Esmeralda and Aon crept through the kitchen, staying alert for any guards or traps Balrik might have left behind.

“Clear,” an Arzan agent who had gone in ahead of them said.

Esmeralda noticed Aon relax slightly before sheathing his longsword.

“Without a doubt, this is Balrik’s handiwork,” Aon commented.

Esmeralda followed the Grang agent’s gaze to a large, pressurized vat, typically used for producing potions or poisons on a large scale.

Esmeralda turned to see a tall pile of flour on the table. She walked over to it and ran her hand through it. Balrik must have made the meal for the party himself.

She recalled the time he baked her an elaborate multilayered cake for her eleventh birthday. He always claimed that cooking was just alchemy with less risk.

“Bag some of that flour, and let’s get going. The agents should be in position by now,” Aon said, snapping Esmeralda from her thoughts.

She scooped some flour into a paper bag that the Vestigare used to collect evidence. Though she doubted it would prove useful, she figured Aon noticed her fixated on it and told her to grab it just to move things along.

Esmeralda caught up with Aon as they approached the mansion, and before they entered, he turned to her and the other agents.

“There should be Balrik, five Tazens, and a Xandran disguised as caterers. The Xandran is our operative, and we must get him out safely. I cannot stress that enough. We have to get him out alive and unharmed. The Vestigare—and the Five Kingdoms—owe this man an incredible debt, and we start repaying that by getting him home. Is that understood?”

Esmeralda and the agents nodded in understanding. Aon, seemingly satisfied with their response, added,

“Good. Balrik is our main target, but stay sharp—watch for the Tazens. I’ve got agents on the roof. We move when they breach. Now follow, and stay quiet. We can’t give Balrik time to prepare.”

They made their way down the long hallway, and once at the door, Aon cracked it open just enough to see Balrik holding a dagger to the throat of a rotund Xandran woman, explaining something to the crowd that she couldn’t hear at this distance.

Despite everything Esmeralda had uncovered about Balrik over the past few weeks, she couldn’t help but be impressed by how he commanded a room full of the Five Kingdoms’ richest and most powerful. She caught herself praying for his success—a dangerous reflex she had to break if she wanted to survive this encounter.

A young Xandran woman near the front of the crowd raised her hand and unleashed a stream of fire. She doubled over in pain, causing the flame to miss its target.

Esmeralda flinched to move, but Aon stopped her path with his arm without taking his eyes off Balrik.

After the failed attack, Balrik appeared to strike an agreement with the crowd and bent to retrieve the dragon egg when, suddenly, the stained glass skylight shattered. Two crossbow bolts slammed into him—one in the shoulder, the other in the thigh. The force of the bolts spun him around, causing him to drop his dagger.

Without hesitation, Aon sprang from his crouching position, slamming the doors to the hall open.

“Vestigare! Lay down your weapons, and you will live,” Aon shouted, clearing his longsword from its sheath.

Esmeralda followed the older agent’s lead and ran into the hall, unsheathing her short sword.

Two agents repelled from the broken stained glass skylight, and the agents behind Esmeralda fanned out behind Esmeralda and Aon. Aon made hand gestures telling the two other agents to secure half of the room before signaling to Esmeralda, instructing her to follow him.

They moved with the purpose of closing in on Balrik. As they approached where Balrik fell, a wiry Tazen with a short sword sprang over a long table, scattering food everywhere.

Esmeralda noticed Balrik scrambling to his feet.

“Go!” Aon commanded, positioning himself between the Tazen and Esmeralda so she could chase after Balrik.

As Esmeralda sprinted ahead, she glanced back to see Aon lose his footing on the scattered food, struggling under the Tazen’s relentless blows. Her instinct urged her to help, but letting Balrik escape was not an option. Deep down, she knew redemption was out of reach, and any hope for a resolution where innocent people didn’t get harmed had slipped away long ago.

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“May the moon of fortune shine on your soul,” Esmeralda muttered, offering a Nawahl prayer Balrik taught her as a child before surging forward after Balrik.

Esmeralda ventured further into the mansion, following a blood trail to a closed door. She sheathed her short sword and unhooked a dart thrower from her belt, already loaded with a pyromantic-tipped dart. She knew her chances against Balrik in close combat were slim, even with his injuries. Besides, the Vestigare alchemy in the dart thrower packed a far stronger punch, making it the obvious choice.

With a quick check of the dart thrower, she opened the door, refusing to let her conflicting emotions crack her resolve.

Balrik kneeled in the center of the room, bandaging his thigh, not even bothering to look up when he spoke.

“I was wondering when you’d show up.”

“Don’t move, Balrik,” Esmeralda warned, aiming the dart thrower.

