An Eye for an Eye

The Dregs—officially, the Amalgamate District—a place riddled with crime, a crawling mass of the desperate and displaced, swept in from every corner of the world. A place no Onorion in good standing would dare set foot in. But even perfection has its cracks. Some still slipped through—pirates, criminals, outcasts. They couldn’t let bad apples spoil the bunch. So, they were cast out, exiled to live among the outsiders.

But even in the highest orders, within the pristine halls where every inch was inspected, polished, and measured to divine perfection, rot could still take root. Scheming, meddling, unseen by those who might burn it out. An invisible hand, a lightless guide, creeping through sacred corridors, winding through the minds of men who claimed to be untouchable.

They called it the Seat of Auracantheum, the most extravagant place in all Vallara. Though not the true heavenly realm itself, any Onorion would say it was as close as one could ever get in the living world. The streets were trimmed in silver and gold, every path and avenue lined with etchings and statues of Onorus, his golden gaze watching from all angles. His image was crafted by only the greatest of Adamantwrights, master binders whose divine gift allowed them to shape metal and stone with unparalleled precision. His likeness stood eternal in every corner of the Seat—flowing golden hair, stern and unyielding eyes, adorned in glorious heavenly armaments, poised as if ready to strike down those who opposed his singular vision. A reminder to all that his will was law.

At the heart of the district stood the Meeting of the Hands, the sacred assembly hall where Onoria’s greatest powers convened. It was the largest structure in the entire city, a sanctum of ever-reaching spires that pierced the heavens, its towering form a monument to divine authority. Not a single inch was left idle to mundanity—every column, every frill, every engraving served a purpose, a testament to Onorian ingenuity and craftsmanship. It was more than a building; it was a symbol, a manifestation of Onorus’s will upon the world.

Inside stood three high thrones. The grandest, at the center, belonged to Lucentis Vallanthor, the Holy Host, the Word of Onorus himself. To his left sat Vantus Argentum, the Silver Hand, Executor of Divine Conquest. To his right, Ferrasius Aurelio, the Golden Hand, the Invincible Protector of the Realm. Here, the Voice spoke, and the Hands shaped his will. From this sanctum, Onorus’s divine reach extended across the world.

When no meeting was in session, the sanctum stood in silence. Few dared linger, lest they draw the ire of the guards who protected its sanctity. If you were neither a Hand, the Host, nor one of their Fingers—you were a trespasser. For some though, the threat of guards and the violent repercussions of defacing such a holy site were mere suggestions rather than commands. Tonight, a voice shattered the sanctum’s silence.

"Your goddamn bolts got my men KILLED, Aurelio!"

The rasp of a sea-worn voice echoed through the chamber—Galvos, Captain of the Kraken Callers. He slammed the split bolts onto the floor at the feet of the Golden Hand, Ferrasius Aurelio, the Invincible. His fury rang out, unrestrained, as if he spoke not to one of the highest men in Onoria, but to an old rival.

“I’ve got my remaining boys scouring the Dregs, handing off their last pay to the ones they left behind… I was promised a godsdamned guarantee, Aurelio!” Galvos’s emphasized his name. He wanted to rub it in that he would not speak his title.

Aurelio had yet to reply. He hadn’t even graced the captain with a look, his gaze fixed on the golden visage of his god.

“You’re loud, Galvos. It’s disrespectful.”

Only then did he turn, his boot pressing down on the discarded bolts, grinding them into dust beneath his heel. His voice was calm, unimpressed.

“Why are you even here? Do I look like the one who handles business in the Amalgamate?”

Galvos’ brow furrowed, frustration bleeding into his voice as he searched Aurelio’s stone-cold gaze for some flicker of understanding.

“Your damned fingers don’t care if their tools fail—And Vantus, that prick I bet he gave us faulty gear on purpose. I want some restitution!”

He spat the name—literally, a sharp, deliberate motion hitting the ground between them. A petty thing in the face of Aurelio’s unwavering stillness.

His eye narrowed. His voice was stern.

“I could cut out your tongue for that.”

“Well, do it then.”

The reply was instant. Galvos didn’t fear his threats.

They stood there for a moment, locked in a silent battle of stares.

“Yeah, I knew you wouldn’t. Coward.”

Galvos’ frustration almost cracked into a smile, but he wasn’t done. He wanted amends—something for the men he lost.

Aurelio turned and began to march off, as if the conversation was already beneath him. But Galvos followed. “Wouldn’t be much of a captain if you couldn’t bark orders at your dogs.”

Aurelio didn’t break stride. He led Galvos through the halls, toward a room both knew well—the office of the Golden Hand. Aurelio’s domain. Aurelio took a seat, flipping through the documents at a measured pace. Galvos watched, uncertain what he was searching for but waiting—hoping for something that would set things right.

“So, even with the faulty bolts, you still managed to bring us three of the beasts.”

Aurelio’s gaze lingered on a particular report, his curiosity piqued.

“How did you manage that?”

Galvos scoffed, shaking his head.

“New musclehead. Monster of a man—swings a hammer like it’s made of feathers.”

Aurelio sifted through the papers again, slower this time. Then his eyes flicked up, sharp.

“You’re missing a crucible.”

His tone had shifted—no longer idle curiosity.

“Where is it?”

Galvos met his glare, his patience fraying.

“Probably destroyed. Stuck to the back of one of my dead men.”

His voice tightened, the last thread of restraint slipping.

“Now, are you going to do something about this or not?”

Aurelio exhaled, slow and quiet, barely more than a breath. He was tired. The night had long overstayed its welcome, and Galvos cornering him in the Sanctum just as he was about to leave wasn’t bringing its end any closer.

“If it gets you to leave, then fine—I’ll look into the bolts.” His tone was flat, dismissive. “I can’t have our Adamantwrights’ reputation tarnished by the rumors of Dregs.”

