“May her journey be safe and pleasant. May Ark, in his infinite wisdom and benevolence, bestow upon her comfort and absolution. May she find eternal rest beyond the skies and stars.” Atop a podium, Sydra uttered the prayers inscribed upon the pages of the Arkive in her one hand. “Serial-name – Huit’ight. Honoured name – Brooks of McLay. Arbiter of Justice, and Lady of McLay. May your pursuit for that justice you so cherished persist even further beyond.” In her other hand, she fastidiously swayed Centria in circles afront a silver urn. This olden ceremonial staff that she was wielding belonged to the Prophet, carved from white oak and decorated with a giant emerald at its crown and many other colourful gems decked along its shaft – Sydra knew not who forged such a magnificent relic, but she knew from his handicraft that this forger too had fashioned the other famed arms that the other Archetypes wield. “Sing praises, forevermore. I shall hear thy prayers and return thee home.” Sydra recited the Ninth Tenet, the last out of nine commandments mandated by Ark in his holy scripture.

Between her verses, Sydra would squint her blue eyes past her glasses and catch a few glimpses down at the folk sitting before her. She had never seen such a bored audience before. The many Lords and Ladies, esteemed scholars, and honoured guests sitting within the Hall of Ark were either yawning, chattering away in private, or scorning at the fact that a steelborn was wielding the Prophet’s famed staff – few at all bothered to pay any attention to the eulogy that Sydra was delivering regarding Lady Brooks’s passing. Though Sydra couldn’t really blame them, the memorial reception had lasted for over three hours now, and she doubted most of the guests even knew who the departed person was – perhaps even Lady Brooks’s ashes within the urn were too bored out of her cremated mind.

At least it’s over… I wouldn’t even have to do this if it wasn’t for him… Sydra breathed a sigh of relief inside her head while gripping tightly onto the staff – longing to bash its owner with it if only he was present at this prayer chamber in the Arkeep. The white and gilded gown that she had to wear to conduct this eulogy was so saggy and thick that it made it hard to even breathe between each prayer – let alone while standing inside the Hall of Ark with no windows or gaps built onto its white and gold draped walls.

Sydra’s prayers finished, and the silver urn was carried away by two Children of Ark cladded in all white with a white nine-pointed star so Lady Brooks’s ashes may be delivered back to her land, McLay. With the ceremony having come to an end, most of the attendees wasted no time in leaving their seats and exiting the prayer room – Sydra did not know whether to feel relieved or insulted.

Sydra took the steps down the podium. Her attendant, Mai, was waiting at the aisle between the rows of wooden benches – she too seemed to be dosing away where she stood, like a felling tree. Sydra sluggishly uncloaked her gown and tossed it at Mai’s face, waking the indolent girl. Finally, I can breathe… Sydra wiped the sweat off of her forehead and slicked back her long silver hair that, too, was soaked in sweat. Underneath all that layer of the gown was no more than a mere white blouse, all crumpled and drenched, sticking its soft fabric to Sydra’s pale and slightly charred skin. She was half a mind to hand Mai the staff, Centria, as well, but perhaps it would not be the wisest idea to trust the lass with the Prophet’s most cherished relic.

One of the few Lords who did not fall asleep during Sydra’s eulogy walked up the aisle and locked his crimson eyes at Sydra. Mai, who was acting so bratty before, has fixed her posture and demeanour entirely when greeted with his presence, like a smitten damsel. “You did well enough for a faithless woman.” Lord Bao said, his usually crass tone was missing, but the undertone still lingered. He was garbed in all black – even a gaudy man such as him decided upon a modest choice for the occasion. Underneath his vest, Sydra could spot a few burn marks that he still had yet to heal from the recent incident – and neither had Sydra. “On behalf of the Lanlong Foundation and Lingsley, we’d cover any costs involved in this procession.” The rich Lord offered his arks. To think that the arrogant Lord would swear on the name of not only his organisation but also his hometown.

