107.- Shadows in the Tea

The private parlor of Viscount Edmund Reinard stood as a sanctuary amid the chaotic heart of East Vigil, a nook of dark wood carved with fierce-eyed falcons that seemed to watch from the walls, their feathers catching the amber glow of the fireplace. The fire crackled with a soft murmur, a slow drumbeat filling the air with a warmth that licked at the skin and a scent of burning wood that tangled with the floral sweetness of steaming jasmine tea in clay cups atop an oak table. The light of dusk slipped through tall windows, staining the air a dusty gold as it filtered between heavy velvet curtains the color of dried blood, casting beams that danced across the splintered plank floor. The clamor of the city—carts rattling over cobblestones, hoarse shouts of vendors, the clang of hammers from distant workshops—drifted in muffled, a far-off echo battering the walls like waves against a cliff.

Edmund Reinard, the host, leaned over the table with a rustle of his blue tunic, silver-threaded sleeves brushing the wood as he poured tea from a steaming pot. The vapor grazed his face, fogging his gray eyes that glinted with a shrewd weariness for an instant, his brown hair streaked with silver falling in messy strands over his brow. "Lord Dorian," he said, his deep, dry voice cutting through the fire's crackle like a blade sliding over leather, "what brings you here? It's not every day a Brener steps into this forgotten hole."

Dorian Brener, seated with a posture that oozed near-lazy confidence, took a cup with steady fingers, the silver falcon stitched on his gray tunic snagging the flames in glints that seemed alive. His green eyes, sharp as carved emeralds, locked on Edmund as he tilted his head, brown hair rippling with the motion. "Got in this morning," he replied, his tone smooth but laced with a sarcasm that stung like salt on a cut, "my father's after the mithril mines—shady business, you know how it goes." He flicked his gaze to his bodyguard on his left, raising an eyebrow. "And Gavrin came to shake off the dust."

Gavrin, a broad-shouldered man with a crooked grin flashing a chipped tooth, slouched in his chair with one leg slung over the arm, the black metal of his armor clanking faintly against the wood in a subtle challenge. His short gray hair gleamed under the firelight, and his blue eyes sparkled with a mockery etched into his weathered face. "Back in Aegis, I split rocks like they were bread," he growled, his rough voice scraping the air like stone on steel, "this tournament's gonna be a stroll with some blood—need something to wake me up." He raised a hand, and Ether's Edge, his short sword, hummed with a blue glow that pulsed like a taut nerve, the sound slicing through the tea's sweet scent with a restless edge.

Valerius Thorne, leader of the East Vigil Guild, leaned against the railing by the window, his gray cape fluttering with the breeze slipping through the cracks like a restless banner. His fingers drummed the wood in a quick rhythm, a dry echo lost in the fire's crackle, his icy blue eyes scanning the parlor with a precision that cut like a knife. "Watch yourself, Gavrin," he said, his deep voice rumbling like a distant drum, each word sharpened with a curiosity he couldn't mask, "there's a fighter in the Coliseum—Kaili. A few days back, she tore through Bonebreaker like he was an old sack. I thought she was just a cleric with a healing trick—until I saw her dance with that beast like it was a game."

Edmund raised an eyebrow, the tea's steam brushing his face as he set the pot down with a soft clink that rang against the table. "Bonebreaker?" he shot back, his tone dry but edged with a curiosity that sliced the air, "heard some whispers, but I was tied up with the mines. What's this gal got that's got you so worked up?"

Dorian let out a low chuckle, the glint in his green eyes cutting through the dimness like a spark in the dark. "Some local brawler?" he said, twirling the cup in his hands with a slow motion that made the liquid dance, "Gavrin's dropped mages in Aegis—he's not gonna sweat over some tavern tale spun out of proportion."

Gavrin snorted, scratching his neck with a calloused hand, nails leaving faint marks on his tanned skin. "What, she beat up a big orc and thinks she's queen?" he growled, his crooked grin widening as he shot Valerius a look, blue eyes flashing with mockery, "in Aegis, I sliced through mages with worse gimmicks—this Kaili won't make me blink."

Valerius turned his head, his gaze pinning Gavrin like an icy dagger, though his tone stayed steady, thrumming with an intrigue that tightened like a drawn string. "It's not a tale, or luck," he said, his fingers pausing on the railing for a beat before resuming their drumming, "I saw her—ice-cold eyes, a technique that doesn't belong in this world. Varian Kaelthas went after her two days ago and came up empty. She's not with any faction, no record in the Guild—she's a damn puzzle."

Edmund leaned back in his chair, the wood creaking under him as the tea's steam faded before him like a torn veil. "A puzzle with a sword?" he shot back, his voice dry and slicing the air like a whip, "if Varian couldn't snag her, maybe it's just hot air. East Vigil's full of stories that fall apart in daylight."

