Malanda stood upon a dark spire, looking down at the throngs of people dissipating into the darkness as the moon rose further in the sky. The lights faded in people's houses, inviting an eerie quiet that was scarce in this throbbing heart of a city. Darkness brought quiet solitude, and that's where Malanda truly thrived.

Precariously perched on a tiled roof that sheltered an old clock tower, he had an expansive view of the fort below him. Fort Awela was aptly named after the coastal town of Awela, where Malanda and his comrades had been drinking a few hours prior. It was a colonial structure, representing a dark time in Koth history when the old empire of Grattan had invaded and systematically destroyed most of Koth culture for over three centuries. The fort was now repurposed, no longer needed for its defensive capacity, reclaimed by the Kotha to represent the economic rebound of a newly independent nation. It now housed a giant central market, as well as a strategic trading port for Koth, performing as an important economic connection to the rest of the world.

Long cobbled walls protected the market, lining the fort, thick and impenetrable. The non-walled side was the beach, which held jutting sky docks that were hastily constructed kilometres over the original docks that were now rotting by the ferocious sea. The sky-docks were ecosystems of their own, as the sky-ships docked floated close to each other, inviting cloud surfers to form their own community among the ships. Wooden platforms were constructed and placed down, connecting one ship to the next, allowing the surfers to hop from deck to deck. All-Shimmer lamps were haphazardly placed along these dangerous platforms to light the path, but it wasn't uncommon for an inebriated cloud surfer to slip and tumble from these platforms down to the beach. To prevent unnecessary deaths, large nets had been assembled below the decks to catch them before they fell to their demise. As the Fort below grew quiet, the festivities raged on at the sky docks. Each ship setting up shop with different services, it was a good way for cloud surfers to earn extra income while not on their journeys. Some ships, such as one aptly named '*Selioth Sublime*', held late-night extravaganzas on their massive deck. Selioth Sublime was a colossal sky-ship, that was a prominent trading ship between Indirrel and Koth, primarily importing Indirrith technology into Koth. Due to its size, it had the capability to host surfers from the myriad of other ships on their open deck, where they had set-up an expansive bar, a dancefloor, and live performances straight from Indirrel. Of course, it was a security risk to allow other surfers on-board with sensitive technology on the vessel, hence hosting such parties was banned by the Indirrith government. However, they were in Koth, where the rules were loose and anything could be done for the right price.

What Malanda was looking for was on that sky-dock. The moon, bright as ever, illuminated the dock, showcasing the zig-zag connections that formed the chaotic pseudo-town so far up in the sky. Surfers roamed about, jumping from ship to ship, with the Selioth Sublime acting as a central hub point from which people exited and entered. Small marketplaces, seedy fighting rings, and shady meeting spots were common in this area, and due to poor Koth law enforcement presence, it had the potential to be a dangerous place. Scanning intently, he finally found what he was looking for. To the far end of the sky-dock, a lone ship floated discreetly, disconnected from the rest of the port. All lamps near the ship were off, and it skulked in the shadows as if trying to hide from a predator. If no one was looking for it, it seemed non-existent. Malanda had sharp eyes, however, and knew exactly what to look out for. "Amateur..." he muttered under his breath, while shuffling for something on his belt. Trying hard to appear hidden had the adverse effect of seeming as suspicious as possible. "If you wanted to hide, you have to hide in plain sight," a familiar voice resonated in his head. The voice of his father, who had intently trained him throughout his childhood. Malanda's heart tightened as that voice resonated in his head, painful memories resurging. Instinctively, he shut out those thoughts, his face hardening. "No time to think," he muttered, before pulling out a piece of cloth and wrapping it over his mouth and nose.

He was far below the immense sky-dock that loomed above him, and entering through the All-Shimmer powered pulley system would take too long. He grabbed a pouch from his belt and tapped it out onto his open palm. All-Shimmer. He pulled his mask down, and stared at the glistening powder on his hand, still in the windless night. He wrapped his black cloak around him and slammed his palm onto his open mouth, ingesting the powder in one quick movement. After swallowing, he whispered, "*Wehulm*". Without a word, he leaped up into the sky and stretched his arms out wide, eyes closed in concentration. His feet never hit the ground, and with outstretched arms, Malanda floated above the clocktower, a lone figure against the gargantuan landscape.

