Elize walked out from the kitchen, a large ceramic tray carrying seven cups of steaming tea held between her palms. Thin lines of smoke wafted into the air as she carefully set the tray down atop the coffee table. "Tea's ready." She smiled, looking between Ansel and Sven—a bead of sweat rolling down her temple.
"Thank you so much, Mrs. Einchalle!" Sven beamed, grabbing a cup of tea and taking a diligent sip. "It tastes delicious as well!" He added, pressing a finger against the porcelain cup. His skin began to crack and turn blue as a slight mist enveloped the tea, and the steam died down.
"Wow..." Elize's eyes widened. "...Is that your ability?" She held the tray against her chest, nodding her head in approval. "...Something like ice manipulation. It looks so useful!"
"It's more than useful," Ansel interjected. "He can also create a massive spear of ice! Not to mention that the mist produced by his ability is also cold enough to sap the strength from your bones. The first time I sparred him, I felt like my entire body was about to freeze over."
"Huh?" Elize looked at her son with a dazed expression. "...You what?"
"Don't worry, Mrs. Einchalle!" Eyra giggled. "It was definitely a one-sided fight, but Ansel didn't get hurt too much. And besides, since then, he's already gotten a lot stronger." She cleared her throat, muttering under her breath, "...Partially thanks to my awesome mentorship."
"Mentorship?" Elize's worried expression eased at Eyra's words.
"Yes, that's right," Cerua curtly responded. "...Eyra helped Ansel prepare for... his practical combat classes by teaching him the Lotus Style of martial arts! In three weeks, he's already used the second apex."
"I see," Elize smiled with a slightly confused nod. "I can't say I completely understand all this martial arts business, but—" she turned toward Eyra, "thank you for taking the time to teach my son. I'm so grateful he has such amazing friends."
Eyra's cheeks tinged pink as she flicked her gaze toward her own reflection in the teacup, taking a little sip. "Oh... thanks," she mumbled, not meeting anyone's gaze.
Seeing his mother talk so openly with his friends sent a fresh wave of happiness through Ansel's heart. 'They helped me out so much...' His gaze swept across the room, looking at all his friends: Rotteger, Cerua, Eyra, and Sven. The people who had helped him train the hardest he could. The people who pushed him to his limits, and the people who helped him surpass those same limits. 'Could I ever repay what they've given me? We've only known each other for three weeks, but... I don't want anything bad to happen to these people. I want to get stronger. I want to try and protect them...' Ansel laughed. "...Without them, I don't think I would've ever managed to activate my ability."
Elize's face went blank, as if she had seen a ghost. "D-did you just say you activated your ability?"
"Yes," Ansel confirmed. "I think I have a broken chord of temporality. During the... during a spar at my academy, I managed to slow down time." He spoke, rubbing the nape of his neck. "I'm not one-hundred percent sure yet, so I'll have to go ask Uncle Pengal."
"Uncle Pengal?" Rotteger raised an eyebrow. "...Do you mean Lieutenant Pengal Shimerone of the second squadron?" He suddenly leaned forward in his seat, almost spilling his tea. "I didn't know he was your uncle!"
"He's not my actual uncle! I've just known him for so long..." Ansel looked off to the side. "He just feels like another member of the family. He's away for long times, but he comes back and always teaches me all sorts of stuff. He's the reason I got into the academy." Clearing his throat, Ansel turned the topic of conversation back to Rotteger. "...But how do you know the lieutenant, Rot?"
"My great-uncle Gunther was a member of the second squadron a while ago. He's an analytical seer, so he held quite an important role. And one day, he decided to take me to a function at the squadron's headquarters. The lieutenant wasn't actually a lieutenant back then, but he seemed really nice from what I can remember."
"Wow," Sven spoke up. "It sounds like your great-uncle is really fond of you, Rot!"
"Yeah..." Rotteger sheepishly chuckled. "He kind of is."
"Mom," Ansel broke away from the conversation to lean closer to his mother. "...Do you know when Dad's going to return home?" Hakim had left for a council meeting the previous evening but was yet to return. This didn't cause much concern for Elize, however, as council meetings are notorious for sometimes taking days, or even weeks of discussion among the two hundred members.
"I'm not quite sure, honey..." Elize shook her head. "I do hope he comes back soon." Observing her son's saddened expression, Elize placed a gentle hand on Ansel's shoulder. "But don't worry, you can visit us any time you want. You know that, right?"
"Right," Ansel smiled, still reluctant to look away from the door.
