“That’s Bluefield up ahead.”  

“About time,” Seraphina whined as she joined her untroubled familiar at the crux of the road, nestled under the shade of a tall tree marred by ripened apples. In the vast distance, the oncoming mirage of a wondrous cityscape was foredoomed, washed in blue in honor of its namesake, and enveloped by a series of soaring walls punctuated by castellations, to which she could distinctly eye the magnificent outline of a giant tree— its lazuline canopy audaciously reaching out for the midafternoon sun.  

“God, my legs are sore,” she hunched where her hands were leveraged on shaky knees.  

“It was you who recommended that we make haste, my lady. The hills around here are no joke, I’m afraid,” Malphas noted. “But would you like me to carry you on my back for the rest of the duration?”  

Seraphina entrusted her unlikely partner with a tremulous thumb. “I’m good,” she cradled the small of her back and groaned exaggeratedly as she straightened it out and flinched when it cracked. “In my defense, I’m not the most athletically inclined... you are dealing with a former shut-in, even though I loath to describe myself as such... years of battling unemployment haven’t left me with the most ideal physique. But Hell, I’ll get used to it,” she resolved and set her hands on her hips.  

“Suit yourself then, mistress. Ah, but I might have to ask you to carry our luggage, then. Bluefield,” Malphas started as he shifted his chin to drink in the city line. “Is a quiet city for sure, it is still regarded as the final checkpoint between the Outerlands and the new capital. You may not be able to discern it at this distance, but... that wall is inscribed with a protective ward that is meant to dissuade common friends, even though the neighborhood wildlife is relatively docile... but if I appear as I am now, I presume it will raise some questions.” 

“What’s your solution then, doc? Want me to stuff you in our cargo and smuggle you across the border?” Seraphina joked lightheartedly as she accepted the cargo in question to wind around her shoulder.  

“That will not be necessary, thankfully. While it isn’t a foolproof solution... it should be enough to dupe their subpar security measures, at least. Though I foresee that we will be met with stricter ordinances once we arrive in Saintridge, so this is merely the calm before the storm, as it were. Now,” in a spontaneous onrush of dark feathers, Seraphina recoiled, momentarily ducking her eyes until the shock subsided and astoundingly, she was met face-to-face with a fairly large but otherwise commonplace crow with a beady, scarlet gaze and rich, inky plumage. “I am not as powerful in this form,” as if it— Malphas was addressing her telepathically, Seraphina extended her wrist wherein he had perched thereon without further preamble. “... But it is ultimately less conspicuous. Furthermore, I advise you to keep your nose out of danger until we can leave Bluefield safely.” 

“Oh. Oh,” Seraphina found herself surrendering to a giddy smile as she itched under a feathery chin, earning a pleased coo from the demon. “A crow... I had a loose idea what a mini Malphas might look like after our first encounter, but... you’re even cuter than I imagined! Who’s a sweet little omen of death and despair? Huh? You are,” she giggled, and Malphas made an odd sound, which Seraphina vaguely interpreted as an embarrassed splutter; his pitch-dark wings flapping warningly. 

“My lady, we do not have time for this... malarkey.”  

“Heh, sorry, sorry! I’ve always had a soft spot for you little guys… in lieu of feeding pigeons in the park anyway, I much preferred to wander graveyards in the dead of night… All right. Up! Get on my shoulder,” she transferred the avian thereafter and readjusted the straps of their travel bag. “I look like the real thing now, don’t I? Familiar in hand, a dangerous questline to pursue... all I need now is the signature pointed hat.”  

“Bluefield’s relevance hinges on appealing to passing travelers. There are many bespoke tailors and shops stocked with a varied selection of magical wares peppered throughout the city,” the demon explained. “There is a high probability that on top of soliciting a magic tool, we may also be able to find leads in regards to your training. That is to say, let us endeavor to keep our eyes peeled... but avoid standing out if we can help it.” 

“You got it, chief. Let’s mosey.” 