"Welhile"

Malanda sprung forward, arms still outstretched, blazing through the air. His black cloak fluttered furiously behind as if a bird desperately flapping its wings. Wind slammed into his face, and his eyes squinted as careened upwards, inching closer to the decks at destructive speeds. Normally, this process would have resulted in the uninitiated losing control of their speed and direction mid-air, shooting out into the open sky until the All-Shimmer left their body and they plummeted to their deaths, or flying straight into objects without preparing defensive spells and exploding into chunks of flesh and blood. Not Malanda. He gracefully propelled his body, weaving between the seemingly endless wooden supports that held the decks above. He had chosen to fly straight under the ships rather than over them to avoid suspicion. Shimmer-casting (the act of consuming Shimmer for spell use) has been banned in Koth for the last 50 years. Furthermore, it was well-known that Shimmer casters who had been stripped of their ability to practice had retreated into elusive groups that trained with no regulation on their spells, making them dangerous foes that needed to be captured (for a hefty bounty) or killed on sight. "Fair enough," Malanda thought grimly to himself. "I am dangerous."

As he zoomed upwards he finally reached the underside of the dock, skillfully slowing down his body with the closing of his outstretched palm. Glowing lights seeped through the cracks between the wooden planks, and the loud thuds of heavy footsteps resonated through the air. His head near the planks, he listened intently to the sounds above him. Lively music played above him, with surfers singing along, out of pitch but with an unmatched fervor.

"Indirrel the land of free! Indirrel is all for me! Indirrel all shall see, that Indirrel is the land of free!"

Malanda groaned behind his mask. For the most powerful country in the world, they really couldn't write a good chant. Through the raucous singing and heavy, clumsy footsteps of drunk cloud surfers, one thing was for certain - this was not the place that Malanda needed to be. Shifting away from the planks, he moved silently and slowly, not letting the wind mute the sounds above him. Soon, the footsteps quietened and the music grew more distant. The loud singing was replaced by low, indiscernible whispers and quick directed steps of individuals with purpose. This was the right direction. Finally, after maneuvering through some of the nets flowing through the air, he noticed that all sounds seemed to stop. Pure silence. Trusting his gut, he rose from beneath and landed on the planks, as silently as possible. He was right. No lights shone in this area, and it was completely empty. With minimal resistance, he closed his palms and shook off his tense arms, bringing them back down to his sides. He felt gravity hit him all at once, the floaty feeling all gone. "Good timing," he thought, as he felt the weight of the All-Shimmer leave his body. Malanda's body felt weak and fatigued. A common side-effect of All-Shimmer consumption. If he pulled down his mask, he would have looked 10 years older, with tired lines etched down his face. There was no time to waste.

Wrapping his cloak around him, he searched for the ship he had been spying on from the clock tower. Walking for a minute or two along the deck, he finally saw it, hiding between two large trading vessels. It truly was a tiny ship, only able to fit one person comfortably. With paint flaking off its sides and large dents along the metal plating, it was clear the ship had seen better days. The words "*Storm Conqueror*" were plastered along the side of the ship, in a gaudy font that seemed a few decades out of date. "Unlikely," Malanda thought to himself, stifling a humourless chuckle. He hopped onto the deck with ease, ensuring that he made no noise as he landed. He had strategically avoided wearing shoes for this expedition, as he had always felt like they held him back during combat and flight. It seemed like his forward-thinking was paying off. There was not a sound or a semblance of movement on the ship.

Creeping low, Malanda moved forward towards a doorway at the furthest end of the ship. As he inched closer, he noticed a transom fixed above the door. He peered inside, barely able to see through the dirty window. A flickering light! A shadowed figure hunched over a small desk, using the minuscule light to hurriedly scratch something onto a parchment. Next to the figure was a ragged bed, with an open knapsack lying on it, with various items of clothing strewn about, as if he was packing desperately, hoping to leave.

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Malanda dug into his belt and slid out a knife, before soundlessly pushing the door ajar and slipping into the shadows. The figure didn't seem to notice Malanda enter the room, presumably too preoccupied with whatever he was scribbling onto his parchment. Inch by inch Malanda closed the distance, before leaping out in one quick motion, using one arm to place the neck under the man's neck and the other to cover his mouth, before a loud yelp escaped him. The man, dropping his quill, struggled, clawing at Malanda's arms, scratching ferociously. To no avail, however, as Malanda stood strong and firm, barely reacting to the desperate struggle. Eventually, the figure stopped, realizing there was no point in fighting back.

