-- Reflections of Suffering --

Draxuropolis

Sylus stared into the hand-held mirror, his mismatched eyes glaring back at him. His finger drummed idly against the wooden armchair, a habit he picked up whenever he was in deep thought. The crimson eye, in particular, was a reminder of what he had become—an object of fear. People who caught even a glimpse of that eye were quick to turn away, as if the sight alone cursed them with some unspeakable dread.

He hadn’t always been this way. He remembered a time, not so long ago, when both his eyes were perfectly normal, matching like anyone else’s. Back then, he lived a simple life, unburdened by the other people’s misery. He could walk down the street without flinching, without feeling the crushing despair that now lurked around every corner. Life had been quiet, uneventful—just the way he liked it.

Then came his seventeenth birthday. The day everything changed.

He could still picture it vividly. He had been walking by the river when he spotted the girl, thrashing desperately in the water, her cries drowned by the current. He then jumped in without hesitation for to save her. But the moment their eyes met, something shifted inside him. It wasn’t just the terror in her face—it was as if her very soul had latched onto his, dragging all its pain, all its suffering, into him. Her trauma became his, her agony wound itself around his heart.

That had been the first time. The first time he experienced someone else’s suffering as if it were his own.

At first, it was just her. He thought the sensation would fade, that he would return to normal once the shock wore off. But it didn’t. The very next day, as he walked through the crowded streets, it happened again. A wave of anguish hit him out of nowhere, voices crying out in his mind, a cacophony of pain from every direction. He could feel their wounds, their traumas, their fears, all crashing into him at once. He was surrounded by invisible horrors, and there was no escape.

He soon realized that the crimson eye was no coincidence. It had appeared that day, after he had saved the girl, and with it came the curse. The eye was a reflection of everything he now carried—every sin, every scar, every broken soul that came near him.

“How did you manage to acquire the map?” a voice broke the silence. Sylus didn’t even have to look to know who it was. Reyr, with his ever-judging eyes, stepped through the doorway. He crossed his arms, leaning against the frame as though waiting for an explanation. "I don't recall, not a single member of our guild has any insights regarding the routes taken by the abduction perpetrators, nor do we know the precise location of their main black market base."

“Maybe it's a counterfeit,” a mutter from another one who just emerged - Khalid, as usual, quieter, but never one to let things slide. “But, could it really be true that you would defraud your own cousin in such a brazen manner?”

It hadn’t been long since Felix had paid a visit, and while Sylus was expecting him—thanks to Igner’s warning—his cousin’s interest had been… surprising. He thought the Duke's son had come to discuss the recent border incident, but no, his cousin’s focus had been elsewhere—on the abductions. And at the perfect moment too, since Sylus had something valuable to offer in exchange. The map.

The map wasn’t fake. It wasn’t some hurried forgery designed to trick Felix. It was the real deal.

“Our business,” Sylus began, “is to provide plausible information. I hate to tell you, but the map is authentic.”

“Is that so?” Reyr frowned as he thought that Sylus was still fooling around. “How do you even get your hands on something like that? You’re not telling us everything. Unless you’ve been working with someone else behind our backs?”

Sylus rolled his eyes to the accusation. “I stole it,” he said nonchalantly, as if discussing the weather. “I’m not about to waste my entire life making up lies just to find the cancers of society.”

“You stole it? From where?”

Khalid jumped in, then guessed. “The black market, right? Or maybe some underground broker?”

Sighed, exhaling in exaggerated boredom as Sylus looked into the small mirror, he ran a hand through his hair to fix the unruly strands with little care for their disbelief. “No,” he replied. “I stole it from the palace.”

For a moment, the room went silent.

“You did what?” Reyr blurted.

Khalid was similarly stunned, but it quickly gave way, then Reyr spoke again. "Sylus, you are acting erratically and recklessly! What you have done borders on insanity! Trespassing into the palace is not only foolhardy but life-threatening, and worse, you’ve dragged us into this!”

“What were you thinking? You can’t just waltz into the palace and steal a map like it’s some kind of game!” Khalid threw his hands in the air.

"I was yearning for a break from routine and desired some lighthearted enjoyment," Sylus gave a lazy shrug, offering an offhanded excuse.

“Enjoyment?” Khalid repeated. “You risked your neck—our necks—for enjoyment?”

“Relax,” Sylus said with teasing smile. "You tend to worry more than necessary."

But the truth lingered beneath the surface. He hadn’t exactly come by the map in the most… legitimate way. Bagus—Queen Maldria’s older brother—was the one who had it, and Bagus, with his title and responsibilities in handling the kingdom’s maps, was no ordinary man. He had access to all sorts of information, especially regarding Draxurio, where the map was centered. Being a member of the lower council granted him certain privileges. Sylus hadn’t planned on stealing from him—it had been pure chance. He’d snuck into the palace with another goal in mind but had stumbled upon the map instead. A coincidence, but one that could’ve gotten him executed if anyone had found out.

Yet, he had been lucky. For now.

“By the gods...” Reyr’s voice pulled him back to the present. “You need to return the map, Sylus. Bring it back before it’s too late.”

