Somewhere in the forest…

The squirrels’ meal on a branch was cut short by the rustle of grass, sending them scattering.

Several days had already passed, and Frankie, now acting as “Father,” decided to show Nero a local landmark.
Pushing through shrubs and thickets, Frankie used deft strokes of a sharp sword to hack a path toward the steadily growing roar of water.

At last, descending a slope to the river, Frank slid the sword back into its scabbard and yawned sleepily, covering his mouth with a hand.

Water slapped against the stony shore, and a spray of cold droplets doused the newly arrived Frankie and Nero.
A fairly large river rushed at astonishing speed through jumbled stones and small beaver dams—their lodge must be nearby.

“Nero, you can drop the disguise here. No one’s going to bother us…” Frankie said, glancing around.

The black-haired boy, already pacing along the riverbank, hesitated.
Fumbling in his pockets, he pulled out two things: a small scroll and the white-and-emerald wand.

He sat on a cold stone and unrolled the little scroll across his knees. After a quick look, Nero pointed the wand at himself and closed his eyes.

A wash of blue light fell over him—and in an instant he returned to his usual colors.
Nero packed everything away, turned, and looked at Frankie.

“Incredible, Nero… You managed to learn a spell like that in just two days,” Frankie said, genuinely impressed.

“So… where to next?” Nero asked the daydreaming Frankie.

“Ahright. Not much farther. Come on…” Frank led the boy along the river; soon the stones gave way and the grass rose to their waists again.

“Frankie… are you going to tell me where we’re trudging off to?!” After forty minutes of walking, Nero’s voice was a little testy.

“We haven’t been through here in a while—that’s why it’s all overgrown again…” Frank answered, cleaving a bush clean in two.

“You didn’t answer where we’re going,” Nero said, but this time Frankie didn’t even twitch a brow.

With a single clean motion, Uncle Frank felled a nearby tree and laid it across a narrow run of the river—making a bridge between the banks.

They crossed. Frank tugged Nero along, the boy still stunned by what he’d just seen.

“W-w-what… How did you?” Words failed him as they came to the lip of a cliff, where water plunged down with an incredible, throbbing roar.

Skirting around his uncle, Nero stepped to the edge and peered over.

Countless underground rills merged into one stream, bursting out of the rock’s thickness.
The sheet of water smacked the surface below and spread across the lake far beneath. The sun, reflecting off the water like a mirror, scattered dancing flashes of light over the nearby slopes…

“Wow…” Nero breathed, awestruck.

“Well then—let’s go down there,” Frankie said—and before Nero could even turn toward the voice, he stepped off the cliff.

Nero ran to the brink, leaned out, and looked under the shelf.
Five meters below, Frankie stood quite calmly, humming some tune.

“Nero… what’s taking you so long? What, afraid of heights?” his uncle asked, a trace of sarcasm in his tone.

“Coming… now!” Nero planted his right foot out over the drop to copy Frank’s move.
As he leaned forward, the wind wrapped around his back and seemed to shove him downward…

Startled, he jerked backward and plopped onto the ground.

From below came Frank’s voice: “Hey! You planning to camp there?”

“Already coming!” Nero pushed off the cold ground and faced the drop again.

On the rock wall below, Frank was marking the stone with the point of his blade.
While he waited, he managed to scratch three vertical lines and cross them with a horizontal stroke.

“Hey, Nero…” Frankie was about to climb up to fetch him, but then, to his surprise, Nero jumped. He landed awkwardly right in front of him, wobbled, and tumbled on his backside.

He scrambled up, brushed himself off, and muttered, a little sheepish, that he was here.
“Good.... let’s keep going,” Frankie said, clapping him on the shoulder and heading down the narrow path.

The trail spiraled along the cliff walls.
As they descended, Frankie drove his blade into the thick, stony face. The steel slid in like a knife through butter, and water began to seep from the cut.

He sheathed the sword; the thin trickle continued, gathering below the crack and running down the slanted path.

A few steps later, Frank finally broke the long silence.
To satisfy Nero’s curiosity, he spoke of underground currents and water-filled caverns lying deep beneath the estate.
Water seeped through soil and stone, forming rivulets and even rivers, and in the end fed the waterfall that kept the lakeside basin at level.

By the time Nero had listened through this, they’d reached the same elevation as the lake.

“And now… get undressed,” Frankie said, already shrugging out of his doublet.

“Excuse me?!” Nero grimaced.

A few minutes later…

Having shed the extra layers, Nero took a good run and launched himself from a rock into the water.

He burst back to the surface and splashed onto the shore. “Aaa... w-why is it s-so c-cold?!” he chattered, teeth clicking.

In answer, he heard only the sound that split the quiet—the heavy splash of something else hitting the water. Frankie had jumped too: not exactly the warmest, coziest swim.

