Ace of Swords

The morning air was mild, the scent of baked bread and ground coffee trailing down the narrow street.

She walked at an even pace. A fitted jacket rested over her high-collared blouse, plain trousers meeting tall leather boots. Her shoulder-length brown hair was tied back loosely, neat but not meticulous. Eyes the color of a calm lake scanned the stores ahead.

The café came into view, with pale wood trim and a half-curtained window. She stepped inside without pause.

A few patrons murmured softly over their cups and a server nodded. She offered a small gesture in return and made her order in a calm fashion, "Black tea. No sugar."

She chose a seat by the wall, near the window, with a composed posture and a straightened back and one leg crossed over the other. Her fingers drummed lightly against the cup's handle as she waited.

A few minutes passed, then the door opened.

She glanced up and a man stepped through.

Tall and broad-shouldered beneath a dark coat. Tousled brown curls framed a sharp, measured face. His dark vest is buttoned high, sporting a black glove on his left hand.

He scanned the room once, then turned towards her.

She didn't flinch, only observing the newcomer.

His steps are firm and unhurried. He is not a soldier, nor a noble. He is someone used to closed rooms and colder streets.

She read restraint and practice. A touch of patience in his movements, like someone used to being seen, but not known.

He reached her table. "Good morning," he said with a nod and even voice. "Mind if I join you?"

He was already pulling out the chair.

She inclined her head once. "Please."

He sat. Then a beat later, the server approached.

"Coffee. Black," he said, glancing only briefly toward the waitress. "Nothing else."

The server nodded and stepped away.

Their eyes met again. She returned his gaze, but only briefly. Measured and polite.

"I assume you're here to honor the commission we discussed?" she asked in a low and clear voice.

"I am," he said. "I'd like to begin with a simple question. What's the destination?"

"For now," she said, matter-of-factly, "we'll depart to Eskelson Harbor." Her tone was steady. "It'll be the initial leg. From there, we move further."

Victor closed his eyes briefly. He took a slow sip from the cup before setting it down with a soft click.

At that sound, her eyes dilated.

He kept his tone neutral. "Your name, if I may? My name is Victor Hale. As a courtesy and as an apology. I should have asked properly before."

She inhaled once, then exhaled. "Halsey Ardonia."

His brow lifted slightly. "Ardonia?"

Halsey leaned back.

There was no hesitation in her voice. "Yes." Then, like a student asked to explain the basics of a theory she'd long since mastered, she began.

"The Ardonia family was born at the beginning of the Fourth Epoch, during the collapse of the early peace between the three great Churches. When the Church of the Eternal Blazing Sun attacked the headquarters of the Church of the God of Wisdom and Knowledge, chaos followed. In that window, several members of the Wisdom Church split away, seizing artifacts, characteristics, and forbidden knowledge."

She paused briefly, letting him listen.

"They became the Ardonia family. Under the Solomon Empire, we flourished. We were scholars, political stewards, educators. We served the Empire directly. And after its fall, we integrated into the Trunsoest Parliament."

Her tea had grown lukewarm, but she didn't touch it.

"When the Four Emperors war ended, the Churches began hunting angelic families. We made a deal. In exchange for survival, the Ardonia family pledged complete service to the Church of Wisdom. Now we act as its political and academic arm, especially in Lenburg and cities where their presence holds sway."

Victor gave a short nod. No surprise in his features.

"Impressive pedigree," he said mildly. "Which leads to my next question."

He looked her in the eye.

"What brings someone like you here? And why the need for protection?"

Halsey's posture eased, as if she were slipping into the familiarity of a lecture hall.

"I'm a Minor Arcana in the Tarot Club. The 'Ace of Swords.'"

She said it plainly, as if discussing her title in an academic council.

"After a recent operation with my superior, I was entrusted with something valuable and important. I'm to deliver it discreetly to Bayam, the headquarters of the Church of The Fool and of the New City of Silver."

She tapped her index finger once against her cup.

"Our team created distractions, buying time. But even that has limits. Those who want it will eventually notice they are pursuing the wrong target."

She looked back at him. "My time is dwindling. And the other members are… indisposed."

Then she said, calmly, "Which is why I need you."

Victor's fingers traced the rim of his cup once.

"And your family?" he asked. "It must take some effort to move outside their gaze. Especially if one belongs to a secret organization."