“Why would I return it?” Sylus said evenly. “The negotiation has already been made."

The concern was if the palace found out that the Duke's son had that map, it won’t just be Sylus in trouble. His cousin could be dragged into this too, whether Felix knew it or not. And when the palace got involved, the guild could face consequences just for being associated with him.

“Reyr’s right. The palace isn’t going to care about the details. They’ll come down on all of us, and if the Duke'son gets caught in the crossfire, so do we. You’ve made this everyone’s problem," Khalid added.

With no longer interested in his reflection, Sylus turned to face them both. For a moment, neither Reyr nor Khalid said a word, the uncomfortable sight of his crimson and bronzed eyes making them shift uneasy. Then, he smirked. "He has already put himself in danger. I just gave him something to make his plan easier.”

“Since when do you care about helping your cousin?" Reyr furrowed.

That question made Sylus' smile fading slowly. He and Felix had never been close, not even as children. They had always kept their distance, walking separate paths, neither of them particularly eager to bridge the gap between them. Sylus had his reasons, and the Duke's son… well, Felix had his own.

“I don’t,” he replied flatly, then shifted the conversation back to the map, deciding to clarify. “Besides, the map isn’t even from the palace. If it were an official document, it would have the kingdom’s crest, the royal stamp of authentication. It doesn’t. That’s how I know it doesn’t belong to the palace.”

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

Yes. If it had the crest, he wouldn’t have taken it. That map was something else—something Bagus probably shouldn’t have had in the first place. But it wasn't the kingdom’s property.

Reyr and Khalid exchanged looks of resignation because there was no point in continuing their argument with Sylus. His stubbornness was as impenetrable as ever, so they decided to change the conversation.

"So," Khalid crossed his arm. “Have there been any new developments or progress updates regarding the border incident?”

The question made Sylus stiff slightly, a reaction too small for most to catch, but Khalid was observant. "It appears that you have information that you are withholding. Am I correct in assuming this?"

The border incident had been bothering him, but he couldn’t reveal everything. He was still unsure. Even though Reyr and Khalid were the closest he had to confidants, there were still some secrets he had to keep. Especially about what he’d witnessed in the ruins. No—it wasn’t the right time. Not until he could locate the seed hidden somewhere in the palace.

He had his hands on more than just a map. Ancient tome, scrap of history, vague mentions of the seed. He knew it was connected to the palace, but the key to finding it was still out of reach. The tome lacked was that one crucial detail: the key’s location. He suspected it was on Clemente’s estate, in the north. But returning there—returning to his so-called grandfather—wasn’t something Sylus was eager to do.

The thought of Clemente made him pause. He wondered, for just a moment, what the old man was doing now. Probably tending to the animals on his farm, missing that favorite horse Sylus had taken without a word. Or maybe he was busy in his dusty library, poring over one of his ancient books. Perhaps, deep down, he was waiting for Sylus to return.

But no. It didn’t matter. Clemente had broken his promise, and Sylus wasn’t even his real grandson. He had only been adopted into that life because of his mother. She was the one Clemente had taken in, not him.

He clenched his jaw, pushing the memories aside. He couldn’t afford to dwell on the past. Not with everything that ~~~

“I saw the bodies,” Reyr said, still frustrated. “The sentries… they didn’t look like anything a human could have done. Their bodies were so severely desiccated that it was difficult to identify their features, as if all their life force and blood had been extracted from them. Dried up, as if life had been sucked out entirely. It was unnatural.”

Sylus glanced at Reyr from the corner of his eye, sensing what his confidant was hinting at. “An omen or harbinger of the kingdom’s downfall,” Reyr added.

"If this marks the beginning of the downfall, it is perhaps wise to consider an escape strategy. It may be prudent to seek refuge in a different kingdom before I find myself ensnared and reduced to the status of slaves," Khalid said.

"So, you'd willingly forsake your own kin, while I remain here, battling and fighting for the sake of this land?"

Khalid stretched out his lips and replied. "My intention is not to remain here indefinitely if things take a turn for the worse. I refuse to let myself be subjugated or held captive."

While listening to the bickering duo, Sylus couldn't help but wondered why he was feeling so uneasy. Something was really off.

Reyr finally sobered, looking back at Sylus with a pointed stare. "But I would like to inquire about your knowledge of the recent border incident. I have noticed that you have been rather reticent on the subject."

He couldn’t share everything, not now. Too much was at risk. With a slight shake of his head, he redirected the conversation.

“Forget about the border for now. I need both of you to keep an eye on Bagus."

Khalid and Reyr exchanged confused glances again.

“I’m serious,” Sylus continued. “I believe Bagus has something to do with the disappearances. If you gather any information, don’t come to me. Go straight to the Duke's son and assist him. It's part of the negotiation after all."

The two about to open their mouth again to protest but Sylus raised a finger to stop them and with a smile on his lips that could only be described as idiotically confident. “I’m currently occupied,” he said, rising from the chair and placing the small mirror he had been holding in its place. “I've got a lot on my plate.”

