"Second only to the rare and unlearnable art of summoning in mystery is that of forecasting. Only in the past fifty years have they been allowed to wander away from Vittora's mighty Clocktower and attend other institutions of arcane learning. With their stellascopes and psychic eyes they observe the distant and strange pneuma of the stars, and then interpret what they see into visions of the future via the miraculous arrangements of the Astrum Pictorial. It is a delicate, imprecise art, and even the most successful of practitioners create more questions than answers."

- "Beginner's Survey of the Basics", a lecture course conducted by Applied Arithmancy Professor Jude Monroe of St. Melantha’s University

Nemira flew back into the city with an uneasy heart. It was also quite dark and cold as hell, which did absolutely nothing to help her mood. With her pneuma still at too low an ebb to protect her from the elements, she had allowed Mila to drape a thick blue cloak over her shoulders before she left Broadleaf Way, the type that could handle the chilly temperatures common on the mountains. It fluttered behind her as she glided over the city lights and around the occasional aetherian traveling in the air alongside her.

With the rain gone, Coine's nightlife surged back to its usual energetic tempo, and it was not late enough into the evening to chase most residents back into their homes yet. She caught the tail end of laughter, a man shouting, the harsh blare of an autobeast horn as she made her way to Books on 8th. The atmosphere was so different from Viridian Hills they might as well have existed on two different planes. Going between them always jarred Nemira's senses. She wasn't sure which she preferred, but at that moment the hustle and bustle of downtown cast a strange sort of charm on her. She was, at the very least, not the only thing around wired with tension.

A short time later, her shop came into view just down the street. The first floor's lights were on, which made her narrow her eyes. Surely, Sai-em had other things to do than wait around on the ground floor for her. She swooped down with the easy grace of a bird plucking a mouse from a field, coming to a halt right in front of the door.

"Hey, Master Summoner!"

She smiled and waved at the elderly man with a weather-beaten face wiping down the little tables in front of the café next to Books on 8th. With permission from the Council, she had told both him and the gentleman who ran the deli of her true profession just so that they didn't think the strangely quiet and unadorned storefront of hers was some kind of cover for illegal activities. Neither of them had batted an eye, which she figured was simply the attitude of seasoned urban dwellers. "Good evening, Mr. Brown. How have you been?"

"Back's hurtin' like a bitch," he grunted. "Always a sign trouble’s brewin’ in the city. Happens like clockwork. Back pain, bad time. Hasn't failed me in years. You be careful now, miss."

"Thank you," said Nemira with the utmost politeness, her torch spinning upright then landing into her outstretched hand on its own. "If you are looking for medication for your pain, I can recommend you an excellent arithmancer apothecary with credentials from Kayubi Institute."

But Mr. Brown didn't hear her. He had moved on to a table further away, muttering darkly to himself. Nemira frowned at him, then opened the door to Books on 8th and walked inside.

Just as she suspected, Sai-em sat on the spare chair she had behind the counter in a way that made her think he hadn't left it in quite awhile. Thankfully, he was keeping himself occupied with what she recognized as the Holya, the central religious text of Iwanism. Nemira only knew the major stories inside of it, and had approached it largely as an academic exercise while studying at the Temple of Our Kin. She'd bet a decent amount of money Sai-em had a lot of it memorized.

He looked up as the bells above the door rang, and though he did not smile, the relief on his face was palpable. Nemira hesitated for a split second as the door swung shut behind her. Perhaps her heart should have fluttered at the sight of him after that grueling conversation with her mothers, but it didn't. The ride had been long enough for her to safely tuck her feelings back into the hidden recesses of her heart. Whatever her feelings were. It didn’t matter. Sai-em would never know them, either, and she would forever have more pressing issues on her plate to deal with.

"Welcome back, Kha-hesh," he said, standing up and inclining his head, hand over his heart. 

“I brought back dumplings,” replied Nemira, relieved at how easy it still was to speak to him like he didn’t trouble her at all. “They should be on the counter behind you already. I hope you did more than just sit around down here like a bump on a log while I was away.”

Sai-em closed the Holya as Nemira approached him. “It has been some time since I’ve been able to read the books of bright IWA and contemplate Their journey. I did not mind the solitude.”

“So long as you were keeping your mind engaged, I suppose.”

“Are you well?” he asked, studying her as she leaned her torch against a bookshelf and undid her mom’s cloak. “Did you sleep better at your esteemed mothers’ house?”

