“You can’t do this!” one of the men protested. “You’ll answer for your actions.”
“I have no such plans,” I retorted, discarding the gloves completely. I had no intention of returning with them; it had become something of a tradition. “You seem to misunderstand whom you’re dealing with.” Instead of a formal introduction, I summoned a golden lion’s head, its roar echoing through the room, commanding silence. “The Hale family holds sway over all, your so-called independent city is a farce… you’re flouting the very rules established by the Heirs.”
“We don't follow your family's rules,” the governor countered, though his conviction wavered.
“We don’t offer a choice in the matter,” I replied, my gaze shifting to my blood-soaked uniform. I couldn’t very well lecture them looking like a vagrant. With a flicker of illusion, I concealed the stains and met the governor’s eyes once more. “Nevertheless, I'm going to need to see a contract that validates your words,” I motioned for them to lead me to an office.
They guided me through a series of corridors, the building’s stark white simplicity created a beautiful contrast to the complexity of our situation. Behind the desk in the spacious office hung a royal flag adorned with a wolf’s head, as one might expect in Athran. Yet this was not Athran, and until this moment, I had been under the impression that the country hadn’t expanded its provinces beyond our agreements.
Kuzsi, a city nestled among rolling hills, boasts a population in the tens of thousands. It served as the administrative heart for the surrounding hamlets and townships. The region was a tapestry of fertile lands, rich in mineral veins that crisscross its subterranean layers. Yet, the true heartbeat of Kuzsi was commerce; situated at a strategic nexus of trade routes, the city thrives on the lucrative flow of goods. When the sovereign's gaze wandered, the profits swelled even further, as if the city itself conspired to seize opportunity.
The governor, a man caught in a web of his own making, frantically sifted through parchments, seeking a clause that might spare him from the executioner's blade. Meanwhile, his confidant, a master of manipulation, deftly planted seeds of thought in the governor's mind, speaking in the fluid tongue of Athran. Unbeknownst to him, I was privy to their language—a fact they mistakenly believe I was ignorant of. Damien, my loyal interpreter, relayed their scheming in Imperial, right under their oblivious noses. For now, I bid my time, absorbing their deceit while my eyes fixated on the grand flag that billows above us—a symbol I yearned to rip from its mast.
Alceste, the Athranian, was adamant that the contracts remain hidden from my view, urging instead to summon one dubbed 'the Occupant'—a figure I suspected Damien had been tirelessly hunting. Gaby, the other conspirator, was equally engrossed in his search through the archives, his hands dancing over countless documents with fervent desperation.
After what seems an eternity, Gaby's quest culminated in triumph as he retrieved a tome bound in black, adorned with the emblem of a wolf. With a flourish of self-satisfaction, he presented the document to me.
I demanded a walkthrough of the contract, and Gaby, ever the adept translator, obliged. The text proclaimed Athran's dominion over these lands, a detail conveniently omitted by the Steeles. Gaby insisted that Jonathan's pact has lapsed, and the wolf extends an offer of sovereignty and unfettered trade. Yet, I couldn't shake the feeling that this document would be better served as ammunition against Edgar. His history of encroachment was well-documented, though I doubt even he would be so brazen. The page's end revealed an elegant signature—his son's. For his own sake, I pray this was all a grave misunderstanding.
"What does independence and free trade signify to you?" I inquired, my patience wearing thin amidst the chaos. "Does your definition encompass illicit dealings? For what is outlawed in Athran surely holds no sway here, according to your precious contract."
A silent exchange of terror passed between Alceste and Gaby. The Athranian's advice to remain silent was sound, yet Gaby's response reeks of deceit. He clinged to his lie with such conviction that it unsettled me.
"Identify the mage among you," I commanded, though part of me dreaded the confirmation of my suspicions.
Gaby recoiled, while Alceste muttered a half-hearted incantation. His spell was cut short as my protective shield springed to life, halting their actions. Their lies alone warranted a death sentence. Alceste brandished a crystal, a feeble display of power. "Contrary to popular belief, there is enough magic in every person to be comfortably killed by another mage. So this," I declared, seizing the crystal and casting it aside. "This trinket is worthless."
"I reclaimed what is rightfully mine," Alceste growled, his voice stripped of the Athranian silkiness, now raw with fury.
"How? Where?" I pressed, demanding clarity in the midst of the brewing storm.
My fury simmered beneath a veneer of control, a tempest of wrath veiled by a calm exterior. "Take a guess," Alceste challenged, his gaze averted, a silent testament to defiance. It was a familiar dance of wills, one where the obstinate crumble, their resolve disintegrating like fragile card houses. I pause like a predator assessing its prey, gauging the true extent of Alceste's power—or the lack thereof. His eyes, one darker than the other, darted away, seeking refuge from my piercing scrutiny.
A singular query echoed within the recesses of his mind, I wanted to see what he was really afraid of. Not the superficial terrors that haunted the weak, but a primal fear, entrenched and raw. Pain held no sway over him; it was a futile avenue to explore. Yet, in a fleeting moment, I glimpsed the kernel of his terror—the key I've been seeking.
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Withdrawing from Alceste's mind, I summoned my dagger into existence, its blade materialising from the ether. A slow, deliberate stride carried me towards Gaby, a ghost of a smile playing upon my lips. I had misconstrued their dynamic, mistaking control for love. "You've little left to lose," I mused aloud, addressing Alceste. "But what of poor Gaby?" The intensity of Alceste's stare was hypnotic. His facade was impeccable, yet beneath it lay another layer of deceit. "Let me elucidate the rules," I continued. "I pose a question, you respond. Each truth you utter spares him; every falsehood... Well, let's just say it'll get under his skin. Do you understand?"
