City of Solthar

  On the outskirts of Solthar's smog-streaked city, was an an endless grass lands. The escaping smoke littered the sky, but as the distance became great, the sky would peak through. Sol gazed at the night sky and the eternal waning crescent. It was hung among the faint stars, and tug Sol towards itself. The light it gave was not cold or distant, it felt like a hand running along the inside of Sol's ribs, gentle and insistent. Almost like a caress.

  On Finnian's grave, the dirt was slightly disturbed by the wind. The young boy sat before it, letting the wind ruffle his own hair as well. The night was tranquil, yet the wind took his words and scattered them.

  "It has been a while, Finnian." He murmured so lightly as if he could wake the sleeping grass.

  "It has been a strange week. I met someone who could've been you. I explored ruins that were cursed. I even fired a gun for the first time!" He spoke with bright eyes. For a long moment there was only the small scrape of insects and the distant cough of Solthar's furnaces. He bent forward and pressed his palm to the cold ground, feeling for a warmth that might have seeped into the soil. There was none.

  "I'm sorry," he said, simple and blunt. "I should've—" He stopped, because apology was a hollow thing, because Finnian could not answer. He felt alone, and then the lonely child began to sob in his knees.

  "I met you in a dream… You died to protect me... and I promised to to carry your memory with me... I swear I'll win the Trials."

  The wind stirred for a moment, making Sol shiver in the cold of the night. In the corner of his eye something bled through the dark: a translucent red thread. It moved on its own accord, and with it came the cold certainty that he was not alone. He felt watched.

  Sol stood up and wiped his tear stricken face with a pang of fear hitting him. He had to squint his gaze as he watched the diaphanous thread faintly fluttered with the gentle wind, and extend towards the house. He stepped ahead and began to follow the thread into the familiar cottage along the once lone tree, now accompanied by two graves.

  The cottage was lifeless, a skeleton of wood and soot.

  On the wall hung an old, dusty tapestry Sol never noticed before. As he observed, threads begin to move, stitching itself along the tapestry. It coiled through the pattern until it stopped at a place where the weave was loose and frayed. Gold thread gleamed faintly even in the darkness, and the stitched faces of robed priests seemed caught in perpetual benediction.

  In the center was the great sunburst, following the cathedral and it's great shadow over the city and the underground. Around the sun's rays, darker threads coiled, subtly hidden in the weave. forming something like grasping hands. He had to lean in to see them. the longer he looked, the less they seemed like mistakes.

  Above the flames, he observed the underground city of Solthar. The red circle, like a red moon, lay beneath all things. In the tapestry, it stood in contrast to the enormous Sun. The curves and crossings of the symbols made Sol's heart race, but he didn't recognize any of them.

  "Why show me this? What do you want from me?" Sol whispered into the silence, pressing his palm to the small, faded sunburst one final time but the thread simply gave no answer.

  When he left, the scent of soot still lingered in Sol's clothes as he left the ruins of the house, walking through the streets with no destination. Every shadow seemed to stretch too far, every sound lingered a second too long. He would spend daylight hours among people, but when it was night, all that accompanied him was looming shadows of his thoughts. He could not run from them, instead he let them gently consume him.

  The overwhelming buzz of gear and smog muttered hymns he could not make out. It was past midnight, and the streets were deserted leaving him by himself. His boots tapped on the stone pathways and he made his way towards the underground.

  Somewhere, something was watching.

  The world felt thinner as Sol crossed an abandoned market street. Glass shimmered strangely, and a fountain whispered even though it was dry. He looked around, wondering if the marketplace was always this unnatural when empty. He blinked as he watched his reflection in a shop window tilted its head abruptly, like it had finally caught him. Sol had not moved a muscle, only gazed at the mirror. The reflection that gazed back at him was a darkened figure with red eyes, something far from how he swear he appeared. It carried his face, his figure and his posture, but it was not him.

  The next step he took was no longer his, Sol tried to walk away from the entity in the mirror, but he was not quick enough. In an instance, a hand shot out, weaved from shadows of the night, glass fluttered everywhere as if it had a mind of it's own. He was pulled into the ripples of his reflection and the world shifted. He lost his footing and fell inside the void.

