With him out of sight,, I turned my attention to the man on the bench, his breaths shallow and sporadic. Perhaps it was not unconsciousness that claimed him but a merciful slumber. "Will he recover?" the woman beside me asked, her voice laced with concern.

"That remains to be seen," I answered, pulling on my gloves once more. They served a dual purpose—concealing the conspicuous ring that marked my identity, attacking all the attention and granting me a semblance of anonymity. Although, my uniform betrayed my allegiance. "We've bent the rules to their breaking point, and for that, I am truly sorry. But I must ask for one final indulgence."

Her eyes widened in surprise. "You seek my permission?"

I nodded, a gesture of respect in a world where such courtesies were often forgotten. "Please, allow me this."

A faint smile graced my lips as I imagined Stephan's ire upon learning of my defiance. Rising, I traced a line in the air, inscribing runes that glowed with an ethereal light. They coalesced into a shimmering portal, slicing through reality to reveal a distant place.

An elderly man clad in white emerged from the rift, unfazed by the sorcery or the distance traversed. "Take him to safety, care for him. His name is Ledon," I instructed. The man nodded, his experienced hands gently assessing Ledon before lifting him with ease. He awaited my final command. "Guard him with your life, Mr. Tuck. The Second Heir will need him. That will suffice, thank you." With a solemn nod, he disappeared into the portal, Ledon in tow.

"Where has he taken him?" the woman inquired, her composure returning.

"To Nerkam," I replied, sinking into the space Ledon had occupied moments before.

"But that's across the whole continent!" she gasped.

"Yes, I'm aware," I murmured, my hands covering my face as the room began to spin.

Depleted of power, my body yearned for a replenishing touch, a hint of the arcane to soothe the gnawing emptiness. Yet, it found scant relief.

Questions swirled in my mind, each more pressing than the last. Who was the masked man, and whom did he serve? The crystal black market didn't dare such brazen daylight encounters. And yet, here was a new player. I thought we knew all the players. And suddenly a new piece appears on our bloody game board in the game being played for centuries? A worn figure etched in runes, fearless enough to challenge the Heirs to a duel. I've never put much stock in coincidences; this figure was no novice to our deadly dance.

"You must drink, ma'am," her voice, gruff yet oddly tender, broke the silence like a distant echo. She extended a mug of steaming liquid towards me, the sweet scent of Azattico root wafting up. I accepted the cup, the aroma belying the bitter taste that awaited. "After all these years, it still tastes exactly the same. No one ever says it out loud, but it's disgusting. My father made it often; it chased away nightmares, lulled me into sleep after... after everything." I paused, the memories threatening to spill over. The taste was a portal to a past I wished to forget, a past where coincidences were omens in disguise. "I'm not sure why I'm sharing this," I mused, wishing for a watch to measure the time slipping by.

"You need to rest," she insisted, her voice a soothing balm I almost surrendered to. But not today. Not when eternity stretched before me.

"Rest offers nothing to the Immortals,," I recited the ancient adage, though it wasn't mine to claim. Her brow furrowed in confusion. "Do me a favour," I requested, scribbling a note. "Someone will come and ask you about the Heirs, give them this note," With a deep bow, I began my descent.

The journey down was a solitary affair, an hour's trek made in defiance of the rules I'd shattered. Damien's note was cryptic—meet at Lord Jatter's residence, a name and place unknown to me, a puzzle wrapped in another mystery. Like things couldn’t be simple.

The people on the streets greeted me with wide eyes and hasty bows, the populace parting like the sea before me. Their fear was palpable, their reverence a shackle I neither desired nor enjoyed. Directions from them were out of the question.

A dingy pub in a forgotten alley beckoned—a respite, perhaps, or a new adventure. The patrons' illicit dealings halted at my entrance, their wary gazes tracking my every move. I was an anomaly here, a disruption to their sordid normalcy. The door slammed shut behind me, commanding the attention of even the most inebriated souls.

Approaching the bar, the bartender's gaze was unsettling, her smile a twisted caricature of welcome. "La vi'a, a terra na," I declared, tossing money onto the sticky surface.

She retrieved a bottle shrouded in shadows, its contents a mystery only the brave dared explore. As she placed it before me, a glint of something otherworldly caught my eye—a necklace, perhaps a crystal, pulsating with hidden power. She concealed it swiftly, but not before our eyes met, an unspoken understanding passing between us.

This city, with all its shadows and secrets, was a reflection of the world I navigated—a maze of hidden truths and veiled threats.

My hand closed around the neck of the bottle, only to be met by another, uninvited grasp. I turned to face the audacious soul who dared challenge me—a man as dishevelled as the rest, but with a spark of reckless courage in his eyes. His crooked smile was a challenge, and I met it with my own disarming grin. As his attention wavered, my fist found its mark on his chin.

This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.

He reeled back, fumbling for the weapon at his waist, but his bravado faltered under my steady gaze. The dagger he brandished dropped with a resounding clatter as my sword materialised in my grip—a blade as clear as diamond, commanding silence from the onlookers. Their fear was palpable, a testament to the authority I wielded without uttering a single word.

