Cursed Odyssey

Rayah and Joseph spent most of the day in the library.

Ornan tried to bargain more, asking if he could keep a copy of the papers for himself. Joseph rejected the request, fabricating excuses about how there was a chance that the meaning might have been tied to the original paper itself and that copying could corrupt whatever hidden messages Lord Mao had embedded in the physical medium.

It was complete nonsense, but Ornan seemed to have bought it.

Joseph buried himself in grammar books while Rayah educated herself on the Island of the Emperor—its history, political structure, trade routes, cultural practices. She was an unusually hard worker. Joseph wouldn't have expected this from the same girl he'd met in that prison.

The sun had begun to set, painting the library windows in deeper amber and crimson.

Saying goodbye to Ornan, they soon left.

It was finally time to find a place to stay.

They walked silently through the streets as evening settled over Rotheart. Hoods pulled up, hiding their bright hair and most of their faces. The papers of Lord Mao's journal rested safely in Joseph's bag, pressed between grammar texts and story books to avoid damage.

Rayah's expression was unreadable, even to Joseph.

Happy? Sad? Satisfied? He genuinely couldn't tell.

They'd talked very little after acquiring the papers. She'd tried to probe Ornan for more information about his time with the Vandymions, but the old librarian had kept his mouth shut—whether from loyalty or contractual obligation, Joseph couldn't determine.

For lone, foreign children entering a city for the first time, it was relatively calm, with little trouble for them. Joseph had kept his eyes out and prepared, looking for anything under the surface, but there was nothing to be found, at least for now.

Certainly, the guards watching them from rooftops had a part in that, too, he had no doubt, but he did not leave out the possibility that something else was at play.

Soon, the inn came into view.

It was humble compared to the massive, grand inner walls rising directly behind it—a stocky two-story building of weathered brick and timber, showing its age in cracked brick and faded paint. The sign above the door read something Joseph couldn't yet decipher, but a painted bed and mug suggested its purpose clearly enough.

The stench of liquor and the sound of raucous laughter assaulted their senses before they even pushed open the door.

Joseph and Rayah exchanged a glance, then entered.

The interior was exactly what the exterior promised.

Wooden tables packed the common room, most occupied by workers and merchants, drowning the day's exhaustion in cheap ale. Smoke hung thick in the air from pipes and cigarettes. Gas lamps cast everything in warm but grimy light. The floor was sticky with spilled drinks. A bard played a jaunty tune in the corner, barely audible over competing conversations and the occasional shout.

It was loud, crowded, and smelled faintly of unwashed bodies and stale beer.

A perfect cover!

They tightened their hoods and blended into the bustle, making their way to the front desk.

"A room for two, please." Joseph's head barely cleared the counter.

The man at reception, middle-aged, balding, with a stained apron, looked down at them. Are those... two lost kids? What the hell are—

Then he saw the bills placed on his counter.

His demeanour shifted instantly. "Here's the key to your room, 34 B. This will cover you for around a week. Enjoy!"

"Thank you." Joseph took the key. "I'd also like to order a meal delivered to our room. Steak medium-rare, steamed potatoes, two drinks—fresh fruit juice and raw milk —those would be ideal, with an extra steak on one plate. Steamed vegetables of your choice on the side, lightly salted."

"It'll be ready within the hour." The man pocketed the money and smiled genuinely now.

Joseph returned the gesture.

Upstairs, the noise dulled to a manageable rumble. They quickly located room 34 B, the third door on the left, brass numbers barely readable.

The room was humble but clean. Two single beds with plain white sheets, a small wooden table between them, one chair, a washbasin on a stand near the window. The walls were bare except for a single painting of what might have been a landscape—hard to tell through the dust. A small window overlooked the street below, curtains thin enough to let in the evening light.

It was nothing special. But after weeks of prison cells and sleeping rough, it might as well have been a palace.

Rayah sighed, wasting no time collapsing onto one of the beds.

"Finally... something proper."

"How does it compare to the ones in the Vandymion manor?" Joseph asked, settling onto his own bed.

"It feels better." She stared at the ceiling. "But I doubt it actually is. It's just because I've been sleeping on scraps for weeks now."

She took another deep breath, letting tension bleed from her shoulders.

"Thank you for getting me those papers," Joseph said, genuine warmth in his voice.

