Arthian and Riniock stood frozen, locked in an entire minute of tense, unspoken exchange. Neither moved, neither spoke – only reacting when the door finally clicked shut, breaking the silence.
Riniock, for his part, kept his arms behind his back, his fingers clenched tightly around a gathering spell, its energy coiling within his palm.
Arthian, however, was an open book. His posture, his expression, everything about him was plain to read – and it was clear he hadn't yet realised the true nature of the intruder before him. Ever the pacifist, his mind hadn't jumped to the worst-case scenario.
That changed the moment his eyes flicked towards the desk.
The paper he had carefully stashed beneath the candle burner – gone. It was no longer peeking out from its hiding spot.
His jaw tensed slightly, but his voice remained even. 'I'll ask again – what are you doing in my cabin?'
Riniock tilted his head, amused. 'What's it look like?' he shot back, hoping to bait Arthian into making the first move.
Arthian studied him, his expression shifting into something almost disconcerting. Then, with deliberate calm, he spoke.
'Seems to me like you're snooping through my things,' he said. 'Return whatever you took – and leave.'
Riniock hadn't expected that response. For a brief moment, his guard slipped, his concentration faltering just enough for the magic in his palm to dissipate.
'Are you aware of your situation?' he asked, narrowing his eyes.
'I'm well aware,' Arthian replied smoothly. 'But unlike Rodgut and Frisian, I'm not foolish enough to take you head-on. Facing you alone would only land me exactly where they are now.'
'Dead,' Riniock confirmed without hesitation, making no effort to soften the word.
Arthian inclined his head. 'Exactly. Which is why I propose a compromise.'
Riniock arched a brow but remained attentive. 'A compromise?'
With a slow, measured step, Arthian moved towards his desk. Riniock instinctively shifted, keeping a wary eye on him, alert for even the slightest hint of deception. But the Ikshari made no aggressive moves. Instead, he reached into a hidden compartment and retrieved a small trinket, holding it up for Riniock to see.
'I'll give you my communication artifact,' Arthian offered. 'That way, you'll know for certain that I won't be sending messages to anyone.'
Riniock snatched the trinket from Arthian's hands, turning it over for inspection. At first glance, it looked like an ordinary stone, but etched into its surface was a symbol resembling an ear, its grooves filled with an inky black substance.
'You use this to send the ship's coordinates to someone?' Riniock asked, scrutinising Arthian's reaction.
The young man's lips remained tightly pressed together – likely the result of a bewitchment similar to Linry's. Still, after a brief moment of hesitation, he gave a single, resigned nod.
'Fine,' Riniock said at last, extending his left hand in what appeared to be a gesture of truce.
Arthian hesitated, then clasped it. 'How did you know I was left-handed?' he asked.
Riniock smirked. 'Careful observation. I do my homework.'
Before Arthian could process the words, Riniock yanked him forward. With a precise jab to his shoulder blade, he cut off the flow of odh to Arthian's left arm.
Arthian winced, confusion flickering across his face. Then his eyes flared in realisation. 'What in Murat did you –'
He never got to finish.
His movements slowed, dulled by the sudden disruption of his energy flow, and in that split second of hesitation, Riniock violently and mercilessly struck. In a single, fluid motion, he drew his dagger and sliced clean through Arthian's wrist.
A sharp spray of blood erupted from the wound.
Arthian let out a strangled wheeze, his teeth clenched in agony. Though momentarily dazed, he quickly forced his thoughts into focus, his survival instincts kicking in.
'Somebody!' he bellowed, voice raw with desperation. 'HELP –'
Riniock cut him off before the cry could echo, striking him in the throat with two sharp fingers. Arthian choked, his voice vanishing as if stolen from his very lungs.
Eyes wide with horror, he clutched at his neck with his remaining hand, his breaths turning ragged. One moment, he had been shaking hands…the next, he had lost it. One moment, he was screaming for help…now, he couldn't even make a sound.
'You're just as foolish as your friends!' Riniock cackled, thinning out any and all hope.
He glanced around nervously. Arthian was running out of options. And Riniock showed no signs of mercy.
In a final, desperate act of defiance, the air around them distorted, the temperature surging. A blistering wave of heat pulsed outward, making the very walls of the cabin ripple as flames licked hungrily at the furniture.
Riniock staggered back, cursing under his breath as sweat beaded along his brow. The blood staining his clothes sizzled and evaporated. His vision swayed, his head clouded by the intense heat.
'What the –' he rasped.
Arthian, his body trembling, poured everything he had left into this final act. The more he concentrated, the more agony it brought him – but he had no choice.
Riniock, gradually feeling the sting, acted fast.
Shaking off the haze, he took a deep breath and drove his palm straight into Arthian's chest in a shockwave that tore through the fabric of his clothes.
His hand pierced through a barrier of scorching energy, searing his own arm in the process, but the force of the blow sent Arthian reeling. He coughed violently, a fresh splatter of blood spilling from his lips.
Something was wrong with him.
Every time he tried to circulate his odh, his body violently rejected it. His veins bulged and ruptured, his skin split like dry parchment, and blood oozed from beneath his fingernails, from his eyes, his nose – every orifice.
'What…' He mouthed the word voicelessly, smothered as blood gurgled in his throat. His blurred gaze lifted to Riniock. 'What…did you do to me…?'
Arthian struggled onto one knee, his eyelids fluttering as his consciousness wavered. He managed one last, weak cough, blood spilling from his lips, before his body gave out completely. He collapsed onto the cabin floor, convulsing.
There was no time for Riniock to savour the victory – he had to move quickly.
Acting with practiced efficiency, he seized Arthian by the shoulders and hauled him up, dragging his limp form towards the desk positioned beneath the cabin's small window. With a forceful shove, he flung open the shutters and manoeuvred the unconscious body into the narrow opening.
A groggy Arthian stirred as the rush of cold sea air hit him, his induced stupor breaking just enough for his instincts to take over. Though still unable to speak, his body fought against the inevitable, kicking and twisting in protest as he realised what was happening.
His struggling only irritated Riniock. With a quick, calculated motion, he jabbed two fingers into Arthian's kneecaps, severing any hope of swimming should he hit the water.
Arthian's breath hitched, panic flooding his eyes as his limbs betrayed him.
'Down you go,' Riniock muttered, shoving him fully through the opening.
He barely waited for the splash, but when he heard it, a satisfied smirk curled on his lips.
There was little left to do in the cabin aside from cleaning up the blood, but Riniock decided to leave the evidence intact – at least long enough for Siegmun to see it. The cleanup aspect of his "work" had always been his least favourite.
He strode in the direction of the door, pausing only to pick up the severed left hand from the floor. Holding it aloft, he examined it as though it were some kind of trophy.
'I know exactly what to do with you,' he murmured.
Summoning his coffer to his side, he placed the severed hand inside, slipping in a note alongside it. With a final glance, he shut the lid and issued his command.
'Go. Fly to Irgod and deliver this message.'
Riniock smirked at the thought of how Irgod – so prideful, so unwilling to admit weakness – would react upon receiving the grotesque gift. He wouldn't dare inform his master of it.
And that was the point.
The meaning behind the offering was unmistakable. Arthian had been Irgod's left hand – his trusted agent. Now, that hand was gone, and Riniock's message was clear: the right hand would be next. Piddruin's turn was coming.
Eventually, when the right was severed, the serpent's head itself would join its severed hands in the afterlife.