Book Two: Chapter 8

The next morning, a sliver of dawn light peeked through the intricately patterned drapes, coaxing Terris awake. He stretched languidly in the plush bed, the sumptuousness of his surroundings still a novelty. The silken sheets felt like a caress against his skin, a stark contrast to the rough linens he was accustomed to during campaigns. Exhaustion lingered from the previous night's emotional rollercoaster – the tension of the war, the elation of victory, and the quiet reconciliation with Eodor's parents. But a newfound determination stirred within him. He needed answers, for Eodor's sake and perhaps for the mission itself. The battle data of Deeno had exposed Vyskriegg's treachery, but there were still many pieces missing from the puzzle. Where exactly did the Vironium come from? How deep did the corruption within the Magistra Order run? These were questions that gnawed at him, and he knew Eodor, with his personal connection to the Order, might hold some of the answers.

Down in the courtyard, Terris found Eodor and his father, Duke Brandor, seated by a quaint stone table. The table stood nestled beside a charming, lake-side hut, a haven of serenity amidst the sprawling estate. A single, arched bridge, shimmering with morning dew, connected the hut to the main grounds. Eodor, dressed in a simple tunic that seemed at odds with the opulent surroundings, was lost in thought, a frown etched on his face. The tunic, Terris noted, bore the faint insignia of the Magistra Order, a silent testament to his conflicted loyalties. Duke Brandor, on the other hand, seemed relaxed, his posture exuding a quiet confidence. He wore a well-worn tunic of a neutral shade, the fabric speaking of practicality rather than extravagance. As Terris approached, he noticed a steaming pot of tea and an assortment of pastries laid out on the table, a silent invitation to join them.

Terris approached, a hesitant smile gracing his lips. He bowed respectfully to the Duke. "Good morning, Duke Brandor."

Duke Brandor looked up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "Ah, Terris! You're an early riser. Did you sleep well?"

Terris straightened, a blush creeping up his neck. "Ah – yes, yes Duke. Please, just Terris."

Brandor chuckled, a warm sound that seemed to contradict the coldness Eodor had described. "Very well, Terris it is. May I offer you some breakfast?"

Terris's eyes darted between the Duke and Eodor. While Brandor's invitation was genuine, Eodor's silence was deafening. "Why yes, of course, thank you." He forced a smile, hoping to ease the tension that hung heavy in the air.

Brandor gestured to the empty space beside him. "Please, by all means. Care for some tea and pastries? And you too, Eodor," he added, his voice taking on a softer note. "You haven't touched a bite."

Eodor remained silent for a moment, his eyes seemingly fixed on a distant point on the lake. Finally, he met his father's gaze, a flicker of something unreadable passing between them. "No, thank you, Father. I'm not particularly hungry."

Brandor's smile faltered slightly, but he recovered quickly. "As you wish, son." He turned back to Terris, his eyes twinkling with amusement. "Anything for the Heroes of Deeno, wouldn't you agree, Eodor?"

Eodor's head snapped up, a flicker of surprise crossing his features. "The Heroes of Deeno?"

The Duke chuckled. "Surely you haven't forgotten your own accomplishments, Eodor? Terris here is just as celebrated for his bravery during the Deeno campaign."

Terris felt a wave of heat flush his cheeks. "Oh, you know, milord? I…"

Duke Brandor raised a hand, cutting him off. "I am within the Senate after all," he said with a knowing wink. "News travels fast, especially regarding exceptional Magisters."

Terris felt a mixture of embarrassment and pride bubble within him. "Why, y-yes, of course, how silly of me," he stammered, trying to regain his composure.

Eodor, however, remained silent, his gaze unwavering as it locked onto his father's. The tension in the air thickened once more, and Terris wished he could somehow bridge the chasm that seemed to divide them. The breakfast that had started with such promise now threatened to be overshadowed by unspoken words and unresolved conflicts.

After the butlers bustled in with plates piled high with pastries and steaming tea, Sylva finally joined them, her eyes blinking away lingering sleep. Terris and Sylva picked at their breakfast, their appetites dampened by the unspoken tension. Terris couldn't help but steal glances at Eodor and the Duke, the weight of the revelation hanging heavy in the air.

Finally, unable to contain his curiosity any longer, Terris leaned closer to Eodor, his voice barely a whisper. "So, care to tell me what's going on, Princeling?"

