The storm eased into a steady drizzle, silver ribbons of rain slanting across the street. The chaos was gone now, sirens still cut the night, but their cries were fading as the last of the people were ferried away. Medics and police officers moved with quiet efficiency, shepherding survivors into vans and covered trucks.
Rosette St. Jon stood apart from them, one gloved hand cupped lightly against her ear. Her stance was rigid, her boots set square in the wet pavement, as Elise's voice filtered through the communication device made from a rune scribbled on her palm.
"[Good work,]" Elise said, her tone was calm. "[Both anchors were destroyed. The domain collapsed cleanly. Brumália will sleep easier because of you.]"
Rosette's expression did not shift. She breathed once, low, controlled before answering in her clipped, clinical manner.
"Not a problem. Do you need my help in killing the Phantasm?"
"[No.]" Elise replied, unshaken. "[That's already being handled. Me alongside Kade.]"
"Understood." Rosette let her hand drop slightly, her voice stripped of inflection. "Then what do you require of me now? I've searched the first two floors. If the people we are searching for were here I didn't see them there."
There was a pause before Elise answered.
"[We've received word from a scout. Ruben Rayo and Corbin Monet are in this city. Keep your ears open. Interact with the people. If they've touched this place you'll hear of it.]"
Rosette inclined her head once, a gesture Elise could not see. "Acknowledged."
The survivors were being sorted. The retired army man stood in line with others, grizzled face bent as a medic spoke to him. For a moment, Rosette considered questioning him. But the thought flickered away and died.
It wasn't her strength. Small talk was not her weapon, nor was coaxing words out of weary old couples.
Instead, her gaze landed on the ambulance.
A child sat inside, perched on a stretcher, unrestrained. His legs swung slightly, scuffed trainers knocking together as he drank orange juice through a paper straw. Medics hovered for a time, checking him over, but then drifted off to collect supplies.
Rosette had been told that she would guard the vehicle as they went on the move back to the city. So now would be a time to get to know the passengers.
Her boots struck the asphalt as she stepped closer, her shadow falling across the open door.
The boy looked up. His eyes were ringed red, his cheeks still streaked faintly with salt. For a second, Rosette just stood there, motionless. Her muscles were built for combat, not conversation, especially not with children. Her throat felt stiff.
At last, awkwardly, she raised a hand and gave the briefest of waves.
"Hi," Fionn said, his voice thin and high.
Rosette nodded once, exhaled through her nose. "I… don't think I've ever been in this situation. So I don't know how to start it." Her bluntness made the boy blink, but she pressed on, keeping her tone level. "Are you alright now?"
Fionn wiped his mouth with the back of his hand, nodding. "Yeah. I feel fine. Just… I don't really know actually."
Her lips pressed into a flat line. "I'm sorry I or no one else was able to get here and stop what happened to your father."
The boy's mouth twitched. He took another sip of his juice before muttering, "That's the second time I've heard that today."
Rosette's eyes narrowed faintly. Then, slowly, she answered. "I don't know what it's like. Losing a parent. Many Paladin do, but I have two wonderful fathers, both still alive. Both good men. They've helped me in more ways than I can count."
Fionn's shoulders sagged. His voice quivered as he spoke.
"I barely even knew my father. He was always working. When I went over to his house with leftovers from my Mam, he wouldn't eat it all like he used to… unless it was her shepherd's pie." He sniffled. "She'd put cumin in it. Too much Cumin I told her. But my dad liked it."
His voice broke, but he fought on.
"He didn't really care about hurling matches anymore, either. He used to, but lately he seemed more interested in watching Gaelic football at the stands. He'd cheer louder than I ever remembered." His small hands balled up at his sides, trembling. "He only liked staying at one inn in town, too. Said the matron there was like his second Mammy. He'd never go anywhere else."
The words tangled into sobs. His orange juice carton crumpled in his grip.
"And now… now I don't even have his shamrock. The one he always wore. I… I lost it. It's gone. And that was his. It was his and now they're both gone."
Rosette froze. Her hand twitched, stuttered midair, before she forced it forward. Her palm settled against the crown of his head, fingers brushing his navy-dark hair. She kept the touch firm but careful, as if handling something fragile. And in a way, all children are fragile.
