“Wouldn’t it be better if we hired someone else?” Proclus questioned Mirayroth’s decision. He inclined against the table, lavish and colorful attires draped his black furred figure.

  Bold, rich purple shawl of the finest silk coiled about his neck, its silvery rims glinted in the dim cellar, fitted betwixt the high, tilting collar of his scarlet linen shirt embroidered with manifold symbols of wealth and the sun. Loose, bulbous breeches twisted around his legs, and a birch sandal produced loud clanks as he shifted around on the cold, gloomy floor of the Sleeping Nereid Inn. One of his feline companions, agents slept atop his left shoulder, moistened her nose and for a moment glanced at Mirayroth. Her soft purring filled the momentary silence betwixt the three of them.

  A single silvery glimmer lit the gloom, the candles on the shelves slept sparkless. Mirayorth himself stayed to the shadows in the left corner, arms folded, his ponderous countenance hidden behind his pallid mask edged by the few escaping dark, silky tresses. Middias sat on the lone chair, facing his rival and old friend with a mug ornated with the bones of young wyverns descended from the lineage of Promethean, whose bones still exhumed a gentle heat, keeping his dark coffee warm and steaming.

  “I am in full agreement with Proclus. There is no need to put yourself in danger, especially in times like these.” He said, wiping a bit of the coffee remaining on his newly grown out moustache resting beneath his aquiline nose.

  “A deal is a deal. Even if made amongst mortals, don’t you all think so?” Mirayroth retorted calm as the wind. The two grimaced faintly, one veiling it with another sip of his bitter brew.

  “Still” Proclus began straightening his posture, his feline companion awakening with a light hiss before she leapt onto the table to continue her resting on the tranquil object. “I question what do we gain from this exchange. Sure, one less meddlesome member of the Order will breathe down on our necks, but there is no guarantee another shall not follow. And of course, the inquisition and those above will definitely suspect us even more.”

  “They guaranteed entrance to the Cathedral and the location of the scrolls.” Middias lips whirred into action first, surprising Mirayroth for the moment. “And she is currently visiting, making amends in the Haliscian District. We eliminate her there, there is a high chance those above shall suspect the poor folk there. The rumors are still fresh out of the oven.”

  “And as far as they are aware, our numbers dwindled with the Harrowing, and the flock whilst enraged at the truth, still reluctant to stoke the flames of change. Some still remember our ‘predecessors’ and how their revolution gone and went.” Mirayroth said, reasoning, though already set on the task. All three knew, the brewing revolution meant nothing in the grander plans, it was merely a front.

  Proclus sighed deeply, stroking his furred chin. “Certainly, an entrance into the Cathedral is a worthy price. But what good do we do with the location of the scrolls? Recovering them from the continent may take too long with planning, assembling the right people and so on.” He relapsed into silence, stared at the ceiling whilst his sharp, long ears beneath his temples twinged listening to the small sounds of approaching steps.

  “The scrolls have been brought here.” Mirayroth claimed, both looked surprised. And both pondered which fool from above believed it would be a great idea to bring it here.

  Then shifted their attention once more towards the empty spot where the faint outline of an arched door was hewn into the blackened walls. Like the gnawing jaws of a leviathan, the wall parted open with a softened groan. Warm light seeped and diffused the dim shadows ruling the cellar, welting in with the silvery glimmer entering from the window near the ceiling, across itself.

  “She has returned.” Blinding, almost radiating light poured into the cellar, blinding all three scheming occupants. Slowly they made out the lanky, bald orkh of a pale, almost cadaverous complexion whose frugal muscles formed knolls upon his dangling arms. The meaning of his words their minds needed little more time to process, though a faint veil of confusion blanketed over their minds when they spotted a tall aevhen girl by his side, whose scarlet eyes gleamed in the soft shadows crawling onto her comely visage. One who appeared older than the princeipstir they waited for the past three years.

  Luxuriant hair tumbled down on both her shoulders, each tress, each lock soft and lustrous as the sumptuous silken garments of Middias and Proclus. A loveable face of a young maiden, sculpted with a wide forehead, high, prominent cheekbones, and narrow, pointed chin. A refined form following the preferred lines of hourglass, with shapely bosom that would drawn the attention of starving drunkards. And a warm complexion both merchants seen myriad times on the people of the southern provinces. Yet her beauty still stood afar from Aurelithae’s–as far as all three recalled her with varying degrees of success.

