The Revenant Stir

The singer's voice had just begun to rise, weaving through the chatter of the bar, when Kord finally decided to make his entrance. He strode in with his usual air of nonchalance, a half-eaten sweet bun in one hand and a faint smirk playing on his lips. Mirak, seated at one of the far tables, glanced at the barmaid and offered a small apology.

"Ah, forgive me," he said, sliding a resin chip across the table. "But it seems we won't be finishing our drinks after all. Our leader has something important to share."

Czenth, seated across from him, said nothing but grabbed his resin-filled mug and downed it in one long sip. Mirak followed suit, grimacing at the sharp bitterness of the brew. Together, they stood and maneuvered their way through the labyrinthine passages of the thieves' den, heading for the meeting hall at its heart.

When they arrived, only Selene and Menis were already there. Selene was off to the side, chatting with Kord, her tone light but tinged with urgency. Menis, on the other hand, lounged at the table, his gangly frame practically draped across the surface. The faint clicking of his arachnid-like appendages echoed softly as he shifted to lean closer to Mirak.

"What's got Czenth so quiet?" Menis asked, his segmented limbs twitching as he glanced at the masked man. "Usually, he's too busy berating us for how we handled things to sit still."

Mirak cast a quick glance at Czenth, who was leaning back in his chair, the metal veins on his head twitching faintly. "An error occurred while sabotaging the ships," Mirak said simply.

"An error?" Menis raised a brow. "Lancelot didn't seem to think so when you returned. He seemed… rather pleased, actually. I suppose we'll find out during the debriefing if it was as serious as you think."

Mirak's gaze flicked toward the door. "What about Lock?"

Menis hummed thoughtfully, a faint smirk tugging at the corners of his lips. "No word yet. I imagine he's still meandering around Koona, playing at his scholar routine."

"He said his mission wouldn't take longer than ours," Mirak pressed, his tone clipped.

Menis clicked his mandibles in what passed for laughter. "Ah, the Revenant's own Publici scholar worries for his kindred spirit. How touching. I wouldn't fret too much—Lock is likely enjoying the Koona nightlife."

Mirak's jaw tightened. "He was sent to kill a cousin of the Lord of the Omen House," he said evenly.

"Hmm," Menis murmured, his tone suddenly more serious. The arachnid appendages on his back flared out briefly. "Speaking of arrivals… Volim and Damion are here."

Mirak turned to him. "How do you—"

He was interrupted by the sound of Volim's wooden staff tapping sharply against the glassy floor, each strike punctuated by the heavy, deliberate footsteps of Damion. The towering mass of scarlet muscle and ashen bone loomed behind Volim, his presence unsettling even in silence.

"Volim," Selene called out brightly, stepping toward him. "How did the mission go?"

"Frustrating," Volim replied curtly, his voice clipped with irritation. "I wasn't aware my time was so meaningless to Lancelot. Either Kord or you should have been sent to deal with the resin mines instead of me."

Selene smiled, undeterred. "But it was a success, wasn't it?"

Volim motioned to Damion, who stood silently, saliva flecking onto the floor from his clenched jaw. "The brute didn't give the Watchers much of a choice."

Selene's grin widened. "A success is a success."

"Ever the optimist, Selene," Kord said, popping the remainder of his sweet bun into his mouth. "I'm glad at least one of us keeps the energy in this place lively. Otherwise, my hair would turn gray like yours, Volim."

Before Volim could retort, the door opened again. This time, Lock entered, caked in blood and limping faintly. His shoulders sagged with exhaustion, and his normally sharp gaze was dull with fatigue.

"Not very cheery at the moment, Kord," Lock muttered as he made his way to the table, collapsing into a chair with a grunt.

Mirak started to rise, concern flashing across his face. "Stay seated, Mirak," Lock said, waving him off. "I'm still in one piece."

"The blood on your clothes speaks for itself," Kord said lightly, though there was a flicker of concern in his expression.

