“What are we doing here?” Dean asked Mason sitting beside him. They were in the “briefing” room, though Dean hardly recognized the place. Bleach-white walls and fluorescent lights, three small, square tables side-by-side in front of a large whiteboard. Compared to the dull, bland white of the agent desks, Symond’s desk had an exquisite brown shine, pulling what it could from the flat lighting above. This morning had been only his second time in the room, the first time being his inauguration to his agency.
“The agent-general has ordered a meeting,” Mason said. Agent-general was a term for Symond Whyte, a title only his agents had the authority to call him. Otherwise, an ordinary military man would call him Supreme Commander, his primary, more honorable title.
“What for?” Dean asked.
“Who knows,” Mason said. The Gold Officer had a stern, solemn face. He worried about something, but Mason hardly opened himself for anything, so Dean didn’t ask. “For the past week, we were practicing extraction and rescue strategies.”
“Meaning…”
“Meaning we might be on track for an operation.”
“An operation?” Dean said hesitantly. “I thought Soucrest had been a few years clean without those. What’s the occasion?”
“That I have no clue for,” Mason said. “Perhaps this isn’t something to be concerned about.”
Dean nodded. They waited for Symond to arrive, though he was running uncharacteristically late. He’d always be the first to come and the first to leave, going on some other duties he was responsible for.
Meanwhile, Dean’s eyes meandered around the room. Dean sat on the far right side of the room with Mason, while Meek and Vason sat behind the desk in the middle. Sometimes, Dean struggled to tell the two of them apart. They looked slightly different—Meek had a stronger chin and brown hair a few inches longer than Vason’s—but they acted nearly identical to each other, always hyper and determined to complete any task in front of them.
Left of those two were Kylo and Slater. Kylo had his beefy legs resting on the table, slumping back in his chair. His figure almost matched Symond, though some speculated that he was half-human, half-swole due to his large hands and feet. He had a thick, lustrous, blond beard, though the hair on his scalp didn’t hang too much, showing a large, tanned forehead.
Slater sat quietly beside him. Short in stature and size but about as deadly as everybody else in the group. He was blessed with a talent Dean had never seen before. With long, flowing black hair, Slater moved quieter than most ants did on the ground, leaves drifting in the wind. Despite being five feet tall, Slater hadn’t been the fastest fighter in the agency. He was well versed in his daggers, his technique crafted in the home of assassins, Reece.
The sly man recently returned from his espionage in Dean’s hometown, Novacia. Reagle knew of Dean’s involvement here in Soucrest and claimed he didn’t care enough to retrieve him. Damn old man, Dean thought. I’m not coming home. Not until you’re either dead or you’re too old and decrepit enough for me to take the crown from you myself.
I could make Midhelm a better place. I could be the Ranun Spring Midhelm dearly needs.
But for now, Dean needed to be the best agent he could be in Soucrest. He was far from his father’s level, both physically and by experience in battle. Dean needed this experience if he was going to surpass him one day. Initially, Dean believed he was running away to train off in Freedon, where his father would never find him; and even if he did, with the seven rings of reefs leading to the island, there was zero chance of extracting him from the Land of Freedom.
The training was just something he came up with as an excuse. A way out of his life as a prince. A lie he told Quin just to bring her to a life where they could finally be free. But that freedom came in Soucrest too, only here he could make truth out of his lie, better himself to one day achieve a better Midhelm for all.
He was training, improving. Although the progress he made came gradually, not at a pace Dean figured was necessary. At this rate, Dean was better off waiting for his father to succumb to old age. But working with Symond, it seemed that even age these days didn’t deteriorate warriors nearly fast enough.
“How are you doing, Del?” Mason looked to his right.
Oh, Dean thought, looking to the right himself. I forgot she was here.
“I’m fine,” Delta said. Her ears were distracting, nearly half a foot long, leaning out from the sides of her head. She was an elf, a rarity, even among Soucrest, one of the more tolerant and diverse nations in Valoria. While most of the agents wore more loose, athletic clothes, Delta wore a tight black uniform with white edges and creases going down her sides. “Why isn’t Symond here yet?”
Mason grinned. He enjoyed talking with the elven girl. Sometimes he seemed flirty with her, though after speaking to the Gold Officer about his past and Meltine, he seemed to believe it wasn’t worth it, not anymore, not after she died in battle.
