6. This Darkest Night

Swords that pierce that heavens. That is the only description Akraptor finds fitting for the buildings in the Citadel. Broad foundations that slowly narrow into sharp pointed tops, cased by metal, polished to a silver sheen. This place is full of them. A forest of giant blades that defy gravity. And they have been brought to the very centre of this metallic ecosystem.

A wide, circular platform spans beneath their feet, isolated from the rest of the city, some semblance of a grand, empty courtyard. The three of them stand at the centre, flanked by four uniformed guards. At the edge of the platform are a set of chalk-white marble steps, a prelude to the bleached throne that sits at the very top facing the other way. Two men stand next to the throne, both unnaturally tall. One is lean, dressed in a simple white coat, hems lined in black, and grey pants to finish. The other is built like a brute, muscles bulging beneath an upper body wrapped entirely in bandages, wearing a murky-blue hakama embroidered with black thorned vines.

Akraptor watches the man who led them into the Citadel stop before the very bottom step and fall onto one knee, a fist pressed against the ground.

“Father.” His voice is solemn. “I have returned with Gwyneira as you have ordered.”

A numbing silence fills the air. Akraptor doesn’t even realize there’s someone sitting on the throne until a pale hand drops from the side, waving lazily. Without warning, the closest guard levels their blade at his throat.

Gwen cries out in alarm. “Father, please! Have mercy on him.”

Akraptor widens his eyes. The man sitting on the throne must be Arie Hon. The strongest of the Great Warriors, second only to the King himself.

“I am told that we share a name.”

The Family Head’s voice is not as he’d imagined. It’s hushed, almost gentle in a sense. Uncomfortably so. Whisper of rain in the chill of spring night. The quietness makes it impossible for Akraptor to discern His intentions.

“That is not entirely accurate,” Arie Hon continues. “But enough to appeal to my curiosity. Enough to keep you alive for now—Hon Akraptor.”

Akraptor tries to swallow, but his throat is parched. The first encounter with Gwen’s brother might as well have drained all the moisture from his body.

“What is the child’s name?”

Akraptor freezes, gritting his teeth. He can feel it. The moment he betrays her name, she will no longer be his. Tears well in his eyes, far from the tears he first shed for her. He gasps as the blade against his neck draws blood.

“Her. Name.” Arie Hon traces the throne’s armrest with a slow hand.

“Rose!” Gwen blurts. Akraptor looks at her with incredulous eyes. She gazes back, hopeless and resigned. “Hon Rose.”

“Rose.” the man’s fingers drum his ruminations into white stone. “How … poetic. They’re your favourite flowers aren’t they, dear daughter?”

“Y-yes Father.”

“Of course.” Arie Hon laughs harshly, no trace of humour at the helm. “You always loved the colour of blood. You must have forgotten, but you once promised to bathe the tower in crimson. Perhaps if you had kept to that resolution, you could have succeeded where Hagipherione failed. You could have surpassed Adori. What a waste. You threw it all away, and for a man, no less.”

Those words hang over their heads like a guillotine. They are the condemnation, the verdict, and the sentence.

“Leave the child alive.” The Family Head exhales deeply. “She will fulfill what Gwyneira has taken for granted.”

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The brute of the two men steps forward. He raises an arm diagonally, a dense layer of shinsu coating its surface. Akraptor shuts his eyes, shielding Rose’s gaze with one hand, clutching Gwen’s hand with the other. He will not wait for the arm to fall. He knows his head will fly as soon as the brute swings. Gwen’s fingers interlock with his, and the storm in his heart subsides into a slow, drifting calm. Knowing that she has accepted her Fate as well is oddly assuring. Whatever comes, they’ll face it in unity. A great gust buffets his body, the roar of impact howling against his eardrums, and then …

Oblivion.

Has he died? There is no pain. Was death so swift, so easy, all this time?

“Arise, young one. There remains life left to live.”

