Cecil stared at the letter.
It lay atop the desk as though whoever placed it there knew he would return to this room. The wax seal gleamed faintly under the office's ambient light, a deep velvet red, stamped with a large M above a smaller V, their curves elegant and familiar.
He remained motionless for a moment, one hand resting against the leather of the case, the other hanging loosely at his side. The lens of his monocle caught the lamplight as his eyes lingered on the seal, narrowing just slightly.
A few long seconds pass.
Cecil shook his head, dissipating a memory he'd rather not revisit right now. He reached for the letter.
His gloved fingers hovered above it for a breath, then closed around the edges.
He did not open it. Not yet. He simply held it, the seal pressing coolly against his palm.
Then came the knock.
Sharp. Two raps. Not hesitant, but not urgent either.
Cecil didn't flinch, but a faint crease formed between his brows. His gaze flicked to the door.
"Identify yourself." Cecil said, his voice cold and sharp, expecting a student's voice.
"Kiddo? You in, or am I talkin' to the door?" The voice was older, gruffer, and most certainly not a student.
'Right. Ripley promised to see me off.' Cecil thought as his shoulders relaxed and adjusted his collar before speaking.
"It's open, Ripley. Go ahead and come in."
The door creaked open, just enough for Ripley to step inside. His footfalls were heavy with fatigue as he settled himself in the room.
Ripley's eyes fell on the letter.
"What's that you've got there?"
Cecil glanced at him, his fingers adjusting the monocle slightly, before turning back to the letter.
"Merely another society invitation, I presume," he said dismissively. "I'll probably decline, the expedition takes precedence." He slipped the letter into his coat pocket beside the package, then unclipped the locks on his suitcase and opened it.
He grabbed a smaller case that rested at the top. Inside lay a well-kept brass revolver and an iron dagger, he grabs the revolver holstering it to his belt and sheathing the iron dagger next to it. Before reclosing the suitcase and turning back to Ripley.
Ripley blinked. "Why in the blazes've you got those stuffed in your suitcase, kiddo?" he asked, not entirely sure whether to be impressed or concerned.
Cecil glanced at him offering a faint shrug. "Precaution."
"Aye," Ripley said with a nod. "That's fair."
Cecil didn't respond at once. Instead, he adjusted the cuffs of his gloves, eyes lingering on the revolver now secured at his hip, as he closed the suitcase and locked it shut, then straightened, smoothing the front of his coat with practiced precision.
"Now, shall we get going to the harbor, Ripley?" Cecil said as he stepped back into the now empty classroom and began towards the hallway.
"Of course, Hollows." Despite his smaller stature, Ripley kept pace with relative ease.
Once they were out on the bustling roads of the academy city, with Ripley needing to maneuver around the jungle of limbs.
"It slipped my mind earlier,' Ripley said, 'but what is the opportunity that the Headmaster wanted to speak to you about? Does it have anything to do with that expedition you mentioned earlier?"
Cecil reached into his coat and pulled out the folder Albus had given him, handing it over. Ripley took it and began flipping through its contents.
"He extended to me an invitation to join an expedition investigating newly unearthed ruins in the northern reaches of Lioren's Reach," Cecil glanced towards Ripley, almost trying to judge his reaction. "As I recall, Ripley, you visited that region not long ago during your previous leave of absence, didn't you?"
"Aye, I was," Ripley nodded, not looking up from the contents in the folder. "Was visiting that city that's taken to callin' itself the 'City of Progress.'"
"Are there any pertinent details I ought to know prior to my departure?"
"Found a lad," Ripley said casually. "No much younger than yourself. Same Sorcerer Lineage as me. Saw some spark in him, so I said I'd train him."
Cecil raised an eyebrow. " Oh? Do tell me, where this student of yours might be?"
"Said he needed time to think on it," Ripley gruffed, then his voice softened. "Wasn't ready to walk away from his city just yet. He's a good lad. Loyal sort, especially to his family—even if he's adopted. So I gave him the Stage 8 recipe, gesture of goodwill… and maybe a wee investment, if you like."
"Do you believe he'll accept your offer someday?"
"Most likely," He said, glancing at Cecil for a moment before returning to the folder. "Had the spark, sure enough, but not quite ready to spread his wings and leave the nest."
"Do you mind telling me his name?" Cecil asked, letting his curiosity get the better of him.
