Six threads woven by fate, one remains unbound.
[At the heart of Helgium's capital, Nirphelm.]
I just killed someone for half a pound commission.
Crazy, I know. It was supposed to be a 2000-pound worth request, but all I got is barely an ounce of the downpayment, being told that I could get the rest if I got out of it safely.
What do they even take me for? And here I thought we were comrades of the same ideals.
But then again, it's the reality of being at the bottom of the dregs and having a money-grubbing superior. Especially since my Boss, better known as Madam, is quite finicky with money…so I had no choice but to go along with it.
Creak.
My toes landed with unpleasant noises against the old wooden planks after using the window to enter the inn I just booked a few hours ago. I gently unbuckled the strap connected to my black sniper and placed it against the wall, before landing unceremoniously onto the bed. It wasn't very comfortable, but a bed is still a bed.
Compared to my usual endeavors, my beloved sniper wasn't my medium tonight, but poison. I only brought it with me all the way to another country because I had no one to entrust it to.
It took me 2 couple of months of infiltration in the target's house—with the client's aid and contractual partnership, to scheme it all.
I guess it's not really such a big issue since the Madam hands me the rest of the money in the end.
But still, half a pound? In an era where even water isn't free? Wouldn't it hurt to give me at least 10 more—?
"Took you long enough."
I snickered, "Count the fact that I crossed another nation with half a pound. Ain't that a miracle?" Then I blinked blankly at the ceiling. Wait a damn second.
Wasn't I the only one here? As my head turned abruptly—
"—Holy motherfucking sainty shit!"
My thoughts were interrupted so fast when I noticed another person's presence beside my own. By the door stood a lithe ebony haired woman wearing a silken red tunic. Her arms were crossed, her faced adorned with usual passive indifference like a soulless marble statue.
I have never stood up so fast in my life.
"The last time I gave you a generous stipend, you blew it all off in an hour. Gambling." Her monotonous voice rang in an odd manner. To an average person, it would seem odder to find that her lips never move when she speaks, and instead the sound vibrates from the choker tightly bound on her neck. It was some kind of artifact that allowed her to speak, like an aid.
"Were you reading my mind? I feel violated." Her plum eyes flickered as she stared at my sorry state.
"It was written all over your face."
This devil incarnate—no, this beautiful lady right here, is my superior. Yes, she is hot. And no, she is not single. She is married to her dirty money built on dealing arms and poisons.
She tossed a heavy bundle onto the bed, which created a pleasant chiming sound of money. I could almost smell it. It was definitely the rest of the 2000 pounds.
I was almost going to forgive her for whatever I was yapping about earlier, but then she took another from her pocket. It was a dark grey envelope with a freshly stamped seal of a hyacinth. I frowned.
"I don't recall taking in requests for the Hyacinths."
"This is a special case, it's more of a simple operation."
I tilted my head. Madam's thin lips curled into a delicate smirk.
"This, little Ravencrown, is a heist."
I glanced outside, where various sentries ran around to patrol around the streets with wanted posters in their hands. A carriage passed by with a trail of dust and the sound of horse hooves against cobblestones. I didn't miss how its insignia belonged to a County.
'I see word travels fast here.'
My eyes darted to the bundle she tossed, before finally meeting her tantalizing plum ones.
As if a measly 2000 pounds would satisfy me.
"How much?"
***
[At a ball in Durant County's estate, west of Helgium's holy temple]
The moonlight was perfect.
I slightly straightened my coat and took a light sip of champagne. Around me was a symphony of warm lights and ballgowns drowning in colors and sparkles. My eyes almost hurt from all these brightness attacking my vision, but I endured and displayed a reserved smile.
My face reflected onto the frosty glass mosaic across me. The reflection was muddled, like all I ever was. But it was also perfect for this special night.
It wasn't hard to notice a young woman in a conspicuous red gown skipping her way toward me, too eager, too pleased with herself.
Her name was... something forgettable. Was it Anna? Antoinette? Count Durant's daughter.
