The silver frame of his dark round sunglasses caught the faint gleaming of those rays, strong enough to pierce through the cloudy sky. His hand traced the soft fabric of his meticulously tailored suit, driven more by habit and nervousness than conscious thought.

Gripping the metallic briefcase hanging from his hand firmer, he drew a last deep breath, attempting to quell his anxiety, like putting out a fire, and whispered a final prayer to his god. His first step was shaky, lacking his usual grace, but he gradually settled into a calm rhythm. Before he realized it, he had already crossed the threshold of the bank.

The building was a marvel of sheer unbelievable magnitude and exquisite design. The architect must have been a true master of his craft and an artistic genius, he wondered. Twin towers of pure glass, sparsely adorned with white marble that shimmered in the sunlight, reached skyward, spiraling around each other as if embracing.

The bank showcased the pinnacle of construction methods available in this era, an achievement beyond compare.

As he stepped past the building's boundaries, its sensory devices scanned him down to the bone, both mechanically and spiritually. He knew that if they detected the contents of his metal case, a fair trial wouldn't await him.

No, he'd be locked away, and the key would vanish into the gutters, never to emerge again. A surge of relief washed over him when no alarms sounded, no security forces rushed to pin him down.

The bank's ground floor was wide and seemingly simple, yet beneath its apparent plainness lay meticulous attention to detail. The marble floor and ceiling gleamed like mirrors, each surface polished to perfection.

With renewed confidence, he walked toward the receptionist—a woman chosen obviously for her beauty as much as her professionalism—seated behind a spotless-white desk curved against the far wall.

“Good day, sir. How may I assist you?” she inquired, revealing a row of impeccably white teeth.

“Good day. My name is Petridis Petropoulos. I have a meeting with Mr. Uliha scheduled,” he replied, matching her smile.

She nodded, and after a brief pause, she had located his appointment in the system. “Please make yourself comfortable in our guest lounge on the first floor. We hope, you enjoy your time with us. If there's anything you require, don't hesitate to ask; we'll do our utmost to meet your needs.”

He thanked her and walked over to a device resembling an ordinary elevator only in its function, not in its design. As he stopped on it, the small circular platform embedded into the ground gently propelled him upwards with a gradual release of spiritual energy. He wasn't sure if it was pure energy manipulation or if there were runes at work. Perhaps some of the domain of wind, maybe even gravity?

One thing stood clear: Only the Lord himself could afford such extravagant niceties, such as spending spirit-gems and rune inscription on unimportant things like this within the Dominion.

It was an extravagant display of wealth, much like the rest of the breathtaking building.

He chose a seat in a far corner of the lounge, affording him a view of the entire floor and, he mused inwardly, an opportunity to appreciate the vista through the building's expansive glass surfaces. His alititude granted him a view of the city stretching into each direction of the sky and seemingly beyond.

Slowly curling his forefinger, he tapped out an erratic rhythm on the marble armrest beside him, devoid of any recognizable melody or pattern. The tempo quickened, each tap chasing its predecessor with growing fervor, never quite catching it - an ever-accelerating cadence that spiraled into a blur. Then, almost abruptly, the rhythm ceased.

Petridis smiled and let out a satisfied sigh as he stood to meet Mr. Uliha, who had graciously extended the courtesy of leading him personally to his office.

Uliha seemed amiable, a nice fella, though he tended to talk a bit too much, offering tidbits of information that were neither valuable nor intriguing, and smiled a tad too often for it to be wholly genuine.

More than once, he inquired about Petridis' financial standing, subtly interweaving his questions into the conversation to assess his potential as a customer. It appeared, he gauged him valuable enough.

Of all things, Petridis was most certain about the genuine nature of the greedy grin, the first expression he thought true to Uliha's feelings, that played around the man's lips when he delved into his investment plans, elaborating on his ideas. A true banker, Petridis thought.

Sitting in Uliha's office, he weathered the man's inquiries, responding as anticipated and with just the right amount of skepticism. He initially appeared hesitant, given the substantial sum of money involved and watched with quiet amusement as Uliha became increasingly frantic in his attempts to persuade him.

Only after a sufficient number of concerned questions and detailed inquiries did Petridis finally agree, sealing the deal with a handshake. He left Uliha with a contented grin, though doubted it would last long.

Clutching his hands, he thanked the banker and exited, his metallic case leaned against the comfortable guest seat in the grand office. He glanced at his expansive wristwatch, reassured by the time, and lingered in the lounge for a few more seconds. After all, these were the final moments of the availabilty of this view, swiftly fading away.

