“Suggest to me a name, Mister Norton.”

  The Gray Fox walked from one end of his desk to the opposite side. His face, less wrinkled than it would be in the future, probed around documents placed on his desk. Newspapers, ledgers, and even an open accounting book, as if the word he needed was hidden among the printed symbols. He stopped in the middle of the room, eyes fixed on the image mounted near the ceiling. He was looking at the view of a painting of a villa with the scroll and compass herald of the Goehler Family. It was behind his desk; the wind blew sunlight into the room and broke into sparkles against the frame’s glass.

  “Yes. Trevalyn will do.”

  “Do you mean ‘Trevelyan’, Master?”

  “No. Trevalyn. I want a name that could sound both strange and familiar.” The joints of his left arm squeaked, reaching out to grasp the sunlight. He continued rambling on:

  “Yes, this will do. No doubt about it. A name that people may think they can remember, but only if they pay attention to it well enough. Trevalyn… Faricy. It can mean many things, and anything may be correct.”

  “If it suits your purpose, I would not question your decision.”

  Winston Norton pulled out a thin roll of tobacco from his coat. In his hand was a lighter, but he thought twice about lighting it up and was content in pinning the cigarette between his lips.

  ????

  Luminberg shone against the climbing noon sun; its towers and spires glowed red when sunlight hit them. This was one city that resembled a bed of spikes from a distance, at least from how Trevalyn Faricy saw it.

  It was a city of towers; several of them crafted out of cut stone or specially-shaped clay. The city layout was fashioned according to the beliefs of a bygone era – that when magical energies could be harvested in the air through a series of crystalline spikes. It gave its denizens a reserve of magical energy to tap into when needed. Times changed, and crystal was no longer a sought-after part to build houses in Luminberg, yet the design remained as a standard.

  He heard the long, low whistle of the train he was aboard in. A sudden, subtle shake, followed by the view becoming more than a blur: he expected the vehicle to come to a stop at the city station. Smoke formed in broken white wisps past the windows as the view began shifting from one angle to another. A bus was being wheeled in his direction; its attendant carting off slices of roasted fowl to be distributed amongst the other passengers. Pepper, basil, and other herbs, the crime lord did not care to know, attempted to tickle his nose. He didn’t have the interest at first, until hunger decided and led to Trevalyn staring down at a platter of the course. A gloved hand guided a silver ladle to pour a darkly-brown sauce over the meat.

  Trevalyn stared at his left arm, grasping at its skin with his right hand. This was the first time a mechanical limb felt almost like a real part of his body; it gripped the fork, albeit with some delay in aligning its fingers, right after he thought of closing it. Amazing, he told himself, but then that twitch slightly shook his hold on his own skin.

  “A little off on the timing, but still impressive. This is indeed one of Doctor Hollegrehenn’s finer works… There are so many things this false arm can do.”

  He separated a chunk from the rest and tasted. Good, as was expected of the service – he tasted better courses though. He took his time to slice other pieces of meat from A mustached man in a red uniform appeared at the end of the hall to announce:

  “We will be arriving at Luminberg shortly. Please double-check all your belongings before leaving the train. Thank you.”

  It was enough time for him to finish his meal; he had yet to see the outline of the train station up ahead. Trevalyn saw the city’s western gate; it was either that Luminberg did not find the need to deploy more guards there, or their payroll could not afford more people to watch over. He could see the smoothness of the wooden portal from where he was – a sign that it had been standing there for the longest time without the need to replace it. Iron braces that were layered over the door stood out against the faded red stones of the walls. A reminder of the past, Trevalyn thought. Those times when fortified cities had to be erected to keep human settlements safe from the rampaging monsters scattered across the plane. They could have been torn down to build more areas on the surrounding lands, expand Luminberg into a metropolis that, to him, this glorious expansion, combined with giving those sections a more refined look, could pale Blaurosen in comparison to the seat of the Academy, but perhaps the administrators preferred to keep the city’s antiquated appeal. Either way, Trevalyn found it to be either a weak excuse for not having a dream of expanding the city, or the people were too content within the walls' confines.

  “I have to admit, them keeping the city’s old looks will ultimately benefit me.”

  He heard the train wheels clap more frequently on its entry to the city; he could see the four-striped banners of Luminberg flying alongside the Imperial Seal. One final blow of steam marked the end of his journey. Trevalyn could have used the transport discs to get to his Luminberg branch immediately, but he figured that traveling the countryside would be better for his eyes. Being able to see the city’s layout in broad daylight also served its advantages – Winston Norton needed fewer explanations on how everything would be carried out once all preparations in the city were done.

  A man in a black suit and a fedora nodded at the Gray Fox. Trevalyn approached him; he did not need to think twice about who this man was (or who sent him to meet with the crime lord).

  The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.

  “Your coach is waiting for you outside. Master Norton is on the Second Tower.”

  Trevalyn nodded and let the man guide him outside the waiting platforms. He was led to a gray automobile; the scent of lemons crawled out of the interior when the door to the passenger seat was opened.

  “This smells like a hotel bathroom. Did you choose the perfume to use here?”

  “My apologies, Master. This vehicle has smelled this way when it was taken out of the garage.”

  “I will have a word with Mister Norton once we get there. Make it quick.” Trevalyn opened a window and let the wind fill the interior. “This… ‘fruity’ scent is getting on my nerves.”

