The sun had set about an hour and a half ago, and from within the Break, I watched as heavy waves crashed against the rocky shore. The weather had taken a sharp turn for the worse in the afternoon, and a strong wind had swept in from the ocean. All the small boats and yachts had taken refuge in the harbor, leaving only the large cargo ships to slowly navigate the fairway, unflinching against the onslaught of mighty waves. I found myself hoping that this sudden shift in weather was not a foreboding sign of how my conversation with the Heir would unfold. I shook my head, dismissing the thought immediately; I've never been the superstitious type, no point in starting now.
Casually, without stepping out of the Break, I made my way towards Wilflaes. To avoid drawing unnecessary attention, I moved along the lowlands. There was no rush, but it seemed wise to mull over the situation once more. And so I did, pondering over the potential topics of our imminent conversation. The more I thought about it, the more limited the options seemed. And to be brutally honest, none of them appealed to me. The conversation was unlikely to be a breeze, and at best, they would merely be trying to recruit me, orchestrating this operation at the highest level. All the other possibilities I could come up with were even less appealing.
Lost in thought, I reached the palace complex just four minutes before the scheduled time. The location of the Small Palace wasn't a secret; it could easily be found on any detailed city map. At this hour, the palace grounds were as quiet as a dormant beehive, with the exception of the ever-vigilant security service. I slipped through the garden complex which shielded the main buildings from prying eyes along the perimeter, and emerged into the very heart of the capital. The main building was less impressive in reality; the pictures made it seem far more grand and monumental. It paled in comparison to the likes of the Hermitage or Versailles, rather reminding me of the Pavlovsk Palace Complex[1].
As soon as I stepped onto the palace square, I felt a slight resistance, so subtle that I initially thought I was imagining it. But once I noticed it, the guards' walkie-talkies crackled to life. The shifter security team was immediately on high alert. Had they somehow detected my presence? But how? As soon as I posed the question to myself, I remembered the unusual glass in the BKDW building, capable of detecting a raig in the Break. That glass had been enchanted by one of the Break Knights, who had been rewarded with the gift of being an artifactor. This meant they had the ability to infuse ordinary objects with extraordinary properties. Regrettably, I hadn't been able to discover which raig possessed this unique ability.
It was previously believed that a certain Break Knight named Whiteshoulder was responsible for creating the artifacts. He even had his own page on the BKDW website, complete with a picture and all the necessary credentials of an organization member. However, in truth, there was no raig by that name. Whiteshoulder was a fabricated identity, a brainchild of Max Kraas, designed to protect the real artifactor.
Regrettably, even Maya didn't know the name of the actual craftsman. As per her account, only Max Kraas had met the artifactor and no one else. Following the death of the organization's first head, the unique raig ceased all contact. But on the flip side, someone was still maintaining and recharging the existing BKDW artifacts. This implied that the artifactor was likely one of the current members of the organization, who simply preferred to keep their talent a secret. I earnestly hoped they would come forward someday. Such a skill could provide me with fantastic tools.
The security perimeter I was dealing with was likely another product of his handiwork, specifically designed to detect any Break activity and alert the Duke's guards. Out of sheer curiosity, I observed the security personnel for almost a minute. It seemed like they were only aware that someone had breached the perimeter in the Break. Their actions would have been different if they possessed more information. Nevertheless, I needed to tread carefully; who knows what other surprises they might have had in store for me besides this "perimeter."
If time hadn't been of the essence, I would have conducted a few experiments on the security system. But despite my curiosity, I had to postpone it for later. A winding path, paved with ancient stones, led to the Small Palace.
It was immediately apparent that they were expecting me and had prepared for my arrival. The most obvious hint was the absence of anyone on the path and the small square in front of the Small Palace, not even the guards. The only person present was Rock, standing on the steps by the entrance doors, gazing at the clouds in the sky. I could have easily slipped past him and found the Heir myself, but something deep within me suggested that it wouldn't be right. So, as I approached the steps and materialized right in front of them.
"Master," The curator respectfully nodded at me, not even flinching at my sudden appearance.
"Mister Rock," I nodded back.
"You should head straight to the central staircase, up one level, and then turn right," he instructed, opening the front door.
Damn! I had hoped to ask the curator about the progress of the investigation, but his words clearly indicated that it was not the appropriate time.
