In the shadowed annals of Orcan, a world named for Ser Wayde Orcan the First, a lord distinguished in the throes of war, the planet's future lay entwined with the echoes of its past. A cosmic tapestry woven with threads of futuristic medievalism unfolded across the sprawling expanse, where the Orcans held dominion. A colossal central city stood as testament to progress, while on the untamed frontiers, the land bore witness to a darker age. Carts traversed the plains, drawn by horses and peculiar creatures that lurked in the planet's depths.

But within the heart of Orcan's legacy, the Academy emerged as a beacon of knowledge. Rain slashed across the plains as Headmaster Wayde Orcan the Sixth gazed pensively through the opulent window of his expansive chamber. His steel eyes fixed upon the violet streaks that marred the sky, the ominous portent of a shifting destiny.

Draped in a crisp, bluish-white suit, Wayde occupied his chamber, its walls embracing a deep blue fireplace and a companion in a velvet red suit. Both men boasted finely groomed beards as they contemplated the future.

"Xarl, how do you find this year's selection?" Wayde's voice cut through the silence, his eyes probing the gathering storm within the academy grounds.

Xarl nonchalantly shrugged, "Not many pique my interest."

"Really?" Wayde spat, turning slowly to face his companion.

Shrugging again, Xarl rose from his chair. "If you're referring to the boys who saved your daughter, perhaps."

A taut silence hung between them as Wayde's piercing gaze bored into the depths of the academy. Xarl watched him intently, noting the signs of exhaustion and sweat etched across Wayde's countenance.

"Do not underestimate me, Xarl. I'm well aware of the whispers below," Wayde chuckled, stepping away from the window.

Xarl regarded him with a blank expression. "Something ails you, Wayde. What is it?"

Wayde paused, breath hurried. "Don't revel in my weakness," he snapped, coughing into his fist.

A sly smirk crept across Xarl's face. "I'm not a fan of this particular flavor, Wayde. There's something distinctly wrong with you, isn't there?" he questioned, his breath hot and hurried.

Staring into Xarl's narrowed eyes, Wayde could only mutter, "Abomination. You won't inherit my family's legacy." He coughed once more, the fragility of his condition laid bare.

"How's it feel, knowing your body's turning traitor on you?" Xarl sneered, the venom in his words dripping like acid. "Instead of biting the dust in some honorable battle, you'll be kicking it in a damn bed. Pathetic, like a feeble old man, leaving your kid to become an orphan..."

Anger surged through Wayde, and he balled his fist, ready to strike. But weakness nearly crumpled him. Here, in his own damn home, it had come to this. The legacy of his family, the heroes who stood against extraterrestrial threats, now tainted by his defeat at the hands of an abomination.

The door creaked open, and Xarl spun to face the intruder. A sardonic chuckle escaped him. "The dwarf," he mused.

The dwarf ambled in, the door swinging shut behind him, and the distant crackle of lightning punctuating the tension. Shorter than the average man, his confidence overshadowed his stature, even making Xarl's smirk falter a bit.

His silvered smirk held as he gazed with his lone eye, the other concealed by bandages. Faint burns adorned his face, a testament to battles fought, but his features remained relatively unscathed. His well-placed features and tidy beard bespoke a seasoned warrior.

Clad in black power armor with a shimmering indigo gleam, an SMG resting casually on his shoulder, his cloak's tips flickering like a bright fire, the dwarf spoke with deliberate intent. "Been on a mission for three months, didn't even get to see my family. Now I'm back to deal with this mess."

His words hung in the air as he locked eyes with Xarl. The room fell into a charged silence, the trio pausing in their steps.

Orcane, recovering from his near-collapse, wheeled himself back toward his desk. The two men faced each other as they advanced.

"Wondering why you're here?" Orcane spat the question out.

Xarl shot back, "You're dying."

"Yeah, way to make it creepy," Des quipped, turning toward Orcane. "So what? You're old. We knew you'd croak one of these days."

Orcane's sweat glistened, but he sighed and chuckled. "Nah, that's not what we're discussing here." He rolled his eyes and sank deeper into his chair. "I'm dying."

