Fantasy Jacquerie

[Daan]

The masked male crossed his arms, brows knitting together in thought. The icy wind whistled in his ear, a loose window shutter squeaking loudly against the stone. He stood on a part of the Great Wall of Asmia—an enormous structure commissioned by some of the greatest architects in Udin. Neighbouring countries only found out when they realised most of these architects were going great distances to be paid a handsome amount of coin.

Ever since the Reynard Uprising—eventually the Asmia Revolution—the medium-sized country was silent in its affairs. Whatever happened within its borders was unknown, the only whispers of inner turmoil still being prevalent since the instated government of Black Iron. Yet even those rumours died out, too. Asmia's neighbours sent letters, only to be met with silence. The Great Wall of Asmia was completed only two years ago. A monumental project that took two decades to complete, an ambitious endeavour that made the most noise for those twenty years. Travellers not of Asmia origin or an architect were turned away from its borders. Asmia had been open to its neighbours in the past, but with Black Iron, it was anti-immigrant.

Soldiers were on patrol day and night during its construction. BIEF being there to watch like hawks over the workers, soldiers, and any illegal crossings. Reasons Asmia was quiet was due to its widespread use of magick, freely used across the entire country, and even encouraged by Black Iron. Through magick, the hunger that once plagued the lands was non-existent, homelessness nearly gone, too. Black Iron kept its promise to serving the people—it even held regular elections every 5 years, but voting was a low turnout due to how happy its denizens were. What Asmia didn't turn away were traders. After all, with magick, it was easier to alter memories once they left the country. They regulated trade from other countries, establishing contracts that were fruitful for most parties, but mostly for them.

Things that were on a tight leash in Asmia were its history, allowing natural citizenship to foreigners was not permitted, and those once citizens of Asmia were outcasts—Black Iron stripping away their citizenship and all ties to Asmia, this included ripping out entire generations of families. It was better to yank out the root before the weed took place, right? Last, but not least, keeping a tight, secure net on its borders and its citizens. So long as all citizens of Asmia followed the new laws, they could retire or working for as many hours as they wanted—the same courtesy didn’t extend to its prisoners, who were forced to do manual labour. But this didn’t mean Black Iron was all strict on its prisoners. They fed them decent meals, allowed socialising, gave them beds that didn’t wreak havoc on their bones, and allowed visitations from their families, and conjugal visits; at least those who were from Asmia. Any prisoners who had family or lovers outside the country were allowed to send letters, ones that were heavily censored by the government.

Pinching the bridge of his mask, he opened his eyes back up. The familiar screeching came from above. An eagle-sized raven, feathers ombre from black to white—a unique, familiar only recognised to its owner. Using his right hand to block out the blinding winter sun, he could see the raven swoop in lower to land on his right forearm. The talons dug into his padding, grateful for the armour he wore nearly every day. The male dug for some of her treats inside his left pocket, feeding her for braving the harsh winter of Asmia. He pulled the scroll clutched in her talons, letting Wynter fly off once more, and unfurled the parchment;

The Council requires your attendance at the castle tonight at 00:30. Don’t be late.​

'Of course, it's vague.’ He thinks, rolling the parchment back up to extinguish it in black flames from the palm of his hand. Crossing his arms back over his broad chest, long pieces of snow-white hair framed his face whilst the rest was tucked back behind him, loosely swirling in the winds.

“Foxe.” His name was called over the winds that picked up the pace.

Foxe turned his head in the voice's direction, seeing his handler grow nearer toward him. “Ironwood.” He greeted, his voice was deeply low and baritone. “You don’t come bringing me good news, I suppose.” He adds, meaning in a way of being on a mission from watch.

A chuckle reverberates in his handler’s chest, a large hand coming up to clasp Foxe’s shoulder, “Sorry Hound, just a reminder really.” Foxe looks at Ironwood’s hand before shrugging it off.

“Then I suppose you’ve the vial?” He questions further.

Ironwood pulls out the green fluid in a small, transparent crystal-vertical shape vial. Fingerless gloved hands gently clasped around it to pull it in front of Foxe’s eyes. Internally groaning, the snow-haired male snatched it from his hands to downing it in a second before returning the vial. The taste is unpleasant, like tar going down his throat.

“It doesn’t get easier, does it?” Ironwood rhetorically asks.

Foxe makes a noncommittal grunt, opting to look back out over the expanse of winter fields of white nothingness.

“Well, if we’re done here.” Ironwood draws out, “Then, I’m going back inside! It’s freezing out here!” He exclaims, nearly running back down the wall toward the first tower on his left.

A small smile forms on his lips. Despite being a human, Foxe could manipulate the surrounding elements, being a Magister and all. They were in the fourth season of Asmia, a harsh and unforgiving climate to those unprepared for the winter’s kiss that came with it. There were at least seven seasons that were observed in Asmia, more unique due to its position on Udin.

Foxe closed his eyes once more, seeing white even behind his lids. More often these days, Foxe spent his time on Watch Duty with the occasional visit at Black Iron Castle, and on rare missions of hunting down rebels or remaining royalists. Despite being a Magister, Foxe used his magick the least due to reasons only known to BIEF and Black Iron's inner ruling circle.

Unlike the other six magisters that existed within BIEF, Foxe wasn't required to attend their bi-weekly meetings. The Head of BIEF was Saena, a white mage who was the strongest of all seven elite magisters. With Asmia observing their fourth season—Winter—he was required to stay on the wall and make rounds to each guard tower; he was needed to keep the season stable. Something integral to Asmia’s stability, a factor the rebels of Reynard District didn’t consider when beheading the former Imperial Family, one of the members—someone they couldn’t figure out yet—was keeping the region stable. The Minor Incident of Caellond put the realisation in their minds, plus the multiple recorded unusual weather events that were taking place near that end of Asmia. Black Iron swiftly put the stability of the region at the forefront after losing more than a dozen villages and many lives to it.

One thing that was at the back of Foxe’s mind was the little girl that used to play with him. Like an itch wanting to be relieved. He wondered how she was doing these days, if she was even alive. What was she up to now?

 

[dailyrain]

Delicate fingers ran along the silver blade of a small dagger before one, fluid movement sheathed it back into a pocket. The ablaze fire crackled in the fireplace and provided sufficient lighting for the room, whose walls were plastered with posters of wanted people, wrinkled notes, and other information. The most important poster though, was left untouched; a map of the Island of Dorsrike.

The squeaking hinges of the wooden door and the sudden rush of cold air announced the entrance of someone with heavy steps. Expectant the young woman looked at the man, who merely stared at the dirty leather boots on the table. With a swift movement, she removed them, and he leaned against the table.

“You were right about this lad..” The man spoke with a raspy voice, “He wouldn’t let himself get caught, at least not alive.” The girls jaw tensed up. He wouldn’t be an easy one to get. She already had a long day awaiting her and now with this merchant’s son still out there spreading stories, she knew that it would be an even longer one.

“I told you that he would cause trouble.. No one comes here just because. All of them want something when they decide to leave the mainland behind.” The boy wasn’t the first one and definitely wouldn’t be the last one, to spread words about a rebellion, which took place west from the little, dark dot on the map.

The two of them always found that none would mention the brutality in which this beheading took place. A bloody and cruel act that had ended the lives of several members of the Imperial Family. It was luck and maybe the help of a god, which made the girl sit on this very chair decades later. With the Imperial family gone, Asmia wasn’t a safe place for her anymore, nor for any member or royalist of her family.

It wasn’t like the Sutdrais Family, ruling over these lands pretended this revolution had never happened; they didn’t want anyone to get the idea of doing the same here as well. Dorsrike was a rather peaceful place. Internal conflicts were inevitable but kept at a low range, and when it came to external conflicts, the small land was good at disappearing. Letting the big boys fight while watching from a distance and only strike, if it was necessary … Or fruitful for them.

Everyone could come and go as they pleased and mostly were greeted with open arms. If people comply with the regulations, they are free to roam the land and pursue their dreams.

“Raven.” The man was the first one to break the silence, “ He was last seen at the old Barrage Pub” Her lips curled in something that could be a smirk, and she acknowledged this new information with a nod.

