II | THE HAZEL HOUSEHOLD
Western Realm, Huston Archipelago
The sun beat down on a cacophony of smells: fish, sweat, and something faintly sulfurous. The harbor teems with life. Raggedy ships groan against docks, crammed with crates promising exotic spices and dubious fortunes. Hawkers bark their wares from obsidian amulets, vials of glowing liquid, and maps with many markings.
Light, pale and sickly, dripped through a tattered awning, illuminating the warped cobblestones beneath Marain’s boots. Each uneven step echoed in the silence, broken only by the distant caw of a scavenger gull.
Masta Caklo, a port city whispered in taverns and choked alleys across the archipelago, was one of her village midwife’s fireside tales had warned her against. Eliana clutched her faded satchel tighter, its contents pressing against her ribs. Every shadow seemed to hide a pair of eyes, and every groan of the wind felt like a muttered curse. The place was not for a young woman like her.
A figure, draped in rags the color of dried blood, slunk from a doorway, eyes gleaming with predatory hunger. Marain quickened her pace, her heart hammering a frantic tattoo against her ribs. She’d heard the whispers of men who crossed paths with the city’s denizens: “found in the harbor, throat slit, pockets empty.”
She stumbled into a bustling plaza, a bunch of hawkers and beggars assaulting her senses.
A wizened crone, her face a map of broken veins, cackled over a cage of squawking parakeets. A dockworker, tattooed with an octopus that seemed to writhe on his skin, bellowed at a passing cart piled high with crates of dubious origin.
Marain swallowed, her throat as dry as the cracked earth underfoot.
She took a deep breath, the briny air stinging her lungs. No turning back now.
“Miss, out of the way…” Marain’s breath hitched in her throat as a young man’s voice cut through. He towered over her, a pair of inhumane white pupils under the scattered light. A clothed pegasus beside him, its coat like newly fallen snow, snorted a plume of steam that misted the air around them.
“Hehe… lost, little lamb?” The ashen-eyed youth, his white pupils seeming to pierce the shadows, leaned against his spectral steed, amusement twisting his thin lips. “This place has a way of swallowing whole the unwary!”
Marain forced a swallow, the dust of fear coating her throat like sandpaper. “I… I’m looking for someone,” she croaked.
The youth’s smile widened, sharper than a chipped blade. “Ah, a seeker. And what fortune are you willing to give?”
Marain’s fingers clenched around the worn leather of her satchel. Her coin purse had already been emptied by the ferryman’s extortionate grin.
“I… I have nothing,” she confessed, shame burning hotter than the midday sun.
The youth’s laughter, high and brittle, echoed through the plaza, drawing curious stares from the denizens. Marain flinched, a mortified blush crawling up her neck.
“Nothing? This is where we’ll part ways.”
With a shaky breath, Marain straightened her spine and clutched her leather dress, forcing a flicker of defiance into her voice. “Wait! I don’t have money yet,” she said walking up to him, her voice hasty, “but once we find my father! I promise he will reward you handsomely!”
The trio walked across the busy road exchanging words, and of course, troublemakers who crossed them were killed along the way, from stealing youths and gangs to violent beggars.
From the ancestral island, Aegis and Snow had traveled a full day across water nonstop. They were a little damp upon arrival, and for some reason he was feeling unwell.
Marain’s curiosity overflowed like a tidal wave, crashing upon Aegis with a barrage of questions. “Why are your eyes white?—Are you human?—Are you from space?” her eyes darted from the unusual white pupils to the vast expanse of the harbor. “And look at that fish! It’s twice the size of any back in our village!”
“Heh. My eyes see beyond the mundane, and my origins are above; I am a god-warrior from beyond!” his fingers pointing skyward. The pegasus by his side shifted its weight; there were two suspiciously clothed things.
“Is that so?” Marain found amusement in his words.
A gang suddenly emerged from a shadowy alley, their faces concealed by tattered scarves. The leader, a burly figure with a twisted grin, stepped forward, blocking their path. “Why’s a fancy lad like you strutting through our territory, eh?” he sneered, eyeing Aegis with suspicion.
