Vegas was unable to return to sleep that night. He did make it back to his room instead of just sleeping on the hallway floor, but as he tried to rest, he was at best able to find short bursts of sleep that only lasted for a few minutes. Every one of those periods of unconsciousness was quickly plagued by a nightmare, generally consisting of Risryn berating him for what he had done, or the Guides praising him and rewarding him for his betrayal. Nevertheless, he did attempt to force himself to sleep clear until the morning came, in some futile effort to keep himself rested. He felt that a journey lie ahead, as he knew that staying within Towerpoint would invariably drive him mad. He needed to get back out into the world and continue his work. Vegas believed that such a trip might help him clear his mind.

A little clock powered by Essence played a soft jingle to indicate to him that it was morning. The windowless room provided no other options for getting any notion of what time it was. Vegas performed a miniscule Fold to cause the clock to cease, before deciding that he wanted to go watch the Selection. He counted, "One...two...three." With the third count, he swept his legs off of his bed to force himself upwards. He stared down at himself, still clothed from yesterday. He cursed himself for not even caring enough to change into something more appropriate to sleep. After a few seconds of hyping himself up, Vegas pushed himself off of his bed. He stretched, yawned, and decided that waking up after such a shoddy night's rest was probably more difficult for him than some of the fights he'd been in.

The man opened his door and lurched out into the hallway with all the elegance of a Stagger-style master. Several Absolvers populated the hallway, also wishing to watch the ceremony. A few gave odd looks to Vegas, incited by his disturbance the night before, although it wasn't like any of their expressions were visible through their masks anyway. Vegas joined the small torrent of martial artists, noting that the Missionary Tiwaz wasn't among them. They collectively came out of the halls, some going to the upper balcony and some going to the lower one. Vegas found himself with the latter.

A pair of Guides stood at the mouth of the frigid balcony, while a number of Prospects waited for their signal over in a corridor. The Guides exchanged some words quietly amongst themselves, and after some period of deliberation, one turned towards the mob of Prospects. He raised a hand and said in a loud, firm voice, "Prospects, you may enter formation for Selection." A blur of individuals clad in simple white clothing exited the hall, and took their places as a series of columns and rows. Among them was the newly-confident Elijah and the long-haired blonde Sophiel, standing next to each other in the final row. One of the two Guides repeated the same explanation that every Prospect in the room had heard for the past thirty days. He concluded with the phrase that so many of the Prospects had memorized at this point.

"Begin meditation and await your Selection."

The aspirers followed suit, forming a uniform series of men and women looking down at their clasped hands in a wide stance. Several moments later, the Guide who had not spoken began to slowly walk off to the side. He moved down the rows, peering into them with an eerie seriousness on his unmasked face. His steps were silent, and most of the Prospects didn't even notice that they were being passed yet. He made his way all the way to the final row before stepping into the formation. He made his way down the ten-person rank, passing five, six, seven, eight people before stopping at the ninth. Some sense within him had urged him to stop: the telltale sign that whoever he stood before had that spark that could possibly grow into the flame of an Absolver.

He looked up slowly, his eyes meeting with the feet, then the pants, then the tank top of a pale-skinned female Prospect. He tapped her shoulder and she snapped to attention. The Guide pointed off to a dark room to the side, and the Prospect stepped out of formation and briskly walked into it. But something felt off to the Guide. He stood still for a few moments, before taking one final step to the side, encountering the tenth person of the row. It was a young man with peachy skin and dirty-blond hair that came loosely down to about the jawbone. The Guide again felt that spark. He dismissed any concerns about making a double selection, knowing that this one was right. He tapped the man on the shoulder and directed him to that same room.

The old man in black robes returned to the front of the formation in complete silence. He rendezvoused with the other Guide, who nodded at him to indicate readiness. The Guide who picked the Prospects spoke, reciting a phrase with the same structure that the Prospects had heard all month.

"Selection is now complete. The Prospects Sophiel and Elijah have been chosen to walk the path to becoming Absolvers." This time, he added, "This is the final selection of the year. You may return to your homes. If you wish to try again, you may come next year at the same time to audition once more."

The remaining Prospects were visibly crestfallen, but didn't make a sound. At their dismissal, they started towards a large pair of double doors that would bring them to an Essence-powered elevator, which would then bring them down to the exit of Towerpoint. Only when the collection of abandoned learners made it outside did they begin to tear off their hand-carved masks in anger, or sit themselves down to cry. All of the young dreamers knew that they would have to go home and tell their friends and families that they didn't make the cut.

Meanwhile, at the top of Towerpoint, Vegas made his way past his fellow Absolvers and entered the dark room where the two Prospects had been directed. A few Absolvers also came to watch, but most were disinterested and went their separate ways. Elijah, who was already exhilarated, shot up when Vegas approached. Sophiel only gave a slight tilt of her head at the man she had previously witnessed fighting her friend. She preemptively noted that his posture and apparel were indicative of a less-than-ebullient attitude. Sophiel asked in an almost noble tone of voice, "So you're the one who helped Elijah last night?"

