The wind at the top was crisp and it held a faint smell of the ocean, a very comforting scent and the reason he chose this mountain exactly. He inhaled deeply through his nose and exhaled with his mouth, the exercise caused the wind currents around him to swirl and dilate with the motion. 

"You look very comfortable for someone who still has a lot of work to do, collector." The voice jarred him back to reality and he whipped his head quickly in the direction of the sound. The woman smiled at him, exposing her pearly white teeth as she walked slowly towards him on her toes.

"Don't you have work you should be doing, mm?" She twirled on her feet, graceful and quite agile for someone over six feet tall, her purple robes flowed along with her like the waves of the ocean. "I don't understand why you like it here, it's quite depressing being alone, no?" She was behind him now, her hands on his shoulder as she peered over him quite easily.

"You cannot stay silent forever, you know," she said matter of factly and pushed him a little before turning around. "Your sentence is incomplete and you still have to collect twelve more. You know he won't let you rest until you do as he says, this is the only way you can be rid of him, so do your job and collect." 

"How is he?"

"So he speaks." Her expression was serious. "He's not the best but he has high hopes for you. You owe him that much after what you did. Don't fuck it up or he'll kill you." She eyed him from top to bottom, "I think that might be good for you at this point. Anyways, I've done my own part, no?" With that a tear appeared in the air, purple wisps of smoke spilling through it and she carefully walked through it while waving at him. "I'll see you soon, collector, and it'll be your funeral."

The collector sighed as she disappeared, leaving behind the scent of baked goods, apparently she still kept up with the alias of a baker. That meant she was still in town, he had to be cautious. The sight of the ocean didn't feel as fulfilling anymore. So much for a moment of respite, now his favorite view was tainted.

Well, it wasn't an entirely new situation, he had a habit of ruining things for himself and that happened way more often than he'd like to admit but he at least had the self awareness to know he was the problem. He made his way back down into the mountain, navigating the different tunnels he'd dug himself when he'd just arrived. Stone, he'd found, was the easiest thing to manipulate, at least when compared to air that he was most familiar with.

After several tunnels, he arrived in the bedroom of his abode. He'd tried to make the dimensions from memory since he hasn't been able to enter a building for quite a while and it was really obvious from the uneven corners of the room. He considered it an architectural marvel, deluding himself into appreciating his rather unstable memory. 

He didn't have a bed. Didn't see the use for one since he was barely here anyways. He always travelled light- not like he had much. He packed his leerian robes and his only other belongings, a small notebook bound in rabbit leather and strapped it to the belt hole of his trousers. 

Twelve more and he was free. He only had to collect twelve. He could feel his liberation dancing on the tips of his fingers, he could smell the relief that was hidden away behind his lungs, pounding on the doors of airways to let it out, but he didn't know how to really feel about it. He'd never let himself feel anything, better still he'd never given himself into useless thoughts like that, after all we're never completely free.

He'd told him that himself. Several years ago while he instilled the ways of permutation into him as a child. But he was lucky, at least he had someone teach him at a young age.

An untrained wonderment was a walking danger, to themselves and to the people around them whether they knew it or not, it was only a matter of time before they either went crazy and became an anomaly or they found unhealthy ways to deal with their abilities, and those weren't even the worst things that could befall them.

The mold is a disease unlike any other that feeds on inactivity. Wonderments require the will of permutation that they use to access their inherent wondermental but when their permutation remains untapped, they become easy targets for the infestation of mold. An anomaly was easy to deal with, merely a wonderment out if their mind, but a moldy wonderment? They suddenly develop a means to access the three classes of wondermentals. The reason for the phenomenon is still widely unknown and there hasn't been a lot of research on the topic because wonderments have always been discovered before they ever became moldy.

That's where the collector comes in. He's been called many names in the two years since he got his sentencing,"Guiding hand", "permuter", but he didn't care for his names and he didn't care for however people addressed him, all he knew was he had to be done with it, his life now depended on it.