Alceste's composure didn't waver; he was adept at this game. I'd wager his past is steeped in law enforcement or military service, his role extending beyond mere protection for Gaby. Without a moment's hesitation, I impaled Gaby's hand and the accursed contract to the tabletop with my dagger. His scream pierced the air, Alceste uttered a curse. "Silence equates to a lie," I added. "So, who bestowed the crystal upon you?" He lacked the aura of one who could strip power from another; he must have acquired it elsewhere.
"It was not given," Alceste eventually admitted, his words ringing with reluctant truth.
"Did you purchase it?" A nod from Alceste. "From whom? Name or description."
Silence was Alceste's chosen response. I afford him a moment of contemplation before wrenching the dagger free, liberating Gaby's hand and the document. "I don't know his name,; I've never laid eyes upon him," Alceste conceded.
"I presume you wish to preserve Gaby's fingers, yet your fabrications are wearisome," I stated, flexing my fingers, the joints popping with the motion. Alceste had alluded to something earlier—a point I must revisit. "I wonder if you've shared with your partner what it's like to lose your own power. Words cannot describe the pain that makes you just an ordinary person." His complexion drained of colour; my words struck a nerve.
Turning my attention to Gaby, I elaborate on the unique suffering that awaited. "A punctured hand pales in comparison to the internal rendering, the systematic destruction of self, cell by cell. It's an existential unravelling, leaving one paralyzed by fear and agony," I leaned in, Gaby's eyes wide with terror. "And should you survive, the haunting persists, an eternal spectre of pain. Even now, as he wields borrowed magic, the ache lingers. Every single time he did something a little magical for you, part of him died." Gaby muttered incoherently, Alceste’s silence speaking volumes. "I'd be more than willing to demonstrate, for you to truly comprehend.”
"He had a mask!" shouted Alceste behind me. “I didn't see him!”
Alceste's protestations echoed through the chamber, a desperate attempt to disavow knowledge of the masked figure. I believe you didn't see him at the handover," I conceded, tracing the first rune in the air before Gaby's tear-brimmed eyes, oblivious to the symbol's significance. "Yet, ignorance of sight does not equate to ignorance of association." The second rune ignites with arcane energy.
"Shealon," Alceste blurted out, the name torn from his lips in a plea of desperation. I inscribed another rune, indifferent to his protestations. "He operates beyond the city's reach, seeking mages—and sometimes others—who will not be missed." The pieces begin to fall into place, yet the runes remain, their glow a testament to my scepticism. "He's of my height, with short hair," Alceste continues, his description painting the image of an unremarkable man.
"You've described a multitude," I retorted, unimpressed.
"Please, I'll divulge all I know."
The admission I sought finally arrived. "Where is he?" I pressed.
"He frequents here every forty-four days, at an establishment across from the main gate. He was here just a couple days ago. I've never interacted with another," Alceste revealed, a note of resignation in his voice.
"I had hoped for more," I lamented, turning back to Alceste, my fingers brushing against his coarse cheek. His physical description of Shealon holds little value, but his memories might yield the clues I need.
To my astonishment, Alceste's mental image of Shealon was strikingly vivid. An ordinary man, indistinguishable from the masses, with short hair, an average build, dark eyes, in a black shirt and hooded jacket—a figure designed to be forgotten. This revelation proved invaluable.
Delving deeper, I uncovered another crucial detail. Their rendezvous took place in a lavish venue, its private lounges more conspicuous than covert. It was Alceste who sought out Shealon, not the reverse. Someone within that establishment must’ve recognized him. "Is there anything else you wish to confess?" I inquired, peering into his heterochromatic eyes.
"I just want it to end,," he whispered, a soft surrender in his voice. For a fleeting moment, I sensed his resignation to fate, an acceptance of the inevitable for both him and Gaby. But as his eyes reopened, that resignation vanished.
"Hold fast to the Light as you traverse the Darkness," I whispered. The dagger leapt from the table to my grasp, its blade found Alceste's heart with a swift, merciful thrust. He met his end with a stoic bravery, unlike Gaby, who erupted into screams and curses. Alceste's body collapsed, and the blood flowed freely from the blade, pooling on the floor beside him.
I returned to the governor, his pleas for life echoing in the blood-stained hall. "I don't want to die... please," he whimpered, showing indifference towards the life just extinguished. "He was the mastermind," he lied once more, his loyalty to Alceste as flimsy as his resolve.
"Who will succeed you?" I inquired, smearing the blood on the sleeve of my tattered uniform. Gaby's demeanour shifted; the begging ceased, replaced by a semblance of calm.
"Amer, but why—" His question was cut short, the blade's swift entry silencing him forever.
"Because governance abhors a vacuum," I murmured, watching his body slump to the first. They could lie there indefinitely, for all I cared.
Clutching the bloodied contract and the crystal, I vanished from the scene. The thought of lingering was unbearable. The journey had halved my patience, and Damien's presence only exacerbated it. Our eastern edicts were disregarded, Mergo partially lost, and Steven unwittingly entangled in this mess. A perfect storm of chaos—fucking perfect. I hated the trips.