Just as he was about to step onto the round platform and descend to the ground floor, preparing to leave the building, the shouts of Uliha froze him in his tracks. Panic surged through his mind, a torrent of countless thoughts overwhelming him before he ruthlessly suppressed them, cultivating an air of controlled detachment.

The shout lacked accusation, anger, or panic. Guards were nowhere to be seen, and Uliha wouldn't dare confront him alone. He might be a Conduit, but ultimately a feeble and pathetic one. So, Petridis smiled and turned around, arms wide in a gesture that didn't match the slight twitch of his brow or the dilation of his eyelid upon seeing the metal case Uliha carried.

"You forgot your case, sir," Uliha remarked, coming to a stop and extending the case for Peetridis to retrieve. Which he did, albeit after a brief hesitation. Struggling to keep the smile alive on his face was one of the most ardous challenges he'd ever been forced to undergo in his life, but he managed, if only just.

Plans and strategies for dealing with this unwelcome situation raced through his mind, and he berated himself for staying longer than necessary in this wretched building. He glanced past Uliha to the once-admired view, now a mocking specter of the past.

Almost at the edge of his consciousness, he noted that Uliha had resumed their previous discussion, elaborating further on the investment plans he had spun for Petridis. Unaware that these words, spilling from his lips like water cascading from a steep cliff, would be his last to utter, Uliha carried on.

Petridis' mind went blank as the clock signaled the agreed-upon time - his gaze unfocused, his soul still as ice.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

When nothing occurred - no deafening explosion erupted to engulf him, no floor shook beneath him, the building didn't topple - he phased back into reality. Without regard for the by now rather puzzled Uliha, he hastily opened the metallic case.

His eyes widened in surprise as he found only sheets inside, gently drifting to the ground like a light rain. He examined the case from all angles as if hoping that mustering it from each direction would reveal to him what he so fanctically searched for.

He found nothing, then his eyes widened even more as he noted with growing horror that the dark rune etched into his muscular back, engraved deep into his skin by hand and fire, the result of painstaking craftsmanship, began to heat up. He tried to move, but his strength deserted him. Stumbling, he fell like a marionette whose strings had been severed, collapsing on the ground as if ensnared in a spider's web.

Heat coursed through his body, stirring the energy surging through his veins. His very being surged, and he had but a timeless moment to send a final prayer to his god before the pressure became too much.

His life spilled from his body in a catastrophic release of raw energy. It ravaged through the stout walls, shattering the glass in an instant, and extended far into the sky beyond the building's boundaries, much like a child reaching for a distant toy.

Every ounce of energy within him, every spark in his body and even his soul, was extracted like mere fuel until all that remained was an eerie emptiness. He had never stood a chance, betrayed by the one he had trusted wholeheartedly, fated to follow in the footsteps of those he had vowed to vanquish and to face death with them stood together, side by side, as if bound by shared blood.

After even the last drop had been extracted from him, squeezed from him like juice from a fruit, his existence whisked out like candlelight. Darkness claimed him.

----------------------------------------

This morning marked the second recorded appearance of the terrorist organization known as RAD. The exact meaning of the initials and the true purpose behind their actions remained shrouded in mystery, but their devastating and brutally swift attacks continued to cast a shadow of fear over the 11st Dominion.

Simultaneously, three massive explosions had occurred, brought about not by ordinary bombs or even those of spiritual nature, but rather by humans themselves - Conduits that had undergone modifications on a fundamental plane, turning them into living weapons, willing to sacrifice their lives and souls for their nefarious cause. It was a heinous endeavor.

The noble family's reconciliation had been a grand affair, with an increased presence of guards flooding the city like a towering wave. Their watchful eyes extended far and wide, seaching and inquisitive, yet the members of RAD remained undetected, showcasing their remarkable ability to remain hidden even under intense scrutiny.

Days passed like slow, dragging anchors in the sea of uncertainty, their weight heavy on the hearts of the residents, fear clutching them.

There was an crackling thunder humming in the air, a tense energy that kept everyone on edge. It was a time of dread, tormenting many but not all.

Anthemion, as one of few, welcomed this change, this gift of momentary peace and freedom. People confined themselves to their homes, rarely venturing outside the safety of their quarters. Even the few guards patrolling his neighborhood had departed. It seemed the nobles had deemed their presence in this time of crisis better utilized elsewhere, though it was unclear whether it was because they believed the terrorists were not in this District or they considered the residents unworthy of their protective shield.

