Aric stood at his door, staring at the letter in confusion.
Elbur Street? Isn't that in the financial district? He thought. What the hell could they want with me… did I miss a payment?
The Belburry Financial District was a walled-off section of the city where the noble banker families resided. Most people would never even see the inner walls, but Aric had been invited.
He opened the door and looked down the hallway, scanning for whoever had left the letter. Seeing no one, he walked into the kitchen, where his sister, Iris, was reading a book.
"Hey, did someone come in?"
Iris looked up at him, noticing the letter in his hand. "No, it's just us here. Mom and Aileen are at the market. Who's the letter from?"
"It's just a gas bill. Stop leaving the lights on," Aric said, lying smoothly. After hiding his nightly hunting, he had learned to lie to his family very naturally.
Where the hell did this letter come from? He thought, frowning. This letter showing up like this must have been the work of some nomenclator. I guess I have to go there tomorrow. Aric was uncertain of the best decision due to the suspicious nature of the letter.
***
Aric walked through the gate into the financial district, wearing his best clothes, a simple white cotton shirt with a black tailcoat and black wool trousers. He kept his pistol in the inner pocket of his jacket, just in case. Walking down the street, he passed hundreds of people in opulent clothing and horse-drawn carriages that seemed carved from gold. The homes themselves were extravagant, made of marble and expensive foreign woods. He awkwardly adjusted his messy black hair under his cap.
They're certainly… extravagant, Aric thought distastefully. While he didn't care for the grandness, he understood the concept. These properties would appreciate in value as resources became scarcer, making their owners even richer.
While the buildings were impressive, something else drew his attention. In the center of the city stood a massive white spire, covered in intricate designs. It was so tall that it was visible from any point in Belburry. Carved from a massive femur, some said it came from an ancient dragon, others claimed it belonged to a god. This was where the mysterious angel, the divine ruler of Belburry, watched over the city and governed.
I've never been this close to it before… How the hell did someone carve that thing? Aric thought as he continued down the street. He eventually stopped in front of a marble building taller than the others around it. A sign read: Hendrickson Family Estate – 1240 Elbur Street. Reading it, Aric froze. House Hendrickson… what the fuck could they want with me?
In terms of influence, House Hendrickson was second only to the angel and their council. Unlike other banking families in the district, their wealth did not come primarily from trade or finance. The Hendricksons had earned their prestige during an ancient war. According to the stories, they had single-handedly turned the tide of the great conflict, wielding True Names tied directly to Fate itself. Their prestige had only grown over time, allowing them to predict the future, including economic trends and even the seven catastrophes.
As Aric neared the front gate, he spotted a young woman standing there. Her long black hair gleamed in the light, falling over a simple but elegant dress that marked her as someone accustomed to the estate's wealth. She straightened slightly at his approach and offered a polite, measured smile.
"Mr. Penn," she said, her voice calm but precise. "Master Dorian is expecting you inside."
Aric gave the servant a polite bow of gratitude before following her inside.
'Mr. Penn,' huh? So he even knows my family name, Aric thought. Wait… Dorian? Isn't that the name of—
His thoughts cut off as the servant opened a door, revealing an opulent meeting room. The walls were paneled with pale woods polished to a shine, and the floor was layered with crimson carpets trimmed in gold. A plush red sofa sat in the center, facing a single black chair across a low coffee table.
In that chair sat a man whose face was etched with deep wrinkles. His thinning white hair caught the light like fine silver, and his bluish-gray eyes seemed to study everything at once. This was Dorian Hendrickson, head of House Hendrickson.
Across from him, on the red couch, sat three people. A young woman with platinum-blonde hair wore a light blue noble robe. Her bright green eyes stood out, and at her hip rested a gold-hilted rapier—clearly a statement piece, not meant for combat.
One of the men beside her had warm, golden-brown hair. He looked slightly older than Aric and the noblewoman, but by less than five years. His amber eyes carried a relaxed composure, and he wore the plain, practical clothes of the middle class.
The third figure was a man in his late twenties or early thirties. His hairline was receding, dark gray strands giving way to pale skin. His eyes were gray and his clothes were tattered. Aric recognized him instantly. He had seen the man in the slums more than once. Aric sat beside the woman and quietly waited for Dorian to talk.
"Mr. Penn, at last. Now we can begin." The old man smiled gently, folding his hands on the table. "I am Dorian Hendrickson. I know you all have questions, and I promise they'll be answered. But first…" He paused, drawing a deep breath before fixing his gaze on them. "Do you know how my family sees fate?"
Aric felt his stomach knot. Why would we know? He thought bitterly. The others shifted in silence, glancing at one another for answers. They turned back to Dorian, waiting.
Dorian chuckled, the sound low but disarming. "Of course you don't. How could you? Then let me tell you. We see it… in your eyes." As the words left him, Nomule rippled around his own eyes, sending out an invisible wave. Aric shuddered, though he forced himself to remain still.
"When I look into someone's eyes," Dorian continued, his tone smooth as if he were explaining a parlor trick, "I see not only their fate, but that of their bloodline. That is why you're here. Through your ancestors, I've glimpsed your paths. And because of what I've seen, I've chosen you as candidates for a mission."
What? Eyes, fate, missions? Could he not spit it out all at once? Aric cursed inwardly, trying to keep his expression neutral.
The platinum-blonde haired woman beside him broke the silence, her voice sharp with controlled curiosity. "Lord Hendrickson, what is this mission? And what exactly did you see in our fates?"
