The heavy creak of the drawbridge echoed faintly across the castle grounds, a distant sound that shivered in the cool evening air.
Arthur stood near the edge of the room; gaze fixed on the massive wooden structure from the giant window, as it slowly began to rise.
The thick and worn chains clanked loudly with each turn of the winch, causing a constant metallic and rhythmic noise.
With timbers as thick as a troll's arm and giant iron screws, it was quite intriguing to watch – for Arthur, at least.
It rose steadily, the groan of wood against iron providing a subtle backdrop for the grim mood inside the giant, familiar room.
As the bridge lifted higher, the last view of the river below began to disappear. The dark blue water – from the moonlight – flowed silently beneath and around the castle, its surface barely disturbed by the light fresh wind that blew through Lawold and the pungent one blowing over Sarton.
The reflection of the moon – faint and hanging low in the sky – danced on the still surface for a brief moment before vanishing entirely as the drawbridge sealed shut, disconnecting the so-called 'actual' Lawold from its poorer counterpart – Sarton.
Arthur's eyes drifted up toward one of the castle's stony spires.
He took a step forward and the giant window was replaced by narrow slits in the stone. The sight of the outside world as all Arthur could make out was the flickering light of torches within the main throne room.
Through the thick slit glass, he could feel the silhouettes of those inside moving like ghosts, dark figures cast against the stone walls in a hurried motion.
With a sigh, he turned his attention away from the window and back to the crowd that filled the throne room.
People of various positions were gathered tightly together, a sea of faces that seemed to blur into one another. There was a murmur of voices, low and uncertain, as they talked and chattered for what was to come—or rather, had come already. Some of them were angry, some afraid, and some of extreme bewilderment and reverie. But one way or the other, the dread that filled everyone was equal.
No one was exempted. Even Arthur and Michael – who seemed to be the most composed – couldn't stop the slight shiver in their legs.
Arthur felt himself being pulled forward by the press of bodies around him. Someone bumped into him, but he planted his feet in place. The man turned to look around and frowned. He was a middle-aged man who had two horns sprouting from the side of his head and short black locks that were cut in a pseudo-military style.
His lips moved to say something but he scrunched his nose and then looked back, limping towards the place where he had intended to go from the start.
'It seems like the mock duel has caused many people to not think about getting in a physical altercation with us.' Arthur mused, tilting his head sideways. His hands were inside his pockets and his arms retracted in a way that there was a bare minimum of skin-to-skin contact with people.
He was wearing a grey undershirt and tight, black pants. The undershirt was fastened together with laces along his chest area. Brown hair fell like curtains on either side of his face, long and unkempt. His eyes were alert, constantly flicking from one person to another.
Behind him Michael was standing with his back towards Arthur, his shoulders slouched.
Unlike Arthur, he was having a hard time to hold his ground. The crowd was too large, too eager, and he was in a constant state of being pushed and jostled, his feet barely finding purchase on the slippery stones.
"God, stand still, would you?" Astrid complained, squeezing herself against the wall behind the two of them. She was wearing a tight-fitting black suit – much like Isolde's training clothes – that closed tightly around her chest and rear.
"Fuck off somewhere else." Michael groaned, his brows furrowing.
There was a constant push from the crowd, like the gentle waves of the sea. Astrid seemed a little uncomfortable and her breath was slightly elevated as her heart pounded in her chest. And despite the fact that she wasn't being directly forced deeper into the throng, it still made her extremely dizzy. She could hear the faint rustle of fabric, the creak of leather, and the occasional indecipherable murmurs of conversation as people shifted nervously in place.
"God it's suffocating here." Astrid complained, once again.
The transparent fumes from the cyan coloured flames alight on the wall torches made it even more hard to breathe, atop her 'medical condition' – as Arthur coined it.
Arthur shifted uncomfortably, and suddenly a thick veil of pressure surrounded him, which made the entire crowd shift for a brief moment, away from him. Casting angry looks that screamed 'we're going to skin this human alive' they stared at him until suddenly the air around the throne that dominated the far centre of the room convulsed.
It was empty one moment and before everyone had completely turned their heads towards it, a figure was already seated on it. And while he was barely visible through the sea of people, everyone could feel the weight of his presence pressing down on him.
