Hortensia

A single candle illuminated the modest office. Hortensia leaned back against her chair, soaking in the umbral night. It was quiet. The night breeze from the tiny slit in her window brushed the back of her neck. Chilly. She inhaled, taking a whiff of the cigar in her hand.

The foul scent gave her clarity and a strange wave of relief. She glanced down, finally feeling ready to tackle the mountain of papers stacked on her desk.

When she accepted this job as the Director of Steiger, she thought she would continue to spend most of her time out in the field—solving Exalted related crimes, hunting down Desperados, and investigating corruption amongst Ardair’s ruling class.

Instead, her days were mostly trapped in this office, sifting through the endless amount of paperwork. Strategies and operations—that’s what her predecessor called it. Her job was not to be the hound, but to be the one leading the hounds. Feeding them, training them, and assigning them targets to hunt. Hortensia thought she was ill-suited for this sort of work, but her predecessor apparently judged otherwise. Evidently, they were onto something as Steiger continued to run smoothly under her command.

Lately, however, things were spiraling out of control.

Hortensia narrowed her eyes on the report in front of her. The header was marked in red—an indication that this one demanded her full attention.

Emergency Missive – Immediate Action Required

A shipment of Azurite designated for House Belle was ambushed last night at two hours after midnight. The rough location of the attack is north of the Lower Dannan outskirts, near the forested path. The shipment was taking the usual route for Azurite deliveries to the Rosales province.

All assigned delivery staff were killed, including the two Steiger agents assigned for escort.

Notable suspects include a Desperado wielding an eastern style blade. They were accompanied by a battalion-sized militia.

Identity of the militia is unconfirmed, but suspected to be one of the three large syndicates in Lower Dannan. The stolen Azurite cache is also likely to be in their possession.

The missive ended abruptly with the insignia of the royal family stamped at the bottom.

“…They killed two of my men,” Hortensia sighed, lamenting the loss.

Finding personnel was a never-ending struggle. Exalted were in high demand and she was constantly competing against noble families and wealthy institutions for a small pool of candidates. Since Steiger dealt with Exalted related crimes and investigating corruption, Hortensia found herself in a never-ending arms race against the ruling class for Exalted talent.

This isn’t just something I can put off.

The matter of a stolen Azurite cache was a national security risk. The royal family would be watching this incident closely. Hortensia massaged her temples, feeling the onset of a headache. She stared at her records detailing the roster of agents she currently had on stand by. Two names stood out.

“He’s going to hate me for this.” Her mouth curved into an uneasy smile.

***

EMIL

The cold touch of iron brushed against the side of his head. Emil ignored it—his attention drawn to the mechanical alarm clock in his hands. Broken. The arms of the clock had stopped ticking. Curious, he pried open the back and examined the tiny nocks and crannies of the device.

The spring coil must be broken.

He had a habit of tinkering and trying to fix the various broken tools and objects littered around the tavern. It kept his hands busy and his restless mind occupied. A tendency from his time at the compound.

A pair of hands suddenly grabbed his face.

“Hey, stay still!” Emil obliged. Snip! A bundle of his jet-black hair fell onto his shoulders, brushing lightly against his neck. After the cut was done, Emil looked back down—until he was interrupted once more.

“Can. This. Wait?” Mia asked, visibly irate, her eyes furrowed with a dangerous glint. In her right was a pair of scissors. In her left was his chin, forcing him to look up.

Emil cautiously eyed the scissors in his periphery. The iron blades were strikingly sharp, not dissimilar to the knives that he would wield on the job.

“Sorry.” He obediently placed the clock down by the window sill. Dim morning light leaked through the glass. A cloudy day.

“I’m trying to give you a haircut, Emil.” Snip! “I don’t think you realize how ridiculous you look!” Snip!

“Thanks,” Emil smiled uneasily. He agreed—he did look like an unsavory character. It was an intentional part of his disguise that enabled him to infiltrate the Grenze syndicate. Now that the job was over, however, it became a burden to maintain.

“I just wanted to fix things around the tavern before the witch drags me back.”

“I thought you had at least two weeks off. That was the standard, no?”

That was before things got hectic. “Yeah, but the witch has a fetish for breaking promises. I wouldn’t be surprised if she—”

Thud!

He spun towards the unusual sound. There was a pigeon perched outside their window. Suddenly, it began pecking at the glass. Emil noticed the small bundle of parchment attached to its legs.

You’ve got to be joking.

***

It wasn’t a joke.

It was a summon from the damn witch.

Emil stomped out of the tavern, furious. His boots grinded against the coarse metallic flakes littered on the ground. The tavern where Mia and him stayed was located on the outskirts of Lower Dannan’s infamous industrial district. Dawn barely broke—the sun just managing to peek over the dense clouds.