Does he feel responsible for her death? Sydra pondered as she gripped onto her wrist, where a small, singed wound still lingered. She still vividly remembered the incident in that burning chamber. By the time Lord Bao and Sydra had arrived, the entire room had already succumbed to flame, and the wailing Lady Brooks, too, was enflamed from head to toe. The aftermath was just as bad as the incident itself. Expensive repairment costs, numerous investigations, and detainments and executions of potential culprits – Sydra would be lying if she said that Lord Bao’s offer wasn’t tempting. Snap out of it, Sydra… Sydra shook her head and relieved herself from her impulse. “On behalf of the Prophet and the Centum Order, I appreciate your kindness. But that would not be ne–”

“How incredibly charitable of you, Lord Bao. Perhaps I ought to reconsider my judgements on you after all.” A small yet dolly lady intruded upon the two and gracefully approached them. Her pearly slanted purple eyes and lingering sweet perfume ensnared the attention of all men within the chamber. Her slender body was wrapped in a silky black dress with white fur coating her neck despite the summer heat. Her dark hair stretched down to her chest and blended in with the colour of her dress. “Will the coffer of Lingsley be humble enough for charity? But, if the Lanlong Foundation true means to do so – it’d be an embarrassment to the Elidynes if we were not to commit the same amount of arks and more.” Lady Yuna spoke softly and elegantly; her voice was exactly what Sydra expected of a prim lady belonging to the wealthiest family in all of Xearth.

Behind Lady Yuna were two burly men dressed entirely in black, not Sentinels nor watchdroids – perhaps her personal guards. Their faces blanked of any expressions. They were merely there to carry her dresstail to not let them be stained by the floor and to hold her white sunhat – all while keeping their silences like mutes.

“Lady Yuna, it has been some time. I pray that all has been well for you and your house.” Sydra greeted the heiress to the richest house in Xearth.

“It has been well, dear. Hectic – but well. Whenever the Arklympics comes around, Eden is sure to always become rather lively with all manners of frivolities.” The Lady of Eden giggled gently as she brandished a hand fan fashioned from silk and curtained it over her pasty face.

“You wouldn’t need to bother with all those headaches if you would just let the Arklympics be hosted in Harford instead – as it should be.” Lord Bao sneered despite Lady Yuna’s mellowness. The Arklympics was once chiefly hosted in Harford, but after many series of protests caused by drogues – an agreement was made to move the tourney to Eden instead.

“O’ Lord Bao, that was but a mere jest. Grand though the game may be – it yet could never hope to disturb our great city. You do not need to pay any heed to this matter,” she slightly opened her slanted eyes as she spoke.

The prideful Lord held no riposte for the sly Lady. He merely clicked his tongue and lunged his body down onto a wooden bench, kicking his legs up into the air – having outwardly returned to his brutish nature.

“Back to my proposal. The incident with Lady Brooks was a terrible tragedy. I’ve heard of the bravery that you and Lord Bao displayed – truly noble of you both, as befitting of servants under the Centum Order.”

“Thank you, Lady Yuna,” Sydra mumbled, with her eyes facing the floor. For some reason, she did not have the strength to lift her face, or perhaps she did feel like she deserved to.

“I wished I could have been there to help you both as well, but alas, I wasn’t. Therefore, please allow me to pay for the reparations to the Arkeep and this funeral reception.” Lady Yuna offered humbly once more. After all, the Elidyne, being the richest family in all of Xearth, founded and owned the Centum Bank, with the largest branch residing in Eden – their riches knew no bounds. “As long as that is fine with Lord Bao, of course. I wouldn’t want to put any strain between House Elidyne and the Lanlong Foundation.” Her purple eyes leered down at the sitting Lord.

“If you want to save face, you’d have more than enough chances with the Centum Tourney,” Lord Bao scoffed. “What benefits could you possibly obtain from mourning for the passing of a woman you don’t even know?”

“And what of you? Were you perhaps acquainted with Lady Brooks then, Lord Bao?” asked Lady Yuna, her gaze so innocent and face so small that it’d be hard to tell that she has lived for close to half a century now – the extensive amount of ReSamra surgeries sure have done wonders for preserving her youth.

When caught with the question, the brash Lord turned still, and his ruby eyes shrunk. “Just do whatever you want,” Lord Bao grumbled without even looking back at her. Sydra knew not of their history, but they were both Arbiters of their respective Stairs, so they no doubt had crossed paths before.

“Splendid – we’ve received Lord Bao’s blessing. What says you then, Lady Sydra?” the elegant Lady gazed up at Sydra from her short stature.

“Generosity is truly embedded in the blood of all members of your house, Lady Yuna. But I could not answer to this generosity in kind – for this decision is not mine to make.” Sydra bowed her head, and her words remained unwavering, despite standing afront two members of the Aces.

“Such a shame,” the Lady gently fanned herself. “The Prophet had never been one to shy away from reaching into my purse.”

