Aetherfall (43-44-45)

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AN: That's it for today, still have a bunch of chapters to properly work on, updates to come throughout the week!

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[043]

The captured hand was under considerable pressure, her grip was stronger than his by a fair margin. She was casually displaying the sort of strength that should not have been viable for someone a full foot shorter and a third his weight.

Which meant he was a hostage and without escape.

Not that he was going to complain, she seemed to be practically vibrating with glee.

Winding their way through the streets, Bunny’s path took them in a gentle curve, following the same path of the beak’s inside. The place in question looked like a photograph that was trying to showcase class divide. On one side of the road, there were a few large estates with beautifully kept and illuminated gardens; on the other were a conglomeration of mud-brick buildings that Liam could only describe as a triple-storied, cobbled-up shanty town.

It was a nicely cobbled-up shanty town, compressed to a handful of street blocks, kind of as if M.C. Escher had tried to design a ghetto.

But it was hard to believe such a thing had lasted here, at least until Liam spotted the activity nearby. Most everyone moving around the place was well-dressed and equally well-groomed, with a not ignorable number of armed guards discreetly spread about. Perhaps the reason the buildings had been kept had been for historical reasons rather than economical.

“Here we are,” Bunny declared, finally releasing his hand. “The betting house, well, a betting house, one of the more exclusive ones. This is the rich-people betting house; there are four other legal ones, and something like twelve that will lock their doors if they suspect there’s a guard anywhere nearby.”

“That’s... you found out about all of this pretty quickly.”

“Thanks! It was nothing to an awesome divine aspect like myself. Now come on.” She snatched his hand again and pulled him towards the building.

A guard near one of the entrances scowled at their approach, preparing to intercept, but Bunny pulled out a gold coin from somewhere in her tunic and tossed it at the guy. The guard's attitude changed pretty quickly, opening the door for them, earning a few quiet glares from the others.

The inside of the building was lavishly decorated with thick rugs, dark oak beams, and columns interspersed throughout a café-like room with dozens of tables divided by semi-transparent silk curtains. There was a faint scent of incense lingering in the air, mixed with a herbal flowery smell.

“Don’t you need a spell to make coins? Or do you have a special storage now too? I think I’m sensing Origin might have let you a bit too loose.” He kept himself talking in English, finding it comfortable. Even during his conversations with Maridah, the Goddess hadn’t used the language casually the way Bunny did. Perhaps she hadn’t fully pieced it together before they’d split up?

“The spell is called nimble fingers and empty pockets,” Bunny let out a small chirp, drawing the attention of a volar woman dressed in what Liam could only describe as ‘modest-harem-wear.’ “Table for two, private,” she tossed a gold coin at the waitress, who hastily bowed and led them to an upper floor.

“You couldn’t have just bought your way in…”

“Of course not, I just found out who owned the place and convinced them to make me a member,” Bunny shrugged, turning to the waitress and quickly giving a few instructions to her in a whisper too low for Liam to catch any of it. She followed this by slipping a few silver coins as their guide hastily acknowledged the order and left.

“What was that about?” he asked.

“Surprise.” Her eyes twinkled as she took the lead again, navigating the dark wooden corridor and past the various doors until stepping into a balcony room, with a low table and cushions for chairs.

It was becoming clearer that the people in Doeta preferred furniture at shin level, and to replace chairs with either cushions or legless chairs if you were feeling fancy.

The balcony hung over a small interior courtyard. There were people mingling underneath, but their voices didn’t reach them. Liam approached the veranda, finding a glimmer etched on the wooden railings. “Privacy enchantment?”

“Wolf will help it along to make it work as advertised; you wouldn’t imagine how many people around here like to poke their ears into others' business,” Bunny sighed, gesturing at the cushions. “Now sit.”

Eyeing her for a moment, he obliged, crossing his legs.

She plopped herself down on his lap, wriggling as she glanced over her shoulder at him with a mischievous grin.

“Nope.” He scooped her off of his lap and dropped her on the cushion next to him.

“What, you don’t like my current form?” She glanced down at herself. “I’d even worked something out to avoid the you-know-who,” she wiggled her brows at him. “Wanna see? I've got all the fleshy bits, anatomically correct in every...” Bunny stopped, frowned, and looked down at her chest, poking it with her finger. “Forgot mortals have that stupid heartbeat thing. Anyway, now I have a pulse, I am at a comfortable level of body heat, and I have holes. I will now proceed to rock your world.”

“I will preface this with ‘flattered but no thanks’.” Though Bunny’s tone had been mostly joking, he knew it was best to set things straight. “It’s fun, but I would prefer to keep things at ‘friendship’.”

“With benefits?”

“I’ll call you my best friend in this world if you drop the benefits.”

