And the city did not reach as high here. A mere 150 standard units compared to Lunden's average of 400 standard units. Even the ramparts and curtain walls reached up to 300 units in places. The highest place in the city was said to have been a thousand units high. Until the siege took a good two-hundred units off.

Through bitter numbness, Nair let the memories of the boy envelop his mind. It was exciting that humans could build something that colossal. But for all the excitement, the man's memories somewhat ruined it. He understood the reason why Lunden had to build towards the sky.

Precious farmland, unstable swamps. Nair cursed under his breath.

"We're here." Iva called from further ahead. "Pay attention!" Her usual imperious tone returned.

The two of them had climbed to one of the higher points in the Theatre district. Up here, what little sun peeked through the thick cloud cover made it past the ramparts and other taller districts. In front of Nair lie a lone two-story house, surrounded by a lush garden. Visibly old, yet this one was not as run down as the others on this level.

A lone man worked in the garden, picking various herbs into a basket. Going by the wrinkles and full beard, Nair judged this man to be in his forties. There were a few grey streaks in his matted brown hair, but otherwise the man seemed to be full of vigour.

"Excuse me!" Iva called out.

Before she got the chance to say anything else, the man made a grimace and a grunt of disgust after throwing one look at Iva and Nair.

"Get lost! I am not selling to mercenaries!" He barked.

Iva, however, did not let herself be deterred by the response. "The boy needs a fateweaver. He needs help to remember who he is."

"Hah!" The man barked a laugh. "Why would I bother helping an idiot who ran away from home in search of glory?"

Anger rose from nowhere and Nair wanted to shout at the man, but he could not find the words. There even might have been truth to the man's words. Nair noticed Iva tilt her head towards him as well, and a sombre look passed over her.

Meanwhile, the man had ambled closer through the garden and was measuring Nair from head to toes. One of his brows was raised, and an odd frown decorated his face. "But even the best of fateweavers can be mistaken when they look from afar. You are from the Pact. You kept the end of the siege from turning into a bloodbath." He grunted reluctantly.

"We will pay for your services, of course." Iva added quickly.

"Two souls apart from one another. From two, a third is usually born. That is the way children come into this world. My name's Jeksen." The man finally nodded at Iva.

"Iva, the hawk that follows the boar. And this is Nair. We found him on the day the siege ended. He isn't a citizen of Lunden."

"Inside, inside." The man grunted and swept through the garden towards the old house.

In the house there was barely a spot free from vials, potions, bundles of herbs or potted plants. Everything was meticulously organised, labeled, and laid on countless shelves. From the outside, Nair had assumed this to be a rather average home.

"How did all this survive the siege?" He wondered out loud.

"The people of Lunden know the worth of living nature. This city may be complete opposite in its appearance, but we are no fools!" The man declared as he led Nair and Iva to a workstation in the middle of this herbalist's library.

Six cauldrons stood opposite the counter, each a different size. And the workstation was crowded with countless tools of the trade: pipettes, alembics, scales, mortars and pestles and so on. This was the only part of the workshop that was even close to being disorganised.

The man said little else for a while, but gathered eleven different herbs on the counter, lit a fire under the smallest two cauldrons and poured water in them. Then, placing both his hands on the counter, the man froze and simply stared at Nair.

In truth, Nair had been increasingly uncomfortable for a while now. Just as he did not wish to look in the mirror in Iva's yurt, so was he reluctant to listen to whatever truths the fateweaver might tell. The boy's memories reminded him of the power fateweavers held. Unable to look away, Nair met the man's gaze.

"The past only chains us, holds us back even. And more so when the past is muddied. Two muddied past lives are too much for you, boy. You need to face that which has failed to allow fate to guide you. Today you are born anew. Happy birthday." The man grunted a chuckle.

A sudden sharp pain struck Nair in the chest, and he closed his hands into fists.

"Raise your hackles all you like." The fateweaver now laughed out loud. "An empty vessel is always afraid of the future. It's your choice. Do you choose to drown in the mud or rise into the sky?" The man kept laughing as he turned away and placed different herbs into the two cauldrons. "This won't take long." The man added after a moment.

Nair threw an uncertain glance at Iva, who had been awfully quiet this entire time. She only gave a small nod and stayed silent.

"A small sip is enough, I hope. If they taste horrible. That is." Nair stammered.

Instead, the man brought out two large bowls from under the counter and then slammed a knife point first into the counter. "Two drops of blood into one of those bowls, please. The Three Makirs demand proof of the vessel."

Nair threw another glance at Iva. "Go on." She said, her voice quiet as a whisper.