The Grand Necropolis was Emaruil’s favorite place outside of the Alienage. As a child, she had found the whispers of the city of death to be disturbing, frightening reminders of the world of corpses buried beneath her feet. The Necropolis had belonged more to the fade than the world of flesh, a story to keep children in line. It had been a long night; they had begun the mummification of a Senior Enchanter of the Circle. Emaruil had heard of the man’s death earlier in the week—he’d fallen ill earlier in the winter, and never managed to recover. His family had wealth and the clout to preserve his flesh, and had embarked upon negotiations for his entry into the Necropolis. The Mortalitasi had worked tirelessly through the night to remove his organs before the magic preserving them could fail. She had taken the organs to their pickling jars, cleaning foul fluid from the marble dais, tending to the needs of her betters before they could ask. The morning came with a hollowed body and Emaruil was glad to be released. The hallways dwarfed her. Emaruil could never have fathomed the sheer enormity of the tombs before working here. There were whispers that the catacombs had first been carved by enslaved dwarves, but Emaruil was uncertain if there were any truths in the legends. Regardless of who had carved out these tunnels, she could not help but be at peace here. Statues and tapestries and skeletons lined every surface, glittering gold and marble and gems the size of oranges placed into eye sockets. At first, she had thought the pervasive decoration of bones to be strange, but over the years she had grown almost fond of them. She ascended the stairs, warm golden light dancing across her face. It had snowed during the night, dusting rows of artfully posed skeletons. Common laborers filed past her, descending into the bowels of the Necropolis, ready to begin another days’ excavation. Judging by the sheer quantity of workers, Emaruil supposed the latest Pentaghast tomb annex had finally been approved. She raised a hand in greeting to those she recognized, wishing them well. The walk to the Alienage took nearly half an hour. It was blissfully quiet, the road patrolled frequently by a full guard. Emaruil was hardly comforted by the presence of shem in armor. If her robes had not borne the star and skull, the guards would be more a threat than the thugs they were meant to deter. Emaruil kept her head down and her pace quick. Her nerves only eased when she caught sight of the exquisitely carved gates of the Alienage. The guard posted nodded as she approached, beginning the laborious task of unlocking the gate. She had made this journey long enough that most of the shem recognized her face. She tucked her ears deeper into her headscarf against the bite of winter. It swung open, revealing a world being painted by the dawn. Emaruil stepped through quickly, breathing in the spices of home. She followed the familiar streets, greeting the few who had already risen. She found herself in the center of her home, gazing up at the majesty of the Vhenadahl. Emaruil would never tire of admiring their greatest treasure. The wind whispered through its boughs, playing a song lovelier than the Chant. A thousand colours gleamed along the base of its bark. Incense burned in copper dishes at its base, curls of smoke twining around prayer flags and ribbons. As a child, she had attempted to climb the tree whenever she found a spare moment. It had been nearly ten name-days since she had last scrambled up its sides. In the stillness of the dawn, she had the mad impulse to clamber up into its branches, to climb until she could touch the stars. Her palm flattened against a griffon painted along its sloping sides. It would be easier now, nearly a foot and a half taller than she had been as a child. Ah, but there was no time to indulge her fancy now. She still had hours of work before she could rest. Her siblings needed minding, her pantry needed stocking, and her skills with a needle and herbs would undoubtedly be in need somewhere in the Alienage. Emaruil’s dusky fingers trailed along the Griffon, before they dropped and she finally turned away.