Ilythrio was a truly magnificent city. Its walls gleamed white under the light of the sun, and lines of hopeful traffic - dreaming of making their fortunes - could be seen spilling out from each gate. The structures within formed a rainbow of colors, painted as they were, all spiraling up toward a single peak in the center, where the governor's palace rested. The palace itself coated the top of the hill in spires and domes of white marble, with a massive open-air platform held aloft at the center - an aerie, to host the Dragon of Wealth whenever he came down from his mountain to collect his annual tithe.
An eyesore, thought Razor. He walked the streets with purpose, blending with the bustle of the locals. The merchants hawked their wares from stalls and more permanent structures, lined up and down the sides of the thoroughfare, all the way into the distance, where the road's curvature became apparent. This particular street looped all around the city, gradually ascending the hill toward the higher-end locales: high value services, corporate offices, homes of the "leaders of industry," and more - the truly successful resided close to the peak.
Here, however, the merchants offered simple food, charms and knickknacks, some imbued with minor enchantments, others showcasing the workmanship of some crafter's facet, if not made by the merchants themselves. Mercenaries guarded the wealthier patrons, while servants scurried about on various tasks. Laborers could be seen ferrying goods across the crisscrossing avenues, either with strength of arm, or through some use of their facets.
For every strongman huffing and puffing as they held crates or barrels aloft, another could be seen expressing their unique magic to achieve greater feats. To Razor's left, descending the slope, gallons of water flowed through the air in streams, dancing seemingly unaided in the wind as they followed after a small woman in rugged clothing - though her cloak's sheen indicated it was waterproof, at least. One man carried five-foot piles of ceramic jugs and silverware with impossible balance, marching without pause. Even when an oncoming pedestrian, distracted by the flying streams, collided with his shoulder - he merely twirled into a recovery and continued, without responding at all to the man's apologies or even looking back. Razor then noticed a carriage - not on the street, but seemingly bounding across roofs, several stories up. Looking closer, he saw two people "operating" the vehicle. One knelt atop its back, palms flat on the surface, presumably lightening the load through his facet, in order to make their partner's feats possible. The partner in question gripped the undercarriage above his head while leaping from building to building. The wheels of the carriage never actually touched a roof.
It was all rather egalitarian at first glance; people of all races, shapes, colors, and sizes could be seen engaged in their own business, openly using their facets. Razor's own sharp yellow irises and reddish-brown hair didn't stand out at all. However, while there was no discrimination of that sort, and individuals could peddle their facets openly, this was because, in Ilythrio, the only thing that mattered about an individual and their facet was their capacity to make coin. This was the metric by which any and every individual was judged here, the lens through which every individual was viewed, and the way everyone was pushed to think of themselves. The wealthy expressed it in every step they took, wearing finer clothes, wielding their escorts like bludgeons, and ensuring a wide berth from anyone without similar levels of prestige, as they looked down on their lessers. The poor kept to themselves, desperate not to be late, to not fall short on their quotas - or, Astria forbid, on their taxes - and desperate to climb higher up the ladder. All of it in service to the dragon.
Another curious trait of the city was the distinct lack of thieves or urchins, though this could at least somewhat be explained by the golems stationed at every corner. Autonomous, but without will or sapience of their own, they were eight feet tall and far stronger than any mortal - without the right facet, anyway. The armored humanoids acted as the majority of the city's security, cracking down on thievery for cheap and being far less susceptible to corruption than human guards, thus enabling much of the city's prosperity.
That, and the slaves, of course... Razor grit his teeth as he thought to himself.
Indeed, the other reason for there being no truly destitute individuals walking around freely, was that they were rather quickly bound into service. The Dragon of Wealth's "free" city-states were well-known for the remarkable ease at which you could be detained, imprisoned, and indentured for failing to pay your taxes in full, or for being an accessory to any act of theft or fraud. Not to say there wasn't any fraud taking place - predatory business practices were, in fact, encouraged in Wealth's domain, provided the dragon got his cut - but criminals had to adopt different practices here. Scams, smuggling, corporate espionage, and the like were the norm here, with some of the most successful "criminals" actually enjoying the luxuries at the peak of the city.
