Arc 1: Phantom

Chapter 1

Gren lazily strolled through the garden, spear hefted against his chest. Guard duty was boring, as always, and the night time revelry going along in the lord’s manor wasn’t helping his mood.

They were in there, the lords and ladies, all enjoying themselves and loving the sweet wine. The good stuff, from Vainhaven. Damn, he missed that stuff.

It was quite frustrating, to say the least, but then again – he wasn’t nobility. He actually had to work to make a life for himself. Quite unfair, wasn’t it?

That’s life, he thought, wishing he had someone else he could talk to. He was feeling extremely philosophical today. Unfortunately for him, however, the other guards were slightly...stoic, to put it nicely.

In other words, they didn’t talk. They didn’t like to talk. And they disliked it when he talked.

The garden was neatly pruned, the moonlight gleaming on the surface of neat and well arranged hedges. Trees interspersed by the hedges, fruits hanging off their branches. He wished he could eat one. He was sorely tempted to just grab it then and there; there was no one here in this part of the garden anyway.

But he didn’t. He couldn’t, not if he wanted to keep his job. And possibly his life as well, considering the lord’s temper. Frightening, that.

He’d once seen a sight that made his blood run cold. A foolish and unfortunate maid had dropped the tray she was carrying, spilling the tea on the ground, shattering the cup.

She just had to have done that in front of the lord, too. He remembered the look on her face, stricken with fear.

He’d assumed the lord would just glance disdainfully at her, maybe even fire her from the job.

Well, he did that and more. He quite literally broke her jaw with a joy enforced slap that left her unconscious. He didn’t see her after that, but he doubted she’d died. Well, at least not immediately.

But that little scene had put a lot of things into perspective for him.

Like the fact that you didn’t mess with the lord’s property. Ever.

Sighing, he continued to walk down the moonlit path, listening to the sounds of laughter that wafted from inside the manor.

That’s when he heard it. A sound, quiet but strange. Out of place in this peaceful garden.

He turned around to look at the garden wall, one that encircled the entire manor. It was tall, tall enough that no one would be able to jump over it. At least not without being ridiculously high ranked, or infusing joy into their movements, which would alert everyone in the vicinity anyway.

All the same, he had heard a thud coming from the wall next to him. Like someone had just dropped from a great height. He walked over slowly, his heart thumping faster, hands clenching tight on his spear.

People often told him he had a wildly imaginative mind, one prone to flights of fancy. And panic. But he never really agreed with them on that matter.

He was just...cautious, was all. It paid to be cautious. Especially when you were guarding an earl. Right?

He reached a shadowy portion on the wall where he had heard the sound from, and he slowed, carefully looking around. Just to be safe, he coated himself in joy, strengthening him to beyond that of a normal human’s limit.

There were hedges all around him, forming obstacles that blocked his vision. He slowly creeped around the place, doing his best to stay aware of his surroundings.

Then he heard a rustle behind the hedge in front of him.

Rushing behind the hedge, he whirled around to confront the intruder he was sure was there. A million fantasies flashed through his mind, all ending with him heroically ending or capturing the intruder.

He lifted his spear, and...and nothing, because there was no one there.

Gren stood there awkwardly for a while, looking at the empty patch of ground. There really was nothing, and he could have sworn he saw a squirrel scurrying away behind a nearby hedge.

Oh, this was quite embarrassing now, wasn’t it?

He straightened, looking around to see if any one had witnessed his humiliation. To his terror, another guard stood there in confusion, staring at him.

Gods damn it.

“Ahem...must have been the wind”, he murmured, turning away from the guard so he would not see his rapidly reddening face. He was never going to live this down.

Cursing his fanciful mind, he walked away, already envisioning the looks the other guards would give him once that one shared the story.

Fuck.

He sighed, shaking his head. This was going to haunt him for a while.

Then he stopped, remembering something. Had he seen that guard before?

Turning around, he could see the other man was already gone, probably continuing his patrol.

Gren shrugged, then moved on. His eyesight had never really been the best anyway. Sometimes he had trouble recognising the other guards.