"From what you've told me," she said slowly, her voice stripped bare of its usual steel, "it seems you already know a great deal about your father. More than some ever do."
Fionn looked up, eyes brimming, wet lashes clinging together.
Rosette nodded once, meeting his gaze head on. "You carry him with you. You live for both yourself and him. You make new memories, to add to the ones you've already been given."
Fionn's chin wobbled, but he nodded. "Thank you."
His lips parted, as if to say more. But the air shifted.
A flicker of gold slipped through the drizzle, shedding light like a candle flame. Both of them turned.
A small, wingless dragon glided into the ambulance. Its scales shimmered like coins, its form weightless, insubstantial. Looping around its body was… the lost shamrock.
Fionn gasped, his small hands flying upwards. "That's mine!"
The dragon coiled around his neck, gentle as silk. Rosette's body tensed, hand already reaching for the scaly beast, but Fionn flinched back, eyes wide.
"No! It's my shamrock!"
The dragon shimmered, body unravelling into flecks of gold. The shamrock remained, resting against the boy's chest. It returned.
Fionn gave a shaky, crooked smile, tears cutting down his face. "Ruben got it back for me."
Rosette's head tilted. "Ruben… Rayo?"
"Yes!" Fionn burst out. His voice grew eager, tripping over itself. "He's great. Him and Corbin, they saved me. They fought the man that killed my dad. They…"
A scream cut him off.
High, sharp, ripping across the night. A woman's scream, raw and panicked.
Rosette's head snapped toward it. She straightened in one motion, jaw tightening. "Stay here." She ordered. Fionn shrank back against the stretcher, clutching his shamrock.
Rosette moved. Her boots slammed the wet ground as she pushed through the thin crowd of medics and survivors, their gasps rising like static. The scream had come from near the line of transport vehicles, the plain white vans now surrounded by a growing knot of people.
She felt it before she saw it. There was spilled blood.
Her hands hovered near her hip as she advanced. Someone near the van whispered hoarsely. "It's… him."
Rosette's brow furrowed. Him?
Something fluttered to the ground at her boots. She looked down. A photograph.
She bent and lifted it, rain pattering across its slick surface. A picture, recent, shaky, clearly captured in haste. The angle was low, peering into the back of the van.
The image showed two bodies.
Men. Hotel guests. Their faces are still recognizable, though twisted in death. Both sat slumped, throats torn wide in brutal slashes, meat and tendon spilling like spilt fruit. One, Tomas Byrne, sagged sideways, blood pooling dark under his collar.
The other, Gareth Whitlock, was worse. His throat was cut clean, but his eyes had been carved out, sockets hollowed into gory pits. And his eyes fell to his lap, blood streaked down his cheeks, wet and glistening, as if he'd wept.
The picture shook faintly in Rosette's grip, but her face remained stone. She followed its truth forward.
And then she saw it with her own eyes.
The van's open doors yawned wide. Inside, the two corpses slumped exactly as they had in the photo, the smell strong. The floor is slick with blood. Someone, another hotel guest, retched behind her.
A medic's voice rang out, louder than before, quivering but clear through the night.
"It was The Stillman!"
***
The noon sun slanted across Lea's living room, spilling gold through half-drawn curtains. Dust motes swirled lazily in the air, softening the sharp edges of the modest but carefully kept house.
The dining table sat pushed partly back into the wall, plates slacked neatly in Lea's arms as she carried them through to the kitchen. From there, the muffled clink of glass against porcelain drifted back into the room.
Ruben and Corbin sat at the dining table, bandages stark white beneath their shirts, faintly visible at wrists and necklines. Both had been stripped of the grime and blood from the hotel, Lucy's touch leaving their injuries muted aches rather than crippling wounds.
Ruben wore a dark grey jumper, simple but clean, sleeves pushed up to the elbows. Corbin had chosen a plain black t-shirt, stretched slightly across his shoulders, and a pair of slate jeans. No frills, no flash, but the kind of easy style that suggested comfort rather than carelessness.
Kade lingered behind them, leaned against the wall near the television. His long coat hung open, damp at the hem from his morning walk which was just surveillance.
Lea reemerged with glasses of water balanced in her hands, setting them down one by one with quiet care. "You two can't stay here," she said, voice steady but not unkind. "My parents will be back soon, and I can't explain why I've suddenly got two boys wrapped in bandages living in the house."
