"Congratulations on the wedding, My Lord!"
From the Hoarder's dark shadows rises Draco, smiling a cheeky smile in the his master's face. "The castle likes her already," he points behind the Hoarder's back, gesturing how the castle's spirit leads Aurelia to her room.
"The castle is racist," the Hoarder scoffs, not sparing a glance and entering his chambers. The Fae Castle would willingly lean in favour of even the faintest magic but never an ephemeral. He beelines to the bathroom.
He flings the crystal mask off his face and Draco flails around to catch it — lest it falls and bring crippling financial deficit — and pockets safely.
"I'll never get used to this," The Hoarder exhales, stripping out of the bloodied clothes. "The mask, I mean. It chokes me. I should design a better one," he leans slightly back and places his hands on his waist whilst admiring his lean yet muscular build and ripped abs in the mirror.
"A more breathable material, maybe?" Draco suggests from outside.
The Hoarder nods, tracing a finger across his angular collarbones and mouthing 'perfect' in the mirror. "Great suggestion, we'll put Dragonkin on our target next. 'Cuz what's more breathable and sturdy than dragon skin?"
Draco shifts uncomfortably, tugging at his collar. He hears the water run on the other side of the door. "I'll pick the perfect one for you. While we're at it, we can make a dragon hide armour for the bride as well?" He suggests to earn some good points, just in case, one day, the Hoarder felt that his skin would be more comfortable.
His suggestion is greeted by a silence.
"Did you get rid of the body?"
"Yes, promptly."
"Who was it?"
"A demon from Mavis' book."
He slaps his hand against the walls. "So that's the reason why my interface couldn't detect him at all!" He exclaims, ruby eyes widening with brightness. A smug grin makes its way to his face as he draps himself with a towel, "I knew my software wouldn't betray me like that." He beelines out to snatch the crystal mask from Draco's pockets and gives it a well deserved smooch.
Draco instantly places a hand on his eyes and rolls them.
"The Emperor must consider us a real threat if he's making deals with Wizard Guilds now! This is fresh! If this gets out, it could ruin his rep forever!" The Hoarder wiggles his fingers menacingly, eyes crinkled and narrowed in a villainous stance. As he laughs, his shoulders hunch up and down and the droplets trace along the muscles of his body and gather around his barefeet, making him stand in a puddle of water.
"That's not our goal," Draco sighs.
"You know no fun," the hoarder tsks.
The Ephemerals pride themselves for their science and technology, challenging and denouncing magic in everyway. The Emperor runs a clean base, or so everyone thought, in segregating the enchanteds from the ephemerals and the homogeneous Wizardkind.
The Wizardkind belongs to neither of the two primary races for they're bashed by the ephemerals for using magic and bashed by the enchanteds for not possessing their own natural magic.
The Wizardkind are those who used science to create an illusion of magic, thinking they'd be able to rule the World. Alas, the two primary races did not let the Wizardkind prosper for they had greater numbers. The wizards now lays low, hidden in the recesses of the World, planning Creator knows what.
But, if there is one thing they're sought after, it is the Book of Mavis. One of the first few wizards, a genius madwoman with marvellous strength in her experiments. For the better half of her life, she busted criminals out of ephemeral jails and ruthlessly experimented on them. Her subjects were nothing short of demons and all her works have been recorded in the recognised, 'Book of Mavis.'
No one knows which Guild holds the rights to the Book of Mavis and The Hoarder needs to stand by his name and get it before anyone else does.
"How many guilds remain?" The Hoarder questions, walking to the centre of the room. The vines rush in, crackling and twisting to form a chair before his butt would land on the ground.
"Twenty three till extinction," Draco points out as a table forms itself in front of his Master. A vine rushes in with his Laptop, holding it by a tendril as if disgusted by its sight and presence.
"Very well, let us locate the next one. We'll put the orb hunt on hold for now," he pulls his laptop from the very judgemental tendril and switches it on.
"I do not agree! You're supposed to focus on becoming the Celestial Lord!" Draco protests, silver brows pushed together in a heavy frown.
The Hoarder promptly ignores him.
"Ah, I have my mid sems next to next week and we need to attend the new recruits orientation, ah- I was part of a group project. I wonder what happened to that..." He words drown into the air and Draco knows the conversation is over.
"I'll be making arrangements for the orientation and the attack on Dragonkin," the celestial dragon sighs before walking out of the room and closing the door behind him.
The Hoarder sighs, leaning back in his chair and slouching. His eyes zone out on the barren ceiling and memory reels back to when he held the mushroom's hand and walked towards the fountain.
The glyphs were laid on the ground and the ritual had begun. He had been focusing on why the software of his mask couldn't identify the person, the wannabe Emperor, before him when suddenly a bright light blinded him. Just then, a vision caught him off guard.
Everything was white and in the emptiness was him, staring at a purple gem. It glimmered on its own, oozing red and blue sparkles out of its crystalline dimensions.
And in the emptiness, a faded voice had echoed.
"In the hush of twilight's lingering embrace,
a figure, cloaked in shadows deep,
shall rise from the abyss where darkness seeps.
His fate entwined with that of realms unknown,
across the world, they lie, waiting to bestow,
a power unmatched, a destiny veiled,
yet whispers of ruin linger, the truth unveiled..."
There were more words, the whispers had continued but in the mask of darkness, Draco had crushed the demon's head and the spell was lifted. Before he could hear more, the light was fading into darkness and his sensations of the world were returning.
When he opened his eyes, he found himself drenched in blood, her hand forcing itself away from his. He was quick to let go and momentarily busied himself by having spotted a hanging cufflink.
PING!
The Hoarder leans back into posture as an email notification pops up on his laptop. It is a group email and the subject reads:
'ASSIGNMENT LINK CLOSING BY 6 PM!'
"Shit, fuck—" he gasps, shuffling around for his clothes and papers into nothing, "I thought you said 11:59! Which psychopath closes an assignment link at 6:00 dammit! Have you no hobby?!"