It didn’t matter.

***

Lord Shireholm was furious. His son had dropped out of the academy, already cementing in the others’ minds that his only heir was a good for nothing buffoon who couldn’t even complete his first term.

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This revelry had been arranged to mitigate some of the damage. The pomp and splendour displayed here would remind the others that while his son may be a fool, the lord himself was still far from kissing the dirt.

He cursed his luck, making plans in his head as he plastered a smile on his face, swirling the wine in his goblet while he engaged in conversation with the rest of the lords and ladies. He’d need to do something about his son. Send him to the frontlines, maybe? Joy could be gained through other means, namely, combat. Combat agitated joy, making it easier to absorb and consolidate.

His damn fool of a son was still first stage.

Then again, he had other plans in motion, too. Plans that were about to pay off, having taken a great deal of effort to come to fruition. He would need to consult with the others soon, but for now, he’d play the part of the merry host, indulging in pointless conversations.

“Henry, your expression could use some work”

The sudden voice jolted him from his mind, and he realised his smile had grown somewhat twisted while he’d been embroiled in his thoughts.

Looking sideways, he could see Gary walk towards him, hand holding a similar goblet filled with red wine.

“Good to see you, lord Mire. Did you enjoy yourself this fine evening?”, he asked, smiling.

“There’s no need to be so formal, my friend. And yes, I have enjoyed this evening”, he said, taking a sip from the goblet.

Shireholm knew Gary loved his wine. He was quite frankly smitten from some of the stuff imported from Vainhaven.

Gary stopped sipping, and stood there for a while. He was contemplating something, eyes flitting around.

“Our...initiative. Did it work?”, Gary asked, swirling his wine.

Shireholm looked at him sharply. This was not the time or place for this.

“Perhaps we should talk about it in a more private setting.”

“Yes, then let’s get to it.”

Shireholm bit his lip, annoyed. It wouldn’t do for the host to suddenly vanish upstairs, and Gary damn well knew it. He was just being difficult.

“A later time, Gary.”, he said, annoyance clearly writ upon his face. He turned to move away.

A hand clutched his shoulder. He stopped.

“This can’t wait, Henry.”

Shireholm glanced at Gary, and he could see a touch of anxiety on the man’s face, marring his perfect features. He paused, surprised.

Gary had never been this serious before, at least not outwardly. Something was wrong. But considering the time it took for Gary to seek him out, it likely hadn’t been anything confirmed. A suspicion, perhaps. He’d probably been waiting for his men to update him.

He’d have to listen to him. It was only sensible, after all.

Shireholm gestured at the stairs. Walking towards it at a brisk pace, Gary behind him, he glanced at a guard dressed in black at the back of the room who nodded. It...probably wasn’t anything too urgent. Gary would have rushed to him then, damning propriety.

They made their way up the marble staircase, wooden balustrade shining in the golden light of the chandeliers and lamps. A red carpet was laid across the stairs, continuing to the second floor.

He saw people watching him as he left the room with Gary, it would spark some discussions for sure. He cursed internally, hoping whatever Gary had to say, it damn well be important enough for him to leave the room. As a host, it was considered extremely improper to do what he was doing.

The second floor was just as opulent as the first, precious vases and items encased in glass lined the wide hallway. Men dressed in black waited by these, eyes hard.

Shireholm led Gary to a door at the end of the hallway. It led to another hallway, in which was another door, this one leading to his private office.

His office was a simple affair, atleast relatively, when compared to the rest of the manor. It extended off to the side, with chairs arranged neatly and shelves filled with books lining the walls.

His table at the far end had a stack of papers on it. He’d have to work through it soon. He sighed.

He made his way across the room and sat at the chair facing the table, and gestured at Gary to speak. He didn’t bother to offer the man a seat. Unwise, perhaps, but he was feeling annoyed.

Gary spoke. “ I’ve heard rumours that you’re being targeted, Henry.”

Shireholm scoffed. “What exactly is new?”

