The day of the festival.
It had crept up quietly. The past couple of days after the assassin attack had been slow but steady. She kept her movements subtle, letting herself blend in just enough not to rouse suspicion.
Veronica visited the ruins yesterday, alone. The cultists were long gone, of course. Nothing left but the faint scent of scorched soil and the lingering memory of demonic residue clinging to the air like stale breath. She’d walked the ritual site twice, careful with her steps, but there had been little to learn beyond what she already knew.
If the Ashen Covenant knew she’d been there, they hadn’t acted on it. Then again, reconnaissance and tracking were never her strengths. No matter how long she stared at the footprints in the dirt or the burn patterns carved into the stones, no clarity came, only guesswork.
For most of the past two days, she weaved through Greystone, trying to gather information.
She visited shops, passed by the mines, and even browsed the old church archives for a time. She made a mental note to start paying closer attention to the townsfolk—their faces, builds, and voices.
If any of them matched the silhouettes she saw performing the summoning—well, it wasn’t obvious. No matching limps, no scars she recognized.
Perhaps those particular cultists hadn’t been residents at all.
She wished she could have done more. Just walking around and listening to things wasn’t something she exactly enjoyed or was good at. It would have been better if the demon or cultists had just suddenly appeared for her to slay. When there were no clues around, she was forced to wait until the time came. Sage hadn’t found much either, leading her to believe the cultists were now playing it safe.
Near afternoon, there was a person of interest she spoke to. A member of house Ronswick. However, they seemed completely innocent. They were just here early to enjoy the town and to inform the Baron of any accommodations they might require beforehand. Things like food allergies or when to prepare for the envoy’s arrival.
Practically—it was a dead end.
She’d also spoken to Old Thom again, but he wasn’t of much help either. He’d been spending his days at the bar drinking, refusing to be made a fool again if he saw the cultists. Not a single person believed him.
That’s why she hadn’t told Captain Luthen. She was sure they already all knew about Old Thom’s complaints about the cultists, but they didn’t believe such unsubstantiated ramblings. Veronica couldn’t provide any more proof than he had already done.
Unfortunately, she'd gotten nothing of substance. Recon... information gathering... she was terrible at those, besides just walking up to someone and asking if they knew something. Parek was always her eyes and ears, but he wasn't here now. She could only sigh in disappointment.
But today was now the day, when things could take place.
By early morning, the festival had already begun taking shape.
Stalls lined the main square, decorated with bright cloth and faded streamers. Lanterns were strung between rooftops. A long banquet table—gaudy and expensive-looking—had been laid out the night before, and this morning half the town was already buzzing around it, polishing silver and setting up trays. All of the miners had been given the day off, their pickaxes replaced with paintbrushes and garden shears as they helped adorn the streets with flowers and banners.
All of it felt just a bit too excessive.
At first, Veronica had assumed it was mere theatrics for a noble’s arrival—Welterman trying to play the part of generous host. But after a little digging, she’d discovered there was more to it.
The Ronswick envoy wasn’t just passing through. They were bringing something with them. A donation, apparently. Payment. Tribute. Whatever it was, it was part of a private deal with the Baron, and the town had been ordered to celebrate like it was a gift from the gods.
Veronica stood now just outside the square, watching the early rush of townspeople rush about with baskets and ribbon. The sun was barely over the rooftops, and already the scent of roasted nuts and honeyed bread wafted through the air.
The pieces were moving.
She still didn’t know what game the Ronswicks were playing—or what their connection to the cult truly was—but one thing was certain.
She’d be watching closely when they arrived.
Veronica dusted her palms together, then reached for the next garland of dried lilies.
“Hold it up just a bit higher, dear,” came the voice beside her. “There—that’s perfect.”
She stepped back, letting Mrs. Sena admire the floral drape from the cobblestone path. The vegetable vendor, dressed in a thick apron with streaks of pollen on her sleeves, offered a satisfied hum. Her cheeks were already flushed from exertion, her graying hair tied back with a green ribbon that matched the faded color of her stall’s awning.
Veronica found herself enjoying the rhythm of the work. Simple, repetitive. Tangible. She didn’t enjoy the labor necessarily, but getting to move around and do things normally for once, felt satisfying.
“Hard to believe we’ll have a noble in town today,” Sena said, setting her basket down and pulling out another coil of wildflowers. “Proper nobility, I mean. Not just messengers or coin-counters.”
Veronica handed her the loop of binding twine. “You mean the Ronswicks?”
“Aye.” Sena nodded. “They have frequent dealings with Baron Welterman, coming and going, but this time’s different. They’re donating. Big money, too—enough to change things ‘round here.”
Veronica adjusted the last loop, letting it rest across the beam of the merchant’s house. The scent of crushed herbs clung to her fingers.
“What kind of changes?”