“Well enough,” she admitted, hanging her cloak over her arm. Heteti had had to brew her a powerfully drowsy tea remedy that tasted like she had inhaled a mound of flower pollen the first night, but it had done the trick and knocked her into a cold, dreamless place where the faceless man couldn’t visit her as soon as her head had touched her pillow that night. “Ready for work, whenever the Council is ready to give me some.”

Sai-em considered her for a long moment, then pulled out an envelope from underneath the Holya. It bore the familiar crimson seal of the fiery rose.  "The messenger told me this is not so urgent that I would need to interrupt your break, but that you must see to it no later than tomorrow morning," said Sai-em quietly.

Nemira stared at the envelope in his hand, then glanced back up at him. "Would you have hidden this from me had I not gotten a good night's sleep?"

"I would have simply suggested you rest for longer rather than head out right away," said Sai-em, who did not look at all defensive or insulted at her question. "The Sahas priests would say the same, and send the temple Sentinels to scout the situation first. This Council is too eager in redeploying you."

"I am quite literally the only summoner active in the city-state," she told him sternly. "And the Council does not employ many people who are unable to interact with aetherians. If I cannot go out and deal with an issue, they might be tempted into calling for my predecessor to take action, and the old ma—Master Kori is in his sixties. There's no helping it, Sai-em."

She reached over the counter and took the letter out of his hand. Despite her words, a hint of trepidation had crept into her. Training had drained her pneuma and she needed to restock her supplies, and the Council was a little too good at making everything sound like an emergency regardless of what one of their secret telegram delivery kids said. If she had to begin her new assignment tonight, would she be able to handle it?

She pressed her thumb to the seal to keep herself from worrying too much and opened the envelope with one hand and unfolded the telegram while Sai-em, considerate as ever, took her cloak from her other arm. What she read had her eyes going round with astounded delight.

THE RING HAS BEEN RECEIVED AND WE CONGRATULATE YOUR SUCCESS. A NEW DISTURBANCE REQUIRES YOUR ATTENTION. THE DWELLERS OF SAINT YARROW’S BURIAL GROUNDS CRY FOR HELP. A CHILD OF GOD RAGES AMONG THE TOMBSTONES. QUELL ITS RAMPAGE AND RETURN PEACE TO THAT FORSAKEN PLACE. THE GRIM SUMMONER HEREBY HAS THE BLESSING OF THE COUNCIL. ACT AS YOU SEE FIT.

"Sai-em," said Nemira, not looking up from the telegram. She held out her hand. "I give you permission to touch my bare skin."

"What?"

She looked over at him. He was busy folding her cloak neatly on the counter. His expression was a little startled.

"Grab my hand," she told him, shaking it at him. "It's the only way you'll be able to read this with me!"

"...You honor me, Kha-hesh."

She didn't flinch when his large, calloused hand carefully gripped hers. His pneuma sent painful shockwaves up the trails of her nerves, but in a curiously weakened way that felt quite different from the years' long familiarity with her mothers. He emanated much more faintly than the average warrior. A side-effect of his failed attempt at becoming a thaumaturge, if she had to guess. Another thing she wanted to ask him about but never would.

He read the telegram she held up to him, his brows rising the further down he went. "St. Yarrow’s Burial Grounds? That's nowhere near Ewald Vale. I've never ever traveled through the West Gate before..."

"Forget the Vale! This is an incredible opportunity for me!" she asked, waving the telegram around. "It’s the most haunted place in the city-state! Revenants of every aetheric class linger there in droves. Do you know how much historical knowledge they possess as a collective?" She squeezed his fingers very tightly, excitement threatening to spill out of her like water in an over-filled bucket. "Sai-em, once I deal with with whatever  is rampaging there, we have to—"

The door of the shop burst open. Nemira gave a shamefully loud shriek, nearly jumping out of her sandals in shock. Sai-em let go of Nemira's hand, leapt over the counter, and drew his sword. The lights in the shop flickered at the strange dark blade's sudden appearance.

"You step into the abode of the Worthy vah Sahas unannounced," said Sai-em, his voice hardened over with the threat of violence. "Remove yourself from the premises at once, or I will remove you by force."

"Wait, wait, wait!" Nemira couldn't see who had barged into the store between Sai-em's body and the bookshelves he stood between, but she recognized the voice immediately. "I'm a friend of Nemira's, I swear it upon the wise and kindly Wife of God! Nemira, my dear, you must not go on that assignment!"