Fragmented Flames [Portal Fantasy, Adventure, Comedy]

The cell smelled of mildew, burnt hair, and the particular bouquet of regret that can only be achieved by cramming five flame-haired women into a space designed for three ordinary prisoners.

Stone walls sweated with condensation, giving the impression that the room itself was perspiring from the heat of its occupants. A small barred window, set high in the wall, allowed a single shaft of sunlight to penetrate the gloom—just enough illumination to make the squalor visible.

Outside, Ebran's Tide Festival continued without them, the distant sounds of celebration filtering through the window like taunts from a more enjoyable dimension.

"Well," Pyra announced to no one in particular, "this is a disaster of moderately epic proportions. Not our worst day ever—that title still belongs to the time we accidentally set that duke's prize peacocks on fire—but definitely top five."

"We've been in this world less than a month," Cinder pointed out from her position against the far wall. "If we're already hitting 'top five disaster' territory, I don't want to know what qualifies as average for us around here."

Ash sat cross-legged on the single narrow bench, eyes closed in what might have been meditation but was more likely an attempt to mentally escape their current predicament.

"Confinement offers unique opportunities for self-reflection. Consider how rarely we're forced to pause our corporeal momentum."

"I'll reflect on something other than these walls when we're not in danger of being executed for 'festival sabotage,'" Ember replied, pacing in what little open space remained.

"They don't execute people for accidental fire damage," Kindle said from her perch on the single, grimy cot. "Probably." She paused, considering. "Though there was that sign by the harbor about 'severe penalties for disrupting sacred ceremonies.'"

A sudden tickle in Pyra's nose was her only warning before—"ACHOO!"

The sneeze erupted with the force of a small explosion, accompanied by a spray of electric blue sparks that briefly illuminated the cell in stark relief. The sparks danced across the ceiling, leaving scorch marks on the ancient stone before fading.

From the corridor came the sound of heavy sighing, followed by boot steps approaching at a pace that suggested they were propelled more by obligation than enthusiasm. A guard appeared, bucket in hand, face arranged in an expression of profound weariness.

Without ceremony, he upended the bucket through the bars, drenching Pyra from head to toe.

"That makes seventeen," he announced, making a chalk mark on the wall beside their cell. "If you break twenty before my shift ends, I win the pool."

"Glad to be contributing to the local economy," Pyra sputtered, pushing soaking hair from her face. Steam rose from her shoulders as her natural heat fought with the dousing.

"Hey! Can you explain what we're charged with exactly?" Ember interjected. "So far, all we've gotten is 'disruption of civic pride' and 'disturbing the harmonic auras of the moon-touched bay,' neither of which are, strictly speaking, actionable offenses."

The guard raised an eyebrow, as if impressed by her grasp of local law.

"You want specifics? Reckless elemental channeling. Damaging ceremonial floats. Disruption of a historical maritime ritual. Oh, and terrifying the populace of a peaceful city."

He recited their list of purported misdeeds in a flat, practiced tone that suggested he'd said the same thing far too often in the past twenty-four hours.

Pyra snorted, then clapped a hand over her nose and mouth at Cinder's frantic gestures.

Ember pressed her face against the bars, looking to make eye contact with the apathetic jailor. "Alright, those are... somewhat fair, from a certain point of view. But if we made reparations, could we—"

The guard held up a hand. "Save the entreaties for your hearing. That's not my stage. I'm just the curtain warmer for city magistrates who will probably find you as delightfully entertaining as you found yourselves."

He turned, tossing the bucket haphazardly to a nearby colleague before disappearing back down the corridor, whistling an unsettling tune reminiscent of a funeral dirge played in minor key.

"Magistrates don't sound particularly... merciful," Kindle observed once she was sure they were alone again.

"Right?" Pyra agreed. "Merciful is not the M-word that comes to my mind when I imagine their attitude. Mirthless. Malevolent." She grimaced thoughtfully, snapping her fingers. "Maleficent. That's the one. Definitely expect maleficence."

"So, plan?" Cinder asked once silence had resettled over the cell.

"Should've taken out the guards and made a run for it when we had the chance," Pyra said with a shrug. "Nothing we can do now but wait and plead accidental spice-induced arson."

"Hey, don't forget. We used to be... uh, still are... superheroes. It'd be pretty cruddy heroism to just knock out some guards and run away," Cinder said.

"It wasn't spice-induced," Kindle protested. "We were just allergic to the... you know what, not sure that helps."

A distant brass bell tolled three times, its sonorous notes vibrating through the stone walls.

