The Smoking Guild's hideout was as elusive as ever - because it didn't exist in the conventional sense. Erik Durn kept it constantly shifting, never lingering too long in one location. With the Undercity's labyrinthine network of ruins, forgotten alleys, and abandoned factories, it was more an idea than a fixed place, blending perfectly into the chaos.
Whenever Arin had sought the Guild in the past, it had taken days for him and his doubles to even catch a whiff of the criminal organization's trail. This time, however, was different. Arin had been invited. The notion was so alien to him - even among the scum of the earth, he had never been invited anywhere.
The concept of inviting someone itself felt so… lofty, he guessed. Asking someone into your home meant either trusting them enough to let them into the most intimate places of your life, considered even having enough wealth to own a space worth inviting them to, or, of course, possessing sufficient power to control them.
The invitation Erik sent him clearly fell into the last category. Even so, Arin would not risk sending one of his incarnations to this meeting. The danger was too great. If anyone needed to speak with Erik, it had to be Arin himself.
Taking one last preparatory breath, Arin stepped into the lift. The air was thick with the metallic tang of oil and smoke, amplifying his sense of descending into the unknown. It was little more than a cage attached to rope-driven winches. And this one didn't go up; it descended, deep into the smoke. He pulled the lever, and the cage began to rattle.
Then the descent began. It was slow and anything but pleasant - but what in the Undercity ever was? No, the only pleasant life in Crownblossom was enjoyed in its uppermost levels. There, where House Jarakan resided in their fortress, or pretty much anything bearing the Fox Crest could afford to live honestly.
That was a luxury Arin hadn't known in a long time. And if Erik was summoning him, it meant something big was about to happen. But the Guild's schemes and intrigues were not Arin's concern. All he wanted was enough liquid Soulfuel to heal Mayia. If anyone in this city knew where to find it or already had it, it was either Lord Askar himself or Erik Durn, the bastard.
Arin pulled down his goggles and raised his face mask. Soon, the world was consumed by smoke and darkness. The lift continued its descent - or so Arin assumed, for the vibrations still thrummed through his bones.
And then, it stopped. Arin's muscles tensed as he looked around. The goggles were of little help; they were blackened with soot.
I can't see anything.
He was completely shrouded in the smoke's darkness. His hand moved to his belt, gripping the cold metal of his father's revolver. Sweat dripped from his brow, a consequence of the grueling heat and tension.
"Who are you?"
Arin spun, trying to locate the voice's owner, but saw nothing. He smiled uneasily behind his mask.
"Erik sent for me," he replied, though he had no idea where to direct his words.
For a few moments, silence reigned. Then the voice spoke again, laced with skepticism, or perhaps curiosity. Arin couldn't tell.
"Sent for you? Are you sure?"
Strangely, Arin couldn't place what kind of person the voice belonged to. It wasn't rough or gentle, masculine or feminine. It was just… wrong and elusive. The whole thing did little to calm his nerves.
Smoke swirled through the cage's gaps, circling Arin. Slowly, he let go of the revolver. Whoever was speaking to him, if they wanted him dead, he probably already would be - for now, he knew they were Erik's.
And anything that belonged to Erik could kill.
Instead, Arin pulled out the letter and held it above his head, the Guild's broken seal visible through the cage door.
"See for yourself."
Silence returned. Arin focused on the area in front of the door. He hoped that whoever needed to see the seal would step into the smoky darkness near him. Then he might at least catch an outline. But there was nothing, only smoke.
From this, Arin could conclude only one thing: whoever he was speaking to, they were undoubtedly a Sorcerer, their Soulart somehow hiding them from his gaze. Unease crept in again, but then finally, there was a response. It came as a chuckle, followed by the click of the lift's cage door unlocking.
"Come. Erik is waiting with the others."
Suddenly, the smoke seemed to pull back. Or at least part of it did, for Arin could now clearly see what lay before him. But when he looked up, the rest of the Undercity remained hidden beneath a sky of darkness.
How far down am I? He wondered.
Probably further than he had ever been in his short life.
His attention shifted to the path that had revealed itself. It was a narrow bridge, and when Arin peered over its edge, he was greeted by yet another world of smoke. At the bridge's end stood a solitary metal door, unattached to any wall or structure.
It was as if this entire place were a tiny oasis of clarity in a desert of smoke.
"How dramatic," he muttered with a half-hearted, half-nervous grin, stepping off the lift and onto the bridge.
Once more, he glanced back for the lurking Sorcerer, but there was still nothing to see.
Giving up, Arin crossed the bridge with cautious steps, running through scenarios in his head in case things went wrong. Only one of his incarnations was manifested at the moment, watching over Mayia. It was the only one he could spare.