With fluid grace, Raven whirled to face the older one, his dark eyes fixed on her. There was more to it, his face clear, like an open book. “Spill it Casiell.” Raven muttered lowly, donned the close-fitting coat, and flexed her fingers as she slipped on the leather gloves.

“He is different from others.” Casiell hesitated for a moment, his fingers scratching his five-o’clock shadow. Considering if he should move on, his eyes snapped back up to his companion, and he continued with a sigh “Before we lost him, he requested that he only will talk with one specific member of ours.”

Eyebrows furrowing, Raven cocked her head at him but understood “Don’t worry old hand. I’m sure we will have lots of fun together” Unconsciously, she reached to feel the dagger in her pocket and left without another word. Curious about this boy, which case happened to become a lot more interesting. Maybe this day wouldn’t be so long after all.

 

[Daan]

The wind howled throughout the castle, whistling between the gaps of doors. Asmia’s winters were unlike anywhere else. Much more frigid and cruel to its inhabitants, Black Iron saw it as a surplus when it uplifted the ban on magick—people wouldn’t die of hypothermia nowadays or go hungry from not having enough from the summer’s harvest. Despite living in the former imperial palace, the castle still grew cold, worse at night if they didn’t have fires crackling.

A gentle violin and piano carried throughout the mostly empty halls, echoing off marble and stone. With it coalesced the clicking of another’s boots, belonging to one of seven magisters; Saena. The current head and leader of the Black Iron Elite Forces was making her way across from the observatory to see Sefina—the figurehead of Black Iron. Though a little on the younger side, Saena proved her worth during the rebellion, showing her loyalty to Sefina when she beheaded the former Queen. No young girl should have to behead anyone, but she was willing to do anything to bring back her deceased family. Even then, Saena knew bringing back the dead was an impossibility, yet the Black Hound proved that to be false.

Her short, blonde bob bounced with each lithe step against the stone. Following the music, the halls once decorated with members of royalty were replaced with barren, opulent wallpaper. The occasional head bust appeared of those who did have family within the rebellion ranks. Brown eyes glancing across their faces, some empty with a simple stand in its place. Saena looked back ahead once the music became louder, her steps growing to a slow pace once she reached the destination where the violin came from. Surprisingly, finding no one there but Azari, another Magister who was practising their violin skills alongside their student.

Turning her head, she continued down the halls. If Azari was there then Sefina must be in the private gardens. It took another few minutes before she arrived at the back of the castle, making her way through the curved double-glass doors. Sefina was standing below the giant tree that had half of it sprouting of green leaves and the other half dead as death. Red and white hair pulled into a braid that spilled down her back, wearing light armour with her left hand resting on the hilt of her sword. Sefina was having another one of her moments, something only Saena and Black Hound knew of.

As her steps grew nearer, Saena stopped beside the older woman. Despite her age, Sefina had always been tall, but not as tall as her son or her husband. Saena looked like her daughter, standing next to her.

“Commander Foxe.” Saena greeted in Fayíti.

“Magister, what brings you here today?” Sefina retorts, being right to the point. Something that Saena always liked about her, never one to beat around the bush.

“Black Hound.” The nickname was given to her son, Ryker Foxe, who was also a member of BIEF.

She turns her head, her brows furrowing at Saena. The blonde woman was staring directly at the tree. It had a name and a legend, something she didn’t care for. Yet it was interesting because some legends were false and this one wasn’t.

“What do you plan on doing when-”

Sefina brings her hand up to silence her, cutting the girl off. “We’ll discuss this at the meeting tonight, Magister. I plan on bringing up his increasing instability to the others.”

This new information elicits a gasp from Saena, who is now looking Sefina back in the eye. Both not looking away from the growing intensity between them. “But won’t that draw out the vote to kick him from the forces?”

Sefina resigns to silence, turning her gaze away from Saena to look back at the tree. As a mother, she didn’t want to come to this conclusion, but as a leader, it was the logical choice. But it wasn’t what Saena was expecting. She had other plans for Ryker, a plan that the others would agree to almost unanimously. He might’ve been her son, but he was on the spectrum of being a rare magick type. Having black magick was almost taboo across Udin, the few that did have it vanished without a trace.

Saena stared at her for a few moments longer before Wynter swooped down from the skies to land on the tree that was rooted before them. The winged familiar sent a clear message to both of them, both women’s gazes catching the absence of the parchment that was stuck between the bird’s talons earlier.

“Tonight.” Sefina concludes as Saena gives a firm nod and walks away.

 

[dailyrain]

A cold breeze tickled Ravens prominent cheekbones and a few loose strands framing her hair, danced in the wind. It was a mild winter and compared to the winters at Asmia, these ones in Botniak felt like a playful whiff of a bored god.

The crowded cobblestone path was dusted with snow and crunched under her boots. Filthy meltwater gathered in small puddles, causing people to dance around them. Merchandisers shouted through the mass. Praising their goods and hoping for a few people to stop by to drop some coins into their greedy pockets.

A young boy bumped into the shadowy figure. He clutched onto a satchel, a shiny apple falling out of it and rolling into the mud. Raven could make out a voice calling after the kid, who had run for the hills and wouldn’t turn around anytime soon. Leaving the stale and salty air of the docks far behind. She didn't bother to run after the thief. The salesman had enough fruit to sell anyway.

From her canthus, a figure appeared and waved at the young woman. His hand was scarred and the tip of his index finger missing. The carpenter’s son was a hardworking lad. His brown hair brushed into a bun and a ribbon, she once handed to him a few weeks after she had arrived, holding the mess together. A small smile lingered on her lips. It was enough acknowledgment for him, and he returned to focus on his newest project. Chair legs were scattered around the workbench, one being carved out of the walnut block he had fastened. The sight made her wonder, if the Saint-Tree still stood in the private gardens, or if the rebels had it cut down, just like her family.


The streets had become less crowded and the people more gnawed off. Marked by the hardships of life. In the distance, the sealed windows of the Barrage Pub came into her vision and Raven's eyes flickered towards one of the broken windows on the first floor.
Whistling shadows surrounded her, and a force pulled at her body. One moment she was there and the other one, she was gone and found herself in the empty room. It smelled like piss and as if someone took their last breath within these walls. Raven wasn’t in the mood to probe the causes of it.

The faint sound of debris crunching on the floor echoed through the hallway, she moved on and made her way to the staircase. And there, lurking in the dark, the girl felt the presence of another creature. Someone was expecting her.

“No need to hide in the shadows. I know you are here.” His voice was softer than expected, and she came to a halt. “I know what you are and where your gift comes from. In fact, I have met him myself.” The blood in her veins froze and her gloves started to feel useless and sticky on her skin.

“Don’t worry, I am not here to harm you, but rather to ask for a favor.” Finally, she slipped out of the shadows, stepping down the last few steps to face the man. Her eyes wandered along his body. The black bangs were stuck onto his forehead, and the simple tunic showed off the muscular body underneath. He must have been a few years older than her, the fine lines on his skin revealing permanent exposure to the sunlight.
Her hand rested at her hip, just close enough for her to drag the dagger in case he would become a threat.

A few moments had passed without anyone saying a word, and he eventually went on with the same confidence: “Nothing big. I promise.. I just need your talent to play with the shadows"

“My skills are not for sale.” She countered. What a waste of time.

“Oh of course. I did not expect anything else from the spymaster.. But what if in return, I can help you to gain pieces of information about the things happening behind the wall.” A smirk emblazoned his face and a gold tooth shimmered faintly. Everything in her body told her not to trust this man and yet.. And yet it was tempting.

“I suppose you won’t reveal your methods on how you get this insight.” Another chuckle reverberates in his chest. A good joke indeed.
Crossing his arms in front of his chest, eyes wandered along her body, as he waited for an answer.

“Alright.. Tell me more about this favor.” His lips curled into a smirk and slowly bowed at her order. A rather mocking gesture than one out of respect.

 

[Daan]

Foxe pulled the door open with his left hand. The rush of icy winds was sucked into the tower. The whistling got louder until he stepped in; the door slammed shut behind him. He would’ve stayed out longer, if possible all day, but the winds were picking up a notch and even a Magister such as himself wouldn’t have braced against Azari’s winds. His brows pinched together, speaking in Thilani underneath his breath—a language that has dwindled in numbers since Black Iron’s instatement. He only looked up when he could hear muffled laughter coming from below. Foxe would’ve forgone dinner tonight, but his stomach protested eagerly.