Despite that, he could already hear the distinct clank of hammers striking against anvil reverberating in the background. Smoke boomed from the buildings in the vicinity, emitting noxious fumes from the bellowing blast furnaces. Horses trotted across the roads, pulling wagons filled with metal ores.

Emil winced as they passed by. The foul, sour stench of sulfur carried by the wagons prickled his nose and made his eyes water. He detested the odor, but being near the industrial district made it impossible to evade the smell. Mia was somehow fine with it, and so he endured.

Unlawfully taken from Royal Road, this story should be reported if seen on Amazon.

He eventually found himself beneath a massive escarpment. The steep cliffside was overshadowed by a colossal clocktower built near the precipice. It stretched to the skies, serving as a universal indicator of time for all residents of Dannan.

Imagine if something this big suddenly collapsed, he sneered at the morbid thought before approaching the base of the escarpment. There was a series of mechanical elevators manned by the royal army.

“Your verification,” demanded one of the gruff guards, dressed in uniforms colored in imperial red, and armed with an impressive spear. The elevators led to Upper Dannan where the wealthy elites resided. For lowborn individuals like himself, special permissions were required to gain access.

Emil presented the papers given to him by the witch. According to the documents, he was an inspector at the royal bank in charge of ensuring the workshops in Lower Dannan could pay off their debts. A distasteful cover story.

“Alright, go ahead.” The guards opened the path. Emil stepped into the metal shaft and onto the wooden platform, grabbing onto the guard rails on the perimeter. He was in a small enclosure that was connected to the top of the escarpment by a series of ropes and gears. The guards gave a signal, and the elevator began to climb.

Emil took in the view as he ascended, listening to the loud hums and creaks of the gears spinning. Beneath him, plumes of black fumes suffused the air, shrouding the buildings of the industrial district in an ashen veil.

Beyond the industrial district in the north were the massive sprawl of slums. Surrounding the zone of Lower Dannan were two strips of concave land that sloped upwards towards Upper Dannan. They were roads, heavily guarded and monitored, meant to be used only for ferrying goods and raw materials between the two sectors.

To an outsider, the scene before him might have left an enthralling impression. Emil, however, had long grown wary of this sight. Still, he had to remind himself not to take this privilege for granted.

Because for most residents of Lower Dannan, this view was a marvel that they’ll never get to witness.

***

Contrasting the dirty and dissonant environment of Lower Dannan, Upper Dannan was like a tranquil garden.

Upon stepping off the elevator, Emil was immediately greeted by vivid greenery and the pristine glow of marble stone. The whitish rock was used everywhere—in the walls of buildings, within the various sculptures on every corner, and on the terraces overseeing the streets. Even beneath the overcast skies, the marble stone sparkled, adorning Upper Dannan in a radiant gleam.

It was quiet. Almost uncomfortably so. The absence of the blast furnace’s rumbles and the clash of metals in the background was strangely unnerving.

Emil walked away from the elevator, careful not to gawk at the nauseating display of wealth around him.

Aqueducts crowded the airspace above the well-maintained paths, delivering water to the myriads of plants and flowers out in full blooms on the side of the streets. Vines latched onto the sides of trees and walls—almost acting like a bridge between the various hanging gardens in the vicinity.

It was a spectacular view, but Emil found it difficult to be impressed. When he considered about how much money must be used daily to maintain these opulent sights, he couldn’t help but feel bitter.

Eventually, he arrived at his destination. It was a building with a plaque mounted above its wooden doors, engraved with the words, “Royal Bank of Ardair.” The royal bank was a striking sight—not because it overtook its neighboring buildings in opulence and beauty.

Rather, it was astonishingly bland.

Its walls were plain, absent of the vivid plant life that decorated the rest of Upper Dannan, and instead composed of a monotonous glob of gray, discolored cobblestone. The royal bank was absurdly dull and sterile compared to the verdant splendor of its surroundings.

Just looking at it made Emil’s insides churn.

I really don’t want to be here.

***

“Good morning, how can I help you?” the teller at the wooden booth asked.

Emil slid a token across the table. It was a brass coin inscribed with the fangs of a hound. “I’m here to see the Madame.”

Codeword for a scheduled meeting with the witch. The teller shot him a brief glance and examined the token. After a few minutes of scrutiny, she stood up.

“Right this way, sir,” the teller said, beckoning for him to follow. Discretely, she led him to a stairway hidden in the corridors behind the bank counter.

This branch of the royal bank was a front for one of Steiger’s head offices. The organization was an anti-corruption force specializing in Exalted affairs under the direct mandate of the royal family. It was currently led by the despicable witch.

Emil climbed the stairs—each step he took stirred the raging inferno in his guts. Dread gnawed the back of his head. For him, the witch was a harbinger of despair. Each time they met, he was forced to split from Mia, and ordered to do vile, contemptible things.

“Here, Director Hortensia’s been expecting you,” the teller said as they reached the top of stairs. Emil stood there, staring at the large doors in front of him. The corridor seemed to spin.

