The group collaborated in resetting the scene. People piled back into their cages. The old man sat at his desk fiddling, with an antique piano chord ripping into the flesh of neck. Ticking of the gears in the clocks punctuated the silence, counting second by second as Éirean hid and waited outside the door to strike. Hostess after hostess entered, bringing items out to auction. Some returned, and those presumably with winning bets did not.
Stolas pulled tighter on the old man's neck. "Answer me something," He whispered from underneath the desk. "Who is the owner of the Dominion's swallow, and how did they come about it?"
"Our patrons can remain anonymous if they so wish, and he does so. There is nothing I can tell you. Not that I would help a despicable boy such as yourself if I knew," The old man's voice dripped with disgust. Fair enough, thought Stolas. As he was right now, his assessment was not off the mark. "How did you do it then?"
"Do what?"
"Get out."
"Why would I tell a despicable man such as yourself?" Stolas raised a cocky brow. Éirean inched forward. Time trickled by, and Stolas' grip tightened unconsciously. "Hey, old man, do you believe what you do here is honest work?" The old man hesitated. He looked down at the prince beneath his desk with a queer eye. "Selling men and women as if they were only frivolous luxuries for people to do with as they please, I mean. When this country has worked so hard to liberate its people from a similar fate?" A girl's voice reached their ears. "It's quite insulting to our efforts, don't you think?" Stolas developed an undefinable expression.
"The angel's blade, master." She asked, approaching his desk. The old man waved his hand in dismissal. Bowing politely, she took a step in the swallow's direction.
"Why would someone like you care?" He shot.
"Because I am the kind of person your actions impact the most." The old man shrunk back. A resounding thump sounded as her body hit the floor.
"I got her," Éirean dragged over an unconscious hostess to the desk before taking the wire from his hands. He caught the strange look in Stolas' eyes. "Wait, did he say something to you? Are you alright?" Stolas hummed without removing his stare.
"I'm fine. We were just talking," He whipped around. "Wish me luck then." Stolas scooped the girl up into his arms and carried her to the nearest storage room. Although, upon trying the handle, it would not budge.
"Don't bother even asking me, what's in there is not under my authority." Stolas swallowed his questions before he had the chance to ask them. Curiosity killed the cat, and as much as he wished it was not the case, they could not waste time. Upon trying the next, it opened without struggle, and he stepped into a dark storage room of less ornate items. His eyes met the sleeping face of the girl, and guilt rested heavily on his mind. Her body resembles his enough in build and height, her hair a darker shade than most. Fate stood on his side, and yet a vile element of self-loathing left his hands shaking. Grimacing, he set her down and in the dark with his eyes sealed shut, he undressed her, flinching at the fleeting brushes of warm flesh on his fingers. After slipping the last layer of silk from her slight frame, he dashed to the corner, throwing his blanket back to protect her modesty.
"What the fuck," he winced. Stolas levelled his eyes on the clothing in his grasp, with difficulty recovering an even temper. Although, if he must endure another unexpected sin, he feared he may shatter completely. Wobbly with nerves, he exited the room clad in white. "Shall we get this over with?" his voice dropped several octaves.
"Would I be out of line if I said it suited you?" Éirean mused. Stolas' glacial leer rendered him mute. The slaves clapped as quietly as they could, cheering him on, but their support fell on deaf ears. The weapon dragged him towards it, and he raised it with greater caution than the life he just left in the cupboard. Stolas could not help but jump to wonder. What kind of creature felled the beast who commanded such a weapon?
Taking a deep breath, he knocked on the door. The considerable, sickening feeling of apprehension left him a shuddering wreck inside, but he projected stone-faced apathy. Legs the size of tree trunks stomped nearer, and he braced to attack. Giant fingers circled around the edge of the metal and pulled the door open, revealing one guard. Although Stolas dare not look up, from what he could observe, not a speck of blood tainted him. He exited without a word, his eyes darting about under the thin hood. No gore stained the floor, no fallen bodies or faces with broken jaws. His brother's raven locks, nowhere to be seen. A crash like thunder rang out as the door slammed shut behind him and Stolas jumped out of his skin. The swallow teetered in his grasp, and his clumsy fingers scrambled for it before it clattered to the ground, startling him once more. His face burned and his ears turned red.