He waited, expecting Galvos to take the concession and go. But he could already see it in the captain’s stance—it wasn’t enough.

Aurelio sighed again, heavier this time. His patience was wearing thin.

“What else do you want, Galvos?”

“Moravyr. I want access to it.”

Aurelio looked surprised, He flipped through more papers, again wondering whether this conversation was even worth his time.

“Quite the ask.” His tone was casual, but there was an edge to it. “Why would you want to sail into those war-torn waters? You know what we’re doing up there.”

The Aurelans’ homeland wasn’t a place for profit—only war and death. The southern front was a bloody, desperate battlefield, Onorion forces marched in a relentless massacre of the Devout of Aureha.

Galvos crossed his arms, unfazed.

“Lots of converts in the Dregs. And nothin’ keeps a man motivated quite like kin.” He let that sit for a moment before adding, casual but deliberate, “Let me pull some of their families out of that shitstorm, and we’ll call the bolt mishap even… more or less.”

“Find me that lost crucible, and I’ll consider it.”

It was slight, barely noticeable, but there with a whisper of some jeering tone, He knew what he asked wouldn’t be something the salty Captain could produce.

Galvos exhaled sharply. “I told you already, that thing’s probably lying on the back of some poor dead fool on Bimos.”

He tried, one last time, to make Aurelio see reason. But there was nothing to see—his mind was already made up.

Aurelio barely spared him a glance. “I suppose you’ll be steering clear of Moravyr, then.”

There was no room for argument.

“Good night, Galvos. Make sure you depart before the guards beat you to death.”

And with that, Aurelio left from his desk, passing by Galvos with barely a glance, finally on his way home. Galvos stood there, jaw tight, left to figure out how to recover something he was sure was lost.

“Damn it.”

He exhaled sharply, squeezing his chin as if he could wring a solution from thin air.

Nothing.

“I need a drink.”

Aurelio strode through the empty streets of Auracantheum, savoring the peace, the quiet. He didn’t get much of it—neither at home nor in the sanctum.

So he took his time, admiring the city that had raised him, the city he had fought and bled for. He had seen it all before—the statues, the etchings of triumph, the carved histories of great wars—yet it still stirred something deep within him. A great love. For his people. For his kingdom

The walks were always short, no matter how much he meandered. He lived close—his home, just one petal of the whole Auracantheum.

Though his taste was modest, extravagance was forced upon him. By the Host, with his armor—unblemished, polished to perfection, radiant in the morning light. And by his wife, with their home—large, unmanageable for any one family, but grand enough to satisfy her.

It made her happy. That was enough. To others, he was immovable, unyielding. But for those he loved, he would bend to a breeze to see them smile.

“DADDY’S HOME!”

The door had barely creaked before the small voice shattered his quiet evening.

“MOMMY, DADDY’S HOME!”

She was barely four, but her ears were finely tuned to every squeak of the front door. No matter where she was playing in this vast mansion, she always knew. And she always came running, her little arms stretching as wide as they could, ready to wrap him in the biggest hug she could manage. A smile broke across his face—one he couldn’t have subdued even if he tried. He met her on his knees, arms open, embracing her like it was the first time he’d laid eyes on her.

“Marcielle!” His voice softened, carrying an almost saccharine warmth.

He squeezed his little girl tightly, then lifted her as he stood, her small frame settling snugly against him, her head resting on his shoulder.

“You should be asleep!”

His fingers found her ribs, teasing out bursts of giggles.

“Mommy said I was allowed to stay up to show you something I learned today!” She looked at her father, her face beaming with pride, she was really excited to show him something she thought was special.

"Well, let’s go find your mother."

Together, they began a thorough search of the mansion. Most of the help had already gone to bed, and Aurelio frowned. Had no one put Marcielle to bed? He would have to speak with them about that.

Erelia’s absence wasn’t entirely unusual, but she usually stayed close to their daughter.

“Erelia?” he called, his voice steady.

“MOMMY!” Marcielle echoed at full volume, her little voice ringing through the halls.

“I’m up here!”

The voice came from upstairs, muffled by thick floors and winding hallways. They followed it arriving at Marcielle’s room. Erelia sat uncomfortably in a large, plush chair beside her daughter’s bed. Her belly was swollen, her face weary—the weight of pregnancy and a rambunctious daughter pressing on her after a long day.

She sighed, but a smile softened her features as she looked at them, relieved she wouldn’t have to stand.

“Good job fetching Daddy for me, Marcy.”

Marcielle leapt from Aurelio’s arms before he could brace himself, nearly making him stumble.

“Can I show him, Mommy? I really wanna show him!”

Marcielle was nearly pulling her mother off the chair in excitement.

“Of course, Marcy, you can show him. Go get your bear.”

Marcielle darted off, her tiny feet pattering across the floor. The room hadn’t been cleaned yet, so she searched frantically, overturning pillows and blankets, determined to find her beloved stuffed bear. Aurelio stepped to his wife’s side, brushing his fingers across her fair, tired face before pressing a soft, welcoming kiss to her lips.

“You look exhausted. What do we pay the help for?” His tone was stern, but teasing, just enough to earn a smile.

Erelia let out a breathy laugh, shaking her head.

“Oh, it’s okay—I wanted to see your eyes light up when you see what she can do.”

She took his hand in a firm, loving grasp and gestured toward their daughter.

“The tutor almost fell down the stairs rushing to tell me what our little Marcy is capable of.” She squeezed his fingers.

“She’s as blessed as you.”

“I found him!”

Marcy sprung up from a pile of toys like a jack-in-the-box, a large blonde teddy bear hoisted high above her head like a fisherman’s prized catch.

“I found him, I found him! Look, Daddy! You have to look, okay? Master Rubellius said to always keep my eyes focused!”