Aegis, seemingly unfazed, raised an eyebrow. “We’re just passing through. No trouble intended.”
The gang leader chuckled, revealing a row of yellowed teeth. “Passing through, huh? Well, that ain’t free around here. Gotta pay the toll, pretty boy.”
Marain watched in disbelief as Aegis, who had effortlessly dispatched troublemakers earlier without exchanging a word, suddenly pointed a finger at the gang leader. However, to her surprise, nothing happened.
“My essence pool has run out!” Aegis looked at her with panic, his voice carrying a note of frustration. Snow snorted, as if understanding Aegis’s “predicament.”
The gang leader, sensing an opportunity, sneered. “Out of tricks, are ya? Looks like you’ll have to pay the toll the hard way!”
Aegis and Snow, alongside the pirates, engaged in a chaotic brawl. Blades swung, fists flew, and sorcery crackled through the air. Marain, initially dumbfounded, quickly realized she couldn’t stand idly by.
“Help us!” he shouted at Marain, his eyes urging her to join the struggle.
Snow, the pegasus, displayed surprising agility, kicking and biting at the pirates, creating openings for Aegis and Marain to exploit.
Marain was surprised by Aegis’s ability to dispatch opponents barehanded, a stark contrast to his earlier reliance on sorcery.
Some of the gang members managed to escape, leaving the alley in disarray. Aegis wiped a bead of sweat off his forehead as they continued.
Beside them, a stall sold refreshing drinks. Aegis approached the stall took a flagon and poured himself a drink from a wooden jug. Marain, catching her breath, observed with curiosity as he took a sip.
However, her realization struck like a sudden storm. Panic flashed across her face. “My satchel! It’s gone!” she said, searching frantically upon her body.
Aegis, enjoying a moment of respite with a drink in hand, suddenly choked on his sip as Marain exclaimed about her missing satchel. His eyes widened, and he hastily explained, “It must have been taken by the gangs that escaped during the scuffle!”
Snow, snorted in disagreement.
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On the Wudol town fishing docks, inside a certain Lord’s den, a man was kneeling before a youth, a stance of ant pleading for mercy.
How could ordinary mortals fight against sorcerers?
“She has left the land, young lord; that’s all I know!”
Aegis, loomed over the kneeling man.
“Please, young lord,” the man whimpered, his voice cracking like dry wood. “I swear, I don’t know! She took a ship one day after the festival."
Where did she go? Mind thinking of a woman he considered a mother in his life.
He left the den and met Marain outside. They walked out of the wooden warehouses and back to the fish-stenched streets.
Marain’s nerves had settled, replaced by a strange sense of calm. Beside her, the ashen-eyed youth, Aegis, strode with a quiet grace, his pegasus at his side.
She lifted her chin, the sunlight dappling through the awnings and painting her face with fleeting stripes of gold. A black eye and brown hair, usually a tangled mess, were now pulled back into a loose braid, escaping in wisps around her face.
Her dress, a faded earth, clung to her slender frame, the worn leather of a distant village and windswept hills.
The creaking wooden planks of Captain Fingers’ dock whispered tales of its namesake, the captain himself, who navigated the seas with an extra digit on each weathered hand.
And that’s when Marain saw them. A group of men wielding blades, burly and tattooed, leered from a shadowy corner, their eyes glinting with intent. They were members of the Blade Sharks, infamous for their cruelty and loyalty to Marain’s father, the pirate captain she was desperately searching for.
These men weren’t mere beggars or thieves; they were dangerous.
Then, faster than a blink, the world flickered. A crack of thunder echoed, sharp and sudden, and one of the Sharks crumpled to the ground, smoke curling from a blackened hole in his chest.
Marain stood frozen, witnessing the scene many times. Aegis had only flicked a finger, yet the man was gone, dispatched.
Aegis’s pale gaze flickered across the remaining men, pinning them like insects in a web. “Tell your captain that she seeks an audience. Do not delay.”
The Sharks, faces paled with fear, nodded frantically and melted back into the throng of many curious onlookers.