Aksel Olvasen was standing right beneath the flight of stairs that led to the throne, his beard shaggy and hair uncombed, likely due to him going straight to bed right after the afternoon events.
"It'll be over soon." Arthur replied to Astrid, his eyes narrowing on his father and then Jayden.
People had moved away from where Arthur, Michael and Astrid were standing, forming a squirming semi-circle around them. The scene felt like people changing their path away from a maggot infested body. And while the reasons behind avoiding physical contact with the three varied from person to person, the general overlook was – more or less – the same.
"My lord- this is a bad omen."
The middle-aged man who had bumped into Arthur spoke as he wiped his short black locks — cut in a pseudo-military style — from between his horns. A triangular ornament hung from a rubber string that moved wildly before settling as he pushed through the crowd and got out, towards the forefront and stood a step behind Aksel. His eyes flicked towards Aksel, however the suffocating aura that surrounded Aksel made him not treat the man the same as he did his son, or even visibly express any disdain.
Jayden's brows suddenly arched and then frowned as he looked down at the old, sweaty man.
"Defence Minister Varlek!" The guard standing beneath the flight of stairs with a giant mace to his side announced as the man named Varlek hastily bowed his head and then looked up.
Jayden, in response, only narrowed his eyes and then his features evened out, as if just realising who the man in front of him was.
"Honoured-" he paused, his words slipping and jumbling, much like the parchments that he was holding to his chest and were now falling one by one from his shaking arms, each one carrying a tread of his self-consciousness away. "-to be in your presence, lord of the night and master of the unde--"
"Enough, Varlek. Speak plainly—what news do you bring?" Jayden exclaimed with a grumble.
"Ah, yes, my lord…" He looked around himself and the small, deep black eyes landed on a parchment that was present on the floor. Picking it up, the rest of hundred or so leaflets fell from his grasp.
A few hushed laughers filled the space, but they returned to a lull as Jayden's amber gaze swept across the room.
Holding the single piece of paper in both hands, he extended it above his head. His cracked lips moved.
"Gabriel descends, and the sky bends. Not from grace, but from weight—"
Valrek's eyes turned grim–however, there was an eerie smile on his face. As if he was being liberated with every iteration of whatever ballad or poem he was presenting.
"The weight of wings too vast to see, stretching from the west to the east, turning the heavens from dawn to dusk. No sound in his coming. No thunder or storm to herald his flight."
His head started to sway sideways.
"I see 'him', but I do not wish to see. His face is not for our eyes, and yet, I know it sees me. Us. Feel the weight of that gaze, in your bones, in the marrow of fear."
The entire room suddenly came to a lull. Jayden shifted in his seat. Only when the arcanum around him grew heavy did Varlek speak again. "The accounts and the proofs left behind by our ancestors…they match up!"
Jayden cocked his head. "And what does an incompetent defence minister know about a field that belongs to Credents1 and Seers?" The man was suddenly taken aback. "No wonder I couldn't recognise you. You are as incompetent as they come." He let out an aggressive breath, causing the curly white lock to frolic away from his eye.
"And now you are here, wasting mine and everyone's time by uttering the utmost garbage with no proof to back it up."
Despite the reprimanding tone, Arthur couldn't help but feel a little uneasy.
'It's not like him' He thought.
"My lord… I- I apologise for the lack of progress in my designated role- but please, I am not uttering garbage." The aged baritone turned sharp, as if he had felt offended not at being called useless but rather for his research. "I have closely followed every Credents' work – to date – and have done my research on them. You can send this to verify with your own personal force."
Jayden leaned forward. "And why would the monarchs themselves come down?"
"Because that is their job…" Varlek said with an almost heavy tongue. "…they are mediators who neither live in the upper world nor in ours. Monarch Gabriel came down to save us. To warn us. He has finally returned after hundreds of thousands of years. To his rightful place!"
Jayden smiled at the man. Pressing the side rests, he stood up and slowly, casually walked down. Once he was face to face with the old man, he looked down and smiled once again.
Arthur frowned, all of a sudden.
"Put Minister Varlek here in confinement. He leaves for Thal'kresh tomorrow." He uttered without breaking eye contact.
