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Chapter IV: The Brothers Grazzli

21, Flame Star 1011,

The Age of Night

31 Days until the Night of the Moon

The Grazzli Estate, Fioranz

“Why do you insist on wearing those dreadful robes?” Said Síbela to her father.

“Be grateful child… the ways of the Venganzi will not be something that will ever burden nor concern you. Rejoice.” Said Governor Grazzli, who was just finishing adorning himself in an ornate black robe.

After he had finished, the two hurried around their large estate, which sat on the northwest side of the red city, Fioranz. Síbela dusted and laid out the silverware delicately, while her father adjusted the paintings, candles, and other decorations, ensuring they looked pristine and flaunted their status. Soon thereafter, Síbela was sitting up on a beautiful sofa, resting her sequin covered hands in her lap, primp and proper.

“How about some music, child?” Asked the Governor.

“Please.” said Síbela.

Governor Grazzli hovered over toward the mantle of the fireplace, where a small, gold trimmed black chest sat. He took it and opened it, and lifted a gold lever. Suddenly, the box began to emit beautiful music. It was a legato song with stringed instruments and choral singers.

“Ah, the Green Hills of Fiora, what a beautiful composition.” He said.

Síbela didn’t care for the song, it reminded her of him, as its composer, like he, was from Wesenra.

They waited for a few more hours, when the knock came on the door.

Governor Grazzli glanced at his daughter, who sat up once again, nervously.

The large, blood red door creaked open.

Towering just over the portal of the large door was a duo of ven.

“Syrio, Galzon!” Said the Governor, who embraced the two of them, kissing them each on the cheek.

“May we… come in?” Said a cold, thin voice.

“Of course my brothers, of course!”

They were both robed similarly but clearly less finely than Governor Grazzli as they all hovered through the long hall, toward the den of the estate.

Síbela wiped her brow of sweat, a sign of her Lyban blood, as the Venganzi did not perspire.

As the two ven came in sight their hollow faces stared, and were fixed on Síbela. Despite the great discomfort this brought her, she rose and extended her delicate hand.

“Hello Uncle Syrio” She curtsied, and again. “Uncle Galzon”

The two said nothing, eyes still locked upon her own. She swallowed nervously.

The three brothers Grazzli sat simultaneously, and the Governor lurched backward in recline, pulling an apple from his robe. Galzon stared at him, blinking blankly.

“So, Belzon… You've… taken to their food too, now, I see.”

“Indeed, brother.” Said Belzon, who clapped his hand for a servant. A stubby old Lyban hoveled over carrying a silver tray with three goblets on it. He bowed and served each of the brothers. “You really should try some!”

“Thank you my servant.” Belzon said, jovially.

“You… thank them too, I see.” Galzon continued.

Governor Grazzli finally decided to address him.

“Brother. I am a Governor, after all. What did you expect?”

“He expected you would… maintain proper order.” Syrio quipped, in a cold, reserved voice.

“Uncle, how is the family business doing these days? Still working closely with the Rajari?” asked Síbela.

The two ven simply stared at her.

“Not likely.” Said Syrio. “Things have… changed, haven’t they? Since… the Hell Flayer’s departure. Territorial gains have been… marginal.”

“No no, my lord, there is a new Hell Flayer, my fiancée. My fiancée, remember? Lord Venzicar.”

The two ven laughed.

“Ha. Yes. Him. Daryusz… Venzi-cur…” Said Galzon, laughing with his graveled voice, hardly getting the words out.

Síbela couldn’t help but glare at her uncle.

“Forgive us. The esteemed Lord Venzicar. The heir-apparent.” Syrio scoffed.

The two laughed again, more heartily.

“And… Belzon… how is the Venrex these days?”

Belzon sipped his beverage.

“As visionary as ever. The future we are establishing will be one of such prosperity it will make Gormar’s reign look like the Dark Ages.”

The two eyed their brother suspiciously.

“What’s with… all this retirement nonsense I hear?”

Belzon raised his eyebrows and exhaled.

“Well, he is quite old, as you know; one of the eldest of our race. What can I say? On one hand, he is as passionate and hearty as ever in his plans for the North, but on the other… yes, he is tired.”

“Tsk.” said Galzon, smirking a bit.

“Admittedly, the forest campaign… lasting five years has been… a disappointment to him.” Belzon continued.

"That damned forest." Syrio spoke, with venom. "We burn ten trees down, a hundred grow in its place because of those loin-cloth mongrels and their wretched dirt magic."

“It is perplexing. But there is an answer to their opposition to... progress. That forest will fall."

Something dawned on Galzon and he turned back to Belzon.

