The mist was deep. After crossing the Koetori Pass, the quality of the air had changed. Not dampness, not heaviness—but a sensation that something was "too much." The density of atmospheric magical essence—the magical power drifting through the air—was many times greater than in normal places. The scar on Raid's left arm throbbed with a faint heat. The circuit burned by the use of magical fusion was reacting on its own, sensing the excess magical essence. A quiet, but unmistakable alert. (This is a bad place.) Thinking that to himself, Raid walked through the mist. A black short blade swayed inside his cloak. This blade—the "summoning wedge" once handed to him by a mysterious figure—had begun to pulse clearly around the point where they crossed the Koetori Pass. There was direction. He was being drawn. Forward, forward, and forward. The outline of the ruined city emerged from beyond the mist just after dawn. Collapsed city walls. Toppled stone towers. Only the skeleton of what had