The smile on Varlek's face all but vanished.
"M-My Lord…?" All he could manage was a stutter as one of the burly looking guards suddenly pulled him back, locking his arm with Valrek's. However, his eyes stayed fixed on Jayden, as if he had been betrayed.
"What you utter is blasphemy, Minister Valrek." Jayden raised his nose and looked down at him with contempt. "The monarchs do not exist. Not anymore. It would be better if you get that notion out of your head." His boot clacked against the throne as he sat down. "Or not, given how it might be your sole companion until your execution."
"Blasphemy?" His voice raised and arcanum built up like wildfire underneath his skin, making it glow. Thick, slushy vines started to sprout from his body and crimson streaked through his eyes. "I will—gurgh…"
A white mane fluttered and then the minister was out cold on the floor, blood flowing from the corner of his lips. His 4 horns were visible menacingly, a contrast to his warm, ever present smile on his face.
"The King ordered something. Guards?" Veiled underneath Nacht's smile was a killing intent so potent that even Astrid who was much distance away couldn't stop her body from convulsing.
The clamouring of guard's armour made everyone shuffle as they moved from Jayden's side and between the crowd. Making a circle around the incapacitated minister, they picked him up and took him away.
A veil of silence descended for a while before people started to silently chatter again, talking about the dark blur and the cracked sky.
Nacht nodded towards his father before moving out of the way, standing right beside Lucian. Arthur's eyes narrowed down on the two brothers.
It was, albeit a small detail but Arthur found it a little odd how Nacht would always stand a little behind Lucian, never completely in front of him. It could've had no deeper meaning and just a string of coincidences, but seeing how meticulous and organised the Cromwells were, he couldn't just get it out of his head.
His grey eyes travelled the pathway which was cleared out for the guards carrying the unconscious minister.
"I will be back." Arthur spoke suddenly, causing both Astrid and Michael to jerk their heads towards him.
"You what?" Astrid exclaimed.
"I will be back, shortly. I need you to stay here and tell me what happened." He retorted, sparing a quick glance back. "Word-by-word briefing."
"Art—I, ughh- fine."
Her hand was outstretched as she saw Arthur disappear amidst the crowd, narrowly dodging people.
"You know." Michael suddenly started speaking, donning the usual rough baritone. "I have been thinking." His bright golden eyes were sharp as he stared at each individual demon with an utmost defiant and predatory gaze, while standing in front of Astrid. "Why?"
Astrid cocked her head, her nose scrunching. "What do you mean by 'why'? What is the implication?"
Looking over his shoulder, he looked at her from the corner of his gleaming eye. "If you can't tell then it's not my place to say anything." Michael shrugged but kept eye contact. "But you are where you don't want to be."
"And where would that be?" She asked with a roll of her eyes.
"A ring of fire." Michael raised his brows theatrically. "Inside a circus that is." Instead of a condescending smile, his expressions mellowed out. "And you are not the ringmaster, that is for sure."
Astrid huffed out. "I didn't expect you to stoop so low."
Michael's eyes widened in an explicable way. He could not understand what made her say this all of a sudden.
"I know your families do not like each other, but to fill garbage in my head against Arthur of all people in this world," she looked up with a look of disgust, "you are way worse than I had thought."
"What the actual fuck–wha?"
Astrid started to awkwardly move away. The crowd was stifling, and barely anyone was giving her space to move. Still, somehow managing to break through the crowd, she started to walk away.
"Oye, you fuckin' rat!" Michael reached out for her arm and pulled her around, making her face himself. "What the fuck was that about huh?"
Astrid's eyes sharpened and she jerked her hand back, slipping out of Michael's soft grasp. Gently rubbing her wrist, she turned around. "Do not approach me again."
"Oh yeah? Fuck off then." Michael exclaimed with a scrunched nose as he turned in the opposite direction. "My bad for saving your dumb ass."
"Pot calling the kettle black." Astrid cried out from the other side of the long hallway as the door to the throne room closed.
"I will fuck you up, you damned little shit!"
"In your dreams!"
As the two continued to walk in opposite directions, the string of argument devolved into nothing more than a mumbo jumbo of vulgar curses.