“I’m terribly sorry for my Lord’s behaviour,” Sydra sighed before bowing her head. She would usually never snitch on the Prophet like that – but for this, he had it coming.

“O’, please do not apologise for it. If anything, I welcome him to take as much as he wishes – whatever he wishes from me.” Lady Yuna tittered behind her fan, but not even her fan nor makeup could hide her rosy cheeks.

You’re a sinful man, Your Heavenlier… Sydra clicked her tongue in secret; she felt a prick in her head, but she knew not why for sure. “Whatever transaction you’d like to make with His Heavenlier – that’s between you and him. I could not decide on his behalf then, nor could I do so now.”

“You have been his secretary for so many years now, yet he still could not bring it upon himself to trust you to make decisions on his behalf. Or perhaps you could not bring it upon yourself – to trust yourself.” Lady Yuna spoke tenderly. “A shame indeed, dear. I’d take the matter to His Heavenlier when he returns then.” She pouted behind her fan.

“Thank you, Lady Yuna.” Sydra bowed her head once more, yet her posture was imperfect – this rarely ever happened to her.

“Wiggs, make a note of what has happened today.” The Lady commanded one of the statues standing behind her. “Bedge, hold my fan.” She folded her fan and handed it to the other servant. Neither of them uttered a word as they fulfilled her commands splendidly.

If only someone else could also be as helpful, Sydra glared back at Mai, who was tilting her back against a pillar and yawning away.

“I’m afraid I won’t be able to stay any longer for some afternoon tea. I’ve come to pay my respects, but there are still works that need to be done in Eden for the upcoming Arklympics. We’re aiming to build a venue even bigger than last time.” Lady Yuna flicked her silky black hair back to her nape. “I do hope you’d pass my greetings on to His Heavenlier. If fate permits, I’d wish for us to meet again before the tourney commences – but of course, reuniting in Eden would be quite romantic as well. I’m sure his sister would have also told him so.”

“You’re speaking of me?”

Like a cat with furry paws, another Lady crept through the dispersing crowd and included herself in the conversation. Her voice was rough and coarse, as if she was under the weather, yet a hint of ladyhood still persisted.

Lady Yuna did not even shudder an inch despite being crept into from behind. “I meant the kinder sister. No offence, of course, Lady Eight.” She calmly glanced up at the golden-eyed lady who was a head taller than her.

Lady Eight, too, was dressed entirely in a black suit – it was rare to see her not wearing her silver armour. “None taken for me. But don’t ever speak of my sister again as if you knew her.” Her voice turned shallow as she spoke to Lady Yuna, with her pale face facing down and her silver ponytail too falling over – looming over the little Lady of Eden.

For once since Sydra saw them, Lady Yuna’s two attendants at last moved forward and meant to step in between their Lady and her aggressor. “What possibly could have urged you both to move from your post? Do you mean to insult the Lady? Of course you wouldn’t – now stand back.” With a wave of her bony hand, the two servants fell back in silence. The Lady of Eden then gazed back at the Lady of Novathens. “My utmost apology for my servants’ insolence, Lady Eight. My father is a rather big worrywart who dotes far too much on his first daughter, so I do hope you could excuse the excessive protection he has given to me.” As graceful as ever, she excused herself.

The Lady of Novathens was readied to unsheathe her shortsword, Tria, by her waist but was stripped of the chance. “I’m well aware of Lord Elidyne’s quirk, even before he fell ill. But just as he cares for his blood, so do I. I’m sure you would understand then as well, Lady Yuna?” said Lady Eight as she squinted her golden eyes.

“Naturally.” The Lady of Eden grinned kindly with her purple eyes narrowed.

Get me out of here… Sydra’s head ached from the ensuing catfight, though the other bystanders seemed to be rather engrossed in the quarrel.

“Despite this period of bereavement, it has been a pleasure to be able to reunite with my fellow Aces today. But I would need to take my leave now,” Lady Yuna bobbed a curtsy. “I hope we’ll all meet again in Eden for the great game. I, for one, am longing to witness your performance at the tourney the most, Lady Eight.” The conniving and prim Lady had the last word once more before graciously departing from the Hall of Ark with her two servants tailing her silk dresstail.

At least one headache is gone… Sydra sighed. Neither Lady Eight nor Lord Bao seemed to be terribly missing her presence either.

“For being the richest brat in all of Xearth, she probably shoulda’ spend more arks in acting classes,” Lord Bao scoffed while spreading his entire body over the wooden bench as if he wished to take a nap in the Hall of Ark of all places.

