Chapter 5

The wheels of the carriage clattered against the cobblestones of the street as it made its way through the foggy city. The morning chill permeated the air, burying itself deep in the city’s residents.

Aron Asbyre loved the fog. It felt...good, however vague that sounded. It couldn’t be succinctly explained.

His chin was propped up on his hand as he slouched on the comfortable cushions of the carriage, gazing out at the city through the open windows.

Vague figures in the mist moved by. People, going about their businesses. The fog hid most of the city, but he still got glimpses of the beautiful white marble that made up the stunning structures in the upper city. This was truly a place for nobles.

He tapped his feet against the wooden floor, waiting.

“You’ll love this, son.”

His father’s voice cut through his fugue. He turned his head around. The man sitting across him was tall, built strongly, with bright blue eyes and jet black hair. He had a thick beard, sharply cut. His father, the lord Asbyre.

The man had a small smile tugging the corners of his lips.

Aron felt a vague wrongness in the back of his mind. It was quickly swept away.

“I’m hoping, father”, he replied, smiling.

He loved his father. What a great man he was, and loving. Whatever his father had planned for him, it would not disappoint.

They sat in the carriage for a while longer, the fog strangely persisting far longer than it should have. Again, aron paid it no mind. It was normal, of course. He didn’t want to even think of why. Tiresome.

The carriage pulled up sharply, and it shook a little as the coachman got off. Aron waited until the man came around to his father’s side and opened the door.

“we have arrived, my lord”, the man said, bowing low.

His father glanced at him. “Let’s go.”

Aron followed his father out, the coachman bowing the whole time. Once he was off, he took a look around, and saw it. The machines. The elevators.

The connectors, people called it, devices that connected the lower city to the upper floating one they were currently on. A technical marvel, it was. He’d been here a few times before, and he’d seen illustrations of the machines as well. The main connector was a large contraption with a truly impressive housing capacity, used for carrying people.

There were other connectors surrounding the main one, too, their purpose to carry cargo and the like between the two cities.

Being here, of course, meant only one thing. They were going down, into the lower city.

The coachman clambered on to his seat and turned the carriage around. He then took off into the mist, strangely empty all around them. The man would be back, at whatever time his father had told him to arrive.

His father made his way into the massive contraption, and settled on one of the cushioned seats. Aron moved beside his father, doing the same.

He didn’t see the operator working the machine, but it started groaning and shaking all the same. After rattling for a while, the thing started to move down, slowly.

Again, a sense of wrongness permeated the air. Aron shifted in his seat, uncomfortable. There was a strange silence in the air as they descended.

The machine thudded to a halt, jolting both son and father.

His father got up slowly from the seat, and moved out the connector, beckoning him to follow.

Aron did as he was told.

As he stepped out into the chilly air of the lower city, he saw another carriage waiting for them. Black and polished gold. His father got on.

“How much farther, father?”, Aron asked as he clambered inside, tired. This was taking a bit more time than he’d have liked.

“A bit more. Be patient.”, his father reprimanded him lightly.

The carriage clattered away as soon as he was settled. He gazed at the fog filled lower city through the carriage window, utterly unimpressive when compared to the sheer magnificence of the upper one. This was a place for commoners, or for those nobles that couldn’t afford land in the upper city. As it was, the buildings and streets reflected the status of their residents.

The carriage snaked through narrow streets and dirty alleyways as Aron wondered why they were here. The lower city had nothing to offer him that the upper one could not. So why had his esteemed father decided this to be the best course of action?

Where were they going?

The carriage came to a halt. The horses neighed.

Finally, he thought.

He didn’t wait for the coachman to open the door. Reaching out quickly, he grabbed the handle and pushed the carriage door open, the wood moving smoothly without creaking. He then gracefully moved out, landing softly on the stone.

Black stone. Aron took a sharp breath as he suddenly realised where they were.

In hindsight, it’d been pretty obvious as to where they’d been going the moment they alighted on the lower city. There was only one place that his father would take him, knowing his wishes.