This time, Balrik glanced up, a smile tugging at his lips, though Esmeralda could see the rage simmering in his mismatched eyes.

“Is this some kind of joke, Esmeralda?” Balrik asked as he gingerly stood, wincing in pain.

“I said don’t move,” Esmeralda repeated, finger tightening on the trigger.

“What’s this about, Esmeralda? Did Agent Aon cut you a deal? How much did it cost him to turn you against your family?”

“Funny, Balrik. I could ask you the same, but I already know how little it takes for you to sell out the people you claim to love.”

“Esmeralda, what are you talking about?”

His sincerity gave her pause, and it took all her willpower to keep the weapon steady. She had to remind herself—Balrik was a master of deception, the one who taught her that the best lies are the ones even the liar believes.

“I met the Head Agent, Balrik!” Esmeralda spat his name as if it were venomous.

“He told me how you tried to sell me out for immunity.”

“Gott und seine unehelichen Sohne, Lala. I was just buying time. Once I had the egg, I’d have been unstoppable. The Vestigare wouldn’t have been able to stop me from walking into their prison and pulling you out.”

Esmeralda shook her head at his words. She wouldn’t let him manipulate her any longer.

“Lies. You would’ve left me to rot. I was never anything to you, just another live experiment,” Esmeralda began. Suddenly, the final pieces of her life’s puzzle clicked into place.

“Just like my parents. That’s how you found me—captured them, experimented on them. Why would you spare me, only to make me suffer now?”

Balrik’s demeanor shifted as he dropped his apron and straightened, a calculated confidence replacing his earlier pretense.

“I suppose you had to learn the truth eventually. Yes, your father was one of the individuals who aided me in achieving alchemical greatness. I never lied to you. Your father was weak, surrendering himself and his family to a slaver rather than fighting for them, but I failed to mention that the slaver was me.”

Esmeralda braced for some emotional reaction to Balrik’s confession, yet found herself numb. She suspected her numbness stemmed from the realization that she had always known Balrik’s tale was a fabrication, leaving her simply grateful to have escaped with her life.

“However, it was you, Lala, who turned out to be the biggest surprise of all. You were no older than seven when you saved me during that raid. From that point, I vowed to raise you as my own.”

Balrik often recounted how she plunged a dagger into a raider's back. At least that much was true. Before Balrik could continue, Esmeralda noticed his feet shimmering like a desert mirage. He was stalling, gathering his strength to vanish. She carefully inched her free hand toward her belt.

“I never imagined your father’s weakness would taint you so many years later. Lala, I forgive you. Your weakness is not your fault. I will return to correct the mistake of allowing your feeble bloodline to survive this long,” Balrik said, shimmering like a heat haze before vanishing.

Esmeralda hurled the bag of flour from the kitchen in a sweeping arc, covering Balrik to reveal him shimmying on his belly toward the door.

Esmeralda aimed her dart thrower with precision before squeezing the trigger and unleashing the alchemically tipped dart. Time stretched, each moment dragging like molasses. It felt like an eternity for the dart to find its mark. When it finally did, fire erupted from the impact, engulfing Balrik within seconds.

As Balrik flailed and screamed in agony, Esmeralda forced herself to watch him die—not out of twisted respect, but to confirm his death, ensuring her a chance to be free.

Esmeralda couldn't tell how long it took for Balrik to stop moving; it felt like minutes or even months.

She unsheathed her short sword and plunged the blade into Balrik’s charred neck. It was better to be safe than sorry with him.

Esmeralda returned to the main hall, crafting a believable explanation for Balrik’s demise, only to find that the Vestigare had already dealt with his cohorts.

Esmeralda scanned the hall for Agent Aon, eventually spotting him surrounded by several agents, cradled by a Xandran she assumed was his undercover informant.

She rushed to his side, her eyes drawn to a puddle of blood pooling beneath him.

“What are you waiting for? Get him a potion!” Esmeralda snapped.

“Agent Aon refused to take one until he knew where you were,” the Xandran replied.

“That’s enough, Varga. You did well, lad,” Aon weakly began before a coughing fit interrupted him.

“Balrik?”

“Dead. I couldn’t capture him, but he will haunt you no more, Agent Aon,” Esmeralda replied.

“Thank you, Agent Esmeralda. I don’t know when I’ll be back on my feet, so please look after Varga. The Vestigare and the Five Kingdoms can never repay what he sacrificed, but we owe it to him to do what we can swiftly,” Aon said, then turned his attention back to Varga.

“Agent Esmeralda will restore your life. She’s a bit inexperienced but highly competent.”

Varga nodded and pressed a healing potion into Aon’s hand. The stubborn Grang drank in ragged gulps, his throat working unevenly. A violent shudder rippled through him—then his body convulsed, and he slumped into unconsciousness.