“Your opinion is yours to hold, Lord Bao. But speaking behind someone’s back is far more shameful.” Lady Eight admonished the dozing man.

“Why are you kissing the boots of a woman who just said that they wished to see you beaten and slashed?” laughed Lord Bao mockingly. “You’re no longer the Prime Sentinel. Why bother holding any fidelity to the House of Elidyne anymore? Or is it true that loyalty is unbreakable for a hound?” His goading knew no limits, despite lying flat on his back, afront the finest swordswoman in all of Xearth with her sword by her side.

“It would do you some good to have an ounce of loyalty.”

“I am loyal. A humble servant to all ecliants – that’s all I aim to be.” With his ruby eyes pried open, Lord Bao claimed aloud for all to hear. “I’d bleed, bruise, and burn for this country.” He rolled up his sleeve and revealed the burn marks over his forearm that he had sustained from the fire incident. “Can you say the same, Lady Eight? Over two hundred years of dedicating your lives to this piece of rock, you and your blood have. To see your prideful loyalty and resolve crumble after all those years – now that would be a sight to behold.”

This man and his big mouth… Sydra sighed before deciding to step in. “Lord Bao, please take back that–”

“It’s alright, Sydra.” Lady Eight stopped Sydra with a slight push. She took a step towards the bench where Lord Bao napped and knelt down to his level. “Your ambition would never come so long as my brother holds the favour of Ark.” She whispered to his ears.

“I’ve never taken you for poetic woman,” the Lord chuckled. “But we’ll see. There are other ways to gain favours.” His eyes shut, yet his smug grin stayed.

As Lady Eight stood back up, Sydra approached and handed her a handkerchief for her stained knees. “I do not know what has overcome him. But Lord Bao has not been in the greatest temper ever since Lady Brooks’s death.” Sydra knew not why she even bothered to defend the crude man; his mood was almost always this bitter and crass.

“I find it hard to believe that a man like him would ever cry for anyone but himself.” Lady Eight said. “Regardless, I too am here to offer my respects for the departed and to offer any assistance I could in these times of constant strife.” As an Ace, it was naturally her duty to do so, yet Sydra knew not why she’d bring that matter up to her of all people.

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Her as well? Sydra pondered, she never expected for the Arbiter of Justice to be that popular among some of the Aces. “On behalf of the Centum Order, I am truly grateful for everyone’s magnanimous support. Once the Prophet returns, I’d ensure to make him aware of your efforts.”

“Knowing my brother, he’d accept my offer in a heartbeat.” Lady Eight chuckled. “But I’d respect your wishes. Eight hundred of Novathens finest soldiers are stationed on the outskirts of Sentry. You may send them back to Novathens, have them defend the city, or make them seek out the culprit behind the arson – do what you will with them.”

“I apologise for my prudence, but manpower is the least of our concerns right now,” Sydra spoke out, still remaining courteous. “The Firstkind isn’t nearly big enough of a threat for us to require more men than the Sentinels and watchdroids already have.”

“Do you know what they’ve been calling my brother these days?”

“I beg your pardon?”

“The Blind Prophet – blind to his duty and his people’s pleas. Nighty Nine. The king who forsook his crown, robe, and staff. The Archetype abandoned by Ark,” Lady Eight listed the crude titles out, each one worse than the next. Her eyes of gold gazed around the prayer chamber, and no Lords or Ladies dared to meet her eyes. “And this is just within our city walls. Trust me when I say – that you’d need as many people to your side as you can.” She gently placed her firm palm onto Sydra’s shoulder and whispered in her ear.

“Mai.”

“Yes, Lady Sydra?” her attendant stepped forward.

“Go send an envoy to greet our outside guests.” Sydra relayed her command firmly.

“Should we receive them as well?”

“No. A greeting would suffice for now.”

“Understood, Lady Sydra,” Mai replied gracefully for once. “Please excuse me, My Lord, My Ladies.” She bowed her head, though no matter how low she bowed, she could not hide her grin from Sydra – no doubt she was pleased to finally be able to leave this dreary chamber.

“How longer do you mean to stall?” asked Lady Eight after Mai had left.

“As long as I need to until His Heavenlier returns,” Sydra smirked doggedly.