She straightened, brushing hair back from her cheek, and allowed herself the smallest smile. "But I am glad you didn't end up dead."
Corbin reached for his glass, downed a long gulp before setting it back with a soft thud. "Thanks," he said, meeting her eyes. "For getting us out in the end."
Lea nodded once, already shifting toward the common room to put away stray coasters.
Kade's voice cut the quiet. "We haven't received word from our contact yet. Should start thinking the worst has happened."
The silence that followed was not unexpected. Ruben's jaw fixed as he watched the condensation running down the glass.
"Some Paladin are already here. I'm sure they're looking for us."
Lea moved between rooms, her presence a constant rhythm, the shuffle of plates, the soft thud of a cupboard shutting. Ruben took his glass at last, sipping slowly, while Corbin finished in one gulp.
Kade tilted his head towards them. "What was your fight like?" His tone was matter-of-fact, like a soldier requesting a report. They didn't have much time to speak on it before.
When they got back they got treated by the mysterious figure Lucy again, and then they were told to wash up and rest.
Corbin wiped his mouth. "He was an assassin. Posed as a hotel clerk, somehow. Said he was from some group called Jacob's Guild."
The reaction was immediate. Lea paused mid step in the doorway, head turning sharply. Kade's brows lifted, surprise glinting in his otherwise calm face.
"You fought someone from the Guild? No wonder you were so badly beaten." Kade said.
Corbin nodded grimly.
Kade gave a low chuckle, not mocking, but almost disbelieving. "Surprising you lived. They've got a solid reputation. If you contract them, the target always dies. Simple as that. Bang for buck."
Ruben leaned forward slightly, his voice quiet but edged with thought. It was his first contribution to conversation that day. "How does an organization like that even exist without you Paladin getting rid of it?"
Kade's gaze slid distant, fixed on a memory. "I remember, twelve, maybe thirteen years ago now. A group of Paladin from Ostara and a group of Paladin from the southern nation of Albion gathered together. Dario Kosta led them. The goal was to wipe the Guild out completely."
He drew a slow breath, eyes narrowing faintly. "But the current leader they have now fought them. And supposedly he held his own against all of them. Alone."
Corbin frowned, incredulous. "He fought Dario? And a bunch of others and didn't die?"
"That's the story. After that the Pillars decided it would be a wasted effort to continue fights against them. Also many people in high up positions like that have sometimes been exposed for using them." Kade shrugged lightly. "Their leader is strong enough to be a Warlord."
Corbin leaned back. "What's his name?"
"Lucian Lovejoy," Kade said. "Down in the underworld, he's very well known, and feared by all."
The boys exchanged a glance.
"Who knows," Kade added, lips quirking. "Maybe your names will show up on their list now."
Before the thought could settle, Lea swatted the back of his head with a swift hand. "Don't say things like that out loud, idiot."
The television crackled on, pulling their attention. The screen flickered with the image of a square-faced man, his voice steady as he delivered the midday report.
"Tragic news from Brumália," the anchor intoned. "The assassination of the Chief Justice of Eirath, Cormac Ó Briain…"
At the name Ruben thought of Fionn, and the boy's shamrock. He could only hope it had found its way back to him.
The anchor pressed on, speaking of Ó Briain's career, his influence in his homeland and the tremendous loss. "The killer may have escaped. Some have begun to speculate that it is actually connected to a second case."
The images behind him shifted. "The Stillman has returned to Brumália. His first confirmed killings in the city since his spree began. Citizens are urged to stay cautious, and report anything they see. The Paladin, as always, responded swiftly to ensure more lives were not lost."
The room was silent.
Then the anchor straightened. "We now turn to national news. In just a few moments, the announcement will be made, naming the new Warlord of Ostara. A surprise to many, as such a decision has never been made this swiftly in succession. With this, the balance of four Warlords across the world will be restored."
Corbin scowled, muttering beneath his breath.
"For the next fifteen minutes, we shall stay in silence while we remember the loss of our previous Warlord. Sir Dario Kosta."
Lea, moving back toward the table, set a glass down. "They'll announce that soon but for now…"
She stopped speaking as Kade signalled for it and pointed to the boys. She looked to see that they just sat in silence and watched the pictures and videos slide into motion on the TV, all about Dario.