She plopped the bear down in the center of a large, circular red rug, regal in its embroidery.

Her parents watched closely—Aurelio especially, a glint of intrigue in his eye.

“I won’t take my eye off him, Marcy, don’t worry.”

She nodded at her father, beaming, then turned her gaze to the teddy bear, staring deeply, her expression full of quiet concentration.

For a few moments, nothing happened.

The bear slowly slumped into itself, its fluff settling toward the bottom. Marcielle remained focused, her small brow furrowed in deep concentration. Then—her eyes began to glow. A faint golden hue at first, then a sharp, bright sheen. Aurelio’s gaze sharpened. He knew that cue—that spark. His eye widened, pride mixing with curiosity.

What could she do?

Then it happened.

The lifeless blonde bear, its form sinking under its own weight, suddenly sprang into action.

It stood upright, almost as tall as Marcielle herself. Aurelio crossed his arms, thumb pressed to his chin. “Marcielle—” Before he could finish, the bear began to march. Its steps wobbled, its form uneven in places, but still—it marched. It circled the perimeter of the rug, then came to a halt, standing stiffly at attention. Then, in a sudden, dignified burst, the teddy bear threw up an Onorian salute—the best one its fluff-filled arms could manage. Once again, the bear collapsed to the ground. Marcielle’s eyes, once glowing, now dimmed—well, as dim as an Onorion’s golden eyes could be. Her mother was the first to clap.

“That was amazing, Marcy!”

Marcielle nearly leapt into her arms, her face resting against Erelia’s bloated belly.

“Did Daddy see!?”

Aurelio knelt down, his face bright with pride.

“Marcy, when did you learn to do this? That was astounding!”

Marcielle whirled toward him, throwing herself into his arms.

“Master Rubellius saw me playing with Mr. Bloo, and he said, um…”

She paused, her little face scrunching up as she tried to recall her master’s words through all her excitement.

“Oh yeah! He said he saw Mr. Bloo move a bit when I was playing! And then he said… he said that if I focused, maybe I could move him more?”

She settled onto Aurelio’s knee, still bursting with energy, her words tumbling out one after another. She should have been asleep by now, but she was still as rambunctious as if she had just woken up.

“Well, this is something to celebrate,”

Aurelio once again had his daughter in is arms, she giggled as he swung her up in the air,

“We should go out tomorrow, all of us, after I’m done with the Sanctum we can have a little family time,” Eralia watched as her husband almost danced for joy around the room their daughter tightly in his arms.

“That sounds good but,” she paused, waiting for Marcielles attention in particular,

“Somebody must go to bed first. Can’t bring you out anywhere if you can’t keep your eyes open Marcy.”

“Aww…” She whimpered.

Showing her father her special new gift had filled her with excitement, but now the worst thing imaginable had arrived—bedtime.

"Can I show Daddy one more time? Please?"

She pleaded, wide-eyed, but Erelia—just as exhausted as her daughter—was unmoved.

“No, no, no. We’ll see it more tomorrow, Marcy.”

Aurelio had already started carrying Marcielle toward her bed.

She squirmed, but there was no escape from her father’s arms.

"Your mother’s right, Marcy. I loved your display, but it’s long past your bedtime."

He laid her down, tucking her in so tightly beneath her thick blankets that it was practically suffocating. "Ooooh…"

Marcielle grumbled, struggling but hopelessly trapped in the fortress of blankets. Aurelio smirked as she pouted. He bent down, pressing a gentle kiss to her forehead. Erelia leaned in next, placing a soft kiss on her cheek.

“We love you, Marcy.”

They said it in tandem, their voices blending into a soft, familiar harmony.

She didn’t want to sleep. But she knew she had to.

Tomorrow, there was excitement to be had—more time with her father, who was almost always so busy. If she closed her eyes now, the night would be over in a flash.

“I love you too.”

Their smiles beamed, and even as they closed the bedroom door, Marcielle could still feel them. She was a lucky girl in this world. They slept not far from their beloved daughter, wrapped in the comfort of a room that was a testament to Erelia’s love for the finest things.

A canopy bed, frills and trimmings galore, an extravagant carpet beneath them, bedside tables masoned from the finest stone—crafted only by the most gifted Adamantwrights.

Aurelio’s office had many perks, and Erelia never shied away from taking advantage of them. They lay close, Aurelio’s arms wrapped securely around his wife, pulling her tightly to his chest. A sight most would never see. A vulnerable, softened Aurelio.

“So, what kept you so late tonight?”

She wasn’t upset—just curious. Aurelio enjoyed his late walks, but this was later than usual.

“Galvos came to the Sanctum. Apparently, Argentum gave him faulty tools for a job I let him take.”

A tinge of the outer Aurelio slipped through—that cold, measured voice he reserved for others, especially Galvos.

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

“Oooh… How is he? Did he look okay?”

She knew her husband wasn’t particularly fond of Galvos, especially given his station in the Dregs.

“He’s fine. He might not be next time if he talks out of line again.”

His tone was deadly serious—but Erelia knew nothing would come of it when it came to Galvos.

She nudged him playfully with an elbow, light but deliberate.

“He’s smart enough to only give you lip when it’s just the two of you.”

Then, with a teasing lilt:

“Besides, what would Marcy think if you hurt her favorite uncle?”

Aurelio sighed.

“It’s her only uncle.”

He couldn’t see it, but his wife rolled her eyes.

“You should be nicer to my brother, Ferrasius.”

Her voice was softer now, but no less firm.

“We all came from the same place—it’s not all his fault he’s stuck where he is.”

She paused for a moment.

“And what he does isn’t entirely bad anyway. You’re not the only inspiration in Marcy’s life.”

