My heart still aches for St. Aldor. For its people and for its history. Nothing could have prepared them for that day. That monster, born from the clouds, that spawn, come from the deep. The Fat Baron, wide and bulbous like no other twister I have ever studied before. It's Harbingers, ruthless and condemning. A truly terrifying event. The quickness with which it came. And the grim fate of a city left in ruin... I truly pray we never see anything like it ever again.

  - From the writings of Inquisitor Calderon Nice

  Venn Kelleher had sworn to the gods that he would kill a man, long before he had any right to swear upon anything.

  I, Venn Kelleher, son of Shepard-hand Kieran Kelleher, will slay the Inquisition that spilled blood in Hakkan! Grab them by their heads and rip them of their life, just as they did ours!

  Such ramblings to the stars often come from heavy drunkards or backwards mad men who’d seen years past their physical prime. Slay the Inquisition? The mere thought of it was laughable.

  But when it is a child that harbors such violent convictions – an innocent boy, left at the ashes of his home... it can and should only be described as a cruel prophecy.

  The unbound were unique in that way. A once gallant people who had fallen unto a tortured fate, bounded by the shackles of the Church, juxtaposed to their name.

  There is no shame in vengeance.

  Venn had to remind himself, every passing day.

  Such is the nature of time. It takes its hold on you, pulling you along as the memories of your history become cloaked between shadow and fog.

  Many long years of service under the man whose head you had fantasized to cut off with your own hands could crumble anyone's psyche.

  But Venn was still sane... only just about.

  For many it is the bottle that keeps them in the fight for so long.

  For Venn, it was a little different.

  Sure, the drink calmed his nerves and helped to pass the cold nights alone, but it was her eyes that never failed to keep the fire inside of him blazing.

  Burned like hot iron against the skin, the memory was imprinted like no other was. The lifeless body of his sister, Delilah, laid against frigid wet earth. The last breath of her soul fading away into the darkness of the night as the crusaders pillaged what was left of Hakkan.

  Her innocence is worth a thousand of their heads.

  “Delilah…” A tear trickled down Venn’s freshly shaven face. He was humming her favorite melody, the one she always wanted him to sing along to.

  It made him cry even more; the emotions of her death too strong to fight. It was supposed to be them versus the world. But now it was only him.

  A coward, who could not bring himself to avenge the ones he loved.

  He had many opportunities. Many moments where the bastard’s life was right there for the taking. But Venn could never get himself to do it.

  Deep down, he was afraid.

  To cross a line that he could never cross back over again. He once had dreams of being a martyr. To see his family again with a head held high.

  But life was a bitch. A drug too sweet to let go.

  It hurt to think that all of Hakkan was watching over him.

  They must be so ashamed to see the man I have become. A puppet to the puppeteers. Lost and without direction.

  Disgraceful.

  …

  Venn pushed away the bottle before he had the urge to pour himself more. As nice as it was to let the sorrows flow, he came to his senses and dried his tears. On these nights it was relieving to let the sadness just linger, but it would be in his best interest to remain strong for the foreseeable future. The passing months were to be his worst, filled with hardship and pain.

  The doctor will return eventually. He will expect to see me healthy.

  Their research had seen many bumps along the road. There was no time to waste being weak and fragile. The Church and the Ministry were far too paranoid during war to maintain the finance of anything they did not deem useful. They were well aware that the Azadaels wielded too much shadowed power and influence within the sovereignty. Just in the last year alone, the Ministry had over twenty different suspected defectors put to the sword. In tumultuous conflict, there was no telling what the Church’s next move could be. No telling what they were willing to do to maintain order within their beloved sovereignty.

  Venn’s gaze shifted to his chamber door where three hard knocks were trailed by a creak, and then a heavily strained voice.

  “May there never come a day where I am forced to drink my burdens away as harshly as you do, Mr. Kelleher.”

  The untidy blob of platinum blonde peeping through was already more than enough to know who had come to revel in his misery. Then came the smug grin, followed by the black, bold and bronze of the trooper’s uniform. His heavy boots tapped the floor between long strides, unashamedly inviting himself in.

  Venn groaned at the sight of his visitor, loathing himself for not having locked the door.

  Trooper Truffle Beligrad, a man in a unique and privileged position at the Ministry. A man who had ascended the officer ranks faster than most, despite spending much of his time frolicking around the embassy, with no set duty or obligations. It wasn’t very clear as to why Beligrad was such an asset to the Ministry; on face you’d just take him for a common doofus or a fool. Nonetheless, he walked the halls like he was a prince, often disregarding the many regulations a trooper was required to follow.

  “Why do you always come to me for entertainment, trooper?” Venn sighed. “Is my misery really that amusing to you?”

  The trooper chuckled, taking off his service cap and holding it against his chest. “You do have your moments of hilarity, Mr. Kelleher. Although, as unlikely as it may seem, today I come purely for your benefit.”

  "And how so?” asked Venn, cautiously curious.

