Memories of the Past

They slipped out of the mansion without much trouble. Guards patrolled the noble wings, not the servant quarters. White cloaks billowed like ghosts as the group darted across rooftops, weaving through the districts and slipping into the shadowy labyrinth of the underways. The Lunar Storms churned overhead, their pale light fracturing into misty ribbons. A rare smile tugged at the corner of Mirak's mouth. The cold seeped into his bones, an icy reminder that he was alive—still tethered to this world, even if by a thread.

Fragments of mooneye silk from their cloaks fluttered in the sharp winds, their leathers groaning softly with each movement. They moved with purpose, silent and efficient, until they finally landed on a terrace overlooking their target: the Sixth District Museum.

Selene and Volim were already crouched in position, their white cloaks blending seamlessly into the shadows. Volim's sharp eyes scanned the scene below as he muttered, "Masks up. We are Revenant, not some street scoundrels."

Lock tugged at the edge of his mask, frowning. "Breathing in these things is hell."

Mirak said nothing, simply pulling the black fabric over his face. The scent of old fabric and resin filled his nose.

Volim made a sharp clicking noise with his tongue, signaling them to shift under the cover of the building's shadow. Above, the Saki glided through the air on their usual patrols, their sleek forms slicing through the storm-lit sky. The group stayed pressed against the roof's edge, hidden from view, as the beasts passed overhead.

"What did the letter say about the assignment?" Volim asked, his tone clipped.

Lock shrugged. "Lancelot wants us to hit this museum. Something about bringing the Sixth District into the fold."

"Anything else?" Volim pressed.

Lock smirked. "Only that you would have all the juicy details."

Selene chimed in, her voice low and teasing. "We're after two items—a book on the architecture of Koona and a wrapped orc arm."

Volim let out a disgruntled growl, his fingers drumming against the hilt of his walking stick. "That bastard. He always waits until the last minute to spring details like this."

"Probably to keep us from backing out," Lock added dryly.

Mirak ignored the bickering. "How many guards?" he asked, his voice calm but sharp.

Selene turned to him with a sly grin. "Acting like a Revenant already, Mirak?"

"Selene—" Mirak began, but Volim cut him off with a brisk wave of his hand.

"Four guards on the roof," Volim answered. "Two for you and Lock."

"Regular guards or Saki?" Lock asked, already fingering the hilt of his blade. The moonlight gleamed off the steel, flashing like a predator's tooth.

"Regular," Volim replied.

Lock let out a relieved grunt. "We'll manage, then."

Selene gave Lock a wolfish smile. "I don't know what's scarier—the fact that you'll manage or the fact that Lancelot trusts you to."

"What are we waiting for, then?" Lock quipped, rolling his shoulders.

Selene chuckled, her voice like silk over steel. "I like your style, Lock."

Volim rose to his feet, his walking stick clicking softly against the rooftop. "Stay quiet. We move on my mark."

But Selene was already sprinting toward the guards, her white cloak billowing like the edge of a stormcloud. Lock followed suit, and Mirak found himself only a step behind. Volim groaned in frustration. "Impatient fools," he muttered, gripping his staff tightly as he followed at a slower pace.

The guards on the roof were oblivious, one of them leaning lazily against the museum's glass dome. Smoke curled from the resin leaf tucked between his lips. "Late shifts are the worst," he muttered.

"Stop whining," the second guard snapped. "You had the whole day to yourself."

"These storms always put me on edge," the first replied.

"There's nothing out here but the Saki," the second said with a dismissive wave. "Who'd be dumb enough to rob a museum?"

They never saw the Revenant coming.

Selene struck first. She rolled like a shadow into the first guard, her legs coiling around his neck in a swift, brutal chokehold. His weapon clattered to the ground as he gasped for air. Mirak surged forward, his fingers tingling as the roar of Atta filled his ears—a rushing, untamed power that begged to be unleashed.

The second guard turned, startled, his falx blade raised. He charged at Mirak, but the Publici was faster. A shield of Atta materialized before him, its translucent edges shimmering in the storm's light. The guard's blade struck it with a deafening clang, hovering mere inches from Mirak's face.

With a sharp flick of his wrist, Mirak redirected the shield. The force rippled outward, catching the guard off balance. In a single fluid motion, the Atta transformed—shifting from a barrier to a violent, slicing gale. The invisible force slammed into the guard, throwing him backward into the wall. He crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

Selene, still perched on her now-limp target, glanced over her shoulder. "Not bad, Mirak. If you're not careful, I might just steal you as my partner."

Mirak wiped the sweat from his brow. "She says this while sitting on a full-grown man."

Selene flashed him a grin, her platinum blonde hair catching the ethereal glow of the Lunar Storms. "Kemeris and Harmony. Think of it—you and me, the perfect team."

"I already have a partner," Mirak replied, his tone flat.

"Does your partner have my charm?" she teased, leaning closer.

"No," he admitted, "but I think that's for the best."

Selene's laugh was soft, almost musical, as she stood and dusted herself off. "Pity," she said. "Still, I'll give you points for loyalty."

Lock's voice rang out from the far side of the roof. "The other guards are down! Volim took care of them—heroic effort, really."

"I do not need your credit, Lock," Volim replied dryly. "But yes, they were dealt with."

Mirak turned back to Selene. "What now?"

"Cut the dome," Volim ordered, his voice carrying a faint edge of disdain when he said Atta.

Mirak didn't respond, stepping forward and placing his hand against the glass. The power surged through him again, the edges of the dome vibrating as Atta coiled through the surface like threads of wind. Slowly, carefully, the glass gave way, separating cleanly under his touch. He pulled the pane free and set it aside.

"It's done," Mirak said quietly.

Selene nodded, tossing a rope over the edge of the opening. "I'll go first. Try not to ruin my descent, boys."

With practiced ease, she slid down the rope, landing softly on the museum floor. Lock followed with a little less grace, muttering under his breath about the indignities of working with professionals. Mirak descended last, his movements careful and deliberate.

The museum was a treasure trove of artifacts: ancient weapons, gleaming jewels, forgotten tomes. Selene wasted no time, stuffing a rugged sack with relics of every shape and size.

"Where are the book and the arm?" Mirak asked, his voice cutting through the silence.

Selene shrugged, her fingers delicately lifting a golden necklace studded with blue gems. "We'll get to them. Priorities, darling."

Lock let out a low whistle, eyeing the growing pile in Selene's bag. "Looks heavy."

"And you'd do well to remember that," Selene replied, her gaze lingering on a chunk of resin that shimmered like molten gold.

Mirak, however, felt his frustration growing. "What is all of this for?" he asked.

Selene paused, holding an ancient crown in her hands—a brutal circlet of forged swords. She smiled faintly. "Lancelot points, we follow. Take what you want, and he never says a word. Simple, really."

To Mirak, her casual acceptance of the chain around her neck was almost worse than the chain itself. But he said nothing, turning his attention back to the task at hand.

Selene patted his cheek. "Be a dear and grab what we came for, will you? I'll handle the real treasure."

And with that, the Revenant continued their work, the storm swirling above them like a restless, watchful eye.