I only remembered the color of her dress and the childish way she clung to my name like it meant anything to her. My smile widened.
Tonight, her father will die by my orders.
"Master Ambrose!" she beamed, curtsying with far too much bounce. "I didn't think you'd attend tonight!"
"Of course, my lady. How could I miss such a fine opportunity?" I replied, smooth as silk.
The music grew livelier, and people began to move aside to make space for the dance hall.
She stepped forward, curtsied again, and held out her hand—clearly expecting me to accept. I flicked my fan shut and obliged. She practically dragged me in.
She spun herself around with so much force I had to take a half step back just to keep balance. Already, the tip of her heel had scraped the edge of my shoe. Twice. And we'd only just started.
She wasn't graceful. She was enthusiastic, which was worse. And as she stepped on the hem of her gown for the third time, all I could think was how much sharper my irritation might become if I hadn't spent the last few months preparing for this night.
The crowd cheered. Fools.
"I heard you'll be attending the prestigious Academy of Vendalius in a few weeks!" she chirped, still stumbling with every turn. "I bid my congratulations in advance! What was it called again? Aeth… Ather…?"
I matched her uneven rhythm with practiced ease, careful not to let my irritation show. Her breath reeked faintly of poppy wine.
"Aetheris Concordia."
Speaking of poppies—I recall sending an envelope of dried ones weeks ago. Red and brittle. A peculiar ritual for a hit request, but one I honored.
Nevermind the assassin being a bit...unique.
It has been months since.
"Yes! Yes, that was the name," she said, spinning herself again before nearly tripping on the back of her own dress. "I'm sure you'll do well, given your brilliance. You'll surely bring honor to our holy kingdom!"
Look at her babble. Another step, another misstep. Her father must've bribed every etiquette tutor in Durant County to make her passable in public, and still she was dancing like a wind-up doll.
The heels were already killing me. And her short height only made the constant twirls more cumbersome. But no—I had to bear with it. I've been preparing for this night for months. Hence, I had to savor every bit—the wine, the high-ranking people I mingled with, and the music.
"Thank you, my lady. I will still have to pass the entrance tests to be admitted, so nothing is set in stone yet." I gave a soft chuckle. Controlled, courteous.
Ah, how hellish. I was utilizing every etiquette lesson engraved into my spine just to make this look less insufferable than it was.
The music continued, and I switched partners on cue. Still, I didn't let her out of my sight. I stole a glance at the massive gilded clock ticking overhead.
Her father would retire to his office in a few hours. And he would never wake the next morning. Very naturally.
I would make it so. No matter how disgustingly sticky her gloved hand felt in mine, no matter how loud her giggle, or how much my back hurt from having to bend slightly to meet her eye level, I would dance for her.
I call it my mercy.
And it makes me feel a quiet, exquisite power knowing I have already sealed her father's fate with a few words.
That even if the dead could talk, he would never know it was me who had killed him.
***
[The grand palace of Vendalius, round table]
My father said real warriors seek valor. It had always been all that defined the kingdom.
My eyes flickered dull as I scanned the round table full of war ministers and high-ranking knights. I recognized some ambassadors, and some were envoys from the Temple. All nonsense bickering and pointless nonsense and nonsense again.
My ears rang from all the joint idiocy flagged as politics. And so, I stood up.
Unceremoniously and without a word. They were silenced and stared at me with widened eyes, as if my presence here suddenly had an impact when I was basically invisible just a while ago.
"Sit back down, Crown Prince." My father's voice was low, but carries enough weight to make me halt my steps. His rings made annoying clicking sounds as he crossed his fingers together, slightly leaning to the table. I sighed simply and faced him.
"I have prior arrangements."
He didn't blink. "Cancel them." I said nothing.
He eyed the knights standing by the round table to escort the envoys out. The ones sitting at the table glanced at each other, some clearing their throats in displeasure. It was only after everyone else was escorted out that he finally spoke.
