Invasion of the Palace [2]

The room grew quiet as Lancelot's gaze swept over the gathered members of the Revenant. His presence, a mix of calm authority and unyielding control, silenced even the most restless murmurs. One by one, his eyes locked on each member, assigning their roles with deliberate precision.

He pointed to Damion first. "You will handle the noble's guards," he ordered. His tone left no room for negotiation, and Damion gave a curt nod, his face betraying no emotion.

Lancelot's gaze then shifted to Czenth, who leaned back against the wall, arms crossed and his orc-forged mechanical limb gleaming faintly in the low light. "Harmony will be required in great quantities for what lies ahead," Lancelot said.

Czenth's lips twisted into a sardonic grin. "Then get your walking conduit," he muttered, the metallic fingers of his arm tapping rhythmically on his elbow.

Lancelot ignored the jab, his tone unchanging. "Your task is to take control of the Palace's tower. At its peak, you'll activate the orc device—only that arm of yours can awaken it. Resin will be abundant in the tower, and you'll use as much as necessary to create a bottleneck. No ships will enter or leave the harbor. The mainland will be cut off entirely from the Palace. Do I make myself clear?"

Czenth shrugged, his demeanor flippant. "Crystal. It'll get done."

Turning to Selene, Lancelot continued, "You will deal with the Palace's advisors and Sorcerers. Their whispers and manipulations have bound Koona in chains for too long. It's time to silence them. Once they're eliminated, the flow of Essences across Lorian will begin to shift."

Selene rolled her shoulders, a confident smile spreading across her face. "Finally," she said, her voice laced with eager anticipation. "I'll get to use Omphalos against those cowards. Watching them squirm will be a treat. You're too generous, Lancelot."

Lancelot's gaze sharpened, though he allowed her comment to pass without response. His focus shifted to the final trio: Mirak, Kord, and Lock. "The three of you," he began, his voice heavy with significance, "will be tasked with the most critical mission. Deep in the Palace lies a stone door—one that has remained sealed for centuries. Your task is to open it and bring its contents directly to me."

Mirak's breath hitched at the mention of the door. His mind raced, images of the ancient, impenetrable barrier flashing before his eyes. It had haunted his dreams for as long as he could remember. He felt his pulse quicken, anticipation and unease warring within him.

"That's... quite the tall order," Lock muttered, his usual grin faltering slightly.

Lancelot didn't acknowledge the comment, continuing as if Lock hadn't spoken. "Volim and I will handle the treasury. Take whatever resources you need along the way, but understand this—your task is the only one that absolutely must be completed. If everything else falls apart, this mission will ensure our success."

The weight of his words pressed down on the trio. The room grew quieter still as Lancelot raised a silver chalice, his voice carrying a solemn gravitas. "For revolution. For the future of Koona."

The phrase lingered in the air, its meaning twisting in Mirak's mind. A revolution? He suppressed a scoff. They were thieves, not heroes. They sought riches and resin, not justice. But Lancelot believed otherwise, his conviction unshakable. Did that make him right? Mirak didn't know, and deep down, he didn't want to.

As the other members began to disperse, Lancelot raised a hand. "Lock, Mirak, Kord. Stay behind. There are details regarding the door that you'll need to hear."

A thrill ran through Mirak, sharp and electric. This was it. The door that had whispered to him in his dreams, its secrets tantalizingly out of reach, would finally be opened.

When the others had left, Lancelot stepped down from the balcony, his boots tapping softly against the floor. His movements were measured, deliberate. "Each of you was chosen for this mission because you have proven yourselves capable, adaptable, and reliable. I trust you three above all others to see this through."

Lock raised a skeptical brow. "We've only been with the Revenant for a little over a year. That's not exactly a long résumé."

"Time means little," Lancelot replied smoothly. "What matters is your ability to adapt. Volim would destroy what lies behind the door. Selene's impetuousness would see her fail to reach it. Czenth... wouldn't bother trying. And Damion? He would betray us all without a second thought." He folded his hands behind his back, his gaze steady. "You three are different."

Mirak's curiosity burned brighter. He asked the question that had been gnawing at him since the mission was assigned. "What's behind the door?"

Lancelot's expression didn't change, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—regret, perhaps. "I wish I could tell you," he said softly. "But I'm bound by a contract. Speaking of its contents would... be unwise."

Lock crossed his arms, leaning back. "So we're stealing something you can't even describe. That's reassuring."

Lancelot sighed, running a hand through his hair. "What I can tell you is this: the door contains something crucial to the future of Koona. None of you do this for altruistic reasons, I know that. But what lies behind that door is the key to ensuring that this city changes."

Mirak frowned. "Why not just destroy the door?"

"It's impossible," Lancelot said plainly. "The door is a fusion of Neph-woven stone and Dwarf-forged metal. It is impervious to any force known to Lorian, save perhaps an Obelisk. But we don't need to destroy it. The key we obtained will unlock it."

He held up the ancient key, its surface etched with intricate symbols that seemed to shimmer faintly. "This is only one half of the mechanism. The other half is... elsewhere. But with this piece, we can open the door."

Lancelot's expression darkened slightly as he added, "This will be your only warning: do not listen to the door. It will speak to you, tempt you, lie to you. Do not be fooled. I trust you three because I believe you are strong enough to resist its influence."

"That's not ominous at all," Lock muttered, rolling his eyes.

Kord smirked, his fingers brushing against the edge of his neck as a faint pressure pulsed in Mirak's mind. "Admit it, Mirak. You're dying to see what's inside. You're a scholar. Curiosity is in your blood."

"Kord." Lancelot's tone was sharp, a warning.

Kord saluted lazily. "Yes, yes. No listening to spooky doors. Understood."

Lancelot exhaled slowly, as though bracing himself. He raised a hand, and a serpentine form of bone and Essence coiled behind him, its single glowing eye shifting between them. The presence was unnerving, a reminder of just how dangerous their leader truly was.

"I trust you three," Lancelot said again, his voice softer now. "And because I trust you, I'll share a glimpse of the truth."

The creature's glowing eye fixed on Lock. "I see you standing over a grave as rain falls in Koona. Mirak's umbrella shields you as you leave the site together."

It turned to Kord. "You, the youngest of us, sit at a picnic with the Revenant and a young girl. As the day darkens, you and your sister return home, carrying what you bought."

Finally, the eye locked onto Mirak. "And you, Mirak. Yours was the simplest vision, but the hardest to achieve. I can help you rise to the level of Solomon Fell. You can stand alongside the legends of Lorian and gaze into every layer of existence. All I ask is that you deliver the contents of the door to me."

The words hung in the air, a promise—and a warning.