The Lady of Novathens encroached into Sydra’s space until she was close enough to glare down at Sydra as if she was a mere child – but perhaps, compared to her age, Sydra might as well be a child. Her face was as fair as they came for a warrior, but the air she exuded felt nought like a lady. Instead, it was nauseating to the eyes – even the beggars and street thugs in Dreamcity were less frightening than her. Sydra wanted to close her eyes and crumble down, but her body would not allow her – even if she had to use Centria as a crutch to stand straight before this ladyknight, so be it.

“Your loyalty is truly remarkable,” the intimidating Lady burst into laughter.

Excuse me? Sydra was baffled. She was even ready to swing the staff at her if need be, no matter how useless the attempt may be.

“O’, how long has it been since he had someone like this to confide in?” she wiped away droplets of joyful tears off her lids. “I’m glad my brother has a woman like you by his side.” Lady Eight smiled brightly; it was radiant enough to blind Sydra and charm over the same folks who were entranced by Lady Yuna’s beauty.

“I’m unworthy of your kind words.” Sydra lowered her head to hide her paled and rosed face.

“Really? I believe you’re perfectly worthy of such praise.” Another voice came forth and joined the fray – it sounded kind, jovial, and galling.

“Who is it this time?” Lord Bao slurred his words as he sluggishly lifted his body up from the comfy bench.

From Lady Eight to Lord Bao, to the gossiping nobles, to the paintings depicting the portrait of Ark – all seemed to turn their eyes towards that weighty voice, but Sydra already knew who it was. Those smug golden eyes, his dishevelled silver hair that stretched down to his nape, and those dull choices of attire unbefitting of his title – a part of Sydra wished he had not returned at this very moment before all to see and jeer in silence.

“I’m glad to see your safe return, Your Heavenlier. But I do hope that you could give me a notice beforehand next time.” Sydra was the first to bow her head at the returned Prophet after weeks of being missing.

“Of course, of course. Remember to remind me of it next time,” the Prophet bobbed his head.

You’re so lucky that we’re in public right now, Sydra’s fake smile hid away her begrudging thought, at least for now.

With the Prophet’s presence, what few remaining Lords and Ladies in the Hall of Arkive all either bowed their heads or fled for the door – perhaps fearing that the Blind Prophet may not also be deaf. Lady Eight, too, fell to one knee, an exemplary gesture for a lady of her might – Lord Bao, on the other hand, seemed rather unwilling as per usual.

“Your Heavenlier,” Lord Bao stood up and dipped his head, though only barely. “You missed the ceremony. And a lot of other things as well.” He wasn’t even drunk, yet the bold Lord dared to face the Prophet directly, matching his ruby orbs with the ones of gold.

“As hurtful as ever, Lord Bao,” the Prophet wept.

“The Lord may be crude, but I’d have to agree with him this once. Where have you been all these times, brother?” questioned Lady Eight.

“What’s going on here? I’ve only been away for a moment, and my throne has already been usurped?” the fretful Prophet raised his hands up as if he had just been caught red-handed. “Syndy, mind helping me out here?” he gazed towards Sydra as if he was a pup – rather undignified for an old man well over two hundred years old.

Sorry, but you had it coming, Sydra shook her head gently as she struggled to hide her grin.

“Damn it all. Traitors everywhere I go,” the Prophet groaned, yet it felt as if he was trying to hold back his laughter. “If nobody got me, I know Ark got me,” he proclaimed while pointing his finger to the ceiling, where a great portrait of Ark was painted over the inside of the wide dome roof. The God’s dark strapping frame hidden behind a white tunic embroidered with a white nine-pointed star, his brown scruffy head, sharp eyes of gold, and hands to his heart and sky – all were drawn with masterful precision, though the accuracy may be questionable.

Your Heavenlier… Sydra grimaced slightly. She was used to the Prophet’s antics, but she never expected him to also commit such acts afront the Lords and Ladies of the Centum Order. The once musing and silent crowd broke from their restlessness and began to freely whisper and chatter amongst themselves – Sydra needed not to be next to them to know what they were gossiping about. Why do you keep doing this to yourself, Your Heavenlier? Sydra sighed, she could feel faint aches in her chest the longer she pondered.

“Are you done with your capers? Or do more people need to burn to death under your roof before you get it together?” Lord Bao gnawed his teeth. Even as crass as he was, Lord Bao had never confronted His Heavenlier this brazenly before. Sydra could even see a few Centum Lords and Ladies nodding their heads at Lord Bao’s sentiment.