  Beligrad (as usual) dodged the enquiry with a pearly smirk. He shut the door behind him and began to meander about the chamber instead, tapping the sides of his coat in an odd manner. The last time the trooper had come to share a drink, Venn was still quartered in a cramped utility room on the bottom floor of the embassy. Since then, he had been relocated to a more spacious chamber on the top floor, closer to the doctor’s office. It wasn’t exactly luxurious or even modest by the standard of other rooms in the embassy, but it was more than someone of his kin could ever hope for.

  “The Zavient Recollection of Monsters and Hell-Spawns from The Deep. Volumes One, Two, Three and Four... goodness, I never took you for an avid connoisseur of demon smut, Mr. Kelleher.”

  “It isn’t smut,” Venn muttered beneath his breath.

  “Tell me you don’t believe in this nonsense, Mr. Kelleher. Say it isn’t so.”

  Venn swallowed his pride and remained silent.

  “These books are a scam Mr. Kelleher, a long con, created to feed off the interest of those who so desperately want to believe. They’ll never actually make any significant contributions to our exploratory efforts beyond the gates. The Zavient Group are a conglomerate of frauds and phonies, frothing at the mouth to make quick coin off of gullible individuals such as yourself.”

  As vehemently as Venn disagreed, he knew this was a losing battle.

  “I’ll keep that in mind, trooper.”

  “Good man.” Beligrad smiled, maintaining that doggedly pretentious ego of his.

  The trooper seemed peculiarly interested in flipping through more of the tomes and writings on Venn’s desk. It was strange, normally he would have already asked for a drink. And then taken a seat to begin a lengthy rant of his most recent clash with the other officers. Venn felt a bit anxious; perhaps the trooper is searching for something…

  …but for what?

  “A Jaffar box?” Beligrad raised a brow. “Now how could you possibly have gotten your hands on a treasure like this?”

  Beligrad reached for a dusty leather box that was sitting atop a stack of Venn’s empty journals.

  “It was a gift from the doctor,” answered Venn, a bit irked that he had left it so out in the open.

  “Ah, the good doctor treats you well.” Beligrad snorted. “May I?”

  Venn obliged, “It would be rude of me to say no.”

  Truth be told, he had been saving the box to sell off in the future. Venn had never smoked in his life, and he wasn’t very keen on ever trying it either. It would’ve fetched a good price in the market with a full stock too. Now it would be worth significantly less.

  The trooper dusted the box off and opened it in an excited manner, like a child opening his first box of chocolates. He revealed a pinkish cedar interior holding a long line of thick cigars with earthy brown coatings.

  “I’ve never been the biggest fan of Jaffars if I’m being honest, always found them to be very grassy. They carry a tangy after-sweetness too, bit of an awkward taste I must say.”

  Why in prima-hells are you taking from my box then, Venn gritted internally.

  “Don’t you agree?” the trooper asked, drawing a silver lighter from his coat pocket.

  “I wouldn’t know,” Venn shrugged. “Never tried.”

  “Oh fantastic, light one with me then,” the trooper offered, holding the Jaffar box out to him. “It's always good to experience things from foreign lands. Keeps you humble of your place in the world.”

  Venn stood up to take the box away from Beligrad. “Maybe another time, trooper. Would you like a drink as well?”

  “That would be nice, thank you.” Beligrad rubbed at the small patch of beard he had on his chin. “Dr. Kato has been absent from the embassy for quite some time I’ve noticed. Is there any news on when he will return?”

  Venn reluctantly began to pour out a drink, both eyes fixated on the calm stream of ale flowing from the glass bottle. “He was summoned to the Grand Chapel. I’m sure whatever he was called in for was of cardinal importance.”

  “I’m sure it was,” said the trooper, finally finding himself a seat on the only other arrangement in the room, a tattered armchair that looked older than the embassy itself. He tucked his cap between himself and the arm rest, and then stretched his long legs out to get comfortable.

  Venn moved a full mug of ale across the table between them.

  “You never answered my question, trooper.”

  “And what was that?”

  “You said you were here for my benefit. Were you being sincere or was that merely a ploy to get yourself through the door.”

  The trooper held a rather dramatic pause, sipping on his ale as if it were lemonade.

  “Well, to be fair, I was surprised to find that you had left it unlocked.” He grinned, full of himself. “But, no, I was not being deceitful. I do in fact have some information that will be pertinent to you.”

  “Pertinent in what regard…?”

  Beligrad immediately tutted away the question like it was absurd. “I’m disappointed, Mr. Kelleher. Have you ever known me to just give away information so nonchalantly? We are sharing a drink. Please allow the conversation to at least build to its crescendo first. I promise you it will all be worth your while.”

  Venn rolled his eyes. What an arrogant-arrogant man.

  “Tell me,” Beligrad continued. “How is it that an unbound like yourself can find himself living amongst the top floors of the embassy, that too within a nice chamber like this?”

  “You would call this a nice chamber?” Venn asked, surprised. “I’m shocked, I expected your standards to be much higher, trooper.”

