While I was busy sleeping peacefully on my bed, my clothes from last night rolled up in a corner, wafting with sweat, still drenched from all the rain; winds sweeping in through the tiniest of cracks and gaps in the windows, cooling down my room enough to bless me with the most peaceful of sleeps—somewhere else, not too far from where I lived, a troublesome storm brewed, fueled by discontent and rage, but more importantly, fear.
Fear is a powerful thing. It compels you, manipulates you, drowns you, gripping onto you so strongly that it becomes impossible to pull yourself out alone. Your breaths hasten as it becomes difficult for you to breathe, and of course, when it grips your neck so tight, choking you as the world closes in, it is obvious that will be the case. That very same fear now gripped the hearts of many in the back alleys of Viellenne, where the warmth and light of the sun did not reach, blocked by the many tall buildings that cast their shadows over the folks that lived there, shrouding them in a darkness that resonated with that in their hearts.
Living among these very people was a child no older than fifteen, yet even at such a young age, he stood tall as one of the Kings of Viellenne. Born to the whims of a drunken young noble as he walked these very alleys, his face red as he wobbled from side to side, yet not a single person here dared approach him. Why? Well, because he had a gun on him, of course! The folks here still valued their lives. But of course, people tend to make mistakes, like the young lady who would be the boy's mother. It was her fault, obviously, for being present there, on that very day, trying to seduce the young noble. She seduced him, bewitched him with her charms, and then she dared put the fault on the innocent youth! How dare she?! It was her fault! Everyone heard her screams, they all heard her shout in protest from the safety of their shelters, whether it be hiding behind the trashcans, or in their houses, peeking from the windows. Perhaps there were even some delighted by the sight.
She screamed her lungs out, and what followed was the sound of a bullet firing. A single bullet. The sound echoed through the alleyways, leaving behind only silence as a thin smoke left the muzzle. He didn't aim at the young woman, no, instead, he aimed right beside her, on the road, where there was now a tiny hole with only the head of a bullet inside, the rest out.
'Silence.'
The young woman placed her hands on her mouth as the night followed, her moans muffled, barely audible as tears rolled down her face.
A few months after that, a young boy was born in the back alleys of Viellenne, a boy whose skin was as fair as snow, his eyes a shade of sapphire and his hair a golden blonde. He was a spitting image of the person who appeared that day, a person the young lady hated with every fibre of her being, yet nevertheless, she chose to raise him. Of course, it was not easy; the folks around her were of little help. Some despised him, others pitied him, but the majority despised the mother. After all, what utter foolishness and stupidity compelled her to keep that baby, they could not comprehend.
Yet through it all, she raised him, and now, there he was, sitting in an old chair made of food with his legs crossed, as if it were his throne, leaning slightly forward, with his sharp gaze on the man in front of him, tied down with a rope and on his knees as he met that very gaze with his own, one with the slightest pride as he smirked.
'Do you truly think that this will get you anywhere, King?'
'King, you say? I see you're well informed, though I suppose that is to be expected. After all…' he paused, narrowing his eyes, 'you work directly under Embers.'
The man's eyes widened as he heard the name leave his lips.
How did he know?
How could he possibly know?
It was clear that, even though they knew what his specialty was, they had clearly underestimated the true extent of his eyes and ears. It was, of course, a failure on their part. It should have been obvious that the person titled the King of Information would be well informed about the world that surrounded him.
Even still, what could he do with that information?
It wasn't as if he could use it for blackmail; Fjorcroft wouldn't fall for such a cheap trap.
'Please, relax. I don't have anything against you. Oh, but I have to keep you restrained though, since I'm sure you have plenty of reasons to kill me this very moment.'
That was true. After all, the reason for the fear in the people might have been the nobles, but the person fueling the flames, on either side in fact, was none other than the man who now sat in front of him. Just as they feared the nobles, the nobles too, had begun to fear them. It wouldn't be long before a war broke out. In fact, there had been several instances of fights breaking out throughout the city already, barely contained.
Information was a powerful weapon, and the one who controlled every avenue of its flow was the person aptly titled the "King of Information".
'The one I have business with is your boss, Fjorcroft Embers.'
'I'm afraid you're not going to go much further then. I don't know where you heard his name from, but I can assure you, he won't be coming here to save me.'
'Oh of course, not you, but if I recall correctly, he had two siblings, didn't he? What were their names again? Ah! Yes…'
The man's eyes widened as the smirk disappeared from his face.
'Lune and Zoras Embers.'
And almost like the unfolding of a grand play, as soon as our names left his lips, the door behind them burst open, revealing the silhouette of a tall man, who in his arms, held a young, innocent girl, unconscious, her brown hair hanging loosely over her closed eyelids.
'You cannot be serious,' said the man.
'Oh, but I am. Fjorcroft is an interesting fellow, keeping himself hidden in the shadows, but what reason would he have to go to such lengths? I did a bit of digging, and it turns out it's actually pretty simple.'
He waved his hand, and what followed next was something the man had only heard of before in whispers and old fairy tales: Lune's body lifted up in the air, floating without any form of support, and it drifted following the trajectory of the young boy's hand, falling gently on a bed that he had prepared for her earlier, a bed which was perhaps more soft and comfortable than any she had slept in before. He flicked his finger again, and one of the folded sheets floated, unfolding itself and landing gently on top of her. Lune, still unconscious and unaware, simply grabbed onto the sheets, her lips curling and twitching as her head leaned forward, only slightly.