With the bottle reclaimed, I departed the foetid tavern, my mood still intact. A part of me yearned for the confrontation to escalate, to give me cause to unleash the fury I held at bay. But the man did not rise to the bait.

The stark white of my uniform was a beacon amidst the drab surroundings, a symbol of the Immortals that demanded recognition. Yet, I longed for the anonymity of shadow, for a black garb that would let me merge with the masses.

Perched high above the city, I sipped the surprisingly palatable brandy, observing the lives unfolding below. The people were ensnared in their daily routines, content in their simple existences. Their brief interactions, their laughter, all seemed so distant to me. I envied their ignorance, their unremarkable lives that would one day be condensed into a few etched words on a tombstone.

The thought of him, with his green eyes and naive outlook, stirred a longing within me. His absence was a void I couldn't fill, and the thought of dragging him into this world of dark magic and power struggles was unbearable. But I couldn’t let go of him.

Damien's laughter broke my reverie, his voice laced with irony as he plucked the bottle from my hand. "So, I'm supposed to be looking for him, I have to run up and down, and you're here what? Playing with a bottle of disgusting alcohol?" he chided.

I couldn't tear my gaze away from the scene below, the fleeting nature of their lives mesmerising. "Their existence is so... transient. It reminds me of Tre’Asco. The leaves at Jath, remember?" I mused, the memory bitter on my tongue.

His smirk was knowing. "The ones you despised?"

I shrugged, the taste of those leaves as vivid as the memories they conjured. "Disgusting, yet unforgettable—much like the past. I wonder if they're still out there, somewhere."

"I might have some in Eagaveli, if you want those so badly-" Damien's voice was a comforting rumble, but it shifted to concern. "Andrea, what's wrong? You never wait for me."

I shrugged off his worry with a half-hearted smile. "I'm not waiting for you. I just needed... a moment."

"Is Nerkam proving too much?" he prodded gently, his eyes searching mine.

I scoffed, feigning offence. "You think I can't handle the Council or a few letters? That's insulting, Jim."

His expression shifted, a new curiosity lighting his features. "So, it's the young Steeles that's troubling you?"

"Young Steeles..." I echoed, the nickname leaving a sour taste. "Steven's fine," I insisted, reclaiming the bottle and taking a long drink, avoiding his penetrating gaze.

"What is it then?" he pressed, knowing well I was evading.

The truth was a knot in my chest, but Damien deserved honesty. "It's that dream again—the one that never changes. I'm trapped, suffocating, and he's never there... But he's never there. He's not in those dreams, you know? It's been so long since I last saw his face. And suddenly he just showed up. I've never believed in coincidences, and neither have you. And after all these years, I see him on the very day we go looking for a guy with the same rune on his hand. A rune drawn by someone who needs to draw himself. So either I'm starting to get tired and I'm overly paranoid, or something is going on and you and your dear brothers know what."

Damien's frown deepened. "So you're paranoid in both cases. There are few runes that harm, and only one that paralyses. You know that. What did you see?"

I hesitated, the dream's grip still tight. "Nothing that matters. We have work to do, don't we?"

He dismissed my deflection with a wave. "Who cares about work, we have the rest of our lives to do it. I'm worried about you right now"

I sighed, knowing he wouldn't drop it. "Then explain that to Stephan when we return empty-handed."

"He cares for you more than any task at hand," Damien assured me, his voice firm. "He adores you as much as the rest of us. And it will be easier for both of us if you get back in one piece and with a smile on those pretty lips. That, after all, is my job. And I won't fuck it up again,"

"The fact that you left, Jim,"

The conversation turned, and suddenly it was about Steven. "Did you tell him about the dream?"

I shook my head. "No. He's not ready for such burdens. He's still adjusting to everything. He freaked out about those two days in Narral. What do you think he'll do if I tell him this? He couldn't understand it, it had been weeks... Besides, I have no reason to burden him with it, do I?"

Damien's tone was stern. "Don't underestimate him. He's Steeles, Edgar's Heir. Besides, I have a feeling that it would help if you told him."

"Mhm… he's Steeles in every aspect, we're not taking that away from him." I pondered his words, the image of Steven's ring—a wolf's head—flashing in my mind. "I love you -uncle dearest, but I won't drag him into my past, into my time with those psychopaths," I resolved. "What did you find out?"

Jim's eyes glinted with a mix of mischief and resolve. "We'll need to move soon. But first, let's see if you're ready for a fight," he said, nodding towards the bottle.

"You taught me to drink, so, you tell me." I stood up, leaving the alcohol on the wall.

"Another transgression that Jonathan will never forgive me," he began to draw runes in the air. He always liked to open portals. Somehow he revels in it.

"He'd forgive you if you asked," I watched him as he worked. His runes never shine as brightly as mine..

"I won't ask him for anything," he assured me sternly. He stubbornly insisted he never wanted a younger brother. "After you, Princess."

"I know, you won't ask him and he won't apologise. It's a hopeless situation," I patted him on the shoulder and walked through the portal to the other side. I've had enough of the ridiculously ordinary city anyway.