  “Most other unbound are either rotting in the cells, living amongst the rats or seeking refuge outside of the prima lands. Your situation seems oddly out of place, wouldn’t you say?”

  “Are you interrogating me, trooper?”

  “Oh heavens no. I am merely curious.”

  “Why ask what you already know the answer to?”

  “Perhaps I am looking for better answers than what I have been given in the past,” said Beligrad, playful with his tone.

  “If your intention today is to pry on Dr. Kato’s work, you aren’t going to get very far,” Venn reminded him. “Especially not from me.”

  “Oh, I’m aware.” Beligrad clicked at his lighter, putting flame to his Jaffar. A strange green smolder quickly turned grey as the tip of the Jaffar seared to white ash. “Believe me when I say, I have no interest.”

  Venn had played this game before with Beligrad. And though the trooper was a powerful man who could ruin Venn's life with the snap of two fingers if he wanted to, this was the one area of conversation where Venn couldn’t be strong-armed. Dr. Kato’s research was protected by the Church, with only a very tight-knit group of individuals owning the right to ask questions.

  “Oh, feather down, Mr. Kelleher.” Beligrad laughed, fanning the air with his hand. “You are always so serious. Perhaps you should be the one having a go at this Jaffar instead. I have to say, it really isn’t as bad as I remembered it to be.”

  “I’m fine, thank you.”

  Beligrad moved one of his legs over the other. “Would you like to know what I learned over this passing month, Mr. Kelleher?”

  “…what did you learn?” Venn asked cautiously.

  “I learned that every bored sovereign city man should take at least one week out of their miserable lives to visit the joyful paradise that is the southern countryside,” replied Beligrad. “I’ll tell you; I spent the final week of my leave of absence in the Jordie Plains, and I must say it was the most refreshing experience I’ve had outside of the city. And I’ve been to Minera and Lobos, and the Ashwick Estelas, but nothing has quite compared to the kind nature of the people in Jordie, they really are a different breed.”

  “The doctor has spoken similar words of his time in the south.”

  Beligrad nodded. “It is their hospitality, Mr. Kelleher, that you will not find anywhere else. Everywhere I went, they were happy to share their time with me. And that is what I respect the most. Genuine, good folks.”

  Beligrad droned on some more about his experiences in the plains. How he’d visited the heritage mausoleums of the great monarch families, and how he’d spent a few days at his associate’s farmhouse, learning to ride their bison. Venn struggled to pay attention to a lot of what the trooper was saying, be that his lack of interest or the lingering effects of the booze. However, that quickly changed once the trooper began to talk of all the good food he had consumed on his trip. Venn’s stomach began to grumble jealous desires – it’d been so long since he’d had something nice. On most days, Venn felt too sick to have anything other than a bowl of hot stew. He could only hope that his recovery period this time around would be much faster than the last.

  He could only hope.

  “The absolute best plum pie in the country, Mr. Kelleher! Hearth Stove was the name of the bakery, just on the corner of Boulevard Agatha. Folks were lined up in droves for it every morning,” Beligrad spoke excitedly. “And I’ll be honest with you, Mr. Kelleher, I almost returned not having even tried it. The lines were always preposterously long, and I’ve never been the most patient man, but” - he raised a finger for effect - “I was given some sound advice by a local.”

  Beligrad paused again and then smiled to himself like he was reminiscing. “Heh - it's actually a funny story really.”

  “How so?”

  “Well, it was a humid afternoon. And it is a different kind of humid than what we get out here. Here, we grab an ice-chilled drink, air out our chests and you’d succeed in finding some sort of comfort even on the hottest of days. But down there, ho-ho-ho down there Mr. Kelleher, you could have hemp overalls on, and you’d still feel like you’re gargling your own sweat, drowning in it, day and night. It definitely takes some getting used to, I will admit that.”

  Venn grimaced at the thought of it. He was never fond of the heat. He’d grown up in Hakkan, where summers often felt like they only lasted a few weeks.

  “Anyways,” Beligrad continued his story. “It’s hot, its humid, I’m passing by the local market and a lady selling berries catches my eye. Now I’d say it was the many wonderful berries in her stall that caught my eyes first, but gods have mercy Mr. Kelleher, the lady herself was absolutely stunning. Long brown hair that came down ‘bout this low.” He gestured down to his waist. “Shining golden skin, and a face crafted by the heavens. A beauty like that, the first thing I did was tap my heart, Mr. Kelleher. Just like this.”

  Beligrad tapped the right side of his chest for show. Venn had the urge to tell him that that wasn’t where his heart was, but he figured it’d be more amusing to just let the man be.

  “I never took you for a superstitious man, trooper.”

  Beligrad nodded his head vehemently. “Yes, yes, Mr. Kelleher, my mother used to always tell me, if you see a face that resembles that of an angel, you should always tap your heart, lest it ceases to beat, or worse, leads to heartbreak. Omens should always be taken seriously, Mr. Kelleher, they are a message from God.”

  “An angel? She couldn’t possibly have been that beautiful,” doubted Venn.