"What happened to that cur, that Rabani?” Galzon asked. “Weren’t you both… close to him?”

“Perhaps for a time… He vanished. Deserted, I’m afraid. It’s confirmed now.” Said Governor Grazzli, who was slurping on his goblet.

“It’s actually a matter of Imperial security. Our orders are to apprehend the fugitive Hell Flayer on sight.”

“Hah.” Syrio belted. “Is it really? The beasts have been put in their place once more, Belzon. As rabid as this… Rabani animal was… that’s all they can hope to be.”

Governor Grazzli's face darkened at Syrio's words, but he maintained his composure.

"I would advise you to choose your words more carefully, Syrio. I am a Governor, Many Rabani are still citizens of this empire and it is our duty before the Venrex to maintain their protection as to keep their usefulness to him… secure"

Syrio raised an eyebrow. "Respect? For animals? The curs?"

“You may be a lover of their kind, Belzon, our father forgive you…” He continued. “You know it’s against nature.”

Síbela abruptly interjected. "They may be different from us, but they are still living beings with feelings and imperial rights. It's not right to speak of them like that."

Galzon chuckled.

"You speak like your Lyban mother, Síbela. But in the end, it doesn't matter. The Rabani and all Lyban, for that matter, are insignificant in the grand scheme of things. They’re curs… They will always be at the bottom of the cosmic hierarchy. They live to serve and feed us."

The Governor was unavoidably unnerved, and cleared his throat.

"S-speaking of the hierarchy, my brothers, I believe… we have more pressing matters to discuss. The Imperial Court has called for a meeting next week to discuss the recent… developments at the front, in Drümmarg. I’m sure your investors will want to know how the barbarians are faring these days… Plenty of commercial opportunities to pounce on?"

The two ven nodded, their attention now focused on the Governor. The conversation moved on to politics and business, but Síbela couldn't help feeling a sense of unease as she listened to her uncles speak. She knew they were powerful ven, with connections and influence that reached far beyond the borders of their own province. She also knew… she could never escape what she was to them… a half-breed. An abomination. Still. She stood by and listened.

“...I speak of the Hell Flayer because… his presence is… unfortunately… well noted after these five years.” Said Galzon.

“There is something we have heard… something that we need you to share with us.” He continued, reaching for the goblet, slurping it slowly. “That this… unthinkable thing has happened.”

“It is quite ominous, indeed.“ chimed in Syrio.

Belzon shifted in his seat, slightly.

“You mean… what happened at the front four days ago…”

“It’s… not true is it? It can’t be.” Said Syrio.

“Our kind does not… fall in battle.”

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Syrio scoffed.

“Let alone to sticks and stones thrown by savages.”

Belzon sipped his goblet and took another bite from his apple.

“I’m afraid brother.” He said, chewing. “You know as well as I, we are quite mortal. We aren’t gods.”

The two stared at Belzon fiercely at his comment.

Belzon raised his glass.

“T’wouldn’t be so that we had to sustain ourselves on swine, would we?”

“You are most insolent.” Said Syrio, looking off in the distance.

Belzon finished his goblet completely, handing it off to the Lyban servant.

“Yes… yes… it is truly dreadful.” Said Belzon. “Ghastly. Truly.”

“So it is true.... A ven has died at the hands of a Lyban.” Said Galzon, covering his mouth with his hand...

“Hang on.” Said Belzon. “We can’t confirm that.”

Galzon looked over.

“What was it, then?”

“Unfortunately, it was death, brother. The grounds were described… properly.”

The two guests seemed to shift in their seats, unnerved by the idea.

“Did he starve?” Asked Syrio.

“I don’t think so.” Said Belzon, who was finishing his apple.

“Weapons at the site?”

“No.” Said Belzon. “Just ours, and what appears to be a broken arrow, with residue.”

The two’s eyes dropped to a pinprick.

Galzon's eyes twitched. "A broken… arrow?" he repeated.

Syrio’s face grew grim as the reality of the situation sank in. "This is troubling news," he said, his voice low and grave. "It means that we are not safe, even in our own territory. Even in the Empire."

Belzon and Syrio nodded in agreement, both looking equally concerned.

"Of course, I agree. we must take action to protect our people, and we are." Belzon continued. "For whatever reason… if it is possible now, if the Lybans are… developing… we will not allow them to target our brothers and sisters and have them killed like this."

The two seemed very pleased at his response, nodding simultaneously.

Galzon spoke up, his voice equally serious. "But how do we do that? We do not know who or what caused this, how they were able to do it, and we do not know how to defend against it." He clenched his fists, frustration evident in his expression.