Bunny tapped her finger against the table. “You drive a hard bargain, but I’ll take it.” Right as she reached out to shake hands, she paused. “Wait, you said THIS world.”

“You’re never going to be a better friend than xx6969gangstalife6969xx. He was with me through thick and thin for many years,” Liam replied nonchalantly, his gaze lingering on the people below.

“What is… what kind of name is that?” She asked, blinking rapidly.

“A dumb one, but that’s a story for another time.” He chuckled. “So, how is this work related?”

“It’s a betting house.” She shuffled a bit, digging underneath the table to pull out two cups. The interior of the cups was made of wood, but the exteriors were covered in brass, with geometric patterns depicting some sort of scene involving plants. “I was thinking that we could knock two birds with one stone.”

“How so?”

“The prize for winning the climbing competition is to personally meet the Emir, right?” She pulled several small containers from under the table. “And if we have more gold to spend, then we can hire more people, so…”

He chuckled. “I might be interested in competing, if only to see how far I can go. But there’s no way I’d win.”

“Duh.” She rolled her eyes. “I originally wanted to be the one showing off, but that wasn’t going to work out since any bit of scrutiny would show I’m an awesome divine self. But you know who’s built for stealth? Wolf is built for stealth; nothing short of some sage-level spell would be able to tell she’s anything other than whatever she’s pretending to be. She can do all that mortal junk great too!”

“...Junk?” He raised a brow.

“You know, all that dumb blinking, expelling moisture, being smelly… all those annoying things you mortals can’t help yourselves from doing.” To make the point, she stopped breathing, and as she did this, a thousand other things shifted about her. It was as if she’d suddenly become an animatronic; her movements became fluid and perfectly smooth, without a tremble or a shake, no blinking, no minute little hints of being alive. “See?” Her voice spoke out without moving her lips.

Liam’s expression stiffened for a moment, a cold trickle running down his back.

Bunny giggled, life seeming to return to her movements, but it was obvious that everything about it was a conscious effort for her.

“So what’s my input in all of this?” He broke out the question, pushing the conversation forward.

“For Wolf to compete, she’d need to stop being your shadow.” She squirmed a little. “We all agreed that if you suspect there might be danger, or think that having her away from you is uncomfortable, then we shouldn’t try this. The same goes if any of us find any hints that the Weaver is plotting something.”

Before he could answer, there was a light knock on the door.

“Ah, here it is! The surprise.” Bunny leaned over and gave a single knock on the door to signal the waitress to enter.

The woman was carrying a bronze kettle, a wooden jar with fresh water in it, and a box made out of woven reeds. She carefully placed all three items on the table and, with a bow, left them alone.

Liam’s eyes locked on the kettle instantly, his nostrils flaring in recognition of what had just been brought.

“Surprise!” Bunny picked up the piping hot kettle by its searing surface, entirely unbothered by the heat, and poured the rich black liquid into his cup.

“Is this…?”

“The Bunny-nose certified, best legally purchasable coffee in the city. The real bestest best one is somewhere in the Emir’s place, but that one can’t be bought, and Origin said I wasn’t allowed anywhere close enough to try and steal it.” She put down the kettle, looking at him expectantly, smiling from ear to ear with a hint of nervousness. “I hope it’s comparable to what you had in your world.”

He blinked down at the cup, closing his eyes, inhaling the rich aroma. Carefully, Liam cupped his fingers around the mug, bringing it closer and giving it a tentative sip. “It’s perfect.”

Bunny fidgeted. “Oh, uh, really? You said you liked it with milk, and there’s some honey and goat’s milk here, which-”

“I’ll get to that,” he took another long sip, the near-scalding elixir making its way down his throat and leaving a warmth in his belly. Liam put the cup down, looking at her with a smile. “Thanks, this was a great surprise. I couldn’t have asked for a better one.”

He barely had time to see her eyes widen and her face flush before Bunny abruptly poofed, spontaneously returning to her original tiny black rabbit form. Without a moment's hesitation, she hopped onto his lap, burying her face in the crook of his arm.

“You ok?” Glancing down at her, he reached out to scratch her between the ears.

“You better remember my generosity.” Bunny proclaimed, the tiny ball of fluff snuggling into his arm. “I’m your best friend.”

“Yup, best friend in this world.” He laughed, scratching her between her ears. “Do you want some?”

“Wolf said the last thing anyone needs is for me to have a metabolism capable of experiencing caffeine.” Bunny replied. “Also, it’s too bitter, I prefer chia.”

Seeing wisdom in the hunter-aspect’s words, he used his free arm to pour himself milk and honey into his cup, stirring it to a dark brown, and then gingerly sipping the hot beverage. Meanwhile, Bunny took the chance to excitedly narrate what she’d been doing today, and it had been a LOT. The aspect had been buzzing with the hope to let loose now that she was allowed full access to her abilities, and she’d been very busy.