  But neither of the three had any doubts–it was her. Whether it was Him who planted the awareness, or it was simply her own altered essence leaking out mattered to neither. “Welcome back, your Highness. We did not expect your return so soon.” Proclus spoke up first, like bickering children, the other two grumbled silently at his hastiness.

  For a moment she remained silent, her visage listless, yet both merchants noticed the faint signs of pondering. “Thank you all. It took me a long while to find a way after my awakening, my…” She halted herself as she still was confused by the voice speaking not being her own.

  “All that matters your Highness is that you are here.” Middias spoke up next in his own honeyed manner. “Though it is a perilous time, especially for you.”

  “Do you imply she shouldn’t have come yet my friend?” Proclus asked jestingly.

  “No, not all. I am more gracious for her presence on this calm night. But we shouldn’t lie to ourselves, plans will need to be shifted.” Middias bowed apologetically.

  “Thank you for your kind words of welcome. Though time is fleeting on this pleasant night, as my father grew more austere since the incident, so, if possible, could we skip further jesting and greetings, and tell me honest of your true goals.” Aurelithae chose bluntness to their surprise, along with the awkward movements she made entering their meeting room hidden in the old tavern.

  Mirayroth smiled as he saw Moirstyria’s own eloquent impatience she often presented when dealing with the nobilos and her fellow kin, the consulias during their adventures in Vhalleryon. “Of course, though could you elaborate a little on that?” Proclus asked, his eyes unsure on the depth of her awareness. Nor did he know how much He indulged on her curiosity.

  “No need for such looks, lord Proclus. He shown her enough.” Naghig said in aid of Aurelithae.

  “I see.” Proclus said laconically, though Mirayroth noticed it satisfied him not wholly, for which he faulted the feline demikin little.

  “In the grander scheme of the world, and beyond its veil is as I have told you before. We wish to upend the order of the world, create one of new opportunities for all, be it the lowly commoners, or the avaricious merchants and nobles of the once Empire that shall be after the New Dawn fades.” Mirayroth arisen, gracefully walked towards Aurelithae. For a moment, he pondered whether to be truthful or await His judgement in the matter. But what is life without a little gambling. “Your role, my friend, is to take the pillar holding up this corpse of an Empire. To kill your own father, The Elhyrissiar.”

  *****

  After Naghig placed the jug of cherry flavored beverage and the warm red tea between the two, an oppressive silence settled in the damp space. The two could clearly hear the gentle wind brushing against the cold, alabaster marble, whistling as it scraped the edges upon entering through the grated window. For a while they just sat, gazing into each other’s eyes, searching for what wasn’t there, whilst listening to the soothing of the saccharine juice crushing onto the ceramic walls.

  Mirayroth had no doubt, the answer perplexed Aurelithae, more so than satisfied her thirst for knowledge. Though not as much as Mirayroth himself initially expected, even feared she would turn against them whilst feigning acceptance of her task. And it still somewhat lingered in his mind, but there either his sixth sense or Grimslaukh planted assurance that she mulled on the matter rather than outright betray them, use them to gain the favor of his father and an achievement carven upon the tablets, penned into the tomes of historians to prove her cunning worthy of a ruler of an Empire. Though whether it was the illusion spell cloaking her true beauty or simply decades of practice and lessons, she veiled herself well.

  This book's true home is on another platform. Check it out there for the real experience.

  “It wasn’t necessary. I feel no thirst, nor it seems my mouth is parched even after sprinting.” Aurelithae broke the silence first, and even though she denied the necessity of quenching a non-existent thirst, her hands reached for the ear of the jug. Mirayroth smiled at the triumph of desire.

  “It’s the least we can do to show our gratitude.” He said whilst the warmth of the tea banished the creeping cold of the cellar.

  When his hands thawed sufficiently, he reached up and took off his mask, revealing the dark circles beneath his pale eyes. Dark circles born from the woes of the past few weeks since he met them. Even now their words echoed in his mind. But the matter had to wait, and he forcefully reminded himself that there was a guarantee behind the words.

