Dantel Hargrave kept his head low and profile lower. Taking a walk to clear his head was not a convincing excuse at one in the morning. If one of Geverde's agents really were tailing him, it would all but prove his guilt. Anyone with a shred of self-confidence would likely ridicule his lack of resolve. However, those same people would have a hard time maintaining their self-confidence in his shoes.

The people Wesper associated himself with, to them his life was worth less than a poker chip, a pawn existing only for sacrifice. He knew that, but even if the ends justified the means, it made the act of self-sacrifice no less terrifying.

He watched each foot fall in front of the other for the most part, stealing glances at his surroundings so as to not get lost. He was used to it by now; keeping a low profile was part of his second job's description.

His allegiances were elsewhere, a fact he had hidden as naturally as breathing for so many years. At the rate he was going, he could have lasted until retirement without anyone suspecting a thing. But now he was on the run all thanks to some stupid brat who couldn’t keep his head down.

He punted a pebble into the street, taking out the anger as discreetly as possible. Vesmos’s citizens were equally as rambunctious as their warmongering empire, and equally adept at sparking chaos.

No, there wouldn’t be any of that soon enough.

He raised his head, rounding a corner and arriving at a street bordering the Parklands. He looked left and right and upon seeing no one, began to walk toward his final destination.

He'd ordinarily praise a safehouse so close to a parkland; conducting surveillance from a public space was nigh impossible. Yet the foliage of the Royal Parklands could effortlessly conceal entire operations. He could not sense any magic nearby, yet Geverde’s counterintelligence would have accounted for it. He suspected human agents had been on his tail for months.

He reached the address Wesper had scribbled on the parchment. Checking it once more, he confirmed that it was indeed the place. He gripped his briefcase tight as he opened the front door. It creaked open, revealing a sparsely lit lobby. Nothing more than a checkered floor of unpolished tiles spread out between four walls of timber and limestone. An old gaslight chandelier glowed above him, its light barely reaching the edges of the room. Judging by the small array of postboxes to his right, there were a total of six apartments. Six. Two on each floor with two staircases ascending on each side. Wesper had not left a unit number, so he’d either have to search the whole building or…

“Can I help you?”

The entire building belonged to them.

Dantel, stiff with shock, turned around at the command of the grizzled voice. A man sat in the corner, observing him from a wooden chair and card table, sipping on a glass of liquor.

Trench coat, unpolished shoes, soot-coloured trousers. A member of the Vesmos rats that had been scurrying the city as of late, he could be sure. It was as though it were an unofficial uniform to don a shade of black pitcher than even Dantel’s own shadowy body.

“We don’t like Spirits here, just a fair warning.”

A wand hung from his coat pocket, silently threatening violence if Dantel’s silence continued for longer.

“I’m here on account of an information trade. Recres Wesper should have called you.”

“Wesper?” the man scoffed, scratching his stubble. “Who the fuck is that?”

A chill set in over Dantel’s body, and the grip on his briefcase weakened. The sheer terror did not show on his mask, but his voice more than made up for it.

“R-Recres Wesper…he called you today he told me you could help me if I helped you.”

“Did he now? And I’m assuming what’s in that briefcase isn’t a bomb or anything, is it?”

He heard footsteps from all sides, descending onto him like distant war drums. He had walked into the hornet's nest utterly naked.

“No! There’s information in here! Wesper! He’s worked with you before he said you’d—”

“Sounds like an interesting guy,” the man smirked, removing his wand and tapping the table with it, sending sparks each time. Dantel backed away slowly as the man stood. “But sorry, I’ve got no recollection of him. Now I hope you’re no one important, or we might get in some hot water.”

He felt something press up against the back of his head. It was another one, another wand.

Dantel watched in terror as he was forced to face forward. Each agonising footstep the man took became a tick in his life’s countdown.

“The Sponsor! He goes by the Sponsor sometimes!”

The silence after his final brash outbreak was deafening, and the man’s reaction looked equally disturbed.