Through the thin windows in the stone, he could see the blinding white pickup with the wind. A minor shift in the atmosphere. He sensed the need for another blizzard to engulf this area in particular. As if answering to the season itself, he murmured a, “No.” At least not until after tonight, when he did leave for Black Iron castle. Turning from the window, he headed down the wooden ladder, opting to slide down it entirely with a soft thud to the smooth linoleum flooring beneath his boots. Sounds of laughter grew louder. It was a rowdy night as he followed the noise from the ladder further down the long, torch-lit corridor, then to his left. The double doors already pushed open to reveal a long table, about five guards sat on benches with their soup and steaming cups of qahwa. The two other guards observed from afar, hands gripped around their own tankards.

Foxe quietly made his way around the boisterous bunch, toward the kitchen, where he poured himself some soup; chunks of meat, veggies, and spice trickled from the ladle into his wooden bowl. Continuing to grab a single piece of bread and pour his own cup of qahwa. With both hands full, Foxe moved from the kitchen to take a seat at the furthest end of the table, away from the other guards. He was well-aware of their opinion on him, something he didn’t care to bear fruit to. So when his body weight felt through the bench, this prompted the others to look over. Some freezing in their seats, watching Black Hound set his bowl and tankard on the table. A lingering silence hangs over the air, more-so awkward than tense as the others were used to seeing him out on the wall.

“Cat got your tongue?” Ironwood’s words break through the silence.

“Aye- not really. Just didn’t expect the Hound to show up for dinner tonight.” One of the Guards admit, the others murmuring in agreement.

Ironwood claps the same guard on the shoulder. “Well, you don’t have to worry about it. He’s a man after all- he’s bound to eat sometime, no matter how stubborn he is.” His voice grows longer at the end, earning a noncommittal grunt from Hound.

This prompts the Guard to randomly bark out in laughter, “See? He’s not so bad. He’s just shy.” Ironwood further teases Foxe before moving past the other guards, who become rowdy once more.

Joining Black Hound, Ironwood sits across from him and wears a goofy smirk on his face, “We’re leaving tonight.” Foxe announces before he could speak first.

“Wait- is this because-”

“No. Black Iron’s having a meetin.” He interjects Ironwood.

“Meeting? Aren’t we moving to the next tower tomorrow? Will it be possible to even leave the wall?” Ironwood is serious, his brow scrunching in confusion.

“I haven’t figured that far ahead yet, but leaving tonight while its calm should be alright. I won’t be too far away for any danger.” Foxe retorts, taking a bite of his soup-soaked bread.

“Was it vague?” Ironwood watches him, confused just as Foxe assumingly was.

“Black Iron’s way of keeping information slipping into the wrong hands. Can’t be too cautious these days.”

“So, it was vague.” Ironwood sighs in disappointment, opting to lean on his right hand.

“...suppose they’ll do anything about it.” One of the Guards speaks, their voice carries to their end. Foxe eavesdrops into their conversation as he nurses his soup.

“Not without a war happening, can’t see why Black Iron would want to investigate these rumours anyhow.” The Guard from across him takes a swig from his tankard.

“If there’s still an heir-”

The same guard slams his tankard on the table, “Enough!” He exclaims, getting up to his full stature to adjust his hip sword. “Anymore of that talk and I’ll have you demoted or worse, exiled.” The fury in the Guard’s eye is serious. “Now, get back to work, you lot. We have a job to do. If it’s not done right tonight, I’ll see you all without food the next two days.”

A coalescence of boots, clashing of wooden dishes, and metal cups clang together—the noise ramping up as low whispers began. The once lively atmosphere had grown tense among the Guards. Foxe finished his own soup by the time the others leave.

“Is it true?” He inquires from Ironwood. His handler was a stickler to rumours, gossip, any intel really.

“Everyone’s been talking about there still being an heir. I don’t doubt there might be some truth to it or there just being someone who wants to cause instability in Asmia. Either way, we shouldn’t dwell on it.” Ironwood gets up from his spot.

“Black Iron’s might’ve heard already. I don’t doubt BIEF’s already investigating the rumours.” Foxe retorts, finishing his qahwa.

‘Right.’ Ironwood thinks, remembering the Elite Forces. Technically, he only knew of their existence when he became Foxe’s handler. Otherwise, BIEF was an unknown secret guard of elite soldiers that handled matters that Black Iron wanted to swiftly end. He was temporarily shocked when he first learned of its existence and that Foxe was within its ranks.

“When do we leave?” Ironwood questions. It would be a long hassle to leave the wall with how far out they were from the castle.

“After midnight.” Foxe puts his own dishes within the pile that stacked on the side table. “Until then, we remain here and keep an eye out. Most likely won’t make a rotation until a day later, so get some sleep. I’ll be out on the wall.” Foxe concludes before walking from the kitchen, taking the same path that went back up to the wall.

Ironwood watched the Magister leave. A seed of doubt was planted in his mind. He wonders what Black Iron would do with these rumours. They were an imposing government that went to great lengths to quiet any royalists remaining. Dismissing the thought, he headed for the barracks, taking Foxe’s suggestion on catching up on his sleep.

 

[dailyrain]

Stepping back outside, Raven’s brows furrowed as the door slammed shut behind her. By now, the wheeling Seagulls had stopped tormenting the citizens with their shrieking. The whole town was flooded in reddish and orange light from the afternoon sun, as the wind slowly picked up its pace. A cold and brisk night was lying ahead. The merchants bundled together their unsold goods and people retreated to the warmth of their houses.

A night like every other, and yet, Raven couldn’t stop thinking about the words of this mysterious man. There was something about this youthful face and the way he spoke, she couldn’t figure out, which irritated her a lot more than what she would like to admit. There was more to him, and it annoyed her not being able to see through his façade. She couldn’t even ask her mentor about it, as he would start to lecture her once again about her safety and not to trust anybody. For now, there was just one thing for her to do tonight..

It was always the same energy that greeted Raven, when she hushed inside the “Bloody Hound”. The squeaking noise of the hinges was drowned by the liveliness of the pub. It was a popular place to seek company for the night or douse your sorrows with jugs of liquids, no one questioned. In one corner, a group had started a sluggish choir, singing about a bygone era of their youth spent on the ruthless sea and with the sweet songs of the sirens.

Behind the counter, the barkeeper was busy keeping all his customers happy. Filling one jug after the other and half listening to love stories. His prompt assistant, a woman with red hair braided into a crown on her head, glided through the crowd and kept the jugs coming.

Raven had come here many times before. Some would even say too many times, but something made her like this fuggy room. It was here, she was able to get her mind off things and to rip off some heedless workers at the same time.

Pushing her hood back, Raven passed by all these drunkards and walked to a wooden door, furthest away from the entrance. She scurried through the door and left the crowd behind.
“You’re late. We felt free to start the game without your presence.” A woman in her thirties was the first one to speak up to her, talking in Mehndi. A language that easily rolled past one’s lips and to some foreigners sounded like drunk muttering.

“I had to finish some business first.” Raven countered and found her seat at the round table. The woman didn’t even bother to look up from her cards she was holding in one hand. A glass with brown liquid in the other. 3 other players did the same and rather focused on their cards, than on the newcomer. “It is always business” A boy her age peeked up from his cards before with one smooth movement played three at once on the table. His face remained straight, his lips forming a thin line and his eyes unbothered. The fellow next to him could do nothing more but to pick up another card with a grunt. It wasn’t his best game.

“What am I supposed to say? Money doesn’t grow on trees” Raven shrugs and reached over the table to grab some cards to join the game, “Besides, it would get boring without a little thrill every now and then.” Scanning her cards, a cold wind tickled her ear. Like a ghost slipping through the shadows and trying to talk to her. It was a voice she knew all too well and a language that only a few people had mastered. Shaking her head, the whistling in her ear died down and left her with her own thoughts, as her fingers selected two cards.
“I’ve heard rumors are spreading through Asmia” The lad to her right started to talk again.

