You take a deep breath, and unfold the letter again. A summons, bearing the seal of the Dioscorian council. These titans of the city have the ears of the guilds; they protect and nurture the city; they are blessed by fate itself, or so they say. ·↽✦۞✦⇀· The vast oak door opens like rolling thunder. You step inside. You find yourself in the well of the audience chamber. Arranged in an arc around you are the nine seats of the council: not thrones, for Dioscoria has no kings, but they are finely carved acacia wood. Each face is graver than the last. ·↽✦۞✦⇀· “Agent,” one nods. “We need your help.” You know this woman by sight: she is Phaedra Aristelli, one of the city’s foremost scholars. Her knowledge of history, languages and the arcane arts is second to none. But here, today, her face is grey and worn, her robes creased and unwashed. Something has been weighing on her. ·↽✦۞✦⇀· “You know of the Guild of Mist.” Of course: the Guild trains guides to navigate Dioscoria’s waterways: only they can penetrate the magical fog that protects the island. “Yesterday we received a message. A cry for help, from one of our own: a retired guide, settled in Konstantiniyye.” You clear your throat. “Who is this guide?” Phaedra frowns. “Her name is Kösem. An old friend of mine.” Her voice breaks. “Bring her back, if you can. But… above all, the island must remain secure. For all of us.” ·↽✦۞✦⇀· How do you respond?