"You always loved giving people frights, Graer," Stolas sucked in a breath, yet it felt like he choked on sand. Black armoured boots sauntered over to him, and a gloved hand extended itself. A pair of deep brown eyes met his, flashing him a wink. "You would even scare this poor girl, not what a gentleman would do." Kalou tutted, aiding him to stand.
"And breaking the arms of my colleagues is? Do not play with me, Ashe, I am not the only one to have changed. You couldn't always fight like that, especially with a smile plastered to your face." Stolas picked up the swallow and continued walking.
"Graer, you know very well Ashe is not my name," Buried memories forcing themselves out beat his mind senseless and Stolas' heart ached. As his breathing sped up, so did his pace. I need to get away, he thought. Focus. Stolas pushed these sensations down deep and cut off his attention to any sound around him, numbing his body and keeping reality at a distance. His vision tunnelled, and he processed only one direction, forward to the stage. Kalou's callus tone reverberated in the hall and their childhood friend stood his ground. No wonder his brother had not taken out all the guards as planned. Why must he be here, of all people?
Foggy in his senses, the brightness of the auditorium caught him off guard. "Oh lord no." he moaned, freezing with one foot still mid-stride. Like a lamb facing a butcher, in the centre of the stage he stood, undignified, shakily presenting the weapon to the abhorrent amount of people that had their gaze fixed entirely on him. If only he had the power to transform the earth and force it to swallow him into its depths.
"Ladies, gentlemen and those undefined of the crowd, please observe the magnificence of the armament before you. You all know it; the unrivalled craftsmanship of the heavens presents to you the divine beauty of an angel's weapon!" The auctioneer preached beside him. The audience revelled in his words, hundreds of greedy eyes taking in the sight. They all witnessed it before, but a holy artefact so enchanting captured their attention, nonetheless. "Starting off at fifteen thousand gold pieces, do we have a bidder?" His words sliced through the excitement and the lively voices died down to grumbles.
Stolas found Caine's slack-jawed face in the front row. Eyebrows raised and green eyes wide in shock. Stolas predicted elements of anger, confusion, and negative emotions of any kind. But gradually the corners of Caine's mouth quirked up and tears of mirth welled in his eyes. He slapped a hand to his mouth, and the other gripped his stomach as he silently wheezed.
"I just put you in unimaginable debt, and this is how you react?" said Stolas under his breath. Caine swallowed his last laugh and raised his hand.
"I shall, I shall bid."
"Master VanCourts, I knew you could not resist for long," said the auctioneer. Attention in the auditorium shifted to his mentor. "Do we have any challengers? Going now, for fifteen thousand gold pieces, the angel's swallow! Once, twice...even three times?" His voice dripped with enthusiasm as he hurried through his lines. "Are we agreed, fifteen thousand?" Anyone else would have missed it, but the auctioneer's eyes flicked briefly to someone far back in the room. A man dressed in red with a bone white mask. Nods exchanged. The auctioneer's charming smile grew. "Aha, finally!" Stolas gasped as a hand placed on the small of his back. "Sweet girl, if you woul-"
"Thirty thousand!" The resounding cry slammed into his chest. "I bid thirty thousand for the angel's swallow." A stunning woman with features twisted into those of contempt sauntered down the steps.
"Abberline." Caine started. The mistress Abberline stopped as she reached the front row. This woman wore not a single article crafted by the hands of men. From head to toe, mismatched items of divine and dark energy overlapped, creating a dizzying aura that sent Stolas' fragile composure into disarray. The shoulder plates of the Powers decorated her frame as oversized ornaments and clasped to them hung a bright golden cloak possessed only by the Principalities. An Archangel's robe amended into a dress fit her every contour and she stood in the silk like boots of a Dominion. This chimaera dressed in garments and accessories possessed by nigh on every breed of angel, yet his eyes widened upon spying the eye mask she donned as a hairpiece. She pursed her lips.
"You won't steal another from me, Caine." Caine cocked his head to the side.
"Forty thousand, then." The auctioneer's eyes bulged from their sockets.
"You lowlife, where would you get that kind of money?" she said as her brow twitched.
"My best friend is someone very powerful and very kind. Hence, the benefits." His condescension sent her temper bubbling over, although Stolas could only guess what kind of strained history this pair had with each other, if not only from the presumptuous demeanour his mentor had only shown around the waitress until now.
"Fine! Fifty."