“Wait, back up.” He muttered, catching on to the rambling. “You destroyed a gang!?”

-

[044] (Special)

"The human you seek is somewhere within this city!"

The Vania patriarch held the pink slipper tightly, his wrinkled bony fingers clenching the object as if trying to keep it from flying away. Indeed, the slipper glowed softly, yanking at the mage’s arm as if with a life of its own, twisting left and right, squirming as it pointed towards the port ahead.

Ilana looked upon the mage with a tender smile, reaching out to grab the slipper while she held a pearl of aether in her other hand. Carefully extracting the mana out of the aether, she empowered her blessings directly. It was a rather dangerous thing as an overloaded blessing could prove fatal, but it had become increasingly necessary. Every passing day, her connection to her blessing grew fainter, as if water were escaping between her fingers. The high priestess dared not imagine what it would mean to not be fateless, but also to no longer carry proof of the devotion she held for the Weaver.

Seeking out Liam Carter’s fate would be fruitless and a waste of resources, and a part of Ilana warned her that attempting it again might only worsen her condition. Thus, she focused on those whose fates she had closely watched since getting on the boat. The sailors and the Yulvenir dog were showing signs of the corruption of fatelessness, but their threads still held for now.

So she tugged upon them, using them as anchors to look upon that which lay ahead.

A familiar milky whiteness spread across her vision, and the world around her spun, changing to someplace else.

She was in a crowd, surrounded by hundreds of people, faceless, clamoring, dancing, singing, a grand celebration. The only distinguishable trait was a set of gates, with guards wearing the Doeta sigil of a giant claw upon their uniforms. Yet theirs was altered, the emblem showing a geometrical flower within the pincer’s grasp.

There was a shout, and a void swept across the crowd. Ilana quickly averted her gaze, sensing without seeing as the blackness passed over everyone like a furious screen of smoke, swirling through the gate and past the guards. “Wait!” A voice cried out from the crowd. Eyes looked into Ilana and through her, eyes with black sclera and white irises, they were the eyes of the Yulvenir dark-elf, the woman moving through Ilana and reaching out towards the guards.

The gates slammed shut.

The high-priestess gasped, pulling away from the vision. Her head throbbed to the rhythm of her racing heart. She was sure she’d caught a glimpse of her target, the smoke, the blackness, they who had no fate… questions bubbled within her mind. Why had she just now seen a sign of his existence? Liam Carter was as fateless as her, yet why…

No, this wasn’t enough. She needed answers, a path ahead. Ilana pushed past the throbbing in her temples and absorbed more mana from the aether, casting her powers once more, changing the target she wished to latch onto.

//Ilana stood within a room, a study. Black blood splattered the walls and floor; something lay against one of the walls, a blackness in the shape of a human woman. It was near impossible to make out any details of her figure, only the emblem upon a table, the claw and the geometric flower.

The figure trembled, holding her stomach as more blackness poured out of her.

Doors slammed open, and a wall of noise slammed against Ilana with the force of a raging storm. Everything around her began to distort and swirl, the very floor beneath her feet giving way to nothingness as a single word was cried out in a voice that made the universe tremble.

“AISHA!”//

Ilana canceled the spell just as her mind exploded in agony. The elf’s vision was swimming, the boat, the sea, everything was woozy and out of focus. Ilana reached to her lips, noticing moistness, blood.

Someone spoke to her, but her ears were ringing too loudly.

“Oh Weaver, please guide my hand,” she whispered, reaching into her pouch to pull out a single die. “Let this servant carry out your will.” Dropping it, she watched as it came to a stop at one.

Gritting her teeth, she ignored the movement around her as she clutched what remained of the aether and absorbed it, unleashing her blessing one more time, feeling its presence burn within her body.

//It was a singular still image, a painting that lay in front of her eyes. In it, there was a crowd, and in front of the crowd, there was a raised platform.

Two figures prominently stood upon the platform.

The first was a volar man, with rich blue scaled skin and dressed just as richly as only a noble of the Caliphate would. The man had four rings, each of them sporting sigils from the Sultanate, each one a sign of his position as an Emir, and someone who carried the blessings of the Warrior. He stood tall and proud, strong and unafraid, greeting the crowd and blind to the monster next to him.

It was a creature in the shape of a mortal. A dark abomination of fangs and darkness, an impossible existence made of infinite eyes and just as many mouths. Each of its pupils was aimed directly at the Emir, fangs and claws poised to claim his life in an instant.

And then the painting moved, each of the terrible eyes on the monster turning to look at Ilana directly. A dark chuckle rumbled through the monster as it stepped out of the painting and towards her. “Just a matter of time,” it spoke with a terrible voice.