"Aetheris Concordia is reopening its gates to welcome new cadets. I heard even the son of one of Helgium's Cardinals is seeking to be a Praelus. Are you going to let this be? Make it an opportunity to solidify your standing and be acknowledged by Atra Genesis." That tone that leaves no room for arguments. I had always found it unpleasant.
Aetheris Concordia is a military academy directly under the banner of the royal family's militia force, Atra Genesis. It was the testament of power that made Vendalius the strongest kingdom of humanity—a nation bred from war, and for war.
My gaze subtly drifted to his gilded crown. He wore it like it was made for him.
'Now that it's been years since we settled in the palace, does he now truly think the crown belongs to him? That everything he'd stolen was rightfully his?'
And yet, I said nothing. I had always bit my tongue and held it in. "Yes, Your Majesty." He gestured with a wave of his ringed hand, and the guards opened the heavy chamber doors.
I bowed slightly and took my leave. I could feel his gaze at my back until the moment I passed the archway.
The corridors of the palace were long and full of silence. I used to walk them in shoes too big, memorizing the paths with the quiet hope that one day, I'd be king. Years later I never walked here without feeling the glaring dissonance that perhaps, this palace would never truly be my home. I looked back to the gigantic doors of the round table.
If Atra Genesis had been the reason my father was so blinded by power, then I will destroy it. I will correct things the way it should have been.
He will blame himself for handing me a blade and sending me at the heart of his own weakness, and he will cry blood for everything that was sacrificed in the name of glory.
I will make it so.
My father said real warriors seek valor.
But I am different. I am not just my father's son; I am also my mother's.
And I will have none of such an empty thing they call valor.
***
[A tavern in Isen Detritus, the slum city of Vendalius]
I slammed the tavern door open and unintentionally hit the person behind it. Oops. He must have broken his nose.
Anyway.
I headed straight for the bar counter where a particular someone was wasting away in broad daylight. Several old men recognized and greeted me along the way.
I sat next to him without fail. His brooding eyes glanced me sideways before downing another drink of whiskey.
"You're here."
"And you're here again, Mr. Bigshot." I grinned and stole his glass, finishing it in one go. His dirty blonde hair—tenporarily dyed without a doubt—shuffled as he stared at me deadpan before sighing.
"How did you even find out who I am?"
"Connections, connections." Did he have to ask that? He'd been frequenting this tavern since we were young that we practically grew up together. I was even the one who taught him how to drink and now he's all broody like he's got it at life.
I thought he was some noble brat, but his standing was higher that I anticipated.
A real bigshot. How envious.
"Haaah. Nevermind that. The entrance exams are coming up. Are you planning on becoming a Praelus?"
"Yeah. You know the incentives. If I reach the top ranks in class, I can request for a bestowal."
"...It'd be tough." I know.
"Why are you even dead set on joining the military? There's nothing in it for you."
That doesn't seem appropriate coming from someone of his standing.
I was about to answer him when I felt a heavy lump on my throat as my insides twisted. My mouth twitched, giving him a soft smile. He flinched and drank another glass, looking away.
"...Just a moment." My feet headed straight for the restrooms as people's figures blur past me.
They had been so boisterous, so full of life that I'd sometimes felt like a corpse while sitting next to them.
I let out a cough I'd been holding before, I pressing the handkerchief to my lips as a sharp sting tore through my chest.
The fabric grew warm, damp—when I pulled it away, it was stained red. For a moment, I just stared at it.
I only have a few years left.
'A bestowal from a deity...'
My opponents are geniuses. Prodigies. Monsters. Ambitious folks who dream of making a name for themselves and forming connections on the board. This young man I sat next to is one such genius. He was born priveledged to boot.
Compared to them, I'm but a mere frog in a well.
But perhaps the one thing that sets me apart from them was that my entire lifeline depends on graduating with honors. It is my last ray of hope.
I once dreamt of leaving a mark on history books as a kid. Growing up, I thought it was childish.
Now, I'd rather pursue that childish dream instead of succumbing to this illness so pathetically.
I still have a few years left, after all.
