𝐆𝐈𝐋𝐃𝐄𝐃 𝐓𝐀𝐑𝐆𝐄𝐓

.ೃ࿐ᴹᵃᵏᵉ ⁱᵗ ᵖʳᵉᵗᵗʸ, ᵇᵘᵗ ᵗʳᵃⁱⁿ ⁱᵗ ᵗᵒ ᵏⁱˡˡ.

Rumours prodded the solar system of how he had a dragon's voice of velvet and cotton, his words were said to have melted your membranes with a mere second's graze. The mage was a rare ornament of existence's magnificence.—Palace of Ulric labyrinths, Elvira Crest.

࿐SÉRAPH࿐

|Alec— March 10, 7426|

THE BREEZE became cement as she ascended across the short-bricked roofs of the hamlet. The soles of her feet slipped with the fever, her every breath deeper and much heavier to contain the further she hurried.

Range.

The untrained hope of distance was all that matters to Séraph right now. The sun spooned lower as her pace became stagnant, smearing the nauseous skyline with a residue of its bronze colours. Wind barreled against her face, sticking onto the sweat that developed on her torn skin. The wind was not so refreshing, only an arid and oppressive gust that the barrens inflated for a wanted bounty.

Scarlet was just behind her, tailing the thumps and hisses her legs sent out with every precarious leap she made between tops. Séraph could tell it was him by the false fragility of his silhouette and the way his figure trimmed across the roof's slabs like a white dove playing with gravity—a killer's haste, Franklin had called it. Séraph now realized why he referred to it as such; it was terrifying being chased by Scarlet.

Unlike herself, Scarlet was much more careful with his steps, he calculated every connection his boots made with the tiles, all squeaks and groans bypassing his subtle weight of stealth.

Séraph, on the other hand, was much faster and not as enumerated as her sensible partner. She only cared about getting out of this jumble as fast as she could. A bandit's instinct of flight, some would say. An insatiable grin indulged her reddened face as a mass of heads registered to her.

The market. She made it on time.

Or so she thought.

The soft beats of Scarlet's shoes expired as an audible sizzle reinstated against the roof panes. Séraph hardly had any stamina to react to Scarlet's skidding figure before the underside of his shoes knocked into the back of Séraph's knees with enough force to send her stumbling forward and into his raised knee. Seraph didn't know what was more insulting, getting barraged by Scarlet or watching the sadistic smirk that encased his face as she fell to his surprise.

Unfortunately for Scarlet, Séraph wielded just as many volitional surprises.

Her hands caught the end of his curled leg, yanking it up to access his last balancing leg that stood upright like a flamingo's. Séraph twisted his leg in her hand, shifting her feet in the bustle of a swing as she quickly swept under his stationed foot. Scarlet's grin revised into an alarmed expression as his back collided with the ground before it curled back into his usual scowl of so-called torpor. Got him.

"Really?" The question left the boy's lips in conventional boredom. Really? The exact disgruntled sarcasm that had broken his tongue nine years ago when they first met—only this time it seemed the Alchemy girl had the upper hand. Séraph knew the impression of that pale day was explicit in Scarlet's head just as it was in her's. White snow draining beneath frosted rain. Smoky clouds roaring under scraps. A child's dreams shattering and distancing like the bolting flashes that cracked into the grim clouds. Séraph was helpless in the twilight of that forfeit night. She was stuck, drowning a dream of humanity with her frightened tears. A youth within her withered in cadence as bites of purple coiled at the core of her neck from a bruising grip. While she wept, the hideous shadow above her watched her hurt at the highest point of ecstasy. It was sickening—disgusting that her weakness made the monster more pleased.

"This will teach you to respect your elders, you little, thieving bitch," it sizzled out the cruel words.

The moisture of its prurient puffs were soon displaced by trickles of his cerise liquid of depravities. Death acknowledged his sins under the same snowy shower in which life had decided to revoke her ticket of childhood.

Chance purified her in ruddy blood as his body fell limp to her side in a messy peace offering to frostbite.

The grim reaper took the form of a young boy with a soul desirous blade. A dark mop of hair balanced feebly at his face as he stood back into his full height to peer down at Séraph with steady umber eyes of observation. The paled ivory of his skin gleamed with the short charms of lightning, adorning the boy her age a majestic look as they exchanged glances.

Another boom of Zeus's wrath and their gazes waned to the red-tipped blade that rested free from their odd and young holds. Séraph reacted first as she lunged forth for the weapon. The stranger stood undisturbed, following her with an expression of marginal, exercised interest and swelling irritation.