A sea captain, an adventurer—one who tamed the waves. A charming life, in the eyes of a child. But Aurelio knew better. Galvos was not some glorious explorer of the seas. He took dirty jobs. It wasn’t all cargo and monster hunting. For the right price, he’d traffic, smuggle, do whatever needed doing. Aurelio sighed. “I’m tired, my love.” He nuzzled the back of her neck, voice soft but firm. He didn’t want to start an argument that would keep them up longer. And Erelia was too exhausted to push any further.

The whole household slept soundly. The night had grown long, the city resting, quiet, still. But in the dark, something stirred. A long-fermenting hatred. A guilt that refused to settle. A rage that could not be quelled. It did not sleep that night.

“The Aurelans continue their defense. Despite the devastating blow we dealt to them, they push onward. Their tenacity is… charming. For a savage.”

A man in black, silver-trimmed robes rose from his seat within the Meeting of the Hands, his voice smooth, almost amused. Before him, a massive table split the room in two—ten men sat along it, five in white-trimmed gold, five in black-trimmed silver. Each a Finger of their respective Hand.

“The Crucible turned out to be a very potent weapon,” he continued, letting the words linger.

“The entire town was uninhabitable almost instantly.”

"That’s good to hear, Saphirius. You’ll be commended—your Adamantwrights exalted for their work." The praise came from the silver throne, where Vantus Argentum sat in quiet authority.

“Thank you, Grand Auric, but the war wages on. Our hold on Moravyr is not as absolute as it should be. We need more anima for the Crucibles—production has stalled.”

"Mmhm."

Vantus pressed his hands together, fingers steepled in thought as he leaned into his throne. He let the moment linger before continuing.

"I had captains in the Amalgamate falling over themselves for a chance to collect it for us. Up until a few days ago, anyway…"

His gaze shifted to Aurelio.

"Seems your brother-in-law has gone and started a rumor that our craftsmanship isn’t even up to Dreg standards." There was always a tight atmosphere in the Meet.

Nobody wanted to be caught in the crossfire if the Hands were about to clash.

Aurelio let the silence hang before answering.

“Well, Vantus, perhaps you should properly vet the work of your men before brazenly handing it out to half-drunk sailors. That way, when they fail, we can be sure it is their own idiocy at fault—rather than our equipment.”

His tone was measured, firm—but pointed.

He had a guess as to what was going on. Aurelio didn’t care much for Galvos, and stepping on the bolt had been a dismissive, insulting gesture at first. But a bolt crafted by an Adamantwright wouldn’t falter so easily. Not under his boot. It had either been incompetence or malice. But he wouldn’t assign intent—not yet. Not until he knew for certain. Vantus leaned back in his throne, elbow pressed against the armrest, cheek resting in his palm. His gaze fixed on Aurelio.

“Ha. Diverting for Galvos now, are you?”

His voice was silk-smooth, laced with amusement.

“I assure you, I take the utmost care in providing those lowlives with everything they need to accomplish their mission. The fault lies with them.”

He smiled, the curve of it half-hidden against his hand.

“Though I suppose… they did manage to bring back a few mire beasts despite their incompetence and mishandling of equipment.”

Vantus straightened, his tone sharpening.

“They left a Crucible behind, though.”

With urgency, a man in white robes rose from his seat.

“We conducted a thorough search of the ship and crew. We couldn’t find it.”

His voice carried the weight of the situation.

“The Captain’s words align with our own conclusion—it must have fallen with one of his men on the Isle of Bimos.”

He looked around the room. All eyes were on him. Some tinged with worry.

“We will remain on high alert. A single Crucible, even without refinement, is still dangerous. Guards have already been deployed throughout the city to ensure it hasn’t fallen into the wrong hands.”

He stood, waiting to be dismissed or pressed for more information.

Aurelio gave a measured nod.

“Thank you, Ametellus.”

The tension eased slightly as the man sat.

Aurelio exhaled, voice firm.

“Even if the Crucible remains on Bimos, it is a travesty—one disaster waiting for another. We cannot continue relying on outsiders in the Amalgamate for these kinds of operations.”

His gaze swept across the table.

“If we are in such desperate need of these weapons, then we should recall some of our own men from Moravyr and collect the anima ourselves.”

A low, dismissive grunt rumbled from the silver chair.

Vantus’ gaze settled on Aurelio, lined with disdain.

“So you’d rather lose good Onorian men’s souls to a Mire than let them find glory on the battlefield?” His tone was mocking, edged with scorn.

“I wouldn’t take you for a glutton of valor, Aurelio. Our men would rather be heroes than forgotten souls—doing work that their lessers could be doing.”

Aurelio gritted his teeth beneath his lips. He wouldn’t show it outwardly, but he’d always harbored a hatred for Vantus—his enthusiasm for war, his hunger for total conquest.

Their ideals aligned with their god. And Aurelio did love his god. But he loved his people just as much. He’d seen too many die on the fields of war before he was offered his station—senseless wastes of precious lives.

“Glory and valor are not only gained on the battlefield, Vantus. There are many ways to serve. And it would be better to have the job done right—by Onorian hands. That way, we wouldn’t need to worry about dregs mishandling, or in this case, losing important, dangerous weapons.”

There was fire in his words—restrained, controlled—but the edge of his voice nearly tipped into something more. A near outburst.

Vantus was ready to go into a tangent of his own, his lips eager to part, but before his voice could pass them, another rang out. A voice yet unspoken.

The Holy Host himself had deigned to speak.

“Let us remain calm in these holy chambers.” He did not raise his voice beyond what was necessary. It was calm. Relaxed. As if it had never known burden.

“My gracious Hands, it would do me no good if you fought—the left and the right, the gold and the silver. We must cooperate. In one body. In one mind.”

Aurelio and Vantus' thrones spun on their own, a subtle flourish of Adamantwright ingenuity. They turned to face him, both straightening their backs, attentive in their seats.

