2:00 pm, The streets of Athens
She walked down the streets of the city. These streets in particular were made for foot traffic, and there wasn't a car in sight. Stalls lined the sides, people calling out to others, offering food or drinks or trinkets of various kinds...
-But none called to her. No one looked at her. No one spoke to her. People came and went, faceless and nondescript. Men and women of various sizes and features. Some spoke into their hands. Others spoke into the air. Some spoke to those they walked with, others talked to strangers. Some played music, others listened. And yet still there were those who were alone. They spoke to no one. They looked at no one. They simply walked. Some looked ahead, others looked at the ground.
-But none called to her.
But that was okay. She wasn't alone. Not anymore. She did worry; she worried when the call took her away once again. The call took her from her family, it offered her belonging. It had yet to deliver, but she could sense that she was approaching the end of her journey. The call came from the sea, and now, so much later, it had returned her to land. A land far and unfamiliar from what she knew, but land nonetheless. The call was absent now, but she felt it with her still, deep within her core. She was exactly where she was supposed to be.
-But what was she supposed to be doing?
Whatever the call was, she had hoped the friend it gave her would have answers, but no such luck. The friend couldn't speak, but she knew she was a friend despite it. A connection like no other, someone who understood her. Now, her friend was with her. Her friend followed her wherever she went. She couldn't know why, but it was nice. She had gone so long without anyone, and now she had made two friends in short succession. First was the man who saved her that day, and now she had this new person, though she didn't know her name. She wished they could talk. That they could communicate like the people in the streets.
The people who didn't look at her.
She wished that they could talk like the friends they were; that they could express their emotions through words like everybody else. But that wasn't possible. Not now.
Maybe...
Maybe once they arrived at "home" they could; once the call finally took her where it was always calling her to. For now, this was life. Walking through streets without aim, where nobody took notice of her.
What was she supposed to be doing?
The faceless people walked by; indistinguishable. Her friend stood nearby, though she was invisible, but her silent voice had no wisdom to give.
-And then there were two.
Two. A girl with bright and blue hair, and a man with pink hair. They walked together with purpose, talking excitedly with words she didn't understand. The man- or was he a boy?- had a strange appearance beyond just his hair. Around him, water flowed. Familiar currents that moved with force but without weight. They walked by, taking no notice of her, but she noticed them. In a stream of faceless men, they stood out. And on her wrist she saw a band of red.
She looked down at her own hand, the strange symbol. Three overlapping circles.
Perhaps she could learn more if she followed them.
...
High above the Earth, a commercial airplane headed towards Athens.
Xander Haq sat with his team in first class. He, as with the other members of his team, were far more accustomed to flying private rather than commercial, but the job was too rushed to allow for such discretion. Though wards had already been placed to nullify sound and prevent others from walking through their section, the feeling of vulnerability could be felt in the stiff quiet.
The seats in this section of the plane were arranged like clovers, four sections of two seats, all pointed at an imaginary center that the walkway of the plane cut through. He sat in what could be called the center of the plane, the top right petal of the imaginary clover, next to his wife Filza. A beautiful Egyptian, her milky skin and straight white hair contrasted with his dark skin, and darker, curled hair; she often joked that they went together "like coffee and cream".
As for himself, he was a mercenary proficient in curse magecraft, though most of his work could be described as paranormal investigation. Whether he was investigating unruly spirits or a runaway magus, his job description was inspecting what couldn't be explained with conventional logic. His wife was in a similar line of work, but rather than investigating active phenomena, her job was to investigate what happened long ago, with a specific interest in djinn and similar creatures.
Ironic as it was, though it was their respective jobs that brought them together, it also kept them apart for much of the year, and so working like this was a dream come true. Whenever he had a job, he always asked if there was a need for a "psychometric expert" or "phantasmal specialist" as an attempt to keep her by his side. It rarely worked, and he hadn't expected things to go so smoothly when the Alghul Family reached out to him about a job requiring "extreme discretion" and "immediate aid" when his wife had never worked with them, but he could see now. This operation was, truly, "all hands on deck".
Across from himself and Filza sat two in traditional garb. An older man in brown canvas robes with a white fez, and a woman in full burqa; any distinguishing features entirely obscured. The old man was Samman Quayyum, a necromancer and former rival of the Alghul Family brought under the wing of the organization with the promise of mutual benefit. Despite this, he was, undoubtedly, a subordinate of Aisha Alghul, the current head of the Alghul family. He lacked an heir, and while there had been rumors of a potential marriage of himself and Aisha, that clock was ticking rather quickly and, from his limited knowledge of Alghul, he had a hard time imagining her putting up with such an old and irritable man as him, even for the sake of an heir. With her influence, she could have whatever husband she wanted, and he had far more to gain from her than she from him. When he and Filza learned of his involvement, they had speculated whether he and Alghul had formalized an arrangement, but that was very obviously not the case. Xander was the leader of the team, and, rather than a superior or contractor, Quayyum was just another member, with less authority than himself. This clearly irked him, and he wasn't shy about making Xander aware of his "insolence". He sat pouting by the window with his arms crossed, still as a wax sculpture.
The woman was named Radiya, no surname given, perhaps no surname at all. She was an assassin trained and raised by "The Old Man of the Mountain", a secluded organization of hyper-religious assassins that had existed for many generations. Those within the organization teach and develop so-called "death miracles", thaumaturgic pseudo-magecraft that, as the name suggests, are crafted for the purpose of efficient murder. Her services had been bought out completely by the Alghul family, and she now essentially belonged to them. She was quiet and cold, but ultimately obedient, all features requisite for a good assassin. She sat by Quayyum at his request as he was "the most important member of the Alghul family currently present". Of course, he was little more than an employee, but none of them were going to break his delusions and risk the mission.