By the time they approached the front gate, the sun had reached its zenith, and the heat was beating down, so much so that Seraphina was beginning to rethink her entire personality and whether it was strategically viable to constantly defer to all black. There were a pair of Knight-Mages belonging to the Honor Guard, whom she was formally educated on and recognized as a subgroup of the elite cavalry who were assigned to Bluefield by the Witch Embassage while their main headquarters predictably presided over Saintridge. They were identifiable by their rich ivory panoply, embellished by intricate silver detailing which distinctly paid homage to their chief emblem— or mascot: a White-Clawed Eagle, although other interpretations evidently perceived it as a silver phoenix, which was said to be the Eld Witch’s familiar in ages past.  

Embroiled in their gossipmongering, the guardsmen failed to take note of her presence— which meant that she was invited to eavesdrop for a moment. “This is an utter disgrace. If the officials in Saintridge find out that we have yet to resolve the situation, then... it isn’t even the idea of losing my badge; if you truly want to work, you will make amends and try elsewhere,” the Mage-Knight squeezed the narrow base of their spear like it was a make-do stress toy, emitting a sense of dread that was otherwise obfuscated by their helmet. “... But if they decide that our indiscretion means that we are not worthy of wielding our magic, then...”  

“They will not hesitate to take it away,” their colleague noted somberly. “... The privileges it provides, our transcripts, our accomplishments... the moment that magic is taken, it is never returned... and we are expected more or less to carry out our lives thereafter like normal, but the untalented are oftentimes not delivered mercy by the Embassage’s canon. They are, more often than not, abandoned by their government and encouraged to fester in the backstreets ‘til madness knocks on their door and they succumb, pitiful and forgotten.” 

“But the captain advised us that the situation is too dangerous. What we’re dealing with is no rogue adversary or monster... I have only heard rumors given that we haven’t been cleared to visit the crime scene, but... they’re saying it could be the work of an archdemon.”  

“An archdemon? How intriguing. Beyond my unorthodox circumstances, my kin are prideful entities, as you witnessed from Lord Beelzebub. From their perspective, it is considered dishonorable to kneel before mere mortals,” Malphas elaborated, hushed on the surface but loud in the back of her brain. Strategically circumnavigating a potential side quest, an impatient Seraphina ultimately opted to step forward and introduce herself proper, coolly waving her hand while the guardsmen broke apart and immediately assumed position; their joint posture depicted ramrod straight.  

“Hi, sorry to bother you good folk. I know it’s a little unprecedented, but I don’t have any identification at the moment since we ended up getting harangued by thieves on the road and they took just about everything save our food, blessedly. You can review our cargo; if you’d like; I just came to Bluefield in hopes of replenishing those aforementioned rations,” Seraphina dumped the bag and bent down to untie it, allowing the guardsmen to sort through their inventory as per instruction. They raised some eyes at the peculiar-looking spellbook that was tucked under her armpit, but when she revealed its blank contents, they ultimately shrugged it off along with what they assumed was an odd magical tool after she demonstrated her cellphone, which she wrote off as a “communication device,” but it had already broken. Given their gross lack of discretion, Seraphina considered that regardless of whether that issue with the rumored archdemon receives its happy ending or not, they might find themselves out of the job eventually anyway.  

“Everything seems good. But we’ll need to perform one final check to validate your identity,” Seraphina braced herself when the Mage-Knight prepared their weapon, shoulders hunched as the tip of the blade burst with mana, and she closed her eyes, breath shortening on impulse as it hovered over her chest, directly overtop her concealed mark like some kind of sobriety test. Seraphina considered that this must be the procedure to identify and otherwise condemn unlicensed witches as Malphas previously mentioned, hot flutters of magic tickling her core as her nonexistent heartbeat intensified, and she worried if it was something like a lie detector, which meant that her impressive front notwithstanding, she would be out of the match immediately if the internal storm in her gut was exposed. However, in the end, while the guard seemed uncertain, the ultimate outcome was... otherwise inconclusive. Malphas’ weakened state was indistinguishable from the likes of commonplace familiars, so when the Mage-Knight looked to him to validate their curiosities, they regrettably turned up short. 

