Silas adjusted himself in his chair, his fingers drumming lightly on the armrest. The room was well-lit, creating an almost surreal atmosphere of a criminal on trial with Zinnia cross-legged on the floor in front of him. Nyx remained perched on Zinnia's head, his look filled with amusement and malice in equal measure.
"Let's get to the point," Silas began, his voice low. "You want know why you're here."
Zinnia shifted slightly, her gaze steady "I assume it's not just to play games again?" she replied.
Silas leaned forward, his hand moving slowly across his face. As he did so, the effects of the blue pill he had consumed earlier began to fade. His features transformed, revealing the true visage beneath—the ghastly allure that had both beckoned and repelled many. His eyes, now darker and more intense, seemed to draw in the very light around them.
Zinnia's eyes widened in shock. "Good gods!," she muttered, "you look like you crawled out of the underworld!"
Silas chuckled softly, though there was no warmth in it. "Flattery will get you nowhere," he said. "Now, show me what you are hiding underneath…"
Zinnia hesitated for a moment before sighing. With a wave of her hand, the illusion that cloaked her features dissipated. Her red hair cascaded down her shoulders, and her face, adorned with freckles had a strange sort of unassuming charm.
Silas studied her intently. "Interesting," he murmured. "I see why you feel the need to obscure your features."
Zinnia's eyes narrowed in annoyance. "And I see why you prefer hiding yours," she retorted.
Silas ignored her jab and leaned back once more. "I have a proposition for you," he said, his tone turning serious. "Would you be interested in the single greatest payday a thief could have in this country?"
Zinnia's expression shifted from annoyance to intrigue. "Go on," she urged.
Silas's smile widened ever so slightly.
"I'm heading towards Lythoria after Sichal," Silas began, his voice smooth but laced with an edge. "There's an item I need from an old acquaintance there."
Zinnia's eyes narrowed slightly, curiosity piqued. "And what item might that be?" she asked, her tone cautious.
Silas's lips curled into a faint smile. "That you do not need to know. It however is more than likely not within my acquaintances house, but rather inside one of three vaults," he continued.
Zinnia's eyes widened in shock. "You're insane!" she exclaimed. "You realize messing around like that in the capital is suicide?!"
Silas remained unfazed by her outburst. "The reward will be worth it," he said calmly.
"You're talking about potentially pissing off the Imperial Guards!" Zinnia pressed on, her voice rising with urgency. "They're almost all second-step warriors or martial artists! And if you cause too much trouble for the guilds, they might send out their Guardians!"
Silas interrupted her with a dismissive wave of his hand. "Yes well, more than likely all of them will be very upset. The vaults I wish to strike are in fact the Alchemist's Guild headquarters, the Temple of Rovinius, and the Imperial treasury," he stated matter-of-factly.
Zinnia's jaw fell open in shock. Before she could close it and respond, Nyx deftly slipped a pill into her mouth. She coughed violently, her face contorting in pain and confusion.
"What the fuck?!" she managed to choke out between coughs.
Silas tilted his head slightly, a mocking smile playing on his lips. "Are your intelligent-looking eyes just for show?" he asked coolly.
Zinnia glared at him through gritted teeth as Nyx kept her firmly seated on the floor.
"Your greed is sufficient to walk back into a viper's nest for a promise of reward," Silas continued, his tone turning darker. "It will make you a rich woman, I assure you. But during our affiliation, your freedom will now no longer be yours."
He reached into his satchel on the table and pulled out a small metal tin. Opening it revealed several pills nestled inside.
"That pill is a slow-acting poison," he explained calmly. "These are suppressors, not cures." He held up one of the pills between his fingers. "You can live about seven days without one of them. After that... well, let's just say your death would be quite a sight."
Zinnia's eyes flickered with fear and anger as she stared at him.
"You'll receive the true antidote after we complete my goal," Silas concluded.
Nyx ruffled his feathers atop Zinnia's head as she processed this new reality.