Diagonally across from himself was Chauncey Morgans, the final member of the team, and the one most out of the way. While himself and the others had convened in Egypt, Chauncey was French, and his recruitment required a connection flight to Paris for pickup. He was a rogue mage kicked from the Clocktower for his practice of forbidden magecraft. The only magecraft that was truly forbidden by the Association were curses, and so he had wondered if Chauncey wasn't a kindred spirit, but meeting him made everything clear. Chauncey was by all means a handsome man with wafted blonde hair and a well-trimmed beard that accentuated his bright green eyes. He wore clothes straight from the cover of a male fashion magazine, a cloth, plaid dress shirt and tight-fit white dress pants. He sat with his legs up, covering both seats, and gazed absentmindedly out the window behind him. At his feet, however, was a black Labrador of decent size. The beast was asleep for the moment, hiding the blood crimson eyes behind its eyelids.
The "dog" was a Devil, a phantasmal being that contracted itself to people, feeding off their life energy and lowering their life span in exchange for some favor. While making contracts with fey and similar creatures wasn't strictly forbidden, it was highly frowned upon for various reasons both practical and philosophical. Lesser Devils, imps and the like, were no issue, but Devils beyond a certain strength were explicitly forbidden in order to keep them from the material plane. As The Age of Man had far less mana than the ages before, Devils without contracts had a tendency to go feral from hunger. Lesser imps weren't capable of killing anything larger than a housecat under normal circumstances, but Greater Devils caused large-scale catastrophes when allowed to run amok, threatening both the lives of innocents and the secrecy of magecraft.
Their job... was a mystery. Despite being the leader of the so-called team, he had no idea why they were called to Athens. That said, the importance of the issue at hand, whatever that issue was, was plain to see. Were it a minor issue, or something involving pure necromancy, it could've been handled internally within the organization, but here, between the five of them, only two were official employees of the Family, the rest, including himself, being contractors for hire. Whatever was going on, Aisha had clearly sailed into an unknown sea, and was beyond her depth at that. They were to receive further instruction on site, but he couldn't shake the feeling of dread that had been building up within him.
He felt Filza's hand on his shoulder. He had been sitting hunched with his head in his hands, his knee shaking all the while. She'd noticed and looked at him now with some concern. He didn't normally get so worked up before a job. He gave her a nod and a smile; she wasn't at ease, but it clearly helped. Looking around at his fellow teammates, he almost felt like a cop looking at suspects through a one-way mirror. What did they know that he didn't? He had four hours to find out.
"So-"
Xander sat up and stretched in his chair. It was comfortable and spacious compared to the seats in Economy, but still, sitting down for so long would give anyone a crick in the neck, no matter the chair.
All eyes were on him now. Somewhat disinterested eyes, sure, but eyes and ears nonetheless.
"We've got some time before the job starts in earnest, so why don't we play a little catch-up?"
Chauncey groaned audibly; his "dog" raised its head and looked around, alert. "You aren't really going to make us do ice-breakers are you?"
His accent was a strange mix of English and French, the perfect combination for expressing dissatisfaction.
"Heh. Nothing so childish, Chauncey. I'm only suggesting we exchange notes, you know, so that we're all on the same page once Miss Alghul gives us our instructions. Familiarize ourselves with anything that ought to be known at the start."
Quayyum scoffed. "Is it not your job as leader to ascertain and distribute that information? Surely you don't expect us to know any more than yourself?"
"It is my job, Quayyum, but that doesn't mean we can't still help each other."
Chauncey shifted in his chair and finally put his feet on the floor again, his devil dog skittering to move out of the way below him. "As right as that is, I think it's only fair that you go first, my liege."
His words were sarcastic but not hostile, and more curious than malevolent.
Filza looked at him encouragingly, "I think that's a good idea."
"I do too, but I think you all will be disappointed with what I have to offer." He took out his personal journal and opened it to the page he had marked. At this point, even Radiya was giving him her full attention. He held up the page for all to see, not that there was much to show. On the page was the address of the hotel they were to stay at, as well as their room numbers. Other than that, there was a reminder that the room had been booked under a fake name, "Jacob Hardin", and the underlined phrases "BE DISCRETE", "MAKE SURE YOU AREN'T FOLLOWED", and "DISPOSE OF SUSPICIOUS PERSONS".
"Bullshit!" Chauncey yelled, "There are only two rooms!?"
"Afraid so."
"Dammit! I thought the Alghuls were supposed to be rich!"
"Nobody books five hotel rooms under the same name, Chauncey, especially when they're trying to keep a low profile."
He grumbled, but began to shift his mouth, likely wondering if he'd be sharing a room with Radiya.
Quayyum cast a hateful glance to Chauncey before looking back to Xander, "Don't tell me that's really all you know."
"Beyond that, all I know is that we're to head directly to the hotel to wait for further instruction. Or do you know more?"
He huffed, muttering curses under his breath.
Filza spoke up, "Does anyone have any other information on the job? What about you Radiya? I believe you've done the most work with Miss Alghul."
"That's true, but I know nothing. I'm not employed to ask questions."
A sly grin crossed Chauncey's lips, and Xander was glad that Radiya couldn't see. For Chauncey's sake.
A stiff silence washed over the group as they all asked themselves what it was that they were getting into.
It would be a matter of hours before they found out.
....