Soldiers patrol the entire town, some of them clearing debris and tending to the injured. A curfew has been imposed, and rumors circulate among the townspeople that this may have been a terrorist attack. Security is especially tight around the Cobalt's office, with guards stationed at nearly every corner.
In the cobalts office, Dahlia storms down the hallway leading to the Sergeant's office, her boots echoing sharply against the stone floor. Behind her, Perus hurries to keep up, his wings rustling with every step.
"This isn't a good idea. Please, listen to me for once!" Perus pleads, his voice laced with worry.
But Dahlia doesn't slow down. Her jaw is set, her eyes hard and determined. She's tired of secrets and half-truths. She reaches the door to the Sergeant's office, where two guards stand like statues. One of them steps forward, blocking her path.
"What business do you have here?" he asks curtly, casting a skeptical look her way.
Ignoring him, Dahlia shoves past, pushing the door open and barging into the office. Inside, Captain Wiart and Sergeant Winslow look up in surprise from a map spread across the table.
"Hey! Get back here!" the soldier calls out, taking a step toward her.
"Stop," Sergeant Winslow says calmly, his voice carrying authority. "Let her in."
The soldiers exchange irritated glances but back down. "Yes, sir," one of them mutters, casting Dahlia a dark look as he steps outside and shuts the door.
Sergeant Winslow straightens, raising an eyebrow at her. "What can I do for you, Miss Ashault?"
Dahlia's eyes narrow, irritation flashing in her gaze. "Are you all hard of hearing? I told you to call me Dahlia."
The Sergeant's face remains calm, only a faint smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. "Alright, Miss Dahlia. What can I do for you? I assume this is quite urgent for you to enter unannounced."
"It is," Dahlia replies icily, arms crossed. "I demand an explanation for how those revolutionaries learned about my project!"
"Mind your tone, young lady!" Captain Wiart interjects, his face darkening. "This man is your superior officer."
"It's alright, Captain," Sergeant Winslow says, giving a slight wave of his hand. "It's just youthful exuberance." Though Captain Wiart outranked him, the Sergeant was an older man and was afforded a measure of respect that allowed him to brush off her insolence.
"What project are you referring to?" Sergeant Winslow asks, looking at her with mild curiosity.
Dahlia's gaze is unwavering. "The man in the dungeon—or what used to be a dungeon."
Sergeant Winslow nods slowly, as if piecing things together. "Ah, the prisoner you brought in from the ruins? The Captain and I were just discussing that incident."
"I'm listening," she replies sharply.
"Well," the Sergeant begins, choosing his words carefully, "we can't say for certain what the assailant was after, nor can we confirm they were sent by the Frjals. It could've been the Architects—or just one rogue agent."
"That's impossible," Dahlia retorts, crossing her arms tighter. "The man I fought used the light source, specifically its fire derivative. But when he escaped, he wielded the darkness source instead."
"Perhaps he used a blessed item," the Sergeant suggests, his expression unchanging.
Dahlia rolls her eyes. "It wasn't a blessed item. I would have sensed it. Someone else is involved. Those golems didn't just appear from thin air—they were transported here. And you're telling me it's a coincidence that the assailant just happens to have an ally who can teleport in and out of this branch office?"
The Sergeant's calm demeanor falters, his smile fading. "I understand what you're saying, but without evidence linking the two incidents, we can't make assumptions."
Dahlia's gaze sharpens. She's heard this kind of deflection before, and it grates on her nerves. "Now that I think about it… where were you during all of this?"
Sergeant Winslow's face flushes an angry red. "Are you insinuating that I had something to do with this?"
"I'm saying you know more than you're telling. And what about the mages who abandoned their posts?" Her voice rises. "It seems to me that you're trying to cover—"
"Enough!" Captain Wiart shouts, his voice thunderous. He rises from his chair, grabs Dahlia's arm, and pulls her back. "Do not speak again," he orders, his grip firm. He turns to the Sergeant with a forced, apologetic smile. "Forgive her, Sergeant. I'll make sure she's reprimanded."
"Please do," Sergeant Winslow replies coolly. "She needs to learn some respect."
Captain Wiart pulls Dahlia out of the office. She struggles, but his grip is unyielding, like iron. Outside, Perus stands waiting, concern etched on his face. He steps forward instinctively, but the Captain snaps at him, "Wait here." Perus halts, watching as the Captain drags Dahlia around the corner, out of sight.