* * *
"Order! Order in the council room!" An old woman dressed in silky black robes yelled out across the chamber, her voice alone putting an immediate end to the heated discussions taking place between members.
The council room was a massive yawning hall, where four rows of seats stretched out in a semicircular pattern across a large terracotta-tiled floor. The speaker's podium sat at the apex of the curve, overlooking the council. At the center of the semi-circle's open space, three podiums were bolted to the floor. Two directly faced each other—the positions to be taken during a debate. The remaining podium faced the seating directly, used for council-wide addresses.
The speaker cleared her throat, preparing to speak. "Councilman Mitz Fischer will now take the podium to directly address the matter of Octagon's activities in Farrah." Her gavel slammed down across her desk—the signal for Mitz to take center-stage.
Murmurs began to spread across the crowd, despite the speaker's call for utter silence. Mitz had been a controversial addition to the council due to his association with the Snake Tamer Syndicate, who had direct control of the flow of commerce in the lower-class residential district. He had assumed direct command over the syndicate seven years ago, after the untimely death of their previous leader—Fachil Yoran. He had been working toward restoring their reputation and achieving a positive relationship with the people of the slums, yet fear, doubt, and resentment still lingered from the denizens of other districts. Not to mention jealousy—at twenty-four years old, he was the youngest council member to ever be elected, after all.
"Good afternoon, my fellow councilmen and councilwomen." Mitz spread out his arms as he talked, ignoring the hushed ramblings of his audience. "...We have all gathered here today to discuss the arrival of the notorious criminal—the eight-armed flayer of the capital—Octagon."
Mitz's gaze swept across the room as he paced to and fro across the stage, each footstep sending a quiet echo through the large space. "It has been a bit less than three weeks since Octagon's presumed arrival in Farrah. Informants to the council claimed they suspected him to have hitched a ride on a commercial skyship. He is now believed to be hiding out amidst the lower-class district, which is why the discussion of this matter was bestowed upon me—"
"Why the hell should we give a shit about what you say?" A sour voice erupted from the crowd. "...How can you expect us to trust you, huh? You're a criminal too. And who knows—you might even be helping Octagon hide from us!"
A cacophony of other voices spoke up, drowning out Mitz's voice in a sea of shouts and jeers. Mitz opened his mouth to speak but hesitated. Everyone in the room seemed to desperately hate him. 'Just...' he gritted his teeth, 'why don't they listen to me?' He was about to snap when he met the gaze of a councilman who was watching with focused intent.
Hakim looked at Mitz with a sympathetic yet determined expression. Mitz's leadership over the syndicate far surpassed that of Yoran's—who Hakim had a personal controversy with. When Mitz was first elected to the council two weeks ago, he even had the decency to offer Hakim and Elize a personal apology on behalf of the syndicate. Hakim's grudge hadn't completely faded, but he harbored no ill resentment toward Mitz as an individual.
Then, the speaker's voice shot out: "Shut up! All you brats, shut the hell up!" She slammed her gavel down, sending another loud echo reverberating across the chamber as her chest heaved with furious breaths. "Learn some damn manners, you punks!"
Sending an appreciative glance toward the speaker, Mitz continued. "...My people have carefully searched every nook and cranny of the lower-class residential district; from back-alley gutters to dumpster pits. We have seen no sign of Octagon's presence."
A council member reluctantly raised her hand, seeking permission from the speaker. After receiving confirmation, she stood up and spoke with a monotone voice, "So, are you saying that our intel was wrong? We've spent the last few weeks worrying about absolutely nothing?"
"Perhaps," Mitz spoke, stroking his chin in thought. "...But I don't think we can be relieved as of yet. Just in case Octagon really is active in Farrah, we must go to utmost lengths to protect potential victims. He caused such an outrage in the capital... there's no telling how much his actions could harm the livelihood of those in Farrah."
"Potential victims?" The woman spoke, her tone becoming a little more thoughtful.
"Yes. Think about it: what reason would Octagon have for coming to Farrah? Why did he cause such trouble in the capital? There's one reason... or rather, one person, who has been Octagon's driving force of revenge. Before he kills this person," Mitz's tone grew darker, "...he must make him hurt. He must make him writhe in despair and agony. This means..."
"Killing his loved ones."
"Yes," Mitz nodded. "Octagon will go after the eldest son of the renowned Aichinger family, who currently attends the Unified Training Academy."
Hakim's eyes widened in shock. It was the same school his very own sun attended. "Ansel..."
Mitz let out a sigh, letting his hands drop down to rest against his sides once more. "Octagon," he spoke, "will kill Sven Aichinger."