“Prove it.”

A hand shoved him, and he stumbled forward, glancing back to see a group of at least eight with all their wands drawn. He looked back at the man who gestured with his chin, telling him to get on with it. He struggled through his suit and found his identification, passing it to the man while he undid the buckles of his briefcase.

“Deputy Minister of Foreign Affairs,” the man said, flipping through the small leather-bound booklet. “He mentioned someone like you would be showing up.”

Dantel opened the briefcase and held it up to the man who tossed the booklet into it, sneering as he did so. He began to search through it, indiscriminately opening files and flipping through them. The man nodded, placing the files back down and closing the case.

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“We don’t want to get on the Sponsor's bad side. What are you asking from us?”

Dantel clutched the briefcase to his chest, doing everything in his power to ease his shivering. “Safety. I’m about to be made.”

“About to? Buddy, if you were followed—”

“No, I wasn’t! I swear!”

“It’s time,” Alis muttered, standing up and balancing himself on the branch.

“Without a plan?” Iris asked, standing up herself. “We can’t just bust down the door.”

“That’s news to me,” he scoffed, raising his armed fist. “Replicate.”

Alis barely finished the word before his entire body began to seize in time with the crystals’ radiance. The purple glow engulfed his hand and lit his face sickly pale as he struggled to stifle a slipping scream. Iris watched pensively, unable to ignore a whisper in the back of her own head.

Spiteful, outraged. It felt mocked. Cheated.

Alis calmed, and the voices subsided, but neither phenomenon completely settled. Alis’s head kept on twitching, and her whispers remained as distant, persistent mutterings.

Alis’s hair dissipated, and he latched a purple rope to the tree branch. He tugged on the knot as the rope wrapped around his waist before stepping back and abseiling.

“Dammit,” Iris muttered, wishing her mouth would let her swear. She stepped off the branch, using the same method as the last time to slow her descent. She landed on the sidewalk and ran after Alis, already halfway across the street.

She did her final preparations, imagining a simple cloth covering her face and concealing her hair. Even if Alis had a no-survivor policy, Iris had to make sure no one would remember her.

Alis kicked open the door to the apartment with Iris close behind. A group of eight and a single Beak turned to them in astonishment. “Divide and conquer,” Alis commanded as the magic came raining down on them.

Iris had no time to think and erected a barrier as soon as possible, splitting the room. The array of assaulting magic ate away at the barrier, and Iris forced it forward in response. Geysers of purple from under Alis’s soles launched him over the wall as he fashioned a spear. She watched as the weapon elongated at lightning speed, followed by a scream from the other side.

Alis dropped to the floor as footsteps thundered away, echoing through the walls and up the building. Iris listened for a few more moments before dropping the barrier, confident no one remained.

Two dead bodies lay on the floor; one was Alis’s doing, and the other lay motionless, mask broken in two.

“We’re clearing the whole building,” Alis said. It wasn’t like Iris hadn’t expected it, but the thought of a drawn-out sweep was not one she could stomach. An unsanctioned mission, and not to mention the time constraints. The deed was done, but even Iris could foresee the consequences of their vigilante activities coming to light.

“Let’s do this quickly,” Iris said, glaring at him. He nodded and sped for the first staircase, bounding up it with Iris closely behind. They rounded the wooden stairwell, and the first bolt of magic flew towards them. It struck the wall, dislodging pieces of wood and limestone, suspending them all in mid-air. Iris covered her eyes as she pushed in front of Alis, creating a bulwark in time for a second bolt.

The magic tore at her shield, desperately trying to claw apart the purple material as it had done the wall. But she did not let it. A tendril from Alis’s arm shot out from his hand, snatching the assailant's arm and dragging him from his cover. He slammed the target into the wall behind them before letting the body drop to the floor.

“Two,” Alis said as he picked up the wand and snapped it. They continued up to the first level, two apartments on either side of a narrow corridor. It was constricting—perfect for an ambush from either side or from someone hiding in the far stairwell.