"Understood," I replied succinctly and ascended the stairs.
While there are numerous photos of the main palace's interior available on the internet, the inside of the Small Palace remains a mystery to the public. As soon as I entered, I couldn't help but look around in curiosity. High ceilings, soft handmade carpets underfoot, and gentle but adequate lighting captured my attention. But what stood out the most were the walls adorned with paintings. Unlike the main building, which showcased portraits of the ducal family from various generations, the Small Palace featured landscapes.
The paintings adorning the corridor were so artfully arranged that as you walked along, it felt as if you were journeying through the seasons. Not just one image for each season, but ten each for spring, summer, autumn, and winter. When I first saw it, I was stunned. It wasn't just beautiful - it was an absolute masterpiece that took your breath away. Clearly, all forty canvases were the work of a single artist.
My mother, widely regarded as one of the world's finest art critics, had never mentioned this series to me, despite her propensity to talk about other artworks for hours on end. It made me wonder if she was even aware of its existence. Perhaps these paintings were only viewed by those in the innermost circle of the throne. I wouldn't consider myself an art connoisseur, but even I was profoundly moved. After journeying through the canvases - from the earliest spring to the depths of winter - I felt a sense of purification, akin to an hour of meditation under the guidance of Zanh Kiem. The worries that had been plaguing me receded, leaving me in a state of tranquility.
The library door was slightly ajar. Rather than barging in, I paused to knock politely.
"Come in," came the response from within.
To my mild disappointment, the library was just that - a library. Shelves overflowing with books stretched from floor to ceiling, bordering the entire room. A large, imposing desk sat in the center. A meter away, with a book held open mid-way, stood Lair Gluathon, the eldest son of the ruling duke. His face was easy to recognize due to his frequent media appearances, but what the photographs and videos failed to capture was the palpable aura of authority that radiated from him.
"Maestro," the Heir acknowledged with a curt nod, motioning me to sit with the hand holding his book.
"Sire," I responded with a brief bow, accepting his invitation.
It could have been a setup, akin to what Eshin had arranged for me, but that seemed unlikely. Moreover, I was wearing Metatron now. Should anyone attempt to ensnare me using Darkness, they would be in for quite a surprise.
Metatron, a remarkable suit of armor, offered exceptional comfort. In any other armor, sitting in a plush chair would be uncomfortable, but not in this one. Once I had settled down, the Heir placed his book on the table and took a seat in the chair next to me. As he did, I tried to discern what he had been reading. Firstly, the book was new - the smell of fresh print ink wafted over to me. Secondly, the bright cover suggested it was a work of fiction, not academic literature. It was curious - I would never have expected the Heir to have time for such reading. As for the title, it meant nothing to me - "Undefeated," and the author was unknown to Izao.
"Tomorrow, it's hitting all the bookstores nationwide." Lair Gluathon noted, catching my attention. "Just like in Europe." He sighed heavily as he said this.
"Is it such a gripping read?" I asked, deciding to play along with his attempt to kick off a neutral conversation.
"It's brilliantly written - every line, every chapter strikes a chord." The Heir's smile was notably melancholic, at odds with his words. "Do geniuses irk you as well?"
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"Sometimes," I replied vaguely. I didn't grasp where the catch was or how to avoid it.
"Most of them possess a troublesome knack." The Duke's eldest son gestured towards the book. "They tend to produce their masterpieces at rather inconvenient times."
"Inconvenient for you personally?" I countered, choosing to go on the offensive rather than wait for his verbal snare to be sprung. It was a blunt move, but necessary to maintain the initiative.
"Not just me," the Heir responded, skillfully sidestepping a direct answer. My shot had clearly hit home. "This book... We already have a myriad of issues, but all of them... Yes, all of them, even Eshin's problem, might seem trivial compared to the storm this text could whip up."
"Could?" I sought clarification.
"There are different possibilities," Lair affirmed.
I understood that he was a nobleman, the future ruler no less, the Heir to a long line of rulers. He had been steeped in intrigue and politics since infancy. But lately, all these evasions and hidden meanings were starting to grate on me. Moreover, engaging in this game on his turf was a surefire path to defeat, so I decided to escalate things.
"I read a book the other day too, which said..."
"Ahem." He feigned a cough, cutting me off before I could recite the monograph on ancient China's history.
