76°00'08.2"S 53°43'31.2"E - Nuevo Trujillo, Spanish Antarctic Colonies

26.05.2024 09:45, UTC+03:00

As the wagon shook and moved at every turn, Miguel’s and Oriol’s unconscious bodies did as well. Laid in two separate beds at the back of the car, they were completely out of it. Oriol couldn't die, as long as Miguel did not will him to, and their fates were now tethered by Miguel’s Curse. Although, he still had my bullet near his heart.

I was sitting on the bench at the side, thinking of how to get my story straight. There was an unfortunate detail that I had to leave out of all my reports at all costs: meeting Gitana.

I strained my fingers by tightening them in my fists.

Gitana had shown me pieces of my past, cases where Royals and even Prince Marcelo himself had forced me to use my Soothsaying on extreme scales, even deleting my own memories. I now knew that the incident on the Transantarctic train was because of this, and I had suspicions that after the Blackout something similar happened as well. Now that I knew, I could act.

I was in a unique advantageous position, only as long as no one learned that I had met Gitana. This would be easy, given the widespread story of her death during the Blackout. So all I had to stick to saying, was that I simply apprehended this Oriol guy without anyone being shot. Gitana was never there, and no body with Cursed ink spilling from its veins was found; presumably taken by the very people that ambushed me.

But there was a kink to the plan.

I looked at Miguel, luckily still unconscious, buying me time to figure out how to deal with him.

He had seen Gitana’s ink-covered body. He did not recognize her, but reporting he found me next to her body right before I caught Oriol would jeopardize my story. It could reach the wrong people’s ears.

I considered killing him, I really did. Ironically, that would make me lose the only lead to what was happening: Oriol.

This was a cruel thought. I shouldn’t be considering killing my partner. And the death of my lead shouldn’t be the one reason that prevented me from doing that.

The car slowed down as we arrived at the T-HQ.

“Sleep long,” I said as quietly as I could, hoping Miguel and Oriol would hear my soothing. They shouldn’t wake up before I got to them.

The phone rang a while before it entered voicemail: “Leave your message after the tone.”

“Hi Elena, it’s me…eh, your dad. I hope you are doing well.”

My father’s voice echoed in the room, casting from the speakers of the voicemail.

I ran out of the shower quickly, still dripping water, and wrapped in a towel. I ran towards the phone in the room, only to find myself hesitating. My father’s voice continued.

“I know it has been a while, so yes. With everything going on, well I wondered if you are safe. I think I would have gotten a call if you were in N.T. when, you know… Well maybe I would not.”

I normally would not answer him. A while was an understatement when he had been absent most of the time I knew him. Sometimes he would reach out with a phone call like this, or a text. Especially after my mother passed.

But now that I doubted most of the things around me, I needed to at least listen to what he had to say. I pressed the button on the speaker phone.

“Hi dad,” I said, straining my hair with the towel.

“Oh, ah… hi Elena,” he answered, his voice trembling a bit. I bet a part of him was relying on me not picking up.

“You know I hate voicemails,” I said.

“You are right, but this is the number they gave me to contact you. Are you in Santiago?” He asked.

I wished I was. Going right to the Prince would have solved most of my questions. I looked outside the window of the small room I was in. The view from the higher floors of the T-HQ was fascinating – I could even see the area where the domain had retreated to after the Breach. You could tell by the white clouds.

“You also know I can’t tell you where I am. But I am good,” I said.

“It’s still good to hear your voice,” he said in relief, “would you be coming soon? For a coffee maybe or dinner. I can’t make your mother’s tortilla but I could try.”

I looked in the direction of the phone perplexed.

“Okay we could do that I guess, why not,” I said, “although I don’t know when I will be able to. Things are a bit messy right now.”

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Yeah, of course.”

It was awkward as always. I did not know what he expected me to say.

“So dad, tell you what, I could come there the first chance I get,” I said and walked towards the window, still covered by the towel.

“Yeah. Also, just so you know, there was a man here like four days ago. He said he was for Royal business, checking up on me and asking about you,” he said.

I froze. This line was not secure for this kind of conversation. I could fathom it was directly transcribed and sent to any superior interested in me.

“Darn it, they shouldn’t have scared you like this dad. I am perfectly fine now, but I was hit pretty badly back then. I had to undergo surgery. I did not tell you anything because I got good real fast,” I explained. As long as I reacted like clueless Elena would, both myself and him would be safe.

“Oh Elena! Are you okay now? Why don’t you take a couple of days to come here and rest?”