“Yes, Your Holiness. Apologies.” They spoke in tandem.

And the Holy Host smiled. Gently. Gracefully. A smile that could set anyone at ease.

“Some things may fall out of Onorus’s hands, but they do so for a reason. So do not despair. Things will come to be as they should be—in Moravyr, in Vallara, in Ryvakar, and eventually, the whole world.”

His gaze swept the room. “But we must stand firm. Stay focused. On our holy, righteous goal.” The tap of his staff against the floor rang through the chamber. An unspoken command.

They all rose. He led them as he always did. When he decided the meeting would end, it would end in prayer. A final act of reverence. A holy glorification of Onorus.

“Oh, Glorious God, your unyielding sight gives us stability in chaos, light in dark. Every word, a sacred command, that we follow to any and every end.”

His voice echoed through the chamber.

“Oh, Glorious Onorus, we will spread your sovereignty to all corners of this world, that you may watch over it forever. With one vision, one voice—a single, unified, unending world for us all!”

He raised his staff high. At its tip, a golden visage of Onorus’ face gleamed, illuminated in the chamber’s light. They all bowed their heads in reverence.

“May your vision of the world guide us forever,” he intoned.

“May his vision guide us forever,” they answered.

The Sanctum began to empty. The Fingers were the first to leave. Vantus followed swiftly—it would be considered uncouth to start an argument after a meeting had ended.

Aurelio remained. So did Ametellus. The Finger of Gold slid to his Hand’s side.

“Grand Auric… I didn’t want to bring this up to anyone but you, but—”

Aurelio silenced him with a glance. Not here. Not in the Sanctum. If they would have words, they would have them outside, as Aurelio made his way to meet his family.

They walked briskly through the bustling streets of the Auracantheum. The city hummed with life—nobles and high tradesmen scurried past, their silken robes a stark contrast to the filth of the lower districts.

“Continue, Ametellus.”

The Finger struggled to keep pace, his restrictive robes snagging beneath his every step.

“Thank you, Grand Auric. As I was saying—there have been reports. More and more ships are dropping off people in the Amalgamate. The population is getting out of hand.”

Aurelio said nothing. Ametellus took this as a sign to continue.

“There have also been issues—Dregs showing up in the higher districts. Either through bribes or trickery, they are getting in. Thefts are being reported. Assaults. It’s only a matter of time before something worse happens.”

Ametellus paused, waiting. He could see Aurelio processing, weighing the information.

Finally, he spoke. “It’s Vantus.” His voice was even, but laced with quiet contempt. “He has a strange fascination with sending them on suicide missions.”

A long, slow breath.

“There isn’t much I can do about the new arrivals. But keep our regiment of watchmen on high alert—no doubt it’s Vantus’s men accepting bribes. Tell them that if they catch any Dregs where they don’t belong, they are to be sent back. Bruised and beaten, preferably. A valuable reminder of their place.”

Aurelio’s eyes scoured the crowd. His family should be close. He told them to wait not far from the main street leading from the Auracantheum to the outer districts.

His voice turned colder. “If you catch thieves or assaulters—tell the men they have authority to kill them.” Ametellus seared the words into his mind. He would spread his Grand Auric’s orders to all.

“I will do it thoroughly and as quickly as possible, Grand Auric.”

He bowed. Aurelio graced it with a nod. Ametellus rushed off. He had his master’s word to deliver.

“DADDY!”

A voice he was finally happy to hear broke through the crowd.

Little Marcielle rushed toward him, her frilly purple gown billowing with each step, a white bonnet atop her head, trimmed in gold. Her shining eyes beamed brighter than any divine relic.

And in that instant, those eyes washed away the sickening hatred that had been simmering inside him.

“There you are, Marcy!”

He scooped her up, hugging her tightly. He was confident the streets were busy enough that no one would notice if he showed some softness to his daughter.

“Where’s your mother?”

Marcielle pointed toward the fountain.

There sat Erelia, holding her belly, her hands pressed against its weight. A group of maids stood by, cooling her with fans, watching over her carefully. Nearby, Master Rubellius waved, looking eager to talk. Together, they moved as a growing entourage.

Marcielle slipped from his grasp, running ahead to help the maids with her mother. Meanwhile, Master Rubellius wasted no time launching into conversation.

“Grand Auric, it’s good to see you!”

Aurelio nodded politely. “Yes, good to see you too, Rubellius.”

“Yes, quite! I don’t know if she’s shown you yet, but she was absolutely thrilled with her discovery—as was I! It’s astounding, you know. Sight Binders, they’re so rare, especially among our own, and—”

Aurelio cut him off—not out of rudeness, but out of eagerness to share his own excitement, in his own subdued way.

“Yes. Marcielle showed me her marching teddy bear.” His voice was calm but warm. “You taught her how to focus well, and quickly. Thank you, Rubellius.”

His words were genuine.

Rubellius beamed but tried to play it off with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Oh no, it’s not me! Your daughter—she’s a marvel. A genuine miracle from Onorus himself! Of course, her power needs refinement, practice—like everything else in this world—but with her gift…”

His eyes gleamed with unrestrained excitement.

“Oh, she could animate goliaths! Maybe even an army of them! Can you imagine it? An entire regiment of marching stone men—unbreakable, unstoppable!”

Rubellius was caught up in his own vision of glory.

To many, Aurelio included, this should have been a moment of pride.

His daughter. A commander of armies. A weapon of divine will. A woman capable of spreading Onorus’ sovereignty to the furthest corners of the world.

But instead…

It turned his stomach.

She was his little girl.

And though he was a brutal man, a hardened soldier, a fighter who had bled and battled his way to his station… He wasn’t sure he wanted that for his daughter. Or for the child yet to be born.

“Are you all right, Grand Auric? I hope I didn’t offend.”

Rubellius caught himself, watching Aurelio closely.