He made his way toward the door, but Reyr wasn’t ready to let him off. “I’d rather go with you!” he shouted. "Despite your somewhat difficult attitude, it is still preferable to offer my assistance rather than aid your cousin. The son of a duke? He is as cold and aloof as a winter's frost."

But Sylus was already left the room. He had heard enough... A lot from the two, especially from Reyr's mouth.

"Your entreaties are likely to fall on deaf ears, Reyr. It might be best for you to remain silent already," Khalid scoff.

“Easy for you to say. You’ve never faced the threat of a sword wielded by the Duke's son. I was this close to losing my head that day.” He held up his fingers to demonstrate how close. "It seems that fate favored me on that day. I’d rather go with someone who doesn’t even know how to wield a sword than risk that again.”

"Refrain from underestimating Sylus' capabilities. Who knows, maybe he’s even more… than you realize.”

Reyr’s eyes looked on the door Sylus had walked through, a quiet sigh escaping his lips. That stubborn guy... He tilted his head toward Khalid. "What do you think he has been so occupied with lately?"

Standing still, Khalid followed Reyr's gaze to the door but his eyes soon dropped to the crimson line etched into the floor—a mark neither of them dared to cross. He remained silent while his mind wandering to what Sylus could possibly be up to. Whatever it was, it wasn’t something easily explained. The master of the guild was always a mystery.

Meanwhile, Sylus was already far from the tavern, leaving the two men behind with all their unanswered questions. His mind preoccupied with thoughts of returning to the palace. He needed to find the seed—that seed. He had spent so long searching, and yet, with every door he opened, it seemed even further from his grasp.

Thirteen doors. He had opened at least thirteen doors by now. His patience was getting thinner. How many more would it take until he finally found what he was looking for? The palace was vast, a maze of corridors, and each door led to nothing but frustration.

Today had been his chance—the parade. Everyone would be distracted, the palace security thinned out. It would have been the perfect time to slip in unnoticed, to pick up his search again. But, of course, that plan had been ruined by none other than his cousin, showing up and forcing him to change course.

Igner. He had practically begged Sylus to help Felix. Sure, he got it—Felix was a big deal, and as his right hand, Igner was dragged into every political mess the Duke's son was involved in. But honestly, to Sylus, Igner was just lazy and whiny. Always complaining about how tired he was. Well, too bad. Sylus had better things to do than play along with his cousin's business.

His thoughts spiraled deeper into frustration as he walked down the street. He could’ve been at the palace by now. He could’ve been one step closer to the seed. Maybe it was time to consider other options. He had the ancient tome, after all. There was a section on teleportation that he’d skimmed through. It could help him move through the palace faster, skip all those cursed doors and get straight to where he needed to be. But teleportation was advanced magic, and learning it would take time—more time than he had.

The ancient language itself was a puzzle, the words complicated and hard to read. He’d tried to pronounce them that night in the ruins, but something had gone wrong. He probably mispronounced something, and the summoning spell had failed.

He stopped in his tracks. If the summoning hadn’t worked that night… then why had he felt so uneasy about the border incident? That night, the figure he’d tried to summon. It hadn’t fully formed—it had been incomplete. A strange, changing outline that flickered for a brief moment before… boom. The spell had failed. But still, something about it bothered him.

Then something caught his eyes - a wisp of smoke in the sky.

His steps slowed and looked narrowly toward the source. The air thickened with a dark, cloudy effect that spiraled upward.

“Smoke…” he mumbled.

It was unmistakable now, the smoke billowed from the direction of the central.

The town square… was on fire.

When he got there, he witnessed the flames danced like hungry beasts. And the townsfolk stumbled around.

“Fire! Fire! The stalls are burning!”

“My wares—oh, by the gods—save what you can! My shop will be ruined!”

“Someone fetch water! Quickly, before it spreads to the houses!”

The scent of burning wooden stalls mixed with the panic of the people, and he stayed at the edge of the alley, hesitant to step any closer. He knew what would happen if people got within ten meters of his border.

The curse that tied to him—the ability to feel, hear, and see the suffering of others—wasn't something he wanted to confront here, not with so many in pain.

So, he stayed back and watched the flames devour the heart of the square.

“Where are the guards? Why aren’t they helping?”

He spotted that individual who was running with cloth bag away from the blaze. The festival was supposed to bring joy, yet here it was, devolving into chaos. How had it turned so quickly? Had the fire started near the lanterns?

“The wind... It’s fanning the flames! We’re doomed if it reaches the granary!” a man stumbled out of the smoke, coughing, his words barely coherent.

But Sylus knew it didn’t make sense. The lanterns weren’t scheduled to be lit until nightfall. This wasn’t an accident.

Something—or someone—had caused this.

“Witch!” someone screamed the word like a death knell.

“Witch!” came another shout.

Witch? He repeated the word in his mind.

Then, a figure cloaked emerged from the smoke.

Curious...at the same time he felt nervous all of a sudden. He had a choice to make, but as the figure came to a view, the thing he believed was—

A flash of fire ignited in the hands.

From the responsible one of the chaos...