  “A veneer that rivaled even the likes of Lady Sumeria of Bellafontain,” Beligrad doubled down.

  “That is certainly high praise.”

  The trooper patted his fingers on the armrest. “It is. And I don’t exaggerate.”

  “So, you approach this beautiful woman I assume?” asked Venn.

  The author's content has been appropriated; report any instances of this story on Amazon.

  “I do.” Beligrad nodded. “And I purchase her berries, making some humble small talk as she prepares my basket. Eventually, I got around to asking her what the best place to have dinner in town is. Because you see, I'd only really been eating home-cooked meals by this point and I really wanted to indulge in the local cuisine before I left-”

  “-excuse me-” The trooper paused to let out an ugly fit of cough, which made his lungs sound like they were filled with molasses.

  “You alright there, trooper?”

  “-yes, I’m fine,” he said, clearing his throat. “This usually happens when I smoke...”

  Beligrad wheezed some more before Venn reminded him where he’d left off with his story.

  “Ah, yes, the lady was kind enough to give me a few opinions on where I could dine for the night; Hibiscus Luna, and Bubba’s Okra and a few others. Fine places, all of them. I ended up visiting each one during my stay. But that is also when she mentions to me to try the plum pie – she says it’s the best pie you’re ever going to get in the entire country and that even the Wardnik of Madora comes into town once or twice a year just to get his hands on some.”

  “It must be some good pie then.”

  “That is exactly what I was thinking. Several individuals by this point had praised it, and so I tell the lady, I'd love to try the pie, but you see the thing is, the line is always too long by the time I’m up for brunch. They only ever serve it early in the morning, so once the clock hits noon, they’re either sold out, or they’ve moved on to offering the lunch menu. And do you know what she says to me, Mr. Kelleher?”

  “What?”

  Beligrad tried his best southern twang, but it only came out screechy and uncomfortable. “She says, sir with all due respect, you look like you’re shittin in field of saffron, and some folks here couldn’t pay a silver to watch the lord dance.”

  Beligrad stopped himself. “Or wait, was it – to – dance - with the lord? Hmm, I’m not sure if I’ve gotten that right, but it was some form of southern squabble, I’m sure you can imagine that for yourself.”

  Venn pictured the rare few interactions he’d had with folks from Tristan.

  Beligrad took a swig of his drink. “Anyways, I probably look like I haven’t got a clue about what she’s going on about because she eventually caught on and leaned in to make it easier for me. She tells me she’ll let me in on a secret - only if I buy another basket of her berries. Now I’m not about to turn down a sweet lady, so naturally I agree to her demands, and she proceeds to give me the whereabouts of a boy who works in the bakery during the morning hours. She promises that if I pay him well, he would be willing to sneak out a bulk load of pies just for me. Now it won’t come cheap, she says, but a swanky man like yourself could probably pull off a bargain.”

  “Swanky?”

  “I am fairly certain it means handsome.”

  “Oh.”

  “And do you know what, Mr. Kelleher? The lady was not lying. I happened to meet up with this young man and paid him a premium price to smuggle me some pies the next day. Which is an odd thing to say as a trooper of the law, but, alas, the things you do for pie. I did show him my badge of course, just so he knew who he was dealing with, and he came back to me the next afternoon with a box full of them plum bakes, just as the lady had said.”

  “You did all that for a few extra pies? I’d reckon, a man of your stature, you could have probably spoken with the keeper of the bakery, and he would’ve just given it to you for free, trooper.”

  Beligrad narrowed his eyes. “Hmm, you may be right, Mr. Kelleher. But I feel as though, in that moment, I was in a remarkably interesting mood. Daring. A trance, if you will, laid upon me by the mistress who had sold me those berries.”

  “Women do have that power.”

  “Yes, and the next day I went back to this lady in the market and thanked her for the advice. Of course, I bought a third basket of her berries, and in the politest way possible asked if she would like to join me for dinner that night. Just a humble request, nothing more than a solid night out to dance and dine. But she looks at me funny and says, Sorry sir, I’m married.”

  That cracked a smile out of Venn, but he quickly flattened his lips before Beligrad noticed.

  “I thought, alright fine, perfectly understandable.” The trooper nodded. “But then I notice as she’s handing me the basket… she has no ring on her finger. Prima-hells she’s flat out lied me!”

  Beligrad adjusted his position on the armchair, clearly passionate about his story. “Mind you, I never would have noticed if my eyes hadn’t fallen upon her finger. But it really left me thinking. What is it about me? Why can’t women see the goodness that I see in myself?”

  “Perhaps she had just taken the ring off for work,” Venn suggested.

  “And that is reasonable.”Beligrad nodded. “But if that is the case, then I doubt we would have clicked. If I’m going to buy my lady a diamond, I would expect her to wear it all the time. I certainly would wear mine. That is the beauty of marriage, is it not?”

  Venn did not think he agreed. But then again, when would he ever have the chance to buy a lady a ring.

  “I guess it would be important to me that they’d wear it often.”

  Beligrad remained deep in thought. Venn found it a bit amusing that he was this bothered over rejection from a complete stranger.