  Relief glimmered in her scarlet eyes as the liquid cascaded onto her tongue–now it was hers, and hers alone. Like a beast, her tongue swept across the wide, cushiony lips which corners curved into a faint smile born of saccharine relief. “How much did you know about my sister?” After the taste that traversed across the layers of space and time reached her own senses, Aurelithae let out the first question that surfaced in her mind. One she asked years prior, but hoped this time, the enigmatic niuvhe–or draevhe–shall answer broadly.

  “I knew her more than any other, that I am most sure of.” Yet he answered shortly, relapsed into a morose silence. It was a matter weighing heavily on his consciousness and heart. “Even Terrianis knew her little, just saw an idyllic image of his, she often told me and I could taste her sorrow.” His lips trembled into a dishonest smile.

  Still, she sharpened her gaze and ears, looking for anything that may betray Mirayroth. From the little that slipped through his efforts, Aurelithae noticed the sorrowful cadence he heard only once before, from Augermil who forced a similar smile upon his face whilst giving her the frightful news about the passing of her sister. A sister whom she had only a few memories, though those few still brought a warmth in her heart. Yet Mirayroth’s sorrow seemed deeper than of his uncle’s or hers, more of what she expected from a lover.

  “Now, let me ask you this: What have you felt knowing Isocrates passed?” Mirayroth brought up the question, staggering Aurelithae with its suddenness, but as she calmed it fostered the idea, she was tracing the right path to decipher who Mirayroth was.

  “A friend I miss.” Now it was Mirayroth who watched keenly.

  He noticed little, besides the meager sorrow lingering in her voice, healed not by time like in his case, but more on a child thinking back on the loss of a beloved pet. Mirayroth faulted her not for it, in the end she was still a draevhe, sheltered amongst her kin for the better part of her life, nine decades he believed so.

  “No more he lingers in your sight?” He asked leaning towards his cup. Gently, he blew the rising steam, vanishing it into the encroaching dark. “Nor do you dread seeing his loved ones?”

  She furrowed her brows and stared down at the reflection forming in the deep pond of cherry flavored drink. Seeing beyond his words, she pondered on them. “A little. I fear what should I speak of him, or to them. Whether to bring it up or just leave the matter to float away. Clearly to them, he was a beloved son and brother, one they felt proud of for achieving a place in the commoner’s academy, for becoming a brother in the First Legion. But to me, he was a kid who seemed different, interesting. A book to learn from so one day I could better understand those who thread in our shadows.” She stopped for a moment, staring at her own reflection, then at the two listening, waiting for the continuation. “I won’t deny, I consider him a friend, one I could depend on to an extent. I wish he would be still here amongst us, but he is dead, and I intend to have his death not be meaningless, but be the first pillar of change.” She lifted the keg, downed the rest into herself then poured another as its taste beckoned her.

  Relief. Mirayroth felt relief looking at her answer carrying a frugal hint of sorrow. Not much, but enough so his own distinct repugnance for acting as a corruptor of his beloved’s sister poked him not on dreamless nights. And he was sure, with time it shall further sunk into the moors of oblivion once she steps into the wider world once the grim task bestowed upon her shall be carried out.

  “Tell me, were you in deep sorrow when my sister passed?” Aurelithae’s question hit him like a cold, sobering shower choking thoughts and words.

  Mirayroth ruminated long, watching steam rise and fade from the cup before him. “I was and shall be until my dying days.” Aurelithae pressed no more the question as she found honesty on the face, on the black eyes welled by tears as he avoided her gaze. But he wept not, but drew a deep breath which calmed his tired nerves. “She shall always be the dearest thing to my cold heart. Though I am curious why your interest is greater in my relation to her, than what we seek from you?”

  Aurelithae allowed a little of her ruminating to pass through her mask. “I met with her little, though each left a deep mark, her boundless kindness, her dreams penned in her journal left behind, they stirred my curiosity when I was pathless in our flying palace.” She stopped a little. “But why it is greater than you seeking me to kill my own father? I am sure you are aware of our history; how Anessarion slain his own brother who joined the Teneavhei and devoured his flesh and blood to become the first, then Primuinis pierced his heart thousands of years later, only to not even reign as long as his father, and now my own father shall rule the shortest it seems.” It wasn’t for long, but Mirayroth saw the sardonic smile upon her lips forming and fading.

