Day 155, Week 19, Month Verdantis, Year 12123, Era Elyndris
20:20
As the jubilant night of the city slipped away behind them, Rinoa deftly guided Hernandez through a labyrinth of narrow alleys and hidden courtyards. "Do you discern those glyphs?" she inquired, pointing at the delicate markings flickering along the ancient stone. "Only the trained eye—or one in dire need—can perceive them."
Hernandez scrutinized the walls, his brow knitted in concentration. "So, which are we then?" he answered, a tremor of unease threading through his voice, his gaze darting to the encroaching shadows that seemed to writhe about them. "I cannot say I am fond of where this leads."
Each step drew them deeper into the heart of Thirtos, where darkness thickened and the air bore the weight of forgotten secrets. "Trust me," she urged, her voice leaving no room for dissent. "We must seek answers."
A stillness enveloped the alley as they approached a nondescript door coiled beneath the flickering glow of a blue lantern. They exchanged a glance, a fleeting moment laden with unspoken doubt. "Are you truly certain of this?" he questioned, anxiety weaving through his words as he hesitated. Above the threshold, a faint sigil of a spiral entwined with a hand pulsed, releasing a barely audible hum.
Her voice softened yet remained steadfast, slicing through their tension. "It is no longer mere curiosity. If they indeed possess a memory prism..." Her stare turned resolute. "Then none in Thirtos shall know safety."
Inside, the chamber was a stark contrast—a tapestry of rich velvet drapes muted the din of the city beyond. Rinoa inhaled deeply, allowing the ambiance to envelop her. "This place feels...alive," she whispered, casting a sidelong glance at Hernandez. "Yet it is so eerily quiet."
Arcane projectors cast ever-shifting shadows upon the gilded walls, bringing to life phantoms that lingered in obscurity. "Observe them," he uttered, his tone scarcely rising above the silence, as they ventured further into the depths. "What do you suppose they await?"
"Patrons," replied Rinoa, her gaze sweeping across the gathering. "Nobility, scholars, rogues… perhaps even a councilor or two. They harbor the foolish notion that cloaks and masks can shield them from scrutiny."
Hernandez's fists tightened, aware of the oppressive air thick with tension. "What course of action do we take now?"
With a firm step forward, her determination solidified. "We shall seek the prism," she declared, her voice resolute. A spark of fierce conviction illuminated her gaze as she confronted the gathering, the gravity of their predicament resonating within her.
All around the chamber, the buyers lingered, swathed in dark cloaks and veils, their visages hidden but unmistakably marked by avarice and despair. Not a soul dared to speak louder than a hushed breath, the air thick with an unvoiced dread. Rinoa could feel it winding about her, nearly suffocating in its tenacity.
A cloaked auctioneer, his voice sharp as splintered glass, commenced the proceedings. "Noble lords and ladies of the Hand…" he began, his tone cutting through the silence. "Tonight's coveted item: a memory prism, a relic forged long before the fall of Gamma. It possesses the power to capture, erase, or transform the very essence of thought. Bidding shall commence at twenty thousand gold marks—"
Gasps and murmurs coursed through the gathering like a surging tide. Hernandez tightened his grip on Rinoa's hand, his knuckles turning an ashen white as he leaned closer, eyes wide with both dread and anticipation. "Is this truly possible? Can it reshape memories as the rumors suggest?" he whispered, his voice trembling.
"I cannot say," Rinoa replied softly, her gaze flitting across the room. As she scrutinized the crowd shrouded in shadows and veiled intents, her eyes fell upon the councilor from earlier—a figure known as Ser Marius, whose reputation reached her only through whispers in dim-lit taverns. He was reputed to be the city's master of secrets. Just then, he exchanged a significant glance with a cloaked envoy from Gamma. "What business has he here?" she pondered aloud, her voice scarcely above a breath. "What would draw him to a contraption of memory?"
"Perhaps he seeks dominion, much like the others," Hernandez mused, a tremor of apprehension coloring his tone. "Or maybe..." His voice faded as Rinoa sensed the allure of the prism, its ever-shifting colors pulling at her very memories, glittering with the visages of those she once cherished and had since lost.
The auctioneer forged ahead, oblivious to the palpable tension that hung thick in the air. "And for those who wish to delve deeper..." He leaned in, lowering his voice to a conspiratorial tone. "The prism remains sealed. Only a Voidwright, or one marked by the Spiral, may wield its true power."
The name lingered unuttered in the air, thick as a foreboding shadow.
Fitran.
Rinoa's heart wavered, a tumult of yearning and dread swelling within her. "He is the sole one capable of unlocking it," she whispered, her thoughts racing in a whirlwind. She cast a sidelong glance at Hernandez, whose brow creased with a shadows of concern. "What if they seek to ensnare him?"
Hernandez shook his head, his grip on her hand tightening in a protective manner. "Or perhaps something far worse... what if they intend to wield it against him?"
"Why must you torment me so?" she thought bitterly, her heart pounding as she beheld the bids spiral higher—promises of gold, secret favors, forbidden technologies that teased the edges of her understanding. Each murmur from the crowd rang in her ears like a silent scream, reverberating through her very consciousness.
He is the sole one capable of unlocking it.
Did that signify the Mirrored Hand was attempting to draw him in? Or was there a lurking adversary already present among them? These thoughts twisted and turned within her mind, a tempest of apprehension and uncertainty gnawing at her sanity.