“This one’s different. Know about earl hook’s death?”

“Who doesn’t? Wasn’t it ruled as suicide?” earl hook had been suffering from certain financial problems. Add that to his wife’s recent demise, and no one was truly surprised at what had happened. The earl was known to have been mentally weak.

“No other joy signatures. That was the only thing they found.”

“Yes, but who would be able to kill hook without joy?”

Shireholm knew a few high rankers, but the question was merely rhetorical. Said high rankers were currently out at the frontlines, and none had any reason to kill the earl.

“My men heard some concerning things...rumours. I dug around some more, and it looks like there might be more to it. I...had to wait a while for some more information, but it could be that you’re next, Henry.”

It could be? Shireholm could see why Gary hadn’t been quick to say it. He didn’t truly know. He’d wasted his time.

“And you brought me here to tell me this? Rumours?”

“I know how it sounds! But believe me, I got my information from a trusted source. Someone’s most likely after you, Henry, I don’t think they’ll strike so soon, but you better have your guard up. This won’t be like the other times. You know hook was as strong as you are.”

Shireholm scowled. One the one hand, he could understand Gary’s concern. On the other, he was convinced lord hook’s death had been suicide. A joyless assassin killing lord hook? The very notion was ridiculous.

Anger burgeoned inside his chest.

“Thank you for wasting my time, Gary, it’s not like I had to be downstairs, being a proper host!” he hissed, turning away and walking briskly to the door. Gary watched him go, face etched with nervousness.

He opened the door roughly, walking into the dark hallway. Damn Gary, he’d assumed the man would have something more to give him. Time was precious as it is, he didn’t have any to waste.

Wait. Dark?

The lights...were gone. An inky, unnatural blackness filled the space, emanating an aura of coldness.

Before he could even voice himself, a blade jabbed into his back, ripping through his spine.

“W-wha-“

The last thing he saw was the frightening purple glow on the blade that had pierced him.

Shireholm died without even seeing his killer.

***

Gary Mire sat on a chair, nervously fidgeting. Henry had been gone for a while, not heeding his advice. The fool.

If Gary was good at anything, it was at predicting danger. His senses had screamed at him to warn Henry as soon as he heard the rumours, and it hadn’t helped when his men confirmed that lord hook had been murdered.

He bit his lip, thinking. His instincts were never wrong. But he knew how he appeared to Henry: as a paranoid fool. All he had going on for him were rumours and instinct. Something not even worth mentioning for Henry.

Even Gary had to admit, he didn’t think lord hook had been murdered before the rumours, and now recently, his men’s confirmation. It was unthinkable. How could there have been no other joy signatures there?

Hook had been a fifth stage. His strength hadn’t been something to take lightly. So what in the world killed him? Even the information broker he’d sent his men to had no clue.

He wrinkled his nose, as a particular smell hit him. It was gentle, unidentifiable. It irritated his nose.

Turning his head, he felt it came from the hallway.

Gary stood up, then walked over to the door. The smell grew stronger. He was confused. What could smell inside the lord’s mano –

With a flash of dread he realised what it was.

Oh no.

Stepping out into the hallway, he saw it. It made him go pale, his heart thundering in his chest. A bead of sweat rolled down his face, dripping onto the red carpet.

This. Wasn’t. Happening.

In a daze, he walked over to henry’s corpse, while blood pooled and darkened the red carpet. He stared at his long time friend, now unmoving, eyes staring blankly at the ceiling.

He reached out, slowly picking up henry’s hand and checked his pulse.

He confirmed what he’d already suspected.

Henry was dead.

And there was no one here but Gary and the corpse.

A humourless smile crept across his face as he realised what that meant.

He didn’t even react when a loud sound rang through the hallway, attracting the attention of the guards.

He didn’t blink when they made their way to the hallway and shouted out, pointing their swords at him, eyes wide in shock and rage.

He didn’t move when they shackled him.

This wasn’t the work of a human. This wasn’t the work of someone who lived.

This was the work of a ghost.

A phantom.