  “Maybe this is why we are both still alone, Mr. Kelleher,” mused the trooper. “Too romantic for our own good.”

  ...

  Venn considered it.

  It would certainly be an optimistic way of putting it.

  “It is intriguing however,” said Venn.

  “What is?”

  “You saw a beautiful lady and believed that it was an omen for heartbreak. Furthermore, you acknowledged the omen, and tapped your heart to dispel the evil eye... And yet, you still ended up getting your heart broken.”

  Venn looked to Beligrad, worried that he had upset him, but surprisingly the trooper was tame, patiently waiting for Venn to finish the thought.

  “What is your point?”

  “Uh - well, what I mean to say is, maybe the world itself isn’t so straightforward and romantic as we think, and so superstition is our way of coping with it. At least now you won’t have to bother to tap your heart the next time you see a beautiful face. The experience takes a bit of the worry away, knowing that something as trivial as tapping your heart a few times doesn’t have any influence on your fate.”

  Venn did not know if he was making any sense to the trooper. The booze was bringing out a philosophical side of him that he never wanted to set free.

  “I think I understand what you are getting at.”

  “You do?”

  “Of course. But I will counter you with this. Tapping the heart may not have saved me from rejection, but perhaps it did save me from a true heart break in the future. What if the lady had said yes to my proposal, and she turned out to be a witch. Fate is an odd thing, Mr. Kelleher, it subtly exists within the web of chances and circumstances that create our destined future. Maybe we ourselves cannot understand it, but Tiol can guide us, through our faith in his teachings. This is why I am superstitious; I believe in the knowledge that has been passed down to me from my elders.”

  “I wish I shared your devotion,” said Venn.

  “Then may the primordials guide your path.” Beligrad held his drink to the air.

  Venn reluctantly returned the toast with his empty mug.

  The two of them maintained a mutual silence, recognizing it was time to move on to something else. Beligrad reached within his coat to pull out an engram. The thin crystalized material lit up dimly as he stared at it, running his fingers along its surface.

  Venn watched him awkwardly for about a minute before deciding to stand up and wobble towards his desk to put away the Jaffar box.

  “You certainly seem healthier than when we last met,” Beligrad pointed out, as Venn returned to his seat. A cloud of smoke had plumed around the trooper’s face, shrouding the sharpness of his blue eyes. “More skin on your bones.”

  Venn did not feel healthy, but he played along with a nod.

  “How does it not ever get to you? Being a guinea pig for a mad man who once thought he could harness the power of the dead?”

  “...pardon?”

  Beligrad sighed, curling his posture. Venn was taken aback by the sudden change in his tone.

  “I’m not sure I understand, trooper…”

  Beligrad shook his head and puffed on his Jaffar.

  “Only the primordials know what a lunatic like that must be putting you through to get the answers he so desperately wants. It must be torture,” he continued, pushing the topic some more. “I can only imagine the horrors you’ve faced.”

  More smoke. This time it lingered around Venn’s nostrils. A heavy and pungent smell, woody and herbal. Like the leather of an old book.

  “But then again, what is a little torture, eh? If it means you get to live even a glimpse of a normal life. Even the slightest of hopes that you could be free one day - what would a man go through for something like that?”

  Venn felt knots tighten inside of his stomach.

  The trooper put down his mug and smoked some more. He seemed content with Venn’s silence, allowing the tension between them to rise.

  “Are you familiar with necro-venom by any chance, Mr. Kelleher?”

  Venn’s heart skipped more beats.

  How could a fool like Beligrad know about necro-venom? How could he know about any of it?

  “What is your angle here, trooper.” Venn finally gathered the courage to speak. “There is obviously a reason you are here tonight.”

  Beligrad’s lips flattened into a scowl. “You seem so tense.” He laid back, crossing the other leg over now.

  There was an intensity to the trooper’s cadence, a level of seriousness that Venn had not come to expect from conversations with him.

  “I can say with certainty, that this is the part of my job that I despise the most, Mr. Kelleher. I don’t particularly enjoy being the enforcer. And yet, whether it is through kismet or through my devotion, I have been given a unique physicality that forces me to be exactly that.”

  ...

  “I still don’t understa-”

  “Inquisitor Bixen is dead.”

  Venn felt his face lose all its color; his hands beginning to shake uncontrollably.

  “The news won’t make the rounds till tomorrow, but he passed in his home two nights ago.”

  “I - I - don't - how could this happen? How did he pass?” Venn panicked.

  “Brutally. Murdered. His limbs ripped from bone and his innards splattered all over the walls. He was practically unrecognizable by all accounts.”

  ‘I can’t believe this...”

  He really couldn’t. Through his own hesitation, someone other had taken Venn’s vengeance.

  Assassinating an Inquisitor of the Ministry of Aya was no easy task, but getting away with it scot-free? That should be considered a miracle.

  Who was this assassin? And how could they have pulled this off?