Her thoughts raced, tangled in doubt as she surveyed the gathering, the air thick with tension, almost palpable as if it were a living entity. "Am I here to thwart the artifact," she murmured to herself, "or to discover the truth about Fitran and my own place in this tale?" The ache in her chest twisted painfully, a blend of fear and longing that loomed, threatening to consume her entirely.
"Rinoa!" A voice pierced the depths of her contemplation, drawing her attention. It was the Gamma envoy, his figure casting an ominous shadow like a storm brewing on the horizon. His words sliced through the atmosphere, resonating with an authority that demanded respect. "Ten soul-bonds, coupled with boundless passage through the ports. Moreover, I offer you a name: I shall deliver unto you Fitran Fate himself, provided the prism is allowed to depart from Thirtos."
A jolt of astonishment rippled through those gathered in the chamber, the auctioneer visibly stunned, struggling to absorb the significance of such a proclamation. He nodded slowly, weighing the potential consequences.
"I shall match your offer," Councilor Marius interjected, his tone steady and precise, "and augment it with dominion over the city's ley lines—should the Hand vow to uphold secrecy and retain the artifact within Thirtos."
"Do you truly believe the Hand would acquiesce to such terms?" a figure cloaked in shadows at the rear scoffed, adding a palpable charge of disbelief to the air. Rinoa felt the stakes escalate, the tension sharpening like the edge of a blade. It had transcended mere possession of the artifact; it was now a matter of power, of survival.
"If the council secures the prism," Rinoa mused internally, her mind racing like the wind through the trees, "they could rewrite dissenters, erase their foes—or worse—a rewrite of my very essence, of Fitran, of anyone." The weight of her complicity bore heavily upon her. "Have I become a hero, or merely another pawn in this treacherous game?"
"Rinoa!" Hernandez hissed, urgency threading through his low voice. "We must take our leave from this place. It is fraught with peril."
She shook her head, defiance igniting in her gaze. "Should I turn my back now, they claim victory. I must uncover who seizes the prism at last."
Her vision swam for a fleeting moment, overwhelmed by the turbulence surrounding her. Yet within the depths of the prism, images danced in her mind: Fitran's warm smile, the calloused hands of her father, a girl with hair like spun gold—were these memories or urgent portents? "I cannot simply walk away," she murmured, steadying herself, summoning the bravery to act. "Not at this hour."
"You must exercise wisdom in this endeavor," Hernandez urged, inching nearer, worry etched across his features. "Consider what the Hand would do to us should the tide turn against us."
"And what if they seize Fitran?" she countered sharply, her voice a mere whisper, yet thick with unwavering determination. "I cannot allow it to unfold."
"You require a strategy," he insisted, his gaze flitting about for lurking dangers. "Charging ahead blindly may well lead to our doom."
"Then let us seek a pathway to turn this predicament to our favor. Trust in me."
As the auction reached its fevered zenith, the leader of the Hand finally spoke, her voice cleaving through the air with the precision of a dagger slicing through silk. "The artifact shall go to the highest bidder at the stroke of midnight. Prepare yourselves. All debts must be settled—this very night." The atmosphere crackled with anticipation, whispers of greed and ambition reverberating against the cold, iron walls. Rinoa could sense the tension coiling around her like a tightening noose, each breath growing more laborious than the last.
A subtle enchantment wove itself through the room, an unseen current of tension palpable in the air. "We cannot depart until the final gavel falls, can we?" one man muttered to his companion, his eyes darting nervously around the chamber. "This ambiance feels sinister," a voice quivered nearby, laced with trepidation. No soul could leave until the auction's end, and every heart throbbed in synchrony with the impending chaos.
Rinoa realized too late that she had ventured past a point of no return. The glow of the prism intensified, casting a radiant light upon her features, as if unveiling a hidden truth. A shadow flickered within its depths—a silhouette she recognized, sending a shiver down her spine. "Fitran?" she breathed, her voice quaking with disbelief. Was this but a figment of her imagination, a cruel trick played by the light?
"You are merely conjuring phantoms, Rinoa," she chided herself under her breath, but the vision refused to dissipate. She gasped, gripping Hernandez's arm tightly as the very ground beneath her seemed to shift. "What is transpiring?" she demanded, her eyes wide with alarm. "Is he truly here—had he already been forsaken?"
"You linger in my thoughts, Fitran", she mused, her heart pounding fiercely. "Why cannot you simply… leave me be?" A flicker of ire intertwined with the fear constricting within her chest. And now my choices may seal your fate… and that of the city. She felt her resolve falter as memories surged forth like wisps of smoke, intangible yet all-consuming.
As the stroke of midnight drew near, and the bidding descended into a tempest of confusion, Rinoa found herself standing solitary at the perimeter of the circle.
"This madness knows no bounds!" she cried, her voice scarcely rising above the clamor surrounding her. Yet, amidst the throng, no ear attuned to her plea, for all were consumed by their own insatiable desires. Reflections darted about her within an array of glinting facets, revealing the young woman she once was—a maiden unburdened by the heavy chains of memory and sorrow.
In this city woven from the threads of recollection, who would find themselves erased—and who would remain to carry the weight of remembrance? "If only I possessed the gift to decide," she lamented softly, uncertain if anyone might heed her words amid the chaos.