A pleasant day it proved to be for Albrion. He soared in the valley, over the bridges and the plateau-districts of Luth-Astaril returning from his answering a call for aid made not afar from the city. The thirst of his sword–and his own bloodlust–satiated, by slaying a group of villagers answering the call of Night, of the New Dawn. For once he was happy maintaining his role as head of the Draennith Praetoreath, feigning loyalty to the Empire in all these years.

  The end was nigh after all.

  Though what sweetened it more, laid in the fact of Terrianis sealing himself in his throne chamber for the past two months. Many worried about his passing from the duel, though none uttered it, merely waited silent each day before the doors. Sometimes whispering, beckoning for the merest sign to be shown, but naught came. In some capacity, Albrion, Drussaev and Angura took the reigns dangling in the air, issued their own commands saying: “By his will!” or something akin to that.

  Unlike the two, Albrion refrained from carrying out his administrative duties, instead regressed back to the days he served instead of commanded.

  Soaring above the upper districts protruding from the Western Draemon Mountain, Albrion listened to the flapping of Colciorh’s wings, to the soft murmurs of frightened people below going by their day, not knowing when chaos shall unfurl in a moment’s notice. Chaos, like the small skirmish beckoning his attention northwards, in one of the largest squares near the bridge of the Gray Monarch sloping connecting to its neighboring district.

  The chapterhouse of the local custodians and the First Legion stretched in the small corner, casting its shadow over the defenders forming a shield wall. Two entrances were blockaded by Ephraimur’s slaves, whilst around the precipices, a high wall encircled the yard, flat topped towers near the gates. Atop each, a pair of archers volleyed down on the legionaries, custodians and Drussaev’s militia, aided by one magus each.

  All dressed fine for commoners, with boiled leather panoplies of a deep oaken color, rims fluted and dyed the deepest of black, speckled with glittering silver. On their leathery chest plates, a half disk rose in the embrace of a crescent. An old-world imagery, used in the olden days by the forces of Twilight, painted in mockery on the temples of the Dawn Father.

  Though Drussaev’s company held on, mildly outnumbered, but better equipped, the a few arrows thudded into throats, the gaps of the armor beneath their tassels. If not for Nephyti in the middle, their swords, axes and maces would have delivered killing blows, but thanks to her spell disrupting their perception of field, missed quite a few times, one or two fell whilst Colciorh dove down and spun, whilst Albrion swung down at the archers and focused on him.

  Drussaev spotting him, hailed amidst delivering a death dealing blow upon a tall and muscular djinn. Like Nephyti, he wore not the proper panoply for such an occasion, instead appeared in common, dull articles of raiment, meant more for blending in on the streets, fitting an aurhe of his honed constitution. Still, the few rings, pair of gem ornated brass bracelets and amulets given him protection in the same measures as an armor, differing more in execution. Instead of blocking blades or maces of denting his flesh, they amplified his honed reflexes, whilst also drizzled perception distortion upon his opponents.

  Within a few seconds after his arrival, the tide of the battle shifted in favor of the Drussaev and his men. Their vanguard pushed on at last, aided by Nephyti who could instead of protecting them, barraged the minds of the enemy, as much as she could, through the wards placed there by Ephraimur and Grimslaukh. Citizens vomited at a sudden torrent of nausea, then fell to the long blades, axes, and arrows once those on the second floor succeeded breaking down the stone encrusting the deep-set windows.

  A relief leaden sigh escaped Albrion’s lips, seeing the tide of battle turning in the favor of Drussaev’s Company. Though not for long, as the two noticed another two dozen scurry out from the north-western lane.

  The two swooped down, and a torrent of polychromatic flames swept across the wide street, billowed into the alley where a few retreated gnawed on by the colorful flames. Their apparels burned, the leather sizzled, and their flesh charred in a peculiar way. Instead of blackening from normal flames, they became vibrant in varying shades, in an utterly unsettling way. Colciorh always chortled, sensing Albrion’s shivering in his saddle.

  Once assured the flood has been dammed, the two circled back and landed on the fountain bearing the colorful statue of the famed Tribuniarh Galven who led a thousand legionaries in the defense of Heion’s shores, assaulted by a horde of wild goblins, gobokhs and orkhs. As soon as he landed on the blooded pavement, the two-brother slammed into a hug that shook their bodies. A warm reunion amidst the carnage.