The black stone tower rose along the wall, imposing, frightening. The thing had no windows, no openings on the walls, it was smooth. On the very top, it ended in a smooth dome, also black.

It was the Black tower. However unimaginative that name was, it still hosted the command quarters of the hell guards. The ones who stood against the demons beyond the wall, in hell.

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The chill was constant, bone deep, but it barely registered in Aron’s mind. In his mind was a frenzied storm of excitement, the blood rushing along his veins. His heart was thumping. Thumping.

Too much. The world flickered for a moment, his eyes darkening as his excitement threatened to bring him down. In a single moment of pure instinct, he clamped down on the excitement.

It took a while, but he felt calm, once more. At least as calm as he could be, considering the situation.

His father appeared beside him, and laid a hand on his shoulder. He didn’t say a word, but he didn’t have to.

They walked slowly towards the single door in front of them, a door that lead directly into the tower. The feeling of strangeness increased, but Aron did not dwell on it. His father knew where they were going, of course. The only thing to do would be to follow him.

Their steps rang hollow in the empty black halls of the tower, illuminated by gas lamps that hung intermittently from notches. The fog thickened around them, limiting Aron’s vision.

Finally, his father halted. In front of them was a door, half ajar, quiet sounds emanating from within. It was dark inside, so Aron couldn’t make anything out. He looked quizzically at his father, but the man paid him no mind. Instead, his father bent to pick up a metal rod that had somehow been lying there the whole time. Turning around, he handed the rod to Aron, and gestured at the door with a nod.

“Get in there son.” His father had a slight smile on his face as he stepped back.

Aron gulped, then asked. “Where are the hell guards, father?”

“Away.”, his father replied.

Somehow, that made perfect sense to Aron. And inside his chest, he could feel a budding understanding crystallize as he walked through the door, and shut it behind him.

The sounds were louder now, and as he walked slowly, the figure tied to a chair in the middle of the room was illuminated.

Aron twirled the metal rod with his hands as he felt his mouth curl into a smile, unbidden. The figure was struggling desperately, it’s mouth gagged, it’s limbs bound. Moaning in pain. In sorrow.

He felt his heart thump faster as he closed in on the figure. He just knew what he had to do. His whole purpose here.

An accursed one was no person. It deserved punishment.

And just like that he was running, laughing, as he brought down the rod with an animal pleasure on top of the figure’s head, caving it in as blood and viscera painted his face, the blood splashing all around him.

He swung, and he swung, each swing bringing him closer to something to something beyond human comprehension as he kept pounding the meat sack of a victim and blood flowed in rivers all around him.

His laugh was one of pure bliss, of pure ecstasy as he kept pounding-

“Young lord.”

And pounding-

“Young Lord?”

And pounding-

“Young Lord!”

Aron woke up. He blinked his bleary eyes a couple of times as reality asserted itself around him. “What is it?”, he asked as he sat up on his bed, rubbing his eyes. Damn it, he had been so close.

Sunlight filtered through the window and the drawn curtains, lighting up the face of the maid who had woken him up. She looked a bit nervous, her eyes flitting back and forth.

“Your father calls for you, my lord. He has ordered you to get ready”, She said, bowing.

Well, that made sense. He stifled a groan as he recalled which day it was. This was tiresome. He waved away the maid as he got up from his bed, and went to wash his face.

His tired face looked back at him from the mirror, his blue eyes and black hair reminiscent of his father. Water dripped slowly down the side of his face, the cool water waking him up a bit more.

Sighing, he made his way to his room and the closet tucked away in the corner. The closet contained all of his fancy clothes, the type he should wear for occasions like this.

He chose a white shirt with a black tail coat and black pants. Looking in the mirror, he adjusted his clothes until they were satisfactory. The person who looked back at him was thin, gaunt. Tired.

He turned around and made his way into the hallway outside his room. His father would be waiting outside the manor, scowling.

He could picture it perfectly.

It turned out, however, that his father was waiting for him at the bottom of the stairs, looking up at him. And scowling, of course.