"Are you done?" Malanda whispered.

The man nodded weakly, an indiscernible muffled voice replying.

"If I let you go, and you scream or run, I will not hesitate to cut you down like the mongrel you are," Malanda spat, cold and venomous. "Do you understand me?"

The man nodded once more.

Slowly, Malanda removed his hand from the man's mouth and flipped him around in one swift movement, not letting the knife leave his neck. The light now directly shone onto the man's face, highlighting his matted blonde hair and his sweaty, puffy face that was contorted in fear. It was the Indirrith tourist from the market!

"Moriarty! You look like you've seen better days! What's with the face?" Malanda started in Indirrith, his voice dripping in toxic sweetness.

"M...Malanda, why did you scare me like that?" the Indirrith man, apparently named Moriarty, stuttered, a nervous smile on his face. "Why don't you put the knife down! This is no way to greet a friend!"

Thinking for a moment, Malanda dropped the knife, sheathing it back on his belt, a friendly smile playing across his face. "Of course! Just have to be safe these days, you know!"

Moriarty relaxed his shoulders, sighing deeply, pulling out a handkerchief from the breast pocket of a stuffy, gaudy suit that seemed a tad too tight. He patted his forehead, which was drenched in his sweat, and looked back at Malanda with a sense of unease that would never leave.

"So, what have you come here for?" Moriarty began.

"The usual...any news?"

"Nothing has changed! I told you, I've been in contact with a colleague inside the castle, and both Malcolm and Sigardria haven't left." Moriarty waved his arms, in clear exasperation.

"Is that so?" Malanda muttered, only half paying attention as he scanned the room.

"Going somewhere?" he continued, pointing at the knapsack and clothes strewn about the bed.

"No! No! Of course not" Moriarty stuttered, clamoring towards the bed and hurriedly putting his clothes away. "I was just...looking for something."

Malanda lazily pulled the chair and slumped down on it, stretching his arms as he watched Moriarty stumble over himself in a poor attempt to put everything away. "The market...what the hell was that about?"

Moriarty swung his head back, staring at Malanda. His eyes squinted, and the passive, slothful look that he usually presented was replaced by a keen shrewdness that was hidden right beneath the surface. "You know what it was about..."

"Enlighten me."

"I was being followed, Malanda. They are onto me, and you fucking know it" Moriarty spat out, his face growing red. I had to make a scene so that they didn't get me right there and then."

"No need for the language," Malanda yawned. "Who is out to get you?"

"Don't play dumb!" the fake servitude had left Moriarty. "Indirrel didn't get to what it is without being on top of everything. Their spies have spies. They have information networks so intricate that your underground revolution is probably a running joke in their shadow department."

"So you're saying that you've given up! Planning to take a long vacation?" Malanda retorted, menacingly.

"All I'm saying is that you're in over your head. We're both going to die for it."

"I'm willing to die for what's right. You're a little worm that plays for whoever's winning." Malanda sneered.

"Worms like me manage to live. We don't need to martyr ourselves for a pointless cause. Honour is for fools." Moriarty flung an overshirt back onto the bed, giving up the facade.

"Honour? I have no honour." Malanda replied. "I have ambition. I have what it takes to get what I want." His voice was now rising. "And I have no patience for disgusting fucking worms who lie to me..."

Malanda lunged forward and grabbed Moriarty by the throat and slammed him against the wall. "You think you can talk to me like that? Who do you think you are, you pig?" Malanda's voice was enraged and venomous, spit flying from his mouth, his widened eyes revealing a maddening unhinged rage that could not be tempered. As his hand gripped tighter around Moriarty's neck, the Indirrith spy started to go blue.

"I know Malcolm went to Sool. I know he turned Furhazin!" Malanda squeezed even harder. "Now..."

Moriarty gripped Malanda's hand and scratched as hard as he could, drawing blood. Malanda pulled him from the wall and slammed his head against it again savagely, forcing Moriarty to let go.

"Now...I know you know more. I simply do" Malanda barely sounded coherent. "If you tell me everything I might just let you live. Might."

Malanda let go and Moriarty stumbled to the floor gagging and coughing as he massaged his bruised neck. Moriarty tried to let out a few words before coughing once again, unable to get the words out.