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In the heart of Lythoria, the Empire's capital, the shrine to Rovinius stood as a beacon of enlightenment and transformation. The grand structure, adorned with intricate carvings and celestial motifs, drew scholars and Alchemists from across the continent. Within its hallowed halls, the air was thick with the scent of incense and the murmurs of fervent prayers.
Past the bustling corridors filled with priests and supplicants seeking divine guidance, above the archives brimming with ancient texts and alchemical scrolls, lay a secluded chamber. This was the sanctum of the Archbishop of Rovinius, a man burdened by a weight that seemed to crush his very soul.
The room was barely lit by flickering candles, casting terrifying shadows across the room. In the center stood a small statue of Rovinius, its golden eyes gleaming with an otherworldly light. Before this sacred effigy knelt the Archbishop, his knees bloody from continuous kowtows. Tears streamed down his weathered face as he whispered desperate apologies to his god.
"Forgive me," he pleaded, his voice breaking. "I beg for your forgiveness."
His hands trembled as he clutched at the hem of his ornate robes, fingers stained with blood from where they had dug into his flesh. The Archbishop's eyes were hollow, shadowed by sins and deep remorse.
"We had no choice," he continued, his words choked with sorrow. "The beast... it was too much. Its mania was unending!"
He slammed his head down in front of the altar, a dull thud echoing through the cold, silent room. Each impact seemed to reverberate through his very being, a physical manifestation of his inner torment.
"We did what we had to!" he whispered hoarsely. "All twelve Archbishops... we couldn't let the faithful lose everything!"
His voice grew softer, barely audible over the sound of his labored breathing. "A miracle within our power was not enough to stop a creature so broken... it... it was the only way!"
The Archbishop's tears mingled with the blood on the floor as he continued his supplication. His body shook with each sob, each word a plea for forgiveness that seemed to fall on deaf ears.
The statue of Rovinius stood unmoved in the center of the room, its golden eyes watching over him with an inscrutable gaze. The divine figure's presence was both comforting and condemning, a witness to the Archbishop's anguish.
As he knelt there in despair, time seemed to stretch on endlessly. The flickering candlelight cast eerie shadows on his face, highlighting every line etched by years of guilt and sorrow.
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In this sacred chamber, where logic and reason were revered above all else, the Archbishop found himself lost in a sea of emotion. His faith had been tested beyond its limits, and now he sought solace in the only way he knew how—through fervent prayer and self-punishment.
But even as he slammed his head against the cold stone floor once more, a part of him wondered if forgiveness for their sacrilegious acts twenty years ago would ever truly come…
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Zinnia glared at Silas, her unhappiness palpable.
“You’re really fucking insane!” she spat, her voice trembling with a mix of anger and disbelief.
Silas met her gaze with a calm, perhaps even clinical detachment. “How else would you guarantee someone's allegiance without at least the fear of death?” His tone was matter-of-fact, as if discussing the weather.
Zinnia's glaring eyes narrowed, skepticism painted on her freckled face. "So, you think you can just make me fall in line with threats and fear?"
Silas's rubbed his chin as he then told her. "Fear, my little thief, is a powerful motivator. It can bend even the strongest wills. But it’s not the only tool at my disposal if you wish for something more painful."
Zinnia stuck her tongue out at him, a childish gesture that seemed out of place given the gravity of their conversation. Silas continued as if he hadn’t noticed.
“This little adventure of mine we will undertake, is what will satiate a deceitful little money grubbing glutton like you. Worry not, by the time we reach the capital, you will believe in my… capabilities.” He smiled after finishing his last sentence, a smile that sent a shiver down Zinnia’s spine.
He clapped his hands together suddenly, the sound sharp and jarring in the quiet room. “Now,” he said, his tone brisk and businesslike, “since you have been informed of your new job, let’s discuss the auction at Starlight Bidders’ Hall.”