On the other side of the castle, Arthur suddenly shifted and hid behind a buttress as the taller guard who was carrying Varlek suddenly looked back.
"What is it?"
"I swear I felt someone behind me."
The shorter one smacked his head. "Have those filthy humans' pheromones turned you into a wujin as well??"
"Ow- oh, fear Hades, my friend. I would rather die than have a human's influence on me." The taller one who had Valrek on his shoulders spoke. "I have no idea why the Lord would even allow them to live, let alone invite them to Nostravlun."
"I know right? It sounds ridiculous!" He paused but then shook his head. "But hey, who are we to question? He is the wisest ruler in Helheim, only next to Lord Brimstone. I am sure there would be something that we can't comprehend behind his actions."
"Right. But I hope he kills them once he gets what he wants."
"Haha, right! I would love to see the look on their faces when they die." He suddenly smacked his lips. "And you know we can have you-know-what with you-know-who as well before they are killed, ehehehehe!"
Arthur cringed. Never knew I'd be witnessing a novelic interaction between two low-level henchmen in real life. What has my life become?!
After a quick laugh the two started walking again.
The number of guards who took Valrek away is much lower. Where are the others?
He looked around, but found nothing. Closing his eyes, he sent a few pulses of electromagnetic waves in a controlled motion in every direction which rippled like water. He made sure that it didn't travel too far to avoid detection by people who were at a much higher phase than he was.
My father will automatically know that I have activated a technique…well, it doesn't matter as of now.
Arcane Arts resonate with each other. Whether it's because of their clashing or harmonious properties or if it's because someone who is included in a Blood Contract uses it. There are exceptions, however; if a person is much more proficient in a spell, they can bypass the 'resonance.'
Since the arcane art that operates on the concept of 'electromagnetism' only had 3 users in the world, it was practically impossible for Arthur to be in the same castle—no matter how big—and avoid resonance with Aksel. However; it hardly mattered since he could just make an excuse that he was being vigilant.
A detailed perspective of the world flooded Arthur's mind like a blueprint and he immediately opened his eyes.
They are expecting someone to follow Valrek. One above me, two behind me and one travelling side by side with the envoy in the 'rooms' to my left. Have they not spotted me? Or are they just going along?
On the way to the prison cells, to the left, there were a series of doors which gave the illusion that there were almost unlimited amounts of rooms. However, after using his reconnaissance spell, Arthur could see that there were no walls between all of these 'rooms.'
It was one giant passageway with the small indented glasses at top making it impossible to look in but easy to look from the other side.
Must be to actively track prisoners so they don't run amok inside castle premises. Hmm…
Arthur fell in deep thought as he first let the duo disappear into the encroaching dark.
I can act oblivious or I can turn around and leave. However, leaving right now would make Jayden think I had an ulterior motive…well, hiding behind a wall and talking to myself isn't exactly 'not suspicious.' Hmm, well, here goes nothing.
Letting his curiosity get the better of him, Arthur kept tailing them.
After around 3 minutes of walking, the doors on the left finished, the presence of someone walking right above vanished as well. Arthur's brows scrunched and a moment later, he felt his primary node settle into stillness.
He didn't exactly panic but the situation felt very odd to him. Some kind of artefact? It's blocking the flow of arcanum from the primary node to the secondary ones…hmm, interesting.
Arthur kept a reasonable distance. And then even increased it. The reason behind it was quite obvious. Humans were physically inferior to demons. Despite being washed in arcanum for more than a decade, Arthur in his non-arcanum form was much weaker than demons in the same ship.
Factoring in how Arthur's main strength was the efficiency with which he used his arcanum reserves, it was quite dangerous for him to get too close now that his access to his innate techniques was weakened—to a significant degree.
Following them closely, Arthur slipped into the dimly lit corridor, the heavy scent of damp stone and rusted iron filling his nostrils. The faint flicker of cyan torchlight bounced erratically off the uneven walls.
His steps were careful, deliberate—barely a whisper against the cold floor, though the pounding of his heart felt dangerously high in his ears. Not out of fear but adrenaline. There was always something about him that made him excited in such situations.
The air in the prison chambers was thick with the smell of unwashed bodies and something far worse. Suddenly the voice of the guards he was following started to echo from right behind him.
