Finnovare took a slow drag from his cigarette, the ember glowing brightly as he inhaled. He exhaled a plume of smoke into the air, watching it curl and dissipate before continuing. "The Spirit Flower Agency wasn't just a group—it was a force. They built themselves on the premise of redemption, of giving people a second chance when the law wouldn't. Thieves, outcasts, even fugitives—anyone who could prove they had the skills and the will to contribute something greater. The SFA would wipe their slates clean, no questions asked, in exchange for absolute loyalty and a commitment to their cause."
He tapped ash off the cigarette, a soft chuckle escaping his lips. "Of course, that kind of power doesn't sit well with authority. The marine officials saw them as anarchists, threats to their order. And maybe they weren't entirely wrong. The Links—agents of the Spirit Flower Agency—weren't saints. They forged identities, broke into sealed records, even sabotaged trials to free people they deemed 'worthy.' All for their so-called vision of equality."
Finnovare leaned back, his eyes narrowing slightly. "But here's where things get... messy. The SFA wasn't just playing Robin Hood. They were gathering information—powerful, damning information on those in high places. Politicians. Admirals. Corporate leaders. And the Links? They became experts in using that information to broker deals, force hands, and topple anyone who stood in their way. It worked—until it didn't."
His smile faded, replaced by a more somber expression. "The fall of the Spirit Flower Agency was no accident. It was a reckoning. Those in power decided they'd had enough and unleashed hell to destroy it. Secret raids, black ops, and more than a few betrayals from within. The SFA's main stronghold was burned to the ground, their archives destroyed, their members hunted down like animals. And the Links? The so-called backbone of the Agency?"
Finnovare took another drag, his tone darker now. "They were eliminated. Quietly, efficiently. The marine officials didn't want heroes, didn't want martyrs. So they erased them—erased everything—as if the Links had never existed at all. What little survived of the Spirit Flower Agency splintered, scattered to the winds."
He fixed Nathaniel with a steady gaze, his voice lowering. "You said they fell like dinosaurs after the meteor. Well, Mr. Nathaniel, let me tell you—the Spirit Flower Agency's meteor wasn't natural. It was a precision strike. And it left more scars than anyone's willing to admit."
Finnovare flicked the cigarette into an ashtray and leaned forward, clasping his hands together. "But you already knew some of that, didn't you? Tell me, Mr. Nathaniel—what's your stake in this story? You've brought me the casket, and now you're asking about ghosts of the past. Are you hunting something specific, or just digging up bones for the sake of it?"
Nathaniel didn't answer immediately, his face a mask of quiet thought. Finnovare watched him carefully, his sharp eyes gleaming with interest.
"The Spirit Flower Agency may have been erased from the surface," Nathaniel finally said, his voice measured. "But there are whispers—stories about remnants, survivors, and truths buried deeper than the ashes. Someone knows more than they let on. And someone is keeping those secrets alive."
Finnovare raised an eyebrow, intrigued. "Ah, chasing whispers, are you? Dangerous work. But if anyone's left, they'd be lying low, very low. Not the kind of people who'd welcome a Caphast like you with open arms."
Nathaniel's gaze hardened. "I don't need a welcome. I need answers. You seem to know the pieces of this puzzle better than most. So, what else can you tell me? What about the Links who disappeared? The people they saved? The ones who turned on them?"
Finnovare sighed, leaning back as if weighing how much to reveal. "The Links... they were the Agency's hands and feet, the ones who did the dirty work. A few, I suspect, went underground, trading their past lives for anonymity. But not all of them. Some were captured, interrogated, and... let's just say, they didn't have the luxury of vanishing quietly."
He paused, letting the weight of his words sink in. "As for the ones they saved, they're scattered too. Some lived quietly, trying to keep their heads down, while others... well, they built something new, a network of sorts. A shadow of the Spirit Flower Agency, keeping the ideals alive, but far less bold. Far less organized."
Nathaniel leaned forward slightly, his interest piqued. "And the betrayers? The ones who sold them out?"
Finnovare smirked faintly, though it didn't reach his eyes. "Ah, now there's a juicy bit. They were bought, coerced, or promised safety. A few were Links themselves, seduced by offers too tempting to refuse. Betrayal is a funny thing—it doesn't just break the trust of others. It breaks the betrayer too. If you're looking for them, you won't find proud heroes. You'll find husks of people who regret surviving at all."