The Cold, the Stubborn, and the Fool - he could summon all three if needed. Of the three, he hoped most to avoid calling the Stubborn. If he had to, it meant fighting his way out.
The bridge creaked beneath his feet, but Arin did not stop. He carried an old revolver, though with just one shot, it was practically useless. It served more as an intimidation piece, perhaps even a boast, owning something so rare. Erik wouldn't be impressed, but that didn't mean the other members of the Smoking Guild wouldn't find it awe-inspiring.
Now, he stood before the door. It was entirely metal, at least twice his height. Though not exceptionally tall himself, Arin couldn't help but wonder what, in the name of the flying Skywhale, had to pass through for such a massive door to be necessary.
He raised his fist and knocked once. Before he could finish a second knock, the door groaned and slid open, grinding against the floor. His fist still raised, Arin's eyes widened. Behind the door lay an entire interior, resembling a building he could never have imagined from the outside.
From the shadows stepped a woman, her smile polite. She wore a fitted, dark coat that seemed both practical and elegant, and her demeanor exuded a calm confidence. Her polished boots glinted faintly in the dim light, and her movements were as smooth as they were deliberate.
Arin froze, taken aback. The previous times he'd dealt with the Guild, Erik had been the only one to greet him. This woman was new - and strikingly beautiful. Her short, dark hair framed a polite, almost enigmatic smile, her eyes meeting his through the goggles he still wore.
"Hello, Arin. So nice to see you," she said, her tone warm and inviting.
Arin squinted at her, suspicion creeping into his voice.
"Do we know each other?"
She laughed, the sound light and airy.
"No, at least you don't. Come in, Erik has been expecting you."
"I was already told so," he murmured, but before he could protest further, the woman gently pulled him inside and closed the heavy metal door behind them with surprising ease. Arin's curiosity sparked. Was there some mechanism at work?
Now inside, Arin allowed himself a moment to take in the surroundings. The interior was bizarre. Certain elements clashed entirely with the decrepit exteriors the Guild usually chose. The walls, scarred with years of neglect, bore patches of new paint in stark, clean patterns. The air carried the faint scent of lavender, jarringly out of place in the usual smoky and metallic aroma of the Undercity. Ornate lanterns, their brass gleaming, cast warm light over mismatched furnishings - a pristine armchair here, a broken table there.
It felt like stepping into a dream where reality itself had been reshuffled. A fire crackled in a clean chimney, casting a cozy glow over an immaculate sofa. A new rug lay on the floor, its vibrancy contrasting with the worn, broken walls. It was as though two entirely different places had been forced together.
"Follow me," the woman beckoned, and Arin obeyed, his steps cautious. They turned a corner into an abandoned hallway, its eerie silence gnawing at him, leaving behind the broken reality for a darker one. The deeper they went, the more he questioned how he had missed such a building from the outside.
Trying to break the silence, he asked, "So… you work for Erik?"
The woman chuckled, glancing at him with amusement.
"What do you think?"
Arin cursed inwardly. A stupid question.
"You know my name. What's yours?"
"Sally," she replied with a polite smile.
"Is that your real name?"
She laughed again.
"No. Here we are."
They stopped before another door, this one wooden and equally massive. Arin's gaze darted around, noting how everything seemed oddly oversized. Beyond the door, muffled voices could be heard.
"Erik's in there?" he asked.
She nodded. Taking a deep breath, Arin steeled his nerves, pushed away thoughts of the strange place, and stepped inside.
"Ah, so we're all here now."
At the table sat two men and a woman. The voice greeting Arin came from the man seated at the head. When Arin had first met Erik, he had expected someone fitting the archetype of a scarred rogue or a burnt-faced thug - perhaps a tale of an injury sustained as a child working the molten factories of the Undercity, an origin story for his rise in the criminal world… or something of the sort.
Instead, what Arin had not expected was for the leader of the Smoking Guild to look as though he could have stepped straight out of the halls of an aristocratic house.
Erik Durn's long blonde hair was tied back, gleaming even in the dim light. His face was flawlessly beautiful, almost feminine, with sharp cheekbones and an air of effortless grace. His slender frame and refined features would have fit seamlessly at an upper-city banquet rather than in the grimy Undercity.
Yet Arin knew better than to trust that disarming smile. Behind the charming facade lay something cold and calculated - a dangerous truth masked by charisma.
Arin gave him a curt nod.
"Erik."
Erik raised a perfectly arched brow.
"Don't tell me you sent that bore of yours?"
Arin's face twisted in mild annoyance.
"No. I'm that Arin."
Erik's smile turned icy.
"Good," he said softly. "I would have been… deeply offended."