***
[A decrepit basement in Isen Detritus]
It fizzed. Again.
The rune flickered under the flask before going completely dark, and the whole thing collapsed into another dead blue puddle. Harmless and mocking.
I stared at it for a second, then screamed into my coat.
"This should've worked," I hissed, yanking my goggles off. I tossed them across the room. They bounced off a pile of dirty laundry and landed somewhere behind the ramen cup I forgot to finish yesterday.
Third failure today. Eighth this week. I scratched at my scalp with ink-stained fingers, my notes already fluttering in the corner like mocking witnesses.
The chalkboard near the bed was full of equations and illegible insults to my own intelligence. I flipped the tome again in case I really missed something.
"Redroot at .3… Stonewalt IV at 2.1, pressure-stabilized at 7.6, no soren residue in the baseline… so what's breaking it? What's destabilizing it, huh? Huh?!"
A nearby flask hissed as if in response.
"Don't sass me." But seriously...no way right?
Have I actually been scammed? Me?
I kicked a chair.
Then immediately apologized to the chair. Not because it deserved it, but because I might need it later.
I shuffled back to the table—well, the doorless cabinet acting as a table—and reached for the pipette again, but—
Knock.
I froze.
Knock. Knock.
"Well shit."
Panic hit like an old friend.
I shoved all the open flasks into a rag, swept my arm across the tabletop, and watched about four hours' worth of powder mix, catalysts, and very illegal stabilizers crash to the ground. Glass. Resin. Maybe blood. Definitely ramen.
I reached for an explosive vial and tiptoed to the door like someone who's very used to running.
"…Who is it?"
"Medicine," came a voice. I recognized it right away; it was my regular customer, clad in a cloak and curly amber locks peeking through. A quite unlucky one.
I exhaled through my nose. Not a raid. Not a bounty.
Just someone from this dead-end slum who still believed I could fix something.
The door creaked open just enough to let me peek. She looked tired. Gray under the eyes. The kind of tired that sinks into the bones and builds a nest.
She handed me a folded note with a few pounds inside. "Narveth Syndrome. Just my usual dose."
Narveth. That terminal illness that makes you rot from within. Ugly stuff, but my steady source of income...or at least what you'd consider steady in a slum city.
I nodded, shut the door again, then clawed under the mattress until I found the right vial. It was gold-tinged and bitter as hell. I cracked the seal, sniffed it twice, then handed it over.
"Don't just drink it straight up like alcohol. Mix it with ginger. Or syrup. Or you'll succumb to overdose instead of that illness."
She didn't even blink. Just nodded and walked away.
I slammed the door shut and turned around staring at the wreckage of my lab. Just thinking about all the lab apparatuses I ended up breaking hurt my head. I don't have enough funds to redo it in weeks.
"…This is why I don't do walk-ins."
I crouched to start sorting through the mess. I hadn't even finished picking up the pen when a soft shuffle hit my ear.
Something slid under the door.
I blinked and looked over to check. It was a single paper slip. The air smelled faintly of sulfur.
I picked it up and flipped it open. Heavy parchment, folded crisply, and a familiar cipher marked across the front—one I hadn't seen in years.
'The magnum opus has resurfaced.'
My heart stalled. My hand reached for the door before I knew it, searching for a presence. There was no one. No footsteps trailing the alleys. Just the stench of Detritus and the low hum of water pipes.
A silence I hadn't heard in years pressed against the walls. I turned the paper over again, checked for any signatures. There were none, of course. They knew I'd understand.
I walked to the burner and held the corner of the paper over the flame, watching it curl in on itself. The black spread slow—deliberate—before catching the center in a soft crackle.
I waited until the letter was ash.
"…So it's true," I said aloud, just to hear it.
People would gather from the news. They would hail from different backgrounds and have different motives. And still they would search for even a ghost of it.
Who wouldn't not covet the prided Magnum Opus of the late Imperator?
Perhaps running away is meaningless now.
"I have to find it before they do."