Halsey didn't shift.

"My entry into the Tarot Club was made possible through my teacher," she said. "I report to him when I can."

She took a slow breath. "The Ardonia family is still active. Our Ancestor remains the head, deeply seated within the high ranks of the Church of the God of Wisdom and Knowledge . There are others, a few Saints. My teacher is one, though he resides on the periphery."

She paused, as if checking whether to elaborate further. "Our Ancestor manages the important matters. But he allows the Saints to pursue their own efforts, as long as they don't threaten the whole. That's what allows people like me, and my teacher, to act without drawing undue attention."

Victor nodded once, taking another sip from his coffee. The silence between them lingered for a beat.

"And what is it," he asked, setting the cup down gently, "that you need delivered to Bayam?"

Halsey didn't look away. "A Card of Blasphemy from the Moon Pathway." She said.

Victor paused only for a second, before exhaling softly. "Interesting."

Halsey didn't comment.

He leaned back, watching the reflection of the window light in the surface of his drink.

"When do we depart?"

"This afternoon," she replied, turning toward the window, briefly checking the light outside.

"We'll start from Eskelson Harbor. Then, we move to different routes than the normal one. It lowers the risk of interception, whether by the Rose School of Thought, or anyone else."

Victor nodded once. "Understood. I'll handle the tickets," he said calmly. "We'll meet at the harbor at departure."

He rose from his seat. With no further words, he placed a few Soli on the table, adjusted his coat, and walked out.

Halsey watched him go.

Her gaze followed the swing of the door, lingering even after it clicked shut. There was no suspicion in her eyes, only trust.

She exhaled softly and stood with deliberate ease. After placing a few Soli of her own beside the empty cup, she turned and left the café.

Her steps were calm and measured.

She made her way through the brightening streets of Conant without hurry, eyes drifting across passing faces, but never lingering. She didn't look back.

Moments later, the café door opened again. Two men exited, walking in quiet sequence. Neither spoke as they turned in the same direction.

…

Two men walked with quiet steps just ahead of the morning crowd.

One wore a loose brown cloak, hood down, with thinning gray hair and a faded satchel slung over one shoulder. His eyes were sunken, his walk unremarkable. The other, younger, broader, with sand-colored curls, moved with a slightly straighter back. A merchant's coat hung from his frame, with a crooked collar.

Neither of them paid any mind to the woman ahead.

Jack didn't need to.

The one who'd spoken to her hadn't been either of them.

It had been the projection of Hvis Rambis.

With it, he had hypnotized her to trust him and answer honestly, as if he was an old friend of hers. Over the coming days, that trust would continue to deepen—naturally.

Jack scoffed under his breath.

How wonderful. Not only was he dancing around high-sequence Readers capable of seeing through the marionettes, projections and illusions… now there was a Card of Blasphemy involved. Moon Pathway, no less. Perfect. Just when I thought I'd managed to gain some distance from the Great Mother, she slinks right back in. Claws first.

His boots tapped against the pavement.

He wasn't worried about her Major Arcana. He had some guesses. And Halsey's own words confirmed they were too tangled elsewhere to act.

Still… He wouldn't forget them.

He tilted his head toward the marionette walking beside him. How Curious. A Minor Arcana I wasn't aware of. That teacher of hers, he's worth knowing more about.

They turned a corner.

A bar sat near the end of the alley. Stained shutters, faded door frame, but not empty. Jack pushed it open with a shoulder.

No one looked twice.

He entered with Erynos beside him, both shifting postures subtly, like men who'd been here before.

The room smelled of smoke and salt. A few men played cards near the back. Someone else coughed near the window.

Jack scanned the crowd once, then found what he was looking for.

A heavy-set man, mid-forties. Oil-streaked overcoat, leather gloves half-peeled at the wrists. Beard trimmed short but uneven and eyes that kept scanning the room.

An adventurer. This will do, he lampooned.

The marionette moved.

He approached the man like someone with a job to offer, eyes narrowed, expression serious.

Jack remained at the door, back to the wall, watching everything unfold.

He stopped at a table near the far end.

A broad-shouldered man sat there, leaning back, one boot resting against the leg of a second chair. His beard was trimmed short and uneven. A thick scar traced the side of his jaw. His coat was worn out, sleeves rolled to the elbow. He looked halfway through a heavy mug of beer, eyes half-lidded, but watching.