Silence swallowed the room, lightning crackling in the distance as the bronze lights of the great headmaster's office flickered. Desmond rose, the question lingering on his lips.

"One to two years," Orcane answered before Desmond could voice it. "Not much time." Xarl cut in, "Now, the real question is..."

"What's gonna happen to the academy? You bunch being off on your little escapades, not keeping us in the loop, I reckon I gotta spill the beans," Orcane declared, his presence looming over the two men like a storm gathering on the horizon.

"The succession race is gonna play out a bit differently this time," he revealed, the weight of his words hanging in the air like a thick fog.

Des rolled his eyes, a cocky smirk playing on his lips. "Really?" he scoffed, eyes dancing with self-assurance.

Xarl shot him a glance, a snicker escaping his lips. But Orcane wasn't done laying out the new rules. "We ain't diving into a vote for the new headmaster this time. No, I fancy a more old-fashioned approach," he announced.

"Old-fashioned?" Desmond echoed, an incredulous look directed at Orcane. Des shrugged, but Xarl relished the dwarf's wide-eyed surprise. This was a curveball he hadn't seen coming.

Des pressed on. "So, you're telling me we ain't all chipping in for a vote. No candidacy or—"

Orcane waved off Des's protests. "No more of that. We're gonna harken back to the ways of the academy's forefathers."

A silence settled among them. "What do you mean by that, James?" Desmond inquired, sensing the gravity of the impending change.

Orcane rubbed the back of his neck, bracing for their reaction. "In the days of yore, the headmaster's seat passed down from father to son, a neat little tradition. But due to some pesky imperial laws, it got a bit more... discreet. Now, with my impending demise, the vice headmasters are throwin' their hats in the ring. Whoever snags the spot inherits the planet and all my belongings."

Desmond fell silent, eyes widening as if the weight of the revelation nearly knocked him off his feet. "You've been arranging marriages?" he uttered in disbelief.

Xarl's eyes widened as well. "Orcane, you sly dog. Even you, breaking imperial taboos," he remarked with a sickly smirk.

"What?" Des asked, clueless.

Xarl shot him a pointed look. "How do you think we're gonna inherit the world and the loot? Through the daughter." His smirk twisted, first at Des and then at Orcane. "Through your daughter."

Des stared, jaw dropping, while Orcane could only stare down at his desk. The mutterings began, either apologies or excuses, but Des didn't wait for either.

"No," he spat, shaking his head. The word hung in the air, an abhorrent rejection. "No!" he yelled, his voice escalating into a vehement protest as he turned sharply toward Orcane.

"What are you playing at, Orcane?" Des half yelled, half loathed the words that hung in the air. How could he? Why would he? "Orcane, she's your flesh and blood... your only kin."

Orcane remained silent, while Xarl chuckled to himself. "She can't lead, and if someone else can..." he trailed off, leaving Des grappling with the shocking revelation.

"Setting up your own flesh and blood for an arranged marriage," Des spat, his hand thrusting accusatorily toward Orcane's chest. Each word dripped with disdain as he rose from his seat, fixing a piercing gaze on the headmaster.

Xarl chuckled, his attention shifting back to Orcane. "And the rest of the vice-headmasters are on board with this?" he inquired.

Des shot him a disdainful look. "Yeah, are they okay with it?" Des snapped, wheeling back toward Orcane. "If any imperial heralds or, gods forbid, the inquisition catch wind of—"

"The moment the eunuch emperor ascended, the game changed," Orcane interrupted, his tone weighted with the burden of history.

They eyed him skeptically, but Des erupted, slapping Orcane across the face with a force that sent the taller man reeling, nearly colliding with his desk. In a swift motion, Des had climbed onto the table, locking eyes with Orcane in an intense standoff.

"Do you grasp the enormity of what you're about to unleash? Damn Sirine's recklessness. She's been wild since she was a kid, but marrying her off to one of us? It's disgusting," Des seethed.

"I understand," Orcane conceded, and his words tumbled out in a sigh. "Sirine, she's more than just wild. There's something about that girl that defies reason. She ain't right, and lately, she's been scaring the hell out of me with her actions," he confessed.

