The morning of the exam greeted me with a cold dry air that was typical of the winter. I got up to dress myself and eat breakfast as I usually did before the crack of dawn.

  In the kitchen I met Mara and Austin and we sat down to eat what the kitchen gods had prepared for today.

  “Of course it’s soup and bread again, god forbid we give a man a decent meal before sending him on a suicide mission.” I muttered to myself.

  I was looking at the soup as if it had betrayed me when Austin began to speak. “What?” he asked me.

  I never liked early mornings and I hate early morning conversations even more. The mood is always groggy and I’d rather sulk to myself mourning the loss of sleep than pay even a shred of attention to someone's small talk.

  “Nothing.” I murmured as I slurped soup from a slouched position.

  “Wow, you look like a dead fish. Is your assignment that shitty?” Mara asked.

  For the second year exam, Master Korbyn had given each trainee an actual assignment; a bonafide hit, dare I say.

  They were small time jobs, way above the dignity of the Mist clan, but served as a great practical examination for trainees.

  The targets would be on the mainland and as such, I initially considered the possibility of planning an escape.

  The problem was that the more I learned about the Mist clan the more I began to think escape was impossible.

  The main body of the Mist clan was split into three branches: The wolves, the shadows, and the hounds.

  By the start of Phase 3 at the beginning of year 4 of the academy, a trainee will have to pick which branch they wish to join and the subsequent 2 years of academy will be devoted to special training for their chosen branch.

  The wolves are the assassins that hunt in packs, hence the name. They specialize in teamwork, coordination, and prolonged combat.

  The Shadows only work alone and specialize in stealth. They are mainly given jobs for high profile targets where stealth is a necessity and so a large group becomes a liability.

  Finally the hounds, the crux of my problem. They work in packs just like the wolves, except all of them are trained handlers for bloodhounds. Their main job is to track difficult targets, but what they're really known for is tracking down rogue assassins.

  The Mist keeps a collection of each member's scent in a vault so that they can effectively track any runaways.

  They had no shortage of time to obtain a sample from every one of us since we were raised on the island.

  Bloodhounds are said to be able to track any scent from across a continent. While their abilities are likely exaggerated, I have no intention of finding out if it’s true or not.

  And so my hopes of escaping dwindled once again. I had begun to reach the conclusion that it would be easier to eliminate every one of its members than it would be to hide from them.

  “Nah, my assignment is not really that hard, what’s got you so excited anyway?” I asked Mara.

  “Are you kidding? We’re finally going to the mainland. Rapforth, Helian, Titan, the setting of all the stories we were told as children.” She stood up and explained enthusiastically.

  I had no idea what she was talking about. I never recalled any memories from the boy whose body I had inherited and I never had the time or intention to read children’s stories while in the library.

  “Yeah, only we’re the villains of the story this time.” I remarked as I poked my bread probing for mold.

  She sat back down and her enthusiasm faded as she remembered the purpose of her trip.

  “One month, that’s all we get. If you’re a day late, or the target survives, then you're off to go meet those heroes of yours.” I added with my monotone morning voice.

  The mood turned somber as we finished our meals. I wished them luck and parted ways with the two and headed to my rendezvous point.

  We were each to be deployed to the mainland via a ferry man and I was very curious to see how they would traverse the fog.

  It always bothered me how sailors from the outside world would never make it past the fog yet the Mist assassins seemed to go to and from the Isle of Mist with ease.

  Even if I managed to kill the entire clan by some miracle, it would all be for nothing if I was stuck on this sad excuse of an island.

  When the shore came into view, I spotted the small dock which had been designated my rendezvous point. Docked on it was an unadorned sloop with a handful of people manning it.

  They were scrambling to load several crates onto the ship when one of the men spotted me and waved me over.

  I made my way over to the ship and greeted the man who had flagged me down. He was a tall, burly figure standing some 6’0”(182cm) with a scraggly red beard.

  “You Marcus? We could use an extra set of hands. Grab one of those crates for me, will you?” He spoke with a gruff voice.

  I manhandled one of the crates onto the deck, almost losing my balance on the gangplank.

  Once we had finished loading the cargo, the man returned to introduce himself.

  “Name’s Brian, but people call me Buck.” He offered his wrist in greeting.

