Ranun stared at the ticking clock behind Symond’s back as time seemed to wane longer and longer, waiting for Symond to say something finally. He wrote out some documents on a typewriter, clanking away as he plucked every mechanical letter.

The Supreme Commander had been writing for half an hour now, occasionally grunting, ignoring Ranun across his desk. He told him to wait a moment for him to finish his report, but that had been what felt like an eternity ago. All Ranun wanted to know was what Symond called him in his office for.

The pair of reading glasses over Symond’s eyes looked incredibly small—and even more goofy—given his large head and muscular form. Despite being the second-highest-ranking individual in the Kingdom of Soucrest, he, like Ranun, didn’t wear his armor to work like the Colorswords. While Ranun had his Soulsmithed boots on his feet and a sword around his waist, Symond had a simple, gray outfit with no blades. Though, surely he kept them close by in case of an emergency. A gray sleeveless shirt tight to his form granted him the freedom to work out whenever and wherever he pleased.

Ranun shuffled through his jacket, looking for something to play with while he waited. He found a red squishy ball he didn’t remember putting inside. Ranun squeezed, but the sound was faint and light, unobtrusive.

Calace? Ranun wondered. He sighed, recognizing what the ball was and that it was indeed her that slipped it in. Dammit, I’m not that stressed.

Ranun lied to himself like how he lied to his entire kingdom. The fact that he was a false king ate him up at times, never crippling, though it stung like a slow burn. Every time he reminded himself of his curse, he bottled all of his frustrations up, continuing with a smile. But bottling up only worked when the factory wasn’t at capacity, Ranun discovered, and eventually, he wouldn’t be able to contain it anymore.

Symond yawned, pulling the paper out from the guide of the typewriter. He brought it to his desk, where he had a stack of several other documents before him. He shuffled through them all, seemingly organizing them by page, ordering them together before stapling it all into one packet. “Alright, I’m done.”

Ranun nodded. “What’s this about?”

“I’m thinking of beginning an operation,” Symond said.

Odd, Ranun thought. We have been three years clean of any agencies operating. What in the world does Symond want to achieve?

“I won’t lie in saying that I want to test out our new toy,” Symond said, the toy being Dean Novac, the Prince of Midhelm. “But what I have in mind for the operation is for the betterment of the Kingdom of Soucrest.”

“Dean?” Ranun asked. He smiled, thinking of the Midhelm prince. “You want to expose him to the public so prematurely? I thought we decided it was best to withhold this from his father as long as we could.”

“Well,” Symond said. “It seems it’s not as private as we once assumed.”

“What do you mean?”

“Reagle already knows,” Symond said flatly. “I put Slater on a ‘field trip’ to Novacia, and he overheard that the prince has already been discovered.”

“You spied on Midhelm?” Ranun asked, lowering a brow.

“Of course I did,” Symond said. “Is there something wrong with that?”

“Well, I mean… we don’t want any trouble.”

“We should have thought about that before taking the prince into our government. It was your idea.”

But it was your pen! Ranun almost said but restrained himself. Honestly, it had been Ranun’s idea from the beginning. Though now he didn’t know how to deal with the consequences of that decision. “I assume we are being spied on too if Reagle found out so fast.”

Symond nodded. “That’s what nations do, Ranun. Spy.”

“Well, what did Reagle say? Is he infuriated?”

“No,” Symond admitted. “But here is where things get tricky.”

Ranun looked to the clock, both hands at the twelve. Almost lunchtime for anybody other than a king. He looked back to Symond. “What is it?”

“He is letting us train him for a time. After, he’ll demand him back to Midhelm. Slater emphasized in his letter that if Dean dies under us, Reagle will have valid reason to declare war. Even against a king with your status.”

War, Ranun thought. “We can’t let it get to that. This was a bad idea, wasn’t it?”

“Very,” Symond said flatly. “We could abandon, send him to Freedon and pretend we were none the wiser. That would work best for both parties.”

“It’s the prince’s decision,” Ranun said, much to Symond’s concern. The prince ran on his own terms. So he could leave Ranun off of them too. If they wanted to stay, then they could stay. Ranun and Symond already agreed that they were welcomed here, and backing out now would go against his word, the only thing Ranun felt he had as a king. “If he wants to stay, let him. But if he wants to leave, well, let him leave.”