"Really?" The question held no rancour as the boy turned his scrutiny between their blood-soaked clothes of violet and orange. "After I just saved you?"

Shades of embarrassed bitterness infringed Séraph's cheeks. "I didn't need your saving," she growled the words, knowing full well that her consciousness retained an extremely incompatible answer.

Thank you, the words waver at the back of her throat. Thank you for saving me.

"Yeah, clearly," was the boy's sole resort of defence. His hand stretched out towards Séraph in a tender ado you would not expect a child to hold. "Are you alright?" Séraph didn't grab his open palm, nor did she answer his sunken question as she analysed him.

Sighing, the boy spoke softly again, "I'm Scarlet." His arm denied falling at his side as he nudged it closer to Séraph. "And your are?"

Séraph choked down the last of her concerns and exposure as she bound their hands in a fitting shake of gratitude. "Séraphin...Séraph."

Scarlet's boot found Séraph's stomach from his declined position on the floor. "Sorry, I needed to stretch my legs a bit." Dirty moves. Séraph wasn't going to ignore his cheap tricks. She inhaled the agonizing groan her body imperilled to leak as she hopped back into a guarding posture that reflected Scarlet's own.

A startled yell broke from the lower entrance of the building they fought on top of where an elderly woman glared up at them. Thinning white hairs were pulled into a squeezing and thick bun of hairs that matched the glare of the light clothing she decked. "What are you two monsters doing to my store?!"

"Good morning, Ms Kasabi!" Séraph grinned down at her with candied contempt. Scarlet refused to acknowledge the old woman as he launched for another attack. A nasty old bat wasn't going to make him lose his guard. His fist grazed the right of Séraph's face as he jabbed forward. The two moved like cobras harmonising to a hypnotic flute. His boot's zip itched the top of Séraph's head as the messy-haired girl drop from his soaring leg.

"Get lost, old hag," Scarlet spat to Ms Kasabi, although the boy abstained to turn from his attacks on Séraph. More incoherent shouts throbbed below them as they exchanged quick blows.

"I'm warning you!" Ms Kasabi shouted. Séraph didn't need to see the woman to know her face was painted red in opprobrium. "I'll have you both maimed for what you've done to my shop!"

"I think I'll have to reschedule that with you, Ms Kasabi!" Séraph exclaimed over their mad pants. She's going to be late. Séraph could feel Scarlet's fingers brush against the bare skin of her arm as she took her great leap off the harvesting mart roof. To the many prying eyes below, it would seem as if the girl carried a death wish, but from Scarlet's defined, 'I'm going to butcher you' face, Séraph knew the only thing she carried was a future of intense suffering caused by the art of her foolish theatrics.

A goat-like shriek peeled from Ms Kasabi's throat as she watched Séraph plunge into her fruit stand of freshly picked treats. Now slumped in a basket of squished fruits, Séraph's head flickered back to the roof where Scarlet's image was no longer visible. Just like a ghost.

"You devil!!" No time for a fight today.

The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

"Excuse me!" She hissed, sneaking and weaving her way through the numerous civilians of the blue market. Ms Kasabi's shouts for her wash away with the horde. She didn't know whether to be encouraged by the ample crowd or pissed off at how much they managed to slow her down.

She's late.

"Move!" People whirled around the crowded space, annoyance braiding their expressions as they scoured for the source that makes them stagger and tumble, but Séraph was already far gone with hands of larceny, barging her way through another current of shopping travellers and local people.

The tight alley intersection that she knew so well came into view. The raven market. Scarlet didn't like coming here because of how clogging the air makes his judgments. Having no security meant certain death to him. The stores mostly included forbidden interests and gut-wrenching meals that the creepy owners try to scare people into buying. Séraph learned her lesson from her first visit where she bought her first healing talisman which only proved to only entice the alert of the rodents of Alec. Séraph hadn't realized the reason until Scarlet cracked the necklace open during one of their weekly tussles. Four years later and she still didn't have any clue what had been wedged between all those bones and decaying flesh. Don't trust the raven market, Franklin had warned them. That had to be the only rule of his she'd ever seemed to follow.

That and the rule to always wear the crusader amulet he had brought Scarlet and her, a brand of the Pyxis family.

"Back so soon?" A sick voice purred. Turning to the store on her right, the frame of a stubby old woman came into her vision. Shadows enveloped her wrinkling face as her cloak hung loosely over her body and head. Her teeth were pointed like claws and they functioned like stabs as she grinned up at Séraph. "Don't tell me I've managed to frighten you away, little demon."