  Even though Venn had given up on his own murderous convictions. Hearing about this now, it hurt to think it wasn’t he who had mustered that courage. It wasn’t so much jealousy as it was mortification. For all the times he had looked to the heavens and promised his family that he would one day bring them vengeance.

  Venn winced. His hatred for himself flooding back like waves onto shore.

  “Would you believe it if I told you they found necro-venom on the late Inquisitor’s wounds?”

  Venn winced again.

  Beligrad watched him like a hawk.

  “What are you implying, trooper?”

  “I think you know exactly what I am implying.”

  Venn stayed vacant, in denial of where this conversation was leading.

  “You’re not safe from prosecution, Mr. Kelleher,” Beligrad asserted, noticing Venn’s disillusionment. “No one of your kin is, but you I would wager especially are not safe.”

  “I would never dare to do such a thing!” denied Venn. “The Ministry knows this. The late Inquisitor and his men saved my life in Hakkan. I wouldn’t be alive today if it wasn’t for him. Why would I ever hurt that man?”

  Beligrad snorted. “You would be a fool to think that the Ministry would care to hear out your defense in this matter. The Church needs a story to tell the world, Mr. Kelleher. A story that keeps their good name unharmed. And you would be the perfect evil for that story.”

  “The late Inquisitor has only ever been generous towards me!”

  “Agh - don’t think of me as so naive!” Beligrad dismissed. “The public may believe the massacre in Hakkan was the result of an Arch-Tempest, but do you really think the highest orders of the Ministry and the Church are so clueless. Inquisitor Bixen has always put on a front of being this beacon of light in our dark times of war, but many of us know that deep down he was the devil himself. And I also know that if given the opportunity, you would’ve wanted to strangle that man with your own hands.”

  Venn was once again shocked to hear that Beligrad was so informed. But how could he be? Knowing the truth about what had occurred in Hakkan – it wasn’t information that just anyone could come upon. And Beligrad had never seemed like the type to delve deep into Ministry politics. Something was off.

  “I personally don’t believe you have any involvement in this murder, but the Inquisitors who adored Bixen will come for the heads of your kin just to satisfy their own rage,” Beligrad continued. “The Ministry will upend any unbound settlements that perimeter the Prima Lands, along with every bum shanty and refuge your people inhabit within the sovereignty. And then, once their done pillaging outside of sacred grounds, they’ll come for the lucky few like you who’ve found their way into the havens of the Ministry.”

  “This is madness,” Venn refused. “I am important to Dr. Kato’s research. I have aided the Church with advancements on more than one occasion.”

  “AN INQUISITOR HAS BEEN MURDERED, MR. KELLEHER!” Beligrad raised his voice. “If you think Dr. Kato will have any say in the justice that will be served, you are a bigger fool than I thought you were. The Church will be swift, and they will be ruthless.”

  Beligrad’s eyes had now doubled in size, a frenzy spilled over his face that made Venn coil further into his seat.

  “Why are you telling me this?” Venn demanded, on the verge of breaking into tears. “You must have a reason.”

  “Because you are now a liability to us, Venn Kelleher.”

  Venn felt confused. “To whom?”

  Suddenly, like brick upon mortar, it all began to click.

  “I come to you on behalf of the saints.” Beligrad reached within the folds of his coat. “And just so you know how serious this is-”

  He materialized a silver chain; at its end rose a medallion, the shape of the surface resembling a lamb. Adorning the head of the lamb was a crown of chainmail that cascaded down to its neck like a veil.

  The mark of the Chainmail Saints. Venn shuddered in fear at the sight of it. He hadn’t seen one in ages.

  All this time. How could he not have seen it.

  “These are dark times, Mr. Kelleher.” Beligrad sighed. “I never would have thought it would come to this for the both of us, yet here we are.”

  “Why now?” Venn panicked. “Why are they doing this to me now? After all that I’ve done! We had an agreement.”

  Venn watched eagerly as Beligrad dipped his jaffar into his nearly empty mug of ale.

  “Circumstances have obviously changed.” He croaked, through raspy phlegm. “And in turn, that agreement was voided. I’m sure you can understand, we simply cannot take any unnecessary risks.”

  “I would never tell them anything. Please, you don’t understand, Dr. Kato is making monumental advancements in his work, my position here is safe-”

  “Prosecution is swift, Mr. Kelleher. And it comes without warning. Don’t make the mistake of thinking you are not replaceable. It is no longer just the official investigatory body you have to worry about now, there are a whole cast of individuals who will operate on their own merit to hurt your kind. All it takes is one Inquisitor to get their hands on you, and you will crumble like clay. We are simply cutting the knot before it becomes a bigger problem.”

  Beligrad grabbed his trooper service cap that he had cushioned beside him and turned it on its side. With the delicate grasp of three fingers, from somewhere between the fabric, he pulled forth a tiny glass vial filled to the cork with a custard white fluid.

  Venn’s eyes poured rivers at the sight of it. He grasped at every angle he could, hoping that there was another chance.