  “What brings you here brother?” Albrion asked, glad seeing the two out of Legatius’s office.

  Nephyti herself had her hair let loose, her dark, silky tresses curled subtly framed the Magus-Crown of broad band with spikes protruding along its perfect circumference, cheek guards tapering into sharp points and set, inlaid with azure and amethyst, its golden rims emphasized the blues of her eyes. A robe of dull green and yellow accents adorned her lithe form, a long and voluminous shawl coiled about her neck, its loose end cascaded over her left shoulder, dangled as the pleasantly warm vernal wind swept through the yard, carrying carrion scent.

  “Came out on a small errand.” Drussaev said.

  His mood better compared to the past few years, where he mulled over his desk, shadows gathered around his lustrous citrine eyes. Though chaos cast its shadows over the capital again, bringing opportunities of bloodshed, the thrill of battle back to their lives, Albrion could not tell with utter confidence, if that’s what elevated his dear brother’s mood.

  “Tell me off it. I am quite free myself.” He said, knowing well it must have been important breaking away both from administrative tasks.

  Colciorh endeavored convincing Albrion not to tag along, through transmitting his thoughts. The dragon knew, the matter related to either the Blackened Circle or the New Dawn, and though he minded not playing along the protector of the Empire, sensed the path Albrion was one foot upon may bring regrets upon his soul. “”

  “You know of the murder of the elderly steward in the district below?” Albrion nodded. Deep in his thoughts, he felt the path diverged towards a point, where he could bring up his proposition to Drussaev. Or at least, sow the seeds. “He was not the only one who came forward. Another contacted the Custodians, wishing to report on treachery against our Empire. A stewardess of the Laneas Company, who themselves don’t trade in armaments, but for the past year, provided a few of their mercantile galleys to Proclus and his company, to show solidarity between themselves.”

  Albrion looked at the corpses carried away. “So, they provide the…” Albrion relapsed into silence, finding himself uttering the words the three siblings vowed not to spread amongst their troops. “the rebels with armor and weapons.” He said with a false conviction.

  “Possibly.” Drussaev said, cracking his fist, perching his brows whilst looking away. “Can’t exactly make accusations, especially as they provide my militia with weapons, potions and scrolls.”

  “And because our informant went silent, can’t reach them.” Nephyti added in a low voice. Drussaev nodded, then seemed to think of something.

  “Need my aid for distraction?” Albrion asked before Drussaev could suggest it. He nodded, whilst Albrion’s lips curled into a smile. “Move with haste, my skills rusted a bit since the last time.”

  “Ah, Lord Albrion, welcome in my humble home of commerce.” Middias spread his arms high and wide, a smile of utter congeniality written upon his bearded face that barely aged, despite his actual age. Behind him, his dwarven alderman, his three stewards holding account ledges close to their bosoms, two treasurers behind each steward, the eight scribes of his guild up on the inner balcony, several porters who were on their breaks, apprentices in the twenties and almost all the rest except the guards marshalled into the foray chamber to give Albrion the greetings warranted by his rank and position in the Empire’s hierarchy.

  “Thank you, my friend. Thank you all for this warm welcome!” Albrion lowered himself subtly.

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  He flashed a smile which elicited a few tender chuckles from the ladies minding not the break from their otherwise monotone day, and barely veiled grumbles from the men. His dark eyes focused on Middias, pointed towards the side door leading into the prominent shop’s display room. After Middias’s personnel dispersed, Albrion took a glance, eyes gleaming as the white walls ornated with paintings, decorative carpets imported from the far-south, noticed Drussaev and Nephyti floating up to the second floor in the empty yard. Just in time, before the porters returned to unload the hovering wagons.

  “Is there anything I could help with?” Middias asked, as a comely stewardess in a glamorous coat and flowing dress-shirt shut the doors closed on them.

  “Yes. Has there been anyone too eager to prove their worth in His eyes?” The two strolled around the oak caskets kept perfectly still in the air by runes of air and space. Their glass panels pristine and thick, emanated a mild power keeping the few swords, maces, axes of exceptional smith work in a timeless stasis.