Aurelio forced a small smile, pushing down the unease that churned in his stomach.

“Oh no, not at all,” he said smoothly. “She’s still my little pearl, that is all. I’d rather not think of her growing and leaving the nest so soon.”

Rubellius smiled, almost laughing at the thought of Aurelio being such a soft man.

“Oh, I know how you feel! My oldest just left home recently—the first one to leave always hits the hardest!” He waved a hand dismissively. “But if—well, if being a statement for lesser men, of course—but all the same, if you’re a good father, they always come back!”

Aurelio watched his little girl.

She was sweet. Innocent. A guiding light in his life.

He hoped, deep in his heart, that by the time she grew up, all this war and conquest would be over. That hope was one of the few things that kept him going every day. He fought to leave a more peaceful world behind—for Marcielle, for her children, for all who would come after.

“Yes, well, my little Marcielle will always have a place at her father’s home, that’s for sure. But that time is far into the future. I intend to enjoy every moment with her as she is now.” He couldn’t help but smile in the presence of his daughter.

Rubellius grinned. “Ah, yes, these are truly the best years of any man’s life. And you’ve got another on the way soon too!”

Aurelio studied him for a moment. Rubellius was always so complimentary. If it had been any other man, Aurelio would have dismissed it as flattery. A ploy to worm his way into the Grand Auric’s good graces, to ask for favors, to turn him in directions he might not otherwise turn. But Rubellius was different. Aurelio had seen it years ago, the first time they met. And he saw it now, in the way Rubellius spoke so lovingly of his own daughter.

“Well, I won’t keep you forever, Aurelio. Marcielle told me all about the day you all have planned, and I’m sure you don’t need me in your already crowded entourage.”

He gave the Grand Auric a gracious bow, and Aurelio returned it with a nod.

“You are welcome to join us, Rubellius. Marcielle, in particular, would not mind.”

From the front of the group, where her mother’s maids had formed what could only be described as a human chariot to carry her expectant mother along, Marcielle shouted joyfully

“Yes! You should come with us, Master Rubellius!”

Rubellius smiled but politely declined. “Oh, I would love to, but duty calls today! I will see you all very soon, of course.” He turned to Marcielle.

“Keep practicing! I can’t wait to see what you can do when it’s time for your next lesson.”

With that, Rubellius was off, leaving the Aurelios to continue their family outing.

Their list of destinations was long—almost a full tour of their beloved city. They had seen these sights a thousand times before, but they never grew old.

Their first stop was The Luminarc—Onoria’s famed arts district, named after the colossal stage at its heart. Here, all manner of plays and magic shows were held.

Binders of every craft mystified audiences.

Playwrights from across Vallara came to entertain with their stories.

They caught an early show.

A sight binder stood at center stage.

“He’s got the same sort of power as you, Marcy!” Erelia teased, nudging her daughter.

Marcielle beamed with excitement.

Aurelio, however, wasn’t much for plays or magic shows. But he was happy his family was enjoying themselves. The binder was an intriguing man. He had targets dressed as soldiers placed around the stage, and a podium beside him, draped in red velvet. Upon it sat several objects.

They seemed important. He spoke no words, only smiling, his gestures exaggerated and deliberate. The audience ate up his theatrics. First, he picked up an ice cube. He juggled it lightly between his fingers before holding it between his thumb and index, like a tiny looking glass. Then, his eye began to shine. It was subtle, almost imperceptible. Suddenly, his bind took effect. The target—the soldier he was looking at through the ice—froze solid.

The audience gasped. Then, they erupted into cheers! The binder bowed, soaking in the applause.

Then the binder picked up another object. A mirror. He examined himself playfully, fluffing his hair, squeezing his cheeks, flashing an exaggerated smile. The crowd watched, holding their breath. What would he do next? Then—a sudden shift. His eye caught another target on stage. A glint flashed in his iris. A quick jab at the mirror with his fist—The glass shattered. And with it—the target in the reflection broke apart, collapsing into pieces.

The crowd erupted.

“He should join the military!” a man yelled.

“Oh, he’d give the Grand Auric a run for his money!” another cheered. The binder took another bow, soaking in the admiration. Aurelio watched him closely now. This man was no ordinary entertainer. He could be a powerful asset.

How had he stayed under his notice for so long? Aurelio leaned in, eager to see what else he could do. The binder retrieved one final object. An igniter. He flicked it open. A long flame spewed forth. Slowly, he let the fire crawl across his palm.

He didn’t flinch. If anything—he seemed to enjoy the heat. Then, he lifted the igniter. Held it in front of his next target. His eye peered through the flame like a lens. And just like before—his bind took effect. One target burst into flames.

Then another.

Then another.

Then the rest.

His eyes darted from one to the next, setting them alight with nothing but a glance.

The applause thundered through the Luminarc, the loudest yet.

They hadn’t seen such an impressive display in quite some time. Many binders performed here, but most were predictable. Their abilities were remarkable, but familiar—nothing Onorions hadn’t seen before. But a sight binder? That was rare. Especially among Onorion stock.

“Daddy, will I be able to do stuff like that one day?”

Marcielle’s eyes gleamed with wonder.

She was transfixed, utterly enraptured by the man’s abilities.

“You won’t be making things explode into flames or freezing them solid, Marcy,” he said, his voice warm, reassuring. “But your ability will be just as spectacular.”

He gently poked under her chin, tilting her face upward.

“I’m sure you’ll be up there on the Luminarc one day—showing the world your gift.”

Marcielle hugged his leg tightly, her mind racing with fantasies of performing.

“I’m gonna work really hard, Daddy! I’m gonna practice all the time!”

Aurelio chuckled, placing a hand on her head.

Then, his eyes flicked back to the stage. The binder—the spectacular man—Was gone. Vanished. As if he had never been there at all. Aurelio made a mental note. He would track him down when he was back to work. But today? Today was for his family. The showman would have to wait.