The silence may have been needed for this one. And so, they let it ring.
Sunday 31st October| Year 522
The television bathed the room in a pale light, flickering across their faces. The camera panned across a sea of flags and faces, the capital's square jammed shoulder to shoulder with cheering citizens.
Branneth's sky radiated a kind of brilliance that made every colour feel sharper.
Alfred Stein stepped out onto the raised podium, framed by crimson and ivory banners that rippled faintly in the wind. His square shoulders and stiff gait carried him to the microphone. Ruben could hear Corbin sigh softly at his appearance.
Alfred's voice rolled out, measured and heavy. "Our great nation stands on the edge of a new stage in its development. Today, we look forward. And to begin this new era, it is only right to name our new Warlord."
The crowd below shifted, expectant, the sound of a thousand breaths caught in their throats. Then the doors opened again.
Adrian Wolfe strode forward.
He moved with a presence that seemed to bend the air around him, each step deliberate, weighted. His short red hair caught the light like iron touched with fire, his beard cropped to a disciplined edge.
His face was stern and looked like it was cut from stone. The only thing hindering his appearance was a deep burn scar that travelled from the top left side of his face, all the way to the bottom in a slight diagonal pull.
The gold and red of his cape caught the sun in dazzling waves, draped against the deep black of his regalia. Regal, martial and unyielding.
He pressed a fist to his chest, then lifted his hand, forming his thumb and index into the crude mimicry of a gun, pointing skyward.
The crowd erupted. The roar shook the square, flags whipping frantically as if pulled by the noise alone. Chants of his name bled into one another until it became a single, surging wave. Wolfe. Wolfe. Wolfe.
Alfred Stein's voice cut through. "I present you… Ostara's Warlord… Adrian Wolfe!"
The camera zoomed close, catching his unreadable gaze. To most, it was the image of unshakable strength.
Corbin leaned forward, eyes sharp, almost defensive. "He's the only choice that makes sense. Everyone says he's the closest to Dario's strength within the country. And his stats are good. His are only second to Dario."
Ruben's eyes lingered on the screen, jaw tightening. "Yeah. But he'll never reach Dario's level."
Kade gave a dry chuckle from where he leaned against the wall, his coat still slouched around his shoulders. "Doesn't matter. The Pillars just wanted someone to fill the seat. A figurehead. Ostara's never gone without a Warlord since the Paladin system was set up. They won't risk an image of a gap."
Lea moved from the common room, a dish towel over her shoulder as she set down a plate. "A figurehead or no, he's still capable. He's saved many lives and donated to the right causes. He's proven himself and that's all that matters."
Kade snorted, tilting his head toward the screen. "Plenty of rumours say a lot more than that. Calling him a coward. Supposedly a couple years ago some credible mind reader published his thoughts online, but she was taken to court and they ruled it defamation. But the rumours have been a thing long before that incident."
Lea shook her head, her voice cool but firm. "Rumours don't win trials."
Ruben wanted to ask something. "Do you think he could face one of The First Children? On his own like Dario did?"
The question lingered. Lea's voice was quiet. "It's hard to imagine any one person taking one of them alone. So… no. I don't think so."
Corbin grinned faintly, leaning back in his chair with his arms crossed. "Good. Then he won't last. Give me a few years, I'll clear my name and when the time comes…" His grin widened, sharp with defiance. "I'll punt that coward right out of his undeserved spot."
Ruben glanced at him, but before he could speak there was a sharp knock at the front door.
Every head turned.
Lea froze, certain that her parents weren't the ones. She pointed sharply to the back. "Hide. Now."
Ruben and Corbin rose instantly, already moving. They knew the plan, always keep close to an exit, in this case the back exit was closest. Their socked feet padded quickly across the wood floor as they ducked into the rear hallway.
From their crouched place near the door, Ruben strained his hearing. He caught the sound of the latch turning, the faint creak of hinges. Then… voices.
A woman's tone, cool, controlled, yet carrying authority. He could also hear a second heartbeat. Two people standing in Lea's doorway.
And the familiar voice he could hear belonged to Elise Vogel.
"Nice to finally meet under better circumstances, Lea Lantern."