"Eat my ass! Picturesque beauty they said!" The modestly heighted man cursed under his breath as he looked outside the window that was under the assault of the constant pitter patter of the rain. "Damn these Olvasens…and this weather."
The current head of the Andersens—Blake Andersen—was caught in quite a pandemonium. The effaced, putrefying head with foetid remains all inside the metallic box created such a stench that it would've made any person hurl their guts out.
However, it was neither the stench, nor the fact that the head of someone who had served Blake for years—religiously, almost—was right in front of him, that rendered him in such a flummoxed state of mind, no. It was much easier. Less complicated. The source of his "anxiety" was the letter attached to the box.
╭─━━━━━━━━━━─╮
We shall have a meeting on
15th of December, 2023.
╰─━━━━━━━━━━─╯
It was a short and concise letter. Blake's phone rested right beside the letter, screen alit. It said;
╭─━━━━━━━━━━─╮
Since a fortnight has passed
following the unexplained
evanishment of both the Lord
and the Heir to House Olvasen,
it is hereby decreed that the
next male of the line shall be
installed as proxy patriarch.
He shall assume this role with
full authority, upholding the
duties and responsibilities of
the Olvasen legacy until such
time as the demise of the former
Lord and Heir has been ascertained
beyond all doubt.
~Albert ╰(*°▽°*)╯
╰─━━━━━━━━━━─╯
Blake shook his head and frowned, looking at the last part. "What are you? Some teenager?!" He scoffed to himself before sipping in the 'coffee' that was suspiciously white. Almost as if it was milk with a single grain of coffee still floating on the surface, along the edge of the cream.
"He's just a normal boy with no powers. Why am I so…rattled?" There was a tremble in his arcanum…no, rather, it was localised. He couldn't make sense of it, but he had been feeling it ever since Albert informed of Eric's arrival.
Thunder rumbled and rain poured down with a tired sigh as it continued the monotonous routine of this part of the world.
The door creaked and a man clad in a red cloak walked in. His dark eyes were unfocused underneath the few strands of hair that had escaped his gelled slick back hair. "My lord."
Blake turned and looked at him. "Oh, Connor." He was looking at the leader of Andersen's red cloaks with a rather distasteful expression before speaking again. "What is it?"
The Seven Syndicates have gathered Arcanum users, and in some very rare cases, smaller arcanum families—which were able to produce an arcanum user once every few years or a decade—over the past hundreds of thousands of years. These people were used for personal power or breeding.
Everyone had their own ways to do it. For the Andersens, their attack force was categorised using 'cloaks.' Red, Black and White Cloaks. Of course, as one would guess, the difference relied solely on the "amount" of arcanum a cloak holder held, with White Cloaks being powerful enough to contest and in some cases even beat—kill—matured heirs.
Since this was something that had happened in the past. While not exactly "cloaks," every syndicate has some sort of an order that they command—except the Olvasens—using them for different purposes. Although it was not that the Olvasens did NOT have any private force, it was just that they refused to give their order an official name, waiving it off as something extremely extravagant.
Which was kind of against their very nature of displaying power, wealth and authority.
The unfocused look on Connor's face dissipated for a moment before returning back instantly. "The proxy lord to Olvasens is here. Your presence is demanded at the earliest."
Taking another sip of the overly sweet liquid, Blake huffed and rushed past Connor. As he walked a few steps away, he stopped and looked back. "Do you remember now? After seeing the boy's face?"
His pupils dilated. "No, my lord…no." His words drawled, like under some kind of anaesthesia.
"Alright. Stay out of our sights for the most part." Blake said and Connor nodded. "We need to understand how they did what they did to you."
"Yes."
Turning on his heel, Blake bit the corner of his lip and started to walk away. The tapestry of a man coiled in multi-coloured energy and the world swirling into a vortex amidst twisted dimensions lined the entirety of the roof of the uppermost floor in Fjellborg. Blake casted a look at the giant eye of the man, welding a sword and beheading someone—something—and sighed.
Blake came to a stop, his steps barely a breath on the ground. He tilted his head to the right, glaring at the window to his left as the lightning blinded him for a few fleeting seconds. A sneer twisted his mouth. "What a fuckin' piss-stained excuse for a day to deal with this goddamn "political" shitshow." His voice dripped with disgust at the prospect of him leaving his work and coming to meet someone without an arcane art.