Dorian set his cup on the table with a faint clink, the sound bouncing off the walls like a playful echo. "The Ascendants collect oddities," he said, his tone smooth but tinged with a scorn that curled his lips, "if they didn't want her, she's not worth much. My father'd care more about a mithril shipment than some fighter without a pedigree."

Gavrin laughed, a harsh sound that scraped the air like gravel under a boot, and hoisted Ether's Edge with a quick flick, the blade humming like a restless pulse. "Weird technique, huh?" he growled, his blue eyes gleaming with a mockery that cut like a blade, "if she's got something odd, I'll chop it in half. How good can a story be if nobody tells it right?"

Valerius tilted his head, his gaze fixed on the fire as the flames danced in his icy eyes, a spark popping from the hearth as if answering him. "More than you think," he muttered, his deep voice rumbling like a low drum, "there's something about her that doesn't fit—and Varian smelled it too. She's no cleric, no sorceress… she's something else."

Edmund crossed his arms, the rustle of his tunic filling the silence as he arched an eyebrow at Valerius. "Something else?" he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm that stung like needles, "sounds like she got under your skin, Thorne. What, fall for those ice-cold eyes?"

Dorian chuckled under his breath, the sound soft but sharp as a knife sliding over a whetstone. "If she's that special," he said, tilting his head toward Valerius with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "maybe you should sign her up for the Guild—or let the Ascendants have their delusions of grandeur."

Valerius snorted, a low sound that rumbled like a muffled drum, and drummed his fingers against the railing with a rhythm that seemed to chase answers in the wood. "It's not about signing her up," he growled, his tone hardening like red-hot steel, "it's about figuring her out. There's nothing in our records, nothing in the rumors, that explains what I saw. She's a puzzle with too many pieces missing."

Gavrin snorted again, dropping Ether's Edge onto the table with a sharp thud that rattled the cups, the blade's hum fading with a hiss that sliced the air. "A puzzle, he says," he growled, his rough voice grinding like a file on metal, "well, I'm good at breaking things—if I see her in the pit, I'll split her in two and call it a day."

Edmund took a sip of his tea, the steaming liquid brushing his lips as he set it down with a soft clink. "If Alaric's stepping down, the princes'll sink us before any mystery fighter does," he said, his tone dry but weighted with a fatigue that hung in the air, "I'm more worried about the knives already sharpened than a tale I don't even get yet."

Dorian leaned forward, his green eyes flashing with a glint that cut through the dimness like a lightning bolt. "Things are already ugly," he shot back, his voice smooth but edged with a tension that thrummed like a taut string, "they say Alaric's been shaky since that weird echo—blood raining, hearts stopping. If the mithril mines are worth more than gold, my family's not letting go—war or not."

Valerius turned his head toward Dorian, his icy gaze pinning him like a dagger hunting for a weak spot. "That echo was months ago," he said, his deep voice rumbling like a far-off drum, "and we still don't know what caused it. But Kaili… something about her makes me think she's not a stranger to things like that."

Gavrin laughed, a harsh bark that sliced the air like a rock dropping into a dry well. "What, you think she made blood rain?" he growled, his blue eyes flashing with mockery as he slouched deeper, "sounds like a story a drunk'd cook up in a tavern—pour him more tea, Edmund, Valerius is daydreaming."

Edmund grinned crookedly, the tea's steam brushing his face as he set the cup down with a faint clink. "If she's that rare," he said, his tone dry and slashing the air like a whip, "maybe you should invite her for tea, Thorne—see if she spills her secrets over a sip."

Valerius huffed, a low rumble that echoed like a muted drum, and drummed his fingers against the railing with a beat that seemed to dig for answers in the wood. "I don't need her secrets," he growled, his voice hardening like red-hot steel, "I need to see her fight more—every move's a clue."

A horn blared from the Coliseum, a deep, cutting sound that pierced the walls like an icy spear, shaking the floorboards and rattling the cups on the table. The fire popped in the hearth, a sharp crack echoing like a reply to the call, and Dorian shot to his feet with a swift motion, adjusting his tunic with a rustle of fabric that sliced the silence. "Let's go, Gavrin," he said, his voice smooth but edged with a thrill that thrummed like a taut string, "time to see something worth watching."

Gavrin snatched Ether's Edge with a calloused hand, the blade humming like a live nerve as he stood with a creak of his armor that rang through the parlor. "If that Kaili's there," he growled, his crooked grin widening as he shot Valerius a look, "I'll cut her in half and bring you her sword as a souvenir."

Valerius turned his head, his icy gaze pinning Gavrin like a dagger seeking a flaw. "Be careful what you cut," he said, his deep voice rumbling like a low drum, "you might run into more than you bargained for."

Edmund chuckled under his breath, the sound dry and slicing the air as he leaned back in his chair. "Bring me her head, then," he shot back, his tone dripping with sarcasm that stung like needles, "I need something new to spruce up these walls."