Eodor rolled his eyes, a tired sigh escaping his lips. This was precisely the situation he'd dreaded. He opened his mouth to speak, but before any words could escape, the Duke interjected.

"I had an heir once," Brandor began, his voice surprisingly gentle. "An older one, two years Eodor's senior. Liandor. A bright boy, wise beyond his years, disciplined, and with a kind heart."

A flicker of pain crossed Eodor's face, a stark contrast to the Duke's stoic facade. Terris, sensing the raw emotion in the air, decided a more direct approach was needed.

"What happened to him, may I ask?" he inquired respectfully.

The Duke's smile faltered for a brief moment, then resettled into a strained version of its former self. "He lost his life," he said, his gaze flickering to the shimmering lake. "Right here, in these very waters."

Eodor's hand tightened around his teacup, knuckles turning white. Sylva gasped, a hand flying to her mouth in shock.

Brandor continued, his voice low and heavy. "Eodor was just a child then. They were playing by the lake, Liandor and him. Eodor… Well, he couldn't swim. He got caught in the undercurrent, and Liandor…" He trailed off, his eyes clouding over.

Eodor squeezed his eyes shut, the memory of that fateful day playing on repeat in his mind. The terror of the icy water, the frantic flailing of limbs, and then the desperate hand reaching out to pull him back to the surface. A hand that would never grasp another again.

Sylva reached out tentatively, her hand hovering over Brandor's. "I-I'm so sorry to hear that, milord," she finally managed, her voice choking with emotion.

Brandor offered a weak smile, placing a grateful hand over hers. "Thank you, child. It was a long time ago." He took a deep breath, his shoulders slumping slightly. "After that… Eodor was supposed to be the heir. But I suppose he found his own path, with the Magistra Order." He looked pointedly at Eodor, a question hanging heavy in the air.

Eodor remained silent, his gaze unwavering as it fixated on the shimmering surface of the lake. The sunlight danced on the water, creating a mesmerizing play of light and shadow. Yet, all Eodor could see was the reflection of a younger, guilt-ridden boy, forever haunted by the memory of a brother lost.

"I was consumed by grief," the Duke continued, his voice low and remorseful. "Anger followed, and I lashed out. I called you names, Eodor, blamed you for something beyond your control. Perhaps that's what pushed you away, drove you to seek solace in the Order." His gaze drifted to the lake once more, a faint tremor in his hand betraying the years of suppressed pain.

Eodor's shoulders trembled. A single tear escaped, tracing a glistening path down his cheek. "I… I never meant for it to happen, Father. I was just a child."

Brandor finally met Eodor's eyes, his own crinkled with sorrow. "It wasn't your fault, son," he said, his voice thick with emotion. "I understand that now. Grief can cloud judgment, make us say things we don't truly believe."

The tension in the air began to dissipate, replaced by a fragile understanding. Sylva and Terris exchanged a relieved glance. Maybe, just maybe, a bridge could be built between father and son.

Suddenly, the sound of footsteps broke the quiet. Duchess Lysseus entered the courtyard, her regal bearing softened by a gentle smile. "We were just coming to check on you three," she said, her voice warm.

"Mother," Eodor greeted her quietly, his head bowed in shame.

Duchess Lysseus placed a hand on Eodor's shoulder, her touch radiating comfort that seeped into him like warm sunlight. Her words, though simple, carried the weight of years of unspoken acceptance. "We've come to terms with it, Eodor," she said, her voice firm yet filled with love, a testament to the strength she had built within herself. "The loss of Liandor will forever leave a scar on our hearts, a constant ache that no time can truly erase. But blaming you wouldn't mend it," she continued, her gaze meeting him with fierce compassion. "It wouldn't bring him back, and it wouldn't ease the pain you've carried all these years."

A flicker of surprise, then a wave of gratitude, crossed Eodor's face. This wasn't the cold, distant acceptance he'd expected. It was an understanding woven with love and a lifetime of shared grief. He finally met his mother's eyes, a well of unshed tears glistening within them. "Thank you, Mother," he rasped, the words thick with emotion that had been locked away for far too long.

Terris and Sylva watched the silent exchange, a newfound respect blossoming for Eodor. The burden he had carried for so long seemed to lighten under the weight of his parents' forgiveness. It was a tangible shift, a lifting of a heavy cloak that had shrouded him in guilt and self-loathing. Eodor's posture straightened slightly, a flicker of something akin to peace replacing the years of self-doubt etched on his face. Perhaps, with the ghosts of the past laid to rest, Eodor could finally face his future, both as a son and as a Magister.