"You don't frighten me, Odvre." Séraph didn't bother hiding any of her disgust as she viewed the items placed at the front of Odvre's stand. A wolf's breath of misdeed. A Bat’s toe of justice. An Rorau's eye of decipher. A cat’s spine of infatuation.

"Oh, then you are here for the northern auction?" The old lady's low suspicion wined around the misty fogs of the dark market. "How about a charm to keep safe, deary?" The blues of her irises swallowed down her pupils until not even a lick of black was present. Séraph didn't get to decline her offer before Odvre latched onto her hands, holding them delicately between her own cold and crinkled ones. "My sight says something extraordinary is to rewrite your life these coming times, that you deviate the existence of many...below you...allow me to serve you, bright one."

Sight...

"I'm fine without any charms, Odvre." Her hands fell from Odvre's with a heavy impression. Séraph withstood a shudder as the feeling of a shrivelled brown sack digested the senses of her palm.

"It's the least I can do for your fate, my little demon," she whispered the name almost endearingly. "The forbearance that wounds your coming heart will be more than enough payment for me." Séraph didn't listen to the old woman's tirade of omens as she let a grimace retreat on her face while jamming the puckered sack into her pocket. As she did, Odvre turned away from her, hollering at the many passing folks.

Furore. Furore. Furore. That was the new password Séraph was given by Franklin to access the recent auction. She moved further down the market so that the introductory of ultramarine lights fitted with the flickering three-dimensional images of black, the crawling crest embodying the Northern Alec family. Under it, meshed in elucidated LED was the Erion word, Aiucrioesh, which translated to Auction house.

A robust man took outside the colossal titanium door with a questionable look forming on his blemished face when Séraph came to a stop. A pair of shaded sunglasses concealed his identity but not the unproductive mood he hauled on his shoulder.

"Password?" The question whistled worn from his tongue. What was it? Fure? Furo...Furore.

"Furore?" The password tasted was a treasure key in her tastebuds. "Furore."

The man stepped aside, letting free the tricky colours of the location. The entrance snatched into a casino with hundreds of prosperous and involved people rounding around an assortment of gambling stations. The interior of the space was gold, a golden cast that Séraph could tell was more than real by the way it shimmered heavenly against the chandeliers. The magic of the wealthy.

A low body blocked Séraph's path with a fold of their arms."You're late," the shorter person growled discontentedly. A small girl blocked her view, black hair limping into Séraph's personal space as she glare. "You were supposed to be here thirty minutes ago, Alchemy." Way to rub it in.

Séraph ignored Cherry's jabs at her as she walked past her, overworked legs speeding up her pace as she flew down the staff's private set of stairs and kicked open the door that had Franklin's name engraved in its centre with exceedingly assertive letters. Three pairs of eyes drove to her, one of which she recognised to be her teacher's. Franklin sat behind his large desk, pride settling his back straight as he assessed the two men before him.

And then his eyes fell to Séraph.

"You're late, Alchemy," Franklin commented, his overly polluted smile strained on her. "You were supposed to be here half an hour ago."

"I ran into a bit of trouble," Séraph awkwardly cleared her throat. There was no way she was going to tell Franklin that she got her ass handed to her by Scarlet. "I thought I made it on time."

"You've got a little..." One of the men spoke up, hand gesturing to the top of his greasy black hair that let flow down strands of white as he spoke almost condescendingly. "Something there."

Her hand found the top of her head where Ms Kasabi's fruits captioned their territory. A halved strawberry leaked timidly in her fingers, the fruit staining a light track of pink juice that smeared her cheek as she swiped it quickly into her mouth.

One of Franklin's eyes twitched, a temper battling within him as he motioned her forward with a slicing wave. "Come. Here."

Franklin twisted back to the other men as he stood, Séraph by his side while he buttoned up the hanging remains of his secondhand blazer.

"Gentlemen?" The first man who stood had long platinum hair that fell almost transparently against the marble coloured suit he wore. Fair cyan eyes confided under the depths of his lashes, warning everyone about their capability. A royal perhaps. A thrilling glow tattoed Eden surrounded him, fireflies of mystics overflowing in and out of the flaws of Franklin's office of semblances.

Definitely a royal.