"Three hours," Ember calculated, resuming her pacing. "Three hours since they threw us in here, and still no formal charges. At this rate, we'll miss our return window to Amaranth, and Beatrix will have us classified as deserters faster than Pyra can say 'oops, I didn't mean to set that on fire.'"

"Which reminds me," Kindle interjected, "what exactly happened to our Guild medallions? They took those during processing, right?"

Ember nodded grimly. "Along with our coin purses, guidebook, map, and backpack."

"So we're broke, lost, officially suspect, and now technically unarmed," Cinder summarized, counting off each point on her fingers. "Spectacular."

"At least we still have our—ACHOO!" Kindle's sneeze sent golden sparks ricocheting around the cell like angry fireflies.

The guard reappeared with his bucket, somehow having refilled it in the intervening minutes. This time, Kindle received the drenching.

"Eighteen," he noted with satisfaction, adding another mark. "Two more and I beat Jorrick from the night watch."

"What do you win?" Ash asked, opening one eye lazily.

"Day off," the guard replied. "Plus a bottle of Shimmerwood brandy."

"In that case," Kindle offered magnanimously, water dripping from her eyelashes, "I'll try to sneeze again in the next hour."

"Appreciate that." The guard nodded before retreating once more.

As his footsteps receded, a loud crash echoed from somewhere deeper in the jail, followed by shouting and what sounded like furniture being vigorously dismantled.

"New arrival," the guard's voice carried from down the corridor, now addressing someone else. "Throw him in with the fire-hazards. They've got space since we had to clear out the regulars."

Heavy footsteps approached, accompanied by the sound of someone being dragged. A moment later, a second guard appeared, hauling a disheveled man whose expensive clothes suggested he'd started the day in much better circumstances.

"Company," the first guard announced unnecessarily as they unlocked the cell door and unceremoniously deposited their new charge on the floor. "Play nice with the fire-sneezing quintuplets."

The newcomer struggled to a sitting position, massaging his jaw. His hair and clothing were in disarray, but his sharp eyes quickly took in his surroundings.

"What manner of arcane coven is this?" he demanded, scooting backward until he hit the wall. "I demand separate accommodations! I am Lord Pelliford Havelock of the Western Merchants' Coalition!"

Pyra, always first to introduce herself to anyone who hadn't actively tried to kill them, stepped forward with an extended hand. "Hi there, Pelly! I'm Pyra, that's Ember, Cinder, Kindle, and Ash. We're not a coven, but nice to meet you anyway."

Lord Havelock stared at her as if she'd just turned into an airborne dolphin, making no move to accept her proffered greeting. After a long, awkward beat, he drew a silk handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his bruised lip.

"This is outrageous," he muttered. "Thrown in gaol with foreign sorceresses. When my uncle hears of this, there will be... there will be..." He trailed off, seeming to deflate slightly. "Well, I'm sure there will be some manner of strongly worded diplomatic communiqué."

"Don't worry, Pelly," Pyra said brightly, trying a reassuring smile. "We'll be out of your hair in no time. As soon as the guards decide to come back and actually question us."

Stolen from its rightful author, this tale is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.

"It's Lord Havelock," he corrected peevishly, "and if you're incarcerated for bewitching the festival, I doubt 'no time' is an accurate assessment. And I want my lawyer."

"Fat chance," came the guard's voice from down the corridor. "Festival day. Everyone who matters is watching the boat procession you lot set on fire."

Ember, who'd been quietly appraising their new cellmate, chose this moment to join the conversation. "Lord Pelliford, despite appearances and my companions' unhelpful explanations, we're actually Guild members on official business. Perhaps we could combine our resources to secure release for all of us?"

Before the lord could respond, the tickle struck again—this time hitting Cinder. "ACHOO!"

Her sneeze produced a shower of amber sparks that bounced across the floor like hyperactive insects, one landing on Lord Pelliford's expensive boot and promptly burning a neat hole through the leather.

"GUARDS!" he shrieked, frantically patting out the small flame. "They're trying to immolate me!"

The bucket-bearing guard returned, looking positively cheerful. "Nineteen," he announced, dousing Cinder thoroughly. "One more and I'm spending tomorrow fishing at the east cove."

As the guard retreated, Lord Pelliford pressed himself into the furthest corner of the cell, using his singed boot as a shield against potential flame onslaughts.

"So," Pyra tried again, "what are you in for, Pelly?"

"Do NOT call me that," he snapped, dignity reasserting itself through sheer aristocratic reflex. "And if you must know, I've been falsely accused of price-fixing imported spices, which is absurd. One cannot 'fix' prices on goods whose value fluctuates with the tides." He sniffed haughtily. "I merely suggested a reasonable market adjustment to my colleagues."