“Very well,” Symond said. “Truthfully, I do not see much promise out of him as an agent at this point.”

“What do you mean? Skill-wise? He almost defeated you.”

Symond nodded. “It seems the young prince does well under extreme pressure, though without that pressure, well, he’s kind of lackluster. Mason says he’s making progress with the boy, but I haven’t seen much growth. That’s why I wanted to initiate this operation to test him out in the field.”

“And risk him dying?” Ranun asked. “Is this operation risky?”

“Considerably,” Symond said. He pulled the report up by the sides, tapping it on his white oak desk, handing it over to Ranun. “It could go smoothly, which is what I intend on happening. Of course, entering a foreign country is a reputation risk, so we’ll conceal our identity.”

“Wait, you want to go past Soucrest’s borders?” Ranun asked, looking at the title page of the report. The front read, Operation: Rescue & Secure. Pretty on-the-nose, mirroring Symond’s personality. “Which kingdom?”

“Not a kingdom,” Symond said flatly. He stared at Ranun, trying to get him prepared for what he was about to say. “A country. East of here.”

“Dork?” Ranun asked, hoping that was what the commander was implying.

Symond shook his head. “Ranun, it’s time to pay your old squire a visit in Dormoor.”

“No…” Ranun shook his head. “Why do we—”

“Ranun,” Symond grunted, halting Ranun with the sternness of his voice. “This report is valid. The information inside might change your mind. Quick, read it. You’ll see that little Aidan Payne is up to no good, playing with toys he shouldn’t be touching. Toys that the other kingdoms agree are taboo.”

Ranun flipped to the first page, noticing a black and white image of a girl with long, black hair flowing down to the back of her waist. The whiteness of her skin nearly blended in with the white paper. Her name was Vessel, according to the data surrounding her. Onto the next page, Ranun found out why Aidan named her that. He somehow successfully implanted a Soulgem inside of her, and if this report was accurate, Aidan wanted to exchange bodies with her, taking her youth and power for himself.

“This seems impossible,” Ranun said, disbelieving. “You can’t enchant people with Soulgems. And even if you could, you can’t just swap bodies with somebody like that. This is preposterous.”

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“Call it what you want,” Symond said. “But this is what he’s planning. Read on, you’ll find information about his mage, Cyril.” Ranun turned, seeing Cyril’s picture. The photos inside this packet were captured seemingly against the knowledge of those included, so Ranun had only a rough idea about how their mugshot looked. Cyril, however, had the mixed appearance of half a swole and an elf combined. “He’s proficient in the ‘Dark Arts,’ something that we don’t understand, nor can comprehend given our limited knowledge of the practice.”

“The Dark Arts are forbidden,” Ranun said. “At least in the kingdoms…”

“Right. So, what if everything we thought wasn’t possible really was? The mage combines both Gemchemy and Elven Magic into one, bringing combinations never seen before, never tested, or rather, documented. What if he could raise the dead? He already Soulsmithed a Soulgem into a young girl. What makes you think he can’t swap bodies with another?”

“Does the Soulgem work?” Ranun asked. “Inside this girl, I mean.”

“There is no enchantment discovered as of yet,” Symond said. “Odd as it may be, they haven’t found it yet, let alone if she even has a power at all. We have two informants inside Dormoor, one who wishes to remain anonymous but reaffirms what our other, more trustworthy informant claims. Be wary; the anonymous informant is the one claiming Aidan’s motives, all while our identified one seems ignorant to what Aidan is planning on doing with her.”

“Do the informants know each other?” Ranun asked.

“No,” Symond said. “But who knows what our anonymous source knows. It could all be a trap…”

“Then maybe it’s too risky,” Ranun said.

Symond frowned. “And the girl?”

Ranun flipped back over to the second page with the picture of the girl. “Other than taking Vessel away from Aidan, what would be the benefit of kidnapping her?”

“We will have her,” Symond said.

“That’s unsettling.”

