She studied him for a long moment without saying a word. The oil lamp cast harsh shadows across her scar, making it run like a silver river across her face. Her hazel eyes bored into his, and he held her gaze.
"Evelie Dominea," she finally said, her voice rough. No title, no "Major" or "Commander," just her name. She made a curt gesture with the bloodstained report without letting go of it. "So, you're from the government?"
Vincard tilted his head slightly, a gesture that seemed almost polite if it weren't for the hint of mockery in it. "Vincard Kilied. And yes, I am. Whether that is a blessing or a curse remains to be seen."
The guards behind him tensed, but she merely raised a hand, a small, weary gesture that nevertheless silenced them. She stepped aside, revealing the room: a cramped command post, crammed with maps, empty vials, crumpled reports, and a large, soot-blackened table on which a single candle burned, its flame flickering restlessly. On the wall hung an old portrait of the former governor, his face crossed out with a black cross, symbolically or literally, Vincard couldn't tell.
"Sit down," she said, pointing to a wobbly chair across from the table. "Or stay on your feet. Either way is fine with me."
Vincard remained standing. He crossed his arms loosely in front of his chest, leaving his coat slightly open, revealing the silver dagger handle and mercury reservoir of his pistol. It wasn't a threat, but a silent reminder: I am armed, and I know how to defend myself.
"So, you've called for help. What exactly are your problems?" He asked quietly.
Her lips twitched, not in a smile, but more like a reflex. She placed the report on the table and smoothed it out, as if she could also organize her thoughts in the process.
"The better question would be, what isn't?" she said. "The city is slowly dying from what we cannot see, let alone stop. The rituals in the cathedral are becoming increasingly intense. Then there are those madmen who call themselves the heirs of the cosmos. They are not mere fanatics, they have become... so much more."
"Tell me," she continued, her voice now softer, almost a whisper. "Have you ever felt that the blood in your veins doesn't belong to you anymore?"
He smiled thinly, without warmth. "Every damn night."
Evelie exhaled, the sound like steam escaping a pressure valve. "I figured as much," she said. "You know, I'm good at spotting things like that, but who would have expected someone like you to work them..."
"There are reasons for that, but they're secondary here," he muttered. "So why exactly am I here now?"
Evelie tapped the stained report with a fingertip, the paper crinkling under her touch like old skin. "Bartho. Our best hunter. Went scavenging near the Industrial District three nights ago, never came back." Her voice was steady, but the tendons in her neck stood taut as cables. "He wasn't the type to wander off. Or die quietly."
Vincard leaned against the edge of the soot-blackened table, his coat pooling around him like spilled ink. "As far as I know, Hunters disappear quite frequently," he said. "Why is this one worth dragging me into your little apocalypse?"
"Because he always brings back mercury vials from the old factories," she snapped, her composure cracking for a heartbeat. "Enough to keep our perimeter wards active. Without him, we're down to four days' supply."
He rubbed his stubble beard. "Mercury wards," he mused, more to himself than to her. "What about the other hunters? Surely there's more than just this one?"
"Most hunters work alone," she said, her voice flat. "And those still sane enough to report back? Their eyes are changing. Their skin cracks like old porcelain. The ones who aren't already feral are halfway there." She exhaled sharply through her nose. "Bartho was my last reliable contact."
Vincard arched one eyebrow, the gesture slow and deliberate. "You have an entire fortress of armed men," he said, nodding toward the door where the masked guards still lingered. "Why send a government envoy, assuming you believe that title, to fetch your missing hunter? This seems beneath my paygrade."
Evelie's fingers curled into fists on the tabletop, her knuckles whitening against the grime-stained wood. "We don't send patrols beyond the Wall," she said, each word clipped. "Not anymore. Not after the last squad didn't come back." Her gaze flicked to the portrait of the crossed-out governor, then back to Vincard. "The Iron Guard holds the line. That's all we can do now. Push past it, and you're just another meal for whatever's out there."
"All right, I won't argue any further. Just give me all the necessary information and I'll take care of it." He said in a firm voice.
Evelie gestured toward the door with a flick of her wrist, a dismissal wrapped in reluctant hospitality. "Lieutenant Keir will escort you to your quarters. Your belongings have already been brought here from your carriage."
The lieutenant, a wiry man with a perpetual squint and knuckles like brass knuckles from too many bare-knuckled brawls, led Vincard through a maze of corridors. Keir didn't speak, just jerked his chin toward a door at the end of the hall, its hinges rusted into a perpetual groan.
With a brief nod, Vincard thanked the lieutenant and pushed the door to his quarters open, the rusty hinges squeaking. The room beyond was sparsely furnished, with a narrow bed covered by a worn blanket, an old desk, and a single oil lamp hanging on the wall. His belongings lay neatly on the desk: a large leather bag containing alchemical reagents, a case with clothes, and a box filled with various types of ammunition. „How thoughtful," he thought to himself with a sarcastic edge.
Vincard placed his revolver and his silver rune dagger on the table as well, their weight sinking into the wood with a quiet finality. The revolver, an alchemical weapon named Aetheris, was a custom-made, single-barreled gun. The barrel and cylinder were made of silver-plated steel engraved with runes.
Next to it lay the dagger 'Mater Doloros'. It was an heirloom from his father, the blade made of pure, consecrated silver with a Damascus-like structure. The handle was made of black polished ebony with gold inlays: a stylized cross and star constellations.
Vincard ran a thumb along the edge of Mater Doloros, feeling the cold bite of silver against his skin. "All right then," he murmured. "Let's get this over with, quickly."