We followed the directions the helpful corporal gave us and advanced through the crowded streets toward the old town. The haggards kept begging for coins but stayed in the districts that were allowed for them. No one jumped on the horse lane anymore.

After passing through the ornate iron gates, adorned with delicate decorations of flowers and vines, we found ourselves in the heart of old Lottie. The town hall was supposed to be somewhere in the middle of it, surrounded on all sides by spacious streets.

Before going forward, I turned back and saw the hundreds of refugees staying behind. The immediate weight of their despair lessened, but the loud emotional cacophony persisted. Now I knew how to block that off, but it needed constant concentration.

In the old town, the architecture spoke of an older era. The walls were thicker, built to withstand abuse and the ruthless passage of time. Much of the vibrant red stonework was now faded into a lighter shade, almost pinkish, with countless dark hand marks on the corners. Windows were built higher up, and much narrower, maybe for some defensive purpose. And the square stones on the streets were smoothed out from the many generations that had walked on them.

There were fewer guards patrolling around as well, going in pairs or trios, and nodding politely when we passed. They even had their torpos-wood batons hanging on their belts, but still wore second-grade equipment, instead of the modern polished steel chest plates and helmets that we saw in the other cities.

Iskander was baffled by this and kept whispering about why a city as rich as Lottie would have guards wearing chain mail.

“There must be hundreds of guards in the city,” said Florencia. “I’d guess it’s cheaper to arm them with batons and chain mail than in steel cuirasses.”

Iskander shrugged, unphased by the answer.

As we went on, I felt Goxhandar waggle and worm himself around and submerge himself in the colorful emotions around us.

“Ah, such delightful anguish and misery,” said Goxhandar. “How utterly stimulating. I feel life in me again.”

“You enjoy that, don’t you? The grief and despair.”

“I derive enjoyment from all feverish emotions and thoughts, master, for those are most noticeable for me. I see your realm through a dense veil, but thoughts and emotions dance brightly upon it. And in this new place, this… City of Flowers, though I would for certain call it by its more ominous names—the fervid and fatalistic emotions are found in abundance. During our travels, Master, the trees and bushes and rocks that we passed offered very little stimulus to me. I succumbed to my weaknesses. I found nothing to occupy my attention.”

Goxhandar’s manner of speaking was so peculiar that at times, I found it challenging to understand what he truly meant.

“But here?” I asked.

“Ah! The boom of it all, the noise and chaos! There is so much to revel in and to understand about your strange human condition. Multitudes more than the realm we were in before. I truly wish I could see the world through your eyes, and understand it as you do, master. All those conflicting and complementary desires and hopes and dreams…”

For some reason, his words crept into a little corner of my mind. ‘See the world through your eyes.’ Why did that strike a chord? I felt like it should spark an idea, but it eluded my grasp, so I had to sit with the feeling that I missed something important.

Goxhandar continued: “The stink of the demonic taints much and many in here.”

“Do you sense anything close?” I asked Goxhandar.

I felt his weightless weight shift, then quickly distance himself. I had the image of a featureless, black-red shadow sniffing the air.

“I do not catch sight or smell, not even a whiff of any demonic presence nearby. Yet, it is undeniable to me, and to you, master, as I sense the recognition within you as well, that many in this city are marred by their dark touch.”

Goxhandar was right. I could feel a darkness linger here, but nothing dangerous.

We went ahead.

It was evening now, and the sun was waning behind the domed rooftops of Lottie.

But life did not cease with the ending daylight, and people were out on the town. Some came for a walk, or an evening cup of tea or coffee, forcing upon a changed world their lifestyle of old. We heard whispered talking, and some faint music playing around corners, a lute of some kind.

As natural light dimmed, oil streetlights were lit, along with smaller lanterns above doors and behind windows, washing the city with a warm, orange light, and casting long shadows that danced on the faint red walls of the architecture. Here and there, lightbeads were shining their dim but everlasting rays on the cobbled streets.

The humble town hall was constructed where four main streets crossed, built right in the middle of it, and not on some square or before a grand fountain. It seemed very utilitarian in appearance, not tall or wide, disregarding any sense of grandeur. Maybe it was built when Lottie was still with a military purpose?

But it had carved into its thick walls motifs of flowers and leaves and branches of trees, here and there plated with copper or brass on the corners. And above the main entrance, waved three flags—the coat of arms of the Crown, of Lottie, and then one none of us recognized.

“Probably the Fascamonta heraldry,” said Florencia.

Four guards stood at the main entrance. They searched and questioned everyone who wanted entry, and those who looked haggard and poor—very few—were chased away with batons. Those who wore fine clothes of linen or wool, or with a more refined manner of speaking, were let in.