Dorian turned to her with the faintest nod. "Madam Celeste, the task is a dire one. You are to investigate, and if possible, destroy, what I believe to be the original parasite. Naturally, such a mission is far beyond novice nomenclators like yourselves. Which is why each of you will be given three artifacts from my family's vault. They will serve as aid, and as payment." He glanced toward the servant who had brought Aric in. "Miss Sheryll. Bring them."
The young woman, Sheryll, bowed her head and slipped from the room. Moments later she returned, guiding in three other servants, all pushing a cart draped in velvet. She pushed the cart toward Aric.
Three objects rested on its velvet surface, each demanding his attention. The first were gloves—one pure white, smooth as silk, like something a stage magician might wear. The other was black, cool to the touch, its seams stitched with golden thread, golden vines curling across the back of the hand.
The third item stopped him cold: a mercury arming sword.
A sword? Really? If I have to fight, I'd rather just shoot someone.
Still, he reached for it. The moment his fingers brushed the hilt, his mind reeled. Inside the blade was a storm without end, vast and untamed, far greater than anything he could comprehend. The sheer weight of it pressed down on him, threatening to crush his thoughts.
Shit! His thoughts scrambled between awe and dread. That thing… It's scary.
He turned back to inspect the gloves, but Sheryll stopped him, holding out a small deck of cards. "Master Dorian asks that you draw one," she said softly. "He says it will show you what you need to know about your fate."
Aric frowned, studying them. The backs were black, lined with intricate golden patterns. Tarot cards? Really? Isn't this the same scam fortune tellers pull at carnivals?
With a sigh, he pulled the top card and flipped it over.
The illustration showed a man bound to a wooden stake, hanging upside down in some cruel mockery of execution. Beneath it was the number XII, and the title: The Hanged Man.
Sheryll looked at him again, her smile now forced. "That card represents hardship and sacrifice. As I said, your card is based on what the Master saw in your fate."
Aric ignored her and scanned the others. Celeste held card VII, The Chariot. The brown-haired boy clutched IV, The Emperor. The older man from the slums held a card depicting a young man at the edge of a cliff, a small knapsack in one hand and a white rose in the other; at his feet a white dog leapt. The text read 0, The Fool.
Aric turned back to the cart. The two gloves caught his attention first. Each came with a paper detailing its abilities.
The white glove was called The Joker's Hand. Its abilities were listed as "Draw," "Cheat," and "Magic Trick."
"Cheat" was a passive effect: it made the left hand more dextrous, effectively making a right-handed person ambidextrous. As well, it made the wearer a master of sleight of hand.
"Draw" had two functions. First, it could form a random playing card in the wearer's hand, thrown with the speed and force of a low-caliber pistol. The strength depended on the card's value, a two being the weakest, an ace the strongest, with additional effects determined by the suit.
The second function allowed the user to draw a five-card hand. If the hand was unrelated, its damage equaled a low card. If a valid poker hand was drawn, the damage and supplementary effects increased with its value, topping at a royal flush. Jokers were exceptions: a single joker matched an ace's damage with a completely random effect. A pair of jokers outclassed a royal flush but caused severe backlash.
The final ability, Magic Trick, allowed the user to manipulate concealed objects. Anything the wielder defined as "concealed" or an "object" could be made invisible or teleported elsewhere, for example. This ability had a hybrid effect with Draw where once could "Conceal" rituals onto blank cards in order to use on the fly. The glove had four ritual storage cards.
Great. A powerful weapon that's completely luck-based and could just as easily kill me! Aric thought spitefully. Gods, I want to shove this sword up that grandpa's ass. Trying to cool off, he shifted his attention to the black-and-gold glove.
It was called Fool's Reading. Seriously? More circus tricks? It isn't even named after my card. He stopped, realizing he was being overly aggressive, and read its effects.
The first ability, Twist Fate, allowed the user to manipulate luck: either a burst of miraculous luck for themselves or catastrophic luck for an enemy. It was powerful, so of course it had drawbacks. It could only be used once per week, followed by thirty minutes of terrible luck. Overuse, like the double joker, caused severe backlash.
The second function mirrored Draw, letting the user draw a random Major Arcana tarot card. Each card had unique effects, its power roughly proportional to the number: twenty-one weakest, zero strongest. Zero, The Fool, only appeared when necessary and surpassed even a double joker in damage and supplementary effects, without the usual backlash.
As a weapon, this one is much more reliable, though weaker on average, Aric thought. He turned back to the sword, and his mood soured immediately.
A sword? A damn sword? Do I look like someone who would use a damn sword? Wait, why am I so damn angry? This isn't normal… I've been irritable since Hendrickson did that weird thing with his eye! The irritation wasn't just the weapon, it was whatever Dorian had done with his eye earlier that had heightened his anger. The old bastard is testing us!
The sword was inscribed Stormseal. There was no information sheet because its effect was straightforward: it enhanced the wielder's affinity for storm-related True Names—rain, wind, and most importantly for Aric, lightning.
Aric took the sheathed blade and attached it to his belt, before moving to the gloves. As he donned Fool's Reading he felt it adjusting to his Nomule. When it finished, a card appeared in his fingers, reading Twelve- The Hanged Man.
Seriously? It chose that card? What an odd coincidence.
He glanced over, peeking at the others' artifacts. He saw the golden-brown haired holding two silver revolvers. What the fuck! Why does he get guns when I'm stuck with a sword and some damn gloves? Aric thought angrily, as he sat down, shifting his attention to Dorian.
The others returned to their seats as the old man smiled. "That's all for this meeting. You're free to go," Dorian spoke.
Aric stood in a daze of confusion and shock as the servants ushered them out. Huh? That's all? He didn't even give us any information!
Aric and the others stood outside the front gate, all of their faces marked with confusion.