The silence that followed was absolute, broken only by the distant cry of a gull. Snow shifted beside Aegis, a soft whicker escaping its nostrils like a sigh.
From the shadowy mouth of a nearby wooden structure, a figure emerged. He was a hulk of a man, weathered and scarred like an ancient galleon. His beard, a tangled mass of seaweed-black hair, hid the lower half of his face, but his eyes, burning like twin orbs of molten amber, were all Marain saw.
“A lightning wielder, eh?” his voice a foghorn cutting through the silence.
“Captain Fingers,” a Shark stammered, “there… there they are!”
Captain Finger’s gaze, hard as flint, swept over Aegis and Marain. The pegasus snorted, a plume of steam billowing a silent challenge.
“Lightning-wielder,” his voice tinged with a pirate’s drawl. “You are not an everyday sight in these parts. What brings you to my humble domain?”
He glanced at Marain, his gaze lingering on the braid that cascaded down her back. A flicker of recognition, then, in the depths of his eyes, a dawning realization.
“Marain?” His voice, roughened by years at sea, was a whisper on the wind. “Is it… is it truly you?”
Marain could only stare at her father, a ghost from a forgotten story. His eyes held a flicker of warmth, battling the hard flint that had hardened around them in his years at sea.
Aegis, still as a statue, with his eerie white pupils, remained silent. A slight yawn that misted his eyes, “I require a ship.” His words fell like raindrops into a still pond. Aegis’s gaze met the captain’s unwavering stare. “A ship now,” he held up his right arm, counting his fingers, “and the crew to sail it. Cooks, servants, and I’ll be on my way.”
Marain flinched, surprised by the abrupt shift.
Captain Fingers raked a hand through his tangled beard. The sea breeze sighed through the rigging of nearby ships.
“A ship, eh?” Captain Fingers’ voice rumbled, “and what would a sorcerer, with a spectral steed, want with a vessel of mine?” adjusting his left cuff.
“I need rest,” he said, his voice a low murmur that carried on the wind. “A journey to the mainland cannot be done with only the both of us."
He grunted, making a sound like the groan of timbers in a gale. “A ship,” he muttered, more to himself than to them. “And the crew to sail it—cooks, servants, the whole damn menagerie.” He sighed. “Losing a ship weakens a man. But there are debts, even between fathers and daughters.” He knew he had led her safely after all.
The silence stretched, and Captain Fingers reached up, a hand brushing a stray strand of hair from her forehead. Rough yet surprisingly gentle, he sent a jolt through her, familiarity igniting the ashes of their broken connection.
Aegis and Snow stood on the wooden pirate ship, surrounded by the hustle and bustle of the crew preparing for the journey. Ropes hung like cobwebs, and rags fluttered in the salty breeze. Captain Fingers introduced Aegis to a man renowned for his culinary skills, originally from distant kingdoms but, due to troubles, now seeking refuge in the chaotic haven of Masta Caklo. He had decided to join the crew, adding his talents to the eclectic mix of characters on board. The crew now numbered six, a motley assortment ready to set sail.
“Goodbye! Promise to see me soon, kay?” Marain gave a wave with a warm smile.
“Right,” Aegis replied indifferently, his stoic demeanor unchanged. They disembarked from the ship, and as the vessel prepared to set sail, Aegis’s indifference transformed into a rare smile, a subtle expression that spoke of unexpected joy, like someone who had just won a lottery.
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Inside his mind, a god seed! Staring at the satchel in his hands. The vessel creaked and groaned as it left the harbor, sailing into the open sea with Aegis, Snow, and the newfound crew on board. She seemed to have no knowledge of what this thing was, yet Aegis took it from her would remove her any harm from others. She had shown no sign of any skill in the art of sorcery, as far as he could tell.
Parting immediately, the ship he was given relied primarily on wind; he used the wind totem he had by chance to increase the speed.