Above them, the sky darkened, a giant beak swallowed the sun, plunging the world into eternal darkness.//

With a scream, Ilana came back to reality, drenched in sweat and tasting her own blood. Her limbs thrashed against the grip of a dozen others. Men and women pinning her down to the deck of the ship.

It was only once they were certain that she’d returned to her senses that they slowly let go, but it would be several more minutes before Ilana could even form a thought, the terror of the infinite darkness burning inside of her whenever she closed her eyes. It would be another hour before she’d regain enough of herself to process that the others were still paying attention to her.

“We must hurry,” she spoke hoarsely, taking the offered waterskin. “This city… it is in grave danger.”

---

Bunny waited until Liam was gone before she took her human form again, her gaze lingering on the street he had departed, her head still tingling from the feeling of his fingers. Thinking about the little meal, her face flushed. "He treats me like a child," she spoke through her mind, pouting, rubbing her cheeks and willing her stubborn skin to stop erratically growing hotter.

If she wasn't careful, the turban would catch fire... again.

"That is because you act like one," Wolf materialized, taking the form of a small dog and hopping onto Bunny's arms. "You at least prepared what we need?"

Bunny scoffed. "Of course I did. Origin wouldn't let me propose a half-baked plan."

"Which is what you would usually do," the hunter smirked a little. "It appears Liam has been a good influence on you."

Bunny didn't answer, fighting to keep her long fuzzy ears from escaping the turban... again.

Though her form was technically that of a human, she had gone out of her way to keep her original ears as best she could. They were a piece of her original form that she had retained mostly for aesthetics, and maybe also because she had wanted to show them off... but that might be best for another time.

Walking through the streets, Wolf ignored the stares, pretending to be asleep (as if an aspect ever needed sleep), while Bunny luxuriated in the attention. It was a nice change of pace; here, in this city of mortals, she wasn't ignored, she wasn't a nuisance, her appearance made her exotic, and her power made her important.

If only Liam would get over his hang-ups, she would show him everything she was capable of.

Taking over the city wouldn't be too hard for her; all she would need to do would be to march up to the Emir's place and bash his head in. But going around killing everyone who disagreed with her would just get the pantheon to look their way and send an aspect of their own. And as strong as Bunny was compared to a mortal, she knew that her Origin was incredibly weak. It meant Bunny was cheap, almost to the point of being expendable.

The knowledge hadn't bothered her; she was an aspect, her whole purpose was to be made and destroyed at the convenience of Origin. She was, after all, an extension of the Goddess's divinity, and in her destruction, she would merely reform as part of the whole. The concept of continuous existence held no meaning to Bunny, as Origin could remake her at any time, exactly as she was now.

But lately, the thought of reintegrating made her uncomfortable.

Just a tiny bit.

Would Origin truly ever make her again? Would she spend resources to reform Bunny rather than anyone else? In the jungle, it wasn't such an expense because there was no risk of loss of divinity; Bunny would always be within reach of her domain. But with her changing the location of her domain and moving her remaining relic around, Bunny could easily be deemed a liability to create... or even to allow to keep going.

The worst possible fate for an aspect would be if their Origin chose to discard everything that they were.

Wolf peered up at her, sensing Bunny's distraught state. "You've been floating to avoid tripping; your focus on your bodily movements has slackened. A few mortals almost caught it."

Bunny reflected her annoyance by tightening her jaw. "It won't happen again." She pushed away the useless speculation. She was an aspect, and even if she was never made exactly as she was now, surely there would be parts of her that would be useful.

Besides, she knew a few juicy secrets Liam had shared with her, secrets of the world that Origin had never known. There was no way the bitchy boss would discard her completely.

Regaining a bit of her confidence and now better focused on her path ahead, Bunny continued making her way down into the poorer parts of the city. There was a distinct aura of fear hanging around that had not been present that morning, and Bunny preened a little at the dissatisfied look on Wolf's aura. The hunter preferred keeping things quiet and discreet; she'd been made for that purpose, after all. But Origin had given Bunny the go-ahead, and thus she was the one calling the shots for the first time in either of their existences.

Discreetly blasting her aura of smugness was about as close as she'd probably get to rubbing the canine's snout in it.

She didn't push her aura too strongly, though; that would freak out the mortals… again.

There were so many things she'd never learned from the memories given to her by Origin. Everything was a new, fun experience! If only she could've been allowed to visit a mortal population center sooner…

"We're here!" She cheerily declared with her warbly air-vibrating words, opening the door to a small house, ignoring the scent of blood and floating over the red puddle, making sure to lock the door behind herself.