"But didn't you invite me here to discuss books?" I asked, feigning innocence.
The Heir slowly lowered his head and leaned forward.
"Do you want a straightforward conversation?" There was a spark in the shapeshifter's eyes, signaling an imminent storm.
"If possible."
"Very well..." Lair Gluathon rose from his chair and circled the library table. "Since you insist." He wandered over to a bookshelf, tracing his fingers over the spines before turning to face me. "I wouldn't be wrong in saying that your influence over the capital's Break Knights is quite significant, would I?"
If it weren't for the sword, I might have managed to dodge the question. But now, to avoid rusting the blade, I had no choice but to be truthful. This man would see through any basic tricks or subtle hints instantly. And that would be bad - making an enemy of the Heir over such a trivial matter was unequivocally foolish.
"You wouldn't be wrong."
Upon hearing the answer, the eldest son of the duke leaned forward, his face flushed, and he spoke through gritted teeth:
"Then explain, as I don't understand at all..." The man looked like he hadn't had a decent night's sleep in weeks, and now his emotions were getting the best of him. "Yes! I don't understand how you, with your influence, allowed someone like Crixus to become the head of BKDW?!"
Frankly, I didn't want to argue with him; in fact, it was not in my plans at all. But responding to his question would mean acknowledging my lower position relative to him, and even worse, it would confirm that the raigs were answerable to the shapeshifters. So, trying not to make any sudden moves, I stood from my chair, performed a deliberate polite bow, and responded in a frosty tone:
"It was a pleasure meeting you."
With that, I immediately shifted to the Break.
The alternate space brought a sense of calm, which was much needed; otherwise, I was on the brink of losing my temper, and that would have been entirely unwelcome. It is one thing to simply leave, as I was doing now, and quite another to openly show hostility towards the actual head of state. This was the last thing both I and BKDW needed - a conflict with the House on the Hill. However, the alternative was even worse.
By the Holy Powers, I didn't start this conflict!
Casting a regretful glance at the Heir, I moved towards the balcony doors, intending to exit the library through them. But then, something entirely unexpected occurred. Lair Gluathon shook his head, shrugged his shoulders, and raised his hands in a reconciliatory gesture.
"My apologies," he said, his voice devoid of any theatrics or pretense. "I was wrong." The Heir moved towards the balcony doors and gestured invitingly. "How about some fresh air?"
Had he pulled out some artifact and shot me right in the Break, I would have probably been less taken aback than when I heard these words - because I heard about this man. He was as stubborn as a bull and never changed his mind. But now... His admission of his mistake was sincere; I could tell this thanks to a hint from my Spark.
If it were just about me, I would leave the palace complex right now, but something told me that there was much more at stake. Then again, maybe I was overthinking it; yet, I was not in a position where I could afford to miss something important just because of my pride. So, reentering the material world, with slight hesitation and a bit of playfulness, I bowed my head and said:
"Breathe? Well, they say fresh air is soothing."
The Heir scrutinized me intently for about five seconds, peering into my helmet visor, then slowly nodded, accurately interpreting my hint.
Quietly, we stepped out onto a broad and spacious balcony, large enough to comfortably accommodate at least five billiard tables. The duke's eldest son approached the railing, gripping it tightly until his knuckles turned white and the aged bronze began to distort under his grasp.
"Something significant is happening around us," the Heir released his grip and spoke in a weary tone. "No, I don't have any solid proof, only hints, but my intuition screams that something is looming... Something that could potentially change the entire world." I wondered what he was sensing, the impending End of the World or the possibility of the Treaty being revised? "I've been informed that all three Holy Sees have retired. And all at the same time."
What was he anticipating? This was a critical point in our conversation. As I pondered this, I forgot to act shocked at such a revelation, which didn't go unnoticed.
"So, you already knew," Lair Glyton stated, feigning mild surprise.
"Ask the abbot of the Abode of Knowledge," I shrugged nonchalantly. "He certainly knows more."
"They say you two are friends," the Heir turned around and leaned against the railing.
"We share a common burden," I responded cryptically, hinting that I wouldn't entertain personal questions.
"My analysts have reported an increase in the frequency of Breakthroughs worldwide," he continued, taking a deep breath. "By about seven percent. We don't know if this is a random fluctuation or a new, dangerously negative trend. And what's worse for me personally, and perhaps for you too, is that when it comes to Novilter, the percentage reaches twelve." After a brief pause, he added, "These figures have been verified repeatedly."