"Fascinating," Ember replied in a tone that suggested it was anything but. "Have you considered that your 'colleagues' might be able to arrange your release?"

Lord Pelliford's expression soured further. "My 'colleagues' are the ones who reported me to the harbor master. Backstabbing opportunists, the lot of them."

A contemplative silence fell over the cell, broken only by the occasional drip of water from the recently drenched Cinder and Kindle.

"I don't suppose anyone has a brilliant escape plan?" Kindle asked eventually. "Preferably before we're subjected to another involuntary bath."

"We could just run out," Pyra suggested, brightening. "Like, really fast. They'd never catch us."

"And the bars?" Cinder asked pointedly. "The reinforced, clearly enchanted bars specifically designed to prevent magical escapes?"

Pyra's face fell. "Right. Those."

"Not to mention," Ember added, "running away would technically make us criminals, which would invalidate our Guild status. We'd lose any protection we currently have in Amaranth."

"We could claim diplomatic immunity," Kindle suggested. "As, um, ambassadors from... wherever we're pretending to be from these days."

"Because that worked so well when you told the arresting officers we were 'interdimensional tourists,'" Cinder reminded her.

"It was worth a shot! And technically accurate!"

The argument might have continued indefinitely if not for the arrival of yet another visitor—this one moving with the silent grace of someone accustomed to navigating spaces unnoticed. The figure appeared before their cell without fanfare, as if materializing from the shadows themselves.

He was tall and slender, with features that managed to be simultaneously forgettable and striking—the kind of face that slipped from memory the moment one looked away, yet commanded attention when directly observed. His clothing, though fine, bore no distinctive markings or insignias, suggesting wealth without ostentation.

"Interesting," the newcomer said, the single word reverberating with barely contained amusement. "A cell filled with mirror images of flame-haired femininity. Precisely as described." His gaze settled briefly on Lord Pelliford. "And an unfortunate wharf rat."

"Who are you?" Ember demanded, stepping forward. "And what do you mean, 'as described'?"

The man smiled, an expression that would have seemed charming under different circumstances. "Nasir Farid, at your service." He inclined his head in the barest suggestion of a bow. "Representative of certain interests that find your... situation... most intriguing."

"He's Mercandi," Lord Pelliford hissed, shrinking further into his corner. "Don't trust him. They're all manipulative artifact-hoarders who'd sell their own mothers for a scrap of ancient parchment."

"Such hyperbole," Nasir sighed. "From a man currently imprisoned for price-fixing, no less. The irony is delicious."

He returned his attention to the five women, gaze sweeping over each in turn, lingering just long enough to suggest he was cataloging minute differences invisible to ordinary observers.

"I've come to offer assistance," he continued smoothly. "Your unfortunate incarceration presents an opportunity for mutually beneficial arrangement."

"What kind of arrangement?" Cinder asked, suspicion evident in her tone.

"Simple. I secure your release, provide information relevant to your current... quest, shall we say? In exchange, you allow me to observe your unique condition and consider a future proposition."

They've heard this song and dance before. The problem was, given their current predicament, they were just about ready to make a deal with almost any devil that came their way.

"Observe how, exactly?" Kindle asked, one eyebrow raised.

"Nothing invasive," Nasir assured them. "Merely conversation, perhaps the occasional display of your rather distinctive abilities. My interest is academic, I assure you."

"And this information you mentioned?" Ember pressed, crossing her arms. "What exactly do you know about our 'quest'?"

I know that Archmage Galen Vosk doesn't send provisional Guild members on simple retrieval missions without reason. I know the research you seek concerns consciousness transferal experiments conducted nearly a century ago. And I know where to find it."

You seem remarkably well-informed about confidential Guild business," Ember observed carefully.

"Information is currency among the Mercandi," Nasir replied. "And I am, shall we say, exceptionally wealthy."

"This is madness," Lord Pelliford interjected, apparently unable to contain himself any longer. "You can't seriously be considering dealing with a Mercandi agent! They're notorious for—"

"For getting results," Nasir finished smoothly. "For accessing what others cannot. For knowing what others do not."

A tickle rose in Ash's nose, her eyes widening in alarm just before—"ACHOO!"

The sneeze sent blue-white sparks cascading through the air, several landing on the straw scattered across the cell floor. The dry material ignited instantly, small flames licking upward with hungry enthusiasm.

Predictably, the guard appeared moments later, bucket at the ready. He paused at the sight of Nasir, his expression shifting from routine annoyance to wary respect.