“... All right, but we have been advised to inform travelers that the road to Saintridge is currently on lockdown,” the guardsman leveraged as they adjusted their stance. “A series of... unpromising incidents have beleaguered the coasts of the Red Dragon Sea, so until the Honor Guard has investigated the goings-on at length, I would ask that you stay vigilant in the meantime and keep your eyes peeled for updates.”  

“Right... thanks, then.” 

“At least it wasn’t our intention to beeline for the new capital,” Malphas said as Seraphina manhandled their luggage after the drawbridge was dropped and the gates thus signaled open. “But if the situation persists, I have a sinking suspicion we will be embroiled in it whether we want to or not.”  

“Don’t jinx it, please. After I was quite literally dragged down to Hell, I would like to think that it would be nothing but smooth sailing from here on out,” she grudgingly murmured back. “... Though things typically don’t work out the way you want them to, right? Ugh... this is definitely an ill omen.” 

However, when they overtook that final gate and formally entered the city, that bitterness corroded, ousted by dazzling enthusiasm as Seraphina drank in the effervescence; her mouth outlining a large “O.”  

Serpentiform avenues of polished white brick girdled by aggregations of charming, blue, and white abodes and dynamic shopfronts advertising multicolored banners and signboards detailing splendiferous new products. Uncountable stalls and bargaining vendors marketing colorful baked goods, weapons, capes, and pointed hats, to complex gizmos and gadgets that were paired with vivid demonstrations. Such as a bangled accessory that could vanish the wearer after a mechanism was slid into place, or a cat-shaped whistle that laughably corralled all the local strays together like it was catnip, or the colony of crystalline birds, feathers coruscating like stained glass, that flew past Seraphina when she swept into the vivacious marketplace that was recalled into a pocket mirror-like device, the magic canceled once the lid was lowered.  

Overhead, clusters of robed witches soared freely over the hubbub while others, likely students, were crowded in alcoves under the shade of the eaves, decorative railings wreathed in crawling cerulean wisteria or the leafy canopies of the local plant life, quizzing each other while overlooking their thick textbooks or merely laughing along to flippant canards. She had noted that some of the familiars kept themselves concealed one way or another while others openly joined their masters, consistently taking on animalistic forms, namely your stereotypical cat, bird, or reptile, either accompanying behind on foot or like Malphas, lodged on their shoulders or even toted around in their satchels like a pocket poodle.  

Most alarming, of course, was the tree she had noticed on the outskirts of the city line. Its sheer immensity was unprecedented; it acted as a nucleus almost, or a silent guardian that monitored the city limits and perhaps as ancient as the genesis of the world itself with its mighty, twisted boughs and roots that percolated across the thoroughfares, rich overgrowth blanketing the fringes of the buildings, invading every telltale nook and crevice. Stupefied, it relied on Malphas to restore the girl to her senses after she spent at least a good few minutes meandering pointlessly, taking in the sights like a wonderstruck tourist.  

“I suggest that we focus on getting our supplies in order first. Though with our paltry spendings, we will need to be frugal,” Seraphina could argue that an archdemon could wave his hand and make a mound of cash appear before them in the blink of the eye, but she supposed that if that were doable, then they certainly would not be wasting precious time hunting down a proper instructor. “I fear that the inns would probably like to cash in on the frequent traffic, so finding... workable accommodations might also be a bit of a challenge.”  

“Nothing I’m not already accustomed to, really. But preferably, I’d like to sleep in an actual bed; I can’t say I’ve grown to like the camping lifestyle yet,” Seraphina shrugged off. “Let’s see about checking out the town square. If we can find listings for an apprenticeship,” she snapped her fingers. “... I might not have to spend a dime if I immediately score the interview! Well, ah... not that I really know what it is that I’m applying for... anything I should keep in mind, chief?”  

Malphas went quiet, and although she could not tell, given that he was not entirely capable of expression in this current form, it seemed like he was giving it some genuine thought. “... Put on a smile and be yourself?”  

“... You know that shit doesn’t actually work in real life, right?”