“Well, she’ll be freer under us,” Symond said, leaning in over his desk. “She’s not safe under Aidan.”

“Freer, huh?” Ranun lowered a brow. “But I assume she wouldn’t have a choice but to serve us so she wouldn’t be totally free, is that right?”

“Depends on how you put it,” Symond said. “Give a serial killer a knife, and he’ll use it to gut a thousand men. Give it to a chef, and he’ll use it to butter bread.”

“Oh,” Ranun blinked, almost rolling his eyes. “So she won’t be a weapon under us, only a tool?”

Symond grimaced. “Why are you so difficult? One would think Ranun—the Great King—would want to rescue a girl from such a poor fate. Are you not as sympathetic as people claim? Or have you no balls to put your old squire in place?”

“Symond…” Ranun said.

“No,” Symond said. “How does your ass feel, Ranun? I imagine with how Aidan has grown to be a tyrant, sitting on the fence as long as you have isn’t so comfortable, is it?”

“Symond,” Ranun said, exhaling a long breath. “Are you done?”

“What happened to your passion?” Symond asked, almost whiny in tone but yet still forceful. “This girl has grown up in Dork in a place called a ‘beast camp.’ Are you aware of them?”

Ranun nodded.

“They raise kids to be fighters, pinning them against each other, to be sold as an auction when they come of age. They believe themselves to be monsters instead of humans, as they drilled lies into them from the moment they are born. Fighting is all they know because they think it’s all they are capable of. We’ve put this off for too long!”

“We… can’t be the world’s police,” Ranun said softly. “We have to center ourselves first. Become an example for the world to follow.”

“Oh, Ranun,” Symond pinched the bridge of his nose, pulling off his glasses. “Can’t you see, not everything can be changed by example. Take Aidan, for example. He was your squire, yet the boy rotted instead of blossoming.”

Ranun looked down and away. He had been ashamed by what had become of Aidan. But it was Ranun who excommunicated him… he had to.

“It’s not your fault,” Symond continued. He hadn’t liked the boy since he switched sides at the end of Nolan’s reign and the beginning of Ranun’s rule. Then again, Ranun understood how an attempted assassination could tarnish somebody’s opinion of another. Symond, of course, fought back. “You should have killed him for his crimes. Striking one of his own? Unacceptable. Excommunication was too light a punishment for him. At the least, he should have been imprisoned, never to see the light of day again.”

Ranun nodded reluctantly. “Well, I don’t know what to do about it now.”

“Well,” Symond said. “While we are at it with the operation, we could send Mason to visit him—”

“No,” Ranun said. “We aren’t killing foreign leaders.”

A long pause filled the room. Symond scoffed but shrugged. “Fine. But at least let us at least proceed with the operation. It’ll serve the world better if Aidan is without his toys.”

“I’ll think about it,” Ranun said. He squeezed his stress ball, troubled by the thought of sending someone to kill Aidan. Aidan was his brother by marriage. What would Calace think? Damn it!

“And,” Symond said. “If I proceed with the operation, without your consent, which I have every right to do, what would you do?”

Ranun sighed. Strip you of your title, he almost said. He would’ve said that if those words had any real weight to them. Symond was stronger than Ranun, so under Valorian tradition, Symond should be king. The truth was, Ranun needed Symond at the number two spot. Otherwise, his reign as king would end. “I would be very disappointed.”

“Alright,” Symond said. “I’ll think about it, then.”

“I likely wouldn’t take your title or position away,” Ranun added. “But I would find a way to punish you. Something you’d hate.”

“If it comes to that,” Symond said. “Leave the report. I need to make copies.”

Ranun frowned, slipping the report back on Symond’s desk. He stood up, nodding his head. “If you pursue such an option, give me a heads up.”

“And why would I do that?”

“I’ll need time to think of how to punish you,” Ranun smiled slightly. He turned around. “Goodbye, Symond.”

“Goodbye.”

Ranun left Symond’s office door. The agency building had a high ceiling and white tiles stretching down the giant facility. The building was massive in scale, with a prison capable of holding a thousand men. But those were almost always empty, with the bulk of the facility was used more as a grand academy. Profound teachers would come in here and there to instruct and lecture the agents. Unlike the Colors, agents were well-versed in many skills, from infiltration to subterfuge, all the while sharpened to be excellent killers.