“They chatter a lot in those lands. Talk and kill.” The woman shrugged and took a sip of her glass, not seeming too interested in this subject.

“But this time it is about the possibility of an heir to still be alive.” With one swing, the room fell silent as four pairs of eyes stared at the brown-haired young man. “Even if that’s the case. It is none of our business.” Raven grumbled, relaxing her shoulders again, as the conversation ended and the game went on again. An uneasy feeling had settled down in her stomach at the thought of the people who had slaughtered her family suspecting her of being alive. She wasn’t scared, no, but it only meant that she would have to keep her head low and be more careful. But it also made her wonder if there still were some who got her back.

As her thoughts drifted off, she started to remember her days back in Asmia and the little boy she used to play in the mud with. Was he still alive? And if so, what was he doing right now, and on whose side was he? Probably not on hers, but would he recognize her? She wasn’t even sure if she would be able to identify him from a group of people. Eventually, a few years had passed since the last time they had seen each other.

“Done! Oh, come here” A raspy male voice pulled Raven out of her thoughts and collapsed with reality again, as the owner of the voice pulled the shining coins on the table closer to his end with a smirk. Scattering the last cards, Raven pushed her chair back and got up with one swift movement. She wasn’t a sore loser but had no intention of losing more money to this greedy nag. She was done for the night.

 

[Daan]

A hush fell over the wall, the winds grew to mild whispers; the low howling echoing between the cracks in the stone. Moving like silent sentinels, the guards wore cloaked armour that appeared as if no one manned the wall to begin with. A unique feature that was seeped into the wall was its property of absorbing the magick that was used freely in Asmia. The soaking magick made it warm up the stone beneath one’s footsteps, though not always since cities were far inland compared to villages that skirted close to the borders. In layman’s terms, the guards needn’t worry about freezing to death. It was easier at nightfall. Fires were practically useless—adding more mystery to a deserted wall.

The Magister perused the wall, a sharp eye on the outside; the occasional traveller, merchant needing direction in the night, to the rare pair of foreigners trying to slip through the cracks only to find it fruitless. Though he found it amusing when there were the ‘adventuring’ types that’d camp outside the wall—no matter how stupid it was—to tell stories of what happens behind the wall. His favourite was about monsters of unknown origin were behind it, lurking behind every abandoned building to snatch anyone going inside. Foxe might’ve been a ‘stoic’ type, yet even he had to feed his inner child. The stories were grander and far more imaginative that what he’d cook up. Usually one could see the light pollution or smoke rising in the sky, but not even that existed from behind the wall. Of course outsiders knew people lived in Asmia; traders were allowed entry into the country but were never seen again or the recently exiled would be ushered out the gates before shutting them again.

Currently, he observed a motley crew of the odd adventurers around a roaring fire, just outside his post. A younger Foxe might’ve joined them. Their voices carried in the air, the mild whispers proving its presence remained.

“...proving them right!” The younger male exclaimed, chomping down on what presumably was jerky.

“Pfft.” The female scoffed across the fire.

“Exiled.” A gruff, low voice remarked. He was an older man sitting in his own corner around the fire. “Foreigners don’t enter Asmia nor do they leave.”

“Huh? Why’s that?” The other female with obnoxiously pink coloured hair inquired.

“Just way they operate.” The man looks up at the wall, golden eyes searching for any guard. The feeling of being watched that settled in his nerves the moment they set up camp.

“See something?” A cheerful, smug feminine voice perks up. The woman who looks Foxe’s age wanders over from the horses.

This prompts the others to cast a glance at the deserted wall, seeing no one up there. Not knowing they were looking in the general direction of Foxe’s current position. Before they ultimately looked away. He observed them until they all decidedly went to sleep, except for the older male—he kept looking up at Foxe, expecting something or someone to jump out at him. Through his mask, Foxe got a closer look at the branding on the male’s inner left wrist; it was black and in a swirled shape with a snake in front of it. Not a royalist, another exile. The snake was a reminder of a noble house that was run out of Asmia during Black Iron’s first few months of operations. Foxe might’ve been a child then, but his memory is photographic.

Tenebris and Lux—the twins of Ciel—shone their gaze over the stark lands. More commonly known as the twin moons, they were a pair that provided the light in the dark. Their legends varied among Udin. In Asmia, they were siblings birthed from the Ciel and Nyx. Staring right back at them were many eyes; lovers, siblings, leaders—and they envied how they could co-exist in harmony. They hung at the height of their time. Night had graced these lands more quickly than Ciel did in the summer months.

Another pair of two crawled from the depths of the tower. The twins glanced their way, their gaze provided a clear passage. Ironwood complained about the cold despite wearing furs.

“Don’t suppose we’ll go by gates this time.” He glanced at Foxe.

“Not this time. Might’ve worked during any other season than winter.” He reminded him where the bulk of his magick was focused on; keeping Asmia’s harsh climate tamed.

“Is this why you woke me early? I was having a good dream yanno.” He grumbled, pulling his scarf closer to his chin.

“Climb down. We’re taking the horses.” Foxe instructed, pointing to the black ladder that was built within the wall on the inner side. More grumbling about the cold and being his handler, Ironwood eventually got to the stables, with Foxe practically on his heels.

“Aya, Ironwood. Ironwood, Aya.” Foxe introduced him to the wild horse that was antsy to be free already.

“Uh… can I get that one instead?” Ironwood pointed directly at his.

“No. We better go now. We’ll arrive at the castle on time if we leave by time the twins move from their thrones.” Foxe spoke in a brisk tone, already mounting his horse.

Ironwood mounted his with caution, finding Aya to tolerate his presence only because she wanted to go riding already. Soon as he cracked the reins, Aya was speeding past Foxe down the road. A low murmur of Latmevian from Foxe swirled into the winds; his message would be delivered before they’d make it to the castle.

 

[dailyrain]

Besides the occasional sot who staggered around and rats digging through the leftovers of the day, the streets were empty. A girl younger than Raven was wearing clothes way too short for this season, as she hushed through the shadows to go and see her next customer. A chill went to Raven's bones; she could have been one of them. With a little less luck, she could be out now whispering sweet words of nonsense in the ears of people whose faces changed every day. She would laugh softly at the right time as her delicate fingers would run along rough skin.

It was her uncle, who spared Raven a life in the slums, and she was more than grateful for that. She wasn’t even sure if she would have survived the endless nights and freezing winds.

Now, Raven wouldn’t have to worry about when her next meal would be or if she would find a warm place to sleep. The small hut close to what her uncle liked to call, The Palace, was always awaiting her with a lively fire dancing in the fireplace and, on some lucky days, a kettle with boiling soup would hang on a staff. But as much as she liked to stay at the hut, as much did the other members of the Court of Shadows residual here, and so it came as no surprise when she was met with another pair of eyes.

Cassiel sat in an armchair close to the fire. His bootless feet were outstretched in front of him and his boots were drying nearby. The shadows dancing on his face made him look older than he was.
His eyes remained on her, as she plopped down onto the bench and pulled off her boots to massage her heels. The stiff leather clawing at her skin.

“So.. This merchant's son is different from the others, and I actually mean different” Her voice resonated through the room and interrupted the crooning fire.

“As expected, he was waiting for me, but also offered a bargain.” Without having to look, Raven could imagine the face her handler would make: mouth in a thin line, brows furrowed and eyes scrunched together in suspicion. He kept his mouth shut though, waiting for her to continue her story.

“He would give me pieces of information about what is really happening behind these walls.. And in return, I would help him get something back.” Now Cassiel had opened his mouth, ready to protest, but Raven shot him a glance he knew too well.
“I hope you know what you are doing.” He eventually told her with a deep and raspy voice.

“I do because there is more about him. Secrets I want to discover.” Even in this dim light, the change of Cassiel’s features didn’t go unnoticed, but Raven had no intentions of justifying her decisions. She was old enough to fight for herself.

“You should have seen him, and with that, I don’t mean following him in the streets, or else you would have noticed his Tattoos.” Cassiel shifted in his seat. He pulled his legs closer to rest his elbows on his thighs while staring into the flames.