Turning sharply to his left, he barked, "You ready, Kwame?"
The dark skinned man only shook his head in reply and shrugged his shoulders. Pointing towards the door handle, Kwame tilted his neck. "You do the honours."
"Fuck you."
"As you wish." Kwame suppressed a scoff and pulled the door open. He bowed ever so slightly in a condescending way. "After you." The door—glass or crystal framed in intricate silver vines—gave way as Kwame pulled it open.
The air was thick with Arcanum, dense enough to almost veil the potent signatures of those gathered within the chamber beyond. Or rather, it was the blistering Arcanum of those assembled, tangled together so tightly it was near impossible to distinguish one presence from the next.
Hiroshi Watanabe looked at the two entering from the corner of his eye as he was taking support against the wall next to the window, a cigar pressed so lightly between his teeth that it made it look like it would fall at any moment. The smoke of the cigar curled and drifted upwards, before dissipating.
He was standing in front of Rafael Miranda who was also holding a cigarette between his lips. His cheeks puckered in and the cigarette's tip became alit as he inhaled the smoke and then let it out with a quick breath,
"You're late." Hiroshi looked distasteful as he talked.
Blake's nose crinkled. "I have matters to attend to. Not just idle gossip."
Rafael's tanned skin seemed to glow for a moment as he looked between Kwame and Blake. "Where is Lawrence?" He asked, ignoring the growing scuffle between Hiroshi and Blake. "He has maintained a suspicious distance from the matters of the Syndicates over the past month; ever since the Olvasens and Michael have disappeared." He took in another heavy inhale of the smoke, studying Kwame's mechanically neutral face. "It is concerning, my friend."
"You know him, Raf." Kwame replied with a rather informal tone. "He won't be roped into customs established for the rest of us."
"I understand." Rafael replied, giving his curly blonde hair a twirl. "However, it is increasingly suspicious and unsafe. It can result in unwanted skirmishes."
"Unsafe?"
"The announcement of arcanum and Adam's battle armour were sourced from a billionaire—CEO of Ashford Inc.— in America. Ever since then, he has been attending these meetings less and less. Even after the disappearance of his own son." Rafael continued. "I am aware this is not a good moment to voice this out, however; the matter can't be waived off and delayed. Not anymore."
"I am aware of the young'un behind the leakage of intel on Arcanum." Kwame responded. "I am in a unique relationship with him and I, myself, am very curious about what you've just said." He paused and pondered over his next set of words, carefully. "However, there is no viable proof or solid grounds to base this assumption of yours."
"It is an educated guess." Rafael turned around, taking support over a cane crafted from polished ebony. A simple silver band encircled the top, engraved with a latin motto. The ferrule, the metal tip that met the marble beneath, was also silver. "There's a difference."
Kwame stared at him for a moment before cracking a slight, genuine smile. "Apologies?"
Rafael, in turn, only sighed exasperatingly. "Forgiven." Clutching the bridge of his nose, he looked back at Hiroshi. "Told you I am not good at this. Not with him."
The short man only grumbled incoherently in reply and turned back towards the window, leaning against the wall beside it and continued indulging in his cigar.
"What was that about, huh?" Blake came closer to Kwame.
"Communicating like a civil human." He replied with an air of nonchalance.
The air was as tense as it could be when the doors flew open. Appearing from the other side was a boy who looked to be in his earlier twenties—even younger, if not for the huge dark circles around his eyes.
The atmosphere was thick enough to cut with a knife. How much had he heard? Since when was he standing there? It wasn't nervousness that they felt, but rather irritation. Not all of them felt the same, of course.
The soft light overhead gleamed off his blond hair, and the slight, barely perceptible layer of arcanum right over his skin tossed the back of his coat wildly. His green eyes were blazing with internal light. His eyes surveyed the whole place before landing on his feet. "Greetings, patriarchs."
He spoke and rummaged through his pockets. Taking a cigarette out of his pocket, he pressed it between his lips and lit it up. The sound of lighter clicking on and off and the dull sizzle of the cigarette paper burning filled the air. "Apologies for my late arrival and…" he looked around, taking in the not-so amused look on everyone's faces, "...ruly appearance. I have been through a lot for the past few days."
A self indulgent snicker escaped his lips. "Feeling very upside down." His tired, half-opened green eyes landed on Blake. Despite it being his first time seeing the patriarchs, on an instinctual level, Eric could tell who Blake was, given that his arcanum was what made it difficult for him to breathe.