“Whew… What’s that? Cold, is it?” Frank said, voice perfectly calm though he stood up to his shoulders in icy water. “It’s February, after all! And even so, this is the warm part…”

A little later, Nero was huddled in his uncle’s doublet, warming himself by a newly kindled fire, while Frankie skewered several small fish on sharpened sticks.
The flames made a curious crackling, like brittle twigs snapping.

Back in warm clothes, the two of them roasted the fish to a crisp, while Frankie told a joke from his youth.

He also explained how to make them taste even better:
“So—you take a few fruits: lemon or lime, doesn’t matter… Then you squeeze the juice over the freshly caught fish.”

Nero wasn’t really listening. Swaying slightly, he watched the fish belly slowly blacken.

While Frankie stepped into the brush for a moment, Nero took a bite—and noticed a black muzzle peeking from the grass to his right.
A cute but cunning creature, foxlike: a long, narrow face, a damp reddish nose, and round yellow eyes.

It edged out a forepaw and stepped onto the clearing toward Nero.

The boy tensed. He’d read in an encyclopedia that the woods nearby were home to hunting foxes, wolves, eagles, and so on…

He reached for his wand, but when their eyes met he heard a faint chime, like a tiny bell.
Both of them froze. To Nero’s surprise, the predator did nothing—just waited, glancing now and then at his food.

Fully out of the grass, it sat a few meters from him, tail tucked around its paws—apparently even it felt the chill.

Any hunting dog would envy its size; the creature was clearly larger.

Without overthinking it, Nero flicked the fish he’d been eating toward her.
The vixen snapped it up with a swift lunge; fish held in her jaws, she dipped and stretched forward—a little gesture of goodwill—
then, sensing someone’s approach, darted back into the grass.

That small bow was her way of thanking Nero. Of course she wasn’t going to take any chances: the moment she heard Frankie returning, she fled.

“Nero, not five minutes—and you’ve already had your lunch stolen,” Uncle Frank chuckled as he came back.

“W-well… Did you see her? She’s big and dangerous… and where did you go?!” Nero grumbled.

Instead of an answer, he received two fresh fish and a stick—strong hint that he should grill his uncle’s share now, too.

Stuffed to the gills, Frankie told Nero that Benjamin would be visiting soon to discuss important matters with him—
and that he’d bring Izzy along, so Nero definitely wouldn’t be bored.

“Hey, Uncle, did you hear that strange chime? When the fox was here…?”

“What chime?” Frankie asked, surprised.

“Eh… forget it,” Nero said. He realized his uncle had heard nothing. No point making a fuss; he scrunched his face like a cat and simply enjoyed the tasty fish.

Thunder rolled in the distance…

The front door of an ordinary-looking building in the capital flew open under a boot.

Dozens of officers rushed inside. The big house was completely without power; in the darkness they overturned furniture, tore down wallpaper, and ripped up carpets.

Smashing into a small room with no windows, the officers immediately set the red carpet ablaze with a spell.
It was the only furnishing in the room—so the intent was obvious. Under the ash lay a metal hatch. Officers bent over it, pouring out some acid-green compound.

“Major Kataske! The house is clear! We’re ready to breach the cellar,” one officer reported.

Their faces were hidden behind painted wooden masks—
each mask carved in the likeness of some animal.

“Excellent. Proceed,” said Major Kataske—now promoted and dispatched to the capital personally by Benjamin Dan Rossi to run the operation.

They were finally reaping the fruits of their work. They had picked up the trail at last—and hot on it, they’d found this safehouse.

The acid ate through the hatch’s shell, and an officer stepped in and kicked the iron plate down.

It clanged to the depths like a dropped kettle, the reverberation a nasty, brassy ring.
After it went the bold soldiers of the Empire, lights flaring to life to guide their way in total darkness.
The last to jump was Major Kataske.

The cellar was one huge room.
The little flames skimmed around the corners, then gathered in one spot on the ceiling, forming a bright chandelier.

Almost at once, the officers caught a strange metallic tang and a few felt something wet underfoot.

“My God…” When the room flooded with light, even the stoutest hearts staggered.

The viscous liquid they’d stepped in was blood—flowing from a pile of bodies, a dozen of them thrown together and left to lie.

On the wall, a sign painted in blood: the letter “N” within a pictogram.

“Is this a ritual?” someone asked, but the question faded as quickly as it came, when they spotted a body set apart from the rest.

A sword jutted from the mutilated man’s chest. In his hand lay a blood-smeared note…

Mustering himself, Major Kataske unfolded the scrap and prepared to read aloud the single sentence written there.

In a cold voice, Kataske intoned: “Hello, imperial pups. I’ll be brief — you’re too late.”

Yes... Brief it certainly was...