  “Marcus, nice to meet you.” I clasped his wrist and responded.

  “You’ve got manners and muscles kid, keep it up and I won’t have to throw you overboard” He joked.

  “Anchor up! ” Buck barked the order to his crew who scrambled to work the capstan. In short time, we had set sail into the foggy water and The Isle of Mist soon faded from view.

  It hadn’t even been 30 minutes when my boredom began to overtake me and I decided to see if I could fish any information out of Buck.

  While the fog alone made it difficult to navigate this part of the bay of Rapforth, it alone wouldn’t explain how long the Isle of Mist had remained undiscovered.

  If you spot this tale on Amazon, know that it has been stolen. Report the violation.

  “Captain, Shoals north-northeast!”A shout emanated from the front of the vessel and answered my question. I grabbed onto the nearest bannister as the ship veered sharply to the port side.

  Despite my sharp eyesight, I couldn’t see anything through the fog. Even if somebody had better eyesight than me, it was doubtful that they could see through the dense fog without some kind of spell or artifact.

  The ship soon righted itself once again and it seemed a natural time to start asking questions.

  “How can you see anything through this fog? We might as well be sailing blind.” I asked Buck before the opportunity faded.

  "Hah, nonsense, lad! If I could see through this fog, we wouldn’t be going so slow. At this rate, we’re bound to run out of rum." His response was accompanied by a series of groans.

  “So how did you know there was a shoal in our course?” I followed up a little more probingly.

  “Look kid, a curious sailor is usually a dead one. You might want to be careful if you don't wanna learn to swim.” his voice grew dark accompanied by a mean stare.

  My posture stiffened as my hand inched its way to my blade.

  “Relax boy, I was only mucking about. You should see your face.” Buck laughed for a while before he caught his breath.

  “As for how he saw it, it’s best you don’t ask.” He added with a serious but non threatening tone.

  It was clear that I wasn’t going to get any verbal answers so I headed to the bow of the ship in hopes that I could gain a clue from the spotter.

  While waiting for something interesting to happen, I began playing with mana to pass the time. My intention was to practice shaping 3 dimensional matrices.

  Despite my efforts, I was still unable to make any progress. It was as if I was missing a piece of the puzzle. My visualization seemed correct, but for reasons I didn’t understand, my mana refused to stabilize any 3 dimensional matrix.

  Ever since I had cast my first 4th grade spell, I had begun researching 3 dimensional matrices. 3 dimensional matrices are required for any spell above the 4th grade.

  This is because a 2 dimensional matrix simply lacked the fortitude and structure required to withstand the pressure of 3 separate elemental circuits.

  After a few hours passed, I grew frustrated and tired from mana exhaustion. I decided to take a break and catch some sleep before we arrived.

  We had made a number of course corrections since I had relocated to the bow, but I was still unable to identify the method of navigation the spotter was using.

  The only thing I was sure of was that it must be some kind of magical artifact. The spotter rarely bothered peering into the fog. It was as if he was able to sense his surroundings without using his vision.

  I drifted off to sleep hoping to recover some of my mana and energy before we reached the port of Rapforth.

  “Rise and shine Marcus, we're here.” Buck kicked me awake. “When we dock, an imperial inspector will come aboard to examine the cargo. Let me do all the talking, and take your hood off, you couldn’t arouse more suspicion if you tried.” Buck lectured me.

  I did as requested and a blinding light filled my eyes. When they had adjusted they were met with a breathtaking view of Rapforth’s port.

  Rapforth was one of the only major port cities in the southern region of the Casparian Empire. It was a trade hub who’s size was only limited by the treacherous reputation of its bay amongst sailors.

  There were safe trade routes around the infamous fog that plagued its bay, but it still suffered from poor weather patterns which made its straits risky to traverse.

  Nevertheless, the Casparian Empire was the largest country on the continent of Aeterra. Its markets were the most lucrative by far, and many traders from around the world would risk life and limb to get access to them.

  We docked on a small outcrop unmistakably characterized by fisherman. I had hoped we would have been directed to the warehouse district of the port, but instead we were greeted with the stench of dead fish.

  Upon arrival we were flagged down by a soldier in red who came aboard shortly after the gangplank was erected.