I was just following them!
Not dwelling much on it, his eyes darted around. He was searching for a quick cover when his gaze caught on a barrel tucked into the corner, half-hidden in shadow.
That would do…
Arthur crouched low, easing the wooden lid aside and slipping inside. The wood creaked softly beneath his weight. He drew his knees to his chest and settled inside it.
Through the narrow slits between the wooden planks, Arthur could just make out the faint glow of a different coloured torchlight nearing, casting an amber hue along the corridor.
The clink of armour grew louder—in a steady rhythm, like the ticking of a clock counting down. He pressed his back harder against the damp wood, willing himself smaller, quieter, almost disappearing into the darkness.
"You fool, we are back where we started again!"
"Hades have mercy, have I really been affected by those filthy monkeys' presence?"
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Turn the switch off."
"Ah–yes, right– wait a second." The guards that were in front of Arthur moved and pressed against a brick. Arcanum swirled and Arthur felt a wave of dread wash over him.
Never knew that feeling arcanum as someone who can't use it is frightening…no wonder no one approached me in school.
As Arthur was thinking, suddenly a sound came—*thump*—heavy, unmistakable.
Sound of someone landing hard on the ground. Someone had fallen.
In the distance, the scrape of a door slammed shut, and the taller guard barked orders, unbothered by the slight breaking sound that ensued after the thump. The thump wasn't followed by a scream or a groan—just that single, sickening thump—and the silence that followed seemed even worse.
And then they were shifting. Footsteps. Louder now. Torchlight growing brighter, casting a glow against the barrel's surface. He could hear the shift of armour, the shuffle of boots—too close, much too close.
A shadow passed over the crack in the barrel, darkening the narrow slit through which he was looking. The guard stopped. Right next to the barrel.
Arthur's muscles coiled—unaugmented by arcanum—ready to spring.
There was a queasy feeling in his gut. The usual comforting cold he'd feel from arcanum was nowhere to be felt. It made him uncomfortable. Unsure. Uncertain. Apprehensive.
And apprehension irritated him.
Sweat prickled the back of his neck as the guard's boots scuffed the stone floor, just inches away.
It was not like he was afraid of the guards. Or the punishments that awaited after being caught, no. He couldn't care less. However, the prospect of trying so hard for nothing caused anxiety in him. He wanted to leave with at least a little bit of vital information.
His hand twitched, and he felt the cool wood under his fingertips, but his grip tightened—not out of strength, but something else entirely. Paresthesia.
His foot had fallen asleep.
You have got to be bloody kidding me…my first time had to be right now?!
The guard leaned closer. The smell of sweat, old leather, and something metallic filled the air as Arthur caught the faintest rattle of keys hanging from the guard's belt.
His hand balled into a fist. He was ready to unleash everything the moment the guard removed the lid.
The guard shifted again, as if considering—sensing something was out of place. Time stretched impossibly thin, the silence between the clinks of his armour stretching into a suffocating void.
"Oye, stop wasting time. We need to be back in the throne room as quickly as possible."
"Uhh, oh yeah! The king is alone!"
"Don't forget to recalibrate the cube."
"Yeah, yeah, got it."
The guard turned, his footsteps retreating with quick strides. The tension in Arthur's body released like a coiled spring, but he didn't dare move, not yet.
Curses! This cramp had to ruin my plans…
The sound of walls grating and shifting filled the air and when the last of the torchlight faded and the sounds of the guards' footsteps were distant once more, he exhaled, the breath shuddering from his lungs.
Once the paresthesia was healed, he quickly sprang out of the barrel and moved towards where he had heard the thump.
As he reached the cell, his eyes widened.
With his feet crossed, Valrek was sitting atop a cryptic circle made out of blood. His blood. His fingers were still bleeding.
The irregular smeared blotches of blood turned corporeal, as if brimming with life and started to move suddenly. The dried blotch turned wetter and wetter until it was flowing towards the jail cell's foot.
Arthur took an instinctive step back.
The man breathed in a shaky sigh before looking up.
"I have been waiting for you." The look on his face and the colour of his eyes was totally different for a passing moment as he said. "Would you like to hear a poem?"