“I’ve heard. A terrible tragedy it was.” His Heavenlier held his poise, and in an instant, his entire demeanour outwardly twisted in reverse. His smirk slumped, and his lids dulled. His once jovial tone muffled behind his own sighing.

Lord Bao’s face turned red like beets as he clenched his fist, yet his anger never released, and he stepped back reluctantly.

What should I do? The mood was becoming far too awkward and nauseating for Sydra’s liking. As she frantically rummaged through her mind to find a topic to change to, her blue eyes lay upon the white staff in her palm. “Your staff, Your Heavenlier,” Sydra knelt to one knee and presented Centria to His Heavenlier with both hands.

“I thought you’d never give it back,” the Prophet smiled as he casually picked the staff up like it was just a mere tree branch. “Tacky old bat.” He swung it back and forth like a club, the common public would surely weep if they were to see the holy staff be treated as such.

“I can take it off your hand if you don’t want it,” Lady Eight requested.

“It may be a tacky piece of junk, but it’s my piece of junk.” The Prophet cradled Centria in his arms as if it were his babe. “Unless you want to trade mine for yours,” he eyed down to Lady Eight’s waist, where her shortsword, Tria, hung and sheathed.

With no riposte, the peerless ladyknight awkwardly coughed into her own palm and rolled her head to the side – for a lady; she ought to spend less time in barracks and more time in classes.

The Prophet sighed gently from seeing his sister turning so restless. “I did not expect you to leave Novathens so soon. With the rampant invasions from the Wastelanders to your shore, no one would’ve faulted you for standing by your hold.” He stated.

Novathens, the city comprised of soldiers and ruled by Lady Eight, was erected at nearly the foremost East of Xearth. With only a small stretch of ocean separating Xearth from the Wasteland, Novathens is one of the first bastions of defence against foreign human invaders – though they were less fearsome invaders and more pesky ruffians. The Heart Sentinels normally are charged with dealing against the invading Wastelanders, while the Scout Sentinels would bring the battle to them in their homeland beyond the Centum Sea – but the soldiers of Novathens held no allegiance to the Sentinels or the watchdroids, they merely act as how their Lady commanded.

“You do not need to worry about that, Your Heavenlier. The invasions appeared to be more common lately, but it’s nothing we could not handle. In fact, my soldiers have been itching for good battles these past few years – these ought to keep them satisfied for now.” Lady Eight reported. The Wastelander threats must not be that severe, seeing that she was able to commit eight hundred of her personal soldiers to Sentry. “Whatever happens at our salty edge is of no worth to ponder much. I’d say the situation in the heart of Xearth here is far more dire.”

The Prophet nodded his head and sighed before gazing his golden eyes back at Sydra. “I heard you were there when Lady Brooks died.”

“Yes, Your Heavenlier. So was Lord Bao,” Sydra pointed over at the brooding Lord.

“Was there anything else that you see when it all happened?” asked His Heavenlier.

“Nothing of worth, I don’t think.” Sydra rummaged through her memory, but all she could remember was the desperate wailing of a woman, cinders raining like snow, smoke filling her lungs and blinding her eyes, and her body and clothes being seared over in different parts.

“And you, Lord Bao?”

“Nothing.” Lord Bao clicked his tongue.

“A great shame,” the Prophet scratched his stubbly chin as his pupils wandered aimlessly like he was falling into a deep thought.

These questions he asked… Sydra thought before facing the rapt Prophet. “Do you think she may have been killed?” asked Sydra, though perhaps everyone else wished to ask as well.

“The person who would know that much is already dead.” Using his staff, the Prophet pointed at the silver urn that was still being guarded by the two Children of Ark.

A disappointing answer, but expected – no doubt, Sydra was not the only person who thought so. Faint gossiping whispers resumed. Words of contempt, distrustful sneers, guileful leers, and clicked tongues – the Lords and Ladies of the Centum Order had become far bolder lately.

“If you won’t give us an answer, I’d find out myself.” Lord Bao proclaimed.

“And you are free to do so. If you could find and bring out whoever was responsible for this heinous crime to be judged by Ark – your deeds would forever be thanked by the Centum Order.” The Prophet tipped his head.

“They won’t be judged by Ark if I find them.” Lord Bao promised.

Lady Eight, too, wished to throw her hat into the ring. “I’d also like to task some of my men to seek out the culprits. It’d be in our best interest to eliminate this threat from the Arkeep as soon as possible.”

