It felt more like a desert than a city – desolate, dusty and dirty. Pulling her headscarf more tightly across her face, Thea stood braced against the side of the inn trying to stay out of the brunt of the wind. Not for the first time since beginning her pilgrimage to find the expert nullomancer Arbos she found herself longing for the mountains, the snow, the clean, cold air of Jaw Pass. It was a paradise in comparison to Sayrn, with its poor gathered in alcoves and alleys between the buildings, anything to minimize their intake of the deadly dust. Snowstead might have been a poor village but it had been a better life than these people had.
 
She had been lucky to find the disciple bringing a fresh crop of trainees to learn from the master though she had yet to fee truly one of them. Her own story felt so different that she was alienated from those around her. Nullomancy wasn’t a gift; it had cost her entire way of life. Again, not for the first time, her last moments in her village flashed before her eyes. Her mother’s look of betrayal as she held on to her brother – led away by the Xelith soldiers; her grandmother’s blood spilling from the fatal wound that had given Thea her moment, her chance to escape. Clenching her hand into a fist, she felt the ice cooling her skin – the crystals embedded in her waist begging for release. It felt like disloyalty to be so driven in her pursuit to master nullomancy but she learned from the other rebels that there was no better way for her to fight back against the empire.
 
It seemed to take forever for the others to finally exit the inn; at last they would begin on their final trek to meet the great master. A knot of apprehension grew in her stomach as she fell in line with the others. Olen had told her amazing stories of the King of Thieves, each more impressive and terrifying than the last. He told her was a spectre, little more substantial than a ghost, having lost his body over a hundred years ago. His exploits were a thing of myth and legend though it was impossible to believe that it could all be true. She was nervous at the thought of meeting him but Olen had sworn to her that no one would be able to teach her more. 
 
Their march, though relatively short, felt agonizing. A whirlwind of emotions tore through Thea with every step, enough to the point that her hands were shaking tucked beneath the folds of her robe. She had been waiting for this moment since Olen first mentioned Arbos, but it didn’t still the tremendous racing of her heart, the thrill of fear that they were nearing the great spirit. Anticipation was equal among her thoughts as well and she couldn’t deny the excitement the idea of honing her skills conjured up. Smiling darkly she quickened her pace to keep up.
 
Whatever she had been expecting though was not what met them. Lining up the novices, their leader bowed deeply to a wisp of an old man. Glancing at her companions in confusion, Thea wasn’t sure what to think. Surely this could not be the great Arbos Xell, scourge of the Xelith Empire, King of Thieves. First of all this person appeared mortal…and ancient. Disappointment washed over her in a crippling wave. She had left everything to come here for tutelage only to be tricked into believing that the answer she sought would be here. Tugging once again on her head scarf, she stared darkly at the old man, waiting for anyone to tell her that this was all a joke…