Pressing his lips together, Eric wiped the grin off his face. Looking up at Rafael, he motioned with the hand that held the cigarette. "May I?'"
The crease on Rafael's forehead evened out. "Of course."
Rafael and Hiroshi were the first to move, followed by Kwame. Leaving the two head chairs empty, the three of them seated comfortably, at safe distances away from each other. Eric watched them with a stern look, but he couldn't stop the quaking in his legs and his heart from beating like a gorilla against his chest.
His skin had roughened up from the constant goosebumps ever since he had arrived at Fjellborg, and his legs had become numb. He was, afterall, just average—probably below average since he couldn't even awaken an elemental affinity—when compared to others in the same boots as him. The Patriarchs were a faraway shot, even most of those lower in age than him were much stronger. It was this exact disparity in strength which made the other patriarchs a bit uncomfortable—or rather, displeased—with his presence inside a chamber not even the heirs were allowed in.
The hair on the back of Eric's neck rose and he took a step to the side, just in time as Albert materialised out of thin air and landed in the place where Eric was standing a moment ago. "Oh? Hoho, pardon my manners." He gave Eric a deep bow and then straightened his back.
"Uh hi, dracula man." Eric awkwardly greeted, throwing the cigarette down on the floor before crushing it with the hell of his boot.
"Kuku, interesting choice of words." He extended his hand and motioned towards the chair at arm's length, right at the second head chair.
"It seems you have met the quirky Albert already." Rafael spoke with a practised smile.
"I have." Eric admitted with a half-hearted reply as he pulled the chair and was about to sit down.
Albert's hand wrapped around Eric's waist and held him standing. Eric frowned and looked at Albert, looking in his slit amethyst eyes. However, his attention soon shifted to the seat that was placed in the far corner of the room.
"Seriously?" Blake was the one who spoke. "Have we fallen so low? So low we have to let someone who can't even detect the basic and blatant activation of an arcane art into our ranks?"
Eric frowned but kept his words tightly clasped between his clenched teeth. He knew that speaking pretentiously could result in ramifications he was unable to confront.
"And what does your lordship suggest, might I ask?" Albert asked, the smile never leaving his lips.
"What should've been done instead of all this proxy bullshit." He cocked his head to the side. "The Olvasens are done for anyways. The Syndicates are based on those who can carry the arcane arts of our father Adam." His tone turned sharp and arcanum bristled in all directions, like claws of an eagle narrowing down on its prey.
The goblet on the table suddenly quivered and shattered before tiny shrapnels flew like mini bullets towards Blake.
Arms still crossed, he stood seated as the shrapnels vanished and were then nowhere to be seen. Despite being completely and utterly unharmed, there was a look of astonishment on his face that mirrored a stupefied child in a circus.
"I do not wish a show of power, Mr Andersen." Eric took a seat and looked up. "I am sure you don't either. It is highly…uncivil." His eyes turned towards Kwame and the corners crinkled.
He fumed but Rafael suddenly tapped his cane on the ground. "Words are not to be thrown around so casually." He spoke with a voice full of dignity. "We hold a very prestigious position amidst all humanity. Let's not act like beasts."
"Hmm." Hiroshi quietly hummed, arms crossed as he stared at Eric.
Everyone suddenly came to a quick agreement and the hostility vanished in the air.
Eric settled back into his seat as he crossed his fingers. "Let's be over with it."
*****************
"There, done." Eric breathed out a sigh as he fastened the bandage off the bleeding stub of an injury. "God I hope Arthur acts as his aloof self and doesn't notice you." He spoke with a shiver as his hand ruffled the white pelt.
"Dinner's ready, Eric." Lila, Eric's girlfriend, called out and peaked her head from the door. "Stop talking about little brother again and come out. Dinner will get cold quickly." She reprimanded as Eric kissed the white pelt before standing up.
"Yes, yes." He grabbed Lila suddenly by the waist and pulled her back. "I was craving some fish after dinner as well." He breathed into her ear.
Smirking to herself, she bit her lip. "We'll see about that."
Breaking free of his grip, she happily jumped away. Eric shook his head and smiled to himself, the gloom and melancholy from a few days ago totally unpresent. As he was about to go, he looked outside the window. "Oh Goddess." He prayed under his breath. "Was it really wise to let her go out like that?"