  He wore a steel segmented chestplate and a short sword at his hip that gave a similar resemblance to an ancient Roman legionnaire. In contrast however, he wore a set of boots and a helm that evoked a more medieval sense of armor.

  The soldier hadn’t been on board for more than a few seconds before he hailed the captain of the ship and Buck approached him.

  With a clipboard and pen in hand, he addressed Buck. “All vessels bearing unregistered ensigns must register with the Imperial Naval Office. For the sake of brevity, with the authority invested in me by the Praefectus of the Southern Imperial Fleet, I will serve as the Office’s proxy for the purpose of your registration. Please state your name, Country of origin, and the purpose of your visit.” The man ordered.

  “I am Arthur from the Kingdom of Terensia. We’ve come seeking access to the markets of Rapforth by the grace of the Emperor.” Buck put on a performance worthy of a Shakespearean play as he spewed his bullshit.

  “And of the cargo?” The inspector continued as he flipped through his clipboard.

  “Just some tea leaves, fresh from Terensia’s warmer climate.” Buck clarified.

  “I shall inspect one of the crates at random, do you agree to these terms?” The inspector declared offering no room for negotiations.

  “Of course, please go ahead.” Buck replied with a smile as he gestured to the man to do as he wished.

  I tried my best to remain calm and not arouse suspicion, but the inspector approached me nevertheless. It was as if he picked the odd one out like a teacher asking the silent kid for an answer, there was no way to divert his attention.

  When his approach became imminent it no longer mattered why he had picked me, but only that I did not come off as an outsider to the rest of the vessel’s crew.

  “This one please, if you will?” He ordered me rhetorically, pointing at the crate I was standing next to.

  “Heads up lad.” One of the crew members addressed me as he tossed a crowbar in my direction.

  I received it with two hands while faking an expression of shock. I had seen the crowbar coming before it had been thrown, but to the inspector I was only a young teenager.

  To appear comfortable and well put together in such an environment could have drawn unwanted attention and questions.

  “Go on, open it for the man. His time is much more valuable than ours.” Buck ordered me.

  I stuck the crowbar in the lid of the crate and began to pry it open. Despite the compound suppressing my nerves, I couldn’t help but grow slightly nervous.

  I didn’t actually know what the crates contained. Even though I was the real contraband they were smuggling into the city, I had a lingering doubt that I was not the only real cargo of this ship.

  However the die had been cast and refusing to open the crate would only lead to more trouble, so I steeled my nerves and cracked the lid open.

  To my relief it truly was just tea leaves. The inspector took a look around and when he was done poking, scribbled something on his clipboard and then nodded to me that he was finished.

  I resealed the crate as the inspector returned to Buck. “Everything seems to be in order sir… Arthur. Here is your license. If at any time you wish to change your ensign or any other details of your registration, simply bring this paper to the naval office in the center of the warehouse district and a clerk will assist you. Do you have any further questions?” He asked Buck.

  “No, that will be all. Thank you for your time Sir.” Buck received the license from the inspector and gave him a small bow to wish him farewell.

  “Alright let’s get to work, men.” Buck returned to his usual gruff voice once the officer had disappeared from sight.

  “Marcus, you will assist us in unloading the cargo. As soon as we hit the markets you will be free to go. Under the cover of the crowd you should find it easy to slip away. Remember, you have no travel documents, so avoid any checkpoints or inspections from guards. Here is your assignment again, burn it once you’ve decoded it. We’ll return on the 31st and will wait for you in the staggering fool; a well-known tavern in the city's east district. If you’re not there by sunrise then there’s nothing I can do to help you. Godspeed Marcus, and may the mist guide you, brother.” Buck offered his wrist, and I promptly clasped it in exchange. He left in my hand a small scroll with a seal depicting a dagger.

  “Thank you, and may the mist guide your sails, for your eyes will not.” I joked in return.

  He chuckled as I stashed the scroll inside my cloak and moved to assist the crew with the unloading effort.

  Within the next hour we had finished moving the cargo and the crew began to set up a stall in the bustling market.

  Without a further word to any of them, I took my leave and dissolved into the crowd.

  With no more presence than a grain of sand on the beach, I scoured the various stalls of the market in search of a map.

  I was clueless as to my surroundings and I needed to gather intel on the target and my environment if I was going to stand any chance at success.