Sorcerer's Shadow

I generally prefer to avoid bodyguards. It's challenging to find someone more alert to danger than Opal, and besides, I don't consider myself significant enough to pose a threat. Not to mention, I find the whole idea of bodyguards quite demeaning.

However, my situation is unique. I wasn't born into the Organization or the House of Vorgan. Actually, I wasn't even born a citizen; I'm a human amongst non-humans. This stark difference can account for the divergence in our perceptions.

So, observe as I did. I noticed the Baku bustling around, not unlike the small mammals they are named after, absorbed in their mundane activities – picking fruits, selecting fabrics, placing bets, rushing to work, and indirectly serving my purposes.

Observe the Fenxera and the Chimerix, posing as nobles yet leading middle-class lives, dealing in fabrics or fruits, buying mind-altering substances, or haggling with the local pawnbroker – all while indirectly providing for me. Then there are the genuine nobles, parading around like Serevia in the spring, tossing pennies to the poor, ordering their servants to buy fine wines and exotic mind-altering substances, and, directly or indirectly, contributing to my sustenance.

It's a wonder I manage to maintain a slim figure.

As I strolled past them, extracting every possible benefit, none paid me any special attention. And that's just how I prefer it.

My journey from my apartment to the office was brief, but sufficient for me to grasp the day's neighborhood dynamics. Nothing noteworthy occurred that day, giving me no inkling of the events that had already begun to unfold. As I remember, I was early to the office that day. Though the Vorgan operates around the clock, the real hustle and bustle mostly happens after dark, which means a late start; I rarely see my office before midday. That day, I reached the office prior to my assistant, placed my cloak on the hanger, leaned my sword against the wall, and settled at my desk to review any potential correspondence.

A single piece of expensive parchment lay in the middle of my desk; neatly inscribed on it was, "V. Dravos, Baronet." Turning it over, I noticed the Dragonshead seal.

Before opening it, I hesitated, somewhat fearful of its contents. I finally broke the seal before Opal could badger me about it.

Baronet,

It would bring me immense pleasure to see you once more. It could also turn out to be profitable for you. If you require help with transport, you may consult Baron-Eldran D'erics at the House of the Dragon.

Arrive today between the twelfth and tenth hours, and I will make time to meet you immediately.

Yours sincerely,

Drevolan D'Lira

P.S.: You previously mentioned a preference for a formal invitation over our last method of asking for your assistance; I trust this is more agreeable – D.

Setting the letter down, I found myself deep in thought.

As always with Drevolan, I was unsure how to interpret his intentions. He named his residence Nocturne Castle, which could be either an extravagant show of grandeur or an accurate depiction of his power. His uniqueness, or peculiarity, stemmed from his status as an Imperion, a Dragonlord, studying Terran Sorcery. It either indicated an unusual attitude towards humans or a sheer contempt for us, demonstrated by his casual mastery of our arcane skills. His "last method" was offensive enough to have almost led us to a deadly confrontation. Was this reference a taunt or a peace offering? In any case, I never doubted for a moment that I would accept his invitation.

"We're off to Nocturne Castle, Opal."

"I can hardly contain my excitement, Boss. When?"

I checked the Imperial Orb through our psychic connection. It was just shy of noon.

"Immediately," I informed him.

I fastened my sword back on, gaining little confidence from its weight on my side and the rhythmic knock of the sheath against my leg.

When my assistant, Piers, arrived, he seemed shocked to see me already there. I said, "I need to run an errand. If I don't return, hold Drevolan from the Dragon House responsible. Take care."

Exiting the office, I found myself on the road—the initial strides marking the start of a journey which would eventually lead me to conflict and peril. To reduce physical exertion, I hired a carriage. Though I paid the driver little heed, I tipped him generously. This might reveal something about my character.

The Dragon House faces the Imperial Palace, positioned slightly to the northwest, and is distinguished by a forty-foot marble statue of Kyran the Conqueror, holding his mighty sword with one hand, its tip pointing towards the Terran. The sight always leaves me weary. Kyran's face, from a low vantage point, is devoid of any discernible emotion. A series of seventeen steps leads to the main entrance, which was wide open when I arrived, somewhat footsore, around noon.

Upon entering the Dragon House, you find yourself in the Great Hall. An enormous, echo-filled chamber adorned with murals of violent scenes, sparse windows that hardly admit any sunlight, and a marble floor. A single wide staircase starts in the center of the Hall, disappearing into an unseen upper level. Tiny hanging lamps adorn the high ceiling, barely illuminating the space but strangely enough, the murals are clearly visible, which raises the question of the source of light.

The place wasn't to my liking.

Being amidst so many Dragonlords reminded me of my arrest after my former boss's demise—an experience I didn't particularly enjoy. They were all standing in groups, weapons at their sides. Their chatter echoed around the vast hall, amplifying the noise. Grey bunting draped here and there suggested a recent death. I stood, with Opal on my shoulder, seemingly unnoticed for a good while—perhaps half a minute. Then, I noticed a pair of guards on either side of the entrance, who were glaring at me with unmistakable hostility. This actually comforted me, as I prefer being despised over being ignored.

Opting to approach the man over the woman, mainly due to the latter's towering height that would have awkwardly put my gaze at her chest level, I strutted forward. Like many creatures, Dragonlords can detect fear. The guard looked down at me (my eyes aligned with his collarbone) and consciously avoided eye contact with Opal. He might have assumed I'd derive satisfaction from seeing him unnerved by the creature on my shoulder, and he wasn't wrong. I said, "I am here to see Baron Eldran."

The Dragonlord swallowed, set his jaw, and queried, "Who are you?"