"You were sloppy," Wolf chastised, switching to spoken words now that there were no mortals to hear… well, none they had to be concerned about. The huntress's aura curled with distaste as she regarded their surroundings. "A monster would've been cleaner."

"This is why Origin put me in charge; the point wasn't to be clean," Bunny rolled her eyes, traipsing down to the cellar, feet never touching the ground.

Wolf grumbled, looking around. "Enlighten me."

"Notice how there's a lot of old death and pain hanging around? They controlled the other gangs through violence and fear," she opened the door, a lone figure twitched, eyes opening wide, screaming into the cloth gag. The large mortal wriggled, desperately trying to escape. "I spoke to them in their language."

"Is this the one?" Wolf glanced down at the prisoner. "It's a man."

"He meets the criteria," Bunny shrugged. "A physically fit mortal, one that won't be missed. I could've spent more time looking for a better-looking one, but we don't have that much time, and you do need to acclimatize."

"A female would allow us to grow closer to the Emir… and this one's essence is disgusting to even look at."

"Starting a relationship with the Emir would mean you would have to spend more time away from guard duty," she scratched the canine between the ears, much to her fellow aspect's added annoyance. "The goal is to convince him to send mortals to the jungle; no need to extend things past that, unless you don't like your current protection assignment."

"Hm… fine."

The dog leapt from Bunny's arms, its body shimmering as it lost all physicality, her aura piercing into the mortal's and overwhelming it. The volar man screamed, twitching, wriggling, and convulsing. His aura spasmed, bent, and shattered, his eyes eroding as blackness replaced them, the metaphysical aspects of his existence being consumed and replaced by the aspect.

"Be sure to dress yourself once you're done with your meal."

Bunny stepped outside, closing the door behind her.

With a happy little tune, she began to clean up the place, erasing the traces of the violence that had transpired. After Wolf was done assuming her new identity, Bunny would contact her new group of "eager followers" and arrange things so that not just the first place would be guaranteed, but all top twenty.

Tampering with the race would've been way harder if the fat cats hadn't already fixed it beforehand.

By the time the race finished, their favored mortal would be the richest mortal in the city.

"Try to beat THAT, xx6969gangstalife6969xx! We’ll see who's the best friend then!"

---

Aisha al-Hakim sat in her study, surrounded by scrolls of parchment and books made of fine paper. The Amil of Doeta pored over the latest batch of permit requests, at least a dozen of them, each and every one given out by some merchant or craftsman that was too important for her to just toss away.

If it were in her hands, she would have had the first few executed just to teach the others a lesson. But she wasn’t the Emir. Worse, many of the names she was looking at were of people who were close with the Emir. This meant they had priority over already approved permits, and they knew it.

It was the exact reason why they had sent their permit requests late. By requesting the exact spots the competition had already settled into, they could kick them out. The whole thing was a treacherous cut-throat approach to guarantee a heavy loss for their competitors.

This year, the sleazeballs had actually tried to make a smart move. “They probably heard about it from that jeweler who came a month ago,” Aisha muttered to herself, remembering the rotund dwarf and his sticky fingers.

Their plan did have one problem, namely, that they had never bothered to gain Aisha’s favor, a lesson that their competition had actually learned. So it was that, with a stroke of her quill and a stamp of her seal, the Amil amusedly folded the letters into a separate pile.

Picking up a small bell and ringing it twice, a servant hurriedly entered, bowing low. “Please call the muhtasib.”

The servant hesitated. “Should I send a messenger to meet tomorrow?”

“No. Right now,” Aisha leaned back against her seat. “Do inform him it is urgent.”

“At once, my sayyida.”

Turning to a different task, Aisha kept the permits within reach as she waited. Fortunately, she did not have to wait for long, and a rotund man with a large turban stepped into her study, breath short and heavy. The muhtasib was the man in charge of inspecting the bazaar, and the volar was about as deplorable as the merchants that were about to receive some well-earned comeuppance.

“You called, my Amil?” He bowed.

“I did, these permit requests came to my desk a few hours ago,” she handed them over. “Please make sure that they are informed that they’ve been approved.”

The man bristled, his face turning a shade redder at the indignity of being used as a mere messenger. The anger, however, froze once he looked at the papers. “There… is something wrong with these documents.”

“Whatever do you mean?” Aisha feigned ignorance with an amused smile.

“They are approved for next year’s festival.”

“Then it is no mistake, the deadline for permit requests for this year closed a week ago, and the window for requests for next year opened…” She glanced out the window for a moment. “At sunset.”

“But-!” His attempted retort died short when he met her cold glare. The man stiffened, then bowed, aware that there was no room for him to toe the line. “They will be informed at once, my Amil.”