"Uh...yeah. If you call beating him up in front of all the other Prospects 'help,' then sure," Vegas teased, with a deadpan tone of voice.

Sophiel gave a curt bow in response. "Thank you, nonetheless." She nudged Elijah with her elbow, prompting him.

"Yeah, thanks," said Elijah. "I don't think I'd've made the cut without your guidance."

"Think nothing of it. My bit of advice, not every person you trip over in a dark room is gonna be as gracious as I was. Where you're going, tripping over someone is probably gonna get you killed."

"Duly noted, Mister...I don't think I ever got your name," Elijah responded.

"I am Vegas. Absolver extraordinaire, pride of the Guides, slayer of friends. You'd do well to forget it."

Elijah and Sophiel didn't know what to make of that statement, although they wouldn't have time to. The Guide who selected them before spoke up. "Stand at attention, Prospects. The Essence Ghost is ready to greet you." The two responded by turning around to face a small, circular dais on the floor, now lit in a golden hue by swirling Essence. After a few seconds, a translucent and luminescent figure of a man with no distinct features stood on the dais. He silently extended his hand in front of himself. The Guide turned to Sophiel. "Hand him your mask."

Sophiel gave a quick nod in response and reached up to remove her handmade mask, which was painted on one side with roses and the other side with thorns. Beneath her mask was a freckled face with fair features and verdant green eyes. She handed it to the strange apparition, who proceeded to lace the interior with Essence before returning it to her hands. Elijah followed suit, removing his mask and handing it to the ghostly figure. His mask bore a space-and-stars motif, and his face was one with strong features. He had what might've been a birthmark or maybe a burn scar covering the entirety of the left side of his face. The Essence Ghost returned his mask, as well. "You may don your masks," prompted the Guide. Sophiel quickly complied. Elijah gave a quick wave to Vegas before following suit. They both disappeared into thin air, transported to a land where they could begin their true journey.

"Always bittersweet to see them go," said the Guide. The Essence Ghost evaporated behind him.

"Eh, I get the feeling we'll see them again soon," responded the Absolver.

The Guide nodded with a small smile. "So, Vegas, what brings you here?"

"Aside from wanting to see those two off, I need to ask you something."

"What is it?"

"I need to leave Towerpoint."

"Well, of course you can, just-"

"I mean, I need to get far from Towerpoint."

"Hm." The Guide fell into thought for a brief moment. "We can send you on a Missionary expedition."

"Yeah, sure, whatever. Don't even bother with the cloak, just get me on the road."

The Guide was perplexed, but remembered what Vegas had been ordered to do the day before. He concluded correctly that the man just needed some time away from his bosses and colleagues. "Well, I can send you out to Uring, the Tear, the Orate…"

"Let's go with the Tear."

The Guide accepted his request. He raised his hand and used his Essence bracelet to open up a portal into the Tearan wilderness. "I'll be sure to let the other Guides know where you are, but you're not likely to be disturbed. If anything, we're overstaffed right now," he chuckled.

"Thank you. I'll be back...I don't know. Eventually." Vegas stepped into the portal immediately after finishing his sentence, not wanting to exchange any more words with anyone. He was instantly transported hundreds of kilometers away into a clearing within a forest. The portal snapped shut behind him.

The Tear is a mountainous region with several small, warring tribes instead of one overarching society. Life in the Tear is largely based on a hunter-gatherer kind of lifestyle. Between the dangerous geography, hostile locals, and wild beasts, the country can be a very dangerous place. Technically, it was Vegas' job to spread the law of the god Anlek while he was in the Tear, but he didn't much care to do it. It wasn't like the natives would listen anyway. From what he had seen of Tearans, which included a few Absolvers and Prospects with chips on their shoulders and a peculiar pair of siblings stationed in an oversized birdhouse, they weren't known to be the most amiable people.

The man looked around several times, acquainting himself with his new surroundings. The clearing was on an incline, leaving him uncomfortably off-axis, and was surrounded by the dead trees of winter. The ground was smothered in a crystalline, untouched snow that came halfway up the shin, and from the sky fell slow little snowflakes that danced about in the air with an elegance that was uncharacteristic of the Tear's own culture. The snow was far too slow to have built up the amount that was on the ground, indicating to the Absolver that the snowfall may have been coming to a close. If it wasn't painfully cold and sloped enough to nearly roll the man's ankles, he would have found it beautiful. Well, damn, he thought to himself, He could've dropped me off somewhere decent.