The other man stood shortly after him, pale skin gleaming softly against the black and gold of his rich attire. Another Royal. His eyes were a darker shade of blue compared to his friend's, a turbulent blue sat on delicate dark circles that complimented the split gaze of blue and brown coined by the prudent assassin before him. Two different nations? While Séraph could feel the impression of his status like the sun's heat on skin, his presence shined lightly, almost as if it was furtively following her observing touch.

"I hope to be able to see you both tomorrow," Franklin mumbled with a respect that was more than distant from his tongue.

"Likewise." The blond readjusted his robes, nodding his head in both Séraph and Franklin's directions. The other man didn't reply instantly as he watched Séraph intently, only bobbing his head at her once his partner began to leave.

A few stretched seconds skipped by after the click of the door resounded, signalling the men's exit.

"What a mess," Franklin finally pipped up, glimpsing towards Seraph's ragged hair. He plopped a brown folder in front of her, pausing for Seraph to open it. When she opened it, the colourless images of two beaten individuals impeded her vision.

"What did you do, Séraph?" His question was devoid of anger, but Séraph could still touch the indignant cloud flaring inside of him.

Llevan. Wanted. Tempest. Ignatius. *70 million.

The girl knew what he was asking. He was trying to figure out why Séraph had failed to kill Akil Theron; if she'd become a liability. Franklin wanted to figure out if he had to get rid of her, or maybe the price of her head had already tempted the man.

Séraph, although very aware of Franklin's doubt, kept an oblivious facade as she shrugged back at him. "What?"

"What did you do?"

"I'm afraid I don't follow."

"I knew you'd say that, but that still doesn't explain why Renon Mortimer is scouring for a killer who was last seen with what I heard to be an Orcus dagger," Franklin accused, "Very hard to come by, last I remember," he finished in a wave before cessation encompassed the reimbursing room.

His eyes bore into the necklace sat at her neckline where the Pyxis logo sat comfortable, paring non-stop into the wall of ease she'd spent years perfecting. Séraph lent him a blank stare to tell.

"Never mind that, girl...come here." His voice was lighter and cooler, it made her stomach twist in caution—her thoughts laboured to detect any dissatisfied undertone to the man's words.

Séraph stopped by his side, watching as the sham night flickered shyly in the browns of Franklin's eyes. None of the flickers of vehicles that hovered in elegance stopped to notice the odd pair that shined under emerald lights; maybe it was due to the fact that none of them were real people but an accessory of pastime for enmeshing underprivileged people like Séraph.

"There's someone very important I need to you to..take care of," he announced, brows creased as he observed the artificial skyline.

"Who?"

"The First Cazar Minister," he replied, turning and waving someone down from behind the tall door. A masked man walked in, a blue folder in hand as he passed it along to Franklin. "You have a meeting with him in a few days." He sunk back into his seat, giving the folder to Séraph. "You'll be going under the name of Celine Pyxis, my daughter." At the proposal, Seraph's eyes drove back up to Franklin who examined the girl as if she were of a mount of gold bars.

“What about Scarlet?”

“Don't worry about Scarlet,” Franklin droned, loaning Séraph another one of his mischievous smirks. “I have something very special prepared for him.”

Promise me that if he tries to ruin us, Scarlet's words ran through the stilled air. You will kill him without hesitation.

Not such a bad idea.

"Tell me, Celine, " Franklin began condescendingly, "Do you have any idea what a doxy is?" Séraph shook her head, not opening her mouth with the knowledge that he would answer whether she spoke or not.

"Some people call them lovers, others call them whores,” he mumbled nonchalantly, no emotions in his words as if they were talking about the dull weather. "Solomon has a fresh doxy every starting month, though most of them are forced. They're basically used slaves with a ministry title holding the last bit of their importance in place." His eyes kept her in a knowing suspicion as he continued, "Do not try and attempt anything chivalrous, girl. Life is not fair and trying to make unfair things fair will only lead to more unfairness." He leaned back in his chair, eyeing her with an estranged look as he raked a hand through his hair. "Bitches who don't know their places, Alchemy, fit with bad karma as perfect as the sun and moon in an eclipse," he uttered the words darkly, letting the sediments of his unpleasant threat roll at the root of Séraph's oesophagus.

The first Cazar magistrate. A nobility of majesty.

"I understand that," grumbled back Séraph.

No, you don't, something snapped in her. Your heart is not solid enough to ever understand it.

"Do not leave anyone alive." His eyes were slimmer than the mazes her subconscious courage tried to escape. "It will kill you."

It will kill you, a whisper mocked, it will kill you.