Zinnia threw her hands up in frustration. “You can’t just switch from planning to rob the fucking capital back to a little auction hustle!!!” Her voice rose with each word, echoing off the walls.
Silas didn’t acknowledge her outburst. Instead, he turned his attention to Nyx, who flew over to his satchel and pulled out the Mimic he had stolen from Zinnia. The crow dropped it into Silas’s hand with an amused caw.
“…so it was indeed you messing with the castle,” Zinnia muttered under her breath, more to herself than to anyone else.
Silas played with the Mimic in his hands, turning it over and examining it. “The Mimic in your room right now is of much higher quality then this one,” he said casually. “This one could fool many Masters and even some second-step Sages… Hmm, perhaps I would even dare to say the only other profession, aside from us Alchemists, that could see through it's flaws are true second step Artificers, or Artifact Engineers if you would prefer.”
Zinnia’s curiosity got the better of her. “What’s the flaw?” she asked.
Silas looked down at her, “It wasn’t attuned through one’s energy, but rather using an Artificer’s manufacturing tools powered by low class Earth Crystals…”
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The opulence of the meeting room in Lythoria’s Alchemist Guild was overshadowed by the tension that hung thick in the air. Grandmaster Ryker, his face marred by a grotesque scar and his hands appearing as if they were forged from liquid mercury, stood at the head of a grand table. With a sudden, violent motion, he slammed his fist down, shattering the table into splinters.
“Incompetent fools!” he roared, his voice echoing off the intricately decorated walls. The five alchemists seated around him recoiled at his fury. Each one wore expressions ranging from fear to desperation.
Ryker’s eyes blazed with an intensity that seemed to cut through them. “The Empire has twelve million citizens,” he continued, his voice dripping with disdain. “For ten years, you have failed to find even one mortal who meets my requirements!”
His words hung in the air like a death sentence. The Alchemists exchanged nervous glances but dared not speak.
Suddenly, Ryker’s body convulsed with a violent cough, and he spat out a drop of purple liquid that sizzled upon hitting the floor. It began to evaporate almost immediately, sending tendrils of menacing wind swirling around the room.
Panic erupted among the gathered Alchemists. Each one scrambled to use their concoctions designed for the most dire of emergencies—Alchemist grooves came to life, vials were uncorked, powders were scattered, and incantations were muttered as they fortified their defenses against the potential toxin. They locked their energy tightly within themselves, not allowing even the finest strand to leak out.
Ryker sneered at their frantic actions. With a flick of his wrist, he conjured a blinding white flame that seemed to materialize from nothingness in his hand. The Alchemist’s Flame—a hallmark of a third-step Alchemist, a Paramount—burned brightly as he directed it toward the violet drop on the floor.
The flame engulfed the drop, working meticulously to de-concoct the violent mixture. The room was filled with an eerie silence as everyone watched the flame consume and neutralize the threat.
Satisfied that the danger had passed, Ryker collapsed back into his chair with a weary sigh. “A dead creature commands more expediency from you than your own Grandmaster,” he said bitterly.
He coughed again, this time expelling blood that stained his lips crimson. His disfigured face twisted in pain and frustration as he lamented his wretched fate. The room remained silent, each Alchemist too afraid to speak or move under Ryker’s baleful gaze.
Finally, one of them mustered the courage to break the silence. “Grandmaster Ryker,” she began tentatively, “we will redouble our efforts.”
Ryker’s eyes flicked toward her, and she shrank back under his scrutiny but held her ground.
“See that you do,” he said coldly.
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Silas leaned back in his chair continuing his talk, his eyes latched on to Zinnia. Nyx moved to perch himself on the windowsill, preening his feathers with great care. Zinnia then asked a question she was curious about.
“Indulge me… how do you know so much about other professions?” she asked, crossing her arms.
Silas’s lips curled into a faint smile. “Learning has always been a hobby of mine,” he replied, his tone casual. “You should perhaps acquire it yourself. It may serve you well if you survive me!”