"Sixty." Caine's cheeky smile perked up as she pouted. Abberline deflated. She whipped around and without a care, she took off to the stage. Stolas backed away on instinct and gripped the weapon to his chest as her clawed hand reached out to grab it.
"Give it to me, girl. Whatever price that wretch offers, I will beat it." Her disgusting presence inches away from him combined with the blade in his hands sent a wave of nausea that had him gagging. The auctioneer held onto his back and pinched him, preventing him from retreating further. Stolas opened his mouth to speak but shut it again as he considered his voice, instead only a small moan creeped out as he shook his head no. His heart beat harder and harder with every passing second as the expressions of the people clung to him soured. Caine leaped from his seat and in a second barrelled between them all. Stolas hid behind him and clung to the hem of his cloak. He could not recognize if Graer appearing triggered it. But in that moment, Stolas collapsed into a memory. A past parallel whereupon he grabbed his brother and shielded behind him in face of the strange children in the woods.
"Leave her out of this. The girl has done nothing. Can we not solve this amicably like civilised adults or will we prance about on stage like jesters until someone ends up on the ground?" said Caine. "I will leave with that blade tonight. Funds are not a problem. Abberline, I suggest you give in. The only reason you will buy this now after so long is simply to stop me from getting it. You are a childish woman who is too liberal using daddy's money to fund your selfish obsession. I am using this artefact to conduct research into the angels and the legends of the testament. I would hazard a guess you do not even know which variant this swallow came from, do you?" Her aghast expression turned to one of embarrassed frustration. Caine took the chance to include the captivated crowd. "This delightful work of art belongs to a form of angel known as a Dominion. And not one of the fallen. This is a rare specimen that fell during the insurrection of heaven at the dawn of time, when this world was but a shell inhabited by the elder dragons. It is immeasurably valuable in deciphering more about the ethereal realm and Ascha himself. Master auctioneer, am I not the preferred patron in this argument? I implore you, do not relinquish this weapon to a spoiled brat who knows nothing of history."
"Ah, yes um-" The auctioneer stumbled on his words and looked at the back of the audience for confirmation. "Mistress Abberline, do you have a rebuttal?" The woman's face turned red and her clenched fists trembled in anger. With daggers in her eyes, she ran off stage muttering colourful insults. "Then, master VanCourts, congratulations! The infamous an- Dominion's blade is yours at sixty thousand gold pieces." Caine clenched his jaw as the numbers he sputtered out slapped him in the face.
"Great."
"Girl, give him his property," Caine turned around and froze as he saw Stolas' presence reduced to that of a child on the brink of tears. He struggled to control his breathing and his eyes grew swelled and puffy, his knuckles white around the swallow. Stolas battled his mind and body to remain standing, the fear of buckling in front of so many keeping his mind together. The auctioneer frowned. "What is wrong with you?"
"I will take care of her. She is just a little shaken, I should think. Do not worry," Caine slung his arm around Stolas' shoulders and escaped the stage into the darkness of the side-lines. He guided him onwards, finding an adjacent hallway headed for another set of steel doors. No guards blocked them, and the chains hung loose. Using his full weight, Caine almost slammed the doors open and as soon as he confirmed the room as empty sat Stolas down on an abandoned chair. Out of the spotlight, the suffocating lump in his chest burst and tears streamed down his cheeks. Stolas pulled himself into a ball, hugging his legs to his chest and burying his face in the shadows. Caine caressed his hair and steadied the prince. "Stolas. Stolas are you all right? Are you hurt?" he said, his voice riddled with concern.
"It's too much." He sobbed.
"What happened in there?"
"Everything just... went wrong. Kalou never got rid of all the guards because he-" Stolas tensed. "Graer was there."
"Did this man do anything to you?"
"No. Graer is someone I have not seen in a long time. I didn't expect to see him here. On the stage when I hid behind you something happened in my head and it felt like I was back in my room during the invasion," His shaking intensified. "Caine, I'm scared." Something flickered in Caine's eyes and his frown eased. He pulled Stolas' face from his knees and cupped his dampened face.
"It's okay. You have done well. Despite all that you managed, you used your ingenuity to get through the situation and the mission is still a success so far, is it not? Iordan will be proud when I tell him. As for Graer or anyone, if I know your brother at all, he won't let a soul lay a finger on you. None of us will, so please don't be scared. We will get through this."
