The Power of the Fell

"Do you believe I have time for your games? You still think of me as some stricken girl fawning over knights," Sanni said, her voice sharp and unwavering. She sat with perfect poise, her back straight, one leg folded elegantly over the other. Her amethyst eyes, cool and commanding, fixed on the man before her.

The man in golden robes shifted in his chair, his crown—the symbol of the thieves' amphitheater—slightly askew atop his head. He gave her a strained smile. "No, Lady Fell. I would never presume such a thing. The thieves' amphitheaters continue to follow the orders of the Eight Great Houses, as they always have."

Sanni's scowl deepened, her tone like iron. "Then you have become the bumbling fool you pretend to be. A wall of Koona has fallen. A crater now sits where the city's primary source of resin once stood. Lords and ladies of the Great Houses murdered in their sleep, museums stripped of relics that built the foundation of Koona's history. Shall I go on, or is that enough for you to comprehend the state of your failure?"

The King of Thieves stiffened but managed a placating tone. "Lady Fell, I do not control everything in the underground. Those… acts… are clearly the work of the Revenant."

Sanni exhaled through her nose, a subtle but clear sign of her disdain. "Solomon speaks openly about watching every amphitheater burn to ash. I think it is long overdue. House Fell will not tolerate thieves scavenging the remains of corpses. You will receive one warning when he comes for you—but only one."

The man's composure faltered, his tone turning desperate. "Now, now, Lady Fell, there is no need to act rashly. Surely this can be resolved without resorting to such extremes."

Her gaze narrowed. "No. House Fell must act while the damage is still containable. Unfortunately for you, that means removing the amphitheaters entirely."

"Solomon is wise, but even he must know such a task would take years to accomplish—" the man began.

"Oh, you think that?" Sanni cut in, her voice rising just enough to make the room feel colder. "It seems your wealth has dulled your wit as much as your vision. Solomon will remind the underbelly why they remain hidden in their little dens. Test your luck with him or solve the problem. Either way, the amphitheaters will burn—that is not up for debate. If you want to survive, you will capture the Revenant."

The King of Thieves stood abruptly, his golden robes catching the light of the flickering lanterns. "You speak with conviction, but what of my guards? I asked for more men, yet—"

The ground beneath them trembled violently, cutting him off mid-sentence. The building quaked, chairs and goblets rattling as the air filled with a low rumble.

"What was that?" the King hissed, his eyes darting toward the windows. The Lunar Storm outside blanketed the villa in its swirling, impenetrable miasma.

Sanni's guards gripped their weapons, instinctively taking a defensive stance. The leader of the pair bowed slightly. "Lady Fell, we'll investigate."

But Sanni raised a delicate hand, halting them. "No. Let the King of Thieves' men deal with it. I don't need my guards wasting their time on false alarms." Her tone was calm, her authority absolute. The guards lowered their weapons but remained vigilant.

The King of Thieves hissed, his panic barely concealed. "Foolish girl! Your arrogance will get us both killed. They're coming for me—I know it. Your guards could save us. We have to leave!"

Sanni leaned forward in her chair, the white robes draped elegantly across her shoulders and back. Her amethyst gaze locked on him, sharp as a blade. "We are not finished, King of Thieves."

"They'll put your head on a pike!" he snapped, his voice shaking. "The Revenant are above both nobles and thieves. You think the Great Houses control everything, but I've had men watch the Revenant. They're as powerful as the stories claim."

One of Sanni's guards stepped forward, his blade gleaming in the dim light. "You will address her correctly, or you won't need to fear the Revenant," he growled.

The King of Thieves froze, his wide eyes flicking between the drawn swords. He adjusted his tone quickly, bowing his head. "My apologies, Lady Fell."

The guards relaxed, their weapons returning to their sides.

Sanni's voice was like ice. "I have no use for ghost stories. They are men, nothing more. I'd offer them your title if it meant replacing you with a more competent thief." She leaned closer, her expression deadly calm. "Unfortunately, I can't send a Silver Mark assassin after them."

The King of Thieves bristled but held his tongue. "You can't kill me," he finally muttered. "Or do you have the hubris to start a civil war among the Houses? Without me, the thieves will be let loose, and chaos will reign."

Sanni's expression didn't waver, though her amethyst eyes seemed to pierce through him. He looked like a shriveling man dressed in gold, clinging to a title that had long since lost its power.

It was a waste of time dealing with him. If Solomon hadn't left that morning, he would have ended this farce in minutes. Replacing the King with his son would only worsen the power struggles destabilizing Koona. The Great Houses had grown stagnant, and now new players were moving on the board.

Sanni let him stew in silence before asking, "The title King of Thieves—what does it mean?"

The man hesitated. "That I am a king," he answered cautiously.

Sanni's lips curled into a sharp grin. "Yes, a king. A king of outcasts and criminals. How grand a title. Do you know what my family rules?"

The man blinked, uncertain. "Merchants?"

"No," Sanni replied, her grin widening. "House Fell controls imports, taxes, and trade. Everything you drape yourself in—gold, silks, jewels—we hold it all. What if, for a moment, House Fell decided your gold exports were impractical? What if we told the Didact to stop accepting gold in Koona? How much would it cost you to buy even a sliver of the treasure you so adore?"

The King of Thieves swallowed hard. "House Fell is… strong."

"Then remember where your loyalties lie, old man," Sanni snapped, her tone sharp as a whip. She leaned forward, her eyes narrowing. "Do I look happy?"

The man shook his head slowly.

The conversation was interrupted by a heavy thud in the corridor. One of Sanni's guards turned. "My lady?"

The King of Thieves spoke hurriedly, his voice dropping to a near-whisper. "I have information about the Ghost of the Lunar Storms."

Sanni gestured for him to continue, her curiosity piqued.

The man leaned forward, his demeanor shifting. "He moves like the Lunar Storm itself, appearing as if from nowhere. But I know his name. It is—"

The heavy wooden doors splintered suddenly, and the guards were jolted to attention. Sanni turned to the commotion, her sharp eyes narrowing.

Standing in the doorway was a figure cloaked in alabaster, the shreds of his cape blending with the mist of the Lunar Storm behind him. His form was tall and wiry, hunched slightly as though concealing a deadly strength. The shackle on his wrist and the absence of his left hand made Sanni's blood run cold.

It was Mirak.

Even with his hood drawn low, the details were unmistakable. His torn sleeves, simple black boots, and that gauntlet—it all painted the same picture. Her wayward servant, a Revenant. The Ghost of the Lunar Storms.

The King of Thieves shrieked, his voice breaking. "He's come for me! The Ghost of the Lunar Storms! Stay back, karnen spawn! I've prayed to the Lady of the Flesh—she'll protect me!"

Mirak ignored the man's rambling, his gaze sweeping the room. Sanni's guards lunged, blades flashing.

The first sword stopped mid-swing, as though caught by an invisible force. Mirak sidestepped smoothly, releasing his hold just as gravity pulled the blade downward. It struck the floor harmlessly. A single motion of Mirak's hand sent the guard slamming into the wall, his chest heaving but alive.

The second guard charged, but he too crumpled in seconds.

Sanni's breath caught in her throat. These guards had trained since they could hold a sword, and yet this man—a Publici with no weapon—had defeated them with ease.

Her mind reeled as Mirak approached, his steps unhurried, his presence undeniable. For the first time, she understood: men with Essences were monsters.