He took one last look at the mountain as he walked along the beach. He couldn't say when he'd next see it again. He tried his hardest to burn the memory in his subconscious, a futile effort he had to admit, since everytime he closed his eyes he saw nothing but darkness. Now wasn't the time to dwell on that. 

He slowly placed his foot on the water, permutating the temperature of the liquid and promptly decreasing it with his mind using his foot as a conduit. The water immediately turned into ice. Temperature wasn't his strongest suit and the beads of sweat forming on his temples were proof of his ineptitude. 

That didn't matter, he achieved what he set out to do. A loud sound emerged from underneath the water like bolts on a metal door. The wave parted from underneath the ice, shards of ice flying to the sides and a path was unraveled that was never there before. This was common permutation technology. Any voider and corporeal could quite easily replicate the feat.

In fact, he'd achieved it with one of his first students. The very first of his collections. Since then, the tunnel hadn't changed much. It was a simple bridge, so to speak, between the little island he resided and the town on the inlet of the main continent. His island was the perfect hiding spot. No one thought twice about a small, mountainous island.

The walk was silent, save for the faintest sounds of splashing water outside the tunnel. The path finally ended on the shore of the mainland. The collector opened the door and stepped out into the starless night, a stark contrast from his island.

Two men emerged from beyond the rocky enclaves, they wore dark robes, likely Leerian and they each held in their hands a shock stick. Coast guards, they were probably there to make sure no one was smugglingsnuggling anything up into the mainland. They pointed their sticks at him.

"Stop right there. Where did you come from, why are you here at this hour?" The older man spoke. He had a long scar across the nose, most likely from a previous encounter many years ago since it had mostly healed. 

The collector raised both arms. "Oh my bad officer, I- mm this might be embarrassing to say but you see, I can't find my dog." A nervous chuckle. "He has a habit of wandering to the waters whenever I forget to lock my door. I'm sorry to have caused you any problems." He wasn't exactly lying, he'd had a dog that used to do just that when he was younger. Perhaps now looking back at it that must be the reason he also found himself escaping out to the ocean whenever he got the chance.

The officer chuckled slightly. "That'll never not be a funny story to me." The collector raised his eyebrows, "I'm sorry what do you mean, officer." The two coast guards seemed to fluctuate slightly in the light of the moon. "Maybe your dog was trying to get away from you, did you ever consider that?" The voice came from behind the rock where the guards had emerged earlier. A woman stepped out and smiled at him. "I'm surprised you fell for such an easy trick, you've gotten careless, collector."

Despite her words she was smiling so hard as she approached him for an embrace. "I'm so happy to see you again, how long has it been now, three weeks? I've lost count since you didn't even send word to me," she punched him affectionately on the arm and stepped back to look at him from head to toe. "You've gotten leaner. Come, I'll feed you before you leave." She took his hand and led him onto the town street.

"So tell me," she started and turned to him while continuing her pace but walking backwards. "Has he reached out to you?" The collector pondered her question, well there wasn't much to ponder, the answer was quite simple. He could easily say yes, he'd reached out and threatened him after all and to add salt to his wounds he'd sent a friend.

"No he hasn't." The words left his mouth faster than a caged bird eager for freedom. Another lie he could add to his repertoire. She looked relieved and she turned around to continue her walk.

"That's good. I'm so glad." The rest of the walk was quiet, save for the random people that walked on the streets. They finally arrived at her place on the outskirts of town. A small shack, very reminiscent of her Gurandese heritage with its triangle roof and the wooden slate at the sides of the building. She opened the door and he went in first.

The house was quiet, it looked the same as it always has. Plain and empty, but something was missing or perhaps someone. "Where is Farah?" He turned around to see tears streaming down her eyes.

"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry, I had no choice, they took her," she fell on her knees and sobbed, "please forgive me."

He felt a pain in his head. It started slowly on one side and then quickly spread to the other side, his vision began to dull and he heard one of the inner doors open and footsteps, thick and heavy, approaching him. He tried to look at his assailant but he could barely open his eyes. 

"You have done well," he heard the man say. "Your work is done." He heard a loud thud just before his vision went completely black as well.