The boys exited the auditorium following the walkway and as swiftly as they appeared; the luxuries vanished once again. At the end of this blank corridor were instead two metal doors chained shut and guarded by four burly men with thighs the size of his entire torso. For a brief second Stolas doubted Kalou's ability to deal with them, but that thought banished as the image of his brother's rapturous expression during the fight with the angels came to mind. Something he needs to ask about, time permitting. The girl approached, and with a soundless command, ordered the doors to open.
His pupils shrank.
When Caine spoke of the cage they would place them in, he assumed there would be a single one, yet they lined the walls, packed with moaning bodies. The further into the room the cages, the higher... quality the slaves appeared to be. The sick, dying and the elderly densely populated the closest, yet at the very end rested a single polished cage with an exquisite pair of girls displayed like dolls. A crooked old man sat at the centre of it all, surrounded by a circular desk with all manner of treasures decorating it. He looked up from the spectacles dangling on the end of his purple nose and, with a broken grin, beckoned them inside. Fighting the tightening feeling growing in his chest, Stolas concentrated on scanning the racks on racks of valuables to garner the location of the swallow.
"Which fine patron put these up for auction?" The old man asked, observing the boys.
"Master VanCourts, sir."
"Hah! He comes up with the strangest things," The old man flipped up part of his desk, approaching with a skip in his step and with a light touch swept up Éirean's chin. Stolas' arm jerked to block and with difficulty he pulled it back. "Where did he find these? Hm... blond, grey eyes, good teeth and good muscles. The soldier of a noble," the old man mused, tugging and pulling at Éirean's body. His eyes flicked to the burns. "A damaged one, it seems," Éirean's calm expression broke into a flush and his head lowered. Stolas' temper tangled into a knot. He stood rigid. The man sighed. "B class. You, though, you are a rare one. These curls, delicate build and untainted hands. I believe you are the noble this man once served. It's an honour," Stolas' knees weakened and sweat clammed up his hands. No way. "Not that it matters what house you belong to," He released his breath and cursed himself for how quick he was to panic about being recognised. "Now you belong to me." The old man's features transformed from arrogance into ones of deep, misguided joy. He let Éirean go and approached. Alarm bells screamed inside his mind, and his skin itched as the old man's grimy hands peeled away the blanket. Littering the floor. Stolas' teeth ground as his jaw clenched. The heat built up in his cheeks became unbearable and as he went to pull away, his eyes widened, and his body relaxed. All negative emotions cleared. He disregarded the person in front of him entirely as the inspection continued. His gaze locked onto the small item hanging from around that wrinkled neck instead. A key. A lavish, intricate steel key that matched the rusted metal of the cages. Stolas cut off everything in his surroundings and with an unblinking stare analysed and branded its image into his brain. A diamond shaped bow and matching key wards gauging holes in the three bits protruding from the stem. The mottled and scratched surface worn down from use and the small divot carved by the chain shifting with movement. Every tiny detail he recorded, memorised and converted to bone. Moulding like clay, a perfect ivory replica that appeared in the hand behind his back.
"Don't fucking touch him!" The key vanished from his field of vision after mere seconds, replaced by the view of Éirean's fist connecting with the old man's jaw.
"Huh?" Stolas muttered, jostled back to full awareness. A chill ran through him, and his brows raised at the sight of his tunic hanging half undone and his cauterised scar exposed. The guards from outside barged in and dragged Éirean away before he could land a second blow. "Dammit," Stolas dived for him. "Are you stupid? What are you doing?"
"Your brother ordered me not to let-" he faltered as Stolas pressed the replica into his grasp and squeezed his hand.
"Behave."
"Damn brat," the old man grumbled as he staggered to his feet. Stolas marked he had lost another tooth, giving him the appearance of a hideous buck toothed rabbit. "Grab that one too," he said, and Stolas sensed a foreboding presence appear behind him. The old man plucked the key from his necklace and opened a 'B class' cage. Everyone inside shrunk to the back as they threw Éirean in. The door locked behind him. "Do nobles not know how to control their subordinates anymore?"
"He is loyal, forgive him." Said Stolas. The old man groaned, and behind his wispy white head something gleamed. The swallow of a Dominion hung high upon the wall and spanned at least two metres wide, the blades upon each end carved as great metal wings, the edges of the feathers sharp enough to cut steel. White jewels flowed through the weapon in glistening veins, engraving rivers through the golden hilt, utterly dazzling to behold. This piece of divinity shone with a pure quality that enraptured him, drawing Stolas to imagine the magnitude of the being that once wielded it in battle.