"Master Farid," he acknowledged stiffly. "Wasn't informed you'd be visiting today."

"A spontaneous matter," Nasir replied, gesturing toward the cell. "I'll be arranging the release of these five. Guild business, you understand."

The guard hesitated, clearly torn between protocol and the unspoken authority Nasir seemed to wield. Finally, he upended his bucket over the small fire, effectively dousing both flames and Ash in one efficient motion.

"Twenty," he muttered, making his final chalk mark with a hint of satisfaction. "Paperwork's gonna be a nightmare. Festival disruption charges don't just disappear."

"I've taken the liberty of filing the necessary forms," Nasir assured him, producing a small roll of parchment sealed with an elaborate wax emblem. "Diplomatic exemption under section four of the Harbor Accords. All quite official."

The guard accepted the document with the air of someone handling a potentially venomous snake. "And his lordship?" he asked, jerking a thumb toward their forgotten cellmate.

"Has not been granted similar consideration," Nasir replied without even glancing in Lord Pelliford's direction.

"This is an outrage!" the lord sputtered. "You can't leave me here while releasing these—these pyromaniacs!"

Nasir finally deigned to look at him, the temperature in the corridor seeming to drop several degrees. "I believe I can, and am. Perhaps this will serve as an object lesson in the value of maintaining good relations with all merchant factions, not merely those who attend your private dinners."

While Lord Pelliford struggled to form a coherent response, the guard unlocked the cell door and gestured for the five women to exit.

"Your possessions will be returned at the processing desk," he informed them gruffly. "And you've got harbor cleanup duty for the next Festival, mark my words."

They filed out of the cell, each giving Lord Pelliford a farewell gesture that ranged from Pyra's cheerful wave to Cinder's sardonic salute.

"A pleasure sharing accommodations, Pelly!" Kindle called as they left, earning a strangled noise of aristocratic distress.

Nasir led them through the winding corridors of Ebran's jail, his steps purposeful and unhurried. Guards and administrators alike moved out of his path without being asked, suggesting a reputation that preceded him.

"You seem to have considerable influence here," Ember observed as they neared the exit.

"The Mercandi go where valuable things are exchanged," Nasir replied cryptically. "Information, artifacts, favors—all currency in our economy. Ebran's harbor brings a constant flow of such treasures."

At the processing desk, a harried clerk returned their possessions with minimal formality, though he did insist they sign a document acknowledging their "moral debt to the city of Ebran" and promising to "make restitution through future services as required."

"Standard release waiver," Nasir explained when Cinder hesitated. "Essentially meaningless unless you return and commit further offenses."

"Which we absolutely won't," Kindle assured the clerk with a smile bright enough to rival the moonjelly's glow. "Completely reformed characters, all of us. Fire-free from now on!"

The clerk looked deeply skeptical but accepted their signatures nonetheless.

As they stepped outside into the late afternoon sunlight, the sounds of the ongoing festival washed over them—somewhat subdued compared to the morning's enthusiasm, but still vibrant with music and laughter.

"Now," Nasir said, turning to face them with an expression of barely contained curiosity, "I believe we have much to discuss. My private offices are nearby, where we can speak freely about your mission, your... unique condition, and how I might be of further assistance."

"And what exactly do you want in return?" Cinder asked bluntly. "Nobody offers 'assistance' without expecting something substantial in payment."

Nasir's smile finally reached his eyes, though the effect wasn't entirely reassuring. "Sharp as the flame suggests," he murmured. "What I want is simple: confirmation."

"Of what?" Ember asked, tension evident in every line of her body.

"That you are what I believe you to be," Nasir replied enigmatically. "That the old stories are true. That the Pattern Weaver's work was not merely theoretical."

Before any of them could question this cryptic statement, an explosion hit like a thunderclap with ambition, sending tremors through the stone beneath their feet and turning casual conversations across the harbor into startled yelps. A geyser of smoke and debris shot skyward from what had been—until approximately three seconds ago—the dignified dome of the Harbor Archives.

"What the hell was that?" Pyra exclaimed, already moving toward the edge of the terrace for a better view.

Black smoke billowed upward, a stark counterpoint to the festival flags still fluttering gaily along the promenade. From this vantage point on the city's second tier, they had an uncomfortably perfect view of the unfolding disaster.

Nasir's expression darkened. "It seems our conversation will have to wait. That explosion came from the Harbor Archives."

"The Archives?" Ember's eyes widened in alarm. "But that's where—"

"Where Galen's research is kept," Nasir confirmed grimly. "And it appears someone else is looking for it too."