  “- please, please, you don’t understand, Dr. Kato’s research has gone far beyond what it was before! There are advancements being made – I’ll give you everything, primanetics, detailed reports, physical specimens, anything you want! Just please give me one chance.”

  Venn was on his knees begging, salty brine streaking down his face and into his lips.

  Beligrad had disgust plastered over his face. “We are not interested in the old man’s necromancy. We haven’t been for a long time now. The only reason you have been kept alive is because of our initial agreement. And we were more than willing to continue honoring that, but of course, here we are.”

  Beligrad placed the vial on its cork and nudged it towards Venn.

  “Poison of the Lamb. Slow but peaceful. You will have one last night to rest, one last night to dream of whatever it is you desire, before the angels and lambs take you at sunrise. This is our gift to you, for having served our cause so humbly. It is time for you to make a decision, Venn. Will you accept our offering, or will you force my hands to spill your blood.”

  Venn could not bear any words. His mind and body were incapable of settling on any one thought or desire. He held his breath, for quite some time, until Beligrad spoke his next words.

  “This may be-”

  “Please, just let me go,” Venn interrupted, tired and desperate. “I’ll run. Far away, you’ll never hear of me again in the Prima Lands. I beg of you. I am only at your mercy. I will do anything, anything that you say.”

  “In the eyes of the Ministry, running will be admittance to a crime, Mr. Kelleher,” said Beligrad. “They will hunt you like wolves, maim you like the savages that they are. Their torture will make you spill till there is nothing left within you to spill. And then they will throw you to the dungeons, where you will never see the light of the stars again. There is nowhere that you can run, where they won’t find you. This is the end, Mr. Kelleher. This is where we must regretfully step forth to avoid any damage being brought against our good cause.”

  “No.” Venn stood up, drunk, afraid, but defensive. “I’ve worked too hard to get to this point.” His eyes twitched, a never-ending stream of tears stinging the dried pores of his face. “I’ve sacrificed too much for this life. I'll leave, right away. I’ll never come back.”

  All he had to do was walk past the trooper and move to the door. He’d truly leave then. Go into hiding. Never look back.

  Venn made his march but was stopped halfway. A force permeated his chest, a stunning force. Beligrad’s hand glowed a devilish maroon, and Venn was pushed a few feet back. His knees almost met the floor, his chest reverberating an irregular rhythm. Briefly, his vision blurred, and the world spun like a top.

  “I cannot allow you to leave this room, Mr. Kelleher. I will look past your disobedience this one time, but I won’t hold back the next.”

  It took a minute, but Venn’s condition slowly returned to a sense of normalcy. He placed one hand on his throat, and the other on the table for support.

  That was merely a warning.

  Venn did not know what had gotten into him, but hearing the word disobedience made him overtly furious. It might have been distrust, it might have been defiance, but Venn lunged forward once again and attempted to bolt towards the door.

  Beligrad was already between him and the exit. This time the trooper used only his palm, and the mote magic sent Venn catapulting backwards into a wall.

  His entire body went numb, and all his senses ceased to function for a few seconds, until a suffocating pain brought him back to life. The trooper’s left hand was around his neck, choking with an unbelievable amount of might. The other hand held the vial of fluid, uncorked and ready to be poured.

  Venn refused to open his mouth, mumbling through his lips in an effort to protest against the abuse.

  Beligrad had an unbothered demeanor on his face. “It’s time for you to see your family again, Venn. It’s time to ascend to the heavens, where you will be free. Free of the torture that this world breathes upon your kind.” Beligrad began to pry Venn’s mouth wide. “There is a madness that crawls within your veins, a horrid morphism that will never allow you to live this life pure. Down here, that is your fate as an unbound. Hatred. But up there, you will be with God, and everyone who has ever loved you.”

  Beligrad dumped the vial down, the liquid singing the back of Venn’s gullet as he did.

  Venn felt sick to his stomach, like he was about to throw up.

  There was nothing he could do. He had nothing left in him to fight. The last two months had drained him of everything.

  He curled his fingers, millions of emotions cycling on repeat. He settled for more anger, his fingernails digging into the palms of his hand.

  He looked to Beligrad to show him spite, adrenaline now fueling his rage.

  Beligrad stared at him coldly, taking in the state of him, before storing the empty vial within his coat.

  “I couldn’t say we were friends, Mr. Kelleher,” he spoke, quiet and monotone as he buttoned his coat. “But every talk with you has been a pleasure at the very least. Which is why I wished to share one last drink and conversation with you before I laid this all out. I hope you can understand why this had to be done. It really is the most peaceful way for you to go. Far from the torture they would have put on you if you had been prosecuted.”

  Venn had nothing to say. He felt betrayed.

  Beligrad cleared his throat and put on his cap. “Rest easy, Venn. And may the Primordials bless you on your journey through the heavens.”

  With that, he turned his back to Venn and exited the room. Venn immediately threw up onto the floor as soon as he did; bile, and chunks of the stew he’d had for lunch coming out in a largely watery solution. His throat burned and everything hurt. The smell of vomit spread throughout the room, putrid and disgusting.