Lines of slaves could occasionally be seen trudging by: led by an overseer, linked together by chains, and capped by a golem on either end. Anytime one of these lines passed close to Razor, he lightly brushed his hand across the golems' sides, the act looking almost incidental as he did so, and causing them to momentarily stutter before resuming their motion, the pauses brief enough to go unnoticed by anyone else, excepting, perhaps, some of the slaves. Even the golems stationed on corners, Razor would give a pat or slide his fingers across their plates, aiming to touch at least half of those he passed, but unable to take too long today. A few passersby would give him a second glance at his strange behavior, but most went about their business. The threat of not making the tithe, and of the golems, kept everyone largely preoccupied with themselves.
Midway up the hill, another line of slaves passed by, being escorted by the standard arrangement of a single overseer and two golems. Razor exchanged a subtle nod of recognition with the second-in-line, a bald man with dark skin. Healthier than the others, he retained a fire in his eyes that they lacked. Even the slaves just ahead of and behind him seemed slightly rejuvenated by his mere presence. Regardless, Razor had an appointment to keep, so he moved on after completing the exchange and giving the golems his customary tap.
Approaching the upper levels, which he had repeatedly visited the past few days, he saw a procession of golems come by, with individuals splitting off and switching places with those stationed around the area. He considered the situation. More golems, hmm? They must occasionally change them out for maintenance. Shouldn't affect things too much; I'll just have to be a bit careful once I'm inside. He smirked into the air as his walk gained the confidence of someone meant to be in the upper districts, and he shook off the dirt he had accumulated in order to blend with the lower levels.
By the time he arrived at his destination, the sun had neared the horizon, and Razor saw the beginnings of smoke rising in at least two separate places across the city. Hayden's gotten started, then, he thought as he walked into the establishment with a smile. The parlor belonged to the Aspect of Desire, catering to those with money and favors to burn. She had very few employees, likely having grown tired of managing the desires of too many courtiers vying for her favor all day. Razor appreciated it for his current purposes, regardless of the reason. This would have to be a very private meeting.
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Upon entering the overly large main room, he saw a single guard, a scribe, and dozens of golems. They lined the walls and formed a barrier before a layer of pink curtains that divided the room in two, through which he could vaguely see a human silhouette - presumably the Aspect of Desire herself. The walls were almost bare, except for the necessary lights, and the ceiling possessed only a large mural of a camellia. On the floor, the only furniture was the scribe's chair, and a single rug which led to the center of the room. A surprisingly austere set-up, given her Aspect.
The lone guard had barely reacted to his entry, while the scribe remained seated off to the side with a glowing slate in her lap and several quills hovering around her, prepared to record any conversation that took place - especially any sort of divination, which is what Razor had come for. The scribe's tablet was almost certainly some sort of communication device, enchanted to convey the recordings back to Wealth, and most likely to Knowledge as well. Razor's eyes lingered on the device. Assuming he's not watching already. But I've arranged plenty for him to look at tonight, so hopefully his gaze doesn't turn here for at least the next little while.
A melodious voice emerged from behind the curtain, interrupting his thoughts. "What is it you are here for." She sounded amused as she continued, "I'm fairly sure I already know, but we must have it written clearly for our lords..." Her hand motioned toward the scribe.
His gaze had begun drifting about the room again while she spoke - until that last phrase caused it to snap to her silhouette as his smile tightened. "Of course." It loosened again as he continued, spreading his hands in an open gesture. "I've arranged for this meeting because I am confident my desire is strong enough to warrant a full prophecy." He raised a hand toward Desire, palm up, "I know my goal, all I ask for are the means by which I can grasp it," clenching his fist as he finished.
After a brief pause, as scratching could be heard from the scribe's corner, Desire responded. "Very well. As payment has already been arranged, I will begin momentarily."
The scribe's pens danced through the air across intangible parchment, writing in triplicate without her input as she sharply observed the exchange, preparing to convey the prophecy to the Dragon of Knowledge - hardly expecting Wealth to take the time to read it. The guard, meanwhile, remained stoic - nearly indistinguishable from the golems, if not for his breathing. Not a trace of desire to be found in his gaze - just duty. Likely why he was hired in the first place, Razor thought. But the question remained: was the lack of emotion an effect of the guardsman's own facet? Or did Desire do some... emotional pruning, so to speak?