  Middias scraped his chin, eyes seemingly closed whilst head inclined towards the ceiling. “Not that I am aware of anyone acting foolish. If so, they are acting beyond my sights. Did someone waver?”

  Albrion nodded. “Though I can’t say who as of now, just that they got overlooked or were more careful somehow.” Noticing Middias frowning, Albrion promised to solve this problem of theirs. “Bother yourself with finding out who is supplying medium-grade weapons and armors to the people. For now, your donations to my brother wavered his confidence, but in time, I am sure he shall connect the threads back to you.”

  Middias sighed. “Shall do so.” As the two headed for the mannequins, Middias looked deep in thought. To Albrion’s mild annoyance though, Middias refrained from parting with his thoughts. Instead reported on the progress of the sword he commissioned, a few years ago. “It is coming along well, thanks in part to Lord Grimslaukh delivering the gemstones from Dhaugruz.”

  Beyond the window in the edge of Albrion’s vision, he noticed Nephyti and Drussaev float down, ignored by the porters. Though on their way out circling around Colciorh, the porters greeted them like they were their fellow workers. “Shall it be finished before the New Dawn?” Middias nodded, then with their talk over, he personally seen him off.

  To the slight relief of Albrion, to the chagrin of Drussaev and Nephyti, nothing substantial came of their search through the documentation room. The ledgers they came away with contained charters, vast lists of the goods flowing in the city still, but all withing expectations. Food supplies for the plebeian, cheap fabrics for those sewing their own garments, clothes even the downtrodden could afford, and weapons listed even by Drussaev’s appointed quartermasters and stewards. Nothing, to incriminate or even pinpoint who was behind supplying the revolting citizens.

  Two days, they wasted on this matter. Two days, through which four more skirmishes broke out on the lower eastern districts, even near the Colosseum on the highest western plateau.

  When he visited him on the third day, Drussaev in his fine red and gold rimmed tunica stood by the window of his high office, looking down at the city. His right hand curled into a taut fist, nestled in his left palm forming a bed. Nephyti greeted him first, her eyes telling of worry regarding Drussaev whose veins popped on his sheared clean temples.

  “Brother.” When he turned, his eyes lost their luster against the inflow of emerald and amber. His tone sour, that of the defeated who found themselves without a path to trail.

  Albrion nodded, smiled heading for his desk, then looked through the sprawling mound of papers. Charters, ledgers, notes written up on reports, inquiries done the previous days through bribery–which Drussaev hated, but seen no other option–and even Nephyti provided aid, peering into the minds of others. But there was just nothing–as he expected coming.

  Whilst the New Dawn was a new branch of the Blackened Circle, the order has existed way before their grandfather ascended. Existed revealing themselves only to a select few, half of which joined their ranks, the other half doomed. Middias and whoever this eager fool was, learned this craft of the Circle well. Still, he hated seeing Drussaev frustrated, seeing him tremble as he contained his rage, put a fa?ade of calm for those he loved.

  “Contacted the informant since?” Albrion asked.

  “Haven’t yet.” Nephyti answered in her serene, lovely voice. “Our eyes reported she had been holed up in her domus, feigning bringing home her work in excess.”

  “Where have you been meeting with your informant?” Albrion’s question brought raised eyebrows from both. Seeing his bluntness, he looked down ruminating. “When I found myself before a wall, I traced back my steps, though altered suspecting they may have withhold small details, willing and sometimes without intent.”

  “We met on regular in alleys, usually late at night, away from prying eyes and attentive ears.” Nephyti answered first as Drussaev moistened his throat with a cup of strong wine.

  “Do you believe she may have lied to us? May even be tools in the games of merchants?” Drussaev questioned, or more like voiced out his thoughts jumbled by frustration and uncertainty.

  “Can’t say for certain. Chance is, she may have looked over important details. Was she ever in a hurry, looked over her shoulders when she approached, noticed anything in her mind?” Nephyti shook her head at the last. “Know where she lives?”

  “We do. But for her sake, I feared it may soil our already hazy relation.” Drussaev threw himself on the chair, looking up at the painted ceiling where dragons circled towards a golden disk. “But at this point, I no longer care.”