All I had to do was to tap my golden Scorro badge I had pinned on my coat, and the lead guard, wearing a dark green cloak on top of old chain mail, leaned in to examine it. He squinted, gripping his baton tightly, but then waved us passage.

We were now inside a small and crowded lobby. There were people in all corners, all pushing against each other, talking and shouting for someone to notice them. I felt a few brighter souls around, but their skills were sleeping and nothing of note.

“What a madhouse!” said Jace, but his words got lost in the chaos.

After some time, we found a young and nervous-looking official who could not have been more than twenty years old. I pointed at the Scorro brooch again and said: “Bring me to the Lord Mayor.”

The official’s face went white, and he ran upstairs, almost dropping his folders.

“You could’ve been more polite,” said Florencia. “You scared the poor boy senseless.”

“But we’ll get out of this quicker,” I retorted, and Florencia had to agree. None of us wanted to be here longer than necessary.

The boy came down with another spooked fellow, perhaps in his late forties, and with sweat beading on his face.

“Yes?” he asked, fidgeting in place.

“Good evening. I am Jonas Espian, here to see the Lord Mayor, Vilip Fascamonta. He should know that I was coming, but we are a few days late.”

“Espian, Jonas?” the man inquired, and then searched through his folder of papers. He turned three pages until he found a note. “Ah, Jonas Espian—priority RP.”

Upon reading the note, his eyes lifted to meet me, and his expression turned sour and nervous. A bead of sweat trickled down on his forehead, grazing the edge of his eyelash.

“Of course, please, Mr. Espian, follow me!” he stammered, his voice low and almost impossible to hear over the noise. And to the anger of many who stood by, also waiting for an audience with the mayor of the City of Flowers, the secretary guided us upstairs, we were taken away from the shouting and yelling.

We ascended a narrow and winding staircase, with a guard rail of white stone, now stained dark from sweat and dirt.

Iskander, wiping his damp hair away from his eyes and tucking it behind his ears, leaned closer, and whispered: “I don’t envy you, Jonas. I always hated talking with those damned barons and nobles and captains. Always an ordeal, and you had to be so proper and try to not insult them. So tiring. A pompous and useless lot, all of them!”

I chuckled in response and had to agree with him up to a point. “I’m sure they can’t all be that bad.”

“I’m not holding my breath,” said Iskander, his voice dripping with cynicism.

Unauthorized duplication: this tale has been taken without consent. Report sightings.

The nervous man guided us along a long, well-lit hallway on the second floor. And again, Goxhandar’s words ‘See the world through your eyes,’ echoed my thoughts again, but I could still not understand why.

We came to a stop in front of a pair of heavy, intricately carved doors.

“The Lord Mayor apologizes over the disarray that you saw downstairs. But these are troubling times, and we do try to address all complaints in good time, but sometimes it all gets overwhelming. Anyway… my lord is right in an important meeting, but because you’re listed as a priority, please kindly wait here until I return.”

The man disappeared into the room.

“Exactly like in Caffria,” mumbled Jaxine, and I hoped it would not turn out like that.

“Who’s inside?” whispered Iskander, and strained his eyes. I felt his mind expand, but it whirled around impotently, thwarted by the distractions. “There’s too much going on. I can’t focus. What can you see?”

With a gentle ease, Florencia and I pierced the physical veil, and immediately we felt inside the room three souls that burned brighter than the rest. Two of them were barely worth mentioning, their flickering flame almost as low as the blunts, but there was one who was as powerful as… the masters from Cappesand.

“So they have a mage with them,” said Iskander.

Florencia shrugged, seemingly unconcerned, and said: “‘Jonas, remember. Talk to them with respect and be polite. The Lord Mayor, Vilip Fascamonta, is through marriage related to the King’s family. So instead of barging in and making demands, try to do it tactfully and diplomatically. Try to be relaxed, and not so grim.”

Was my expression grim? I thought, to which Florencia smirked momentarily.

“I’m well aware, Flo,” I told her, calling back on the many times she said this during our travel here. “We already talked about this. And it wasn’t my fault what happened with the mayor of Caffria. I tried to be as polite as I could, but he was not having none of it.”

“I know,” repeated Florencia with a sigh. “But I don’t want a repeat of what happened there. It would be nice for us to have some friends.”

I smiled weakly and nodded. It would be nice, indeed.

“And at least try to smile,” she said.

I forced a smile.

“Oh, no! Not like that!” she said, aghast.

“So no smiling.”