“Oh, plenty. Pavement in the east road, for starters. Some proper lamps, not those fire-blasted torches we have to relight every day. Tools for the mines, too—new harnesses, sharper blades. Even the kids’ll feel it, once school’s got better windows.”
“And this is all thanks to the Baron?” Veronica asked, glancing sideways.
“So they say. Welterman’s the one who negotiated the deal. Got the Ronswicks to part with their coin for our sake.” Sena leaned back, hand on her hip, watching the workers file through the square. “Can’t say I like his charm, but credit where it’s due.”
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Veronica offered a polite nod but said nothing. Her gaze drifted toward the square, where the energy in town had grown brighter with each passing hour. Tables creaked across the plaza, chairs being set, plates arranged in neat rows, all under the steady joint efforts of the people of Greystone.
It wasn’t all just manpower making it happen, however.
Stone shifted.
The earth itself rose in a gentle slope, rippling like a slow tide as it carved into a rounded platform. Debris swept neatly to the side. A large plank of polished wood floated across the open space, guided by invisible hands.
At the center of it all stood Elise.
Her hand moved through the air in slow, deliberate patterns. Thin veins of light traced her fingertips, mana responding not just to command, but to nuance. The platform finished settling into place as if it had always belonged there.
Veronica watched closely.
That level of control wasn’t easy. It wasn’t just power, but precision. Sculpted intent and not simply manipulation. While Veronica’s Path of Ruin demanded overwhelming energy stabilized by sheer will, Sculpting was something else entirely. It relied on control and discipline. The ability to shift mana like clay. Perhaps the girl’s second path was the Path of Focus, though she wasn’t certain.
Veronica folded her arms, just for a moment, as she watched the platform lock into place and Elise move onto the next area.
“Ahh, now that’s a real mage,” Sena said with a smile, shielding her eyes from the sun as she looked out. “Does things the clean way. Not all fire and fury.”
Veronica allowed herself a faint smirk. Sena most likely wasn’t privy to all the details that had happened in the square with the mercenaries. Different rumors had been going around—Veronica obliterating the gang, the guards saving a damsel in distress—the actual news was all very messy. Unless you were there in the square to witness it first hand, no one knew what Veronica actually did.
Most people now knew there was a mage in town now, but not everyone necessarily knew it was her. Either that, or they didn’t particularly care.
“Different schools of thought,” Veronica said with a smile.
The garlands were finished. The square was almost ready. And the day had only just begun.
When the time came, Veronica left the square and made her way to the edge of the open space she called a park.
The benches there were familiar now. Weathered wood, soft sun, the chatter of townsfolk passing by just far enough not to intrude or bother her. She liked that. The rhythm of this space. A quiet, living bubble.
She sat at the same table she had the last few afternoons. The air smelled faintly of lemon zest and warm bread.
And just like the last few days, he was already there.
Finn.
He was crouched on the bench across from her, elbows on the table, face locked in fierce concentration. His tongue stuck slightly between his teeth, eyes narrowed, like he was trying to solve the secret of the universe with sheer willpower alone.
“So,” he said suddenly, without looking up, “if I just keep imagining the mana inside me... like, swimming around or whatever... it’ll start working?”
Veronica gave him a long, slow look.
She broke the bread roll in her hand, steam rising from the center. “That’s not exactly how I described it.”
He slumped back and groaned. “Then how do I do it? I tried your thing, you know, focusing on the warmth under my chest or whatever, but all I got was a stomachache.”
Turns out, the kid was even more annoying than she’d expected.
Persistent, too.
She exhaled, took a bite, and chewed slowly, her eyes flicking toward the trees behind him. She had considered ignoring him altogether, but he was too enthusiastic. And he had provided valuable information about the mercenaries—it just hadn’t been useful, given her time constraints.
Yesterday, however, he’d told her someone had gone missing. Specifically, a regular member of House Ronswick. He was someone who had come to Greystone several days earlier. According to Finn, the man had behaved normally during his stay. He strolled through town, spoke with the locals, had a few drinks. Nothing particularly suspicious.
But yesterday evening, Finn spotted him speaking with a guard.
Finn had hidden behind some crates near the eastern gate and overheard the man saying he’d be stepping away for the night. That he’d received word of the envoy’s arrival and planned to meet them halfway, acting as a guide for the night journey. The guard hadn’t paid much attention and simply let him leave.
Finn followed him again, but was almost caught.
“He turned around like he thought someone was tailing him,” Finn had said. “I buried myself under some leaves and stayed completely still. He walked right past me and didn’t notice.”
For some reason, Finn was exceptionally good at hiding near people.
After finding no one, the man continued deeper into the forest. Unfortunately, Finn lost track of him since he was already on guard. But he was sure the man was up to no good.
“If only I had a sword or something, I could’ve taken him out,” he’d added.
Veronica could only sigh at his antics. The behavior was suspicious—but Finn had never seen the man interact with cultists. There was no proof.
