"The old earthen clone trick. A body pulled from the soil, clay given breath, earth masquerading as flesh." That was the voice's judgement, drifting through the dark confines of the chamber where Daryul waited.
Clap. Clap. Clap.
The sound was soft, a mocking applause, followed by a wry laugh that echoed off the stone. The figure moved further into the room, his steps light, deliberate and unhurried. Daryul's gaze followed him with the patience of a hunter watching prey, though he knew well enough it was the other way around.
For all his years, three decades of blood and study to claim the mantle of Viasel mage, he never once felt appreciative of that accolade before this man.
There was something about the elusive presence, with ambitions that bent at crooked angles, that made him feel uneasy. Although Daryul didn't let that stop him.
After all, those who walked furthest toward their goals were the ones ready to embrace what was twisted and sickening.
'And that is why I must make use of him,' Daryul thought, the words burning in his skull. 'While he is here, I will use him, no matter the stench of his plans.'
The candle's flame flickered as the figure drew closer, the light licking the outlines of his face. Pale skin, the colour of moonlight on stone. Black eyes, deep and lightless, as if they might swallow the vibrance of the world.
There was no mistaking him. Orpheus.
A man neither loved nor despised, neither praised nor feared. His strength was a question never answered, his weakness never revealed. He simply acted on his own interest, priding himself on knowledge and savouring his own riddles.
"To what does a man owe the pleasure?" Orpheus asked, with a silk-smooth tone in his voice, which felt relaxing. "Since it is you here, and not the dust-born double you have serving in the tournament, I should think what you seek tonight remains between two, and only two."
Daryul let out a scoff, shaking his head as he leaned into the chair's worn back. "Spare the wit. I have paid you already, Orpheus, more than handsomely. I've no patience for games, especially when I've had to deceive Mazium."
The candlelight caught the faint glint in Daryul's pink eyes, reflecting the flame as he fixed on it, perhaps contemplating his decisions. "I have done my part," he continued.
"I am now a Viasel mage, beneath an Aspect, and with that, I have been able to call for this tournament with more authority, making it serve as a mask of enjoyment that they cling to. Strange thing isn't it, bloodshed, gambits, entertainment. It's like a high for these people, but you use that for your deplorable work."
The corners of Orpheus' mouth twitched upward, a grin that didn't quite reach his eyes. The sight of it told Daryul enough. His scheme was flowing with utmost accuracy and smoothness.
Daryul loathed it, but loathing meant nothing. 'Man could not always afford their morals. I'm sure to know. It is the law of equivalent exchange. One thing for another. I must turn a blind eye and ignore the need for aid, for what I require is for my own benefit, and nothing matters more than yourself.'
Orpheus sighed as though wearied. "Such a sour face. My notes tell me you are jollier than this, Daryul. To see you like this...it wounds me really. Does a bit of bloodshed really displease you, after all, you see it on a daily basis?"
The grin mockingly widened.
Daryul forced his lips into a smile, brittle as old wood. However, on the inside, the smile curdled. He hated the way Orpheus pressed the tender spots for enjoyment. He thought he knew it all; the arrogance he held was punishing to anyone, but he wasn't wrong.
Despite the bloodshed he had grown accustomed to, each time he saw blood, it made him flinch; the ruthless murder of his family by royal guards in Baratheon had been constantly replayed in his mind for the past 30 years.
Was strength such a wicked thing that people feared the way you obtained it? That thought was something Daryul had pondered, which is why he desired to change the next generation's path.
If that meant he had to work with someone like Orpheus, then he would; he had to revolutionise a path forward for the next, so that they wouldn't be oppressed. Though it was of utmost importance to track the anomalies of today.
"Enough of this witless banter. A man comes bearing what was asked for. You wanted knowledge of the disturbance detected a few months ago."
Daryul gave a slow nod. His mind cast back to Baratheon, near the Forest of Dreams, where he had felt it first-the ripple of something strange. Reports had followed, too many to dismiss. He recalled the words clearest from a drunkard's lips:
'Weren't like nothin' I'd ever seen. Two children, fallin' out the sky right on to m'beer!'