Ripley closed the folder. "Name's Calibye. And with the instincts that come with the Stage 8 recipe, I'd wager ye'll run into him on this expedition. So do me a favour, will you? Keep a watch on him for me, aye?"
'Calibye. Why does that name sound so familiar?' Cecil adjusted his monocle, thoughts drifting.
"Naturally. You can count on me to watch over him."
Ripley nodded in thanks. "Enough about my time in Stella City. Now tell me, why're you leavin' so early? The folder states that the expedition is still over a month off. What's pushin' you out the door?"
"Just because the expedition doesn't begin for some time doesn't mean there aren't preparations to be made," Cecil replied. "I'd also prefer to arrive early rather than risk being late."
Ripley gave an approving grunt, and the two fell into a comfortable silence, the noise of the city around them growing as they approached the harbor.
Twenty quiet minutes later, the sea came into view.
The cobblestone roads of the academy gave way to the creaking sea-crusted planks of the harbor as the scent of the ocean and sun-warmed wood grew thicker, along with the chatter of the academy's population trying to head back home mixing in with the shouts of the sailors trying to talk to each other over the noise.
"Still cannot stand this place come this time of year," Ripley muttered, squinting toward the end of the pier. "Folk lose all sense of decency, all scramblin' to get home."
"On that point, I'm in agreement." He said, watching the crowd jostle and bicker as they surged toward the various ships.
"Any idea which one's bound for Grandport?" Ripley asked, tugging his collar to help shield against a sudden gust rolling in from the bay.
"The Heimwind." Cecil replied, eyes scanning the lines of vessels tethered along the waterfront looking for the ship he was to get on as they reached the edge of the pier and a well worn vessel rested a few slips down, a wooden plaque had its name freshly painted: HEIMWIND.
Cecil paused at the foot of the gangplank. The vessel itself wasn't anything noteworthy, it had already taken on passengers who were chatting with each other mostly staying out of the crew's way, as deckhands moved with determined rhythm, guided by a sharp-eyed quartermaster barking orders from the helm, overall the ship looked well-maintained.
"Well then," Ripley said after a moment, adjusting his gloves, turning to leave. "Reckon this is where our paths split."
"Just a moment, Ripley. There's one last question I'd like to ask."
Ripley halted mid-step, casting a glance back with a raised brow.
"My question concerns Sorcerers." Cecil's tone was quieter now, more introspective. "Is the pursuit truly worth the price? I've watched them lose everything not just to enemies but also themselves. Miserable fools, undone more by their own Lineage and unchecked ambitions than by any blade or bullet. It's never just the outside world that breaks them. They give up who they are just to claw their way toward a little more power."
Ripley sighed, rubbing the back of his neck.
"That's not just somethin' tied to Sorcerers, Hollows." He said after a few moments. "Take it from this old man, Folks will wreck themselves over something, always have, always will. Most times, it's power."
Ripley gave a slow, resigned nod. "And power... aye, it'll always take its due. Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow, but it comes collecting, sure as the tide, in one form or another. But it's also the bedrock of ambition. Can't build much without it. So you've got to ask yourself... are your desires worth the cost?"
Cecil didn't do anything for a few seconds before nodding. "Thank you, your insight is appreciated."
"Isn't that what us old folk are for? Passin' on what we've learned so the next lot don't trip on the same stones."
Ripley gives a soft smile. "Now off with you. Best o' luck on the expedition, kiddo. You'll do great that I've no doubt. I've got my own ship waitin' somewhere in this mess, headin' back to Din'canhwyll and all that."
"Well then… safe travels, Merrik."
Ripley blinked, visibly surprised by the use of his first name. But he smiled wider, warmer, and gave a small nod of respect.
With that, Cecil ascended the gangplank, the worn planks creaking softly with each step.
"Last thing, lad!" Ripley called up. "Instincts, they do not change who you are. They just help you see the world the way the Creature does. What you do with that… that's still on you."
Cecil paused for a second at the top, but didn't turn around as the ship gave a low groan as it pulled away from the dock.
By the time Ripley turned to leave, the Heimwind had already begun to carve a path out of the harbor.
Cecil found a quiet place near the bow. The academy city behind him was receding into the sea mist as if being swallowed by the water. One gloved hand rested on the railing. The other fiddled absently with the Emanation set into the endpiece of his monocle.
As the wind stirred his coat, the voices of Albus and Ripley echoed together in his mind. His eyes fixed on the horizon ahead as the ship sailed to Grandport City.