A gentle breeze swept through the courtyard, carrying whispers of change. The revelation of Liandor's death had fractured the morning's peace, but it had also unearthed a long-buried truth. The weight of the past could be a crushing burden, but forgiveness, like a gentle rain, could loosen its grip and allow for new growth. Terris and Sylva exchanged a quiet glance, a silent understanding passing between them. Their mission to Vyskriegg remained, but Eodor's journey of healing had just begun, and they knew, with a newfound certainty, that they wouldn't be walking it alone.

The revelation of Eodor's past hung heavy in the air for a moment, a shared understanding settling over the group. Then, with a deep breath, Duke Brandor cleared his throat, the weight of his title settling on his shoulders. "So," he began, his voice surprisingly light, "what brings the Heroes of Deeno to my humble abode?"

The question caught them all a bit off guard. Eodor stammered for a moment, then straightened his posture, meeting his father's gaze. "Well, Father," he began, "we were thinking of undertaking an expedition to the Vyskriegg system."

Brandor's eyebrows shot up in surprise. "Vyskriegg? That's rather… volatile corner of the galaxy, wouldn't you say?" He took a sip of his tea, his gaze flicking between the three of them. "I did hear whispers of a report from the military High Command, but are you certain they're the ones pulling the strings in this war, son?"

Sylva leaned forward, her voice firm. "Absolutely, milord. My people, the Vyskrieggan, are now being led by a usurper. Vyskriegger the Conqueror, he calls himself. He's spearheading a civil war and is suspected of supplying the Empire with a new type of armor that could potentially change the tide of the war."

Terris chimed in, his voice stoic. "Indeed. Over a decade ago, a civil war erupted within the Magistra Order over these very supplies – Vironium, they call it. They were using us as testing grounds for their new technology, and the Empire somehow managed to influence our Chief of Security. Naturally, we took care of it." A grim smirk flickered across his lips.

Duke Brandor rubbed his chin thoughtfully, his eyes crinkling at the corners. He glanced at his wife, the Duchess, who sat beside him, a picture of quiet dignity. "What do you think, Emma?" he inquired, addressing her by her first name, a sign of the deep respect he held for her.

The Duchess, despite her elegant demeanor, held a powerful position as the Minister of Foreign Affairs. "Given this new information," she began, her voice surprisingly sharp, "I believe it's imperative that we rally the planets bordering Vyskriegg space. Perhaps we can initiate some form of economic sanction against them."

Eodor frowned, a flicker of concern crossing his face. "Wouldn't that essentially be a declaration of war?"

Terris chuckled, a dry sound devoid of humor. "Well, Eodor, the last time I checked, we're already in a bit of a war with Vyskriegg, or at least the usurper and his forces."

Sylva, ever the strategist, saw an opportunity. "Perhaps we can leverage the battle data collected at Deeno," she suggested, her voice filled with conviction. "If we present a compelling case to the Senate, highlighting the threat Vyskriegg poses with this new Vironium armor, we could provide them with the grounds they need to formally sanction Vyskriegg."

The Duchess's eyes lit up, and she clapped her hands together in delight. "That's a brilliant idea, Sylva! With the Senate on our side, we could cripple Vyskriegg's war effort without resorting to a full-blown military campaign." Terris nodded in agreement, a flicker of respect for Sylva's sharp mind evident in his eyes.

Duke Brandor finished his tea, a thoughtful expression on his face. "Very well then," he declared, a hint of a smile gracing his lips. "It seems we have a plan. I shall initiate a Senate hearing and see what we can achieve with this new information against Vyskriegg. Perhaps, for once, diplomacy can win the day."

With the newfound hope for reconciliation between Eodor and his parents, the air crackled with a different kind of energy. The next few days were a whirlwind of activity. Terris, Sylva, and Eodor remained at the Lysseus Estate, assisting the Duke and Duchess in preparing their case for the Senate hearing.

The day of the hearing arrived, and a palpable tension hung in the air as they entered the grand Senate chamber. Over two thousand Senators, each representing a planet or system within the Commonwealth, filled the vast space. Whispers rippled like a wave as Terris, Eodor, and Sylva took their seats beside the Duke and Duchess.

