The room we entered was dimly lit, its old wallpaper lending a deceptive charm. Furniture lined the walls, leaving the centre clear, save for a round carpet that hinted at the building’s administrative purpose.
“What does Stephan want?” I asked Damien, who was smiling, fiddling with his watch, no doubt preparing his usual stupid commentary.
“Do you want the full story, or just the essentials?” he inquired.
“Essentials,” I decided, leaning against a table, finding the chairs too dirty for white uniform. I didn’t need all the details. Time was of the essence, and Stephan’s penchant for detail could consume it all.
“There are people who break our laws in Mergo—drawing magic, trafficking artefacts, even killing mages,” Damien explained, his casual tone belying the gravity of the situation. “But this letter,” he said, producing a crumpled sheet of paper from his coat, “mentions a woman who saw power being syphoned with a crystal. Another witness claimed to have seen the culprit, but vanished before giving a description. Stephan wants us to investigate, but there’s more,” he paused for effect.
I braced myself. “What could be more pressing than the highest law being broken?”
Damien leaned in, his voice low. “Someone’s tampering with the fabric between worlds. Using those crystals, they’ve opened a door and let something through. A being…”
A chill ran down my spine. “It’s been decades since something like that. Last time, it got heated -literally. But why involve me?” I asked, knowing Damien was more than capable on his own.
"Well, first and foremost, I need a translator," he murmured, sliding the cryptic letter back into the shadowed confines of his pocket. I could read it, but if he wanted my help, why would he lie? "Someone skilled in the old language and the stupid dialects of theirs." his voice was a mere whisper.
"You need me to translate the very language you taught me?" I questioned, the irony not lost in my tone.
"Steph did, not me. And secondly," he continued, his laughter tinged with an unmistakable edge of hysteria, "I'm not sure how many escapades remain for the two of us." His words hung heavy, a foreboding cloud in the air.
"How many escapades remain? Are you going somewhere?" I wondered, seeking clarity.
"I am not going anywhere, but as for you..." he trailed off, his gaze averted, "if you want to go back to the South or North, I won't stop you," his words laced with a bitterness that nearly stung. Had I not known Damien better, I might have mistaken his tone for jealousy—jealousy for the time I've spent with Steven.
"Go back to all the complaints on my desk and leave you all the fun? I don't think so," I retorted with a playful smile, slipping on my gloves—once thought to be just useless adornments until my dear uncle acquainted me with their true purpose. Until a couple of these little trips were behind us I never knew the stuff one could stick a hand to. "So, what is the grand scheme?"
"In truth, there is none. Not yet," he confessed, beckoning me to trail behind him through the building. "The mayor holds the missing pieces of this freaking puzzle or so I was told. We will craft our strategy upon his counsel." He led the way, his familiarity with the building evident as he ascended the staircase to a room bathed in sunlight, opposing the night’s darkness that still clung to our home.
Damien didn't pause to survey his surroundings nor seek guidance. He strode with purpose, navigating the space with certainty, down a narrow corridor to a door that marked the end. "You know your way around here," I observed.
"Well, yes, we stand within the Se'masse administrative stronghold. I spend a lot of time here," he admitted. Se'masse was a pivotal nexus within our diminutive empire, remaining under Damien's vigilant watch. My own visits were scarce and fleeting, my knowledge of this place limited to the vague outlines on a map, denoting this significant cesspool.
"Oh," was all I could muster, a feeble echo to his revelation. He rapped on the door, which yielded with a muted click.
Damien entered first, stepping into the cramped office where books teetered on the brink of collapse from overstuffed shelves, and a table shoved aside to accommodate an ugly green sofa. The last shreds of grey wallpaper clung desperately to walls, and the light waged a losing battle against the oppressive curtains that barred its entry. Noteworthy was the cage housing an exotic bird, its vibrant plumage an anomaly in this dreary setting, its feathers scattered with careless abandon.
The young woman was an incongruity in this space. Clad in a form-fitting black dress, she rose and circled the table, the fabric accentuating her silhouette—a sight not lost on Damien. "My lady, my lord," she greeted, her diction devoid of any regional inflection, a testament to either a Zessian upbringing or extensive time spent amongst its people. Despite Se'masse's allegiance, the Imperial tongue had failed to take root here, at least amongst the common folk. "On behalf of my father, I extend the warmest welcome to the Free City of Se'masse."
"Is all well with your father?" Damien inquired, concern etching his features. The woman, though striking, was of a type all too familiar—beautiful yet unremarkable. Which was probably the worst type at the moment. Damien's predilections were a mystery to me; he could command the attention of any woman, yet consistently chose the epitome of mediocrity.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
"Merely trifles we are well equipped to manage," she assured him with a genuine smile, one that seemed reserved for him exclusively. She reached for an item on the table, presenting him with a hefty folder. In that moment, a glint of gold caught my eye—a ring encircling her finger, and I was not the only one to take notice. "This, he insisted I deliver unto you."