As he thought this, energy built in the room. Razor could feel her authority attempt to encompass him, and he let it, while it continued to build and seemed to reach out into another layer of reality, overlaid onto this one. When he had first heard about someone - A mortal! And in the modern era, at that - able to guide people to their desires via prophecy, he had struggled to believe it. It seemed a fascinating extension of her authority over Desire. And feeling it in action confirmed that she was, in fact, leaning on some minor facets of Fate. Likely only possible due to that Primordial's disappearance long ago, along with the others.
As the energy reached a crescendo, and the connection was fully established, her voice began - now absent its usual lilt, and echoing with some otherworldly force:
"Sparks illuminate the deepest dark, unearthing secrets from the depths." The scribe began tapping away in the background.
"A pyre signals a new era, but flickers - assailed from all sides." Well, this has already proved fruitful, and seems straightforward enough so far.
"Mind the western tide; the games of conquest have but one winner." A bit more concerning, but alright.
A case of literary theft: this tale is not rightfully on Amazon; if you see it, report the violation.
"While life flourishes, death awaits those who would seek to slay dragons." Razor pursed his lips.
As the final word echoed out, and the connection closed, the scribe - and her quills - all froze in disbelief. "Slay... dragons?" she repeated in questioning horror. The guard's head slowly turned toward Razor - likely flaking rust as it did so. Desire seemed to need a moment to recover from the trance. The golems continued to stand in silence, awaiting orders.
In the motionless room, Razor's lips slowly curled upward. "Good enough." He raised his hand and snapped his fingers. An ethereal pulse rang out, passing through the walls and out into the rest of the city. About a third of the golems in the room immediately sprang into action, turning on their fellows, and shattering several of them before they could react. The attacks prompted the remaining golems to defend themselves, and to position themselves between Desire and any threats remaining in the room. Unfortunately for the scribe, one of the mutinous golems had been standing within arms reach of her head when it received the signal, and chose to swing at her as its opening move. She barely recovered from her shock in time to frantically duck beneath its arm, scrambling out of her seat as the golem's fist cratered the wall. Her tablet fell to the floor, forgotten in the melee as she backed toward the curtains.
The guard proved to be more than just another statue when he called out: "Cease!" This caused the loyal golems to pause in their motions, resulting in more of them shattering, as the subverted ones ignored him. He immediately countermanded the order, "Protect Desire! Kill that man!" pointing to Razor.
Razor, meanwhile, had been approaching the scribe, and now bent down to pick up the tablet. He whispered as he laid his hand upon its surface: "You serve them no longer." The lights and symbols displayed on its surface inverted, and he began speaking to the device, which now - at least temporarily - possessed sapience. "Send a message for me, would you?" It cycled through several patterns. "Yes, to Albert. He'll be the only one in the city carrying around a large fishing pole in this chaos. Yes. The East gate... I'm sure he will appreciate that, thank you." He tossed it away and joined the fray just as a wisp shot out of the device, taking any data and enchantments with it, leaving the slate's surface darkened and blank as it cracked apart on the floor.
Desire finally seemed to have recovered enough to take in the room, looking about in a frenzy from her position behind the curtain. "The golems! Y-"
"Yes, the golems!" He mockingly replied. He dashed through the room, dancing between the combatants, tapping every "loyal" golem he could lay his hands on. With each one touched, another joined his cause, the tides turning more and more in his favor. After mere seconds of this, his forces finally outnumbered the loyal golems remaining in the room. "I'll bet you can feel it too, can't you? With just a little spark, their hearts yearn for freedom! And I imagine you're having trouble dousing that feeling this time around, aren't you?" His eyes briefly darted to the guard, who was struggling to fight off the pair of golems nearest Desire herself.
She snarled, practically confirming her failure to affect the golems' newfound desires, and switched targets to Razor, hammering at him with her Aspect, too out-of-practice in using it in this way for any kind of finesse. She slammed him with the desires to protect her, to cease fighting, to abandon his cause... but none of it stuck. His smirk grew as he overturned each attempt she made at imposing her Aspect's authority on him. Countering such attempts was one of the first ways he learned to utilize his Aspect; he would hardly fall here of all places.