An ancient voice that shakes the very fabric of space that constitutes the entire Floor, reverberating like the hum of bees. It’s not human. Not mortal.

Akraptor peers through quivering slits, into the world of the living. The tingle of sensation returns to his arms, gradually trickling down to his white-knuckled fingers. Gwen squeezes his hand, pulling him close enough for their shoulders to brush. She whispers something inaudible and bumps his arm with her elbow, prompting him to look up.

A porcelain-smooth, white body, humanoid in nature. An unnaturally-edged midnight suit that sprouts spindly limbs, and three-fingered hands that bloat like gauntlets. A long rounded snout, and longer ears. Akraptor has seen such a figure only in the picture books he’d read at the orphanage that raised him, and in the murals of the local cathedral. The fae of legends, the harbinger of Fate, the First Administrator.

“Headon.” Arie Hon has risen to his feet.

Ice takes to the blood in Akraptor’s veins. It’s the first time the Family Head has betrayed an inflection in his voice. That single utterance plunges the entire Citadel into silence. In the Family Head’s left hand is a claymore whose wicked edges look as if they could cleave the Tower in two.

“You would interfere in the matters of my family?” Arie Hon hisses softly.

“If it concerns the Fate of the Tower?” Headon almost sounds amused. “Absolutely.”

“Do you think I won’t cut you down?” Arie Hon turns his head slightly, traces of a sharp jawline drifting between long strands of silver-white hair.

“Surely, you jest. You may wield the greatest sword—” Headon waves his arm and out of thin air, he brandishes a golden staff with swirling emerald orbs at each end. “But I wield the very Will of the Tower. Zahard himself dared not oppose my jurisdiction.”

Akraptor would never dream of bearing witness to a Family Head’s hesitation, yet here he stands with a sweat-soaked back, counting those few wordless seconds.

“My kin have never been involved with the Fate of the Tower,” Arie Hon finally speaks, resuming his stoic demeanour. To Akraptor’s relief, the claymore has vanished. “Why now?”

“I’m not here for your kin.” A slit breaks from one side of Headon’s head, making an unhurried crawl across his flawless snout, something of an inhuman, devious grin. “I’m here for this child.”

Akraptor watches slack-jawed as the Administrator gestures at him with a free hand.

“Me?” Akraptor gapes, glancing at Gwen who looks just as surprised.

“Yes, child. Your death will serve a greater purpose than the whims of an aging swordsman. It will spur the Uninvited onto greater heights and break their limits. It has been ordained.”

“If it has been ordained—” Arie Hon slips back onto his throne, disappearing from view. “I will relent. But the mother and her child stay with me. I will allow them to live so long as this filthy commoner cuts his ties with them.”

“Wait—!” Akraptor’s lips quiver with emotion, his heart racing at the sudden revelation. What has been given to him is being taken away. Such is the way of the Tower. What can he do? He stands at the mercy of Fate, before the greatest powers within the known world.

“Send him to the Middle Area.” The silky-smooth voice continues. “If Fate allows him to return to his loved ones, then I will have nothing to say about it.”

“You can’t …” Akraptor pleads, falling to his knees, hands dropping to his side.

“Aky.” Gwen swivels around and kneels before him, caressing his face. O stars above, he does not deserve her love. Her eyes, a light that fills this darkest of nights with an unfathomable warmth. Her smile, a promise of better days to come, no matter how distant. She presses her forehead against his. “Find us. I know you can. I know you will.”

“No…” Akraptor chokes a sob, unfettered tears streaming down his cheeks. “I can’t lose you. I can’t lose our daughter.”

“You won’t.” Gwen breaks, tremors swallowing up her voice. “We will survive, as will you. We’ll always be close.”

Her hands cup his own, slender fingers tracing the golden ring around his finger.

“As will I.” He breathes shakily.

“I wonder.” The mystical hum and its owner suddenly materializes between them. Gwen yelps, falling back onto her behind. Headon brings his head up close to Akraptor, cyan beads gleaming with muted mirth.

“Will you?”