Des studied him, but Orcane pressed on. "She's from the elite, pampered and cared for. Yet, she's running off into space. I'm sick, battling cancer, and my own daughter knows it but chooses to wander the outer reaches. I've even heard whispers that the only reason she's alive is thanks to some frontier yokel."

A somber weight hung in Orcane's words. "Do you really want her to inherit my throne, the academy?" he posed to Des.

Des held his gaze but released the graying strands of hair from his grip. "That's the easy way out," he spat, settling back into his chair. "There's always another solution."

"Well, it seems good old Orcane is too ill to seek another solution," Xarl interjected, shooting an amused look at the ailing headmaster. Xarl lounged in the recliner, hands clasped behind his neck, his gaze fixed curiously on Orcane. "How about you spill the real reason Desmond and I are here? Why he's not snuggled up with his warm wife, and why I haven't indulged in the red-light district."

Orcane touched his nose, turning to Des. "Inheritance is taking a different turn this year. With no heir apparent, whoever wins gets the chance to marry my daughter for power and the keys to the planet. Does that pique your interest?" he posed to Des.

Desmond kept his arms wrapped tightly around himself, his gaze like frozen heat rays trained on Orcane. "You don't have to marry her if you don't want to," Orcane suggested. "It could be you, or a brother, or perhaps... a son."

Desmond's eyes widened at the revelation, a flicker of surprise and then a slow relaxation settling into his posture. A brief, quiet chuckle escaped Xarl, swift and subtle, going unnoticed by the others in the room.

Orcane delved beneath his desk, producing a cauldron. It sprawled across the surface, not deep but wide, its darkness seemingly bottomless as Des and Xarl peered into its depths.

"What is this?" Xarl inquired.

"A pot," Orcane retorted, a hint of sarcasm tainting his words. He continued, "This year, each of you will be assigned a house. Your task: forge a new champion."

"A champion?" Des echoed. "You wanted us to train heroes, and—"

"Heroes," Orcane interrupted, shaking his head. "Yes, I wanted you to train and mold the next generation. However, for these two years, not only will you guide your students, but within this goblet lies the name of a specific house. Seek out a champion, one who outshines their peers, and refine their skills."

"How do we determine the winner?" Xarl huffed.

"Well, the day I breathe my last, you'll need to appoint a new headmaster. That will mark the end of the competition. As for the winner, the rankings will unveil the truth."

"The rankings?" Des questioned, eyes widening. "You want to revive the rankings?" he asked.

Orcane nodded solemnly. "It's the only true measure of the best of the best. The champion in the top three, or better yet, holding the golden spot, after my demise will be declared the winner. Whether it's them, or one of you. The academy, the planet, and my bloodline entwined... everything shall be yours."

A cold silence settled, like a blade cutting through the air. The only sounds were the wind's wild dance against the windows and the subdued crackle of the distant fireplace casting its amber glow over those present.

Des's annoyance lingered on his features, but the talk of inheritance dulled the earlier apprehension. The academy, a legacy passed down for centuries, had mostly followed a patriarchal tradition—father to son, son to father. Now, it shifted to father to daughter. Des found Orcane's reluctance to let his daughter lead more repugnant than the prospect of her marrying someone like Xarl.

"And what's inside the goblet?" Xarl pressed.

"Fate," Orcane declared.

"Fate?" both men echoed. Des took the lead in the conversation. "So, are we allowed to pick our champions and such?"

Orcane nodded solemnly. "Yes, you can, but the house will be chosen at random," he clarified, directing his attention toward the cup.

"The goblet," Des spat, injecting a sharp note into his voice.

Orcane acknowledged with a nod. "Due to your ongoing missions and responsibilities, you were excluded from the earlier discussion and the grand meeting."

Des chuckled to himself. "Sounds like a real snooze fest," he remarked with a smirk, a surprising chuckle escaping even Xarl, who displayed an unusually toothy grin in silent amusement.

Orcane dismissed the comment with a wave. "There are only two other planets, and please refrain from discussing or revealing anything. Secrecy is paramount in this matter."