“I have seen them before, though I do not recall where” Raven continued, biting her lips as the picture of the black lines formed before her inner eye. “On either inside of his wrists.. On his left, a swirled shape with a snake and-“ A thump interrupted her, as Cassiel was up on his legs, his eyes flickered to the bookshelf before rushing over to the other side of the room. His long fingers traced over different book spines before he found what he was looking for and pulled out a rather thin book that had seen better days.

He sat down across from her, fingers fiddling through the yellow pages which seemed like they might fall apart any minute. It took Raven a while before she recognized the book:

“Noble Houses of Asmia” Every important family had their own decorated page with their crest and an elegant drawn family tree.
Cassiel swung the book around to offer his companion a better look at the page he had been looking for, his finger pointing at a crest almost identical to the tattoo she had tried to describe.

“Exiled.. He is an Exile of Asmia.” Cassiel must have noticed how her brows furrowed and her brain tried to put the dots together.

“But why? And how?” Raven asked no one in particular, the string of words passing her lips.

“I don’t know, but if he really came from Asmia, he does have reliable information’s. He knows what this place looks like today. But the other tattoo..?” The male pulled his eyes from the drawing and up at the woman across from him.

“A rune..” With a smooth movement, Raven got up to find a piece of paper, ink, and a feather, before she scribbled the outline of the second tattoo on it.

“Never seen it before. Sorry kid, this one is for you to uncover.” Cassiel shook his head and returned to read as if the story of the noble family could tell him why this stranger got exiled.

 

[Daan]

Azari rested their chin under clasped, manicured, delicate hands. Violet eyes looking down at a partial map of Asmia—the entirety of it took up the long, marbled table. They sat in a large, dark wood chair, several cushions to make it more pleasant to sit for long periods of time. Being the only Magister there, they took this time to observe parts of Asmia- well for long as they could before a light wind brushed the left side of their curly brown locks. Latmevian.

‘Black Hound.’ They confirm with the messengers. A small smile forms on their lips. Black Hound would surely be late by the time the others got there. Ironwood and he just left the wall, considering the distance via horseback- it’d be much longer than that. Azari did question why Sefina needed a meeting, one that involved the hound.

“Azari.” A deep, gentle male voice spoke. This caused them to look their way from the map.

“Marci.” They greeted back, albeit with an amused tone.

“Marcius.” He corrected them. Sounds of his boots thudded against the smooth flooring as he made his way across from the left side of the room. Each step echoed in the large war room. The acoustics in this room never ceased to amaze Azari. “Surprised to find you here early. Usually you’re the last one in.” He remarks, taking a seat across from them.

“Well, meetings are important, no?” They questioned. “Then you’ll be more surprised that Black Hound and Ironwood will be late.”

Marcius’ dark brows rose. “Suppose there’s a first for everything.” He retorts. “...that doesn’t explain your early attendance.”

“I’m not going to miss the chance of Saena chewing out the Hound’s ear.” Azari revealed, the amused tone apparent.

“Chew out whose ear?” Another voice questioned loudly. This time, their footsteps were clicking. Wearing heeled boots was a favourite of theirs.

“Eir?” Azari’s amused tone washed away to genuine happiness. “Are you done with those brushes yet?”

“Aye.” Eir sighed, voice light. “Not even close. I’ve been commissioned for a more complex piece and the customer wouldn’t budge on the finer, smaller details.” She vented, finding a seat next to Azari. Like them, Eir, too, had violet eyes matching with equal violet hair tied into dual buns. Thick, circle glasses sat atop her nose. Eir’s most diminutive trait was the star and crescent-shaped moon birthmarks on the edge of her right eye.

“Marcius, have you found those scrolls yet?” Belonging to a friendly, older male. He hobbled in with a staff acting as his walking cane.

“No, Asger. You’ve only requested the scrolls yesterday. I’ve yet to look through the other shelves. Have patience, old man.” He huffs out.

“Old man? I’ve never looked younger!” Asger exclaims. He thumps Marcius on the head with his staff before finding a seat beside him, earning a glare from Marcius.

“Almost everyone’s here. Just missing the Hound, Saena, and Ylva.” Azari comments.

The others look around and only four out of seven have arrived. Excluding Sefina, that’d be everyone there from BIEF.

“Where’s the lass, anyhow?” Marcius questions.

“Probably harassing the locals at the port. Will never understand-” Asger’s sentence is interrupted by a small blade embedding itself into the marble—somehow, someway.

“Old man, never knew you were worried about me.” Ylva’s voice carried from the ceilings. Everyone looked up to see the woman hanging upside down from one of the arches. Bright-auburn hair spilling around her, a smirk appeared on her lips. She let go before falling gracefully onto her boots. The sounds muffled by Azari’s wind, they aided despite knowing Ylva was more than capable of landing a fall that high up. The woman made herself comfortable at the head of the table, knowing full well that Sefina would scold her.

“Falling from ceilings is precisely why I care about you, lass.” Asger remarks, stomping his staff twice.

Ylva laughs. “Worry about yourself. Those old bones aren’t what they used to be.” This earns a few chuckles from the others. Almost like a family themselves, if it weren’t for the fact that they only met because of Sefina’s request. Otherwise, they merely tolerated one another.

The large, opulent white-stone doors rumbled opened, thudding against the walls to cause the others to look over at the front entrance. The older woman walked in, a stoic expression that caused the others to stand abruptly from their chairs, bowing at a precise 90-degree angle. The only one who didn’t join the others in the bowing was Ylva. She was eating on some berries.

“Magister Ylva, would you kindly find your seat so that we may begin.” Saena’s voice carried. Despite being younger than Ylva, Saena wasn’t one to play games with. Ylva gave a dismissal bow before joining a spot beside Eir.

“Black Hound has yet to arrive, Commander.” Azari informs her. “In fact, he’ll be arriving much later. I suggest we get started without him.”

Sefina took the seat at the head of the table, looking for confirmation from the others before answering. “Very well. It seems we have much to discuss before he gets here. Saena, will you begin?”

Saena nods, bringing her hands up to pull off her black gloves. A spark of golden light temporarily filled the room, blinding the others. Once she finished setting up a live feed of the populace on the map, she took a stance next to Sefina. Everyone looked over the moving dots on the map. One stood out from the rest—it was black and moving quickly beside the black dot was a white dot. Sefina gave a long look at the dots before glancing at the rest.

“Report?” Sefina inquires.

“General populace is overall happy. The Administration continues with exiling out any remaining conspiracists and royalists. Temporary rumours continue to plague villages on the borders.” Saena reports.

“Rumours?” Marcius leans forth, looking at moving dots near the borders.

“Although, pinpointing the origin of this rumour is currently being worked on- there’s no stopping this rumour.” Saena adds.

“What’s the rumour?” Sefina’s brow furrows.

“That there is a likely chance of an heir remaining. Rumours are theorised to have some truth to it, even if vaguely.” Saena retorts. With a snap of her fingers, a triangle appears closer to Marcius and Asger’s end. “The rumours are likely to have originated within this area.”

“Why am I not surprised?” Marcius comments.

“We border Zefadolon and Opheros in those areas. Most of the nobles were exiled there or…” Asger points to the east-end of Asmia.

“Advalur.” Eir completes his sentence.

“The nobility were magick users, but we were able to erase partial memories of the revolution from most houses. Unfortunately, there remain a handful of nobles who were highly resistant to our methods.” Eir says, letting out a sigh of disappointment.

“Investigate this rumour, Saena. If there’s even a slight chance of an heir remaining, I need to know.” Sefina said. “Black Iron will implement new laws. If anyone resists, Eir, I want you to continue with exiling and imprisonment. Asger and Marcius, continue investigating any remaining theories on...you know what. Azari?”

Azari looks up from the map, surprised that Sefina was even calling them. “You’ll be making a trip to Todazur.”

Azari’s brows rose. “Todazur? May I ask why?”

“Yes, I need you to contact my late husband’s family. There remain some of his siblings living in the capital of Cuzund and a smaller coastal town-”

“Brae.” Marcius interjects.

“Brae.” Sefina gives him a look before continuing. “I will send a list with you. You may want to wear something less extravagant and using magick is forbidden there. Marcius may help you with their customs. I don’t doubt they question travellers passing through.”