  Though Albrion expected a need for convincing, they all agreed on meeting down on the square, leave and head there separate. All through the long day, it left a queer taste in his mouth, growing as night approached. Thanks to the recent events, not many lingered on the white streets illuminated in silver. No amber leaked out from windows, all shut close in fear of stray spells setting them alight if chaos breaks out in their dreams.

  Eerie it was, walking the lanes, hearing his heavy steps echo in plazas, squares of the western mercantile district, interjected on occasion by a slight vernal breeze. As promised, Albrion spotted the two awaiting in an alley, right beside a lofty domus possessing its own high walls, a barred gate with its lock enchanted for protection. Though one easily broken by Nephyti, who led the group into the front yard, where a white lane led straight to the marble balustraded stairs leading to a roofed verandah. The two brothers’ weight creaked the dark reddish-brown planks forming the hardwood floor, whilst the Nephyti’s soft knocks echoed on the other side.

  Neither of the three heard steps as they waited five minutes on the dim verandah, with the two surveying the potted plants hanging by the thick marble rail. Unease settled on all three. Drussaev brows furrowed, though Nephyti calmed him once hearing his knuckles crack in the gloves. Albrion hardened his left shoulder, gently slammed against the door, whilst Nephyti quickly erected a sound proofing bubble around them.

  Albrion apologized swiftly, then the three peered into the dark antechamber stretching before them. A few runes of spatial and temporal nature adorned the door frame, extending the interior of the otherwise modest sized lofty manor of a domus. Though after they forayed in, in the estimation of the brothers, not many rooms existed in the altered confines, and even those stretched barely compared to their own residences. Nephyti thought otherwise.

  Beyond the chamber, they explored the servant’s area found empty beyond the furniture, long island of a table melded into the tiled floor, pots and boxed spices. Then a living chamber which floor was hidden beneath fifteen or so carpets, all different in sizes and shapes, forming a chaotic puzzle piece, though in color they all were the deepest of blues with golden brocades and edges. Bookshelves stacked along the walls, from one corner to another, their trail broken only by the doorways and the stairs winding up to the second floor.

  They found nothing and no one in either chamber, all things looked ordained by cursed with the urge of perfect pristineness and strictness.

  Whose nightmare of chaos manifested on the second floor, where shattered pieces of ceramic and thick glass pots formed a harsh meadow, paintings hung on the walls, close to tumbling upon the tumbled over tables, whilst a gentle breeze swept in from both windows at the ends of the narrow corridor. One door on the right remained shut, the left moaned ever so softly as wind passed through, carrying a sweet scent masking that of carrion.

  In the bedchamber, they found their informant, once a corpulent woman well into her fifties, shriveled and mummified, the painful process written eternally upon her agonized visage. Eyes sunken and hollow, teeth withered into dust swallowed by the perched, parchment-like throat grasped by two skeletal hands onto which the dried skin barely hung. No words needed, they all sensed the residue of Dusk sorcery lingering all over the bedchamber, flittering about the corpse.

  Even the wall rotted, lost their luster at spots. The wooden frames of the paintings started showing fracturing, the rich colors waned. One picked Albrion’s interest, one ever so slightly tilted. “What now?” He turned back towards Drussaev.

  “Though she mentioned it not…” Drussaev side glanced Nephyti. “She kept a ledger meant to bribe her employer.” Albrion turned back towards the subtly tilted painting, frowned whilst pondering whether it shifted because of the killer’s own search through the bedchamber or by her not having time to properly hide a hidden compartment. He marched over, hoping it was the latter, a prayer heard and delivered.

  Behind the painting, he noticed the faint outlines forming a cubicle, runes meant to trick the mind carved along their inner perimeter. Nephyti came up, and after pressing her right thumb against the center, the left against her own temple, managed breaking the spell and the lock. Before their eyes, the stone crumbled into ethereal particles hurling back into an unseen fold. A quite spacious aperture held several small chests, locked only in mundane ways of keyholes. Over them, though laid the diary in question, scribbled with the code language of the New Dawn.

  Skimming through the pages, Albrion handed it over to Drussaev and Nephyti, assuming the look of the one tired at finding another puzzle piece. An expression helped by the fact their informant knew little on the ones acting early. “Shall do some questioning myself too.” He added as they departed, knowing it was high time to contact Ephraimur and Mirayroth.

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