The Shattered Crowns

"It is a simple infiltration mission," Lancelot said, his tone calm but deliberate.

"It does not seem simple," Lock countered, his voice edged with skepticism. "You're asking us to infiltrate the Fell estate."

At the mention of the renowned estate, Mirak said nothing. His silence was not born of fear, but contemplation. The Fell House was more than just a fortress of wealth and power—it was a cornerstone of the Noble Houses of Koona. To be in their good graces meant opportunities would flow like a river, unending and rich.

"The Fell are the most stable of the Noble Houses," Lancelot continued, his gaze steady. "Securing even the faintest leverage over them could tilt the balance of power in our favor."

Mirak finally broke his silence, his voice measured. "They are also the Noble House of traders and merchants. None in Koona can strike a deal without a Fell representative present. Every treaty, every barter, every negotiation conducted on this land has their shadow cast over it. Surely you already have something on them?"

Lancelot shook his head grimly. "The enemies of House Fell bleed out on the ground the moment their intent becomes clear. Their network is a fortress in itself—unbreakable, unyielding. Only House Omen dares to stand against them, fortified by their Anntom military. Even so, the Omens have never come close to toppling the Fell."

Mirak raised a chalice of wine to his lips, its aroma thick with resin and exotic spices. The wine was Astadian—priceless and rare, a luxury far beyond the reach of commoners, let alone a Publici like himself. He swirled the crimson liquid absently, debating the risks before him. To refuse Lancelot's offer would mean remaining a mere cog in the Revenant's machine, shackled to their mission of slow, deliberate rebellion. But to accept…

The Fell estate was likely a vault of forbidden knowledge, filled with secrets long buried, books thought lost to time, and whispers of ancient truths. Perhaps even fragments of the legends surrounding the Sorcerer Kings or the enigmatic Atta. If he played his cards right, this mission could lead to more than just leverage over a Noble House. It could lead to power.

Lancelot leaned forward, his fingers drumming lightly against the arm of his chair. "The Noble Houses are fracturing, whether they know it or not. Koona is ripe for disruption, and the Houses are the keystones. The strongest among them, like the Fell, will resist change the most. That's where we come in."

Mirak stared down into the wine, his thoughts heavy. The reflection that stared back at him through the crimson liquid was foreign—his stardust eyes, once filled with certainty, now clouded by ambition and doubt. Finally, he spoke. "But how do you plan to get Publici into the estate?" He lifted his shackled wrists, the chains clinking softly as if to emphasize the absurdity of the question.

Lancelot allowed himself a faint smile, one that held no warmth. "I have a confidant within the Fell household. Mistress Elissa, the head servant, has agreed to claim you as relatives who purchased their freedom. She will guide you within the estate, but remember this: Elissa is not Revenant. She is a tool—useful, but fallible. If an opportunity presents itself, do not hesitate to acquire leverage on your own terms."

"So we're to be your spiders, clinging to the walls, eavesdropping on whispers," Lock said, his tone laced with dark humor. "What happens when someone decides to crush the bug?"

"In a sense, yes, you are the spiders," Lancelot admitted, his voice steady. "But if you are discovered, we will extract you. I can't afford to lose either of you—not yet."

Lock's sardonic smile widened. "You know exactly who you're sending."

"I do," Lancelot replied without hesitation. "Selene is already embedded deep in the farms of Koona, and the rest of the Revenant are… less subtle." His gaze shifted momentarily to Damion and Czenth, whose presence loomed like stormclouds at the edge of the room. "This mission requires tact, and you two are my best option."

"Then this is an initiation," Lock said, the faintest note of irritation slipping into his voice.

"Call it what you will," Lancelot replied. "It is the first of many tasks you will undertake as Revenants. I expect success."

Mirak placed the chalice down, the decision clear in his mind. "Then we will go to the Fell estate."

Lancelot nodded, satisfied. "Yes. But heed this warning: the estate harbors more than just wealth and influence. It is home to sleeping giants—forces you do not want to disturb. Above all, avoid Solomon Fell. That man rivals the first of the Sorcerer Kings."

The weight of those words hung heavy in the air, a grim reminder of the danger ahead. As Lancelot rose to leave, Mirak and Lock exchanged a glance. Their path was set, and the stakes were higher than either had anticipated.

Koona would shake. And if they succeeded, it would fall.