“Until Foxe gets here with his handler, I have the matter of him to discuss once he arrives with everyone here. For now, continue with reports.” Sefina continues, urging Eir to go next.

“Right- of course, Commander.” Eir stands quickly, weaving a magick of green symbols in the air before continuing with her report.

 

[dailyrain]

Some time had passed since Cassiel had read more about the noble families and their ancestors. He had left the place, grabbing another book from the shelf and telling Raven not to stay up for too long. That was hours ago and since then, Raven had stared at the dancing flames that kept her company on this windy night. The paper with the ink drawing of the rune, still laying in front of her.

The fact that she had seen it before, gnawed at her. A tingling feeling in her stomach that wouldn’t stop, until she knew the story behind it. Where or whom it belonged to.

Outside, the wind quickened its pace and caused the fragile glass to shiver. It made it seem like even the glass disliked the reckless weather of the port city. Raven pulled her gaze from the flames towards the window, meeting another pair of green eyes. Her gaze wandered over the girl’s sandy brown hair, which fell in waves over her shoulders and barely covered her décolleté. A black hood was pulled back and a plaited leather armor underneath peeked through it. Shaking her head, Raven turned away from her reflection and focused back on the paper in front of her.

“It seems so close, and yet you can't solve this simple puzzle.” A soft and baritone voice cut through the music of the howling wind and crackling fire.

A shiver-spider crawled down Raven’s back, as the house felt draughtier and darker than before. Even the fire suddenly seemed to hold back at the strange power and frozen in time. The girl’s eyes followed along the visitor's edges and the shadows surrounding it.

“Sachairi”

A small smile lingered on his pale lips, as her gaze collided with his. It was like looking into a deep and unpredictable void, devouring every light and color. She pulled her eyes away from those black holes and instead surveyed his even paler skin. Only the occasional blood vessel made one assume that he somewhat was a living thing, or at least once had been.

His steps were inaudible, making one believe that he was floating through the room, as he walked around the table and, with a swift movement, took a seat across from the smaller figure.

“What will you do I wonder.” He spoke again and Raven knew what he was referring to. Sachairi knew everything. There was no place to hide from him.

“You know the lad?” Rather a statement than a question, as Sachairi shifted in his seat. The world felt strange, as he disappeared and now stood and studied the books, just like Cassiel had done earlier. Time had stopped and seemed unnecessary in his present.

“Even if I would tell you, you wouldn’t recognize his name. Or any of his names. I saw him grow up and watched him get involved with things that should have stayed undiscovered.” There was a hint of disappointment in his voice as he turned around and his eyes focused on her again “And yet, he wasn’t near as fascinating as other pawns.” His arms crossed in front of his broad chest, which he hid underneath a simple leather jacket, buttoned up to his neck. Raven couldn’t remember seeing him wear anything else.

“He is not special and does not wear my mark..” His words made her skin prickle and her right shoulder started to burn. She remembered the feeling from when they first encountered and Sachairi gave her a gift.

“And yes, I know the rune” It wasn’t the first time, he referred to her thoughts “But where would the fun be if I tell you about it? Sooner or later, you will figure it out by yourself.”

Her head dropped, and the rune seemed to light up. Small blue flames dancing from the outline of the black drawing, and it almost felt like something was singing in her ear.. Or screaming?

A shriek from far, far away. Coming from another place, few have been to and even fewer have returned from.

“You are about to face something beyond your world. I am beyond curious to see what you will do. Will you make the same mistake, as many did before you? Or will you be smarter? Either way, I expect a good show.” The wind blew stronger and, within the blink of an eye, Sachairi disappeared into thin air. Leaving Raven behind.

The fire came back to life and filled the room with comfortable heat.

 

[Daan]

The rush of the wind whistled past his ears, brushing his face with icy tips. His horse, Nagi, was trying with all his might, the constant pounding of hooves against the snow. If Foxe felt if his horse was getting tired, he’d reinvigorate the animal with energy—replenishing him to his max. Might’ve seen a cruel act by anyone, but Nagi trusted him. The two practically grew up together. Their bond was as close as two peas in a pod.

As wild as Aya was, she was keeping in close pace behind Nagi. Ironwood’s curses lost in the winds. Unlike Foxe, Ironwood could feel his body growing uncomfortable from the amount of riding they’ve been doing. His cheeks had grown flushed from the cold. No amount of furs could stave away Asmia’s cold. So when the noticeable braziers alight in the distance—barely visible—Ironwood’s eyes practically lit up like a child’s. Unlike the orange-red fires usually gave off, these gave off a turquoise-blue, showing its origin as being of magick.

The capital of Asmia remained Beaullon. The people of Beaullon could boast about being of few cities that remained intact during Raegar’s conquest of Udin. The castle was never breached, the walls barely cracked beneath his pressure of assault. One of the King’s of the former monarchy—with the will of the Asmian people—had stopped the mad man’s conquest. Suppose Black Iron could thank them for that, if their morals hadn’t changed from the people’s hearts. The two were coming from the south end of Beaullon. The blue fires came closer into view the faster they approached.

Unlike before, Asmia had no gates built around the city. They were built during the construction of the wall. Black Iron called it, “safety precautions.” The Guards stationed around here wore mirroring armour, a stone infused in the middle of their chest plates. Black Hound wasn’t the only one who knew how to forge magical armour- no, there were many others that came from all over the country. The handsome payment and afforded amenities provided by Black Iron were more than enough to coax artificers out from every unturned stone and crevice.

Foxe snapped his fingers together on his left hand. A white light lit up. It took little more than that for the barriers to temporarily come down and the gates rumble open. Gripping the reigns again, he cracked them to up the speed on Nagi, nearly leaving Aya and Ironwood in its wake. Fayíti filled the air; the new language of Asmia. Unlike the former official language being Thilani, Fayíti was much more rough, that composed of guttural sounds and hisses. The common tongue was much more scarce outside of the capital, it was as common as Fayíti was currently. Like Foxe, there were few who spoke Thilani—his mother being one of those speakers.

The duo raced through the gates, not breaking speed as the roads cleared of civilians. Though with how quick they made their way through the streets, Foxe picked up on the change of interest from their usual gossip. It was almost rare for him to be seen in the city; strolls were non-existent. So when Asmian’s saw Black Hound, their interest piqued his way; many usually wondered what he looked like from beneath the mask. He was like a myth walking amongst mortals, despite how human he was. Many treated him as some kind of mysterious creature that had come from above.

They arrived at the looming castle, walls taller than the outer gates that surrounded the floating city. Once at the stables, they abandoned the horses to the stableboy. Black Hound’s sudden appearance caused a stir among the help. The Guards stationed at the front moved a part like the red sea; opening doors, closing them. All whilst Ironwood was observing the surroundings. He couldn’t quite remember the interior of the castle, let alone the city of Beaullon looked after being away for so long. Much had changed in their time away. No doubt it was Saena’s doing in redecorating the place. Foxe knew his mother was never one for interior decorating.

It didn’t take them much longer to be directed by the Page to where the meeting was being held. Once there, a pair of double-doors set before them were pushed open by the page. Revealing the war room, all the Magisters were there, including Sefina. For Ironwood, he was...surprised by who the Magisters were—all of BIEF were here, at least the heads of what made BIEF. Apparently, they interrupted part of the meeting as Asger was standing, leaning on his staff for support, going over the map of Asmia.

“Black Hound.” Saena spoke, “You’re late.” Her voice carried across the room.

“Apologies, Magister Saena.” He retorts, motioning for Ironwood to follow him. They sat near the end of the table.

“Ironwood.” Sefina spoke up, nearly startling the man.

“Y-yes, Commander?”

“Usually we have these meetings with just the Magisters, but seeing as you’re the handler of Magister Foxe. I personally requested your attendance as it concerns not only him, but you as well. Under oath and your pledged loyalty, nothing is to leave this room. Understand?” Sefina informed him.

Nodding, “Yes, Commander.” He spoke more resolute with a firm tone.

“Then, Magister Foxe...might you come to the head of the table and show why you’ve been requested here in the first place?” Sefina’s gaze was already on her son.