'Do not fear, I won't harm her: that is not my intent. She'll simply be here till Fjorcroft appears. And oh, do keep in mind that she is a hostage. If he dares to do anything funny…'
The young man paused, and immediately, catching the man off guard was what felt like the weight of a thousand men falling on him, pressing down on his entire body which fell to the ground, cracks appearing on the floor around him as he felt the world closing in on him. His breath hastened as the blood in his body rose, his vessels working hard to pump it to all parts of his body. His face turned red as he could barely move his head, but still, with the little force he could conjure against whatever this was, he faced the young man, his chin pressing against the floor. Tears were visible in the man's eyes, but they weren't out of fear or hatred or sadness or joy, they were simply a result of the ungodly force that pressed on him.
'He better be ready for the consequences.'
His voice, as stern and cold as his gaze, reverberated throughout the chamber, or so the man felt, but he quickly realised that he didn't hear his voice with his ear: there was no sound moving his ear drums; the voice was reverberating in his mind. It was the strangest feeling, and soon every inch of the man trembled in fear before the young man.
The pressure disappeared in an instant, but the man stayed on the floor for a moment longer, still trembling. He had just now witnessed something he shouldn't have. Due to the nature of their work, they did, of course, know of sorcery, some better than others, but there was one law that reigned supreme: the knowledge of sorcery should be kept a secret, but here, he had witnessed it, so what of him now? What did the young man intend to do with him now? Was he going to kill him? Or was it something else?
'I sense fear. I suppose that should be obvious,' he giggled. 'We are yet to introduce ourselves, aren't we? I'll start, my name is Findorf. Just Findorf. You…well, I happen to already know your name, but please, go ahead.'
The man, for a moment, did not speak. His fingers still trembled. He couldn't lift himself up. Even if he stood up, he knew he would fall back—his legs no longer had any strength in them.
'What…w-what games…are you playing now…?'
His voice was shaky as he stuttered his words.
'Please, I feel mildly insulted by how little you think of me. I am simply trying to ease up the air. We will be together for quite a while, after all.'
The man did not quite know how to continue, nor was he remotely in a state of mind that would let him think rationally on what to do, so he simply played along.
'Johan. I'm Johan Ray.'
'Ray…yes, I have heard that name before. Your father was also a member of the Yard, wasn't he? A shame he had to die so soon.'
'You!'
Johan looked at him with a painful gaze as his fists clenched in frustration.
'Oh, no no, I didn't have anything to do with his death, I apologise if I made you feel that way. But you see, I do know who was responsible.'
Findorf smirked as he said that, and upon hearing those words, a look of hope appeared on Johan's face. His trembling stopped as he leaned just a little closer.
'You…do…?'
'Of course,' he said, turning his head. He looked out the window, staring at the clear blue sky, tranquil, with the sun casting its warmth on the city below, quite unlike the city itself, which was on the brink of a civil war. 'In fact, that very same person is the reason I need to jump through so many hoops just to meet Fjorcroft. I'm sure the other Kings absolutely hate the idea of the two of us meeting.'
'You mean…'
A realisation hit Johan like a truck, a realisation he should have reached a long time ago. After all, there were very few people in the vicinity who could commit a crime without leaving behind a single trace.
'Your father, Kyle Ray, was killed by one of the four Kings of Vielle.'
Rage.
A burning rage that he had suppressed long ago in his heart lit up again that day.
—Who was it?
—I'll kill them.
—I'll make sure they suffer a painful death.
Those thoughts echoed in his head as his gaze turned to one of fury.
Findorf saw this opportunity, and acted upon it immediately.
'I can help you get your revenge, Johan. But in exchange, I desire your allegiance.'
Johan looked at the person in front of him. He was merely a child, yet he was one of the strongest people in Vielle. Perhaps he could finally help him avenge his father.
But should he simply blindly believe the words of the one in front of him? Of course not! That would be utter foolishness. And in the end, he was still one of the Kings. Even if he wasn't the one to kill his father, there was a good chance he was involved. He should refuse. He had to refuse. What was the expression on his face now? Did his expression give away his thoughts? Was it one of fear, or was it confusion? He couldn't discern his own feelings at the moment, how could he know what his face looked like, but whatever the expression was, Findorf found it amusing, at least, he thought so, from the grin on his face.
'You're reluctant, confused. You don't trust me. Of course, that is understandable. Then how about this?'
The ropes that bound him untied on their own.
'Why don't you follow me for a few days? You can decide then. It's not like you can leave this place. Better than being a prisoner, wouldn't you agree?'
It wasn't an invitation. It was a statement.
Reluctantly, he nodded his head.
'Lovely. Now, as for your boss…'
He once again stared out the window.
'…what should I do about this? The other Kings have kept him quite busy…must I really intervene?'
He sighed as he lifted himself up from his chair, walking towards the window with a look of reluctance and disappointment, as if a mild annoyance had found its way to him, and it truly was just a mild annoyance to him—the other Kings and their tricks.
'I suppose I could wait a little longer. There is no need to hurry.'
He simply leaned against the window, facing away from it as he relaxed his shoulders.
Fjorcroft would come here eventually. There was no need to be hasty.