“Not like that, no,” said Florencia, and laughed awkwardly. This was becoming ridiculous. “Just… try to not look so intimidating.”

I wondered how could I do that.

Thankfully, I didn’t have to dwell on that thought for too long. Approaching footsteps caught our attention, and the heavy double doors swung open.

“Please, come in,” said the nervous man, and bowed.

We entered the Lord Mayor’s meeting room. It was an opulent room that was filled with expensive furniture, a thick green-brown carpet, carafes filled with dark drinks, and a lit cast iron woodstove that kept the room warm. The air was thick with pipe smoke, mixed well with the smell of wine and cider.

Suddenly I remember the time I was in Ardovar Verrier’s office, all the way back in Cappesand, and wanting to try the sweet-smelling pipe. Perhaps in Lottie I will finally make it happen.

Our eyes were immediately drawn to two imposing figures, both military men, standing side by side, engrossed in conversation over some kind of map. Surrounding them was a cadre of lower-ranked soldiers and aides and secretaries, all diligently taking notes or bringing food or drink.

The first was serious and stern, his black and grey hair meticulously combed over his head. Draped in a royal-blue tabard that was adorned with golden embroidery on the sleeves and collar. A golden medallion proudly hung from his neck, and he had a shortsword on his belt that seemed more ceremonial than a tool of war.

The second man looked similar, but less stern and more tired. He had no hair left, and his shoulders were slouched. He wore the same blue tabard, but with fewer decorations embroidered on it, and he had no medallion.

“Still no word from Orsin?”

“Absolutely nothing! He’s two days late,” said the other man.

“Damned it! Was it necessary to send his corisseri?” asked the first one and punched the table. An empty orange cup fell on the hardwood floor.

“They’re the best that we have. And he volunteered—” The discussion was cut short as they noticed our approach.

I took the lead, and the others fell in line behind me.

My eyes swept across the room, and then I saw whose soul we sensed burning bright. Closer to the door stood a dark-haired, older woman who exuded an air of pride. She stood tall, even taller than Florencia, and wore polished steel armor with a striking bright white cape with torpos-green patterns embroidered into it. She had leaned against the table before her, a long and narrow greatsword with wide silver quillons and a sleek handle of oxblood leather.

But we only had a few moments to examine the room before a man approached us, and I sensed in him heightened powers of perception that were still slumbering.

He was the same average height as Iskander and built with good muscle and posture. Despite the apparent ease with which he walked, I noticed quickly that in his dark eyes, he hid a heavy weariness. Even his rich robes of deep purple and black, punctuated by delicate dots of white, could not conceal the burden he carried.

“My. Espian, I am Vilip Fascamonta, baron and Lord Mayor of Lottie!”

With graceful ease, the baron extended his hand, and I shook it, introducing myself in return. From his handshake, I sensed that the baron was confident and strong of will, but decided to hide that behind carefree politeness. A very diplomatic move.

The baron kissed Florencia’s and Jaxine’s hands without his lips touching. That was a custom in the eastern provinces, I heard. Florencia nodded with respect, and Jaxine suppressed a giggle. Jace and Iskander made short and to-the-point introductions, and we were led to the table.

The map everyone was leaning over seemed to be the eastern provinces of Lienor, with Lottie as its capital, marked colorfully with strong green ink. There were papers set everywhere, but I could not make out the writing.

“I was expecting you to arrive three days ago,” said baron Fascamonta. “But the Straight Road is crowded this time of year. Many do their travels right before winter sets in. It is not a comfortable thing to travel during the winter months. Be that as it may, I’m afraid you caught me at an unfortunate time, Mr. Espian. But before we talk further, let us get the introductions out of the way.”

The first man did not even wait for the baron to introduce him, but nodded from where he stood, and said: “Marshall Renzo de-Vilgario, baron of Varnas, commander-in-chief of the armies of the Crown in the south-eastern provinces.”

This was the first man who we saw talk as we entered the room.

Though of average height, he stood with a commanding presence. His shoulders were slightly bent forward and had dark bags under his eyes and deep lines of worry carved upon his face. Yet there was more to this man than the others. He had enhanced powers coursing through him. Undoubtedly, these very powers had propelled him through the ranks in the military, elevating him to this lofty position. I only knew of one rank higher than Marshall.

The next to be introduced was the second who talked with the marshall—colonel Aurian Piasno, commander of the Lottie infantry regiment. Clad in the same tabard as the marshall, only more worn and fewer decorations on the sleeves and collar. He shook my hand warmly, and I sensed the same exhaustion flow through his veins.

Then we turned to the woman with the brightly radiating soul, from whose neck hung an impossibly intricate medallion—showing perfectly balanced scales with an upright sword behind it, and above which was a great eye.