Zinnia rolled her eyes, clearly unimpressed by his suggestion. Silas closed his eyes for a moment, as if recalling a distant memory.
“The reason I knew you were an Illusionist,” he began, “is because I met one in my youth. We had a little 'trade of knowledge' if you will. She showed me a few tricks to recognize Shapeshifters.”
Zinnia’s eyes bulged out of her eye sockets. “Wait!” she said, her voice tinged with disbelief. “An Illusionist broke the taboo of silence and traded out secrets?!”
Silas opened his eyes and looked at her with a bemused expression. “Who the fuck was going to know?” he said with a rumbling low laugh that seemed to resonate through the room.
However, almost as soon as the laugh started it then abruptly stopped, as if someone had cut the strings of a puppet. Silas’s then resumed speaking, almost mechanically.
“Tomorrow at the auction,” he began, his voice devoid of any previous mirth, “you will play your part according to this version of events.”
Zinnia blinked, clearly confused by the sudden change in his demeanor but listened closely nonetheless.
“You will enter the auction hall disguised as Selen of course, I will attend it alongside Arim…” Silas began unveiling his thoughts. He continued, “When the Bloodmoon Thorn is presented...”
By the time Silas finished speaking, Zinnia’s face was frozen in a stupefied expression. Nyx hopped from the windowsill onto her shoulder and pointed at her face with one wing, letting out a series of squawking laughs that filled the room.
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Inside the Imperial Palace's secret chamber, Empress Imela stood at the center, her sharp features illuminated by the crackling energy that surrounded her. Her dark hair, styled neatly to one side, framed her intense eyes. She extended one hand, summoning a bolt of lightning that danced between her fingers. With the other hand, she conjured a swirling vortex of water, each droplet moving in perfect harmony with the electric current.
From a shadowed corner of the room, Emperor Aldous watched his daughter with a stern, yet approving gaze. His bald head and severe expression gave him an air of authority that was impossible to ignore. The deep wrinkles on his face spoke of a life spent in intense discipline. Though the world believed him dead, Aldous had in fact chosen to step back from the throne, passing it on early to his more than capable daughter.
"Focus on your breath," Aldous instructed, his voice commanding yet calm. "Your energy is no longer in the first stage, the transformed mana you possess must be converted fully into elemental energy. The two elements you are holding now must be harmonized if you are to ascend to a higher level, let them flow together as one…"
Imela nodded, absorbing his words with the same intensity she applied to her training. She closed her eyes briefly, centering herself before opening them again. The lightning and water began to move in sync, their energies intertwining seamlessly. With a final gesture, she dispersed both elements into the air.
Breathing deeply, Imela turned to face her father. "How was that?"
Aldous gave a nod of approval. "Excellent. You've begun to master the balance between lightning and water."
She smiled faintly at his praise before taking another deep breath. "How is everything within the Empire?" he asked.
"The economy is booming, so quite good…" Imela began, her tone confident yet measured. "My reforms have borne fruit. The people have accepted me into their hearts as the new ruler quite quickly."
Aldous listened intently as she continued.
"The army remains loyal," she said. "The churches' influence has waned more significantly since their stunt twenty years ago. They are very much drained of power."
Aldous nodded again, a rare smile touching his lips. "You've done well, Imela."
Her expression softened for a moment before she asked, "Do you think these peaceful times will last?"
The former emperor shook his head slowly. "Peace never lasts forever," he said with a hint of regret in his voice. "But at least you don't have to deal too much with the Archbishops or 'those' plagues."
Imela's brow furrowed slightly at his choice of words. "The Archbishops will eventually regain their power," she pointed out pragmatically. "And new troublemakers can always appear once the old ones are gone."
Aldous chuckled softly at his ever-serious daughter’s response. "With a mind like yours," he said warmly, "your era can only ever be more glorious than mine."
Imela's lips curved into a small smile at his words before she returned to her usual composed demeanor.
The bond between father and daughter was evident in their exchange…