The day prior,
Northern Kargoth.
Date: Day Solmar, 6th of Eighth Vaelis Month, 187.
The fog descended, rolling gently across the northern region of Kargoth and curling around the wrought iron lampposts on the walls and on the streets. The pale sunlight rays of the nascent morning created a typical foggy morning in the city as it got diffused in the grayish haze of the fog. The fog settled over the cobblestones, seeping into the cracks and corners, as though the city itself inhaled smoke.
Northern Kargoth has countless mansions and residential buildings, one of which the Crowe manor of the Crowe family looked solemn and dignified amidst the drab appearances of the nearby buildings, receiving the golden sun rays on its old and sturdy stone walls. Inside the house of the Crowe family, the household moved with quietness, giving off the sense of a humble and peaceful home.
Elizabeth Crowe walked through the sitting room with her usual elegant, yet soft composure. As the household manager, she was seen adjusting the quills, rearranging the lesson materials of her two princesses, and also overseeing their piano exercises. "Matilda, have you finished your Latin exercises? And Rosalind, do not neglect your scales," she said in her gentle voice. Rosalind obeyed in silence, as her feeble hands brushed in adherence against the parchment and ivory keys of her grand piano. Matilda at the same time, took to adherence without complain or blinking twice, as she reached for the Latin texts in her bookshelf. It was a quiet testament to the life of discipline their mother had cultivated into them.
The absence of Ezekiel the first and only son, who was studying abroad in the eastern continent of Academic Commonwealth, left a silent mark on his mother's face. It had not been long he left for abroad, but his mother's affection for him could never fade away. When they reached out to his memento, Elizabeth and her daughter Matilda exchanged glances as they read through the letters Ezekiel had sent to his family since the past few days. Even Silas Crowe, the patriarch of the family, his steely eyes ocasionally scanning the room with habitual precision, had his usually austere facade broken whenever he read his dear son's letters.
Moments later, Elizabeth served the family's breakfast on the dining table, and the whole family conversed in restricted and polite manners. This was a major influence of Silas Crowe on his family. However, the family remained oblivious to what else was currently pressing heavily in Silas' mind.
By mid-afternoon, Silas suddenly rose from his study preparing to go out, as he adjusted the crisp lines of his dark wool coat. He picked up a pair of black gloves and immediately slid them on. There were tiny initials written on the leathery gloves. "I have meetings at the Trade and Infrastructure Authority," he said in his usual quiet and caring father's tone. His voice however, did not betray the swcret corridors that awaited him.
Elizabeth inclined her heads silently, which was a gesture of trust, while the girls murmured polite farewells to him. Silas pressed a hand lightly to Elizabeth's hands, sharing a brief sentimental glance of reassurance with her, before stepping out into the newly foggy streets.
To the public, Silas Crowe was a man of political influence in the trade and infrastructure sector. He was a senior adviser overseeing trade regulation, port expansions, and rail logistics, through the Kargoth Trade and Infrastructure Authority sector. His presence at the Authority, whenever he visited, was always routine: the blueprints and maps of trade routes were examined, shipping schedules in and out of Kargoth were also noted, and he also made approvals he alone could execute. As he walked elegantly across the trade sector building of Kargoth, the clerks nodded, the mid-level advisors greeted him with practiced respect, and the junior analysts watched with fascination by the silent authority he always exhuded. To the people of Kargoth, he was a man of civic diligence.
... They could never perceive the deeper truth, though.
After excusing the subordinates who escorted him in, he walked casually to a secluded area, where the mundane awareness of the Authority workers could not detect anything strange. As he tapped the wall lightly thrice, the polished floors and the room suddenly transformed open into an underground world of another vast set of building floors that were not there the moment before.
(TL: Wow, that's magnificent)
And there down below him, wide staircases led to the underground world, unknown... to the uninitiated. This first underground floor, known as the Ledger Hall, stretched like a subterranean cathedral. As he descended the surreal staircases, he could see the Unveiled operatives of the Ledger Hall hovered over projections displayed by some certain Archetype users, charting some readings imperceptible to ordinary eyes. Well, everyone around here were not ordinary, so they could see everything. Also at various regions in the Hall, the emblem of the Highmen— the name of this secret society— was seen, which was a circle split in half. The upper half of the circle was silver, while the lower half was muted blue in colour. Between them, a thin crimson line ran straight across like a narrow crack, separating the two with quiet tension. Silas moved elegantly among them as he acknowledged nods here and there with the calm authority of someone whose every gesture carried weight. Through he has a fairly high status in the political system, he was only a Veil 7 Shadowmind of the Shade Path. The underlings in The Highmen organisation were between veil 3 and 4. From Veil 5 up to 7, they were much more of high stance but yet, still at the low level of the medium class. The veterans and rarely seen ones which were mostly in the third underground floor on idle occasions were between Veil 7 and 14 or 15, which meant that only Veil 7 and above were allowed on the third floor.