Aegis stood on the deck, clutching a wind totem in his hands. As he activated it, a surge of power emanated, causing a small, visible drain on his essence pool. With a determined gaze, he extended his other hand forward, commanding the wind. The air around him stirred, and a breeze turned into a gust, billowing the sails of the pirate ship. Not satisfied with the initial display, Aegis pushed harder, urging the totem for more power. The wind responded, growing stronger and more turbulent. The sails strained against the force, almost reaching the point of tearing apart and breaking.
The totem was unending, one of the artifacts he stole from his grandfather, and together with the crew, they besieged a famous ship powered by clockwork.
Two bloodied and powerful sorcerers kneeled before Aegis, their faces marked with fear and submission.
Aegis, standing tall and formidable, stared down at them with cold determination.
“Swear upon Malethros!”
“Right! Right! We swear on the curse god Malethros,” the powerful figures uttered in quaking fear and coughing blood. Their voices trembled, and the weight of the god’s name seemed to bring immense fear. “We will never reveal anything that happened!”
But Aegis wasn’t satisfied. His eyes intensified, and with a swift, decisive motion, he stomped one of the kneeling figures to the ground.
“That’s not it,” Aegis said. The remaining sorcerer’s eyes widened in terror. “Swear upon that you will obey all my orders.”
Adding the sails and the stolen wind relics, the ship sliced through the ocean.
Aegis stood in a candle-lit chamber, golden seed cradled in his gloved hand.
“Rejection?” Aegis mused, his voice a low murmur as he scrutinized the divine artifact. The golden seed, a symbol of immortality, lay dormant in his palm.
God seeds are as rare as the fabled mythical weapons. A bloom promised only agelessness—false god, demi-god, false divinity—they were called many things. But it was not the coveted cloak of true immortality but a step into it.
Frustration etched lines on Aegis’s face as he attempted to refine the god seed, but the attempt yielded only rejection. The artifact even resisted his touch.
“Why would it reject me? Am I not mortal?”
“This damned headache again!” Aegis exclaimed, the pain throbbing in his temples.
The sun cycled into twin moons, the Huston Archipelagos shrinking behind them. Landfalls on two minor continents punctuated the journey, each a pit stop for their voyage. Soon, the final landmass before the mainland will come into view.
Land of Brahmana, Delago Barme
He disembarked from the ship at a small harbor and directed the crew to carry out maintenance. His purpose for stopping on this continent was to visit the Hazel House.
Hazel House was known as a household of alchemists. He believed they held the cure to his relentless headaches. The pain, persisting for many nights and days, was torment. It was likely connected with his father’s mysterious actions. He remembered how his father had always been reticent about his origins. It seemed as though he wanted him to unravel the mystery on his own.
Resting inside a chamber on a small castle, the windows were open, and twin moons were peeking. He always felt more at ease under the night sky, comforted by the moons presence. Looking at the lit town below, a deep concern lingered in his mind. The whereabouts of Gealra, a woman he considered as his mother, was unknown. Given the vastness of the world, he couldn’t help but wonder if they would ever meet again.
He awoke, and with the mountains singing Snow’s name, A midday launch set them soaring above towns and cities, the lives unfolding below—cliffs, fields, lakes, forts, and farms—until the main city and royal palace finally pricked the horizon, a jewel against the sky.
As Snow dipped down, the grand panorama of the royal capital spread beneath them. A bustling line of carriages and mounts snaked towards the majestic gates, with heraldic banners and some guarded by various armored knights and sorcerers. Instead of joining the queue, Aegis directed Snow towards a smaller gate with a few queues reserved for high nobles and dignitaries.
He'd acquired a set of forged trade documents during their last loot, depicting him as a very prestigious young merchant visiting from factions beyond. The parchment smelled faintly of cinnamon and ink, and the official stamps were almost perfect replicas. It wasn’t his preferred means of entry, but expediency often required compromise.
Landing with a graceful, silent thud, Aegis dismounted Snow, her coat shimmering in the afternoon sun. He adjusted his crimson cloak, a recent addition to his repertoire for blending in with the upper class, and strode towards the noble gate.
