Page | 11 Chapter 1: Coming Home and Making Reports I WAS AT A HOUSE on the outskirts of the magic city of Sharia. The room stretching out before me was outfitted worthy of an evil demon king’s castle. It was furnished with a luxuriant Asuran carpet and chairs crafted from mahogany and red dragon leather, overstuffed with Millis wool. The desk was light wood to match the chairs, and the ornaments—all painstakingly created by the artisans of Sharia—would’ve impressed anyone. The fireplace glowed, its flames faintly crackling in a cozy way that, despite myself, put my heart at ease. You’re probably wondering what part of that sounds like an evil demon king’s castle. That was all in the unsettling aura that radiated off the glowering man glaring daggers at me from his seat. His presence made everywhere he went feel like an evil demon king’s castle or a secret society. The atmosphere of a place is all about the people in it. The furnishings or whatever are just a footnote. It’s always all about the people. “Th-that’s all I have to report for this time,” I said, wrapping up my report on events in the Holy Country of Millis. My speaking venue held the kind of homey atmosphere you might find in the house of a family pretending just a little too hard that a divorce wasn’t incoming. Orsted always looked like he was on the verge of going ballistic. Maybe that was why Eris, standing behind me off to one side, was so on edge. Actually, the expression he wore now wasn’t his going- ballistic face at all. Hm, I see. Lately, I’d gotten the hang of reading Orsted’s expressions, so I knew what this face meant. Right, so… It was about seventy percent doubt, and maybe thirty percent lack of interest. Not especially angry.