Either way, it made little difference to Anthemion. Even school had been closed for an unknown duration, thanks to some anonymous caller that had thought it funny to sent a terror threat to the Director. Although it was suspected to lack malicious intent, it was impossible to be certain. So, they had to take countermeasures and shut the school down.

Anthemion wholeheartedly thanked this unknown hero every day.

While some may resent this new life of solitude, Anthemion embraced it with open arms. The only times he left his house were on the orders of LUV, and otherwise, he relished the quiet time spent with his sister.

However, this period of relative peace came at a price. Confined to their small apartment and still seething with rage over the loss of his job, his father (if indeed he was his father) had become a serious threat to their well-being.

He lashed out at every inconvenience, giving in to his anger at the slightest provocation. Arguments between his mother and father erupted almost daily, their shouts reverberating through the apartment like crashing waves on the shore. It had reached a point where Anthemion took the unnecessary risk and ventured to a nearby electronics store to purchase the headphones his sister had dreamt of but deemed unattainable.

She had eyed him with mild suspicion, even asking if he had stolen the item. He waved away her concerns, and after offering a few compliments on how great they looked on her, the worries were dispelled and the cacophony of their parents' shouts drowned out, like annoying background noise.

Currently, Anthemion lay on his bed, dressed in loose pants and an oversized white T-shirt, scrolling through the depths of the internet in search of something funny to distract himself with. It was an exciting pastime, really.

Just as he found an interesting video to stave off his boredom, his phone rang, displaying a familiar name alongside the incoming call. He cursed under his breath and sat up in bed, his sense of catharsis shattered as he tensed.

"How're you doing, Lucian?" he answered the phone, making his best effort to keep his voice hushed.

A torrent of curses poured forth from the other end of the line, washing over Anthemion, before the man, obviously foaming with anger, managed to articulate some coherent words. Words that made Anthemion's hair rise and sent a shiver down his spine.

"There's been an attack! They're attacking us! Those damn bastards!"

Anthemion's brows greased, and for a moment he thought of the terrorists, but why would they target a criminal organization like LUV?

"Who's attacking us?" he inquired, his voice firm and steady, slicing through the man's emotional blubbering like a hot knife through butter.

There was a brief moment of heavy breathing. "Those bastards from Cargil. They stormed one of our farms, killed one of my goddamn friends—maybe even more, I don't know. I'll tear them apart!"

After taking a deep breath, the man continued on with his rant, but his anger now more controlled. "We need you! Hell, we need every man we can muster to strike back! To teach those bastards a lesson!"

He went on a bit further, vividly picturing with great detail and one might say even artistic skill what he would do to the assailants and especially their mothers. While Anthemion was certain of the man's distress, his anger appeared...fake, acted.

After a brief consideration, he filed this observation away, uncertain of its significance and what to make of it, continuing to listen as Lucian provided details about the location of the farm.

Well, the term "farm" was somewhat misleading as it implied a relative harmless building. In reality, it was a euphemism for an old, tattered factory that LUV used to produce a significant portion of their crystalline drugs.

Anthemion had always suspected its existence, as there had to be a place for their product to be manufactured. Hearing it spoken of so plainly confirmed his suspicions and worries. Undoubtedly, it was a place of great significance, serving as a pillar of their organization.

Its destruction would deal a substantial blow to LUV, one that would take a long time to rehabilitate from, if ever at all. While he certainly relied on the organization for his livelihood, he had no desire to be embroiled in a conflict of this magnitude—a battle in which even conduits might succumb, not to mention a schoolboy, whose combat skills and prowess had been honed through nothing but some adolescent brawls. His decision was final.

While he couldn't risk betraying LUV, fearing they might endure the attack and seek revenge on those who had ignored to heed their call in this dire hour, he resolved to do his utmost to keep as far away from trouble as possible.

He assured Lucian of his participation and assistance, then quickly donned a dark sweater made of the thickest, sturdiest fabric he could find. While it was unlikely to withstand a knife, pistol, or a spiritual enhanced assault, it might offer some limited protection against an ordinary attacker and take some edge out of a normal, physical blow.

Or so he hoped. On his way out, he silently fetched a large kitchen knife, hiding it on his boy.

Draped in darkness, he melded into the night's shadows as he made his way toward the factory, heading into the unknown. He moved swiftly enough to arrive in a reasonable time frame but still kept his pace slow enough as to extend his arrival as far as possible. He certainly didn't want to hasten his involvement in the unfolding chaos.