  Luminberg’s roads had the reputation of having too few signs aside from the recent traffic markers installed by the current rule. There weren’t many minor roads in this city, as everyone who lived in Luminberg had to be called upon to combat the threats from outside. Such rigid arrangements had to be done for the army to be easily rallied. It was deemed not to make the city more complex than it should be – things were easily tracked due to each house being numbered after its block, and the blocks had their own names and designations. The roads and avenues were named after the heroes of the First Empire, past city leaders, and the wizards who fought alongside the heroes during the Age of Monsters. Each block had four spires, and these in turn were shared by three to five houses each. There was little room for the city to have individual houses under vast tracts of land; hence, only the dwellings of the most important figures in the city had the privilege to have their houses resting on their own lots.

  They arrived at the Wizards’ Wall’s Second Tower in less than half an hour. Inside the gray stone structure was an empty interior, save for a spiraled staircase that led to the tower’s second level. He noticed that this used to not have any safeguards – one slip would send a careless individual back, with certain injury, to the entrance door. The metal rails that were connected to the staircase were recently installed. Trevalyn held on to them until he reached the tower’s second level. There was a man with his back facing the crime lord; Trevalyn didn’t need to see his face to know who this person was.

  “Early as ever, Mister Norton.” Trevalyn surveyed the room; a few workers were dismantling what seemed to be old tubes mounted on the walls. “How’s the construction going?”

  “Ah, Mas- excuse me, Mister Faricy.” Winston noticed the crime lord’s refined appearance and then faced him. “We have removed the old machines that were connected to the Wizards’ Wall. We are installing the new equipment as scheduled. The magister asked us to surrender all of the old machinery we will be replacing. Junk, they are in my eyes; I’m not in any position to ask our clients about it.”

  “They can keep the machines, but were you able to convince them that the old cores are still ‘needed’ for this project?”

  “I was able to get their consent about that. After all, I assumed that Hollegrehenn copied the old machines’ workings. I did give them a demonstration of how we will install the improved components to make the Wall work again.”

  “Excellent. What of the added components?”

  “We were able to set them up…” Winston took out a key and inserted it at a hidden keyhole at the lower right side of the machine’s base. “…here. The inspectors were not too keen on checking this part of our machinery. We should be able to ‘service’ these when everything is on schedule.”

  “Good. We still have ample time to finish the job before what was that in your understanding? Defense Day, or is it? Anyway, I expect all other preparations for it are in place, at least more than halfway.”

  “Of course, Mister Faricy. We can discuss this in detail later.”

  Winston pointed the way outside, and his superior quickly understood what he meant. He was a different man when sporting a glass eye instead of his constantly glowing optic. Both left the tower and got inside the awaiting vehicle. Strong, short chugging brought the engine to life as the driver started to take them away from the Wizards’ Wall’s area. Winston slanted his back and stretched his legs; his feet were on an incline that connected the driver’s seat to the rest of the chassis when he said:

  “From what Doctor Hollegrehenn told me, the wall used to have a locking mechanism that sealed the gates from outside with the same ethereal field. I would think that gaining control of this will allow us more time to collect your magical energy stores with little worry from outside interference. We can commit our men and weapons in warding off Luminberg’s defenders from inside – should there be any considerable number of them still standing after the initial shock.”

  “Very good findings, Mister Norton. Have the city administrators been aware of this? That the Walls' crystals be used this way?”

  “I gathered that most of the authorities are not keen on the possibility, except for possibly the Magister himself. I would not dare give him the faintest of hints.” Winston pulled down a handle from the driver’s seat, revealing a small compartment with a metal flask inside. He unscrewed the lid and took a drink of its contents. “Any relief force sent by Blaurosen or any of the domain’s local armed units should be kept out of Luminberg until they can figure out how to disperse the magical currents, if ever.”

  “One man. He should not pose a challenge to deal with, or dispose of when needed.” Trevalyn stared at the darkly red silhouette of the Fourth Tower. His men had not gained access to it yet, based on the absence of signage and the scaffolding seen on the First and Second Towers. “The next shipment of metal for the construction of machinery for the Fifth, Sixth, and Seventh towers is going to be slightly delayed. One of the ships carrying raw material from the South could not leave port due to a storm passing the area.”

  “How much time will be lost to us?”

  “A week, as promised by the shipping company.” Trevalyn’s voice tried to be uniform, but the idea of the delay couldn’t hide his annoyance.

  “We can commit to a hundred men and twelve constructs per tower.”

  “That, yes. The good machinists’ assembly lines are on it 'round the clock. Leave that to me.”

  They passed by the imposing fa?ade of the famed Academy, a large cone with a skyward needle. Its sharpness was visible even from the distance their automobile was cruising. It was not a closed compound, but instead was flanked by lower buildings that formed a crescent when viewed from above. More students took an interest in studying there than there were fifteen or probably twenty years ago. Each of these youths strolling, frolicking, and sitting on its grounds, aspiring to be masters of mystical studies; the arcane slowly losing its secrecy. He was once like them, but in a different field. Even that love for knowledge could not divert him from old ideals. Curiosity and wonder were seen from their eyes; traits that Trevalyn knew so well from that lifetime he discarded.

  “I never saw the Academy having this many students.”

  “I wouldn’t know, Master.” Winston lifted the flask; liquid passed on to his lips and was sent down his throat. “Luminberg is quite an old, yet endearing city.”

  “Yes, and this place shall serve as our springboard, that important stepping stone in what we have been working on for the longest time.”