"Thought this was just a little game," Des said. "Didn't realize we'd have to keep this on the down-low," he added, a silver gleam in his smile.

"Is anything at the academy ever normal?" Xarl commented, his fingers diving into the goblet. He retrieved a slender piece of parchment, held it between both hands, and without hesitation unfolded and scrutinized its contents.

Xarl's laughter reverberated within the room. His eyes widened, and he rose from his seat. "Now, this is truly cause for celebration," he declared.

Des merely snickered and shook his head. "You're acting all excited, but I bet you drew Earth or Pluto..."

Xarl's features momentarily shifted into a visage of anger, but he swiftly replaced it with his characteristic smirk. "Okay, dwarf," he spat, making his exit from the room.

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Now, Des and Orcane were alone. The goblet stood like an invisible barrier between them as Des stared at the older man.

Des's small hands raked through his unruly black hair. "Why are you doing this?" he questioned. Orcane remained silent, mute, observing him with his brown eyes.

Des's hand descended to his lone right eye, and a heavy sigh escaped his lips. "Your daughter, your only child, your only daughter. I could never... Amelia and I have our disagreements, but I could never fathom going to her with Mycah in my arms, telling her he'll never be allowed to shape his destiny, not even in matters of the heart."

Orcane stayed silent, and Desmond realized it only fueled his anger. His fingers curled into fists. "Do you not comprehend the consequences of what you're about to do? Has the cancer spread to your brain, robbing you of reason?"

Orcane tilted his head to meet Des's gaze. "I am doing this because Sirine needs someone strong and capable to guide her and lead the academy. I love my daughter, but..."

Des slammed his hand across the table. Photos and the black goblet were sent crashing to the floor, and the remaining wine at the edge spilled in a dark red stain on a priceless rug.

"Don't you dare," Des snapped, a pointed finger aimed squarely at Orcane's features. "There's always a choice, and you're choosing to risk marrying your daughter off to someone like Xarl."

Orcane's eyes widened, his hand instinctively reaching to the side of his head. "Willful as your daughter, does she deserve a husband like Xarl... and what of me if I win?" he snapped back.

Silence fell over Orcane, the fight drained out of him, leaving only a vulnerable man. Des went in, verbally demolishing the older man. Orcane deserved every word for contemplating something viewed as abhorrent, a violation of the 'Imperial Abhorrants.'

Des's next words emerged heavy and contorted, rage barely held at bay. "An arranged marriage," he uttered with a chuckle that held a darker undercurrent. "Do you not realize just how wrong this will be if someone outside the academy's circle finds out? God forbid a house like Earth catches wind of it and brings it to the Emperor!"

Orcane attempted to wave it away, but Des pressed on.

"No, you don't get to wave it away," Des snapped. "You don't get it. You, Sirine, and the poor sap who marries her. If they find out this was arranged, they'll cull the bloodline from the start, purging what's deemed pure and what isn't. The gods of Old Earth, the Gods of The New Universe—all view this as abhorrent. If you go through with this, the universe, the gods, old or new, will come for you and your kin. Your line will burn, the gods will rend any kin as illegitimate or malformed."

In the colonization and cleansing of the stars, the Emperor had emerged with his royal family, establishing laws across planets that touched the light of his realm. One law, fundamental to his majesty's imperium, explicitly outlawed arranged marriages. Gods and religions did not endorse such practices, and stepping outside this law would render any bloodline illegitimate. Grave consequences loomed. Yet, in the shadows of the galaxy, where eyes didn't pry, abhorrent deeds were mere play.

"Even if I did win," Des interrupted Orcane's thoughts, sighing and wrapping his arms around himself. "I am already happily married. So, I guess I have to be excluded from this whole thing."

"Really?" Orcane repeated. "You have the opportunity for riches beyond your wildest dreams, and you—"

"Orcane, I've been married for years. I have a home, and I've served an empire that loathed me due to my dwarfism since I was a boy. I'm sick of the politics, the machinations, and the death."

Des paused, his hand going to his heavily bandaged eye. A grimace etched across his face, and he slammed his hand once again on the table. "Before all this, I was planning on handing you my two-week notice."

