I’m the Archhag (Wrinkles and bags not included)

Zelfie’s stroke of luck could only have been the work of the Great Spirits of the world, who must have been so exasperated by her yammering about her undead thesis as to finally throw her a bone, or more precisely, professors Yardham, Ginly, and Lyong.

With so few students present for learning and Zelfie at her level of mastery, her round table “class” with her three teachers wasn’t so much a learning experience as it was merely a junior researcher trading notes with her betters

Most classrooms were indeed too large for the minuscule student body that still existed in UBH, and for the past two years, Zel had been granted entrance to the otherwise mysterious teacher’s lounge.

Really, though, it wasn’t much to speak of: Just a small room with enough porcelain to brew up tea or coffee, and a far too large round table that at least held all the dense research the four were helping each other on.

Zelfie was halfway through double-checking Yardham’s proposal on how to encourage Spirits to bless more objects, and the advantages of it over the common adulation of blessed people – and learning quite a lot in the process – when the lanky, mop-headed brunette of a man fixed his glasses and looked over at his student.

“I was wondering if you’d be interested in helping us with a project.”

The student’s eyes flicked up for a moment, question in her eyes.

“Belzac’s local garrison’s been spooked with what happened in Fortress Town a few months ago, and asked us to assist them in searching for any Malevolence in the city.”

“You’re all helping?” Zelfie asked, eyes wandering from Yardham, to Ginly, a chubby-faced woman, and Lyong, an Easterner who had apparently wanted to be more in-depth with his spiritual work.

“Belzac’s been short of spiritualists, after all,” Ginly said, somehow managing to coo in a way that made her seem excited and pleased. “So, I think it’s just responsible if we pitch in.”

“There’s perks. If you help, you’ll get them, too,” Lyong more succinctly bribed.

Zel returned to checking, for a few seconds, to pretend she wasn’t distracted by the magic words.

“The garrison’ll compensate us of course, but it’ll of course reflect well on your history here, since you’ve been so worried about what your unfinished thesis is implying about you,” Lyong added.

There was also the added benefit that finding a pocket of stray Malevolence would also give her another way to approach her research – not that she’d actually try and protect any of the wretched invasive energy, but if there was a minor amount, it wouldn’t hurt getting a few preliminary readings while working with others to destroy it. If she did it enough times, she’d get a decent bed of research and possibly get a bonus on all her work…

“You’re not just foisting this off on me, are you?” Zelfie still asked, somewhat suspiciously.

“I don’t think the headmaster would like to hear from the garrison that only one in four of us were actually doing work,” Yardham laughed wanly, remembering the sort of wrath the old man could invite.

While she was loath to see herself being thrown to handiwork so soon, it was true that it was better to do it while she could cherry out her school history, rather than after. In the end, that they asked her at all was proof enough that after five years, her training had to mean something by now.

“So, when do we start?”

“Oh, you’re here, too,” Zel hummed with only the mildest surprise as Constance stood next to her in the park square. A few years ago, the phrase would have had a different tone, but these days it really was to be expected that the professors would approach the other competent spiritualists available.

“Don’t get cute with me,” the cat-syhee huffed, combing back her blonde hair for effect. “The professors probably think you’d make things worse if you went alone.”

Well, Constance’s accusations weren’t off-base, just enough for a petty rival to use as ammo: Zelfie’s work was more theoretical, while the syhee’s was related to temple politics, but one didn’t get admitted into the University without knowing how to use Spiritual Energy at all.

After taking a look at their shared maps and their prescribed routes, the two ambled through Belzac Heart’s more middle-class quarter, to the south, where wealth historically started to flow in and enrich all sorts of citizens. It was a pleasant enough neighbourhood, albeit an empty one. Zelfie was loath to question if it was because the occupants had left for work, or if they had become unoccupied in the intervening years.

“How much Malevolence do you think we’d actually find in the Heart?”

“With any luck, nothing, and afterwards you can go cry to your professors that it was a wasted trip,” Constance was quick to snap, though her distant gaze showed she was still focused on her task. “Though what happened to Fortress Town has everyone worried. Ever since then, there’s been rumours of Menace sycophants everywhere.”

“Even if there were, I’d find it hard for them to manage anything before we jump them,” Zel suggested, but her old associate seemed unconvinced.

“The big problem my father overheard is that several extremely powerful humanoid monsters disappeared in the chaos. At least one of them might be an Archhag, apparently.”

That made Zelfie wince.

Malevolence was potent and flashy, and the war had seen more than enough spiritualists turning traitor by imbibing in the energy, becoming Hags, as designated by the army. Those who were at the apex of that monstrous pecking order were legendary problems that only began getting solved after the Beacon made himself known and got the kingdoms rallying behind him with their best fighters.

If there was another one in this time of peace…

“It might not be that bad,” Zel said, assuaging Constance’s worries. “We’re just here to look for traces of Malevolence, we’re not being asked to throw down with the Menace.”

“Either way, let’s avoid making the University lose any more students, even you,” Constance insisted. “We’ll mark anything of interest… and… uh…?”

The otherwise erudite student trailed off, and Zel matched her by staring oddly at the new sight at a street intersection.

There, leaning against the corner of a building, a woman in a sleek black dress stood. That is to say, she would have actually had the posture of a heartbreaker if she weren’t half bent over, hands against the wall, and groaning in agony.

The two students looked at each other, wondering if this qualified as an incident – perhaps if she turned around and flashed fangs, they would be excused for slamming Spirit energy into her.

Instead, Zelfie hesitantly took a step forward and asked, “Ma’am, are you okay?”

Slowly, the woman turned around, and Constance, for a moment, was a little jealous of the sleek black hair that spilled over her shoulders, while she gave a sheepish grin that framed a pair of shaded glasses that hid her eyes.

“Hey, spare some change? I’d kill for a sandwich…”

Nonetheless, Zelfie and Constance stared. The image was all wrong. The personality was all wrong. The face, though… that face was known. It was on portraits all over the University, in places of honor dedicated both to the excellence of the campus, and to the efforts of the war against the Menace.

“Professor Lissandra?” They asked.

“Huh?”