He got up to the stairs and started taking them two down at a time.

“You’re late, boy.”, his father rasped, voice harsh.

“I’m well aware, father”, he replied, reaching the bottom of the stairs and standing in front of his father. He wondered what inane thing he would say to him before finally letting him go.

His father just stared at him, his gaze hard. The man said nothing, but it was clear he disapproved of the tone aron had used to address him.

Then, he whirled around, walking briskly. “Follow me, boy. I have a few things I wish to say to you.”, he said.

Well, this was unexpected. Was the man actually going to say something useful to him? Although Aron doubted his father thought all of his previous advice was useless.

He followed his father into a small room tucked away in a corner of a hall. His father gestured at him to close the door, and he did so.

“Henry Shireholm is dead.”, his father told him, eyes hard.

“Uh, yes father, I’m well aware.”, he replied, sardonic. It had been the talk of the city, everyone had been shocked to learn of the lord’s death at the hands of his long time friend. Although he knew what he thought of that. It was hard to believe the man could have been murdered by his best friend, he had most probably been framed.

“Do not take that tone with me boy.”, his father said, voice low. Dangerous.

Aron gulped. This wasn’t the time to be rebellious. He nodded.

His father paced around in front of him, an act which served to surprise him more. His father never outwardly showed his feelings. Granted, they were alone here, but still. Something wasn’t right.

His father stopped pacing, then sighed deeply. “There were documents incriminating lord Raen inside his study.”

“Yes, father, it was in the news.”, Aron nodded, face serious. The man had been doing some...rather illicit things, to be sure. Aron licked his lips.

“Embezzlement, murdering his own children...he was the perfect target, the perfect one to bring down and further our own agendas.”, His father said, turning his head to look at him. “Do you understand, boy?”

Aron slowly nodded. It was clear his father had worked with Shireholm to somehow get the papers and other evidence incriminating the man. But Shireholm had died, and the papers found by the king. And that of course, meant things had gone to shit, so to speak.

His father spoke, “The king has good cause, now. He’s blaming Shireholm as a co conspirator, and he’s also found correspondences between us.” His father whirled around and stomped towards him, stopping just in front of him. “That man has crossed a line.”

Aron gulped. He nervously glanced around, wondering if anyone had heard the lord blaming the king. “Circumstantial evidence. We’re not in trouble.”

His father clacked his teeth, shaking his head. “It’s just the king gloating at us, he knows it won’t go anywhere. And just at the perfect moment...”

Aron waited, wondering when his father would get to what he wanted of him. The man was clearly agitated, things hadn’t moved according to plan due to some unforeseen force.

He wondered about that. Rumours abounded, speaking of a phantom that had taken revenge against Shireholm for a past injustice. Most likely, the king had employed some force to take care of a rival. And that, of course, posed a whole suite of problems. If the king had a force that could assassinate his rivals without setting off a joy signature, then none of them were safe.

Aron sighed. Ties were straining, tension boiling. It would all go to shit, and soon, he figured.

“Son”, said his father, finally seeming to get to the point. “We aren’t safe anymore, surely you’ve realised that.”

Aron nodded, waiting.

“Stay safe in the academy. Take care of your sister. Even if anything were to happen to me, keep going.” His father’s gaze was heavy.

That was...surprising. He didn’t think the old man had it in him to say something so sentimental. Perhaps he wasn’t so bad a father after all.

“Of course, at the first sign of trouble, I suggest you run. What with your pathetic skill and all.”, his father remarked with distaste, shattering all illusions. Barely holding back an angry retort, aron nodded.

“Good then. The coachman is waiting outside. You may take your leave.”

“Yes, father”, he replied, and made his way out of the room. As he walked out of the manor, he realised this might be the last time he ever talked to his father. The thought didn’t evoke much feeling as it should have.

He got on to the carriage and closed the door. His luggage had already been delivered.

“Move”, he ordered the coachman as he lay back against the cushioned seats, ready for whatever the academy had to throw at him.