  But despite this, Venn had no desire to move. What would be the point? He was a dead man by dawn.

  Venn spent the rest of his night drinking, pondering if he truly would get to see his family again. If heaven was as beautiful as they said it was. Maybe this was God’s way of extending the divine hand to end his suffering, to bring him back to his family in one piece.

  But how could he face them.

  He was a failure.

  A coward.

  The reflections in his booze remained silent, entrancing almost. Stirring it formed ripples that waded the dark mead as it sloshed and stained the white of his mug. He stared into it deeply until it calmed, and then sloshed it once more. Stare, and then slosh. Slosh a few more times and then stare. He continued this for a long time. Too long to remember...

  The following day came with a blur, and a hangover that felt like piranhas gnawing away at his skull.

  There was a thump, and a thrash. Drool dripped down the side of his mouth as he lifted his head from the futon he had fallen asleep on.

  Was it just him, or was the ground shaking?

  A muffled screech pounded against his windows from outside.

  Storm’s brewing.

  His migraine roared like thunder, this time with the voices of the dead whispering his name.

  Vennnn...

  He’d had them since he was a child. They were quieter back then, less demanding. They spoke in slurred consonants, echoing like vibrations in a cavern. Mumbling secrets that no one else was allowed to know. Things that only nightmares could churn.

  A warning.

  Venn snapped upright, shaking away the fatigue. An empty bottle of booze rolled off the futon and smashed into pieces on the floor beneath him.

  “Ugh!” Venn grunted, annoyed.

  His mouth exhaled foul dry air, and his morning eyes were crusted. There were few things worse than feeling like hammered shit in the morning, that was for sure.

  The events of the night before suddenly struck him like lightning.

  I’m— I’m alive.

  But how could that possibly be?

  He hobbled to his feet, noticing that the embassy alarms were blaring, mixed with panicked yelling from outside. Normally he could ignore the loud rantings from the trooper station below, but this was different.

  “What in prima-hells is going on...”

  Memories of old danger flooded from his past. That same feeling of despair was abundant, erupting shivers across his body.

  He moved towards the chamber doors and opened them to peek outside. The hallway was empty, the dim morning terra-stars reflected moody off the blue and gold patterned floor as they always did.

  A primal fear took over him as shards of glass went scattering in all directions across the roll-top desk behind him. Blasts of unsettling air surged into the flat through the broken window; the taste of the atmosphere becoming immediately eerie and brine.

  T-particles.

  Venn rushed to peer outside the pane, no regard for the glass draped across the floor.

  A scarlet darkness had taken over the skies. In the near distance, an amorphous rage of wind and clouds was banding with the rain and rotating violently. A fat abomination of a twister had extended downwards from the skies, devouring everything beneath it. Wood and heavy debris revolved about the beast, its big-bellied exterior pounding away at the streets of St. Aldor. Venn had never seen anything more horrifying. The roar of its hunger, the vitriol of its plunder. The one true wrath of the hells. And it was barreling towards him.

  A hallowed screech diverted his gaze. Underneath the redness of the swollen skies wandered bleach-pale ghoulish-things with sooty black patches pocked on their skin.

  Angels... he uttered foolishly.

  No.

  The sight of them fueled an unusual hunger within him. A rage that would not allow him to stop staring.

  These are of evil.

  Harbingers!

  Long silver threads flowed from their skulls like jungle vines, and black steel blades were grasped tightly by each of their sides, like swordsmen ready to dance.

  Suddenly, with vicious speed, the closest ghoul snapped its head in Venn’s direction, returning a deadlock stare. Slowly, it descended towards him, locking him into a trance.

  Vennnn…

  The voices broke him out of it. Venn stumbled back onto his futon, struggling to maintain his balance. At least a few shards of glass had gashed his feet, but it was all too terrifying to feel any pain.

  Without warning, the creature spiraled right through his window like an eagle come to hunt its prey. There was an aura about it, shifting and swirling behind a blur. Its pupils rippled like deep black holes in a sea of white…until they didn’t.

  A deathly black shadow spread from its sword; its eyes turning holly sanguine as viscous ooze dripped down its featureless face.

  The unbound grew impatient inside of Venn. Louder and clearer the voices became. One after another, they begged him to give in.

  Hungerrrr...

  The creature charged with an ugly shriek. Venn vaulted over his futon, trying to escape the swipe of its blade. His body felt heavy, contracting in every possible way. He felt it coming on. His arms and legs gradually losing their strength.

  The creature stabbed its blade right through him with conviction. But he felt no true pain.

  The wind and rain continued to pummel his room in cycles, the sounds of the twister drawing near.

  Piping hot air shot out from the ghoul’s aura and melted his skin. Venn tried to scream but nothing came out. The scalding steam was too much to handle, dropping him onto his spine. And then came the headaches once more. An orchestra of voices demanding him to fight back.

  Feeeeeed...

  The world became blurry, blobs of white and grey on a canvas. And the last thing that Venn could remember was feeling a deep baritone grumble come from within himself. Low and sinister. Dark and primal.