Descending deeper still, the second underground floor which was known as the Chamber of Alignment and darker than the Ledger Hall, exhuded its faint scent of volatile chemicals and potions in the air. Somewhere at a corner, there was a special lunar observation dome for observing the moon directly on 'alignment days'— this was a strange technique employed, since this was a more deeper underground space and so the sky should be more difficult to observe directly from there. The domes were concealed specially for Veil projections and other ritual preparations. The council members, or rather, the chemists apart from their potion mixtures and experiments, were monitoring the movements of Kargoth for a reason best known to the members of The Highmen. Silas entered fluidly with confidence, his mind alert to every tremor in the air. Who knows? Some toxic smokes may burst out suddenly as a sign of potential success or catastrophic failure.
The Vault of Refusal was the third, most surreal and darkest underground floor. The huge shelves in the reinforced dark alcoves here contained countless fragmented relics of Lost Archetypes— ingredients for creating potions for Veil progressions—, some experimental devices, and remnants of the Ashen Convergence. Silas walked among them calmly, acknowledging the intimately familiar danger of the third floor. One could not wander aimlessly here, because any misstep could unravel decades of carefully managed control.
One unsettling thread in particular though, won't stop tugging persistently at Silas' mind. Which was the major reason he abruptly left the house and came down here, becaue his life was currently at stake and he was yet to tell 'anybody' about it. He had secretly partaken in the Burdening Ritual, intending to transfer his attrition onto a commoner, and had faltered. The commoner he intended to Burden with his attrition... was Anvil. More precisely, it was the original Anvil. He was the one who was unfortunately selected at random by Silas, doomed to carry his attrition in the form of sickness and death.
Eerily however, Anvil didn't die, which automatically put Silas' life on a danger of going haywire. The simple thought of that made his mind falter again. What was going to become of him if the world learnt that a major officer of the Trade Sector of Kargoth had mysteriously vanished?
As he walked onward, half in thoughts, the echo of that ritual day resonated faintly in his head. He had spent months in meticulous preparation of the ritual ingrediants: The Blood-binding Sigil, Shadow Stone, blackened lunar ash, a potion brewed from ember resin, memory-leaf, and saltwater collected under the Myrr full. And on that day, he had invoked the words in the most correct manner.
(TL: Myrr full is the moon's complete revolution which takes twenty days out of the monthly forty days. So, one can say that Myrr completes two revolutions monthly.)
He knew. He knew it, that soemwhere in the streets outside, the commoner was walking innocently across the city's cobblestones, ignorant of the forces aligning against him, which represented both danger and an unresolved debt to Silas. The thought gripped Silas' chest with fear. One miscalculation could reveal everything... starting from this Kargoth branch of the Highmen to the other Continuists organisations across the world, to the Interveners, and even to the public... his family too... his son abroad...
Emerging out of the Authority building, he quickened his pace, slipping through the misted streets, though the fog was getting clearer now. His slightly trembling gloved hands brushed against the iron handrails. Clerks and minor officials outside the building acknowledged him with the habitual nods of reverence. Putting on a fake facade of smiling, he managed to have every handshake with them as possible. Each curt smile he gave as he greeted the people spread the tension more within him.
Leaving the Authority environment, Silas' mind flicked to contingencies. Perhaps he could conduct rituals to correct the error, but there seemed not to be anything like it. The city itself, industrial and bureaucratic, was enough of a canvas for his manipulations and yet, Anvil has slipped through his hands. His unseen presence was a constant pressure against the edges of Silas' consciousness.
Silas entered the eastern districts, closer to the smoke-belching factories lining the distant Countrysides and edging toward Blackforge. Activating his Unveiled powers, he willed his resonance as it covered large meters of area, noting details that were invisible to others. He could sense the minor tremor in a factory wheel, the thrumming wheels of the coal carts against the stone ground, the rhythm of laborers' tools.... And finally, through it all, he felt it. Anvil's presence. Yes, he had finally found him! He just needed to kill him right away to avoid the consequences. He could end it all here and now! Even though killing him meant that the Burdening Ritual had been voided, he could as well make another one once this whole rising disaster was settled. He needed to be patient enough and wait for the best time to strike the commoner dead. After so many contemplations, he reluctantly resolved to make his attack the next day.
Dusk was approaching and Silas' thoughts lingered on his own fading memories as he struggled to recollect some fragments back. The attrition was veraciously gnawing at him and it was become unbearable at this stage. He just needed to Burden a commoner, make the ritual preparations, and that was it. He was going to try again after killing Anvil.
Silas allowed himself a brief moment to survey the city from the bridge over a small canal near the Countrysides. Smoke billowed upward toward the sky. Countless city men and women of Kargoth city moved like ants along the cobblestones. The distant factories hissed steam too, adding to the already fogged city from the weather...
By nightfall, Silas returned to his home as he resumed his role as a loving, yet strict father to his daughters. Tomorrow, he was going to embark on a journey. And embarking on that journey, was going to save him from dying... save his daughters from losing their father... Elizabeth too, from losing her lover. He couldn't afford to die. The world still needed him. But Anvil? He was merely a commoner, and so his demise would be insignificant to the world.
Somewhere in the east, Anvil was drooling away on his bed after coming to a conclusion that he was finally leaving Kargoth the next day.