"Mal...Malcolm threatened to replace Furhazin...with...with an Indirrel-backed leader..." he sputtered. "He promised Fur...Furhazin with Shimmer technology if he submitted."

"*That cunning bastard*," Malanda thought to himself. He got to Sool with the hopes of snuffing out a revolution before it began. "*I almost respect him,*" he reflected. Malanda knelt down to Moriarty who was still coughing and gripping his throat on the ground. "What of Richard? Is he involved in this somehow?"

Moriarty looked into Malanda's eyes. While the violent rage had left, a dangerous glint remained, and he knew that he was a few wrong words away from being gutted and left to die in his ship.

"I'm...I'm not sure...I just heard rumours..." Moriarty began.

"Out with it," Malanda commanded.

"My sources claim that his ship was tampered with...it wasn't an accident."

"Hm...why Richard? He has no value."

"I...don't know....but..."

"But?" Malanda replied curiosity peaked.

"Sources say that a Grattan ship was nearby...docked, not moving."

"Grattan?" Malanda gasped. Koths old enemy. What do they have to do with this? Grattan hasn't been a relevant power in Selioth in centuries. After the crumbling decline of their empire, they retreated from world politics, shamefully developing as an isolationist nation, almost as if they were repenting for their crimes in global politics.

"Is there more? Why were they there?"

"That's all...I swear that's all..."

Malanda stood up, grabbing Moriarty by the arm and positioning him upright. He took out Moriarty's handkerchief and patted his forehead and face with an apologetic smile. "I really flew off the handle, didn't I?" Moriarty remained silent, eyes closed and breathing heavily.

"I just...have a lot of passion you know," Malanda continued regretfully. "I love Koth, and it just gets me so...riled...up...when anyone gets in the way of my protection of it! As my father used to say..." Malanda paused, adjusting Moriarty's suit for him. "To fight for your country is to earn your place. You see, we all start with nothing. We don't deserve anything! All we do is take, take, take from our bountiful lands and never give back. Isn't that what you did, Moriarty? Take, take, take from Indirrel and sell it to the highest bidder? I mean, that's how you can afford these marvelous suits, yes? Anyways, you changed your life. Once we had our little meeting, you stopped taking and you started providing. For Koth. For me. Indirrel doesn't know what you took, and Indirrel doesn't have to know what you're giving me. For that, I am eternally grateful. But! And there is a big but here. I don't like liars. I don't like double-crossers. I don't like fat black-market merchants turned spies who try to leave without telling me." Malanda smiled dangerously.

"I'm sorry...I'm sorry...please." Moriarty begged.

"You told Indirrel about me, didn't you? They're going to be here any moment, aren't they?" Malanda spat. "There's something else. Richard. He's a part of this puzzle. I know it. Grattan is making a play for Indirrel's power and Richard has something to do with it." Malanda looked at Moriarty's frozen body with disgust. "You're useless to me now."

Without another word, Malanda swiftly pulled out his knife, and in one graceful motion, slid it across Moriarty's throat. The Indirrith spy had no time to react as it all happened so quickly. Blood spurted out of his neck and Moriarty gurgled. He gripped his throat, trying to stop the bleeding, but it was too late. The cut was surgical and deep. He fell to the floor as blood pooled around him, dripping onto his suit, and staining it. As he fell to the floor, he writhed around in the pool of blood, attempting to reach for the bedpost to pull himself back up. It was a truly pathetic display.

As Moriarty slowly withered away, Malanda peered through the window onto the dark, quiet docks. No doubt Moriarty had a contingency plan. He knew Malanda would have followed him after his display in the market. He also knew that unless he made a desperate appeal, there was no way he was getting out of it alive. He must've sold Malanda out to Indirrel in exchange for protection. What Moriarty was banking on, however, was Malanda keeping him alive just long enough to make his escape. The spy had underestimated Malanda's brutality. It was too late. Malanda noticed lights in the distance, along the docks. The normally still atmosphere was now bristling. Something was about to happen. Malanda had to get out of there. He had so much to do. If Grattan was a new threat he needed to move fast. The mystery surrounding Richard was another line of inquiry that he needed to pursue. None of this could happen if he were dead. As the lights drew closer, he heard several footsteps and hushed voices outside the ship. Malanda smirked.

It was time to make a grand escape.