“You check the staircase; I’ll blow open the walls and get whatever’s on the other side.”

“Including civilians. We aren’t sure if this is just a safe house or not.”

Alis’s brow furrowed, but he was wise enough to know to keep Iris happy. She patted his shoulder and sent out a spindling limb across the hallway to probe the far staircase.

“Watch my back,” she said as the limb reached the stairwell.

A flair of magic lit up the dark corner, singeing her magic appendage. “There!” she hissed, wrapping her purple limb around the enemy and reeling them like a fish. The man struggled, wand sending crazed sparks of fire left and right, but she had bound his arms too thoroughly. She took a leaf from Alis's book and slammed him through the left-side apartment doorway.

“Now!” Iris commanded as she let go of her limb, and Alis took the chance to leap forward through the opening. Shield forward and charging like a mad bull. A shout and muffled grunting, the sound of clanking—metal on metal. The ensuing cacophony was agonising, the sparks of light from the doorway inconclusive.

Iris steeled herself, but before she could join him, an army of swords pierced through the apartment walls. A thousand blades of magic origin demolished the plaster into Papier-mâché, and the ensuing pulse of magic forced Iris backwards. The blades were not stained with blood, but Iris could not be sure until she saw him for herself.

The whispers in her head relished it. The thought of the boy’s body being shredded into ribbons, his life snuffed out along with the cheap imitation of her magic.

“Alis!” Iris screamed as the door of the adjacent apartment burst open. Another assailant revealed themselves upon hearing the chaos, brandishing a hostile wand. Iris’s mind screamed, anger and panic mixing into a toxic cocktail. The unpredictable nature of fighting alongside someone so vulnerable terrified her. Terror brought out the worst in her.

Not now, any time but now.

The stranger turned to her, waving their wand in her direction. The sparks flew from the weapon’s tip, and a black bolt of magic crawled towards her through frozen space. She watched it pulsate, itching for blood.

The corridor before her flashed between reality and her Mind Palace, interlacing the two to nauseating effect. She felt time interpolating around her, slowing down while her senses heightened. The lights flickered, and the building rumbled as if a train speeding right overhead.

Another danger lurked, hellspawn that writhed itself towards her. It crawled up the stairs and between her legs. A serpentine silhouette with scales dyed deep purple. Its head was gruffer than a snake's, lined with teeth, two snarling nostrils and raised eyes.

The beast slid forward, travelling down the erratic hallway until it reached the bolt of magic mid-flight. It raised its head, sitting upright atop its own winding body and bit it, destroying the magic in a single snap of its jaw.

The magic ceased to be. It was obliterated, destroyed in less than an instant.

The piercing purple eyes watched Iris in her helpless paralysis. A direct link, something animate she could attribute her past to, her identity to.

This Spirit was her, yet was not at the same time.

The beast relinquished its control and vanished, reality returning in its place. Time returned, the architecture stabilised, and Iris’s movements were once again unrestricted, yet so were the assailant’s.

Iris reacted quickly, shielding herself from a follow-up burst of magic that erupted across her purple aegis in black flame. She distanced herself from the magic fire and formed a spear much like Alis had. She sent it hurling forward, making sure the end of her weapon was blunt. She hit her target square in the gut and kept on pushing until he was flying backwards, feet skidding across the floor and fingers grasping at empty air.

She slammed them into the far wall and let them drop to the ground unconscious.

The blades lodged into the wall disintegrated, and Iris took the opportunity to speed forward, retracing Alis’s movements into the apartment.

“Alis!” she cried upon rounding the corner, finding the apartment inside virtually empty. Alis stood on the far side at a gaping window, curtains flowing in the night breeze.

“They’re taking to the streets,” he said. “We have to follow them now.”

“Alis! Are you okay?”

Before she got her answer, Alis leapt from the window. Iris gritted her teeth but could still see only one way to conclude the situation. She would have to play his game till the end.