The Shattered Crowns

"Slow down, Revenant. If we're going into this labyrinth, we need to stick to one of the proper routes," Lock said, his tone edged with distrust.

The figure pulled back his hood, revealing a young, round face framed by chestnut-brown hair. His green eyes sparkled mischievously as he winked at Lock. He couldn't have been older than fifteen.

"It's always better when I don't have to wear the hood," said the boy with a wide grin. "Makes me feel like a real ghost when it's on."

Mirak frowned at the odd juxtaposition of youth and confidence.

The boy clasped his hands in front of him, smile unyielding. "Put your trust in me, as I've put mine in you. I can guide you both to the Glass Halls. The Boss is waiting."

Lock wasn't buying it. He jabbed an accusatory finger at the boy. "You're asking me to trust some shadowy thief group that supposedly wants to overthrow the Didacts?"

"Given what you are, that shouldn't be too hard. Perhaps your companion—"

Lock's knife was out in an instant, its point hovering inches from the boy's throat. "Finish that sentence, and you'll find your truths silenced." His voice was laced with mockery, but the edge in his eyes left no doubt.

"Lock, that's enough," Mirak said, his tone firm. "Let's at least hear the offer."

The boy raised his hands in mock surrender, unbothered by the blade. "It's just an invitation. You're free to accept—or decline."

Lock scoffed. "And what happens if we decline? Do the Revenant shove us into some corner of this labyrinth to die?"

The boy grinned. "We're thieves, not assassins."

Silence stretched between them as they walked, tension palpable. Finally, Lock broke it. "I thought the Revenant were supposed to live up to their name. Avenging ghosts of Koona."

The boy's smile grew wider, but the sight unsettled Mirak. Scars and scabs marred the side of the boy's neck, and something about his demeanor—too composed for his age—sent a chill through Mirak's blood.

The boy broke the silence again. "I am Kord, current Augur of the Revenant. You have my word: we will not kill you."

"Augur?" Mirak repeated, clinging to the unfamiliar term.

Kord waved a hand lazily. "A title. One for those who use an Essence. I doubt you've heard of it. You Sorcerers are blind to anything outside your precious Atta."

Mirak's brow furrowed. "You're an Atta user, then."

Kord snorted. "Hardly. Augurs are far more refined. Atta is crude—just an unseen force pushed into the physical. Augurs don't manipulate the environment. We become it." His fingers idly tapped his neck, where the scars ran deepest.

Lock rolled his eyes. "Sounds like posturing to me. Titles, powers—it doesn't matter. You all bleed the same."

Kord's grin didn't falter. "Perhaps. But titles do matter. Every member of the Revenant commands one of the six Essences. It defines who we are."

"Six Essences?" Mirak asked, his interest reluctantly piqued.

"Whoops," Kord said, his grin turning sheepish. "Probably wasn't supposed to say that. But yes, there are six Revenant. Although none of us wield Transference."

Mirak snorted. "So, it's just another way of mistaking different kinds of Atta for something else."

Kord's smile dimmed slightly. "That's what the Sorcerers want you to believe. Convenient lies to keep people complacent."

"It's not a lie. It's history," Mirak countered. "Atta and Harmony were the original forces. Everything else is derived from them—lost arts, maybe, but nothing new."

Kord interrupted with a sharp laugh. "The First War of Thought was a great cover, wasn't it? Wipe out other Essence users, rewrite history, and cling to the lie of Sorcerer supremacy. It's impressive, really."

"It's the truth," Mirak said, his voice hard.

Kord tilted his head. "If you say so. I wonder if you'll still believe that when this is all over."

Then, Kord casually added, "It's funny, though—someone from so far outside Koona, and yet you know so little, Mirak. You've accomplished so much with just one hand."

Mirak froze mid-step. No one knew about his home, let alone his injury. He'd mentioned his past in passing, but never in detail. How did Kord know?

Kord glanced back with a small shrug. "Ah, I must've said something you didn't tell me yet. Sorry. Sometimes the threads all blur together." He resumed walking as if nothing had happened.

Lock leaned toward Mirak and whispered, "Best not let him get too far ahead. I'd rather not be stuck trying to navigate this maze without him."

The trio eventually reached a massive door made of stained glass. Two statues flanked the entrance: one cradling a glass sphere, the other holding a pouch.

Kord clapped his hands together. "This is my favorite part. We've got style, don't we?"

He lifted the pouch from the statue's hand, triggering a series of soft clicks as hidden mechanisms whirred to life. The statues pivoted, facing the doors, which groaned open with a grating ring.

"How does it work?" Mirak asked, fascinated.

Kord shrugged as he stepped through. "Not really my interest. You'd have better luck asking the Boss—or Czenth, if you meet him."

Inside, the ceiling rose high, its surface a patchwork of delicately crafted glass that glimmered as the sunlight broke through. The translucent panels bathed the hall in vibrant colors, mixing golds, reds, and blues. The space stretched far, dominated by an impossibly long oak table that ran its length. At the farthest end, a balcony jutted out, overlooking the distant waves.

A man leaned casually against the balcony railing, his posture loose but commanding. He wore simple black pants and a long-sleeved overcoat, its cuffs and back marked with a white insignia. Black gloves gripped the railing as he gazed out at the sea, utterly still, as if the world beyond the glass halls didn't exist.

"That's the Boss," Kord whispered, almost reverently.

The man's mahogany brown hair caught the soft morning light, and when he finally turned to face them, golden eyes swept across the room, taking in every detail.

"Imagine what it took to build that Palace," the Boss said, his voice rich but calm. "Even the Lunar Storms can only brush against it. Some say the Lady of Flesh gave her life to shape its stone—crafted it from her very body to lift it above the tides' brutality."

He descended the stairs, each step measured, his shoes clicking softly against the glass.

"The nobles mock us," he continued, voice sharpening. "They sit in their marble thrones, thinking themselves untouchable. But Koona was always more than its nobles. It's the city of fortitude—a place where a man can rise from nothing to greatness with enough resin. Resin is the key."

Lock stiffened beside Mirak, watching the man's every move.

"The people used to say Publici could never escape the mines…" the Boss trailed off, a small smile playing on his lips.

"Get on with it, Lancelot," a voice snapped.

Mirak turned to see a man wearing a two-pronged helmet, its sharp reds and blues cutting a harsh silhouette. The rest of his face was obscured by blackened steel, but his posture was impatient, arms folded tightly.

Lock whispered, "How does he even see through that thing?"

"Don't ask me," Mirak muttered back. "I'm as lost as you are."

Lancelot—apparently the Boss—didn't flinch at the interruption. "Peace, Volim. I was simply introducing the Revenant to our guests. It's been a long time since we've had any."

Volim scoffed. "Two Publici. Hardly worth the effort. I see nothing special about them."

Another figure, cloaked in white trimmed with crimson, leaned forward, holding a hand over a flickering candle. "These two are the last of the Revenant? They look fragile. Frail."

Mirak bristled. "I never said I'd join. Neither did Lock."

The figure pushed back his hood, revealing long brown hair tied into a bun and a grizzled beard. Two arachnid-like appendages wrapped around his neck, twitching faintly.

"Menis," Lancelot said smoothly, "trust in Kord's abilities—and mine. They will prove themselves."

Menis grimaced but said nothing. Kord, meanwhile, leaned back in his chair, smirking. Mirak felt the weight of the Revenant's eyes on him, each glance full of calculation, as though the Essences they wielded could see straight through his soul.