Senator Brandor, his voice booming through the chamber, rose to address the assembly. "Senates of the Commonwealth," he began, his gaze sweeping across the sea of faces. "I stand before you today, not just as Duke of Erys Prium, but as a concerned citizen deeply troubled by the escalating conflict with Vyskriegg."

He gestured towards Terris, Eodor, and Sylva. "These esteemed individuals - Terris, Eodor, and Sylva - are heroes of the recent Deeno campaign and possess firsthand knowledge of Vyskriegg's nefarious activities."

Senator Amara Vance, a wiry woman with electrifying blue eyes, representing the bustling trade hub of Nova Prime, shot to her feet. "While I commend your passion, Senator Brandor, Vyskriegg is a significant trading partner. Sanctions would cripple not only their war effort, but also our own economies! We rely on their fuel sources and vital raw materials. A full-blown economic war would be disastrous for the Commonwealth!"

A murmur of agreement rippled through the chamber, particularly among Senators representing systems heavily reliant on Vyskriegg resources. Senator Xylo Kor, a stoic figure cloaked in the traditional crimson robes of his homeworld Xi'an, spoke next. "Senator Vance raises a valid point. However, can we ignore the fact that Vyskriegg is fueling this war with the Empire? The Vironium armor, as these brave Magisters can attest, is a game-changer. We cannot stand idly by while they destabilize the entire quadrant."

Senator Amara scoffed. "Destabilize? They're simply defending their own borders from Imperial aggression! And where is the concrete evidence of this Vironium armor? We haven't seen any official reports."

Across the chamber, Senator Coyce Black, known for his unwavering patriotism, slammed his fist on the podium. "Evidence lies in the scars these Magisters bear! They fought Vyskriegg forces firsthand! Do we wait for the Empire to be at our doorstep before we act?"

A hush fell over the chamber as Elian, a young Senator representing the war-torn moon of Thalassa, rose slowly. Her voice, though shaky, carried the weight of her people's suffering. "We at Thalassa have already seen the horrors the Empire inflicts. We cannot afford to let Vyskriegg become another weapon in their arsenal. Perhaps targeted sanctions, crippling their war machine without crippling trade altogether, could be a solution."

A chorus of murmurs followed Elian's suggestion. Senator Aiko Na Mura, a shrewd diplomat from the technologically advanced Aithel system, entered the fray. "An intriguing proposal, Senator Elian. Perhaps we can explore a multi-pronged approach. Targeted sanctions, increased military presence near Vyskriegg borders, and a diplomatic mission aimed at fostering neutrality. This way, we address the security concerns and minimize economic disruptions."

The debate shifted from a stark 'sanctions or no sanctions' dichotomy to a nuanced exploration of potential solutions. Terris, Sylva, and Eodor exchanged hopeful glances. Their firsthand accounts of Vyskriegg's treachery had planted a seed, and the Senators, fueled by both self-preservation and a sense of galactic responsibility, were searching for the best way to make it bloom into a plan to protect the Commonwealth.

The chamber erupted in a cacophony of voices. Senators on both sides of the debate, fueled by patriotism, economic interests, and personal agendas, argued passionately. The Duke and Duchess exchanged a worried glance. The hours ticked by, consumed by heated arguments and passionate pleas.

Terris, Eodor, and Sylva watched the spectacle unfold, a nervous energy buzzing under their skin. They knew their testimony was crucial. Their experiences at Deeno, their firsthand knowledge of Vyskriegg's war machine, could sway the vote. But would it be enough to bridge the chasm between economic concerns and the security of the Commonwealth?

The chamber fell silent as Sylva stepped forward, her voice ringing with quiet determination. "Senators, may I have a moment of your time?" she requested, her gaze sweeping across the sea of faces.

A collective nod of approval rippled through the room, and the Lord Speaker inclined his head in acknowledgement. "You may have the floor, Magister Sylva," he proclaimed.

With a flick of her wrist, Sylva activated the projector, and a holographic display materialized in the center of the chamber. It depicted the chaotic battle on Deeno, a horrifying tapestry woven from the live perspectives of countless soldiers. Major Bridger's voice, laced with urgency, echoed through the chamber as the scene unfolded. Senators gasped in horror as they witnessed the unstoppable force of the Imperial Knights, their Vironium armor turning them into nearly invincible war machines. The valiant efforts of the Commonwealth's Special Forces Commandos and the Magisters were shown to be tragically inadequate in the face of such overwhelming power.