If the merchants and artisans were smart, they would take their loss and learn from their mistake. If, instead, they were fools, then they would attempt to complain to the Emir, at which point they would learn that she did not answer to the Emir, but to the Vizier himself. It didn’t mean that the ruler of Doeta couldn’t punish her in some way, but it would be impossible for him to do so to a degree that would prevent Aisha from crushing the miserable sycophants to dust.

“He who controls the coin, controls the world,” she whispered her father’s adage.

With nothing better to do at this late hour, she signaled the servants to turn off the oil-wicks and left her study. She was feeling slightly restless, not quite ready to go to her chambers yet, wandering around her estate and enjoying the cool night breeze. The guards had small bonfires near the gate, illuminating the estate’s entrance, giving off the impression that they had a need for it. Meanwhile, the perimeter was patrolled by a carefully selected group of draxanis, their ability to see in the dark making them invaluable to Aisha.

As she strolled through the gardens, she spotted a lone figure standing near one of the pools. She would’ve suspected an intruder if not for the calmness of the guards currently keeping watch. Knowing it could only be one person, Aisha slipped on her ring of divination and appraisal, unable to resist activating its effect.

The spell carved into the gold band paled in comparison to the actual spell. She was staring at him as if through a muddy lens with tears in her eyes, noticing the odd glow of mana that he gave off. Yet she remembered it vividly, how his right arm was covered in the swirls of a roaring sea while the rest of his body was dotted by glowing freckles that pulsed to his heartbeat.

Secretly and silently, she watched, unsure why she found herself unable to step closer.

The minutes bled by quickly, and the enchantment ran out, yet Aisha remained there, watching the man named Liam as if she were some foolish girl and hating herself for it. Even without the spell, she could imagine the blotches of color upon his body so vividly it was as if she’d looked upon the sun for too long, and now there were spots in her eyes. A starry sky contained within the shape of a mortal, when the skies within the Great Claw were only ever illuminated by the light of potted rust-moss.

All too soon, he turned to return to his quarters, entirely unaware of her presence. The Amil chided herself as she headed off to her own quarters.

This was very unlike her. She was the Amil; she’d killed people to reach her position, and she’d killed even more to keep it. A cunning mind, rigorous self-control, and ruthlessness had seen her succeed where others had failed.

And now this.

First, she invited him as a guest when she’d intended to drill him about how he’d gotten his hands on her father’s belongings, and then she’d avoided her guest as if she were somehow ashamed.

Yet the more she’d seen, the surer she became.

Her father had tried to add this man to his collection and failed. Now he'd come, no doubt learning of their connection and seeking compensation or retribution.

It was a disaster waiting to happen.

It seemed her father, even in death, had left her another mess to clean.

-

[045]

Liam encountered Imani on his way back from his very long coffee break with Bunny. The leonid had been waiting for him near the main plaza and had spotted him right away. A brief exchange confirmed that the mercenary had fulfilled all her obligations, contractual and otherwise, and that everything was in order for her to take up his offer.

Imani had been curt, brief, and very stiff during negotiations.

The leonid was openly agreeable to most anything Liam suggested, and had even proposed lowering her pay, which he’d vehemently refused. There was a vague sense that she either didn’t have a good grasp on money, or that she was extremely nervous about the whole thing.

It was likely both, seeing as a Goddess’ aspect had spoken to her… Liam was champing at the bit to figure her out and try to help her relax, but she hadn’t been engaging in any of his attempts at small talk.

In the end, it had been a lot of back-and-forth, but mostly to flesh out the details rather than argue over them. Her new contract boiled down to three tasks: first was to be security detail for Liam and his assets (which was nothing new to her). The second was to be a recruiter (be the person in charge of finding people to hire, and filtering out any undesirables, with salaries coming from Liam’s pocket). And the last one was to either find someone competent to lead the group or lead the group herself.

There were intricacies to their agreement. Details such as at what point she could just go “fuck it, we’re out” and kidnap Liam out of a dangerous situation; or the broad desired composition of the hired help that they’d be taking to Cracked Bay; or the expected maximum duration of her contract until it would be reviewed for renewal.

To make sure everything was above board (a detail Imani insisted upon, and Liam had no reason to refuse), they went to a scribe so that everything was put down in writing and in duplicate.

The contract was notarized, sealed, and the katib (the title scribes use in the Caliphate) was paid handsomely for the rush work at the late hour the very day before a large celebration. Liam was certain that the only reason the guy accepted their request in the first place was because the katib had found out Liam was the Amil’s guest.

If that was the case, then word had spread really fast.

After a frankly too-long day for both of them, Liam led the way back to the Amil’s estate, with Imani just gawking at it all as they were welcomed in. The gawking became nervous as the cart she was lugging around with her belongings was handled by the servants, and it compounded further as she saw the guest room meant all for her lonesome.