"Pity about those scars, you would have been an S class." As he opened the cage one up from Éirean's, inside huddled two children. Stolas ducked in without a fight, glancing through the bars to Éirean and flashing him a wink. The soldier gaped back, sparkling eyes and a beaming smile plastered his face as he mouthed the word:
"Wow!"
Stolas wrapped himself up in his blanket he salvaged during the scuffle and curled up in the corner closest to the lock. A second bone key summoned in his hand. Until that moment, he never considered using his abilities in such a way. He eyed the swallow and kept the card up his sleeve. Blurred thoughts, questions and potential scenarios of the past and near future muddied his mind, his black eyes falling vacant. Had that idea come up earlier, would the outcome of Ferin and Iana's attack have been the same? He would have entered a knife fight he couldn't win, and with the dragon girl… who knew what occurred in the first place. Still, how could such a useful thing pass him by? Letting the dust settle and the tension dissolve, Stolas remained in that state of wallowing self-deprecation for a long while and did not notice the children inching closer.
"My lord," the braver of the two chimed after a time, scooting forward with trembling limbs. "How did you do that?" Stolas jumped as a chilly hand tugged at his sleeve, sending the child scurrying away instantly. The two boys clung together and reflected each other, identical, the same soft and fluffy features, with the only difference being the variation of colours within the mosaic of bruises that covered them.
"Sorry, I was in my own world. What did you say?" asked Stolas with a warm tone, recognising their apprehension.
"My- my lord is a noble. I'm sorry if I was bad just now, but we were wondering," his voice shrunk as he lost his nerve and Stolas mustered an eager smile, nodding for him to continue. "Just how it was that you did the magic, is all."
"You saw that?" His eyes bulged. Stolas whipped around to see the old man clutching his face and picking an object apart with tweezers. "Did anyone else see?" he whispered. The boys shook their heads in unison. Stolas recalled it was this cage he had his back to. Fortunately, only these small ones coined him. The boy hesitated.
"My lord, are you magic?" Stolas sighed.
"Do not tell anyone, it's a secret, okay?"
"We won't, we promise!" Their eyes lit up like stars. Being privy had them giddy and bouncing. "But my lord, why is someone like you here, the bad guys get you too?"
"No," Stolas uttered. "I'm here to make sure all the evil men and all the monsters who hurt people go away. My friend and I, the man I gave the key to," he waved to Éirean, who was too busy fraternising with his cellmates to realise. "We are looking for a very special weapon. Right now, we need to wait until my brother distracts the old man so we can escape and take it," The two boys' jaws hung in awe as they listened to his plan, proceeding to look at one another. With a resolute nod, they glued themselves to the floor in heavy bows, cutting him off mid explanation. "Um, what are you doing?"
"My lord, if you let us escape with you, we swear to be your loyal servants until we die. My name is Rook, and this is my brother, Icarus. We have no family name, so if it pleases you, you can call us what you wish. We promise to bring honou-"
"Stop! Stop. There is no need for any of that. And please do not call me your lord, I am not anyone so special, that old man is just stupid."
"Oh, we're sorry."
"Do not worry, no matter who I am, I won't leave you two here. I'll get you somewhere safe." Stolas could already envision Caine's exasperated expression. After all, he told him specifically not to bring anyone back. But these two, the desperation in their little hearts only a sociopath could ignore.
"Thank you, um."
"Call me Michaeas," That name still conjured up difficult feelings, but the name Éirean was currently occupied and none other came to mind. "Like the dragon slayer."
"Ah! That's an amazing name! I wish mine was like that." The boy grumbled.
"Your names are pretty amazing too." Stolas' attention fell on Icarus, who was yet to say a single word. A mute, perhaps. As he went to question it and include him, to continue the light-hearted conversation that acted as a wholesome distraction, a clamouring outside silenced the room. Éirean immediately shot him a knowing look. Kalou set the ball rolling already. Stolas watched the old man's face twist into one of confusion, and the utensils fell from his hands.
"What is going on out there?" He said, fidgeting. His worry lines deepened. "Oi!" The old man flipped up the section of his desk and shuffled over towards the door, grumbling obscenities. The boys took the chance. Stolas unveiled his key and shoved it into the lock. The grooves matched perfectly. Click. The door swung open and with light measured steps, he creeped out, completely silent.