  Eyes close, his feet had lost the ground. And in the next moment, Sol found himself standing behind a crumbling wall in another street, breathing hard, and heart thudding uncontrollably in his chest. He dropped on his knees in shock, before leaning against the wall.

  The sound of light, gentle but quick footsteps came belonging to Marguerite.

  · ? ·

  Across the city, above a spire cloaked in darkness of the night, Silvanus' lantern flickered violently in flames. The green ghost flames cast shadows on his face as he turned towards the East—towards the remnants of the lone house. His divination spell had caught the boy's location, but the surge of energy Silvanus felt from that place was unexpected. As if, it was a beacon baiting him there, like an unnatural force.

  "Found you," he whispered as the wind picked up. Silvanus was already moving before the the sunlight could began to slip through the smog, signifying dawn.

  Inquisitor Silvanus moved through the alleys of the lower city like fire along dry grass. His lantern flared when it tasted the air, hungry for more. He needed only proximity to find the target: the boy who walked with sunfire veins and shadows as he breathes. Silvanus believed, if he was not silenced soon, he would not belong to the Sun or anything holy.

  Silvanus's orders were clear. "Purify anomalies. Silence corrupted threats." But this wasn't just anomaly, this was prophecy twisting in real time.

  His lantern that he raised glimmered again, and his silver eyes narrowed. The boy had vanished, and was no longer in the very place he was beaconed to. Though, Silvanus was not in a rush, he was waiting.

  Only threads shimmered in the air before dissolving. If it was just anyone, they would have missed the magic in the air, but not the man. Silvanus immediately turned around, "It's true. Solthar's barrier has been breached. Something has entered the city."

  The knight bowed as Silvanus continued his hunt.

  · ? ·

  Sol collapsed in an alley, too disoriented to think, staring at his trembling hands. The world felt tilted, like gravity wasn't obeying him anymore. He jerked up to see who it was coming to find him at the strange hour.

  The girl in a frilly dress and short heels knelt beside him, examining his face like one might examine a frayed scroll.

  "You're lucky," she murmured. "He nearly had you; that inquisitor…"

  Sol tried to speak, but words caught in his throat. She handed him a vial. The contents were bitter and strange, but he felt steadier as it warmed him after one sip.

  "What's happening to me?" he asked shakily, and Marguerite looked away for a moment to watch the empty streets, then her gaze fell back to him.

  "I am unsure. Sun's disciples are hunting you, but something... is pushing you away from them. As far as I understand... Sol, you must flee."

  "Flee?"

  "Away from this place. Away from Solthar," she stated firmly, "My foresight warns me something disastrous will happen if you stay. Something great is looming over the city, and it's... it's intercepting my magic."

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  "I cannot leave this place... I had made a promise to achieve something here. It's my only wish."

  "Sol. I understand..."

  "No, you don't! I think I am cursed, I feel hollow inside!" He cried, and Marguerite feels guilt. "Something is happening around me that I cannot tell... I can't sleep, I can't run!"

  She sighed, listening to his sobs. "Are you sure?"

  "What do you mean?" He looked up.

  "Are you certain over your decision to stay?"

  Sol though for a moment before he sat up. "Yes. I will do what I can to fulfill what I had promised, I will win... and then," he declared, "When I say my farewell to Finnian, I will leave." Sol demanded. He is driven by guilt and desire to face what is happening head-on.

  She stood up from her crouched position, giving a hand to Sol. He stared for a moment before he grasped it and is pulled up. This time, it is a not a strange mirror pulling him in, but his friend.

  "Let me guide you." She lifted a hand over her heart, and declared with sincerity lacing her tone, "As a witch, it is our duty. But, do you trust me?"

  A second passed, Sol pondered over her question.

  He nodded. "Yes."

  "Good."

  · ? ·

  Sol should've been back by now.

  The tavern was quieter than usual, save for the low hum of the lamplight and faint chatter in the background. By the table in a corner, Loen sat, turning a dagger over in his hands. The blade was worn, but it had always been reliable. He glanced at the empty chair across from him. One that was usually occupied with Sol as they always ate together.

  He took another bite of bread, chewing slower than he meant to. He has not expected to befriend that strange boy who's eyes burned like flames. It was not meant to go this way, he had followed him hoping to achieve what he arrived in Solthar for.