“Yes, yes. You may do as you will,” the Prophet waved his hand nonchalantly before pacing towards Sydra. “After we’re done here, go and make preparations for the road.” He whispered into her ear.

“Where to?” asked Sydra.

The Prophet gave her a bewildered look as if she was the odd one for asking that. “To Harford, of course.”

Ah, of course… Harford… Sydra shook her head caustically. “What do you mean by Harford!?” she shouted into his face, no longer caring that they were in public with prying eyes from every corner. The Prophet has just returned from who knows where doing things Sydra had no clue about – and he already wished to flee again despite his people’s condemnation.

“I can explain, I can explain,” the Prophet fumbled on his words as he paced back with his arms held guard, like a man who was caught committing adultery – Sydra had seen that very same face all too often back when she grew up in Dreamcity. “Lady Brooks passed away under my roof, so it’s only right for me to return her ashes to Harford.” He presented his defence.

“We’re far past the time for pleasantries and griefs. I’d send an envoy of Sentinels and Children of Ark to do it on your behest.” Sydra hankered. “We need you here at the capital to serve the realm – not out and about for no reason again, Your Heavenlier,” she pleaded to the thoughtless Prophet.

“There is a reason for this, Syndy,” the Prophet still held a gentle smile despite Sydra’s rebuke. “The realm that I should serve has fallen into tumult. The Firstkind aside, the rising protests from drogues in Harford is also becoming far more dire than it has ever been in the last fifteen years.” His Heavenlier lectured, not just to Sydra but all else present – Lord Bao, in particular, was not finding any amusement in his preaching. “As the Prophet, I must address all matters throughout my realm, and not just the rebellion. Wouldn’t you agree?”

“Excuse my impudence, but the drogues at Harford would no sooner see you deposed before hearing even a single word of your sermons,” Sydra said. She still remembered her days in Harford, despite being a lowborn steelborn. As Harford was a largely independent land, their sentiment regarding the Centum Order and the Prophet has only grown more hostile as the years passed, and it peaked fifteen years ago when an incident led to the Arklympics being moved from Harford to Eden – but perhaps a new peak may appear soon.

“Eccentric bunch they may be, but even they wouldn’t go that far just yet,” the Prophet boldly claimed. “Besides, I wouldn’t be going to a hostile land as just a mere Prophet – but I’d return to a familiar place as the Arbiter of Mind and Space.”

Similarly to Lord Bao and Lord Sitri, His Heavenlier too was an Arbiter at Harford – and also much similar to them, they would rarely ever commit to their duties there and would pawn off their responsibilities to substitutes instead.

“But…” Sydra winged. If that was what he wished, Sydra could no longer defy.

“Leave it, Sydra. At this point, you should know as well as I do how futile it is to make sense of my brother’s whims.” Lady Eight offered a comforting palm on Sydra’s shoulder.

The Prophet merely shrugged and didn’t even bother to defend himself against an indefensible fact.

“But whims aside, this is still a matter of security. I wish to join you on this journey, brother. With what little strength I have left, I’d ensure you a safe trip.” Lady Eight requested.

Lord Bao, too, wildly swung his body back around. “I’d come as well. I trust that would pose no issues with you, Your Heavenlier – or would fellow Arbiter be more to your liking?” Lord Bao requested, but Sydra doubted he’d accept an answer he did not want.

“Of course, by all means. Lords, Aces, Arbiters – you all may do as you please. Ark’s greatest blessing to us all was freedom – it’d be a shame to not live up to his expectations of our worth.” The Prophet delivered his sermon as naturally as he breathed.

“I’ve never understood your obsession with this god, nor would I bother to,” Lord Bao scoffed as he stared up to the painted ceiling, where Ark resided in portrait alone. As if God had punished him for his boorishness, the burn marks he suffered became reddened and pulsated under his black suit – yet it did not even bring a wince upon his pale face. “The expectations I’d meet one day did not come from a faceless deity.” To mock Ark in the Hall of Ark of all places and afront their Prophet, Lord Bao uttered profanities that could earn him a cell in the darkest dungeon of the Ironmount Institution – if only not for his title as an Ace. The tactless Lord marched out of the chamber with heavy steps, even the gossiping Lords and Ladies seemed relieved at his departure.

“I’d take my leave as well, brother. I’d make some preparations to ensure a safe journey.” Lady Eight bowed her head gracefully before too departing.