"Your words are surprisingly tender," Stolas said as he rubbed his eyes. Though as much as he wiped, the tears did not stop. Stolas recounted the events of the vault, and the guilt on Caine's face grew ever more blatant as he spoke. "Besides all of that, there is another thing that does not cease to bother me. Why is it that when I am around things ethereal in origin, I fall sick?"
"I do not know. You are an enigma, but it must be that you are linked to the divine realm in some way. Perhaps it is an adverse reaction from your soul in the presence of darkness."
"That's not true," said Stolas with flat rejection. "The divine swallow made me feel the same way." Caine's comforts halted. His fingers stayed tangled in his locks and a look Stolas struggled to identify moulded his expressions. A mix of disgust, outrage and horror flicked past as the cogs turned in his head. He pulled away, falling backwards, and his lips parted and curled. Stolas' gut twisted as if pierced. "Wait!" His voice wobbled. "Why are- why are you looking at me like that?" Caine's eyes radiated utter rejection at the thing before him. "Cai-"
"Stolas come here." He commanded. Stolas' breath caught in his throat and his heart stopped. Reflexes kicked in and he dove to the other side of the room, launching the chair backwards in his flight. The two men drew back and glued themselves to the wall, gazes fixed on the far door that swung ajar. Their sinister surroundings came to Stolas' attention and set his pulse racing. Upon the walls hung row upon row of beaten cages - the metal bars twisted and warped, blackened with use - every latch hanging broken. Dark stains decorated the rock floor which remained bare, save for the tattered planks of rotted wood and the discarded furniture they came from that with the help of the sole fallen brazier, paved a way in the darkness ahead to the door, creaking in an absent breeze. A hollowness overtook him, and, like a frightened cat, his hair stood on end. A shrill ring echoed as Caine unsheathed his sword, for the firelight bathed a freakish silhouette in harsh contrast, casting a deep shadow over the brow and summoning the flames that danced in its eyes.
"What the fuck is that?" Stolas breathed. Caine squinted hard to make out the warped shape of the thing that faced them. It did not move, only observed. The three locked into a stare.
"It cannot be an angel." Caine whispered.
"Did they burn you?" A muffled child's voice came from the gap in its face. Stolas swallowed hard. "Don't cry, the water doesn't help." He observed the cages once more and the brittle texture made sense. The child's melted skin. The scar.
"Dragons." He said as he pressed his back against the cool stone wall. More children emerged from the room, each scarred and disfigured. Some lacked arms, some legs, some both. All dull in the eyes. Caine lowered his sword, and his breathing grew laboured.
"Oh no. Oh fuck no. This-" Stolas frowned as Caine's calm demeanour turned to abject dread. "Lord, this is the Afterparty." His palm covered his mouth as he turned pale.
"The Afterparty?" Stolas exclaimed. "You know what this is?" they spun around as an eruption of piercing screams resonated from the auditorium. The pit in his stomach grew larger as each marked voice howled. He spotted the tunnel. His sweat drenched clothes clung to his body and his hair stuck to his face as his imagination painted the image of the hell outside. Hundreds of dragons escaped to their dining hall and something powerful enough to flee this infested cell released them. "This is a trap," He balled his fists. "Lord Caine, do you think it is for us? What if it's them, if they have found us?"
"No. This level of planning is too sloppy for the likes of angels. They are smart, meticulous, and would never rely on the brutality of another creature - let alone the one thing that can kill them so easily. This reeks of human ingenuity," Caine adjusted his belts and bootstraps, tying down his cloak and every patch of loose fabric. "If I had to guess, someone has put out a hit. Damn shit timing." Stolas swayed and balanced against a cage. The only way out is through that mineshaft, he despaired.
"We need to get your brother and the soldier. Wrap up or you'll alight into flames." said Caine.
"I hate this," Stolas seethed, "I hate it so much." Biting his lip, he ripped away the outer cloak of his dress and tore off the sleeves, folding the skirt between his legs and tying the tails around his waist fashioning shorts. Using a stray piece of fabric, he tied back his hair into a bun and remassed his weapon from the ground.
"Let's go." Said Caine. Sharing a glance, the pair faced the door, and Stolas' expression blackened.
"Caine."
"Hm?"
"Do not mention this room to Éirean."
"Understood."