“Delighted to make your acquaintance. My name is Rosalda Fiorlunta,” said she, extending her hand to us, her eyes taking a keen interest in Florencia and Jace. “I am the Master of the Dutiful Knights of the Temple of Hanuk. For brevity’s sake, we refer to ourselves as the Knights of Hanuk. We’re quartered here, in old town, just a short walk away, in the Temple of Hanuk.”

She turned to Florencia before waiting for a reply. “Please forgive my directness, but are you by any chance the product of the Cappesand Academy?”

Florencia smiled for a moment, but then her expression soured. “The three of us are from Cappesand. Well, we were with them, but not anymore.”

We heard the rest of the room whisper anxiously, but Rosalda examined us without flinching.

“Curious. I can sense the Academy’s influences on you, Miss Regalla, and Mr. Vialisios. However, with Mr. Espian, I sense… something wholly different. Most fascinating!” She looked politely at me for a moment and tried her hardest to not stare. “Your aura is unlike anything I’ve ever encountered in my eighty years of life.”

She turned to Florencia again.

“I spent my early years in Cappesand, same as you, I sense, but instead of devoting myself to the Academy, I decided to take on a more militaristic lifestyle. The Temple of Hanuk took me in, and slowly over the years I gathered a following of like-minded people. I am now wholly devoted to the teachings of the Hanuk, the Judge. Miss Regalla, do you still remember the Jewel atop the tallest spire of Cappesand? I still dream about it sometimes... What a magnificent sight it was. The Jewel of Bessou, indeed. Ah, but has been decades since I last visited the Academy, yet my heart yearns to see its brilliance again.”

“The Jewel looks as beautiful as it ever did,” said Florencia. “We saw it not more than two months ago.”

This seemed to give comfort to the knight-mage. Then she turned to Jace with a soft and warm look in her eyes. I wondered just how good of a fighter she was with that greatsword. My heart warned against underestimating her strength solely based on her politeness.

“You wear the Eye of Eki,” said Rosalda to Jace. “Are you a religious man? Hanuk and Eki are brothers in the heavens, as you probably know. I believe we have much in common.”

“I’ve not devoted myself to a single God, as you have,” said Jace. “But I find the teachings of Eki to be very comforting to me. Especially with what we’ve seen lately…”

“Aligned under the Light of the One, guided by Eki’s wisdom, the sacred sibling fairly wields the scepter of Judgement,” quoted master Rosalda Fiorlunta from some religious text. Jace had a recognition in his eyes and nodded happily along.

But this short exchange was cut short by the marshall de-Vilgario.

“Knight Fiorlunta. There is a place for a lengthy discussion about religion or long introductions. But not on my time.”

“Of course, marshall, my sincerest apologies,” she said, but with such levity, that I wondered whether she was insulted by the marshall’s words or not. Perhaps she was used to it?

Baron Fascamonta continued with the introductions.

There was one who had not spoken a word since we entered the room, and who also stood furthest away from the map. I knew exactly who he was, as he wore the torpos-green and chain mail of the Lottie Guards. He was introduced as captain Ottavio Calis, and we shook hands politely. An older man, with thinning hair of grey and black, and many wrinkles around his eyes and mouth, especially on his forehead.

I wondered how much older he was from the knight-mage of Hanuk.

We said nothing as we shook hands, probably to appease the marshall.

“I apologize that we had to rush through the introductions,” said baron Fascamonta, and took his place beside the marshall. “But we all want to get this meeting over with. We still have a great deal of things to decide tonight.”

The Lord Mayor turned to marshall de-Vilgario. “Mr. Espian is Pitties’ agent I told you about last week. He’s here on some kind of special mission from the King himself.”

“Indeed?” spoke the marshall, standing in the middle of everyone. “I know that the Royal Advisor has many agents in Lottie. They’re working closely with me and the mayor. But from the letter, I understand that you, Mr. Espian, stand above those agents. Apparently, you and your unit have special privileges?”

“That’s correct,” I said, feeling everyone’s eyes on me. I understood now very well what Iskander said on the staircase, and oh, how I would’ve happily relinquished the role of spokesperson to someone more capable or willing. “Rainier Pitties has given me and my team a highly specific and dangerous task.”

“Which is?” demanded the marshall.

“I’m afraid I must keep the details a secret,” I replied, immediately drawing a disapproving glare from Florencia. Jace’s face went white, and I felt Iskander’s muscles tense up. His reactions always were very easy to sense. And beside him, Jaxine almost seemed to face into the background, as if she wasn’t even here at all.