With two Aces having left, the few remaining Centum Lords and Children of Ark, too, seemed to have taken that as a chance to leave as well. Like a flock of fumbling ducklings, they awkwardly departed from the Hall of Ark, unsure of whether to bow their head and announce their departure first. Before long, the chamber for the divine was stripped of any devotees it once had – all but their prodigious son.

“And then there was one.” Afront of the altar dedicated to Ark, the Prophet mumbled under his breath as if there were still people praying in the room.

“My apologies, did you say something?” Sydra ducked down to look at his sunken face.

“Just random babble from an old head, nothing more.” The Prophet shook his head flippantly, and his hand gripped tightly onto Centria. A relic older than even Sydra, yet its craftsmanship would put shame on even the most skilled artisans of today. His palm gripped perfectly around the white shaft of the staff. A gentle touch it was, to not dent the olden staff – though Sydra doubted a frail man like him would even be able to. “You did a fine job in my place today, Syndy.” He turned his golden eyes to the silver urn still resting in the chamber. The Children of Ark seemed to have forgotten to take it with them before hastily leaving.

“I only did what was ordered of me.” Sydra bobbed her head, nearly dropping her eyeglasses.

“You don’t need to play coy,” he glanced at the seared lacerations between the slits of Sydra’s blouse. “You’ve served bravely. Now we can only pray that Lady Brooks would find her solace in the sky beyond the sky.” The Prophet rested his hind onto a bench and gently lay Centria across his lap.

Sydra took a seat next to him. She had been standing the entire day now, and her legs were feeling more brittle than glass. “Were you close to her?” asked Sydra. After all, the two were fellow Arbiters, regardless of how rarely His Heavenlier would spend his time as one.

“Friends? Nah. Perhaps if things were different.” The Prophet denied it. “Moreso research acquaintances, I’d say. But I did greatly admire her grit. Quite a fearless woman she was.” Despite sitting afar, his golden eyes were ever fixed upon the silver urn at the other end of the chamber. “Lady Brooks was a kind woman and a just Arbiter. One of the few ecliant nobles in Harford who forsook her title and sided with the drogues. Though our views may have differed, I’d have loved it if we could have been friends.” Still facing the silver urn without budging a muscle like a statue, yet his eyes felt as if they were staring at nowhere. “Alas, she died as she lived – fighting for her justice. If only Ark had given me his power to create life – I’d bring her back in a heartbeat.” The Prophet mumbled feebly. It felt nought like any other prayers that Sydra had heard from him before.

Sydra’s hands trembled for him, though he was not trembling. This sight of his, she had never seen before – unsure of dejection or lamentation. Her thin arm stretched out and grazed his arching back – the only thing she knew to do and was taught to her by that bookish old man. “It’s a terrible tragedy, indeed. But you need not blame yourself for this. We live, and we die. There’s no need to change that.” Sydra did try, but she has been told throughout her entire childhood that she was never that good at comforting another.

“Sometimes we die and we live.” The Prophet turned away from the urn and faced Sydra, his usual smirk on the verge of return.

So that was enough for you? Sydra sighed, feeling like a fool for trying so hard to cheer him up – yet the breath she released felt more relieving than normal. “I’d much prefer you sticking to your role as the Prophet than an ostentatious philosopher.” She jested.

“Different titles, same differences.” The Prophet tittered.

“There could be thousands of philosophers, but only one Prophet,” Sydra retorted. “So do take more care of yourself.” Her chest tightened at her own words, and she could not properly face His Heavenlier.

“Do you truly wish for me to stay at Sentry instead?” Even when Sydra could not face him, the Prophet made it happen and swooped his head to where hers was hiding.

“I…” Sydra failed to find her words. I just pray that you would not hesitate when deciding on what matters most – that was the advice given to her by Lord Bellamy. Such a simple advice that she has known herself ever since she decided to dedicate her whole being to His Heavenlier, yet she had never found a proper retort to it. “Your wishes are my wishes, Your Heavenlier.” Sydra bowed her head deeply. Her tongue felt stiff, her lips felt dry, and her throat felt parch before uttering those words.

The Prophet did not offer her a witty riposte – as he usually would. The Prophet did not duck away with reddened cheeks – as he sometimes would. Under the dome embroidered over by the splendour of Ark, His Heavenlier’s pale face hidden behind long silver bangs remained still, and so too were his golden gaze and lasting smile – still, silent, and grey amidst it all – as he always would, as he always had, long before Sydra had arrived and would keep long after she departed. “Very well. We’ll do as Ark wishes.”