Orcane remained silent for a moment, a heavy air lingering between him and Des. The latter sighed, standing up from his seat. "I have no interest in going through with this."

"Des, please," Orcane begged, desperation seeping into his voice.

Des stared at him, a shift in his emotions evident. The desperation in Orcane's plea struck a chord within him. "What's going on with you, James?" Des asked, eyeing the sickly headmaster. "Is this truly all about the cancer and..."

Orcane shook his head. "Des, you are the only one that I trust. You are the only one I'm willing to trust with the academy. If we hadn't lost contact during the mission, I would've..."

"You would've just named me as your successor," Des finished with a facepalm.

"Correct," Orcane admitted.

"...and I'd still throw it all away," Des spoke, turning his gaze out the window. "I have a happy life, Orcane. I am a dwarf, but I can live and teach here. I am a dwarf, but I have a wonderful wife and now a beautiful son. I'm not going to throw my life and blessings away—obvious blessings from the gods and the universe—for what? To marry a girl that's not even half my age, a girl that's old enough to be my daughter practically."

"Someone that could've been an older sister to your son," Orcane randomly remarked.

Des's earlier arguments fell silent as an eerie quiet settled upon them. "What are you talking about?" Des questioned.

"She's too young for you, but not too young for your son," Orcane said.

Des's eyes widened. "My son is five years old," he snapped.

"If you win, then you can..."

Des was already walking out. "Enough of this, I'm done with this petty argument. No, I'm not going to let your eighteen-year-old daughter marry my five-year-old son."

Orcane rose from his seat. "I won't pressure your son into anything. If anything must happen, they can wait until your son reaches his eighteenth birthday."

Des shot him a look. "Does this not disgust you, the way you speak?" Des spat, inching closer as his words radiated malevolence. "There's disgust in how you treat and speak of your daughter like a sow, but you, James Orcane, are taking it too far by involving my own son in this."

Des had risen, but Orcane seized the cuff of his power armor. "Please," Orcane begged, his back slouching. "You are the only one I can trust in this. You are the only one I believe should inherit this academy."

Des fell silent. "Then, why didn't you..."

Orcane's eyes fell downward, and Des glared at him, slowly grasping the grim reality unfolding. "Even after we reached the stars," Des began to monologue, a dissonant smile forming. "Us humans always need violence and combat to prove our strength."

"No one would follow a dwarf," Orcane spoke, hesitating. "But a dwarf that..."

"A dwarf that proved himself in his superiority as a teacher, then, it is shown his truth. Only one who is able to train a champion deserves to be Headmaster."

Orcane delivered those words, leaving Des utterly silenced as he narrowed his eyes at his mentor. "So, this whole game is meant to test me. Well, sorry, James, I have no need or any wish to get involved in this pissing contest," he paused and sighed. "You still are going to pay my tenure and pension. This was the last mission, and now you orchestrated this... for what, to lure me into being a pawn in this big game of yours?"

Des was disgusted, and a yawn erupted from the base of his chest. James rushed to speak, but Des instantly silenced him with a lone raised hand. "James, I am sick and tired of it all," his words were cold, and his brown eye locked onto James. "I have been fighting for years, I have been in combat for years. I only took this teaching job for the benefits it provided, but I am getting older... I have a family now. I know that in this big galaxy, there are many things that one can lose and never reattain, and do you want to know what it is?"

James paused, and he stared at him. "What?" Orcane asked.

"Family," Des finished off, tapping his palm along the table once again. "Whether by blood or by trust, family. I have lost brothers, sisters, and paternal figures in my life. I have no wish to die within some political machination that I was a pawn of; I have no wish to risk my family's lives. Orcane, just write me my final paycheck... please."

And Orcane truly saw him now—the dwarf, once proud, who had risen through the ranks on skill and merit alone. Now, look at him. Burn wounds adorned his body, a matted bandage covering his left eye. Had he lost it?

Orcane realized the selfishness and wrongness of it all. Conversing with his friend and protégé about marrying off his daughter, threatening her with a forced union if Des refused. He was no fool; he knew about his staff members, difficult to control and often vying for power within the academy. An image of Xarl flashed in his mind. Could he let someone like Xarl marry his daughter and inherit the family's wealth and fortune?

