“Nicely done. Siri. Your technique is practically flawless. Alas, a puppet is still a puppet. Again.”

Siri was growing tired of hearing those words. They were telling her she wasn't good enough. She was running out of time.

“I'm waiting.”

Siri shook her head defiantly.

“Good luck with that.”

“It's about time,” Alvarik declared.

“Huh?”

“I've been waiting for you to break free of the cycle I created. If you're going to succeed with this mission, you must have the ego needed to cement the lie. They really did a number on you, didn't they?”

“No?”

“Your hesitancy is all the proof I need. ‘Tis a damn shame. Hold on to that ego. We leave in three days.”

Alvarik left Siri to ponder on his words. She was content with the mission proceeding, but everything else confused her. Why did he test her so, and why did he sound so forlorn? Did he disagree with the Good Lords? Was he a traitor in the making? Why was he even here? He wasn't a Good Lord, and he didn't have the same alacrity as the overseers.

Then again, Lord Alvarik is little more than a lie created solely for the mission at hand. Siri had to trust the Good Lords’ faith in him was well placed. It wasn’t her place to question them.

*****

The road to Karik was a quiet one. Siri and Alvarik were sitting in a modestly ornate carriage in relative silence. There was no turning back. They were uncle and niece, and their target was waiting.

Siri spent the journey working on her mastery of the Masque. Even now, it was a demanding experience. She was a fleeting shadow, and the relic required substance.

Silent preparations aside, the first day was fairly uneventful, and by the second day, they were following the river Antarik. Siri regarded the river with contempt. As one of the leading tributaries of the river Særis, it fuelled much of the conflict between the two nations. Despite not being blessed with the same azure fortune as Særis, the people of Karik believed the Antarik gave them cause to claim it as their own. Were it not for the Antarik and the arrogation of Karik, Siri would still be in Særis.

On the third day, she gave her contempt to the past she left behind. She wasn't about to let her hate jeopardise the sanctity of her mission. As a knife in service to the Good Lords, her emotions were irrelevant.

*****

“We'll need to find a place to stay for the night,” Alvarik declared as the sun dipped below the horizon on the third day. “It was foolish of me to think we would reach the gathering place in only three days.”

“And whose fault is that, Uncle?” Siri retorted. “Had you spent less time feasting in the mornings, we would have made it with time to spare.”

“Don't be so sure of that, dear Siri. Breakfast is the most important meal of the day, and what you call a feast was me being considerate.”

“There is nothing considerate about a three-course breakfast.”

“Tell that to the innkeeper. He was smiling from ear to ear with all the extra coin he claimed by serving my generous frame.”

“I was too busy praying for the chef,” Siri retorted.

“They'll be fine. A little extra work in the morning is nothing next to a full dinner service.”

“That still doesn't explain why you felt the need to delay our departure for near enough four hours. Surely you could have requested something for the road instead?”

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Lord Alvarik's sinking gaze summoned a thunderstorm. “Never again. You probably don't remember the last time, as you were still a child, but food and carriages are better off in separate chapters.”

“Why's that?”

“I have no desire to relive the experience. You'll have to ask someone else.”

“I'm sorry, uncle. I didn't mean to cause you any pain.”

“I know, Siri. We'll talk more when we stop at the next campsite.”

*****

While the silence that followed on from Siri’s conversation with her uncle gave rise to a discernible awkwardness, it was fairly short-lived as they were eased into one of Karik’s many roadside campsites. They were everywhere. Not only were they required by Karik law, but they were also maintained by lords of the land. They were known collectively as the Pathstrider’s Promise on account of Karik’s faith in the gods of travelling and the hunt.

Siri’s understanding of their worship was academic at best. She knew enough to avoid making any mistakes, but the Good Lords had little need for weapons who turned to the heavens for guidance, and she wasn't the girl who was born and raised in Llen Færa. Not anymore.

That being said, the next campsite being no more than two to three leagues away at any given time was a literal godsend, and Siri's faith had little bearing on how she or anyone else was able to benefit from it. It only mattered that she was respectful. No worries there — respect was the norm for a weapon of the Good Lords, especially when it served the mission or someone else was acting as a proxy.

The guards were incredibly efficient. They were already done pitching the tents and preparing dinner by the time Siri and Alvarik disembarked. Of course, instead of taking a modest approach to camping, Alvarik engaged Siri with enough conversation to satisfy a room full of gossips. It got to the point where Siri had to excuse herself out of fear the sun would be rising before he realised the time.

“Three more hours.”

*****

Siri barely remembered her head hitting the pillow. The sedatives were essential for giving her performance a degree of authenticity. Not so much for making her fall asleep, but rather for what came next. She was forced awake by the sound of steel on steel and the smell of burning flesh. It was finally happening, and Siri was unable to parse right from left. Her mind was hazy, like the smouldering embers of a dying campfire. Lots of smoke and barely enough heat to keep it going.

Fortunately, Siri’s training helped her function in spite of the confusion. At the same time, the haze of the sedatives was able to ensure her instincts were suppressed enough to stop her from becoming the weapon she was trained to be. For the mission to be successful, the knife had to be concealed.

That being said, as a lady of one of Alaran’s southern houses, Siri was not without the means to defend herself. She crawled out of her tent with a cloak and dagger and into the carnage. Bandits were attacking their campsite. Siri recognised a few of them. They were agents of the Good Lords, and this was their mission.

The guards were doing their best, but they were outnumbered and potentially outskilled. Alvarik was already bleeding. Without treatment, he was bound to die.

It wasn’t long before Siri earned the gaze of her assailants.

In Lord Alvarik’s retinue, there were seven guards tasked with keeping her safe. Siri only saw three in the chaos who were still standing. They were doomed. Even so, one of them offered Siri a confident smile. He wasn’t afraid.

“Stand back, milady. We’ll protec—”

The guard’s bravado was paid in full with an arrow to the throat.

That’s what he gets for lowering his shield arm and shifting his focus away from the enemy.

The two remaining guards were smarter. They even managed to land a few killing blows. Alas, there was only so much they could do to defend against a superior force, let alone coordinated assault following multiple different lines of attack. Their shields were broken, and their spears were missing.

Poor souls. They don’t even know who they are dying for.

With the guards eliminated, the majority of the bandits who killed them shifted their focus to what little remained of the fighting. There was one, however, who remained, ready to strike. Siri had to retaliate. It didn’t matter that they were both agents of the Good Lords. For the sake of the mission, they were enemies.

Siri doubted they were a Stoic or an Ardent. While the Caves were successful in triggering countless Awakenings, they were still a limited resource. The Good Lords wouldn’t sacrifice one of their best to help sell a lie when the sleeping were just as capable. Alas, any advantage Siri had from fighting a sleeping foe was nullified by the sedative in her veins. She couldn’t Resonate with her muted feelings. It was as if the fogginess in her mind was distorting the frequency of her soul. Even so, she had to act.

With her cloak ready to shield and conceal her, she took a few tentative steps towards the enemy. They were smiling. And unarmed?

Where is their dagger? Why are they just standing there? Why does my arm feel like it’s on fire?

All three questions were answered as she tried to raise her guard. The bandit’s dagger was settling in to her shoulder like the sting of a nettle bee. She was too slow. The bandit had to die.

Siri was delirious by the time she reached them. Her hands were bloody. Did she kill them? She couldn’t remember. Her mind was blank save for the thunderous call of the hunt.

Finally.