  “And I never read your name in her journal passed down to me.” She murmured beyond their hearing, in fear of the answer.

  *****

  A pleasantly chilling breeze swept through the curtains, lifting them up and letting the green-tinted silvery light of the Lunarius shine upon Styphonia the Septarch-Maghistratos of the Dawn Father’s circle in the Order. She worked late into the night, finishing a few approvals, sending healers and menders to the lower districts after another collapse of the tunnels, another attack of elementals leaving dozens crippled, and a few dead whose fate kept her from Oneiron.

  Though the scratching of her pen ceased, and her sunken eyes of a deep, rich green in stretched, small frames moved from the paper onto the stranger sitting across. Her listless expression faded, her lustrous, wide and thin lips curved at their edges, possessing the same fair white shade tinged with the green of ferns, whilst possessing a silken soft smoothness and texture like of the finest flowers. The hallmark of her pureblooded nature amongst her sylvan-kin.

  “It is a pleasure to be visited by the illustrious Mirayroth.” Though the mask hid his face, Styphonia sensed his mild surprise.

  “I guess it is inevitable, to be known amongst the esteemed maghistratos of the Order and its eight circles.” He said with little surprise in his voice. “Then you also know why I came?”

  She shook her head, and placed down her feathered pen, releasing them from the hold of her long fingers, from which thorns grew at the end, in the place of nails. “Not truly. Just my wishes you came to offer your aid, to work not from the shadows, but in the light of our father in the Dawn.”

  Styphonia could not see the mild sorrow form upon his face, and fade in the same breath. “Wish that would be the case. But alas, there are things I must do to ensure a future prosperous and better than what the Elhyrissiar and his kin offer.”

  Styphonia possessed no brow, only her soft petal like skin formed tender waves as she looked at him as if it would elicit an answer. “How can you be sure of that? Have the Sightless offered you a glimpse of the many paths forward?”

  He knew not what motioned his tongue into action, but as Mirayroth rose from the seating, he entertained to give half-answers. “It has been. I saw the myriad paths branching before the Empire, and its most prominent figures in the coming centuries. But I am afraid the One who shown me, your esteemed maghistratos of the Dawn Father would not like.” Like a serpent, he approached furtive, a portentous feeling stirred, brewed within Styphonia who slowly arose, still a genial smile accentuating her sincerity to save a lost soul. Though a part of her cursed the flowing golden dress with voluminous collars with lustrous white trims and striped edges. A more ceremonial piece than one for battle.

  Her intuition propelled the next words, sensing the true darkness lingering in Mirayroth. “The Black Serpent.” She murmured. “I knew those two were traitors.” She added, realizing her beliefs towards two of her equals, previously superiors were true. “Have the two of them sent you to silence me?” She asked wishing to buy some time, and believing the Mirayroth he heard from the downtrodden citizens he aided were true and he was led by altruism, which the darkness tainted for its purposes.

  “They have.” Mirayroth answered truthfully. “Though if not for certain circumstances, I would have let you purge them from the Order, but alas Fate is as cruel as always.” Mirayroth regretted carrying out the task, as he himself held respect towards the sylvan priestess and magusos of Dawn itself, believed she could have been a great player in the world to be born anew. One who brought the hope of Dawn on the initial despairing.

  Both stood face to face, let their robes billow in the entering cold wind. Both felt the gathering mana around them, materializing slow at first glance, in truth ready in the beat of a heart, the blink of an eye, the ceasing of a breath. Though in the case of Styphonia, she aimed to immobilize, bound Mirayroth as he worth more alive than dead. Especially in the long run, she believed.

  A thundering roar shook the tower, broke the windows into myriad pieces falling onto the square below. And the guards arrived, seeing their new leader resting in her chair, ominous black smoke arising from the crater carved into her bosom, tarnishing her fine golden dress. Putrescence lingered in the air, and Dusk triumphed over Dawn as the first light crawled over the city.

  A doleful exhale escaped Mirayroth’s dark lips beneath the white mask of his, whilst he stared down at the waking city from above the top of the Cathedral. “May you find solace in the long dream.” He whispered, fading into the last darkness of the sky.

  || || ||