"We will find a way," Said Belzon firmly. "We will investigate this and determine who is responsible. And once we know that, we will take action to ensure that our people are safe. Mark my words with full confidence, that no Venganzi will ever perish by the sword again in this Empire. Too much is at stake."

Galzon nodded in anticipatory agreement, but quickly ceased as his brother carried on. His expression pensive, as Belzon sipped his goblet once more.

“...nnnYes… Too much is at stake. The Venrex's vision of a united Etria, a realm of order, liberty, and decency… of harmony between races… that must be maintained.”

Galzon and Syrio exchanged another worried glance, unsure of what to say next. Naturally, the three Venganzi began to shift the conversation back to topics of their influence on money, power, and world politics. Their voices grew more slow and dull, were it possible, and monotone as they droned on about taxes, tariffs, and trade agreements. Several times, Síbela tried to interject, to steer the conversation back to more interesting and engaging topics, but the others seemed determined to continue down this path.

The room grew quiet except for the low murmur of their voices and the faint sound if the music, that the guests didn’t seem to care for. She tried to listen to it as they discussed budgets, alliances, and other mundane matters. Síbela couldn't help but feel bored and frustrated, longing for a more lively conversation that would engage her mind and spirit.

As the minutes ticked by, she grew increasingly restless, tapping her foot and fidgeting in her seat. They barely noticed, their attention still focused on the dreary topic at hand. She clutched her dress in her fist, and in the midst of their droning about wealth and power, she shot to her feet and said,

"Excuse me, my esteemed lords, but I must excuse myself from this conversation." She tried to keep her voice steady, but she could feel her heart pounding in her chest. "I have some personal matters to attend to." The two ven burned with disgust over her insolence. Without waiting for a response, she made a hasty exit from the room, leaving her uncles and father to continue their discussions without her.

As she ran to her quarters, tears streamed down her eyes. She slammed the great door, and leaned against the wall, holding her mouth to coat the sound of her crying. Síbela slid down the wall and sat on the floor, and she tried to collect herself. She knew she couldn't let her uncles or anyone else see her in such a vulnerable state. She wiped away her tears and took a few deep breaths, trying to calm herself down.

After a few minutes, she stood up and walked over to her mirror, examining her reflection… She couldn't help but notice the differences between herself and the ven. Her skin was pristine like theirs, but more… life-like; she possessed a few faint freckles on her nose and cheeks. Her hair was thicker, and her deep azure eyes, beautiful, and round. Her face wasn’t lifeless or mute. It was brimming with youth and flush with warmth, and beauty marks adorned her face. She hated the fact that she felt like an outsider in her own home. Determined to regain her composure, Síbela took a deep breath and began to gather her thoughts. She knew she had to be careful around her uncles and other ven of their status, but she refused to let them make her feel inferior.

After the tears had stopped… the intrusive thoughts came.

“Why? Why now? I don’t want to think about you!” She thought to herself, over and over again. “Ugh… Why is it always you? I see you in my dreams… your voice in my head… and sometimes…”

The tears resumed. “I feel your touch… your kiss.”

“What… happened to you, Íbolín?”

“You were… on the way to everything you ever wanted… and I… that was me.”

The tears surged.

“T-that’s what you told me…”

She rose to her feet, sniffling.

She looked outside to see the amazing vista from the Governor’s estate, where the sunset fell on Dagamar Bay.

“What changed?” She said. “You… you were so different… I felt like… we understood each other better than anyone else ever could… in the whole world… we were best friends… partners…”

“I’m with Daryusz now.” She said audibly. “Dwelling on the past… Dwelling on… that… that cur… Íbolín… will only bring more of this pain. A useless distraction. Like father says.”

Síbela decided to take a walk outside to clear her mind and appreciate the beauty of the sunset over the bay. As she walked, she took deep breaths and tried to focus on the present moment, grounding herself in the here and now. She reminded herself of the reasons why she was with Daryusz, and the good things that have come out of their relationship.

With each step she took, she inhaled deeply and tried to center herself in the present moment, taking in the sights and sounds around her. She was an expert by now. To hold it all in, to ground herself in the here and now to push away her intrusive thoughts. That’s what was expected of a Governor’s daughter.

As she walked, Síbela reminded herself of the reasons why she had chosen to be with Daryusz. She thought about the good things that had come out of their relationship, how… despite his low-brow humor… and aloofness… he had been there for her when she needed someone the most, when Íbolín deserted them all. Now they had built a life together and were due to be married. He didn’t quite treat her as a cross-breed, but neither an equal; but he did fawn over her incredible beauty, and she liked it. She knew she had to hold on to those moments and not let her past consume her present.