Lancelot swept out of the room, his cloak trailing behind him like the shadow of the heavy expectations he had just laid on their shoulders. The door clicked shut, leaving Mirak and Lock in the dim light of the chamber. The silence between them stretched, broken only by the faint creak of wood and the occasional distant murmur from the Revenant headquarters.

Mirak leaned back in his chair, staring at the now-empty chalice in his hand. He turned it absently, the dregs of the spiced wine catching the light. "Well, that was inspiring," he muttered dryly.

Lock snorted, lounging in his seat with one boot propped casually on the edge of the table. "Inspiring? That was Lancelot's usual shtick—big speeches, vague threats, and just enough detail to make it sound like he knows what he's doing. Honestly, I think he just likes hearing himself talk."

Mirak chuckled, shaking his head. "Careful. If he hears you, you'll end up on a mission worse than this one. I hear he's been sending troublemakers to scout the Dead Coast."

"Please," Lock said with a smirk, leaning forward. "I'd rather swim in the acid tides of the Dead Coast than infiltrate the Fell estate. At least out there, you know exactly what's trying to kill you."

"Fair point," Mirak conceded, swirling the chalice again before setting it down on the table with a soft clink. His gaze shifted to Lock. "But you have to admit, this mission… it's different. If we pull this off, we'll have leverage on the most powerful Noble House in Koona. That's not just big—it's dangerous."

Lock gave him a sidelong glance, his smirk fading into something more thoughtful. "Dangerous doesn't even begin to cover it. You heard what he said about Solomon Fell. 'Rivals the first of the Sorcerer Kings'? That's not exactly a reassuring endorsement for a guy we're supposed to avoid at all costs." He paused, then added with a dry laugh, "You know what that means, right? We're definitely going to end up running into him."

Mirak sighed, rubbing his temple. "I was trying not to think about that."

"Well, I'll think about it for the both of us," Lock said, his smirk returning. "And I'll start planning what to say to Solomon when we inevitably bumble into him. Maybe something like, 'Oh, excuse us, great and terrifying Lord Fell, we're just humble Publici who definitely aren't here to spy on your every move.'"

Mirak shot him a glare, though there was a faint hint of amusement in his stardust eyes. "I'd suggest a little less sarcasm, or you might end up as the newest rug in the Fell estate."

"And miss the chance to see you trying to sneak through their halls like a ghost?" Lock quipped, grinning. "Not a chance. I mean, let's be honest, Mirak. You're more likely to trip over your own robes than pass for inconspicuous."

Mirak rolled his eyes. "And you're the picture of subtlety, I suppose?"

"Absolutely," Lock replied with mock seriousness, leaning back again and crossing his arms. "If they catch me, it'll be because I let them."

"You're impossible," Mirak muttered, though a reluctant smile tugged at the corners of his lips.

Lock's grin widened. "Impossible, maybe. But admit it—you'd be bored without me."

Mirak didn't respond immediately. Instead, he leaned forward, propping his elbows on the table and lacing his fingers together. "Boredom isn't really my concern right now. You realize what we're walking into, don't you? This isn't just another mission. This is the Fell estate. If we mess this up—"

"We won't mess it up," Lock interrupted, his voice losing some of its humor. For a moment, his usual lightheartedness was replaced by something steadier, more resolute. "We've gotten through worse. We'll get through this too. Besides, we don't really have a choice, do we?"

Mirak studied him for a moment, then nodded. "No, we don't."

Lock pushed himself to his feet, stretching lazily before clapping Mirak on the shoulder. "Well then, no use sitting here brooding about it. Let's go find some disguises that'll make us look like respectable, law-abiding former slaves. Shouldn't be too hard, right?"

Mirak snorted. "Respectable and law-abiding. Two words that describe us perfectly."

"Exactly," Lock said with a wink. "Now come on, partner. The sooner we get started, the sooner we can finish this and get back to drinking wine we can't afford."

With that, Lock strode toward the door, whistling a tune that seemed far too cheerful given the circumstances. Mirak lingered for a moment, his gaze drifting to the empty chalice on the table. The wine was gone, but the taste of its spice still lingered on his tongue—a reminder of what was at stake.

"Sleeping giants," he murmured to himself, shaking his head before rising to follow Lock.

Koona was a land on the brink of upheaval. The Fell estate was just the first step. But Mirak couldn't shake the feeling that they weren't spiders spinning webs—they were flies caught in something much larger.

And the spider was waiting.