He steepled his fingers, his expression sharp. "Now, Nathaniel, let's flip this game for a moment. Why are you asking me about a dead Agency? Why does any of this matter to you? Because if you're planning to stir up old ghosts, you better know what you're inviting into your life."
A shadow dropped from the balcony above, landing behind them with a swift, soundless motion. A woman cloaked in deep black interrupted their exchange, her presence sharp and commanding.
"That's enough, Finnovare. You've said more than you should," she declared, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.
As she stepped further into the room, she lowered her hood with deliberate ease. Cascading waves of silken white hair, gleaming like freshly fallen snow under the sun, spilled down her back. Her piercing azure eyes caught the faint light, glimmering with an almost ethereal quality before dimming as her expression turned serious.
Finnovare turned lazily in his seat, clutching the casket as a sly grin tugged at his lips. He adjusted his tuxedo as though her arrival were a mere inconvenience. "Rai, I thought we had an understanding. Next time, you knock before barging into my office."
Rai's eyes narrowed, her jaw tightening as she crossed her arms. "And I thought we had an understanding that you wouldn't twist the truth about the Agency to suit your narrative." Her tone was sharp, brimming with restrained frustration.
Nathaniel, though calm, couldn't help but feel a ripple of unease. The room's dynamic had shifted. This woman, Rai, brought a tension far heavier than the exchange he and Finnovare had shared moments ago.
Rai's voice grew firmer as she took a step forward, her gaze locked onto Finnovare. "You always make the SFA sound like a band of reckless criminals, as if they didn't care for the lives or dreams of others. Do you have any idea how many of them gave everything—sacrificed themselves—for those they sought to protect?"
Finnovare leaned back, his smirk unwavering. "Sacrifices? Dreams? Oh, Rai, spare me the melodrama. The SFA may have started with noble intentions, but by the end? They were pulling strings, breaking rules, and stepping on plenty of lives to achieve their goals. Don't act like they were some holy order."
Rai's hands curled into fists at her sides, and for a moment, her voice wavered with equal parts frustration and sorrow. "You don't understand. You never did. They weren't perfect, but they gave hope to people who had none. They fought for the powerless when the law only served the powerful. And now? Now you sit in this gilded palace, speaking as if you ever stood among them."
Nathaniel watched the two intently, his sharp eyes catching every flicker of emotion. Rai's words stirred something within him, and though he maintained his silence, his mind raced. This woman was clearly more than she appeared.
"What's this, Rai?" Finnovare asked with a wry grin, gesturing lazily with the cigarette still smoldering between his fingers. "Do I detect a personal grudge? Perhaps some lingering guilt over what became of your precious Links?"
Rai stiffened, her azure eyes burning like embers. "Mock me all you want, Finnovare. You'll never understand what the Agency stood for, nor will you grasp what it's like to see everything you believe in crumble under the weight of betrayal."
Turning her gaze to Nathaniel, she studied him intently, her expression softening just slightly. "And you—Nathaniel, was it? Why are you asking these questions? What do you hope to find in the ashes of the Spirit Flower Agency?"
Nathaniel, though uneasy, met her gaze with his usual calm resolve. "The truth," he said simply. "The truth about what really happened. About the Links. And about what's been left behind."
Rai's eyes flickered with something—recognition, perhaps, or understanding. She sighed, shaking her head. "The truth comes at a price, Nathaniel. Are you sure you're ready to pay it?"
The air in the room grew heavier as the conversation veered into uncharted territory, the shadows of the past lingering like an unseen storm brewing on the horizon.
Nathaniel leaned his head against his palm, exhaling a weary sigh. "This is absurd. I came here looking for the truth, but all I've found are fragments and contradictions. I don't know who to believe. And then there's Yipsiv—how does he fit into this twisted puzzle of the SFA? All I've heard is that he treats everything like a game, gambling with people's lives and fortunes like they're mere tokens."
Finnovare chuckled softly, taking a slow drag of his cigarette before exhaling a plume of smoke. "Ah, Yipsiv... the wildcard. He's a slippery one, that's for sure. A gambler by trade, a schemer by nature. He had ties to the Spirit Flower Agency, yes—but don't go thinking he was some loyal ally. Yipsiv worked for himself and himself alone. If he saw an opportunity to turn the tide in his favor, he'd take it without a second thought."