“You oughta know,” Mason laughed. “You’re the closest to him.”
Her? Dean almost blurted out loud. He didn’t know much about Delta. She hadn’t shown up to ordinary practice. According to Mason, she practiced Elven Magic, so her training was different than theirs. Magic was below most humans, though many would be a fool to underestimate the potential of having a mage on their team. Dean had never seen magic up close, always told that swords were always the superior form of fighting.
Despite her spot in the agency, she had a lot of negative attention surrounding her.
“You are his second hand,” Delta replied. She usually reserved herself, though she always kept a stubborn demeanor, like she didn’t want to talk to anybody. Despite there being extra chairs, she chose to sit on the floor instead of with them at the table. “If anybody should know what this is about, it’s you.”
Mason smiled, shaking his head. “Damn, old grunt. It’s a wonder why he’s even an agent-general. He hardly even spends time with us, he just shows up and counts attendance before scattering off.”
Delta smiled slightly before retreating back into the wall. Their conversations were brief but friendly. It almost reminded Dean of Quin and himself when they first started their relationship. Though, a human and elf pairing would be quite the sight to see.
Suddenly, everyone jerked. Kylo’s legs nearly tipped the table over off its legs as they glided off to sit correctly. As Symond entered the room, he turned his head to see the seven agents and a wobbling, rumbling table before him.
“You’re all early,” Symond said before turning to the board. “You may all relax.”
Everyone’s posture loosened. Kylo quickly set his legs back on the table. He grinned, taking Symond’s words a little too seriously. It didn’t seem to bother Symond, as he started drawing on the whiteboard in red marker.
Operation Rescue & Secure, Dean read. Symond continued to draw, writing their names and positions. Under Scouting, he put Vason, Meek, and Dean. Then Delta and Kylo under security. Symond wrote Slater’s name under its own heading, titled Infiltration, before capping his marker and setting it down.
“Well, gentlemen and lady, here we are,” Symond opened his hands like he offered an invisible box as a gift.
“An operation?” Meek asked. Both he and Vason shook in their seats, excited. “It’s been a while!”
“A while?” Vason laughed. “I joined right after the last one conducted. Three years without any use for my training!”
Mason tensed beside Dean. Maybe their last operation was the one where Meltine had died.
“I haven’t punched anybody genuinely in years!” Kylo laughed. Like how Delta used magic instead of a sword, Kylo used only his fists, gloved in stone with a millimeter shell of mythstone—the hardest and heaviest material on the planet. Even the thinnest coating added thirty pounds to each hand.
“Now now,” Symond lifted a hand. “Before you get excited, I must warn you all. This mission requires secrecy, an extraction of two targets from Dormoor two borders to the west. Aidan Payne, their leader, cannot know we are the ones behind this. You will wear your masks to conceal your identities.”
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A collective sigh came from the room. Symond stood like a statue, his muscles pulsing as he breathed, shown by his sleeveless white top.
“Masks?” Vason rolled his neck, annoyed.
Symond gave him a stern look, similar to how he looked down upon Dean and Quin when they were imprisoned in this facility’s very cells. “Is there a problem with that, soldier?”
Vason grunted. “No, sir. They are only uncomfortable.”
“Well, it’s necessary. The king wouldn’t allow this mission otherwise. Or would you all rather stay locked up in Falcon Hill rather than get some exercise?”
“No sir,” it seemed half the room said simultaneously—mostly the complainers.
“Speaking of secrecy,” Symond capped the marker, setting it down and away. He didn’t even finish writing out the jobs. At least, he didn’t write down what Mason’s role was supposed to be. “I am quite a notorious figure, both in size and skill. Even with a mask, I’m easily recognizable. Another of Ranun’s stipulations for enacting this operation was that I sit out.”
Mason about jumped out of his seat. “What? You’re kidding!”
The agent-general shook his head. “I’m afraid not. But don’t worry. Mason, you will lead in my stead. I’ve named you Gold Officer for a reason. If Ranun hadn’t appointed Kinler to be an agent-general, I would have put you in charge of leading your own agency by now. You will do fine.”
“Yes, sir,” Mason said. He looked down, appearing in shock. Dean would even describe his expression as afraid.