The guards, tall and stern in their gleaming breastplates of silver, scrutinized him as he approached. He met their gaze unflinchingly, the pale glow of his eyes momentarily disconcerting them. With ease, he presented the forged documents with the captain’s signature.
Finally, the bearded guard nodded, acceptance in his eyes. “Welcome,” he said in Lumen, returning the documents. Aegis hailed from the Western Realms, where he was taught the lore, the ways, and the words of the realms across the sea. He knew four languages that were spoken by many, but foremost, he spoke the Lumen tongue, the language of all.
As Aegis passed through the gate, he heard varieties of language spoken, and a sense of pristine order washed over him. Unlike the bustling, earthy chaos of Masta Caklo, the royal capital pulsed with a clean, sterile perfection. The streets were polished, devoid of a single scrap of refuse. Citizens, clad in crisp garments, moved with a practiced grace; their faces didn’t show worry or want. Buildings, constructed from a uniform pale blue marble, stretched skyward, each rooftop adorned with a whimsical spire or rounded dome. Even the traffic flowed with ease, with carriages drawn by sleek stallions and various mounts in harmonious processions. The air held a faint whiff of lavender and sandalwood.
Hazel Household is a devoted follower of the revered Great Priest Eldred. Despite Eldred’s teachings influencing countless lives, no statues were constructed of him, honoring his peculiar request. Eldred, a priest who preached the essence of humanity, refrained from any depiction that might misconstrue his essence as divine.
Atop Snow, he was merely a distance from the royal gates that shielded the palace. Hooded silver-armored sorcerer warriors on Griffinback were guarding, and some even eyed him suspiciously.
Then he felt the world hold its breath.
A sudden tremor swept through the ground. He stared as the sky darkened with the flapping of wings. Five figures, colossal and terrifying, descended from the heavens, their reptilian bodies shimmering in the afternoon sun. Wyverns, unmistakable creatures of the Dragonira Empire, landed with bone-jarring thuds in front of the gate, their razor-sharp talons scraping against the floor. Their heads, each with a crest of wicked horns, swiveled to scan the assembled crowd, their eyes flickering with an unsettling intelligence.
The Dragonira Empire, a sprawling dominion that held much of the mainland in its iron grip, was renowned, particularly in the art of Dracantia Arcana.
The wyverns disgorged their riders. Armored figures, draped in cloaks of deepest crimson, emerged, their helms resembling a dragon and obscuring their faces. One, taller and more ornate than the others, stepped forward, his hand resting on the hilt of a sword that pulsed with an eerie violet light. A hush fell over the crowd.
The many sorcerer-warriors riding majestic griffins were alarmed. The tension was thick enough to choke on.
Aegis rode Snow at the side, pale eyes gleaming like chips of ice in the sudden gloom. Why the Dragonira? Why now? No fanfare, no royal delegation—this was a power play, raw and unashamed. Surely, a whisper in the ear would have sufficed.
Aegis dissected his words with the precision of a scalpel. War, they claimed, a demon army ravaging their eastern lands. Alchemist expertise, their desperate plea.
“Demons,” Aegis scratched an itch on his abdomen, “a trouble indeed.” He let his pale gaze linger on the figure’s helm. “Why, esteemed emissary, would the mighty empire require mere alchemist aid?”
“We seek no alliance, sorcerer,” he hissed, the forced calm in his voice betraying his unease. “Merely the services of skilled alchemists; their talents are vital to our… victory.”
The war Isn't going as they’d hoped. Aegis smirked, savoring the subtle tremor in the envoy’s hand. “Victory,” he mused, “how… prudent. And yet, tell me, why is it the Hazel House, here in this capital, you seek? Surely your own alchemist—”
“Many were indisposed,” he spat, his carefully crafted facade crumbling. “A… regrettable incident involving… certain volatile reagents.”
Then, a ripple in the gates. A woman in a flowing dress of blue, a ruffled overskirt of white, and a green ribboned mantle with stitch markings of gold, the sigil of the Hazel House emblazoned on her chest, pushed through the throng. Her gaze, sharp as a diamond, met the Dragonira leader’s.