  He did not step into the city to share meals with an orphan, or even teach him the ropes of fighting, or risk his life to free them from a ruin.

  "Maybe, I should really visit him again." There was no need though. They had a job, a contract, and it had ended when he paid him. But Sol had a gravitational pull, and he was pulling everything in his orbit.

  Loen rose from the table, slipping the dagger into his belt. He dropped a few pennies onto the table and made his way out into the city. The darkness greeted him harshly, and the gas-lamps fought a losing battle as they struggled to light up the alleys.

  His head throbbed slightly, and he pressed fingers to his temples.

  "Not now..." Fear crept up his throat, wrapping it;s hands around him. Loen wanted to crash out and as his gaze swept up on the buildings, he spotted something or someone.

  A flicker of light flashed on a rooftop across the street catching his attention. Loen squinted. For a heartbeat, he thought it was just the reflection of a lantern. Then he saw the silhouette and cloak rippling with a strange lantern in hand. It pulsed once, and the man turned his head, scanning the streets. His gaze swept over Loen without pause, yet he felt the weight of it.

  He'd seen men like that before. Those who didn't leave witnesses as they hunt—The Sun's Disciples.

  "Guide me!" It was dangerous to open the door to it, but Sol was out there, and this was the only way to find him first.

  Loen pulled his collar higher and quickened his pace. He didn't just walk, he began to run with a purpose and fire in his eyes.

  · ? ·

  Silvanus had tracked harder prey before. Those that intercepted his spells, and one's that slithered into the dark without a trace. He did not lose to them, he never did. As soon as he had conjured up a spell to find the boy, a formidable force seized his shoulders, forcing him to stop in his tracks. It loomed over his frame, its gaze fixed upon him like a predator studying its prey. Silvanus had never been a prey to anything before.

  The lantern in his hand thrummed in rhythm with the wind, its light spilling over rooftops. The labyrinthine streets whispered secrets below as two figures darted through the darkened alleyways. A boy with fire in his blood, and the woman whose magic was an insult to the Cathedral's obedience.

  The weight of orders held him, a reminder to remain steadfast in his pursuit.

  He leapt, boots scraping against the slate as he propelled himself from one roof to the next. Each landing was calculated and measure, and each breath a reminder of the stakes. Until they came into view: Sol and Marguerite, slipping into a narrow market lane.

  "There you are," he thought, a thrill of anticipation spiraling through him. He knew Marguerite would find a perfect spot to cast her spell, but he was not willing to give her a chance.

  With precision, the lantern's flame honed into a flaming spear, illuminating Sol's figure as it darted past and burned the ground, stopping the two in their escape. He felt the heat rise in his palm as he raised his free hand, flames roaring to life in the night air, licking at the darkness. The teleportation shimmer was already gathering around Marguerite, a circle below their feet.

  "Silvanus of the Sun's disciples. I do not intend to stand against you." The girl's voice broke through.

  Marguerite was ready to retaliate, staff raised at the floating Silvanus, but he ignored her. His gaze locked on Sol. The air itself seemed to shift, and Silvanus was making sure no one was leaving this place. Blazing ghost flames wrapped around the surrounding air, and Silvanus readied his next attack.

  Sol pulled out his gun with trembling hands, he knew better than anyone how he was not capable of standing against a literal Cathedral's dog.

  "Why do you hunt me, inquisitor?"

  "Why, you ask." He chuckled. "I simply follow order, I purify anomalies. And you... you are the biggest anomaly present here; a suspect for leaving disasters in your wake."

  A blur broke the sentence. Something heavy slammed into his side, barely blocked by the flames. His lantern clattered against the cobblestones, light scattering wildly across the walls. Silvanus rolled with the hit and came up on one knee, just in time to see the blonde boy with a massive axe in hands.

  "Too bad, you're not taking him." Loen grinned, satisfied with his perfect aim.

  Marguerite's staff hummed, ready to teleport. Her voice was low, urgent, "I can warp us out of here—"

  "No!" Sol snapped, more desperate than commanding. He stumbled forward, almost stepping out the circle. "Not yet."