A collective gasp rippled through the chamber as the battle data concluded. Some Senators, their faces etched with skepticism, murmured amongst themselves, questioning the validity of the recording.

Before the murmurs could escalate, Senator Brandor rose to his feet, his voice booming with authority. "Let us vote for a new legislation, Senators," he declared, his gaze flashing with a newfound resolve. "Those who would agree to a diplomatic and economic sanction against Vyskriegg, based on the irrefutable evidence presented in the battle data of Deeno, say 'Aye.'"

A tense silence descended upon the chamber as each Senator grappled with the weight of the decision. The echoes of the battle and the undeniable threat posed by Vyskriegg hung heavy in the air.

One by one, Senators rose to their feet, their voices echoing through the chamber. A wave of agreement swept through the room, easily surpassing seventy percent. Some Senators abstained, unwilling to commit, but only a handful dared to vote against the tide.

The counting process was meticulous, taking nearly two hours as each vote was carefully tallied and verified. Finally, the Lord Speaker of the Senate rose once more, his voice resonating with the weight of their collective decision. "Then we have a consensus," he declared, a hint of satisfaction tingling in his voice. "A new legislation shall pass on this floor and be submitted to the Lord Minister for review, in order to initiate executive action against Vyskriegg."

A cheer erupted in the chamber, a spontaneous explosion of relief and triumph. Sylva, Eodor, and Terris, their faces glowing with a mixture of exhaustion and exhilaration, embraced in a tight hug. The weight of their burden had finally begun to lift. All around them, Senators exchanged congratulatory handshakes and smiles, united in their decision to protect the Commonwealth from the looming threat.

"We did it!" Sylva exclaimed, her voice choked with emotion as she pulled away from the embrace. "We actually got through to them."

Terris chuckled, the sound laced with relief. "For a moment there, I thought we were staring down the barrel of another war."

Eodor, a newfound warmth radiating from his eyes, looked at his parents, who were beaming at him from across the chamber. They exchanged a silent nod of understanding, a bridge finally built after years of grief and misunderstanding.

Senator Aiko Na Mura, the shrewd diplomat from Aethel, materialized beside them, a hint of admiration in her eyes. "A well-played hand, Magisters," she said, her voice carrying a soft lilt. "Your courage and the evidence you presented were instrumental in swaying the Senate."

Terris bowed his head in acknowledgement. "We are simply Magisters, Senator Na Mura, sworn to protect the peace."

"And protect you did," boomed a familiar voice. Senator Coyce Black, ever the firebrand, clapped Terris on the back with surprising strength. "Though I must say, that holo-display was enough to make your hair turn white, lad!"

Terris grinned. "It was certainly… educational, Senator Black."

Laughter rippled through the chamber as the tension dissipated. Amidst the congratulations, Eodor found himself face-to-face with Senator Elian, the young woman from Thalassa. Her eyes, though still haunted by the horrors of war, held a flicker of gratitude.

"Thank you," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "For fighting for us."

Eodor placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. "We fight for all the Commonwealth, Senator," he replied, his voice filled with quiet resolve. "And we won't stop until this war is over."

A wave of determined murmurs swept through the chamber as Senators, emboldened by their decision, began discussing the next steps. The air crackled with a newfound sense of unity, a testament to the power of shared purpose. This was just the beginning, but for Sylva, Eodor, and Terris, it was a victory that resonated far beyond the walls of the Senate chamber. It was a victory for peace, for justice, and perhaps, for the fragile bond between a son and his parents.

Terris then turned to Duke Brandor, a hint of skepticism lacing his voice. "So what are the chances that this will go through, milord?"

Duke Brandor chuckled, the sound warm and inviting. "Patience, Terris. The political gears of the Commonwealth may turn slowly, but they rarely grind to a halt. The evidence you presented was undeniable, and the tide of opinion has shifted significantly. I assure you, the Lord Minister is a close friend of mine, a man who values logic and reason above all else. Knowing him, he'll likely expedite the review process and push for swift action."

The hushed conversation was interrupted by the entrance of Sylva, her expression a mix of determination and nervousness. "Milord, there is a favor I must ask," she began, her voice uncharacteristically soft.