"Thanks for the information," I replied impassively.
"We need unity. Yes, you heard right, not just the House on the Hill, not just the BKDW, but all of us need to agree more than ever," he moved away from the railing and approached me, stopping just half a meter away. "I suggest we stop dancing around the subject and speak directly."
As if I was such a naive young man to trust a politician who was raised in a family of politicians.
"Begin," I responded tersely, neither stepping back nor extending a hand.
"Crixus." What was this again? Had Zanh Kiem infected them all? First Maya, now the Heir who began to pace the balcony, mimicking the Maker's mannerisms. "We've found out everything we could about him, literally everything, right down to his favorite yogurt when he was five. We tracked down all the ships he worked on after escaping from his family. We questioned all the crews, everyone who ever interacted with him."
"That was rather quick," I commented, not hiding my surprise. For such a volume of work, they would normally need months.
"It wasn't easy."
"And considering the number of forces simultaneously working on the Eshin problem, your people accomplished the near impossible," I said, bowing my head in admiration.
"I'll pass on your compliments to the relevant department." A faint smile appeared on his face, though I couldn't grasp its meaning. "There's an eighty-seven percent chance that his intention is to change the authority, first in one state and then globally. You can understand my surprise when such a person suddenly took the head position of the allied organization. The organization that I created to serve as a bridge between the Break Knights and us."
He said, "Suddenly?" In this, I concurred, as I still found it hard to believe. Crixus is, after all, a stranger in Wilflaes. Not only was he an outsider, but upon his arrival in the capital, he behaved brazenly and defiantly. Yet despite all this, the Knights voted for him. Although, if Maya or I had applied for the position, he wouldn't have had a chance to become the head of the organization. But it happened, and here we are with the result.
"I don't think Crixus is planning to make any moves soon," I shrugged. "He needs to expand his influence, which isn't a matter of a few days or weeks."
"So, you're not aware then..." Genuine surprise echoed in the Heir's voice.
"Not aware of what?" I asked slowly.
"Crixus has already started forming a personal guard, holding private conversations with some Break Knights, whose loyalty to the country is suspect."
"What?!" How did a stranger tell me something like this?! The Heir, not Maya, Halley, Rex, or the twins? The answer was simple, none of them knew about the covert activities of the new head. Could this be true? It's hard to admit, but the intrigue experience of someone groomed to rule is far greater than that of the young, naive and idealistic raigs.
Should I inquire how he knows? No, it's clear to me that he has his own informants within BKDW, perhaps more than one. I know if I ask directly, he'll reveal his source, but that answer will put me in his debt.
"Answer me directly." As I was lost in thought, Lair Gluathon extended his hand and asked, "Are we allies?"
Damn! What should I do? As a Break Knight, I'm definitely in favor of aligning with the authorities. But as the reincarnation of el Cid and regarding the Treaty... I haven't made up my mind yet.
"Without your cover and support, the losses of the Break Knights will multiply many times over, and even more, you won't be able to solve the Breakthrough problem without us."
Having said that, I extended my hand. I could shake the Heir's hand, but I refrained; it was now his turn. For ten seconds, our palms hung in the air opposite each other, and then Lair Gluathon finally took my hand.
"I accept," he said. He clearly expected more, but even my simple wording seemed to please him. Was the Heir really feeling so cornered?
After the handshake, Lair Gluathon retreated back to the railing. "Do you have any questions?" he asked.
How did he discern my curiosity while Metatron shielded me from emotional readings? Did he merely guess, or was it intuition? Regardless, it didn't matter; considering his concern over Crixus's rebellious behavior, I did have a query.
"You're concerned about the mood within BKDW, yet for months you've tolerated a clearly anti-government organization of Break Knights by your side."
"Are you referring to the 'Masks of Novilter'?"
Damn! He had me! From his calm demeanor, it was obvious that he anticipated this question, or rather, he subtly guided me toward it, and I fell for it like some naive youth. Despite all this, I had no choice but to confirm: "Yes, the 'Masks of Novilter.'"
[1] TLN: For reference, here is an image of the Pavlovsk Palace - https://media.tacdn.com/media/attractions-splice-spp-674x446/0c/02/76/c3.jpg.