"Mister, can we come?" That tiny whisper sent his heart racing, and Stolas pressed a finger to the child's lips. He gave a stiff nod and asserted the need for quiet by pressing a little harder. Rook understood and grasped his brother's hand. Deafened by his violent pulse hammering in his ears, Stolas darted for the ladder closest to the swallow and Éirean stalked behind the old man who stropped, completely unaware. He resembled the pouncing dragon, crouched low, slow, and unblinking, looking more like an animal than a person. Among all the weapons present, he chose himself, and with trained movements approached without a sound. Holding his breath, Stolas gripped the wooden ladder and lifted, precariously placing it down below the weapon plaque. Begging the aged rungs not to creak, he climbed with haste and at last came face to face with his prize. Something about it felt… wrong, yet at once right. The same bizarre sensation he experienced when within vicinity of the Power's scythe, a diluted form of the sickness upon facing the creatures themselves; the ebb and flow of attraction and repulsion surging from within him towards this object that only grew stronger upon contact.
"I said, what is going on out there?" the old man cried. The commotion stopped.
"It's fine." The blood drained from Stolas' face, the swallow nearly leaving his grasp as his heart stopped. That was not his brother's voice.
"All that noise for nothing, argh," The old man scoffed. However, now sated, he turned around without warning and caught Éirean's startled face a hair's breadth from his own. "What the fu-" Éirean chopped his throat and immediately after struck the back of his head, leaving the old man a crinkled unconscious mess on the floor.
"Master, are you alright?" The gruff voice came closer and closer to the door, and Éirean jumped to answer in a mimic.
"One of the stupid plaques broke, I'm fine." he held his breath for a solid minute and finally relaxed as he heard the fainting sound of footsteps. Stolas was frantic. He leaped down from the ladder and, with crazed eyes, gripped a hold of his friend's shoulders.
"There's no way that was it, right?" They could not have beaten him."
"Stolas, he will be fine. There is a reason for this, I am sure. Kalou is the best fighter I have ever seen. Those guys outside could never win against him." His eyes were like swirling storm clouds, burning with conviction in his own words. Stolas wiped away the budding tears and pulled a hand through his hair.
"You must have confidence for the both of us," he said in a meek voice, his insides poisoned with debilitating anxiety. "What do we do now?"
"I suppose we will have to find another way out of here where we can still keep the swallow."
"We must do it without raising suspicion. If we released everyone in a frenzy into the auditorium while we might escape, their lives could be at risk. Very few people here are in a state to fight, it would be a mass slaughter." The slaves within Éirean's cage that had already emerged listened intently alongside the twins. Within the few mumbles he understood, Stolas realised they were attempting to contribute ideas and encouraged them to raise their voices.
"It wouldn't be so bad if we took some weapons," said a girl. "We could make it."
"Well, what about the weak, you would have us leave them in a swarm of guards?" Another huffed, with arms crossed over his chest.
"We could hold the old man hostage." One young man chimed, his eyes twinkling at the prospect. He vibrated on the spot with excitement, and his expression hinted at more morbid intentions.
"They would just replace him, looks on his last legs, anyway."
"If we wait until the girls come back to get the first item, we could take one of them hostage."
"Why do you want to take everyone hostage?"
"It might work, you don't know!" He yelled.
"Hey, watch how you talk to me-" the rowdiness of the small gathering only escalated until everyone drowned out everyone else and turned into a twisted mess of angry yet hushed voices saying nothing constructive. Somehow Stolas' morale dropped even lower, and his head throbbed. He did not know whether he ought to laugh or cry.
"I-I ha...ve a..a..." the frail stutter dissolved into nothing, and he tried again with a feeble improvement in pitch. "I h..ave an an ide-idea." Ignored. Rook flared.
"Everybody shut up, my brother has an idea!" He bellowed, stamping with frustration. Éirean smacked the back of the boy's head.
"Want to quiet down, idiot?"
"Let him speak," Stolas now understood the boy's trepidation with words and his timid nature. "Go on, Icarus." Stolas ruffled his hair. The corner of his mouth quirked up, and a blush arose across his cheeks at the affection. Icarus fumbled with his fingers as he spoke up once more. Everyone, including Éirean, took on a tragic look, all directed at the prince. Stolas' blood ran cold as a small part of his soul burnt up into ashes. The fact it was a plan that no one else would ever have considered, and because of the sheer absurdity, it was one that would likely work.
"What was your name again, child?" Éirean's eyes homed in as he cracked his knuckles, and the twins ran behind Stolas, clutching at his lame excuse for clothing. "To suggest something so outlandish, what are you planning?" Stolas never once thought he would get to this stage in his life, but here he was. Cross-dressing, huh?
"It might work," Stolas said, each strained word through clenched teeth. Éirean looked at him dazed, as if he had been hit over the head with a blunt object and lost the ability of comprehensive thought. "Don't look at me like that. What other choice do we have but to try? My brother could be in a critical condition out there."
"I very much doubt that," he sighed. Éirean covered his forehead with his open palm. "He is going to kill me for letting you do this, you know."
"It's fine. I'll be killing myself right after, so I will see you in the afterlife."