The human, on the other hand, gave his greetings, shared the good-nights, took a stroll, and then slumped onto the most comfortable pile of pillows ever. He barely even registered closing his eyes before he’d fallen asleep.

---

Liam woke up to the light tinkling of a small bell and the faint scent of something sweet. The first hints of dawn were creeping in, a faint orange glow bathing the garden past the semi-transparent curtains of his room. A short figure stood silently on the steps leading to his room but not quite at the curtains, the silhouette of their head unmistakably that of a draxani. “Grauch, is that you?” Liam yawned out, rubbing the last remnants of sleep from his eyes.

“Indeed, sir, I’ve brought a morning snack.” He moved just close enough to place a tray on his side of the curtains. “Your breakfast with the Amil will be in an hour. We’ve prepared an adequate set of clean clothes; would you need any assistance, or will you be bathing on your own?”

“On my own is fine, thanks.” His toes curled into the thick, warm rug as he approached the curtain. “I should be ready in time, though if there’s anything you think I might need to know, now’s the time.”

“Very well.” He bowed, giving a brief rundown of the way scented oils and soaps were used before he turned and left.

Liam regarded the retreating Grauch for a moment. Though the guy was a servant, basically barely a step above a slave, his future prospects were quite solid (so long as the Amil didn’t fire him). The Caliphate was culturally built through trade, with the Merchant God being one of its main patrons. Thus, there was room for upward mobility in the Caliphate, but a lot of it gravitated around generational nepotism. In short, though technically anyone could become the next sultan, you’d place your bets on the handful of brats the current sultan had sired.

In short, it would be reasonable for the draxani to expect that his kids would have a better childhood than he had. In a world where most people’s prospects were to live a life not too different from the one their previous twelve ancestors had, that was a rather fortunate thing.

Promising himself to find some time to pester the guy to share some stories, Liam set out to bathe, clean up, and right as he was about to dress, he spotted a small box next to his change of clothes. It contained a dozen tiny glass bottles, each filled with an oily substance, with one of them being upside down. A quick pull of the cork and a sniff confirmed they were perfumed oils, with soft tones he couldn’t really put a name on.

“If I remember correctly…” Following the instructions he’d received from Grauch, he coated a bit of the oil on his palm and scrubbed it into his hair, using a comb to settle it all down before closing the box.

On his way out of the guest quarters, he realized there was sunlight.

Well, it had been there since a little after he’d woken up, but Liam hadn’t paid much attention until now. Looking up, he realized that a series of massive mirrors had been set up alongside the ridge of the inside of the larger beak. They had to be enchanted somehow, because Liam couldn’t otherwise explain how they were ensuring that the bit of sunlight hitting the top of the beak made its way down and bathed the whole district with the same intensity as if it were midday.

“May I approach, sir?”

“Uh… sure?”

Grauch stepped past the foliage, giving one quick glance at Liam and then down at the wrap of cloth that was next to the box. “Ah, leaving the turban for last, a wise choice.”

He blinked, glancing at the cloth, then back up at the draxani. “I think we can skip the pretenses. I have no clue how to wear a turban and had not even thought it was part of the ensemble.”

If gazes could speak, the servant’s yellowed eyes would’ve probably told a story between surprise and amusement. “It is a rather easy problem to solve, if sir would wish for it.”

“I’m meeting the Amil, the last thing I need is to come off as disrespectful.”

“Of course.”

Sitting down, Grauch picked up several pieces of cloth and began his work. Liam tried to remain as still as he could while his head was wrapped in what he hoped was an adequate number of layers. The draxani’s work was efficient, keeping the cloth tight but not uncomfortably so. Yet, he was not done once the silver-gray turban was completed; Grauch pulled out an upside-down bottle from the box, extracting a droplet of oil and gently applying it to Liam’s stubble.

He stopped when Liam recoiled a little in surprise. “That…”

“Excuse me if I overstepped, sir,” he quickly apologized with a bow and stepped back.

“Just not used to any of this,” Liam glanced down at himself, wearing a soft green tunic that reached all the way down to his knees (it had another name, but for the life of him, he couldn’t remember it). Over the tunic, he wore a waistcoat of darker green, adorned with silver thread in a geometric pattern of some sort, and beneath it, he had a set of loose trousers. “I probably look like the genie that pops out when you rub a dusty router.”

“There is one more thing,” Grouch declared, ignoring his self-deprecating comment out of a desire not to embarrass either of them by assuming what he meant. “The Amil wished for you to have this.” Seemingly out of nowhere, he produced a small bundle of silk.

Inside was a thick silver ring, studded with several pieces of malachite, the band patterned with tiny, seemingly random floating geometric figures.

Liam stared at it.

“Is something the matter, sir?”