Recently, Ranun decided to install another squad, and he had a few potential agents in mind. And, of course, an agent-general. The first thought that came to mind was Kinler, who had grown a lot since the revolution. Known as the Blue Bladesman, he had lived up to the name, becoming one of Soucrest’s greatest prizefighters, all without ever having a proper military title.

Kinler would do an excellent job leading; Ranun was sure of it. Ranun would have given him this spot sooner if the world wasn’t as peaceful as it had been recently.

“Your Grace!” a voice yelled out after him.

Ranun turned, seeing Jaxton bolt down the agency hall. What is he doing in here?

“Ranun!” Jaxton shouted. He lost his breath reaching him.

“Jaxton? What is it? What’s wrong?”

“City Hall,” Jaxton gasped, hands on his knees. He looked up, face red from a workout. “City Hall is on fire!”

The smoke swallowed the afternoon sky, covering much of the city in desolate darkness, with the only light coming from the flames raging from inside Central.

Ranun walked when he should have run. It wasn’t just City Hall, but all of Central. Falcon hill had seven districts, with six of them bordering inside the mythstone walls, and the largest district came in the center.

Fortunately for the city, there were no homes in this district, but the businesses inside employed about half the capital’s population.

Ranun marched forward, moving as fast as possible without straining himself physically. Even when his city was on fire, he didn’t involve himself out of fear that his curse would take years off of his life. Ranun wished he could run; he wanted to use the boots under him that granted him tremendous speed for its purpose and help. But Ranun, in his truest form, wasn’t the Great King, but the Helpless King.

Jaxton followed close beside him, not questioning Ranun’s slow pace. He had said Gordon responded immediately and that Jaxton should send for Ranun at the agency building.

When they arrived near the fire, Gordon’s battalion of Colorswords greeted Ranun, all on duty and wearing their gilded armor. Some wore heavier sets, while others sported lighter armor. But each had one thing in common—the orange color of the Soucrest flag.

“Where is my brother?” Ranun demanded.

“He’s in the fires, Your Majesty,” a Color stood up to address Ranun. He saluted, fist to his chest.

Ranun felt his heart beat a little louder inside. His brother in the fires? Scanning past the Colors, the smoke blotted out the entire sky, going down for miles as its cloud. “And why are you here and not with him? What if he needs help?”

“Sir,” the Color said, still saluting. “Gordon ordered us to stay put and wait for your command.”

He made them wait around for me to arrive to give them orders? What are you thinking, Gordon?

“I want a fifth of you in the fires,” Ranun ordered, assessing the few dozen men in front of him. “Spread out, help victims if you can, escort them out. The rest, you will help evacuate the bordering districts out of the walls!”

“Sir yes, sir!” the Colors said. They separated into the groups in haste, filling the hole in Ranun’s command quickly and in an orderly fashion. As expected from the best Soucrest had to offer.

“Where are the fire crews?” Ranun asked.

“They are already working inside,” Jaxton said, pointing. Fire hydrants scattered throughout the city blocks were planned precisely for emergencies like these. Pipes lined under the sidewalks, easily accessed by lifting the cement slabs up and over. Attaching a hose to the hydrant directed a heavy rush of water when the valves turned. Though with fires these big, Ranun feared the water reserved wouldn’t be enough to kill the flames.

“Jaxton,” Ranun said. “I want you to direct the firemen to the outer perimeter of the fires, keep it from spreading further into the city.”

“Yes, sir,” Jaxton said, running off to the crew.

And Ranun, someone who, as the king, should help, was instead useless. He grabbed at his heart before turning. His group of Colorswords followed around him. “We evacuate the outer districts. Welcome any volunteers you find.”

“Sir yes sir!” the Colors said simultaneously. “For the Colors we hail!”

Ranun nodded. “For the Colors,” he said, half reciting the sacred oath of the Colorswords. Ranun marched forward, away from the flames and into the sunlight, saving what was salvageable and letting what wasn’t burn to ash.