Dangerously hot or cold environments are hardly a threat to even the most inexperienced of Prospects, however. Meditative techniques had been refined for centuries before the downfall, and mankind had already mastered the state of self. In this state, a dull gray fog enwreathed the dreamer as they meditated, and outside influences wouldn't even be able to touch them. A person must've been at peace for this technique to work, but it proved an invaluable tool to Missionaries and Royal Guards alike. The ability functioned much like an expanded homeostasis. Vegas found himself breathing in deeply and then exhaling slowly as the gray mist of the dreamer surrounded him like a fire situated about a totem.

The peace of meditation is something often overlooked by the layman. Few things bring the ease of mind that the act can bring. With controlled breathing and a silent environment, Vegas delved deep into his own thoughts for the first time since he committed the deed that wreaked such chaos within his soul. And for the first time since he was a novice to the technique, he found himself unable to concentrate. It was as if there was a heavy bog bearing down on his mental state, which he quickly attributed to the death of Risryn. Vegas often used imagery of clearing storm clouds, and water settling after a drop causes a ripple to reverberate throughout the medium. However, he found that the storm clouds refused to be chased off, and that the water, no matter how much time had passed, refused to settle and return to the state of mirror-like reflection. The clouds bred thunder and lightning, and the water turned a deep red color not unlike blood.

The Absolver grew angry. Even in such a sublime, desolate place and in near-absolute silence, he could not clear his mind of the actions he had performed. He yelled at the top of his lungs into the dark morning sky of the sierra, dispelling the mystic fog that was supposed to protect him. He collapsed to his knees in the snow, slamming the ground with his fists, and thrashing about as if he was a toddler having a temper tantrum. The thought of his own reaction to the situation only served to anger him more, fueling the hatred he felt, not just at himself, but at everything.

After the short bout of rage, Vegas let out a few more exasperated grunts that could have easily been mistaken for weeps, before beginning to rise to his feet one leg at a time. He looked up to see that the snow had stopped completely, even though the clouds still loomed overhead. The cessation of precipitation was the reason he was able to notice something that might have been covered up, had the snow continued to drip from the great gray paint pools in the sky.

Footprints. Maybe twenty meters away. Certainly human. There was no way in hell they didn't see that whole episode. Vegas was frozen for a moment as he scanned the environment once more. The rest of the area remained untouched and as it was before, and nobody was around. It was just the path of small boot prints through the snow, everything else remained pristine.

"Hello?" shouted Vegas. His voice echoed around the mountain range, the sound waves coming back to meet him a few times. They were the only sounds that returned his call. He sighed heavily, still a bit angry and now embarrassed, before moving closer to the prints to follow them. The glimmering snow blanket beneath him was made to crunch with every step, disrupting the ambiance of barren branches brushing against each other quietly. He continued on through the dark forest, as it escaped the crack of dawn and moved forward towards noon, with the sun hiding behind the sky quite a bit more timidly than it had the day before when it witnessed his betrayal. The prints were deep and unconnected, indicating that whoever left them was carefully moving and in no hurry.

After an extended period of time trudging through the snowdrift of the Tear, Vegas found himself gazing upon a great grotto in the side of the mountain. Within was a firepit, situated ahead of a figure in heavy winter clothing. It was impossible to tell whether it was just a normal sized person in a ton of layers, or a large person wearing only a few. Vegas slowly approached from behind, careful not to make a sound. He did not wish to alert the figure, who was looking down at something they may have been holding in their hands. He made it within ten meters before the figure perked up and snapped around to look at the intruder. It was at this point that the Absolver recognized the object within their hands was a broken sword. More specifically, it was an Oratian Chokuto, which typically only found itself in the hands of noble family members from the Orate. This one in particular looked to be incredibly intricate, bearing several carvings along the blade and a gem for a pommel.

The figure themself was still indistinct, as they wore gloves and a pitch black mask with very thin, angled slits for eyes. They were clad entirely in black. However, a few details could be determined from the limited amount of information available to the intruder. Namely, their mask was at a level a bit lower than Vegas' own, indicating that they were simply wearing several hats and hoods, and as they pointed their broken sword at Vegas, their sleeve rolled up a bit to reveal an arm made not of flesh, but of metal and Essence: a prosthetic.

A very feminine voice with a definite Oratian accent commanded the Absolver to halt. However, she sounded more desperate than assertive; more fearful than imposing.

Vegas was unable to decide for a moment whether he should Unfold his own sword or if he should take the situation diplomatically. However, as he saw the broken blade tremble with an uncertainty that wasn't dissimilar to its master's voice, he realized that whoever this was wouldn't pose any substantial threat to him.

"Very well," responded Vegas. "Neither of us are from these parts, so we're like kindred spirits. Let's just have a seat at this nice fire of yours and exchange words like the weary travelers we are."

The woman let down her blade tentatively. She paused for a moment before seeing the intruder casually take a seat on a rock near the flames. She observed him for a moment before sitting by the fire herself, feeling her heartbeat slow down as the threat seemed to be averted.

They remained there in an awkward silence for quite some time.