“No, it’s… just something I presume she wouldn’t have known. Where I come from, partners propose matrimony with a ring.” Raising his hands in a placating gesture, he chuckled amicably to show no hard feelings. “I know that a ring holds no such meaning here, though I’m not exactly used to receiving gifts either; I should probably stop myself from rambling.”

Grauch studied him closely. “Perhaps the Weaver has seen to change your fortune.”

It was meant as a compliment, Liam knew that, but his smile turned a little brittle despite himself. “Yeah, maybe.” The answer was non-committal as the draxani led the way forward while Liam started to wonder whether sending Wolf off had been the right thing to do.

Even then, he couldn’t help but feel a trickle of anxiousness. There was no way Thalgrim hadn’t detected him when he’d met Imani, with the mercenary carrying some tinkering from the Goddess. Similarly, Aisha was an Amil, her life touching upon that of every citizen in Doeta; Thalgrim must know Liam was here. Even if nothing had happened, there was that gigantic “yet” hanging overhead like a sword of Damocles.

The big question was whether they had stepped into one of her plots or not. Was it truly a coincidence that he had become a guest to a fourth-circle mage he couldn’t remember writing about?

Liam’s gaze fell on the bundle of purple silk and the ring. In the Caliphate, a gifted ring didn’t really mean much; to the people in the higher ranks of the nation, it was sort of the equivalent of sharing a beer. Hell, if an Amil and their guest became friends, it wouldn’t be seen as weird for said Amil to give an actual job offer to the guest.

Nepotism was the name of the game.

But the opposite also applied: turning down a gift wasn’t exactly a nice gesture. Not as bad as refusing to be a guest, but still.

“When in Rome…” Resigned to at least being cordial about it, he gingerly extracted the silver ring and placed it on the palm of his right hand. His little guests didn’t respond, no tingling to indicate the presence of mana, so chances were it didn’t have any enchantments. Taking the leap, he slid it onto his index finger, half expecting something to pop out, but nothing happened… which just made Liam slightly more nervous.

His mind just kept bouncing back to Thalgrim and her ploys. Liam insisted to himself that he should be relaxing; he lacked the resources and skills necessary to spot a plot coming his way. He’d just roll with the punches. It wasn’t like he couldn’t handle things. Bunny and Wolf were within the city; nothing short of one of the deities sending an aspect of their own could pose a threat to them. And the Weaver wouldn’t send an aspect herself; that would be impossible to hide from the other members of the pantheon. Overthinking this was not helping, and he really needed to stop.

The little self-pep-talk helped him relax a little, and with a shrug, he threw away any further lines of thought that were irrelevant to the current situation. Which meant Aisha, Amil of Doeta, someone with the skills of a fourth-circle mage, but one he didn’t know anything about. Her invitation to be her guest had rattled him, and so far, he’d learnt nothing about the woman other than how impressively wealthy she was.

That really needed to change. Liam promised himself to try and see what he could find out about her. His buzzing thoughts came to a screeching halt the moment he stepped through the hedges and into an almost private little corner of the garden.

Aisha al-Hakim sat at the center of the picturesque scene, her dark skin and brilliant green eyes bathed in the multi-faceted light of the spell she wove. It was a sphere of swirling, floating, glowing yarn, each string no thicker than the thread of a spiderweb, twirling and spinning in place like a globe that had been carved open. Her fingers reached out into the guts of the spell, caressing each line and knot into place with the same grace as a harpist playing a melody. Each pluck and each twirl made the weave shift subtly, yet despite the hundreds of threads, Aisha would not touch the spell with anything other than the very tip of her fingers.

The magic sang to her, the knots pulsating with life to her every touch as she drew out the spell, teasing it, leaving it to linger at the edge of the precipice as she added minute flourishes to the design. Each little twist was nothing that gave it added practicality, but that made the spell shimmer with a beautiful whimsical geometry.

Liam moved closer, not daring to make a sound or disturb the mage, taking in everything, trying to commit it to memory even as he could barely breathe.

A soft crunch of sand broke the spell. The Amil twitched, the tiny loss of focus enough for the spell to no longer sustain itself, collapsing in on itself, the glow forming a dim light that poured into her forehead, the only trace of the work of art being the phantasmal glow of her emerald eyes.

Their gazes locked, and both their breaths hitched. “Excuse my slip-up,” she was the first to speak, quickly coughing to regain her composure. “Please, Liam, sit, let us eat. The day will be a long one.” Aisha’s eyes briefly regarded him, eyes coursing over him, the slight small of approval one that made him feel a little flushed under the collar.

Liam swallowed, hurrying to his chair and noting Grauch was nowhere to be seen; he’d make sure to thank the draxani for the choice in clothes. “Yeah… let’s.”

Better not screw this up.

---

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