In the dimly lit room, Flavia sat hunched over, her fingers trembling as they clutched the now-frayed threads of her tunic. Her eyes burned with an unspoken fury, their depths reflecting the bitter sting of humiliation. Once alone, her proud and regal bearing was now crumpled, as if the weight of her shattered dreams had crushed her.
Her heart pounded in her chest, each beat echoing the rhythm of her silent anger. Her thoughts swirled like a tempest, a cacophony of resentment and despair.
In a fit of rage, she got up and slammed her fist on the stone wall. And then again. And yet again. She had never felt so weak in her life.
"You could be stronger."
At first, she thought she was just imagining the voice. But minutes later, she heard it again.
"You could have your revenge." No, she hadn't imagined it. The voice was laced with pity and malice, and the words sounded alien, as if the one who spoke had recently learned the language and hadn't quite mastered the right accents.
Flavia knew who spoke to her. She knew what it was capable of. What it offered. It showed her what it wanted in return.
Flavia had hungered for power all her life. For her, every rule, every regulation imposed by the empire had always been an obstacle to work around.
The corridors of power that Flavia walked had always been a treacherous landscape, filled with traps and pitfalls that could swallow even the most powerful of players whole. Yet, she had navigated this terrain with an unwavering confidence that left her rivals awestruck and her underlings in a state of fearful reverence.
Flavia's insatiable hunger for power was the driving force behind her every action. She sought to expand her empire, to increase her wealth, and to secure her place in history as the greatest guildmaster the universe had ever known. To her, the end justified the means, and she was willing to do whatever it took to achieve her goals.
Unlike Norman, she had no qualms about what she desired. And what she was willing to do to make it happen. Without an ounce of hesitation, she embraced the darkness.
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Months passed.
The investigation was long behind them. Nobody had been quite happy about one of the most high profile investigations of the decade to have ended inconclusively. But in the end, the Protectorate had many matters to look into, and their time was limited.
The world moved on.
Investigator Heusten was visiting his brother. Mortem suffered from a degenerative disease for which no cure was known. The periodic treatments to keep the illness at bay had been paid for by the Ortimus estate so far, but he knew that could not continue anymore. He no longer had any intention of associating himself with the Ortimus conglomerate. Greymus had been cunning, but he had lines that he wouldn't cross. He couldn't say the same about Flavia - especially after seeing what she had done with Kiri. And this last incident had brought him too close to Protectorate scrutiny. Covering up the young girl's murder, he had crossed a line he never thought he would.
Amidst the sprawling hospital compound, the sun cast a warm and gentle glow, its golden rays filtering through the lush canopy of trees that lined the meticulously paved walkways. The air was filled with the invigorating scent of fresh flowers blooming in the nearby gardens, their vibrant colors adding a splash of beauty to the otherwise clinical surroundings.
As he saw the gentle Ramsen sun bathing the hospital compound in its radiant light, he was filled with sadness yet again. This esteemed institution was no longer within his price range.
He was planning to move his brother to a less expensive institution where he could at least die with some dignity.
He was astonished to discover that Mortem had been discharged. When asked about where he was now, the receptionist directed him towards one of the gardens, where he was apparently waiting for him along with a friend. Mortem had no friends. He had no one other than Heusten in his life.
He rushed towards the garden, suspecting some kind of colossal mixup. The sun continued its gentle ascent, bathing the hospital compound in its radiant light, bringing warmth to the souls of those within its walls. The combination of the sun's nurturing rays, the serene atmosphere, and the vibrant surroundings created a perfect environment to uplift the gloom and somberness. Or at least they would have, if the very next moment he didn't see Flavia engaged in a deep gossip with Mortem on a bench.
"He can't be out of his bed." Heusten exclaimed and ran towards him.
His brother was hardly alarmed though. "Oh, but I am much better now. Thanks to the new revolutionary treatment by the Ortimus Guild." He said with a smile.
Heusten didn't remember when was the last time he had seen Mortem smile. He had been bedridden for so many years, his voice barely a weak whisper. And yet, here he was - radiant and fresh - as if reborn.
"What new treatment?" he looked towards Flavia.
Mortem pulled up the sleeve of his shirt. The veins of his hand formed a blackened tapestry.
Years ago, when Heusten had first met Flavia, her bright and beautiful smile left him captivated. She had inherited all of her mother's splendid beauty and her father's cunning mind. He could not have imagined that one day he would find that magnificent smile as vile as he did now. "Mr. Heusten, why don't we revisit your relationship with the Ortimus guild? I am sure we can arrive at an arrangement that benefits all of us."