Dorian smirked, a green glint flashing in his eyes as he led the way to the door, the silver falcon on his tunic catching the firelight in a spark that seemed alive. "Make it quick, Gavrin," he said, his voice smooth but sharp as a knife on a whetstone, "I don't want to miss dinner over a dull show."

The group stepped into East Vigil's twilight, the cool air hitting their faces like a frigid breath that cut through the parlor's warmth. The city reeked of stale sweat and burnt spices, the clang of hammers ringing through the cobblestone streets like a jumbled drumbeat, carts rattling over stones and vendors' shouts piercing the air like stray arrows. The Coliseum loomed at the end of a crooked street, its black walls gleaming under a sky red as dried blood, torches flickering atop it like watchful eyes casting dancing shadows over the roaring crowd within.

The arena crunched under Gavrin's boots as he stepped into the pit, dust rising in small clouds that swirled around his feet like tiny ghosts. The crowd roared with a savage chorus that shook the stands, boots pounding wood and fists hammering railings in a frenzy that thundered like a war drum without end. The air was thick with a blistering heat that seared the lungs, mingled with a stench of hot iron and dry earth that stung the nostrils like a visceral warning. Gavrin planted a boot in the sand with a dry crunch, Ether's Edge humming in his hand with a blue glow that pulsed like a restless heartbeat, his stance loose but taut, the muscles in his shoulders flexing under his black armor like cords ready to snap.

In the stands, Sebastián scratched his beard with a calloused hand, the scent of dried herbs and dust clinging to his green shirt that flapped in the hot wind. "Don't underestimate her, you idiot," he muttered, his hoarse voice cutting the air as a crooked grin crept onto his lips, "a few days back, she smashed an orc like he was an old sack—you're not gonna be any different." His brown eyes gleamed with a mix of amusement and certainty, locked on the western arch where Kaili would soon appear, sweat shining on his brow under the torchlight as Plague's Edge rested at his side, its red runes flickering like live embers.

A second horn sounded, sharp and piercing, slicing through the crowd's roar like an icy blade that echoed off the Coliseum's black walls. "Gavrin 'Ether's Edge' versus Kaili 'Shadow of the Plague'!" the announcer bellowed, his voice amplified by an arcane spell that rumbled down to the spectators' bones, unleashing a deafening uproar that shook the stands to their highest beams. Dust floated in the air like a thin fog, kicked up by thousands of boots pounding wood and stone, the blistering heat clashing with the cool breath seeping in from the entrances.

Kaili emerged from the western arch, and the air seemed to chill at her passing, an icy whisper cutting through the Coliseum's heat like an unseen blade. Her pale skin gleamed like polished marble under the reddish light, her silver eyes—cold and sharp as frozen daggers—slicing the distance with a calm that chilled the blood. Her black armor hugged her curves with lethal precision, the tight metal highlighting her firm breasts and wide hips, baring her strength in every taut line that reflected the torches in keen glints. Her black hair fell in live strands, brushing her shoulders like dancing shadows, and her boots crunched against the sand with a dry sound that echoed like a soft drum, each step a honed silence brimming with sensuality and menace. The sword in her right hand, a curved black blade free of runes, rested with a deadly elegance, its edge catching the light in a fleeting flash that thrummed like an omen.

Gavrin gripped Ether's Edge tighter, the blade's hum stuttering in his hand like a nervous pulse, a traitorous shiver crawling up his spine as his chest warmed with a mix of defiance and doubt. "That's her?" he thought, his inner voice quavering with an edge he couldn't hide, *Damn it, why's my sword hesitating?* His blue eyes locked on her, the mockery on his face faltering for a heartbeat as the chill of her presence clashed with the pit's searing heat.

Up in the high box, Dorian leaned forward, his breath catching in his throat as his green eyes gleamed with an awe he couldn't mask. "By the realm…" he murmured, his smooth voice trembling with a blend of fascination and wariness, *What kind of woman is that?* His hand tightened on the railing, the silver falcon on his tunic snagging the torchlight in a glint that seemed alive.

Valerius nodded, his hand drumming the railing with a quick rhythm that echoed his racing mind, his icy eyes fixed on Kaili with an intensity that sliced the air. "Another piece of the puzzle," he said, his deep voice thrumming with a curiosity he couldn't contain, "I need to see her fight more—every move's a clue." The torchfire sparked in his eyes, a reflection dancing as if seeking answers in the shadows.

The crowd erupted in a deafening roar, a wild chorus that shook the stands until the wooden beams and stone slabs quaked, boots pounding and fists hammering in a frenzy that thundered like an endless war drum. Ether's Edge hummed uneasily in Gavrin's hand, its blue glow stuttering like a nervous heartbeat, and Kaili met his gaze, her silver eyes cutting through the air like an icy blade piercing the Coliseum's heat. This wasn't what he'd expected.