No, Xarl was too weak to control the academy and his daughter. Orcane raised his gaze toward Des, and his grip on his hand tightened. He didn't know. No one would believe him, even if he did. Sirine, that monstrous daughter—how had he created such a thing?

Des sighed, the will to fight and argue draining from him. The toll of his earlier mission weighed heavily. He still had to heat up his dinner in the fridge and double-check the nest of wounds across his form.

"Please, Des," Orcane begged one final time. However, the man's form halted, and he raised his gaze towards Des. "You can leave, but at the very least, see what's inside the goblet. See what house you would choose."

Des's features contorted into annoyance. "I don't give a damn what planet I get stuck with. Orcane, you are asking me to break one of the founding laws of our empire. Are you even thinking of the—"

Orcane flashed a smirk. "It just sounds like you're scared," he spoke, regarding Des with a timid smirk. "Let the gods decide. I won't force you into anything anymore, but you've got to wonder about what you've got."

Des stared into the goblet for a moment, then shifted his gaze back towards Orcane. "Do you take me for such a fool?" Des spoke, almost tiredly.

"No," Orcane spat out just as plainly, and he raised the black goblet towards Des. "However, I've always known you for a betting man."

"A betting man?" Des repeated with a chuckle and a sigh. His small hand went along his features. "Have you gone mad or something? Am I going to wake up with an apology call due to you—"

"Des," Orcane interrupted, staring heat rays into the opposite man. "Take it... whether or not you wish to join, take it."

Des stared at the pot, his eyes rolling as he felt around the bottom of the goblet. His eyes widened as he could only feel one slip of paper.

"Where are the others?" asked Des. "I could feel only one."

Orcane sighed. "Due to you and Xarl not being here for the earlier meeting, you already missed out on the main chunk of planets, and Xarl already picked his, so there is only one last one..."

Des rolled his eyes as his fingertips locked along the strand of paper. "So, who's the last one then?"

Orcane stared at him as he rested the goblet back down. "You want me to tell you?" Orcane asked.

Des shrugged his shoulders, speaking as he started to unfold the piece of parchment. "Yeah, there is only this one. What do I got?"

Orcane shook his head. "That's not how this works. I wanted to keep this fair and make it a secret, but it's your decision if you tell the others about which house you'll find your champion in."

Des shook his head. "Even if I was interested in all this. You'd think those pricks wouldn't utilize the information I give them and weaponize it?"

Orcane was silent at that, and Des's lone brown eye went wide as he read the contents within the paper. A violent groan erupted from his core as he shook his head wildly. "What's wrong?" questioned Orcane, but Des had already turned around and started marching.

"Thank you, Mr. Orcane," spoke Des sarcastically. "By this time, I could've had warm food in my belly alongside a nice warm beer, and my beautiful wife would've been sleeping next to me. However, you just wasted my time. Prepare to see my letter of resignation first thing tomorrow on your computer."

Des slammed the massive wooden doors shut as he departed from Orcane's manor. His footsteps reverberated in the empty halls, resonating with the storm's echoes. The vibrant lights of the students had dimmed, lost in the night's revelries.

The weight of choosing pressed upon him yet again. The hollowness of lost students haunted Des as he ventured outside. Clark, his blond-haired driver, awaited with car keys in hand and a deep blue valet jacket. "Hello, Sir Desmond," greeted Clark.

Des offered a tired smile, etched with pain. "Come on, Clark," he said, sighing, opening the door, and sinking into the bright red cushions of the car. "Get me out of here. I want to see my family."

Clark nodded, and they sped off into the rain-drenched night. The city's towering structures and neon lights stretched into the sky, offering a breathtaking sight.

To Des, the city held an allure that filled him with childlike wonder. Clark chuckled at his fascination. "How was the meeting, boss?" he inquired.

Des groaned, drawing another laugh from Clark. "Did the big man give you any trouble or complaints?" Clark glanced at Des's heavily bandaged eye. "Can't believe he'd hassle you after coming home with that."