“As for the mission,” Symond continued. He walked around, handing multi-page reports to each agent, couching down to hand Delta her own. The old grunt cracked the slightest smile giving it to her. What about this elf had humans showing her such warmth? They had always been a little more than frowned upon in Midhelm, Dean supposed.
Symond returned to the whiteboard, holding out his own report. “We are rescuing a young girl that goes by two names,” he continued. “Belch, the name given to her by fellow victims of a tribute camp inside of Dork. And Vessel, her other name, is from Lord Aidan Payne of Dormoor. Our biggest concern involving her is how brainwashed she is.”
“Brainwashed?” Dean asked.
Symond nodded. “Her kind is taken from birth, told they are kin of ‘beasts’ since they share the same eyes as the Gem God. On the other hand, Aidan would say anything, promise freedom from her ‘sins’ for her to be complacent with his plans.”
Green eyes? Dean thought. That’s a little silly, isn’t it?
“They drilled it into her mind how she was nothing less than a monster. However, we do have some good news involving her. Our sources claim she is quite stable, despite her childhood, likely open to having her mind changed. Something that we can’t take for granted if we are going to bring her to our side.”
“Bring her to our side?” Mason asked. Dean scanned the page with the picture of the girl. She looked ordinary, only a little abnormal with how long her hair was. “I don’t understand the incentive for us to retrieve her. What’s so special about her?”
“This girl, Mason, all of you, is the first of all Gemkind to be enchanted by a Soulgem. Not only a Soulgem but a large Soulgem. Her power is great, already described somewhat in detail.”
“She has a power?” Mason asked. “Like my Soulsmithed sword?”
Symond nodded. “Her blood is an entity of some sort. Our source described her blood under a few properties,” Symond lifted up his fingers as he explained her power. “Her blood is black like the mythstone Kylo likes to wear over his fists. Her blood moves on either its own accord, or by the wielder's will. This is to be determined. What we do know is that the blood serves the interests of the host girl, healing herself rapidly, apparently fixing up a deep wound to the hand in only a half-hour’s time. It has also killed an assassin trying to kill her.
“What we don’t know is if the healing properties of her blood works on others. When you secure her, don’t risk any tests if you don’t have to. Treat her as if she were fragile.”
Black blood? Dean thought. Why brush over the fact that her blood killed somebody? It sounded surreal, thinking of one’s blood was capable of doing anything the agent-general listed.
“Our source is willing to cooperate with us in extracting her. He said the best day to do that is the First of Fall, what Dormoor celebrates as Liberation Day.”
“They celebrate their own ‘iberation Day?” Slater asked. His speech was slighted, broken Huish when he spoke, often omitting syllables from words. “Fall First instead of Spring First?”
“Forget that!” Meek raised his voice. “Fall First is in five days!”
“Right,” Symond said. “So you all will be departing early tomorrow morning.”
“So soon?”
“It’s better this way,” Symond explained. “Their capital, Ryuso, will be packed with people near central, with dozens of caravans entering in and out of the main gate. That’s how you’ll enter and leave, through a caravan painted in the blue of Midhelm’s colors.”
So you’re going to pin it on Midhelm if we get caught? Dean smirked deviously at the thought.
“But, let’s get to your jobs,” Symond said, pointing to the words Security. “Delta, Kylo, you two are in charge of Belch’s immediate safety. Do whatever you can to protect her. Delta, you are entering questionable territory; you’ll stay near and inside the carriage at all times. You must also bring a hood you can conceal your ears in if you are ever to leave the carriage, understood?”
Delta nodded from the ground to the side.
“Good. Kylo, you aren’t hard to recognize either, nor are you mobile enough to help the scouts. You’ll stay near the carriages as well.”
Kylo nodded.
“Slater,” Symond looked at the small man. “You are to find both the swole source and the girl. They should be together somewhere in that crowd. A warning, there are going to be several thousand on the street for Aidan’s speech, exactly when I intend on having her secured before his speech finishes.”
Slater smiled, nodding. “I ‘derstand.”
“Next, we have our three scouts,” Symond said. “You are to watch the crowd from the rooftops. If you see any chaos forming, make sure that our target isn’t involved. Keep an eye on Aidan and his general group. The two prominent followers are an elf-swole mix and a man wearing a white mask with chain armor over the sleeves of his arms. You will fire off signals depending on if they separate by the time the speech ends. Slater will indicate when you three are to return to the carriage. Keep only a few minutes at maximum away from Ryuso’s main gate at all times. The escape will need to be conducted in a quick, swift manner, ideally thirty minutes after Aidan’s speech begins.”