Giving a subtle nod, Foxe stood to his full height. He was an imposing man, over towering everyone in the room alone. His boots barely made a noise as he made his way from the end of the table. Once at the head of the table, Foxe slid his mask off with ease; revealing milky-white eyes when he opened them. Equally sliding his gloves off, his left hand was black, whilst his right was perfectly normal. Black Hound continued with removing his left vambrace, placing the armour on the table before rolling his sleeve up. Unveiling more of the black that went past his wrist, enveloping his forearm to the elbow; his veins pulsated with the black sickness that infiltrated other smaller veins that showed through his pale skin. One could scarcely notice the scars that littered his arm.

“Morsi Ichor.” Sefina spoke, tearing her gaze away from his arm to the others. Most were in disbelief. A solemn look fell on Asger's and Ironwood’s faces equally.

 

[dailyrain]

With a candle holder in one hand, Raven tiptoed through the aisle of her Uncle’s library. Shelves that reached from the floor up to the ceiling were sorted with books of every size and origin. The light the candle had to offer, was almost useless and got drowned by the dark wood of the furniture she passed. The bigger version would’ve been just as useless, as the window façade offered the sun or the moon to float the mystical place with rainbow light.

Looking from afar, the colorful pieces of glass formed a bigger picture. Raven had found herself studying many times when she was younger. A man stood tall in the golden frame, one hand rested on the shaft of his sword, which hung on a belt at his hips. The other one holding, as if presenting the world to the viewer. A silver crown, formed like rose thorns intertwined together, was placed just a little over his golden hair. The monks living in the monastery had told Raven that he was the founder of this great place. The stories had sounded more like wishes and dreams and even if they weren’t the truth, their falsity didn’t make the library less beautiful. The dust dancing in the rays of moonlight only added to the fairy tale look of this place.

With caution, Raven placed the candleholder on a wooden table set between two shelves and stepped closer towards one of the massive book walls. Her eyes trailed along the spines of books she had never heard of before and was quite sure her uncle didn’t know about either.

Besides their legends about the Great Founder, the monks preached about the immortality of the library. Ancient stories claimed that these walls had been here since the beginning of time. No one knew who had built them or what their purpose was, but it always offered the visitors what they were looking for.

Raven haltered as she spotted a spine darker than the others surrounding it, which caught her interest. Maybe these sayings were true..

The worn leather cover had no title.

Instead, the outline of a tree decorated the dusty front.

Placing it near the candlelight, Raven took a seat on the bench, the buzzing excitement spreading through her veins, which only cooled down when she was presented with words written in an ancient language. Her brow furrowed, she had never seen letters and their combination before. They wouldn’t reveal the secret of their meaning to her, and doubt started to settle down in Raven's abdomen.

She flipped through the amber pages and the faint outlines of a drawing came to light. A tree, similar to the one pressed onto the leather cover, whose roots were drawn in fine black lines down the page and formed some sort of cave. A small box was placed in the middle. Well protected from the dangers of the outer world.

Raven had heard many stories about this tree, but this one was new.

No one had dared to cut it down when they started building the walls of her old home, but instead assimilated it and formed a garden around it. Few had declared to hear the tree whisper at night, and people were divided by disagreement if these statements were true.

Another story came to her mind, which claimed to explain the reason for one blooming and one dead side. People said that the tree could find underground water sources, but because of its own poisonous roots, the water became undesirable, and the tree poisoned itself and with it the soil fertility of the surrounding areas.

Finding the veracity of these stories wasn’t something Raven had been spending a lot of time on, but the new story unfolding in front of her would change her mind. She let her finger follow one of the roots and around the box, till they came to a stop and a smile formed on her lips.

“The Saints damn me..” a chuckle vibrated from her chest, as she crossed her arms in front of her chest and leaned back again. The feeling of excitement pulsating through her veins once more.

 

[Daan]

Morsi Ichor. A myth. A legend. Taught as a children’s bedtime story in Asmia. With magick prevalent in the closed off country, it was read a cautious tale to wield one’s magick right or be cursed to the void. Unfortunately for the Magisters and everyone in the internal council of Black Iron’s government, Morsi Ichor always existed within the magical world. It was one of many things left out of history, teachings, and even squashed among those few storytellers who wanted to get the ‘truth’ out.

Foxe rolled his sleeve back down and put his vambrace back on with his gloves. Given a curt nod to return to his seat. The first one to speak up was unexpectedly, Eir.

“Does this mean Yukio and Nivia are going to be sought out?” Eir questioned.

“Unfortunately.” Sefina retorts, eyes dull.

“But it has been many years, Commander. Where would we even look for...them.” Asger turned his head their way, looking more determined to save the Black Hound.

“Todazur.” Saena answers for the Commander, bringing up two small red dots over a larger map of Udin. “For other reasons, I’ve been tracking them down for months now. Yukio currently resides in the Voumor Palace, meaning he’s in some high-ranking position in Voumor’s employ. Nivia, however, is in Cypress—a mountainous city located in the southern blizzardous region-end of Todazur.”

“I’m guessing this is where I come in when I do make a visit there.” Azari speaks up, chin resting under their hands.

“Yes, yet Magister Foxe and Ironwood will join you.” Sefina says. “Considering it concerns his health, there will be no objections to this.”

“...then who will watch the winter—” Ironwood spoke before being interrupted by Marcius.

“Luna. She’ll watch over the season whilst you’re gone. Doubt much will change.” Marcius interjected.

Sefina acknowledges this. Luna had been showing exceptional skill at Voltmore Institution. She was far younger than anyone within BIEF yet mature for her age. After discovering his unstabilised magick, Luna was being groomed to eventually take over his position within BIEF. It was only a matter time of when and not ‘if.’

“Luna will take over your position for the duration of your travels outside of Asmia, Magister Foxe. I suggest you take the time you need now to finish any of your current tasks. You’ll be leaving in two days’ time.” Saena orders him.

“If there’s nothing else, I wish to leave as soon as possible to finish up my current tasks.” Foxe retorts. His gaze sliding over from Saena to his mother. The two given each other a long look of understanding before being dismissed by the Commander, his mother. After he left, Foxe knew one of three things: he’d eventually die of Morsi Ichor, be cured of it, and the last being, he’d eventually be replaced by this so-called Luna. Things got a bit more complicated.

 

[dailyrain]

The low flame of the candle flickered, desperately holding onto the wick. Onto life. It had been hours since Raven had taken a seat on the old bench and bent over the book, reading about different tales and stories of the land that once had been hers. And still hers. Raven was determined to get back what had once belonged to her family. Which had been pinched from them without any sign of compassion.

Having read for hours and been seated in the same position, her back ached and legs tickled. She stumbled across stories about grateful rulers, mystical magisters, and even an old bedtime story, which combined both. The story about Morsi Ichor, her mother had told her about before.

Now Raven had become curious, if they had fed her another lie, to prevent her from playing with other children outside the court. The dangerous children, how her mother used to call them, and the very reason, why she wasn’t allowed to visit the slums. It had been too far away from the guards and especially her mother's eyes. Now, with some magic running through her own veins, Raven could understand every mother’s fear of losing their daughter. She understood the power magisters held, and how dangerous they could become, if they decide to turn this magic against one.

With a blow, the orange light source died and the table crunched under the weight of a visitor. Unusual for someone appearing to be a weightless soul “Seems like you found a good book. Been studying it well?” Sachairi’s voice disturbed the comfortable silence, Raven sat in. Straightening her back, her eyes met the dark dots which were holding galaxies. Gracefully he sat on the table. The shadows were dancing around him, like restless souls and his upper body tilted backward, leaning on his arms.

“You said you were curious to see, what I was up to?” a smile lingered on the girl’s lips before her fingers pulled out a map she had found in the book and pointed at a dot. “Todazur.” Something was pulling her towards these lands, knowing that she would find answers to her questions within its borders. Just enough for her to decide on her next steps

“Todazur? Oh, I see..” Something flickered in the dark dots that marked Sachairi’s eyes. A flame lit with curiosity and excitement. Raven had seen it before.. “I am curious to see what your next steps will be..” An amused smirk ran over his lips, as he disappeared with a satisfied look on his pale face. Leaving Raven alone in the shadows. The smell of smoke and old books tickled her nose, as her finger still lingered over the dot on the map. Marking her next journey.