This isn’t about you. His hands balled into fists, shaking. It’s for Mia and Raz. He didn’t want to admit it, but the witch’s jobs were the only things keeping them off the streets. It kept Raz alive from his deteriorating condition and it kept Mia away from whoring herself out in the brothels.

If it meant dirtying his hands, then so be it.

“Come in already,” a voice echoed from inside. Emil’s hands instantly moved towards the knob as if compelled by instinct. Before he knew it, he had stepped into his least favorite place in the world.

Immediately, he was assaulted by the nauseating tang of tobacco. The heavy stench hung in the air, clinging onto the smoky vapors permeating the room. Emil scrunched up his face, making no effort to hide his disgust. As usual, the witch was sitting at her desk. She had a cigar in one hand, her chin rested on the other, leaning slightly to the side. A sinister grin smeared across her face.

Emil might have found her enchanting—if he wasn’t so familiar with her disturbing character. “A monster in human skin” was an apt description for her kind.

“Hello, Emil.”

Her deep, sultry voice reverberated across the smoky room. Emil didn’t bother responding back. She continued, unfazed by his belligerence, “I read through the reports on your infiltration of Grenze. Nicely done. Your track record remains pristine.”

Emil’s hands twitched. “…Get to the point already,” he snarled, “I doubt you called me here just for flattery.”

The witch grinned, taking a slow, deliberate whiff of her cigar. Emil narrowed his eyes, glaring as she indulged in the disgusting fumes. It was her way of mocking his impatience.

“Youngsters have no taste for small talk these days. Fine,” she said, leaning forward, suddenly serious, “It’s a matter concerning national security. A cache of Azurite intended for House Belle was stolen last night.”

Emil’s eyes went wide. He instinctively reached for the thin necklace dangling around his neck. At the end of the accessory was a small gem bathed in a deep vivid blue.

Azurite.

It was a special stone capable of storing mana in high concentrations. Mana, and by extension, Azurite, was what gave Exalted access to their otherworldly abilities—their Gifts. Without it, the Exalted were the same regular Ordinaries.

“I thought the deliveries were supposed to be heavily guarded. How did an entire cache get stolen?” he asked. The incident was unprecedented.

“A Desperado of unknown origins was spotted at the site.” A Desperado was an Exalted outlaw. “The entire delivery team, including two of our own agents, were all killed,” the witch explained, “Our goal is to recover the Azurite cache as soon as possible before we have an entire syndicate of Desperados running around. We currently suspect the cache to be under possession by one of three major syndicates in Lower Dannan.”

Emil felt his stomach churn. “…And you want me to recover it?”

The witch tilted her head, pretending to be oblivious. “You don’t want to?”

He clenched his teeth. She knew exactly how much he detested going undercover. The syndicates weren’t exactly a bastion of high morality. The disgusting things that he had to overlook to complete his missions gave him nightmares. He just returned from hell. He wasn’t going to step into it again so soon.

The witch smirked as if reading his thoughts. “You, of all people, should understand the dangers of Azurite falling into the wrong hands.” Her voice danced with a threatening tone. “The tragedy that occurred four years ago was at the hands of a Desperado after all.”

Emil’s mind trembled. That dreadful day filled with flames and despair flashed in his head. He clawed at his throat, suddenly feeling it difficult to breathe.

“It was a Desperado that destroyed your home…” The witch’s words coiled around his neck, intent to squeeze out every drop of air.

“…killed your friends…”

Stop it.

“…and defiled your body—”

“Enough!” Emil screamed. His body was shivering. His dry heaves echoed loudly in his ears. His chest felt like it was going to explode.

“You think you can manipulate me into accepting?!” He swiped the air, furious yet scared. A part of him wanted to stomp over and bash the witch’s face in. But he knew better. Her position as the director of Steiger wasn’t just lip service—she could crumble him in an instant if she desired.

Noting his indignation, the witch fetched something behind her desk. She tossed it onto the table nonchalantly. It was a leather pouch filled with coins.

“Your usual pay. Doubled.”

Emil stared at the bag in disbelief—wavering. He hated that he could be swayed by money. No, I refuse to go through that again—

The witch suddenly added another bag to the side. “I heard your bedridden friend is having troubles recently. Tell me, would any of this help?”

He was dumbfounded. The second bag contained a stash of medicine and herbs that could be used to help Raz recover.

I haven’t been able to find any of this on the market. How did she—The realization sunk in. The witch prepared this carrot in advance. She was monitoring Mia and Raz. She knew of his predicament.

“Now you have a choice,” the witch said, rising to her feet, “Refuse this irresistible offer to keep your pride and accept that your bedridden friend’s death was on your hands. Or—”

Hortensia’s eyes gleamed like a snake’s. Emil stood there, paralyzed—shaking with resentment.

“—Beg me for this bountiful opportunity.”