Rai's expression hardened, and she crossed her arms, her voice cutting through Finnovare's smugness. "Yipsiv may play the part of a carefree rogue, but he knows more than he lets on. He was closer to the Agency than most realize. Some say he dealt in information, trading secrets like cards at a table. Others claim he was instrumental in orchestrating... certain events."
Nathaniel frowned, his brow furrowing as he processed their words. "Certain events? Are you saying Yipsiv had a hand in the downfall of the Agency?"
Rai hesitated, glancing away, her jaw tightening as if struggling with what to reveal. "I don't know for sure," she admitted finally. "But if Yipsiv is involved, he's not someone to underestimate. His charm and wit mask a dangerous mind. If he knows you're looking into the Agency, he'll find you before you find him."
Finnovare leaned back in his chair, a glimmer of amusement in his eyes. "Well, Nathaniel, it seems you've got yourself quite the task ahead. Chasing after Yipsiv is like trying to catch the wind. He's always moving, always one step ahead. But... if you're determined to find him, I might have a lead for you."
Nathaniel lifted his head, his gaze sharpening. "What kind of lead?"
Finnovare smirked, tapping the edge of the casket. "There's a tavern on the outskirts of the city—the Rusted Coin. Yipsiv is known to frequent it when he's in the area. It's as good a place as any to start."
Rai shot Finnovare a glare. "Are you seriously sending him into Yipsiv's den without a warning? That place is crawling with cutthroats and opportunists. If Yipsiv doesn't deal with him, someone else surely will."
Nathaniel straightened, his calm demeanor returning. "I'll take my chances. If Yipsiv holds the answers I need, then I'll find him—wherever he is."
Rai sighed, her gaze softening as she regarded him. "Just be careful, Nathaniel. Yipsiv isn't the only danger lurking in this mess. The closer you get to the truth, the more enemies you'll make."
Finnovare stood, extending a hand toward the door. "Well, Mr. Nathaniel, I believe our business here is concluded. Good luck with your quest—and try not to lose your head along the way."
Nathaniel ignored the gesture and rose from his seat, his mind already focused on the path ahead. Without another word, he turned and made his way out of the office, the weight of the casket's delivery still lingering in his thoughts as he prepared to face the next chapter of his search.
As the door clicked shut behind Nathaniel, Rai turned sharply to face Finnovare, her expression a mix of disappointment and simmering frustration. "Your lies are going to catch up with you sooner or later, Finnovare. Mark my words. They don't peel away like bark from a tree—they cling, they fester, and eventually, they'll consume you whole. You can't keep spinning tales and expect to walk away unscathed."
Finnovare, unfazed, leaned back in his chair, a faint smirk playing on his lips as he tapped ash from his cigarette into a nearby tray. "Oh, Rai, you always did have a flair for melodrama. Lies are just a tool, like any other. It's all about knowing when and where to wield them."
Rai took a step closer, her voice growing colder. "You think this is a game, don't you? Sending delivery men like Nathaniel into the web you've spun—dragging them into the shadows of the Agency's ruins for your amusement or your schemes. How long before one of them decides they've had enough and turns that casket—or worse—against you?"
Finnovare raised an eyebrow, feigning innocence as he flicked his cigarette aside. "You give them too much credit. Nathaniel's a courier, nothing more. He came, he delivered, and now he's chasing phantoms. If he gets tangled up, well... that's on him, not me."
Rai's eyes narrowed, her voice dropping to a near-whisper, each word laced with warning. "You don't see it, do you? He's not just another pawn. Nathaniel's different. He's not here for your games or your riddles—he's here for the truth. And when he finds out how much of that you've buried under your lies, it won't be the casket he's coming for—it'll be you."
Finnovare's smirk faltered for just a moment, but he quickly masked it with a casual wave of his hand. "Then I suppose I'll have to be prepared. But until then, Rai, spare me the lectures. You and I both know this world isn't run on honesty—it's run on leverage. And right now, I've got plenty of it."
Rai shook her head, her white hair catching the light like a flash of frost. "Leverage only lasts so long, Finnovare. When it crumbles, it takes everything else with it." She turned sharply, her cloak billowing behind her as she made for the door. "Enjoy your palace while you can. You'll find it's a cold place to be when the walls finally collapse."
Finnovare watched her go, his smirk fading as the door closed behind her. For a moment, his confident mask slipped, and a shadow of unease crossed his face. But he quickly shook it off, reaching for another cigarette and lighting it with steady hands. "Melodrama," he muttered to himself, though his eyes lingered on the casket Nathaniel had delivered.
To be continued...