Milos looked over to the pile of documents on his desk and sighed. Just this morning, he had cleared two thousand pages of government documentation off that dastardly desk, but now, not four hours later, it was already full again. Truly, it was at times like these he wondered why he had decided to become a government official.

Steeling himself for the work ahead, Milos took a sip of tea and scouted through the first few pages of the top folder.

“Densckalle officials meeting with Euralis on trade routes uninvolved with Atlas...” Milos murmured, “Huh.”

Seems like there’s finally something interesting to analyze.

Putting down his cup, he sat up and placed the folder on his reading pile. As he flicked on the light to start reading, someone, presumably his secretary, suddenly knocked at his door.

“Mr. Agasti, Sir, may I come in?” came a female voice.  

“Yeah, sure.” Milos nodded, unlocking the double-doors with a snap of his fingers, “Come on in.”

Alliah, the elven secretary, stepped in on her three-inch high heels.

“Sir.” She greeted.

“Alliah.” Milos acknowledged.  

“So, what seems to be the problem?” he asked.

Alliah nodded, then retrieved a parcel of documents from beyond the door and placed them on Milos’ desk.

“These,” Alliah pointed, “have been marked for high-priority investigation by the King’s court.”

“They would like it analyzed by weeks end.” She said, “Alongside a prisoner in Foreign Keep.”  

Milos frowned, then lifted the parcel into the lamp light. The parcel was heavy. He could already tell that it was going to be a ridiculous amount of work.

“By special order of the King’s court?” He commented, poking at the parcel with a pen, “Are you sure?”

“Well,” Alliah shrugged, putting her hands in the air, “It’s what the head told me. So, I wouldn’t risk it if I were you.”

Milos frowned.   

“Risk what?”

“Risk being late as usual.” Alliah replied, then stepped out, closing the door behind her.

 “Late as usual?” Milos snorted as she left, “And what would she know about being on time.”

Sitting alone at the desk once more, Milos poked at the parcel again, not wanting to start. On top of the package, he noticed, was a menacing seal. It was the lion’s head stamp of the Rivelion empire, no less, a royal one, indicated by the golden ring. It wasn’t very often that the royal family bothered to smack their seal on a package, so what Alliah had said was probably quite true. The king’s court would most likely not tolerate any delays on this one.

His heart sinking a little, Milos opened the paper bindings with a pen-knife and reached inside for the first folder. Once again, he was met with the glowing red eyes of the Rivelion lion. Beside it was a sentence in large red text saying, ‘For the High Guardian’s Eyes Only’.

The narrative has been taken without permission. Report any sightings.

Sticking his thumb into the wax lion’s mouth, he watched as the eyes of the lion slowly transitioned from glaring red to a forest green, then opened the folder.

As he flipped to the first page, he instantly noticed the words ‘spy’ and ‘undercover’.

Milos smirked.

“My day just keeps getting more and more interesting.” He whispered beneath his breath.

First, he was going to pay a visit to foreign keep.

. -.-- . / --- -. / - .... . / .- - .-.. .- ...

Milos stepped down into the interrogation chamber. The steel cell was open roofed, and through it the winter’s wrath stung at his skin, even though he had been covered in layers of thick rams-wool.

“Is the man ready?” Milos asked the warden and sat down at the interrogator’s desk, “Mr. Chrysler Blaire?”

The warden nodded, then placed a plate of oven-warmed fruits on the table as he sat down beside him.

“Okay then,” Milos smiled, popping a grape into his mouth, “Mr. Blaire, from what little files I’ve read, it seems you’re from the country of Atlas, right?”

The prisoner, naked and shaking from the cold, nodded from beyond the metal gate.

Milos nodded back.

“And you were caught doing…?” He gestured in question.

“Espionage. Sir.” The warden replied in the prisoner’s stead, “He’s an infiltrator.”

Milos frowned.

“Did I ask you?” said Milos shaking his head irritably.

“No, sir.” The warden apologized.

“Right.” Milos puffed.

Turning back to the prisoner, he picked a strawberry from the platter and bit deep into its fleshy meat.

“So. Espionage. Very interesting.” He mumbled through the fruit in his mouth, “Who sent you then?”

“Surely not Atlas. A merchant nation wouldn’t take such preposterous risks.” Milos continued, “So Densckalle maybe?”

“Or Euralis? Or both! Since those two seem to be getting along quite well.” He asked in rapid-fire.

The prisoner didn’t respond. His eyes faded in and out of focus as the winter winds attacked his skin.

Milos sighed.

“Warden. Hot water.” He murmured.

As commanded, the warden quickly retrieved a bucket of hot water and placed it beside the gate. Milos stood up swiftly and splashed the quivering man. The heat contrasting with the deathly chill of winter burned at the mans skin, making him scream in agony, but restoring his consciousness.

“Which. Country. Sent. You.” Milos asked again, emphasizing each word with a pause.

The prisoner stared into Milos’ eyes and didn’t respond. Perhaps he didn’t know the answer, or simply, refused out of loyalty and spite.

Sighing again, Milos gestured to the warden.

“Turn on the cold shower.”

The warden nodded and stood up to man the water valve. As the first drops of freezing liquid hit the man’s nude back, the prisoner looked up in agony and opened his mouth.

“Wait.” He whispered, then the shower opened, and he screamed.

“WAIT! WAIT! PLEASE WAIT!”

Milos motioned for the warden to stop.

“Yes, my dear friend?” He said, kneeling to face the tortured man.

The prisoner puffed with efforted breaths and lay down on the icy floor.

“Zekstra.” He finally answered, “I was sent by Zekstra.”

Milos nodded, then returned to his seat.

“And your codename?” He asked, tilting his head.

The prisoner suddenly perked up.

“My codename?” He asked back.

Milos frowned.

“Yes. Your codename.”

The prisoner sat up and grinned.

“Oh, I was the three-headed guardian of the gate!” He smirked, leaning into the frozen beams which separated him from the interrogators.

“The fabled, uncatchable, Cerberus…” The prisoner giggled, slurring his pronunciation of each word in the sentence.

Milos smiled.

“Cerberus… I see.” He nodded, then stood up, “Very funny.”

“What’s so funny?” The prisoner frowned, “You’ve just caught the biggest spy in Rivelion.”

Milos glanced back at the man, then turned and walked slowly to the shower valve.

“Warden. Send this man to the blocks when you’re done.” He said quietly.

The prisoner froze.

“Wait what!?” He shouted, confused, “But there’s so much I can tell you, I know so much! Why!?”

The warden, also confused looked onto Milos.

“Sir, if he is in fact Cerberus, should we not investigate further?”

Milos looked back at the warden and laughed.

“If you think so warden, then go ahead. Listen to what he says.”

The warden, slightly nervous, nodded.

“But, I’ll be damned if the ‘Cerberus’ was this easy to catch.”

. -.-- . / --- -. / - .... . / .- - .-.. .- ...

As Milos stepped out into the courtyard above the foreign keep, he couldn’t help but shiver away the cold that had seeped deep into his bones. The surface felt like spring compared to the chilled depth of the interrogation room and he sighed comfortably as his body finally warmed under his trusty ram-wool coat. Finally, when he eventually recuperated in full, he hummed a lively tune as he walked slowly, away, from the hideous screams echoing beneath his feet.