Des's groan deepened, words tumbling out. "Tell me about it," he replied. "Sometimes, a man just needs a bit of peace, but those around him drag him into their troubles."

"Boss, anything troubling you?" Clark asked, turning momentarily.

Des chuckled, a smirk forming. "What are you smiling about?" Clark questioned.

"Well, Clark, my dear boy. If I told you about the mess of a meeting I had," Des leaned back, hand resting on his holstered sidearm, "I'd have to kill you," he joked.

Clark sighed, Des chuckling in response. "You're not funny, boss," Clark retorted.

"Really?" Des dismissed. "I find myself a bit witty and humorous at times. Surprise is a powerful tool."

"Really," Clark responded, amused. "My dad raised me not to be a clown or act like one, period."

"Yes, my dear boy," Des mused. "But there's a distinction between acting and truly being a clown. Sometimes in this world, we don't have the luxury. But maybe, in acting, you can make your reality something more."

The car idled in the silence that gripped it, and Clark broke the quiet with a thoughtful remark. "That's an interesting piece of advice, boss."

"Yeah, but trust me...sometimes, acting can turn you into something more than what you actually are," Des replied, his words hanging in the air like an elusive promise.

Clark nonchalantly shrugged his shoulders. "A lie is still a lie, and such a big lie like that...won't that hurt the people you surround yourself with? Wouldn't that have them not trust you?"

A lingering silence clung between the two men, severed only when the car powered down abruptly. Des turned to gaze out of the window; they had arrived. The small complex differed from the city's towering skyscrapers, resembling a more modest mid-world. Des opened the door, and the rain intensified, its ferocity doubling.

"What's your plan for tonight, Clark?" Des inquired with the door still ajar.

"Aw, boss," Clark dismissed with a grin. "The usual!"

Des smirked and chuckled. "You're going to make your way to the red-light district?"

Clark flexed his arms in mock bravado. "Well, there's a reason why they love you over there," Des retorted as he walked away after closing the door. His cloak, torn and bedraggled in the rain, hinted at the challenges he faced. Yet...

"Boss," Clark called out.

"Yes, Clark," Des responded.

Clark hesitated, his gaze momentarily dropping to the wheel. As Des approached, Clark's eyes rose to meet his. "I don't know, boss," he confessed, shrugging his shoulders. "Ever since we touched planetfall again, I haven't exactly been feeling all right."

Des sighed and shrugged. "What you're feeling is the new year jitters; everyone gets them," he tried to reassure, sensing the turmoil in Clark's eyes.

Clark shook his head. "Maybe, boss, but I've heard word from the populace about what's been going on here. They're saying that this new year is different than the last couple."

Des fell silent. They had returned from a mission not long ago, and while Clark had more opportunities to engage with people, Des had retreated to lick his wounds for a reason.

Clark continued, "I've heard that Sirine, the headmaster's daughter of all things, ran away, and some students had to come rescue her. I've been hearing all manner of weird things from the academy."

Des sighed, shook his head, and Clark pressed on with his revelations, only to be silenced abruptly by a curt clap from Des. And then, silence reclaimed its dominion.

"Clark, I appreciate your unwavering loyalty these past two years. You've been an invaluable ally. But I can't fathom why you persist in this," Des muttered, his voice strained.

"Mary Grace..." Clark whispered, his words carrying an undercurrent of something unnerving.

"Mary Grace," Des echoed, memories of a woman and darker recollections flashing through his mind. "Clark, you can't possibly..."

Clark's silence was punctuated by the relentless rain, yet his fingers gripped the steering wheel tighter, knuckles whitening. "You once said you admired my stubbornness," he replied, a hint of desperation in his voice.

Des sighed, a chilling chuckle escaping him. "It's landed you in more trouble than you realize."

"Yet, I won't stop," Clark insisted, determination resonating. "There are students in that school who need us, who need me, who need you." His words hung in the air like a haunting melody.

Des fell silent, the weight of the unspoken truth stifling the atmosphere. "We've discussed this before," he said, lifting both arms in an attempt to dispel the looming discomfort. "Clark, this was our last mission, our final obligation to this wretched world."