“Why come here,” the woman’s voice, a crystal chime, “to a kingdom barely a speck on your map—”
“You have allies enough to rival our own.” The Dragonira leader’s lips curled in a humorless smile. “A conflict beyond our borders threatens the world. Our alchemists, stretched thin, cannot cope. We require the Hazel House’s expertise. It is a request, one of utmost urgency, from Her Imperial Majesty, the Empress herself.”
A voice, sharp and precise, cut through the tension. A woman, regal in an emerald strapless dress, a thin golden necklace, a jewel of gold clasped on her neck, and sleeves billowing with tiered layers, emerged from the imposing structure behind her. “Astera of the Hazel House,” she declared with majesty, her voice carrying across. “And we are honored by the Empress’… request. However, our resources are currently dedicated to matters of vital national importance.”
“Matters of national importance?” the leader sneered, his voice dripping with barely veiled contempt. “Do you not recognize the gravity of the Empress’ plea? It threatens humanity, and we will not shoulder this burden all on our own!”
“Humanity, you say? A concern from an empire built on the subjugation of countless realms.” Her voice, though melodious, held the chilling edge of a honed blade. “We, of the Hazel House, prioritize the well-being of our own first. And for your information, those ‘matters of national importance’ involve a growing darkness on our own borders, courtesy, I might add, of your ‘scouring’ campaigns beyond the Separation.”
The Dragonira leader, his carefully crafted composure cracking, let out a low growl. “Do not presume to lecture us on matters of war, Lady Astera! Our actions are necessary to maintain the balance that keep the demons at bay!”
Astera’s lips curled into a cold smile. “Balance? Or simply your insatiable hunger for dominion? You claim to fight demons, yet I see only the smoldering ruins of kingdoms in your wake, and innocent blood staining your blades.”
The crowd stirred, murmurs rippling through. Even the stoic seemed to shift uncomfortably, a flicker of doubt flickering in their eyes. The Dragonira leader, sensing the tide turning against him, resorted to a final, desperate gambit.
“Very well.” One of the figures in armor behind him hissed, his voice laced with barely concealed fury. “If you refuse the Empress’ plea, consider yourselves outcasts—people who turned their backs on humanity in its need. The world will remember your cowardice.”
Aegis, however, had heard enough. With a flick of his wrist, a bolt of crackling purple energy arced through the air, striking the Dragonira emissary, who spoke with a deafening clang. The blade shattered, sending shards of enchanted metal flying. The armored figure stumbled back, his crimson cloak billowing; beneath the metal were eyes wide with shock and fury.
“How predictable,” Aegis drawled, his voice a silken thread with ice. “And perhaps foolish.” He leaned forward, his pale eyes boring into the Dragonira leader’s soul. “Do you truly believe the Hazel House’s reputation rests on your flimsy words?”
Astera, a flicker of frown in her eyes, turned to Aegis. “And who might you be, young sorcerer, to speak with such authority?”
Astera’s frown deepened, suspicion replacing the flicker of interest that had momentarily sparked in her eyes.
Aegis, however, remained unfazed, his pale eyes gleaming with an unsettling detachment. “Authority, Lady Astera,” his voice lilting like a desert wind, “is rarely granted, merely claimed. And sometimes,” he added, his smile a mere twitch of his lips, “even a flick can topple a mountain.”
“So, are you simply a self-proclaimed champion, sorcerer, or do you possess the strength to back up your words?” A man in royal sleeveless clothes of hazel spoke, his voice dripping with thinly veiled rage.
“Strength,” he chuckled, the sound a cold tinkling of ice. “What appears as a storm to one, is merely nothing to another. I assure you, my motives, are far less… conventional.”
Astera’s eyes shifted barely a smidge, her hand instinctively gripping her scepter. Aegis had thrown the already volatile situation into full chaos.
The Dragonira leader, his rage barely contained, snarled, “You dare interrupt the Empress’ envoy! You will pay dearly for your insolence!”
“I’m well aware; I’m not easily frightened by threats.”