Madness, perhaps. But the tale had been repeated, sober and drunken alike. And the surge of energy that followed was no lie. It had been akin to that of a Stargate.
"So," Daryul asked, his voice steady, "what did you uncover of the two? Xerxes Draedon and the other, Leiya."
Sliding his hand into his coat, he bore a simple envelope sealed in red wax. Laying it on the table, Daryul was quick to grab it as Orpheus leaned against the wall and shut his eyes.
Daryul opened the envelope and began to draw multiple papers.
"Ah," he whispered, a chill stirring through him. "At last. Xerxes. The true you. Who are you, and how have you gotten to Tier 4?"
His eyes traced the script. "Orphan. Found amidst the War of man and beast...found by a woman, Vanessa Insigni."
The name struck like a spear. Daryul froze, his eyes snapping upward. "Insigni? The Insigni family? Are you certain?"
Orpheus' grin faltered, for once. What came instead was sharper, edged with something Daryul might have called anger. "Yes, Vanessa Insigni, kin of the nobles of Amento. Her brother, Var Insigni, the Ice-Veined himself, stands Vaisel mage of that land."
Daryul was left reeling in disbelief. He found it difficult to believe that some nameless child could be tied to one of Amento's strongest. Although it seemed that Vanessa and Var had not been in contact for many years, so it still didn't give reason for his strength.
He read on. Xerxes, said to have died, and his soul shard was absent. It indicated an unnatural death on the outskirts of The Fallen Kingdom. Suddenly, he returned. Once a Tier Six mage, now a Tier Four. And beside him, Leiya, someone who had absolutely no record of ever residing within the continent.
"There's no mention. No record of her ever being a part of a guild or any family name. There's absolutely nothing."
Daryul's hand slammed the table. The candle almost leapt away. "It is madness! To vanish for months, to return stronger. A trick? What could it be?"
He leaned forward, his voice practically a growl. "What do you believe, Orpheus, an anomaly of this sort needs some explanation. Surely. Tell me what sense can be made."
Orpheus struck a match, the flare small and brief before it touched his cigarette. Smoke filled the chamber, curling around his pale features. "A man does not pretend to have all the answers."
He paused before continuing, "But there are patterns and explanations. Tristan Godfrey, for one, his rise made sense. A father, Tier one, to train him alongside the talent of his own body. Also, his father's death-grief, rage, the fire that tempers steel had only accelerated that growth."
He exhaled a cloud of smoke. "But Xerxes, Leiya, they are different. You're familiar with core saturation, aren't you? The more soul shards you acquire, the more saturated your soul core becomes, with different beasts and people giving different 'signatures' if you will, to the soul."
Daryul rose half from his chair, the weight of the words pressing on him.
"And their cores are stained with beasts of the Fallen Kingdom. The very same as those army folk we have within the continent."
He knew where this led, and yet he refused to believe it.
"You mean..."
Orpheus' gaze met his, steady and fixed.
Daryul finished the thought, his voice barely above a whisper. "For the past year, they were likely within the Fallen Kingdom, and my conclusion is that Leiya is native to that place."
The memories returned-Xerxes' strange mana, the unyielding tenacity in his battles, the way his soul felt..stained. Stained with the beasts that he had consumed, it made sense. Soul shards were said to have physiological and psychological effects.
Orpheus pushed from the wall, turning to leave. "That is all a man can offer. Even I have my limits. But take this counsel and watch him. Xerxes Draedon, in all my years, never has a man grown so swift. Not even in the world I crawl from."
The chamber darkened as he pressed beyond the reach of the candle. A bead of sweat slid down Daryul's cheek. He looked again at the parchment, at the name written there.
His lips formed the word, again and again.
"Xerxes...Xerxes Draedon."
However, the name that wouldn't stop repeating in Orpheus' mind,
"Dorian...Dorian Tenum."