Drawing closer, Des leaned in, trying to escape the unseen shadows creeping around them. "You're too young to be stuck in this. This job usually doesn't lead to a life of love or family. It's not too late to lead a normal life, Clark."

Yet, Clark remained silent, an unsettling stillness in the car. "Did... did something happen to you on the mission?" Des inquired cautiously, sensing the disquiet.

Clark's eyes remained fixed on the wheel before shifting back to Des. "I've already told you..." His words dripped with an unsettling intensity. "I've told you what I saw, what changed everything."

Des's gaze hardened, desperately attempting to dismiss the haunting revelations. "Enough," he interjected, his tone cutting through the eerie silence. The rain intensified, a spectral shroud enveloping them.

Clark remained defensive, raising a finger. "I know what I saw."

Des shook his head, turning halfway to face Clark. "What you saw was likely a nightmare, a manifestation of a weary mind. An illusion, nothing more."

"I saw something before we left for that mission. The Darkness, I saw something within it," Clark's voice quivered with a chilling certainty. "That boy, that damned boy, of scales and fire and spikes. And that golden horde that followed after him..."

Des swallowed hard, his mind racing to comprehend the unsettling visions that seemed to emerge from Clark's consciousness. The rain cascaded over the car like a spectral veil, distorting the world outside.

Clark's eyes gleamed with an eerie intensity. "I wasn't dreaming, Des. It was real. I felt it—felt him. This boy, with eyes that held the abyss and a presence that defied explanation."

Des shifted uncomfortably in his seat, attempting to dismiss the disconcerting images painted by Clark's words. "Clark, it's not uncommon for our minds to play tricks on us after a mission. Stress, fatigue—"

Clark's laughter, tinged with a touch of madness, cut through the air like a discordant melody. "Stress and fatigue don't birth visions of hell. I saw a place, Des, a place I can't unsee."

The car pressed forward, a vessel navigating through the surreal landscape of Clark's revelations. "I was in a city, engulfed in flames. The sky, was red and black. The boy, surrounded by an army of grotesque creatures, his eyes alight with fire."

Des felt a shiver crawl up his spine, the words weaving an otherworldly tapestry around them. "A city in flames?" he questioned, his voice barely audible over the relentless rain.

"Fire and chaos, Des," Clark continued, his gaze unyielding. "And there was this voice, a whisper that echoed through the abyss. It spoke of destiny, of a cosmic balance disturbed. The golden horde, they were the harbingers of a reckoning."

Des's hands gripped the edge of his seat, his attempt to dismiss Clark's words fading like a fleeting dream. "Clark, we're not equipped to understand the mysteries of the universe. Our reality is grounded in the tangible, the pragmatic."

The rain painted shimmering patterns on the pavement as Clark's steely resolve crumbled like a forgotten monument. Des watched, his silent plea echoing in his eyes, and, for a fleeting moment, he glimpsed surrender in Clark's gaze. A sigh slipped through the air, a weighty exhalation carrying the remnants of a conversation veiled in cryptic visions.

"Never mind," Clark muttered, his words a defeated retreat.

"Okay then," Des awkwardly replied. "Well, have a good night. I hope you..."

But Clark was already gone, the car vanishing into the labyrinth of the city, leaving Des with his lone raised arm suspended in the rain. He sighed, a subtle release of tension, and turned toward the looming specter of his house. Each step on the rain-soaked stairs resonated with a melancholic rhythm as he approached the large door that guarded the entrance to his refuge.

The foyer welcomed him with the creaking sigh of the hinges, and Des, soaked and weary, stood in the threshold. He let the door close behind him, shutting out the tempest that still raged beyond. In the flickering glow of the hallway light, his eyes sought the warmth of his family, yearning for the solace that resided within those familiar walls.

Yet, as the door sealed off the night, Des's mind churned, a tempest of its own. The unsettling talk of spikes and darkness, of an enigmatic boy, and a golden horde that would follow—an ominous echo that seemed to foretell a consuming force that threatened to unravel the very fabric of the universe. In the confined silence of his home, Des grappled with the enigma that now clung to the shadows, casting doubt upon the semblance of normalcy he desperately sought.