The salty air of the sea and the warmth of the setting sun began to calm her nerves. She felt more relaxed as she continued her walk, taking in the stunning view of the bay. The waves lapping against the shore and the sounds of seabirds in the distance helped her to clear her mind of the intrusive thoughts that had plagued her earlier.

By the time she returned to her quarters, Síbela felt more centered and ready to face her uncles and their disdainful stares. She knew it wouldn't be easy, but she was determined to show them that she was strong and capable, that she was not defined by their prejudice or her past.

Suddenly, a knock came upon the door, causing her to startle. And shortly after, the venerated red wood door creaked mightily as it slowly opened. Síbela's heart pounded in her chest as she caught a glimpse of her father and uncles' true forms as she stared at them in the reflection of the vanity mirror. Their once flawless skin had transformed into rough, scaly textures of red, and green, and her uncles had piercing cat-like eyes glared back at her with unbridled contempt. The sight of their hideous reptile-like faces made her feel as though the air had been sucked out of her lungs. She struggled to maintain her composure, but her hands shook with fear and disbelief.

For a moment, she considered turning and running as far away from them as possible. The fantasies would play in her head. Maybe she would even run, even after… him. Wherever he was. But then, she remembered her resolve to face her uncles and their prejudices head-on. She stood up straighter, taking a deep breath to steady herself. She knew it wouldn't be too easy, but she refused to let their hatred and discrimination define her.

“Síbela… your uncles are leaving now.”

She took one last look at her reflection in the mirror, feeling the sense of disgust and shame wash right back over her. But Síbela refused to let their disapproval define her. With a deep breath, she turned away from the mirror and faced her father and uncles, determined to show them that she was not ashamed of who she was or who she loved. "Thank you for coming," she said, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside. "I hope we can find a way to move past our differences, dear uncles…"

Síbela felt a twinge of annoyance but kept her composure. "My apologies for leaving, I had personal matters to attend to," she replied evenly.

Galzon scoffed. "You always seem to have personal matters to attend to. You’re quite busy… for a wolen.”

He began to whisper under his breath, but she and her father could still hear.

“Getting ready to further pollute Grazzli blood with more Lyban mud…"

Síbela's fists clenched. She looked to her father, who couldn’t say a word. Still, she kept her tone measured. "I’m sorry to be of such disappointment to you, uncle," she replied, her gaze meeting theirs without flinching. “I will consider both of you and your great wisdom on Venganzi-Lyban affairs. I assure you, I do endeavor… to be… pleasing to you and my Venganzi heritage…”

Her uncles seemed to accept her response for now, nodding, and they bid her and her father farewell before leaving the estate.

Síbela let out a sigh of relief as she watched them go. After they had seen them out, she turned to her father, who was watching her with a mixture of concern and pride.

“Are you alright… my child?” He said. “I… I know they’re… difficult… and narrow-minded.”

"I'm fine, father," she reassured him, giving him a small smile. "...Just another day in the life of a half-breed." She said, brokenly, staring at an angle toward the floor, the pain welling behind her beautiful blue eyes.

Her father shook his head. "You know you’re more than that, Síbela. You represent… a future that there could be; a future this Empire could realize. But more than that. You're my daughter, and you're strong and capable. Don't let anyone make you feel otherwise. We have to… maintain appearances…"

Síbela felt a surge of warmth at his words. She hugged her father tightly before retreating to her room for the night.

As she closed the door to her room, Síbela leaned against it and once again took a deep breath, trying to soothe her wounded heart. She knew that her uncles' disapproval wouldn't be the end of it. They would try to find ways to sabotage her relationship with Daryusz, to tear them apart. Worse, she couldnt help but consider… the Venganzi were rumored to be… involved in disappearances… The thought of it made her feel sick to her stomach. But, then she remembered her father. Belzon was a ven and given to the same coldness at times… but he was wise and insightful, a visionary of sorts, who understood the critical principle of pragmatism for good governorship.

She paced back and forth, her mind racing with all the possible scenarios. What if they succeeded in turning her father against her? What if they found a way to ruin Daryusz's reputation? What if they convinced the rest of the Venganzi to turn their backs on her? What if… she was taken?

She shook her head, trying to dispel the negative thoughts. She couldn't afford to let fear consume her. She had to stay strong and vigilant, to protect what she had fought so hard to build herself into. A strong soul, neither ven or wolen. She made a mental note to talk to Daryusz about what had happened, to prepare him for what might come.