“Well well then.. Seems like I am going on a business trip to Voumor.” Raven's low voice cutting through the dark. Her thoughts were a mess, as plans and ideas formed in her head and roared louder, than the worried voice of the rational part of her brain. It would be dangerous to leave her uncle's land with the rumors spreading in Udin, but Raven wanted to take this risk to find an answer and an adventure.

 

[Daan]

The muffled crunching snow beneath her boots left prints in her journey from the stables. No matter how many layers she put on before leaving Voltmore, it had no guard against the bitter winter. She pulled the collar of her cloak closer. It’s a likely chance that she made a poor choice in clothing; a big, proper dress that hid beneath her layers of cloaks and furs, no proper trousers to keep her legs from getting bit by the icy, howling winds—and many pouches containing what she deemed necessary to carry upon her person at all times.

“Ms. Luna Meloncelli?” A voice carried over the winds, a gentle one.

She looked up from the snow to one of the Guardsman, his armour gave her a headache. The mirroring effect was a terrible choice. “I am she.” She retorts, adding. “I presume you are to escort me to the Castle?”

“That’s quite right, Ms. Meloncelli. It’s not too far of a walk from here. I apologise there was no one to bring you via carriage.” The Guardsman informs her. “When we get to the entrance, Lady Parthenai will be waiting for you in the vestibule.”

“Lady Parthenai?” Luna questioned. She was never taught surnames, mostly first names.

“Er- Lady Saena Parthenai. Apologies again, milady. I cannot break protocol while on duty.” He retorts, leading her further down the cobblestone that laid out.

“Right…” She murmurs. Trailing after the armoured guardsman, fruitlessly trying to keep warm against the cold. As they grew near the castle, it was far from what her parents described it, it was quite a structure, tall, imposing, with thick grey walls made from the hardest of stone. Two elongated, rectangle black banners on either side of the large entrance flapped in the wind; Black Iron’s symbol of unknown origin was stuck on each, letting anyone who entered the castle who owned and ran the place.

Luna hardly had a second glance over her shoulder, realising they were upon a bridge that connected the front entrance to the rest of Beaullon. She hurried after the guard, realising she slowed in her tracks. Like the Guard said, a woman of small stature was waiting at the front entrance, face impassive, a black cloak wrapped around her form, though the red and gold seeped in between, with dual badges upon her left shoulder. Her brown eyes watching the younger girl move closer, Luna couldn’t forget the black gloves she wore, it disappeared into the lining of her cloak. Her intricately done-up golden bob didn’t move at all.

“Lady Parthenai, Ms. Luna Meloncelli of Voltmore Institution.” The Guard introduces them. A curt nod and flick of her wrist has the man scurrying back down the bridge. As for Luna, she’s happy to get out of the cold and into—what appears to be—the vestibule? Or is this the entrance?

“Should I call you Lady Parthenai or Magister Saena?” Luna inquires, titles weren’t the strongest suit of hers.

“Saena is fine. Well, Ms. Meloncelli, we mustn’t linger by the entrance. It is usually closed unless a visitor is permitted to enter the castle.” Saena informs before she’s already moving with such quick speed that Luna barely registers the back of the bouncing blonde moving further into the castle.

Luna is startled by the moving chains on either side of the entrance, a heavily reinforced, stone door slowly creaks down. All the light provided by the sun glaring off the stone is slowly snuffed from existence.

—​

“I did not know I was travelling with an incompetent fool.” Azari’s voice carries over the roaring winds, meant for Ironwood’s ears only.

“He has his uses.” Foxe interjects, using a minor spell to break the winds around them. Almost at once they suddenly die down to a low murmur. “How long until King’s Watch?” He shoots a look in Azari’s general direction.

“Nightfall.” Azari retorts, “If we’re lucky, there will be a warm bed to sleep upon tonight.”

“King’s Watch?” Ironwood clips in, “Wasn’t the old fortress decommissioned after…Black Iron took over?”

“Not exactly. Soldiers use the tower as a retreat between shifts.” Azari hangs onto their reigns a bit more firmly.

“So, what’s next after King’s Watch? Can’t imagine we’d be taking the main roads or… any road.” Ironwood’s voice deflates at this realisation. More time sleeping on a rock.

“You’ve sharp wit, Ironwood.” Azari muses. “We’ll be heading south toward border villages.”

“We’re not going to Kilerth.” Foxe says, gloved hands gripping his reins. “It is better if we head southwest toward Dornwich.” He suggests.

“Why not Kilerth? It takes a direct route into Navunia. If we head toward Dornwich then we’re heading right into Opheros and Advalur. Might I remind you, Hound, which harbours some of our greatest enemies.” Azari is looking his way, guiding their horse to not hit into the Hound's.

“There’s nothing in Kilerth, nothing but a gaping hole of the former city. You remember your history when the nobles were exiled… Kilerth was one of the first to be unlevelled from the crust of Udin.” His voice grim, the silence ensues.

“Well, say we do head toward Dornwich, how do you suppose we get around Opheros and Advalur, sneaking our way into Navunia unnoticed. The wall doesn’t have many gates, after all.” Azari asks.

“We’ll cross that mile when we get to it.” That is all Foxe says before he breaks Nagi into a sprint down the open snowfield.

 

[dailyrain]

A strong sea breeze tickled Ravens nose, as she braided her hair to keep the wind from blowing it all over her face. Overlooking the seemingly endless sea, a smile sneaked onto her delicate lips, her teeth holding onto a small, red ribbon to fasten the braid once finished. The ribbon once had been part of something much bigger, much more royal, but after the horrible night, it was one of the few things left from Raven's former life as the heir of Asmia. A piece of clothing, ribbed off the sleeve by her beloved mother. By now, the royal red looked more like the ribbon had been washed in puddles of blood. The massive planks squeaked as the ship rocked from side to side and broke through the lazy waves. The simple, white sail flapped in the wind and brought the ship forth. The oarsmen getting a deserved break, after having worked hard for quite a few hours before the wind had changed and started working in their favor.

Raven tied the ribbon around the end of her braid and fastened it, before pushing the braid over her shoulder and onto her back. Heavy footsteps came closer, as a guard came up to her. A sword dangling from his waist and his hand, covered in a leather glove, lightly holding onto the end of the sword hilt. She turned to face the dark-haired man, looking like he had something to say.

If she had her way, Raven would have gone on this trip on her own, but her uncle and Cassiel had been right: maybe no one or just a few remembered the face of the heiress of Asmia. It would be too dangerous to step on the lands, where the blood of her family happily had been spilled by a revolution.

“Lady Farglow” The deep voice of the guard pulled Raven back out of her thoughts and made her cringe, hearing the name. Once she arrived at her uncle’s castle, he had given her a new identity in order to keep her safe. Only a few knew the true story of her family and her relations to the royal family of Dorsrike.

“Commander.” Raven acknowledged the man and took a deep breath of the sea breeze, calming her nerves.

“We will arrive at Huntwe Harbor in the early hours. From there we will travel by horse to Cuzund Vomour Palace.” He spoke the words, as if Raven hadn’t been part of the planning.

“We will be expected by Alsandair Lavaya.” The commander continued nonetheless, which caused Raven to snap her eyes back to the commander. This information was new and something Raven hadn’t been part of deciding — for good reasons.

“Sir Lavaya you say?” Her voice remained calm, her fingertips tickled with magic wanting to be relieved, and she clenched her hands to fists. The commander just nodded and, to Ravens dislike, didn’t want to give her further information’s on why they would meet up. Even though she already could imagine why it was Sir Lavaya and why her uncle had kept it a secret. She would have to confront her uncle about that later. For now, she had other things to worry about. The staring sailors were one of them.

“Well then.. I will retreat to my cabin, wake me once we arrive at Huntwe.” Without further ado, Raven turned on her heels and, with steady steps, headed to the lower decks. Ignoring the whispers of the crew. She had no desire to waste her time on superstitions, like women on board leading to misfortune. Even the storm raging in the distance and the rain droplet falling on her pale cheek, wouldn’t make her believe in such nonsense.