The way he said those words, paired with that smile, sent a cold shiver down Arin's spine. Whether Erik noticed his discomfort or chose to ignore it was unclear. The leader of the Smoking Guild stood and gestured to the others at the table.
"My friends, this is Arin. Arin, these are my friends."
Suddenly, all eyes were on Arin. It took a measure of courage, but he met each gaze in turn.
The man seated to Erik's left was someone Arin had only once seen briefly before. Despite that, Erik still introduced him:
"This is Voln. For years, he's been an exceptional partner in procuring the things we need."
Voln was an older man with tanned skin and a bald head. He looked far more the part of a gang leader than Erik did. An impressive scar ran across his left eye, which Arin now noticed was blind. Voln's gaze traveled up and down Arin's figure, his expression curious before he raised an eyebrow.
"You is a child of the Undercity, isn't you?"
His voice carried an accent that Arin couldn't place. Narrowing his eyes, Arin replied, "Yes. And where are you from?"
The exotic man leaned forward, resting a hand against his chin while continuing to study Arin. As he did, his shirt sleeve slipped back, revealing a wrist adorned with jeweled bracelets.
"I hail from the old Strait. When it still existed, before Admiral Tybalt blew it up. Before that, there was a small village near Narrow Crossing. But I doubt an Oilrat like you would have heard of it."
Arin frowned, noting the way Voln said Oilrat. It lacked the usual venom, almost as though the man were examining something exotic rather than spitting an insult. Perhaps, to someone from the far side of the southern realm, Arin himself was the curiosity. After all, the old Strait bordered on the Shard.
"The same Narrow Crossing where the Soulshifters first entered the human realm?" Arin asked.
Voln's surprise was evident, a glimmer of delight sparking in his good eye.
"Storm God's balls, an Oilrat who's well-read?" He laughed, turning to Erik. "I see why you like this boy, old friend."
Rather it's my sister who's got nothing else to do than read, Arin thought, but kept it to himself.
Erik's ever-polite smile remained as hollow as ever. Voln turned back to Arin, extending a hand.
"Voln of Narrow Crossing. Is a pleasure to meet you, Arin of the Smoke."
"Of the Smoke?"
"Clever, isn't it?"
Arin nodded appreciatively, opening his mouth to respond when the woman at the table, who had thus far been silent, spoke. "Can we move on?"
Voln shot her a look of irritation.
"Madame Corvin, please don't act like a Bellet."
Arin's attention shifted to her. She appeared to be around Voln's age, her fiery red hair framing a face touched with just enough age to emphasize her elegance. She bore the poise of someone of high birth, as well as the hair length only someone from the upper levels would allow themselves to wear - except for Erik, of course.
A noble, Arin thought immediately. Voln had called her Madame Corvin. That name… where had he heard it before?
Erik raised his hands in a placating gesture, laughing.
"I know you're a busy lady-"
"And you're a man who talks too much," she interrupted.
"…but this introduction is necessary to build trust for our cooperation," Erik continued, unfazed.
Madame Corvin narrowed her eyes, her gaze sharp enough to cut through steel as she leaned forward.
"You're more foolish than you look if you think I'd ever trust you or that smuggler. Remember, we have an arrangement. And as for this one…" Her skeptical eyes flicked to Arin, meeting his intense gaze as she continued, "how old are you, child?"
Arin wanted to protest that he wasn't a child but couldn't think of a response that wouldn't sound petulant. Instead, he simply pulled up a chair and sat at the table.
"Seventeen, my Lady."
"A child, then. Perhaps a polite one, but a child, nonetheless. What are you thinking, Erik?"
Erik clapped his hands together.
"That's the question we're all waiting for now, is it? Everyone here wonders what you're doing. Madame Corvin, you provided the information, for which I am immensely grateful. My partner Voln will handle logistics and escape, while I, with the Smoking Guild, manage planning and firepower. And you, my dear Arin," Erik retrieved something from beneath the table, rolling out a large parchment covered in detailed sketches, "you will get us inside."
"Inside what-"
Arin's breath hitched as the situation finally dawned on him. He had been desperate, and the Cold had said some convincing arguments, but now he felt it.
It was a mistake coming here.
The parchment on the table wasn't just a drawing; it was a blueprint. The plans for a Red Ship.
"What… what is this? I didn't come her for this!" Arin stammered.
He hadn't agreed to anything yet, but something told him, he was getting himself into something way too big for himself. Everything was moving far too fast.
Erik nodded, his expression deceptively pleasant.
"Ah yes, lovely of you to come. But now that I've shown you our plans, I'm afraid I can't let you leave. Not alive."
He pointed to the schematics of the airship.
"Ladies and gentlemen, I present to you the best airship of House Jarakan, Lord Askar's personal toy... And our personal treasure chest."