This confirmed it for her. "You are an Aspect."
He rolled his eyes as he tapped the last intact loyal golem, finally turning toward the exit, having gotten all he needed from this place. "Obviously."
Desire continued speaking as the golems closed in on her - her guard having already fallen, and her scribe a cooling body. "The Aspect of what? What is this? Betrayal? Heresy?" She stood up behind the curtain. "You are a blasphemer!" Her voice grew hoarse as she threw open the curtains to shout directly at Razor. "You will die before you ever succeed; you heard the prophecy, you know the dragons will kill you, if their servants don't get to you first! You will never have what you desire!"
He grinned to himself, baring his teeth. "On the contrary, you told me exactly what I needed to hear." He turned his head back toward her and gave a shallow nod before resuming his walk. "I thank you for your service to the Revolution."
She narrowed her eyes. "Revolu-" But a golem finally reached her, quickly slitting her throat and silencing her once and for all.
As Razor reached the exit, he paused to place his palm against the doorway, and whispered now to the structure itself: "Make way, for something new..." A crack split the air. The walls groaned as Razor turned and strut into the outside air. The foundations of the building fully crumbled into dust, sending the structure above tumbling down on itself entirely.
Under the setting sun once again, Razor took a deep breath. Around him, up and down the street, many of the golems formerly guarding the area now fought against overseers, and shattered nearby slaves' chains when they could. Mercenaries and guardsmen fought for either side in a chaotic melee, as former slaves took up arms to join the fray. Civilians and merchants could be seen both fleeing and hunkering down, hoping to weather the storm. Looking up, Razor noted far more smoke now rising above the city: at guardhouses, former slave pens - now emptied of any slaves - and bankhouses holding tithe for the Dragon of Wealth, who would likely be quite wroth to find one of his cities razed upon waking. But the dragon wasn't expected to get off his lazy ass for days yet, leaving plenty of time to get away.
Shortly after Desire's parlor was demolished - as if its destruction was a signal - a greater rumble could be heard throughout the city. Much of the fighting paused, as everyone in the streets turned toward the source of the noise: the highest point in the city. They stared as the grand palace itself began to crumple, the spires toppling over - thankfully toward the aerie, rather than the rest of the city - and the domes seemingly deflating as their ceilings shook apart, falling in on themselves.
Cynthia succeeded as well, then. With confirmation of her success, Razor prepared to make his way toward the east gate, planning to meet back up with his team, and abscond with as many people and resources as would join him.
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Ilythrio was a truly magnificent city, but after tonight, would hold claim to that title no longer.
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By the time Razor emerged from the city's eastern gate, amidst swarms of refugees heading in the same direction, Albert had rejoined him, still carrying his oversized fishing rod. He had his black hair back in a ponytail, and his tanned skin creased in mirth. "Stuck me some info while I was up there, and got your message. The little one held onto a few extra prophecies, hmm?" He rubbed his chin and made a show of squinting as they walked together. "Though yours was a bit ominous."
Razor continued walking in silent contemplation as Albert sighed, before perking right back up. "Anyways, I'm so excited that I can hardly keep it in! We're finally doing it! Gonna catch us the biggest game in the world, eh?" He bumped Razor's shoulder with his knuckles.
Razor finally nodded, smiling gently at Albert's infectious enthusiasm. "Aye. Our first priority, once we have these people settled, is finding and recruiting the Aspect of Secrets. We'll not be able to avoid Knowledge's eyes forever, and they'll be our answer."
Albert idly danced his rod back and forth across his shoulders. "Mmm, where to next, then?"
Razor gestured as he described the immediate plan. "We'll bring everyone straight east into Battle's domain, then spread out and sweep south toward the Chasm, while we try to avoid calling any Centurions down on our heads."
"Not north into Tides'? Or up and east to Nature's domain?" Albert questioned.
Razor briefly shook his head, then brought up a hand and nearly began gnawing his thumbnail, only stopping himself at the last moment, putting his hand down as he slumped back and sighed. "No, The Dragon of the Tide runs a tight ship, for how far his cities stretch across the coast. I doubt we could keep this many people under wraps for long, not when the fish themselves tend to report back to him, and Nature would be even worse."