  The hot wind whipped through the narrow market street, carrying the faint toll of the Cathedral bells in the distance. Silvanus straightened, his voice now carrying a weight of exasperation upon seeing the newcomer.

  "To see you slipped from our radar, anomaly."

  "Guess you're bad at checking under your bed," he replied, stepping between before Marguerite and Sol, as if shielding them from the inquisitor.

  "Why is the Cathedral after me? Why do you—" Sol blurted out, voice shaking as he stood before the hunter, cornered and weak.

  "If you stay here, you will draw death to this city, not just yourself." He spoke words Marguerite had discovered before, making her breathe still for a moment. Silvanus' gaze landed on her knowingly.

  "What makes you think so?" Sol questioned.

  Silvanus pulled out a small notebook, Loen judged him with a look.

  "The warehouse in East side, the fire in underground streets, and..." He flipped a page, "The ruins. You have been there. That makes you a witness and a suspect. You will come with me. We must question you. However it seems, you are unwilling... for that you will be detained."

  "Well, you will not simply question him like a victim, Inquisitor Silvanus!" Marguerite exclaimed.

  "That depends." His response made Loen grip his weapon tighter.

  "What if... what if I came with you—on a condition?" Sol attempted to bargain.

  "You are in no place to make demands, kid." Silvanus's eyes narrowed, voice containing a threat.

  "Then you're in no place to get my cooperation," Sol replied, without missing a beat. Despite his trembling hands, the boy stood to defy, gaze locked with Silvanus. A fifteen year old, scared, afraid, yet burning all the same.

  The street seemed to contract around them, the flames pressed heavier, the lamplight dimmed uselessly against it, and Marguerite's teleportation circle faltered, her magic bending under the clash of wills.

  Silvanus closed the notebook with a snap, sliding it back into his coat. "If I take you both as well, your necks will wear the same rope as his. Are you so eager to die for him?"

  Loen's knuckles whitened on the axe handle but he answered, causally, "I'm not dying for him. I'm simply following my free will. you should try it sometime."

  Marguerite raised her staff, eyes darting between the two males. "We don't have time for this—"

  "Make time," both Silvanus and Loen said in unison, their voices clashing like steel as they jump in the same heartbeat. The inquisitor's flames flared, Loen's axe swept up. The narrow market lane became a battleground of flame and steel.

  Loen swung the axe in a threatening arc, forcing Silvanus to sidestep into the glow of his own flames.

  "Run!" Loen barked over his shoulder, not taking his eyes off the taller man. His opponent was no joke, and one mishap would cost the boy's life. He was inexperienced and weak against the man hardened by years of hunts. Each swing of Loen's axe took his all, but each hit was flawlessly dodged by the inquisitor, leaving behind flames that licked the boy.

  Marguerite's magic flared at her fingertips, but she too hesitated, waiting for Sol's lead. Their eyes met in brief, wordless exchange. A shared understanding passed between them with a nod.

  Silvanus moved in a flash, his hand sweeping out to command the light. It surged and danced into a burning whip meant to catch Sol by the ankle. He used his other hand to block Loen's attack with no effort making the boy drop his jaw in shock. In the same moment, the magic circle beneath Marguerite's boots spun to life, purple light swallowing them both.

  Silvanus was too late, watching the target disappear into a thousand glass fragments. The flames guttered out, leaving him in the dim haze of the market street. The air began to still and the flames flickered away.

  Loen still stood before him. "You didn't even try to hit him," he said, disappointed and suspicious.

  Silvanus replied with nothing, simply adjusted his coats collar, the faintest frown creasing his brow.

  Loen shifted his stance, ready for another swing. "What's the matter, Inquisitor? Lost your nerve?"

  Silvanus tilted his head, studying him. "You're protecting him, yet, you don't even know what he is. You speak of free will, but do you really follow your own?"

  "Don't need to." Loen's tone was sharp in retort, "I know enough, but you—you have no free will either, do you, executioner?"

  Silvanus's gaze lingered on the space where the teleportation had been. "It was an unfortunate moment. You are not my target, so disappear from my sight before you become one."

  Loen frowned. "The hell's that supposed to mean?"

  But Silvanus was already walking, disappearing into the fog with the faint glint of the lantern swinging at his side. Green flames stared back at him, and Loen felt the gaze deep in his soul.