“Don’t worry. What did they ask you about?”

“Eh mostly… eh, if we had spoken or met recently,” he said.

“And what did you tell them?”

“The truth, I mean I hadn’t heard from you in months,” he said. Was that his form of complaining – was that why he called me?

“I am sorry for that,” I said trying to sound legitimately sorry, “but see, probably they did not know if they could tell you about my surgery. They wanted to see how you are holding up.”

It was a fine lie, something to have anyone that would listen to our call think that I haven’t caught on to the things happening behind the scenes.

“Let’s just stay in touch.”

“Okay, dad. And, yes, if I was one of the N.T. victims, you would have heard,” I said finally, “because you worried about it in your voicemail.”

He grunted and scoffed.

“You’d better be safe then,” he said in the end and hung up.

I took a deep breath.

So, someone was searching for me four days ago. This was the day after the Blackout, and one day before I woke up in the hospital.

“None of them are waking up,” Azura said. We were in her briefing room, a group of five T-3s, one of them Ricardo. He kept staring at me. “Are you sure you did not see what happened with T-4 Miguel during the fight?”

“No madame. I was with the perp all the time.”

I shrugged. That was no lie, I hadn’t seen anything. And my soothing wouldn’t be the main reason he was under for so long, although it might have exacerbated his situation.

She exhaled.

“Fine. Their vitals are steady. If they don’t come around soon, they will be examined for hexes,” Azura said.

Ricardo grunted. “Do any of the terrorists have such Curses, even?”

“Not that we know of. Unless they grew stronger,” Azura said and sat behind her desk. She typed on the touch screen in front of her. Photographs and sketches appeared on the screens on the walls of the office.

On one screen, there was a picture from Oriol Romero’s identity card, as well as all his details: his fingerprints, his origins, where he went to school. Everything but his family: deceased.

A T-3 Agent – I hadn’t met her before – was holding a tablet with the reports. She stood next to Azura as she read through.

“Oriol Romero. Registered Curse: Ward. Glamour ward. He went missing four years ago, escaped his foster family, and presumed dead,” she read.

On one screen, there was footage right outside from Base Oso – the time stamp revealed it was the first day after the Breach. It was extremely slowed down. Two figures, concealed by blurring lights, were seen running right outside the Base.

“His glamour can be seen by normal cameras. But you have to really slow down the frames and carefully watch it to glimpse it,” Azura said. You could hear in her voice; she was angry we hadn’t caught this earlier.

“Ángel Vázquez Ramos a.k.a the Survivor,” she continued, “a seventeen-year-old student from San Isidro. His parents are reportedly missing, last seen when they declared him missing at their local police department. No other next of kin. Registered Curse: None/Assumed Domain Curse.”

Pictures of a scrawny student from school events were scattered across two screens dedicated to his details. I walked close to examine them. Science fair, a school trip to Santiago: always at the back of photos. Not so much on social media either. He was just a socially awkward teen.

“Hanying Liang, a.k.a. The Weaver,” the woman continued to read. I stopped examining Ángel’s pictures and turned to the other wall. Four screens with photographs and reports betrayed how well she was known to us; but not by her records of crimes.

“Ex-T-2 Agent. Took an early retirement five years ago,” the woman hesitated.

“She was the youngest to achieve such rank,” Azura added. In her voice, I could sense a mix of respect and disappointment. “I knew her. Go on Sofia.”

“Registered Curses: Potent Luckweaving, virtually wholly fortified by luck. Combat Instincts. Suspected shadow heritage.”

You could sense the energy in the room had shifted. Shadows were more powerful than simple Cursed, that much I knew, although not really a topic in our Colonies. Now all of us stepped towards the screens to examine the reports and the pictures on ex-T-2 Hanying.

“How are you sure?” I asked, “I never saw her face.”

Azura stepped in and tapped on a video, which started to loop. It was back from her Agent days. In contrast with the rest of the Agents next to her, she wore no bulletproof vest and held a rapier. She walked around the battlefield as hexes and bullets flew past her.

“Your description. As far as records go, there is only one Luckweaver in the world of such potency,” Azura said, “she also knows more about the T-Agency than all of us combined. No one could have ever imagined her as an adversary. She needs to be put down.”

I saw her movements in the video, exactly identical to how she walked around me during our fight. It was like dancing.

I am always safe, she had said back then in response to my soothsaying.

Ricardo grunted once more. “We have our work cut out for us.” I nodded.

“For once, Ricardo, I completely agree.”