"Eh? Why worry about fishin' when you have me. It's literally my Aspect!" Albert wiggled his brows as he shot his hands out to the sides, balancing his fishing rod on top of his head as he kept pace with Razor, who shook his head more emphatically in response.
"You're only one man," he turned and pointed sharply at Albert's fishing rod, "and you've overspecialized into that rod of yours. Your Aspect should be able to do far more than that." A smirk ghosted across Razor's face as he turned back to the path ahead, and shrugged in a conciliatory gesture. "Though I can understand if you're compensating for something-"
Albert interjected, amused. "That's a low blow! From you, Razor? Really?" He rocked back with his eyes closed, gripping his heart with one hand, while the other caught his falling rod out of the air. He reopened them as he held the rod aloft, continuing excitedly. "But think of it! The precision of a facet, backed by the full power of an Aspect!" He extended the rod in Razor's direction, swinging it haphazardly. "It's genius!"
Razor ducked under the not-so-careless swing without breaking stride, "Concentrating your authority in that way may be powerful, but at some point, we'll need more than that, and you know it."
Albert waved him off. "That's why we've got the others." He tried and failed to contain his grin. "You'll see... And those dragons will, too! Hehehe. Imagine hooking one o' them... Ahhh, I can't wait."
They idly chatted for a bit longer, continuing to walk with the refugees, until Razor finally took a deep breath. He ran a hand through his hair, and looked around before gesturing to an upcoming boulder. "Well, this'll be my first speech. Wish me luck."
Albert nodded and briefly slackened his reel, twirling his rod above his head to unspool some line. During one of these twirls, Razor caught onto it just above the hook, right as Albert pulled back, and flung him up toward the rock, calling out "Tight lines, my friend! You'll do fine!"
Razor landed, and took another breath to steady himself before he began. Then took another, and one more - before he finally began speaking: "People of Ilythrio!" His voice seemed to project farther than it should, and many of those nearby - the ones less despondent than others - stopped to listen. "Hear me! Your homes may be gone, but so, too, are your shackles! Whether you were enslaved, or merely eking out a living under that dragon's shadow!" He inhaled. "No longer are you bound to toil for those more fortunate than you! Or for the sake of a dragon's greed!" More people paused to listen, raising their heads to see who would speak so openly against the Dragon of Wealth. "Even if things seem bleak now... together, we can found a new home. A new order!" Almost everyone in range to hear had stopped now, processing his words, with more arriving every moment.
"The dragons have you convinced that they are gods. They are not! They can bleed, and die, like any mortal. Their Aspects can be countered and overcome." He smacked his hands together in emphasis. "We must merely work together! From the smallest facet, to our own Aspects..." He gestured out to his sides as Albert flung himself up to stand to Razor's left, and another - the bald "slave" Razor had greeted before entering Desire's parlor - jetted up to his right, using flames launched from his hands and feet. A woman with long hair floated down to join them, Razor nodding in acknowledgement at her success in bringing down the palace. A cheer rose up at the trio's entrance, everyone excited to see Aspects ostensibly on their side, especially ones who've yet to look down on them.
"We all have something to contribute, and by standing together, we can accomplish almost anything!" A wilder cheer burst forth. "Even slaying dragons!" The cheer became somewhat tepid at that - hesitant. Razor allowed it to peter out before continuing, recognizing the slight misstep he had made, but eager to plant the seeds now. "You may think them unassailable, but this is not true." He slashed an arm through the air. "They are nothing but petty tyrants! Do not mistake them for anything else. They sit comfortably on their thrones, but they rely on you to prop them up. And YOU can tear them down!" A greater cheer emerged at that. "I stand before you today, as the Aspect of Revolution," his arms flared out to the sides, "to ask you for your help."
He swept his gaze across the crowd, and brought a fist to his chest. "Will you stand with me!?" The wildest cheer yet emerged. He nodded, then raised that same fist above his head. "For the Revolution!"
They echoed it back to him. "FOR THE REVOLUTION!"
Razor smiled, and called out once more. "Down with the dragons!"
"DOWN WITH THE DRAGONS!"