Síbela sat down at her desk and pulled out a piece of parchment. Digging through the drawer of her large, silver-trimmed vanity mirror, she picked up a quill. She hesitated for a moment, unsure of what to say to Daryusz. She had so many conflicting emotions swirling inside her, from the hurt and anger she felt towards her ex-lover, to the worry she felt for Daryusz, who just days before, had departed Fiora to provide… assistance to the Sultanate of Nur.

But then she remembered why she was writing in the first place. She needed to clear her mind, to find a way to move past the pain and confusion that had been weighing her down for so long.

With a deep breath, Síbela began to write. She poured out all her fears and frustrations onto the page, telling Daryusz about the tense confrontation with her pure-blooded uncles and the hurtful words they had spoken. She also mentioned Íbolín and the mixed emotions he stirred in her, unsure of how to reconcile the love she once felt for him with the knowledge of his dangerous actions.

As she wrote, she felt her emotions spill onto the page, releasing the tension that had been building inside her all day. She told Daryusz how much he meant to her, how much she admired his strength and bravery, and how much she hoped that he would return safely from his mission.

When she finished, Síbela read over the letter, feeling a sense of catharsis wash over her. She knew that the problems she faced wouldn't disappear overnight, but she felt more capable of facing them head-on now that she had put her thoughts into words. It wasn’t a solution, but it was a start.

She licked the envelope and dropped the red melted wax on it’s close. She rolled her ring over it, which bore the Grazzli Imperial seal, and summoned a servant. The same stubby Lyban entered her room and took the letter. After he had left, the thoughts continued to grow in the garden of her mind.

Síbela was fiercely loyal to the empire and deeply admired Íbolín for his role in the revolution. She was drawn to his understanding of what it was like to be different, and their relationship was passionate, albeit volatile. However, their falling out left Síbela feeling hurt and misunderstood. She sought comfort in the arms of Daryusz, his successor, and found it.

When Íbolín deserted his position and left without a word, Síbela was devastated. She struggled to reconcile her feelings of admiration for his skills as a warrior. She couldn’t help but think that perhaps it was from the brutality of his actions; that they had finally caused him to break. For his exploits had even started to unsettle her at the peak of his power. Despite her loyalty to the empire and her belief in Íbolín’s cause, she couldn't ignore the growing sense of unease she felt then, but at the time she dismissed it, knowing that war was something dreadful, something birthed from the dark realm Umbraneth. But, it was something her former lover had clearly embraced. He embraced it in hopes of realizing the world he had dreamed of. A world he promised to share with her.

As she pondered his motives for deserting, Síbela couldn't help but wonder why Íbolín would have a change of heart about the empire. The very empire he had bled to forge. She had always believed that the empire was a force for order and peace following the years of turmoil that the Plague of 981 brought. She saw their actions, no matter how brutal, were necessary for the greater good, and creating a lasting prosperity. She had never questioned the morality of the empire, even as she watched Íbolín carry out his atrocities as the Hell Flayer.

But now, with him gone for over five years now, she couldn't help but consider the possibility that the empire was not as righteous as she had always believed. She thought back to the conversations she had with Íbolín, who frequently mused philosophically about the nature of power and the cost of maintaining it. She dismissed those ideas at the time, thinking that they were the ramblings of a len consumed by a mind taxed by war.

But now, as she watched the empire continue on its path of conquest, she couldn't help but wonder if Íbolín had been right all along. Had he seen something that she had missed? Had he realized that the cost of maintaining the empire was too high, even for someone as skilled and ruthless as himself? What did he start to see, that caused such a drastic change?

These thoughts weighed heavily on Síbela's mind as she tried to come to terms with Íbolín desertion. She knew… in some way, she still loved him, but she knew that she could never forgive him for abandoning the empire and the people they had sworn to protect. She could never forgive him for never saying goodbye, leaving after making all of those promises to her.

With a newfound sense of determination, Síbela retired to her bed and closed her eyes. She didn't know what the future held, but she knew that she would face it head-on.

Later that night, Governor Grazzli was working in his study, when he heard a knock on the large door of the manse, again. He stood up. He was in his night robes, not expecting further company. He took a lantern to the door, peeked through the hole, and opened it.

“Belzon.”

“Brother… you’re… back so soon?” Said the Governor.

“Yes.” Said Syrio.

“You must come with me.”

“ Tonight.”

Belzon stared blankly.

He swallowed uncomfortably.

“I-I’ve been meaning to attend, I have— but… as you can see… the hour is late, I am not dressed… and I have so many missives to send. Tell him I will see him tomorrow at first light.“

“You are right. The hour is late; One of ours has fallen, and we must deal with it in the old ways.”

“Tsk.” Syrio scoffed.

“Belzon. Cease hiding behind your title and stop this insolence. Come back to your heritage. We are tired of your excuses, young one.”