Still, the man hadn’t returned since.
It was completely dangerous and reckless behavior. But no matter what she said, Veronica wasn’t his mother. Nor was she going to spend her extra time monitoring him. The best she could do was distract him.
Eventually, she caved and taught him how to use mana. Just a quick lesson. Hopefully, enough so that he would stop being a brash child.
It wasn’t much. Just a simple mana circulation technique, the kind that didn’t require resonance, affinity or deep knowledge. It was beginner-level theory—meant for children at academies or city apprentices. But it was enough to get him started. Enough to shut him up and hopefully get him to stop using his free time to stalk people.
She had to admit he was good at spying. Better than her, even. But she couldn’t take responsibility for letting him put himself in danger.
Or so she’d hoped.
Finn was still talking, voice full of unearned confidence. She half-listened, finishing her lunch and sipping from her drink. The same tart lemonade she’d grown fond of.
She supposed it wasn’t the worst outcome. Besides, he really was trying. And, more curiously, he hadn’t failed yet.
Still, it didn’t make him suitable enough to be a student. He was merely curious, that’s all. She needed someone with a little more qualifications as a student. Being reckless—or what he thought—brave, wasn’t enough to be taken under her wing.
He was more like Garrick—a source of information.
Veronica was nearly finished with her drink when Finn stopped fidgeting.
His legs, which had been swinging beneath the bench, stilled. He glanced over his shoulder once—just once—then leaned forward slightly. His voice dropped.
“I, uh... I followed you last night.”
Her eyes lifted slowly. She did indeed go to the ruins last night. Though, she found nothing important.
He didn’t flinch, but he didn’t meet her gaze either. “I saw you leave the inn. Figured you were gonna do something magey, so... I also went out several minutes later. But I kept my distance.”
She said nothing, but her expression sharpened. He noticed.
“I’m not an idiot. I stayed out of your way, so that’s why I waited until you were coming back to town,” he added quickly. “You went to the ruins, and I assume you didn’t find much, since you looked kind of annoyed when you got back. But I... I went there later and stayed.”
That got her attention.
“I waited, like, thirty minutes,” he said, tapping his fingers on the tabletop in nervous rhythm. “Well, maybe an hour. I was trying to catch a rhino beetle, promise. But then that’s when they came. The cult people.”
An hour later? That was already past midnight.
Veronica leaned forward. “How many?”
“A dozen. Maybe more. They had the same masks like the ones you fought. Creepy ones. Some of them looked older, like... not just thugs.”
He bit his lip, then continued. “They talked about ‘preparations being complete.’ Said that everything would be ready by the banquet.”
Veronica’s fingers curled around her cup. Her drink had gone lukewarm.
“And then it got cold.” He rubbed his arm like he still felt it. “Not like night air cold. Like something else. It was wrong. The air just changed. Like I was being watched.”
Veronica’s jaw tightened.
“After a few minutes, they all left. They didn’t cast any spells or anything. But some of them were chanting really quietly that I couldn’t hear. Then, they seemed to do something to the ruins. I heard a lot of banging, Like something breaking, but I couldn’t take a look. I waited until they were gone, and then I ran away.”
He exhaled. “Didn’t sleep much.”
Veronica stared at him for a moment. Her expression was still. Calm. But something behind her eyes had sharpened like frost.
“Finn,” she said, voice low, “next time you follow me into the woods, I will turn you into a tree frog. Understand?”
He blinked. “Tree frogs are—”
“Understand?” she repeated.
He nodded. Twice.
She leaned back again, her gaze drifting toward the square. The platform had finished forming. Banners were rising. People were starting to gather. The Ronswicks would arrive at any second.
The festival had begun.
And so had the clock.
1/26/2026 - This chapter has undergone a revision. In case you see any comments that reference something that doesn't make sense or is inaccurate/incorrect, there is a chance it may have been corrected.
I will now be scaling down my uploads to MWF.
public poll up on my Patreon about commissioning some art for the series. I’m considering some more spicy/mature art (but artistically tasteful) for my patrons, inspired by what some other popular FML series have done, as a way to reinvest back into the story.
type of art I'd commission are explained on Patreon, and the poll is open to free members (just click “join as free”), so no pledge is required to vote.
Thanks for reading!
Path of Blooming and Path of Latency
Path of Blooming and Path of Latency mages specialize in reactive healing. These mages can apply protective spells that remain dormant until specific conditions are active. These include self-healing spells that activate when a person is injured. Many spells in their repertoire are used to pre-emptively prevent or retroactively and immediately heal or negate damage, poisons, or even curses. Their magic can be applied before battle or other dangerous situations, allowing the spell to lay dormant while the caster recovers their mana. They are vital for last-minute, life-altering moments.
What do you think of Finn? Do you think he will become a disciple/student? (1 vote for his character, 1 vote for what you predict).