Selene swatted Kord's arm. "Does it look like he's in the mood for jokes? Lock, you need a shower—and you should check those wounds."

Lock sighed, leaning back in his chair. "No. Let's finish this first. Mirak and I still need to head back to the Fell estate afterward."

The room fell silent as Lancelot entered last. His steps were measured, the soft click of his boots against the glass floor echoing faintly. He moved with an effortless grace, his tall frame imposing as he straightened and took his seat at the head of the table. Folding one leg over the other, he paused, surveying the room with a calm, unreadable expression.

"I would like to hear of the missions," Lancelot said, his voice smooth and commanding.

Volim spoke first. "It went as expected. The Watchers controlling the resin mines accepted the information on their counterparts. It'll be a dance of knives between the houses in the coming weeks."

"No threats, then?" Lancelot asked, arching a finely shaped brow.

Volim scoffed. "Do not feign concern, Lancelot. You know well there were threats."

Lancelot nodded, seemingly unbothered. "I thought there would be. Was Damion sufficient as protection?"

"Yes," Volim said. "The man-turned-beast—"

Menis cut him off, his voice sharp. "Finish that sentence, Volim, and I'll ensure it's not just your eyesight you lose next time."

Tension crackled in the room as the two stared each other down.

Selene sighed, stepping in to diffuse the situation. "Leave it to me and Kord." She placed a small metallic key with jagged spirals on the table. "It looks useless, but we retrieved it."

Lancelot picked it up, inspecting it briefly. "All part of the coming mission," he said, though he offered no further details.

"Lock?" Lancelot turned his attention to the bloodied Publici.

"Hilmico Omen is dead, along with his personal guard," Lock said, wincing as he shifted in his seat.

Lancelot's expression softened into something resembling satisfaction. "Excellent. His death removes a significant obstacle."

Mirak's mind lingered on the implications of Hilmico's death. The nobleman had been one of the most influential figures in Koona, his warriors rivaling a private army. His marriage to a member of House Fell had kept the oldest noble houses from open conflict. Killing him would destabilize the already fragile balance of power—but that was Lancelot's intent.

Before Mirak could speak, Czenth's voice cut through the room. "Mirak and I encountered one of the Ten."

The air shifted at those words. The others fell silent, their expressions ranging from concern to unease.

"The Didacts know of us, then," Lancelot said, his gaze sharpening. "What Essence did it use?"

"An Augur," Czenth replied.

"Are you certain?" Kord asked, a bead of sweat forming on his brow.

Czenth's voice was firm. "I've dealt with you long enough to recognize when an Augur is rooting around in my mind."

Kord leaned back, his expression unreadable. "Ah, but there are so few of them left. I'd like to meet another someday."

Mirak coughed into his fist. "I doubt they'd be willing to talk."

Lancelot's gaze swept the room, pulling their focus back to him. "The Didacts' boldness is troubling. I expected them to notice us, but not to act so quickly. Times have changed."

Volim's lip curled. "Perhaps your vision is clouded in your old age."

Lancelot smiled at him, unperturbed. "Perhaps."

Czenth supported him. "The current sorcerers are blinded by their own wealth and luxury. The Didacts know this and are exploiting it. But yes, their quick response is surprising."

Lancelot nodded. "We'll need to proceed with delicacy. From now on, no mission will be undertaken by fewer than three members. Kord, you'll join Mirak and Lock in the espionage of House Fell."

Kord inclined his head. "Understood, boss."

Lancelot continued. "Missions will be fewer and more calculated. I'll assign them personally." He rose from his seat, signaling the end of the meeting.

Kord stopped him with one final question. "What about stirring up the public?"

Lancelot's lips curved into a faint smile. "That task will fall to Volim and me. The Revenant must continue to be a symbol—thieves who rob the rich to give to the poor. The people love the idea. Perform your roles well, and I'll spin the tales."

Selene bounced on her heels. "We won't let you down, sir."

"Our goal depends on each of you," Lancelot said. Then, without another word, he turned and left, his measured footsteps fading into the distance.