***
[A Detached Manor in the Obsidian Spire, Abyss]
Fifteen steps heading straight.
Three, Four...
'Focus not to loose count.'
I should have passed by 5 glowing stones on each row by now. The sixth is cue to turn left and head straight for 37 more steps until the grand double doors of the living room.
My heeled boots echoed with purpose across this dreary hallway. I'm thankful they removed that accursed winding carpet that absorbs sounds. The vibration against the marbled tiles kept my mind at ease and aware of my surroundings.
My fingers brushed against the limestone walls without much thought, relishing the cold sensation against my skin.
These small thoughtless things was what grounded me to humanity in a land without one.
At age ten, this palace became my home. Or so they say. The Obsidian Spire was vast. Truthfully, this was the first time I'd stepped foot in here years after I first came. I was always busy taking up the new duties I came to shoulder. This manor of mine was in a detached estate far from the Lord's majestic spire.
I halted when a faint sound of a strings being struck reached my ears. My eyebrow creased. Someone is playing a zither, and I already knew who it was.
I dusted off my coat and caught sticky sludges of liquid. I clicked my tongue in annoyance.
I hadn't even had the time to tidy myself. The door creaked at my entrance.
"I don't appreciate unannounced guests."
An elegant woman sat in the middle of the room, still playing her instrument. She didn't spare me glance, but acknowledged my presence from the way her rhythm slowed and softened.
"Come sit and accompany me." There was another zither—mine—across her, as if urging me to join her.
I fought back the urge to sigh as I sat cross-legged, matching her pace.
Her tune was simple and repetitive, slow and deliberate like a child's first glimpse at the sky. Then her hand movements became rapid, turning bold and daring. The innocent melody was fading, followed by a somber desire to yearn for something missing. Next it became more intense, like a turbulent sea waiting to devour a sailor braving the waters alone. It suddenly slowed, throwing me off sync.
Hm.
It was almost as if—
I stopped abruptly, ruining the rhythm. "Just tell me straight if you have something to say."
She chuckled and smoothened her hand over the strings.
"You and your tongue..."
"Did you know that blades and instruments are very similar? It's a medium you use to communicate your thoughts without the need for words," she skillfully struck the strings and produced a fine melody, "and I find it quite charming."
I scoffed.
Her way of playing was a direct provocation, and I'm unfortunately the subject of this melody of hers.
"Are you planning to stay like this forever?"
My fingers traced the strings. She is right. Until when am I going to stay like this, being a hunting dog and playing house?
"I reckon you're most aware of where you currently stand. And sooner or later, you must choose."
Right now, I'm akin to a small sailboat drifting aimlessly in the ocean. While beings like her are the wind that guides me, it is pointless if I do not have any destination in mind. Sooner or later, my inaction will cause the waves to devour me without mercy.
My senses drifted towards a cut string floating from her back. It stretched upwards swaying aimlessly.
I can see people's threads of fate.
These golden starlight threads float passively, all connecting to the celestial world tree. Everyone is born with this thread, because all of us are fated to something. Even deities. Theirs shine brilliantly like no other.
This woman is a loyal Saint serving under one such deity who rules a land of those whose brilliant threads of fate are severed from the world tree.
Meaning, this woman before me is a transcendent being who is no longer fated to anything.
But never mind a severed thread, I do not even have any. And it seems I was the only one could 'see' these connections.
I mindlessly fidgeted the hems of my blindfold.
Perhaps that was the only similarities I had with this dreary realm's inhabitants. All of us were lost sailboats who happened to find each other's company.
"So. What do you plan to do, dear disciple?"
What do I plan to do, indeed?
"I heard something strange lately. I plan on investigating it in the mortal plains."
"What, is it about this so-called magnum opus? Oh please. That's such a noble term for something a blasphemer left behind."
Her thoughts flre over my head as I focused on mine.
I am not satistfied with simply anchoring myself in nothingness forever.
So if I am not meant to be found in a world governed by fate, then I will carve a path where someone like me could exist.
Perhaps only then will I find answers.