”

  An clicks his tongue repeatedly, shaking his head.

  “Our superiors will be displeased with such news.”

  The girls pouts openly.

  “Oh no, they’ve been so uptight tely. I want the Gods freed as much as any of us, but I wish they would rex a little.”

  “The weapon is of little importance, for it was merely of the Mid-Css. An, Thelka, the one who I did most of the fighting with was a Blighted One.”

  “What?!”, An says sharply.

  “A Blighted One?”, Thelka gasps. “But how?”

  Roald makes a gesture telling them to be quiet, and his cohorts fall into silence.

  “Reveal it to no one until the next meeting, understand?”

  The two nod in agreement. Roald folds his arms and stares at the ceiling, deep in thought.

  “I have a sickening feeling that he’ll be a thorn in our side.”