The oppressive, somber atmosphere of the later evening hours in the Spire was a clear sign that something significant was underway. Hubertus still stood at the edge of the main hall, his eyes alert, his body weakened from the last encounter and the shard's influence. He observed Carl and the three other powerful demons—Lord Serekh, Lady Vexana, and Baron Vyr—continuing their discussion. The words they exchanged were vague, sometimes outright cryptic, but Hubertus could not miss the undertone of seriousness.
The shard, now securely in Carl's hands, pulsed faintly, almost as if the artifact was reacting to the tension in the air. Hubertus could feel the strain, especially emanating from Carl—a nuance of caution lurking beneath his otherwise composed demeanor.
Carl occasionally glanced at him, as if to check whether Hubertus was paying attention or attempting to remain inconspicuous. Hubertus knew he should stay out of it, but that was easier said than done. He had no idea how deep these machinations ran or what impact they might have on his own future.
After a while, it became too much for Hubertus. His thoughts raced, and the tension threatened to overwhelm him. He needed air. The powerful figures continued their hushed conversations, and Hubertus decided to discreetly slip away. He crept out of the main hall into a long, dimly lit corridor, its ceiling illuminated by flickering torches.
He only wanted to collect his thoughts, but as he walked down the hallway, he caught a murmur. Voices. Hubertus stopped, listened, and noticed an open door, from which light and muffled voices emanated. Carefully, he crept closer and froze.
The voice inside the room was unmistakable: Baron Vyr.
Hubertus’s heart skipped a beat. How is that possible? He turned back to glance toward the hall, where Vyr had been standing moments ago, deep in discussion with Carl and the others. Confused but compelled, he pressed himself against the wall beside the open door, his heart beginning to race.
Holding his breath, he peeked inside.
Baron Vyr stood in the room, his massive shoulders obscuring part of the scene, but his voice dominated most of the ambient noise. Hubertus could see Vyr's blue, shimmering scales shifting in the flickering torchlight and noticed someone else—a blurred figure, half-hidden behind Vyr. The baron seemed to be confiding in someone.
“...Carl really thinks he can control this. The shard is too powerful to be in the hands of an upstart fledgling,” Vyr growled. “He underestimates the danger. We cannot allow Carl to continue acting as if he’s untouchable.”
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Hubertus’s heart pounded in his chest. He gripped the wall for support. But… how is he here? He’s with Carl in the hall— His thoughts swirled with unease. Was it some kind of illusion, a trick of the light? Or worse, was this an entirely different Vyr?
The other figure—now Hubertus recognized the long, slender horns—belonged to a lower demon, perhaps a messenger or spy. The lesser demon nodded quickly, and its voice was barely more than a whisper. “What should we do, master? The shard has chosen the fledgling... It will be harder to remove him discreetly.”
Vyr’s face twisted into a devilish smile. “We must proceed carefully. Carl believes he holds the upper hand, but we will bring him down. The shard will not remain in his hands for long, and the fledgling... well, he is expendable once he has served his purpose.”
Hubertus’s stomach churned. It suddenly became clear to him that he had only been a means to an end. Carl had obviously used him to acquire the shard—and now it seemed his role in a much larger game was far from over. But worse, Baron Vyr was plotting not only against Carl but also against him.
The voices grew quieter, and Hubertus knew it was time to leave. He carefully stepped back, trying to keep his footsteps silent until he was out of earshot. His mind was a maelstrom of confusion and dread. What did I just see? Is he a projection? A twin? His instincts screamed that something was terribly wrong.
Back in the main hall, Hubertus found Carl again, who was waiting for him with a sharp gaze. Baron Vyr stood beside Carl, calmly conversing with Lady Vexana, as if he had never left. Hubertus stared, his breath catching in his throat. It can’t be… he’s right here!
Carl noticed his expression. “Everything alright?” he asked, seemingly harmless, though his eyes searched for answers.
Hubertus forced himself to nod, his thoughts racing. “Yes, all fine. I just needed some fresh air.”
Carl scrutinized him, then placed a hand on Hubertus’s shoulder. “Good. We have more work ahead of us, Hubertus. And from now on, it will only get harder. You need to learn who to trust and who not to.” His voice was calm, but it carried a clear warning.
Hubertus swallowed hard, Vyr’s words echoing in his mind: “The fledgling is expendable…” He didn’t know what Carl’s true intentions were or if he could really trust him. But one thing was certain—he needed to tread carefully, or he would be consumed by a game of power and intrigue far greater than he had ever imagined.
The rest of the evening passed in a haze. Hubertus could barely focus on the discussions around him. His gaze kept darting toward Vyr, standing beside Carl as though nothing had happened. Was it an illusion? A trick? He felt like a pawn trapped on a chessboard with rules he didn’t understand.
When the meeting finally ended and the other demons dispersed, Hubertus caught Vyr’s sharp gaze. The Baron’s eyes seemed to linger on him for just a moment too long, as if daring him to speak. Hubertus froze, his pulse quickening, but Vyr said nothing, turning away to follow Lady Vexana.
Carl’s hand on his back startled him. “Come, Hubertus. We have much to do. And there is still so much you must learn.”
As they walked together through the grand, dark halls of the Spire, Hubertus knew he not only had to survive but also had to unravel the truth of what he had seen. The intrigues had begun, and it was time to draw his own cards before someone else moved him off the board.