The crowd around the smoldering remains of the Siren’s Rest Inn slowly thinned. Their initial shock gave way to a mix of reflective fear and exhilaration. Concealed behind a veneer of benevolence and mystery, Silas watched as the citizens of Sichal themselves began to reshape his made up actions into a story of courage and heroism. While an underlying fear of Heretics lingered in their whispers, their praise for his timely intervention painted him as a true hero—the protector they had desperately needed. “The things people will convince themselves into believing…’’ he mused within his mind, ‘’…a few well spoken words and night becomes day.’’
Nyx circled overhead, a dark shape tracing arcs against the night sky. Silas allowed himself a small smile, feeling the weight of eyes on him, the afterglow of the tale he’d spun sinking into the people’s minds.
He had shown them what they wanted to see the most after such an incident—a figure shrouded in mystery, who moved with authority and finished what others dared not attempt, and all in service to them. Tonight, their imaginations would fan the flames of that story, and by morning, tales of him would be well and truly rooted in Sichal’s gossip network.
But the momentary calm could only linger so long, there were other priorities. Taking on a third step cultivator is never a pleasant challenge. Better a silver tongue than brute force for this one, at least for now.
Nyx let out a low caw, swooping lower in his vigilant loop. Silas picked up on his companion’s warning, eyes narrowing as he sifted through the remaining onlookers. And then he saw him—a figure standing at the fringes of the dispersing crowd. The man was striking yet oddly unnoticeable until that moment, as though he had blended into the backdrop.
But now, with Silas’s attention, the stranger stood out as vividly as if he were illuminated by torchlight.
Silas’s mouth curled into a slight smile as their gazes met, each man reading the other with silent intensity. The stranger’s expression shifted to one of appreciation, a slow, knowing grin that matched Silas’s in kind. With a rehearsed theatrical grace, the man crossed the distance, fingers absently twisting the ends of his mustache. Silas straightened subtly, his amusement deepening as the stranger came close enough to initiate a conversation.
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“You know,” the man began, his voice a rich tenor that carried the refined edge of an entertainer, “I think I could find you a place on stage. I happen to lead the Traveling Orchid, and I daresay there’s a role or two you’d simply kill in.” He gestured to the surrounding remains of the inn, his grin widening, as though savoring the aftershow.
Silas’s eyebrows lifted, his smile laced with subtle interest. “The Traveling Orchid, hmm?” he replied, folding his arms casually. “I’ve heard great tales of your troupe’s creative endeavors. The Empire keeps me busy, but I wouldn’t mind slipping away to catch one of your performances. Assuming I’m invited first to see a show before taking a job.”
The Director’s eyes sparkled as he caught Silas’s meaning. He chuckled, his hand once again rising to stroke his mustache with evident delight. “Poliana herself wanted to put in a request for a Special Investigator. Said she wanted a performance tailored just for him.” He snapped his fingers, his grin growing wider. “Fate must be at work here, bringing us together tonight, unfortunate the circumstances may be. But I admit, I hadn’t planned on indulging her request—it wasn’t exactly part of my arrangement.”
He leaned closer, voice dropping to a stage whisper, his words trailing like a caress, “However, after seeing you myself, I wonder if we might stage a little private show of ’The Rotten’… let’s say, in four days?”
Silas inclined his head, his gaze sharp. “Poliana’s schedule may be… compromised. She’s under arrest for certain suspicions, unfortunately.”
The Director gasped, his hand fluttering to his chest in exaggerated horror. “Arrested? My, my,” he whispered, his voice carrying an undercurrent of worry, “is this… far reaching?” His fingers returned to his mustache, stroking it with a childish delight.
Silas’s lips parted. “A common affliction, I’m afraid. Corruption tends to catch up with people sooner or later.”
The Director let out a low, rich chuckle. “Ah, the Empire’s trusted appointee is here to clear away the stains. I suppose my little troupe would do well to stay on the right side of the law, then.” He leaned back slightly, his posture easy yet brimming with a confidence that reminded Silas of a man well-versed in gamesmanship. “So then,” he continued, “we’ll prepare a fitting tribute for Sichal’s hero. A tale of rot and ruin for the Empire’s finest. Four days from now, you’ll have your invitation.”
He offered a shallow bow, one hand sweeping to his side, and Silas inclined his head in response.
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