If she hadn't done it, and negotiation didn't work, I might have tried to steal them, he thought. If negotiation had only gotten me permission to copy the characters, I might have had to sneak back in to destroy the originals. Or even burn the library itself. I couldn't risk these falling in the hands of someone else...

"I've never seen you ogle something so much in my life," Rayah replied. "So it had to be important. Even though I know you can't read it."

"Means a lot."

"Consider it payback. I hate being indebted to someone." Her voice was bitter, but a smile played at her lips.

Smiled?

That smile of hers...

It reminded Joseph of when she'd taught him how to absorb arcane spirits—only this time, the smile didn't fade away immediately.

Or at least, didn't fade away as much.

"You know... it's so unlike you," Joseph ventured. "Why did you not announce your identity? You're hiding it and only use it when you have to. You're acting like nothing more than a commoner right now."

He expected an outburst. Instead, the room remained calm.

"The pot calling the kettle black. You've been unlike yourself too, but I'm not here prying, am I?"

"You're allowed to ask," Joseph said quietly.

A slight pause, then she spoke. "I'm not going to answer." She turned her head away on her pillow. "But you're right. I didn't even want to reveal my identity to that librarian. I just felt urged and forced to."

"You didn't have to help me."

"But I wanted to. Stop complaining or I'm never helping you again, monkey."

The memory of Ornan dropping to the ground, bowing before her, replayed in her mind. Her face seemed to contort, expression shifting like water unable to settle.

There had been no admiration in his eyes. No reverence.

All she'd seen was fear.

Rayah Vandymion, huh?

Silence stretched.

My name is nothing but a symbol.

It has no meaning.

The thought sat heavy in her chest, cold and undeniable.

—

INNER RING

Member of Parliament Hogar's Office

The office was spacious and orderly. Dark wood furniture polished to a mirror shine. Bookshelves lined one wall, filled with legal texts and historical records. A large desk dominated the center, papers arranged in neat stacks. Gas lamps provided steady light. A window overlooked the inner ring's plaza, where the elite conducted their business beneath golden lion statues.

Knock knock knock.

"Come in."

A guard entered, young, nervous, uniform slightly dishevelled from running. "Sir!"

Hogar looked up from his papers. "Yes?"

"We've received news on the monster found dead on the outskirts of the capital!"

Hogar's attention sharpened. "Have you found who took it down?"

"No, sir!" The guard stood straighter. "But we did analyze the arcane residue. It was no doubt an Act 6 Arcanist."

"Act 6?" Hogar's eyes bulged. "You're certain?"

"Absolutely, sir. The signature was unmistakable."

Hogar leaned back in his chair, mind racing. "And your theory?"

"We have our suspicions. Perhaps it has something to do with that prison several children have escaped from—same direction, same timeframe!"

"That is the highest possibility indeed." Hogar steepled his fingers. "They left the corpse rotting in the open and destroyed a large portion of the forest. Quite the spectacle. They most certainly did it on purpose to intimidate us."

"That is what General Gael also concluded, sir! We've heightened all security and stopped entry into the city for now."

"You think such a person would need to go through checkpoints?" Hogar's voice carried bitter amusement. "At the sixth act, he could enter the city undetected, and we could do nothing about it."

"We... We're just doing what we can, sir, and—"

"I'll have a chat with Gael. I'm certain he has other things planned, and the tightened security is just bait to make them think we're stupid."

"Y—yes, sir!"

"If he truly does work for that prison, he might be trying to retrieve the missing targets."

Hogar's mind immediately went to them. Rayah Vandymion and that boy, Zephyr.

Two children, recently escaped, now in his custody. One the daughter of a powerful noble house, the other an enigma/

And somewhere out there, an Act 6 Arcanist was leaving ancient corpses as calling cards.

"It seems like there will be a change of plans," Hogar murmured, more to himself than the guard.

The guard shifted uncomfortably. "Sir?"

"Dismissed. Tell Gael I'll meet with him within the hour."

"Yes, sir!" The guard saluted and left quickly, clearly relieved to escape.

Hogar sat alone in his office, staring at nothing.

An Act 6. In his city. Hunting children...

He reached for parchment and began drafting new orders. If someone that powerful was coming for Rayah Vandymion, he needed to move her. Somewhere safer. Somewhere even an Act 6 would hesitate to attack.

The inn wouldn't do. Not anymore.

There will be a change of plans...