Next stop was The Aurifex—Onoria’s beating heart of trade.

The most populous place in the city, easily dwarfing both the Aurecantheum and the Luminarc combined. Hundreds—thousands—of voices roared at once, a relentless wave of sound.

Merchants screamed over one another, advertising their wares.

Shoppers shouted for family and friends, trying not to get lost.

Others just drank, laughed, and reveled in the chaos.

“Get your rare humped Pachydermus meat! Straight from the hump! The most succulent cut from the Ryvakar!”

“Silken threads from the jungles of Yth! This is a ONCE-IN-A-LIFETIME opportunity! If you’re not a tailor, buy it for a friend! Buy it for a pillow! A blanket! A dress!”

“OI! CAL, WHERE ARE YA?!”

“Get your very own Grand Auric figurine! Aurelio the Invincible! Great for kids! Just like our Grand Auric—it’ll never break!”

The Aurelios and their maids settled into a small eatery. The moment they stepped inside, the staff scrambled. Every employee moved with urgency, bordering on panic. They knew they had to be perfect. A bad impression could mean disaster. No one wanted to show even an inkling of disrespect to Aurelio. He was a hero. Close to a king. Erelia let out a heavy sigh, fanning herself weakly.

“Oh, it’s so hot, dear… I don’t know how much more of this I can take today.”

She had already sweat through her dress, her maids working tirelessly to keep her cool. But it was a scorching day, and being heavy with child wasn’t doing her any favors. Aurelio raised a hand, signaling for service. A waiter practically sprinted forward.

“OH YES, GRAND AURIC SIR! WHAT CAN I GET YOU, SIR?!”

The man was shaking. His voice was far too loud. Aurelio tilted his head slightly, eyes cold.

“At ease, soldier,” he said flatly.

It was mocking—half playful, but spoken too coldly to tell. The waiter swallowed nervously.

“Drinks for everyone at the table.”

Aurelio pulled out a heavy purse, handing it to the man. The weight of it was staggering—far more than necessary for drinks, or even a meal for everyone at the table.

“And while I’m here,” Aurelio added, his tone unchanged, “I’ll take responsibility for any other orders that might come.” A kind gesture. Generous, even. But Aurelio never smiled.

The waiter didn’t know what to say. He stammered at first, fumbling over his words. Then, finally— “OH, THANK YOU, SIR! THANK YOU!” And he was gone, rushing to prepare the drinks, eager to tell his boss of the Grand Auric’s generosity.

Aurelio finally sat down. His wife sat in front of him, her hair blown in every direction from the relentless fanning of her maids. His sweet little Marcielle sat comfortably on his knee.

“Daddy, can I get a treat?”

Aurelio rubbed her shoulder in encouragement.

“You can get whatever you like, Marcy.”

He drank in the moment. It wasn’t like his solitary nighttime walks.

Not the calm, cool evenings, the stars gently shining in the dark, his boots tapping a rhythm against the polished stones of the Auracantheum. Those nights helped him think. But this? This was his most treasured peace.

Far from work.

Far from battle.

Far from worry.

Even with the endless voices—merchants haggling, drunks laughing, crowds bustling—there was a charm to it.

Aurelio closed his eyes for just a moment. He let the noise wash over him. He savored it.

“FINEST STEEL IN THE LAND! STRAIGHT FROM THE HOLY ADAMANTWRIGHTS OF THE AURACANTHEUM! ONE BLADE WILL LAST YOU A LIFETIME!”

“Oh, we went down to the Ryvakar to have ourselves some fun! We bashed those lizards in the brains and shot their crying young!”

“OLLIE?! What are you doing?!”

“Bows! Bolts! We have firearms too! If you need to kill something from far away, we got what you need!”

“You BLOODY IDIOT, Callahan! Don’t go after him!”

Then— The noise shifted. Something was wrong.

Gasps.

Screams.

Panic.

Voices calling out to each other, frantic. Erelia’s eyes narrowed, her posture tense. Her maids huddled closer.

“Ferrasius… what’s going on out there?”

Aurelio stood, gently lifting Marcielle from his lap and passing her to one of the maids.

“I don’t know… You should head back to the Luminarc until I figure it out.”

Then— A shriek.

“HE’S GONNA KILL US ALL!” Screams rippled through the crowd.

Marcielle’s tiny hands clung to his arm.

“Daddy…”

The maid scooped her up, holding her tight. Aurelio placed a firm hand on Marcielle’s head.

“Don’t worry, Marcy. Daddy’s just going to see what’s going on.”

Aurelio moved through the crowd.

Something at the center of the commotion was causing the ruckus.

And yet—despite the panic, the people still huddled around it.

They muttered his name as he passed, reverent whispers brushing against the air like wind through leaves. A hero, stepping forward to meet some new tragedy.

“It’s the Grand Auric!”

“Aurelio’s here!”

“He’ll stop this crazy bastard!”

He didn’t acknowledge them. He kept his head straight, his stride steady, making his way toward the center of the mass. Then—he heard the voice. A man—yelling.

Hoarse. Like he’d been screaming for hours already.

“They didn’t deserve what you did to them! We didn’t ask for war!”

Aurelio pushed forward. The voice grew clearer. Richer.

Manic. Desperate. Pained.

“I had a son—like you! I couldn’t even fetch his damn BODY because of what you did to my home! My wife! My family! My father! NONE of them can even rest with Aureha! YOU TOOK THAT FROM US TOO!”

Aurelio stepped into the center. There, he saw him. An Aurelan man.

Sickly thin, even for one of his kind. His hands were shaking. But in them—Something familiar.

Something Aurelio recognized the instant his eyes landed on it.

The lost Crucible.