Damien seized the folder, his fingers dancing through the pages with a practised ease, a self-satisfied nod betraying his inner delight. I've witnessed this ritual countless times; he recognized the contents and revelled in their implications. His gaze, unwavering, remained locked with the young woman as he passed the dossier to me. Its weight was deceptive, dense with secrets that threatened to spill forth.
"I hold your father in high esteem, yet he never mentioned the existence of such an enchanting daughter. I must know, what name graces such beauty?" he inquired, sounding like an idiot with a hint of playfulness in his tone.
"Arbatta," she responded with alacrity, her eyes glinting with mischief as she deftly obscured the wedding ring on her finger. "I am wholly at your service, my liege."
The papers in my grasp elicited a visceral repulsion running down my spine, not for their content but for the spectacle before me. Damien's predilections for companionship were one thing, but the brazen display of affection was quite another. The documents in my hands had only one purpose to capture all my attention. They pointed us unerringly toward the local commander. "Your assistance will no longer be required," I declared, snapping the folder shut and finally allowing myself to truly look at her. Her visage was a canvas of crimson, matching the fiery cascade of her hair with shiny lipstick. Damien's gaze, however, was ensnared by her, unable to escape the gravitational pull of her presence.
"For the moment," he corrected, his smile laden with unspoken promises. "I would hate for this to be our final farewell." I retreated back to the corridor, fleeing the scene before my actions betrayed my thoughts, the unsavoury trajectory of their little exchange already burned into my mind.
Minutes later, Damien rejoined me, smoothing his hair back into place, reclaiming the file with a casual smile. "She's married," I couldn't help but blurt out, a tinge of accusation in my voice.
"And? I'm just indulging in a harmless dalliance," he retorted with a dismissive shrug.
"No, it's gross," I countered, my disgust palpable.
"Mmm... Not everyone has the luxury of their best friend's sibling awaiting them in bed. But don't worry, I'll still be your favourite uncle," he quipped, draping an arm around my shoulders as we exited the building. "Shall we seek out the commander now?"
Before I could gather my bearings, our surroundings had changed. We stood at the base of a muddy incline, the path winding up a formidable hill.
"Not a chance," I protested. "The mud and the white uniforms are ill-suited companions."
"We can't get up except on our own two, human feet. Magic here is but a whisper," he explained, a note of irritation creeping into his voice. "Also, Stephan has forbidden it," he added, trudging upward, careful to tread upon the grass flanking the treacherous path.
"Why?" I called after him, my curiosity piqued.
"A sacred shrine lies above, and we are bound by honour to respect their traditions, or something," he called back, his pace unrelenting. "Just move your ass."
"And what business does the commander of the guard have in such a sacred place?" I queried, hastening to match his stride. The grass beneath my feet seemed firm, a surprising ally against the climb. "Should he not be stationed within the city?"
"The term 'sanctuary' is telling, is it not?" he replied, his voice laced with arrogance.
"I don’t know, Jim, I visited way too many sanctuaries and contemplation was rarely my purpose there," I retorted with a smirk. The hill loomed before us, a challenge that would test both time and patience. I should have made him take us all the way up and dealt with Stephan myself.
"Contemplation was never your favourite. It's rather ironic, considering your moniker, Child of Light," he chuckled.
"I find no humour in it," I quickened my pace. "Let's not rewrite your chronicles on my account. I’m not that special compared to the other Heirs."
"That's where you're wrong," he countered, his gaze piercing, hinting at his annoying little secrets. "It's all woven into the fabric of your fate."
"You expect me to believe ín something so stupid as fate?" I interjected, my response was the same as always. "I'm aware of my powers but... it's utterly ludicrous, Jim."
"It's not ludicrous, Princess," Damien's voice cut through the silence, his gaze piercing me with an intensity that demanded attention. He recognized my reticence and pressed onward, ascending the treacherous path with a determination that left me scrambling in his wake. The silence between us was a tangible entity, stifling any attempt at conversation. His mood was a tempestuous sky, dark and unpredictable.
The ascent was laborious, a slow battle against the elements. The mud was a treacherous adversary, filled with deceptive puddles that threatened to swallow us whole or at least the clean white boots. The grass, where it had managed to dry, offered little respite, betraying our footing at every turn. Damien's pace quickened, a silent challenge thrown down before me, and I, weary of the chase, resolved to follow at my own measured tempo. The landscape around us was a distorted canvas, a world slightly askew, punctuated by the occasional bush that seemed more like refuse discarded upon the hillside. My only hope was that the sanctuary at the summit would justify this arduous journey.
"I trust I'm not outpacing you," Damien called back, a note of mock concern in his voice as I finally drew level with him, the hill's crest within reach.
"I didn’t realise we were racing against time. If we exhaust our adventures on day one, what of the days to follow?" I replied, my breath catching up with my words.
"Oh, I have no doubt I’ll find something more fun for us," he assured me, his laughter echoing Jon's, yet lacking the same depth. "This time, you’ll do the talking," he gestured ahead, where the mire gave way to a stone pathway, a welcome reprieve from the muck.