Duke Brandor, ever the gracious host, gestured for her to continue. "Please, by all means Sylva. Anything for the Heroes of Deeno."

Sylva took a deep breath, her cheeks flushing a faint pink. "It's about my parents," she admitted, her voice dropping to a whisper. "They're political refugees from the Vyskrieggan civil war. They're currently staying in an apartment complex with minimal security, and I fear for their safety."

A flicker of concern crossed the Duke's face. "I understand, Sylva. What kind of assistance are you seeking?"

Sylva hesitated for a moment, then blurted out, "Perhaps... they might possess valuable insights into the current situation in Vyskriegg. But more importantly, I was hoping to relocate them to a safer location."

Duke Brandor smiled warmly. "A perfectly reasonable request, Sylva. In fact," he turned to his wife, the Duchess Emma, "what do you think, Emma?"

The Duchess chuckled, her eyes twinkling with amusement. "Well, Eodor's room has been gathering dust for quite some time. Mayhaps we can offer them a haven here at the estate. They'll be well looked after, I assure you."

Sylva's eyes widened in surprise. "T-truly? You would do that for us, milady?" Her voice trembled with a mix of gratitude and disbelief.

Duchess Emma reached out and placed a gentle hand on Sylva's cheek. "Of course, my dear. It's a small token of our appreciation for the sacrifice you've made for the Commonwealth. Besides," she added with a playful glint in her eyes, "does the Magistra Order have any specific rules regarding... families?"

Sylva blushed furiously, stammering, "Well, yes - I mean, the Order doesn't have any regulations about forming a family..."

The Duchess then turned her gaze to Eodor, a knowing smile playing on her lips. "Speaking of families, Eodor," she began, her voice adopting a teasing tone, "how about you consider joining ours permanently? You know, by marrying in." She shot a playful wink at Sylva, who seemed to shrink under her gaze.

Eodor, catching on to his mother's jest, rolled his eyes playfully. "Not quite my style, mother," he replied with a chuckle.

Sylva, emboldened by Eodor's response, puffed out her chest in mock indignation. "Well, excuse me then!" she exclaimed, her voice laced with playful annoyance. "You're not exactly my type either, Mr. Jerk Boot! Terris is more like what I'm looking for anyway!"

Terris, who had been silently observing the exchange, found himself the target of Sylva's playful jab. He blinked in surprise, sputtering, "Wait- huh? Surely you're jesting, Sylva?"

Sylva let out a melodious giggle, the blush still painting her cheeks. Perhaps her words held a hint of truth, a playful confession masked by humor. Only she knew for sure, leaving Terris flustered and Eodor smirking good-naturedly. As the tension dissipated, a sense of camaraderie filled the air. Despite the weight of their mission, a moment of lightheartedness had brought them closer, forging a bond that transcended duty and obligation.

"Let's go and fetch my parents, I'll inform them of the change," Sylva announced, her voice regaining its usual strength. "Care to join me, you two?"

Eodor politely declined, stretching his arms above his head with a yawn. "It's been a long day, Sylva. I probably need some rest to process everything that happened."

Sylva nodded in understanding. "Oh okay then. Get some well-deserved rest, Eodor." She smiled warmly at him before turning to Terris.

"I'll come with you, no worries," Terris interjected, a hint of nervousness creeping into his voice. He wasn't sure if he was offering out of duty or a newfound desire to spend more time with Sylva.

Sylva's eyes widened momentarily before a grateful smile spread across her face. "Very well, let us be on our way then!" she exclaimed, a newfound pep in her step.

With a quick goodbye to the Duke and Duchess, Sylva led Terris out of the opulent estate and into the bustling city streets. The stark contrast between the luxurious grounds and the gritty cityscape served as a reminder of the vastness of the Commonwealth and the struggles of its people, a responsibility they now shared.

Navigating the crowded streets, Sylva explained her parents' location: a modest apartment complex on the outskirts of the city, far from the political heart. As they walked, a comfortable silence fell between them, punctuated only by the sounds of the city around them. Terris stole glances at Sylva, her profile etched with a quiet determination that he found strangely captivating.

Finally, they reached the unassuming apartment building. Sylva led the way up a flight of worn steps and down a dimly lit hallway, stopping at a door marked simply with the number '15.22'. Taking a deep breath, Sylva raised her hand and knocked, only to be caught in an explosion from the other side of the door.