---
Elsewhere, in a cold, dimly lit chamber, Hex sits chained within a metal cell of the Captain's design. The room is sealed, with only small vent-like slits to allow airflow. The faint flicker of torches along the walls casts dancing shadows across the rough stone floor. Bound by heavy chains, Hex leans back against the wall, whistling to himself in a low, almost mocking tune.
"God, I'm bored," he mutters, rolling his eyes. "If they're going to kill me, they might as well get on with it before boredom does. I actually miss Raiko's company. Greedy killer, sure, but at least he's an entertaining one."
The reinforced doors creak open suddenly, and Dahlia strides in, looking absolutely furious.
Hex raises an eyebrow. "Oh, it's you again. I'm so bored, I might go mad. Maybe you'll summon another assassin to liven things up."
Dahlia ignores him, muttering to herself, "Blasted Captain… who does he think he is?"
"What was that?" Hex asks, straining to hear her.
Dahlia's eyes flash with frustration. "It's that damn Captain! Who does he think he is, acting all high and mighty?"
Hex gives her a deadpan look. "I wonder who that sounds like," he remarks, rolling his eyes.
Dahlia spins on him, bristling. "And what's that supposed to mean? I hope you're not insinuating I'm like him."
Hex responds in a flat, sarcastic tone, "Of course not. Why would I ever think that?"
"Good," she huffs. "My actions are based on logic, unlike him."
Hex smirks inwardly. She really doesn't get sarcasm.
"For instance," Dahlia continues, her voice turning serious, "I confronted the Sergeant today about the circumstances surrounding your attack…"
Hex's eyes widen slightly, a flicker of surprise breaking through his usual nonchalance. "Wait—you mean they were after me?"
"Of course they were," Dahlia replies. "No one else was held prisoner down there, and the assassin said he was expecting the place to be empty."
Hex looks pensive. "Or… he might have been looking for something in the dungeon."
Dahlia lets out an exasperated sigh. "Oh, you mean the dungeon he blew up? For an old man, you're not so bright. Aren't you supposed to be brimming with knowledge?"
Hex sighs, his shoulders slumping. "I'm not an old… Well, apparently, I am." He glances down at his ragged, frail form and grimaces. "Is there anything you can do about this? Maybe use your healing magic? I'd at least like to die with a bit of dignity."
Dahlia rolls her eyes. "It won't work, because you're not injured. I already tried."
Hex looks at her, genuinely surprised. "What? When?"
"The two days you were asleep," she replies. "I even tried a few experiments. Nothing significant," she adds with a shrug.
Hex sighs. "Well, here I am—a bag of bones. Oh well."
"They haven't sentenced you to death yet," Dahlia says. "Who knows? You might get life imprisonment."
Hex raises an eyebrow. "Lovely thought." Then, he tilts his head, curious. "I have a question. How do you use magic?"
Dahlia looks slightly surprised, then remembers that magic is foreign to most common folk. "Well," she begins, "I draw mana from my Source."
"Source?" Hex echoes, intrigued. "What's that?"
"It's where you draw mana from. They're called Mystical Sources, and there are seven of them: Light, Darkness, Water, Wind, Earth… and two others you don't need to worry about. They're a bit complex."
"So, if I can tap into one of these Mystical Sources, I can use magic?" Hex asks, his tone hinting at a glimmer of hope.
"Correct," Dahlia replies. "But it's not that simple. You have to be awakened first."
Hex frowns. "Awakened? How?"
Just as Hex opens his mouth to press for more, the heavy door creaks open, and Perus steps inside, pushing a cart draped with a worn, stained sheet. The wheels squeak loudly against the stone floor, and a faint smell of metal and something acrid fills the air.
Dahlia's face brightens with an almost sinister enthusiasm. "Finally. What took you so long?"
Perus gives an apologetic look, his feathers ruffled as if he's been rushing all over. "Sorry. I couldn't find everything you asked for, so I had to look around for substitutes."
Hex eyes the cart with a wary expression. "And what exactly… is that?"
Dahlia glances at him with a predatory glint in her eye. "Tools for my experiment."
Hex's face falls, resignation seeping into his voice. "Oh, this is going to hurt, isn't it?"
Dahlia's grin widens. "Not if you cooperate. Besides, think of it as a chance to learn more about Mystical Sources."