Erynos paused beside him.

"Lars Denholm," he said. "The Reaper."

The man didn't glance up. 

"I want to commission a job."

Lars then scoffed "You lot always do," he said with a rough voice, just above a murmur. "But you walk in with soft shoes and thin spines. Which are you?"

Erynos didn't react. "The pay is several dozen thousand pounds and the job's local. No trail. No paperwork. No noise," he said evenly. "Shouldn't take more than a day."

That earned him a raised brow.

Lars turned slightly, finally facing him proper. "You're serious?"

"I wouldn't be here otherwise."

Lars stared at him. Then drained the rest of his mug in one long swallow, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand.

"Alright. What's the work?"

Erynos leaned in slightly.

"A cull," he said. "One target."

Lars let out a short breath. His lip curled into a brief smile.

He set the mug down harder than needed, the wood giving a dull thud. His eye twitched. A pulse ran beneath the skin just above his cheek.

"And who's dying?"

"It's delicate," Erynos replied. "Not the kind of thing I say in public."

"Walk with me."

Lars watched him a second longer, then he stood, dragging the chair back with a slow scrape wearing on his coat.

"Fine," he said. "Let's go somewhere quiet."

They stepped toward the door.

At the far side of the room, Jack stood and followed, unnoticed.

They exited quietly, cutting through side streets and alleys, until they reached the familiar building of the Rainhaven Lodge.

Inside, they passed the lobby without pause and climbed the stairs towards Jack's room.

Lars walked ahead without speaking, holding his hands in his coat pockets and having loose shoulders. Erynos followed two steps behind. Jack trailed them both casually.

Inside, the room was dim, with curtains drawn. The projection of Victor Hale stood near the desk with arms crossed, waiting.

Lars stepped in and the door closed softly behind them.

He glanced once around the space, not alarmed, but alert.

"This is where we'll talk, then?" he muttered.

Victor didn't answer and took two slow steps forward.

Lars blinked once, then again.

Victor's eyes met his, and didn't look away.

Jack didn't move, neither did Erynos. The room itself seemed to hush.

Subtle vibrations passed through the floorboards. A warmth behind Lars's eyes. He didn't recognize it.

Victor raised one hand slowly. Just a simple gesture. Lars shifted his weight. His lips parted faintly.

The connection deepened.

Beneath it all, the surface of Lars's mind rippled like still water catching a stone. Within that stillness, a shape began to form. Jack's voice layered over the projection's, speaking softly now through the subconscious.

"You've taken a job. A commission. The target is not a mark, but a ward. A woman. She's under pursuit. You've agreed to keep her safe."

The words sank. "Your room is across the hall. You booked it two days ago. You prefer to stay nearby when the job involves proximity."

Lars blinked and Victor stepped closer.

"You've seen her already. Her name is Halsey Ardonia. You won't ask more than needed. She'll recognize you."

Another ripple. A shift in Lars's breath. Victor lifted a finger, lightly tapped Lars's chest.

"Forget this moment. Forget this room."

The suggestion took hold.

In Lars's island of consciousness, unseen but present, a new platform rose. A cue shaped like a folded paper note, embedded in the soil. Memory wrapped around it like roots finding stone.

Victor's eyes dulled, as if the spark behind them had dimmed. Lars turned without a word, walked across the hall, and entered Room 305.

The door clicked shut.

The projection faded instantly, unraveling like fog. Jack remained still for a moment, hand still faintly raised.

Then he scoffed.

Lars Denholm, he thought. A competent Reaper and Adventurer, but not as famous as the likes of Anderson Hood or Gerhman Sparrow.

He turned to the window, brushing aside a curtain to glance at the street below.

He'll do.

I can't use marionettes or projections for this, not with a family like the Ardonia involved.

If her Ancestor or her teacher appears and so much as glances towards me, my cover will be blown and the cat will be out of the bag.

But Lars?

He's a known variable. And known variables… are the best shields.

With a few more days, the cues will sink deeper. The memories will reshape themselves, layer by layer. All I'll need to do is give Halsey a little nudge tomorrow. Adjust what face and name she remembers.

He smirked faintly. Nothing worrisome.

Jack let the curtain fall back into place, bringing silence to the room.