With a flick of his wrist, another bolt of crackling energy pulsed from his fingertips, bathing the plaza in an eerie purple glow. It whipped past the heads of the envoys, scorch marks blooming on the pristine pillar where it struck.
The Dragonira leader, his face melted into fury as he grew wings of crimson flesh and lunged forward, his hand drawing the hilt of a blade pulsating with energy. But before he could strike, Astera intervened with a thud of a scepter, her emerald robes swirling like a storm cloud.
“Hold,” she commanded, “this is not your domain.”
His muscles straining against the leash of her words, he gazed at her and then at Aegis. “Fine,” he spat, his voice laced with venom. “But let this be a warning. Cross us and you will face the full wrath of the Empire.”
He turned to his companions, who mounted their wyverns. With a final glare at Aegis and Astera, they took to the air, the flapping of their monstrous wings rattled every hair.
Garzel, Lord of the Hazel House, stepped forward, his voice booming over the stunned silence. “Your petty tricks may impress children, but they hold no weight here. State your purpose or be banished.”
“My purpose, dear Lord,” Aegis crooned, “Is only an understanding to myself.”
Astera, emerald eyes narrowed to pinpricks, studied Aegis like a rare beetle pinned under glass.
“Understanding to yourself, you say? From one who wields such destructive force.” Her voice, though melodious, dripped with suspicion.
“Destructive? Or merely, misunderstood? Power, Lady Astera, is a tool. Its purpose depends on the hand that wields it.”
Garzel’s beard bristled like a boar facing a charging rhino. “Enough riddles! State your need or suffer the consequences!”
Aegis tilted his head, a guileless smile playing on his lips. “Surely a man of your intellect appreciates the intricacies of words, Lord Garzel?” He glanced at Astera, her fiery gaze boring into him like a hot poker. “And Lady Astera, your skepticism is a fascinating study in human doubt. Hehe, my intentions are as pure as the driven snow,” he added, his voice dripping with saccharine sweetness.
Astera’s hand tightened around her scepter, her knuckles white with barely contained fury.
Garzel’s voice was a low growl. “Then perhaps you can explain how sowing discord qualifies as ‘innocent intentions’?”
The crowd, which had been simmering with tension, erupted in a wave of angry murmurs. Some, particularly the younger ones, found Aegis’s audacity amusing, a welcome break from the stifling seriousness of the council. Others, especially the older and more conservative, saw him as a dangerous jester, toying with forces he barely understood.
“The Human Crystal,” Aegis interrupted, his voice soft yet cutting through like a scalpel. Silence descended like a suffocating blanket. The Human Crystal, a legendary artifact said to hold the essence of humanity itself, was guarded with almost religious fervor by the Hazel House.
Garzel’s face drained of color. “The… the Human Crystal?” he stammered.
Aegis spread his hands, a mocking smile twisting his lips. “Im afraid you don’t have much of a choice; the geezer owes us something big after all.” The formality evaporated from his voice as he dangled an intricately forged silver dagger.
The dagger was originally his grandfather’s; he had stolen the thing and given himself a beating. He had remembered scraping off the callouses on his feet, and his grandfather claimed it belonged to a great figure, Noble Priest Eldred, The Great Sage of Humanity, who owed him a very huge favor. One of the tales his grandfather had told him about. He’d fondly recall perching on a weathered wooden log—then? —What happened! —How? —More! More! While gazing through the flickering visage of his grandfather with a huge smile amid the sizzling of flames, he’d actually saved the geezer once from falling into lava.
Aegis, sensing the impending storm of hostility, he was merely pissing them off, but he had pushed the limits. Unfriendly gazes bore into him like drawn arrows.
Aegis harnessed the swirling currents of his essence pool, forging a lightning smoke screen that billowed around.
Aegis and Snow shot off into the distance, leaving behind falling feathers.
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Old Monkey, his face twisted in a scowl, brandished a wooden brush as he scrubbed the baby pegasus’s butt.
Conned, I tell ya!
Old Monkey bellowed inside, the baby pegasus, fluffy and indignant, wriggled in protest as soap suds flew in all directions.