The Aurelan man turned to Aurelio. He could see his face clearly now—it was pathetic. His nose dripped with mucous, seeping into his mouth and spraying every which way every time he opened it to talk. His eyes were red, raw, tears streaking down his face. And the light in those eyes—dead. The way he moved as he spoke, the way his body wavered, yet pushed forward anyway… Aurelio knew.

He had nothing left to live for.

That made him dangerous.

Aurelio already knew what he was planning—it was obvious. But there were too many people, too many fools lingering when they should have been running. Some had enough sense to move, but others still gawked, frozen, watching as if this were some play being acted out before them.

“I know you…” The Aurelan man pointed at him, letting the Crucible swing loosely in his other arm. It barely missed scraping the ground.

“The grandest gold prick!” He spat at Aurelio’s feet. It was a pathetic attempt—just barely missing his boot.

Aurelio didn’t react. His voice remained steady, impassive. “Yes. I am Ferrasius Aurelio, Grand Auric of Onoria. May I ask who you are?” He wouldn’t provoke him—not yet. The longer he spoke, the more time it bought for these idiots to get out of harm’s way.

Olesk let out a ragged breath, chest heaving, then he straightened, gripping the Crucible tighter.

“Ollie…” his voice rasped, then louder, firmer, “I’m Olesk Meddvezhsk.” His fingers dug into the Crucible, knuckles white. “You’re gonna remember that name. The name of my town. All of you golden cunts are.”

He swung the Crucible again, this time keeping both hands tight around it.

Aurelio took a step—small, careful, controlled—but a step forward nonetheless. His voice remained calm. “So you’re a survivor of the Crucible? You must be strong.” He let the words settle. “I admire the strong.”

Then, a pause—a flicker of something deeper, something carefully placed.

“And I will say… as a father, I can understand your grief.” He let the words linger, watching the man’s face for even a moment’s hesitation. “I don’t know what I would do if my own daughter left before me.”

A feint of sympathy, a trap of understanding, a carefully placed opening. Anything to lower his defenses, to make him hesitate—just long enough.

“Strong,” Ollie scoffed. “It don’t matter. Strong, weak—that fucking weapon of yours wiped EVERYONE out.” He whimpered, mewling, whining—Aurelio could barely stand it, but he must. His hatred, if it spilled out now, could jeopardize all he loved.

“Why?! Why would you do this to us?! I see the stories you tell your people, you fucking golden cunt!” He lashed out at the air, swinging the Crucible madly. “You rile them up, tell them we’re monsters that seek to destroy you! WE KNOW OUR HISTORY, YOU BASTARD. OUR MOTHER CAME TO YOUR AID ONCE, SO WHY?!”

Then he repeated it, softer this time, whispered, barely a sound.

“Why… you bastard, why… I loved them. Why…”

Aurelio moved, slow, steady, closing the space between them while Olesk’s head was down.

“I don’t know what history they teach you in Moravyr,” he said, voice measured, steady, controlled. “But our God would not lead us astray, Olesk. Maybe you could find redemption, peace even, if you came with me, quietly, without hurting anyone.”

The words were almost strained, his anger boiling to a point he could barely control. Aurelio wanted to crush the man’s skull between his fingers, to break him apart for even laying the slightest threat upon his people—for making a scene before women and children, for the thought alone that his daughter had been anywhere near this madness.

But Aurelio, ever the expert at keeping a face of stone, pressed forward.

“There’s no redemption for me,” Olesk muttered. “Nor for you. Not for the Grand Auric. Not for the children. The women. The men.” His grip on the Crucible tightened, knuckles bone-white. “You’ll all die here, trapped endlessly in a mire, crawling, gasping, starving for release…” He lifted the Crucible high into the air. “And you’ll find none. The mire will take you all. And it’ll spread… and your golden city… it will fall.”

Aurelio lunged.

The crowds erupted.

“RUN! RUN! SAVE YOURSELVES!”

“MOMMY!”

“SAVE THE CHILDREN!”

“OLLIE, DON’T DO THIS!”

“CALLAHAN, YOU IDIOT, I SAID NO!”

His final words would be heard by no one, except perhaps his family—wherever they were, lost in the mire.

"I'm sorry. Sweet Mother Aureha, please guide my family to freedom. I beg of you."

A flash.

A sickly green fog burst from the Crucible.

It spread like mist, like a breath.

No explosion. No fire.

Just a quiet, creeping death.

Flesh blackened, shriveled, melted away. They clung to whatever was closest, gasping—choking—struggling for air that would never come. The Aurifex became a grave in seconds. It wasn’t even loud. Just a click, a soft, somber wind that stole the air from their lungs.

And through it all, Aurelio stood.

Untouched.

Unbroken.

Invincible.

He watched.

As the fools who stayed—the fools he loved—died before his eyes.

And he could do nothing.

Then he looked down at his feet, that disgusting pest was still breathing. How dare he still live.

Aurelio picked him up, effortlessly, his hand grasped Olesk’s neck tightly, very tightly, approaching the point of his spine turning to dust under the pressure. He wanted to. So badly. To end this piece of trash. He pictured it in his head, slamming this man into the ground over and over and over and over and over, until nothing was left, until there was no evidence but the fractured, broken earth below that there was ever a man named Olesk who existed.

“I’m glad you lived, Olesk.”

A smile, a horrible, horrible smile drew itself across Aurelio’s face.

“You think your family rotting in some mire is a fate worse than death?” He brought the Aurelan’s face close to his, his lips almost brushing against his sharpened ears.

“You’re going to wish, every day, that you died at this moment, but I’m not going to let you.”

He walked through the newly formed mire, Olesk held high above his head, to keep him ‘safe’, stepping over bodies, so many bodies…

And an odd thing, something he barely even noticed.

Strange flowers, catching the light in fractals… a beautiful kaleidoscope.