“Thirty minutes?” Vason asked. “I thought we were rescuing her during the speech.”
Symond grunted. “Slater will enter the city first on foot, but by the time the rest of you arrive by carriage, it’ll take you a while to fully turn around to exit the city.”
“Would it really be that difficult to take her if she comes with us willingly?” Vason asked.
“It would be easy, but we here don’t plan for easy, Vason.”
Vason nodded, agreeing.
Something in this plan doesn’t sound right. The times don’t add up. Why have so much dead time after the speech before they could retreat from the city? Then, it clicked to Dean. There was more to Symond’s plan he wasn’t giving them. Dean raised his fist.
“This isn’t a classroom, prince. You may speak whatever you have on your mind.”
“Yes, sir,” Dean said, dropping his hand back to his lap. “You failed to mention Mason’s role in this. What is his job?”
“I’ve stated that he’ll be your team leader,” Symond said.
Dean frowned. A tiny bit of chatter came from Dean’s left as both tables of agents started mumbling to each other.
“Alright, fine,” Symond paused. “Mason does have a more distinct role in this. Though, I’m afraid I can’t disclose that role to you all, for I need to plug leaks, even in sturdy brick walls.”
All of the agents seemed to frown at that. Wouldn’t sturdy brick walls be without leaks already?
“What else can I say? This is the briefing. We’ll go into richer detail about the plan throughout the day. Oh, right. You will have four warhorses driving the carriages.”
“Warhorses?” Dean asked. “Like, the kind that can lift a swole?”
“Well, we are bringing a swole back,” Symond said. “Our carriages will be large enough for eight humans and a swole. Without any actual goods, the load should be manageable, even for regular horses. Though, the warhorses are faster on their own. If anything were to happen, and our plan is foiled with the girl still in our possession, you will ditch the carriages for the horses. Given an incident with the horses, the two with priority to escape are Dean and our target, Belch. Dean’s death could be problematic for us, given his father rules over the strongest military power in Valoria. After those two, it goes Mason and Delta for their rank, then Vason, Meek, and Slater since you are all lightweight.”
“What about me?” Kylo asked.
“You’re too heavy,” Symond said flatly. “You would take up an entire horse yourself. Same with our swole. If we end up needing to use our horses independently, you drop him first, understood?”
Kylo looked insulted. Dean half-expected him to say, “I’ll punch my way out of Dormoor,” but he practically pouted instead.
“You are all dismissed to a thirty-minute practice recess,” Symond said.
Thirty minutes? Dean frowned. That was barely any time at all. Dean and Mason could maybe face off twice at the most, with a five-minute break in between.
They all stood up. Dean and Mason walked to the door behind everyone else but Delta, who crept behind, trying not to get in the way.
“Not so fast, Mason,” Symond commanded. “We need to discuss your part in this.”
Mason nodded. He grinned at Dean, shooing him away. “We’ll get in a few practices before we leave.”
Dean nodded, leaving the briefing room to follow the others into the practice grounds built into the facility. He turned left with the others while Delta hurried to the hall to the right.
He stepped outside, hearing Meek, Vason, and Kylo laughing like children playing in a park. Dean eyed the rooftops, looking for her. He climbed up a few long spikes leading up to a tightly held tarp. With a leap, Dean found the flat roof with his hands, pulling himself up. From down below, he heard some chatter directed at him. He shrugged them off, looking around until he finally spotted her.
Quin sat, face folded into her lap. She had waited for a while now for him to show up. He sat down next to her—still asleep—and wrapped his arm around her.
He hadn’t yet confronted her, peeking in on his practices. Waking her from her sleep seemed to be the perfect fit of revenge, for Quin despised waking up prematurely.
A jolt hit her body before her panic calmed down. Her eyes turned graceful, slowly blinking her beautiful brown eyes. Her slight smile pierced Dean’s jovial heart as it skipped every other beat as he held her in his arms. “Oh, it’s you. You scared me.”
Dean smiled, holding her a little tighter. I’ve gone through our entire relationship thinking how bad my life would be without you. I gotta start thinking about your feelings more.