Sorcerer's Shadow - Chapter 28: The Arbiters of Afterlife

“Possible?”

She paused. “I believe it’s plausible.”

“Excellent. And what exactly do I gain from this?”

“We can offer—”

“I’d rather not know. Some amounts of money are so high they lose their significance. Anything less than that and it’s not worth it for me.”

They shared a glance.

Drevolan said, “We’re eager to persuade you. It’s highly important to us, and there’s no one else capable of achieving this.”

“This conversation rings a bell,” I remarked. “You both planned this from the start, didn’t you?”

“We viewed it as a potential course of action,” stated the Dark Lady of Pardus Mountain.

“Now you’re telling me that if I refuse, you’ll have me killed.”

“No,” said Drevolan. “Just that we would be extremely grateful if you agreed.”

They were getting the hang of handling me. Whether that was a good or a bad thing, I wasn’t sure. I said, “Your gratitude sounds nice, but if I end up dead—”

“I believe you can make it,” Alyssra asserted.

“How?”

“I’ve been there before. I can guide you about which routes to follow and which to steer clear of, inform you about potential risks and how to safeguard yourself. That leaves just one threat, and being a Terran, an outsider, I think would be sufficient to—”

“What threat are you talking about?”

“From the overseers of the place. The Arbiters of Afterlife.”

I didn’t like the sound of that. Abbe, who had been standing in his usual spot throughout the entire discussion, audibly inhaled. I asked, “The Arbiters of Afterlife?”

“You’re aware,” Alyssra replied. “The gods.”

“Alright,” I responded. “No worries. You’re telling me my only concern should be a few deities? Well, under those circumstances, I don’t see how anything could go wrong. Absolutely, count me in.”

In case you didn’t notice, I was being sarcastic. I found myself looking at Abbe to see if he caught my tone, but I couldn’t decipher his reaction.

Alyssra said, “I don’t believe it’s as dire as you make it sound.”

“Oh.”

Drevolan suggested, “Show him the staff.”

“I can see it from here,” I said, peering at it beside Alyssra’s hand. Despite my protest, Alyssra lifted it and extended it towards me.

I said, “This staff contains someone’s soul?”

“Yes,” Alyssra confirmed. “Hold it.”

“Why?”

“To see if you sense anything.”

“What am I expected to sense?”

“Maybe nothing. But you won’t know unless you grasp it.”

I sighed and accepted the object. As she mentioned sensing something, I became acutely aware of its smooth surface and its slight coolness. I had held it before, but my attention had been elsewhere then. It was made of a light-colored wood, likely Quartz Birch.

“Sense anything, Opal?”

“I’m uncertain, boss. Possibly. I think so.”

Then I too began to feel it. Yes, there was some kind of entity, almost like it was residing at the tips of my fingers. Intriguing. I even began to perceive a faint personality trait; fiery, short-tempered. Unmistakably a Dragon.

Additionally, to my astonishment, I felt an immediate connection; the reason remains a mystery to me. I returned the staff to Alyssra and confirmed, “Yes, I felt something.”

She asked, “So?”

“So, what?”

“Will you take up the task?”

“Are you out of your mind? You’ve mentioned no one but Marya has—”

“I’ve also given reasons why I believe you can survive it.”

I scoffed. “Fine. I’m in—but only if you’ll accompany me for protection.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Alyssra retorted. “If I could go, we wouldn’t need you at all.”

“Alright,” I conceded. “Then I’ll have Drevolan.” I gave a cheeky grin, which I’m starting to think is always a mistake when dealing with Dragonlords. I think I caught a glimpse of Abbe smirking, but I can’t be certain.

Alyssra and Drevolan shared a look. Then Drevolan announced, “Alright, I agree.”

I objected, “Wait a moment—”

Alyssra warned, “Drevolan, the Arbiters of Afterlife won’t let you return.”

“So be it.”

Alyssra started, “But—”

I echoed, “But—”

“We depart tomorrow,” Drevolan informed me. “We should immediately start preparing for our journey.”

* * * *

Do you recall the first time you strapped on a sword and roamed the city? Remember how the scabbard banged against your thigh? Remember how you occasionally touched the hilt with your spare hand, simply to reaffirm its presence? If you’ve never experienced this, try to envision the sensation. It’s quite unique; a tiny whisper in your mind says, “I’m formidable now. I make a difference.”

If you can recall that sensation, or imagine it, ponder on how you’d feel the first time you slid a dagger into your sleeve, another into your boot, and concealed a few shurikens within your cloak’s folds. Suddenly, you feel, I can’t quite describe it, akin to a potent threat. Does that make sense?

Now, truthfully, you wouldn’t want to display this at all. I didn’t need anyone to explain this; it’s self-evident. Even subtly, you wouldn’t want to radiate an aura of danger; you’d prefer to blend in. But the feeling remains. Moving around with deadly surprises on you alters your perspective on life; particularly if you’re a sixteen-year-old Terran in a city full of Imperions. It feels amazing.

Why was I wandering around with hidden weapons? Because someone knowledgeable had recommended it. She’d advised, “If you’re going to serve the Organization—and don’t delude yourself, Viktor, that’s exactly what you’re doing—it’s always beneficial to have a few surprises up your sleeve.”

That’s what I was doing: serving the Organization. I had been assigned a task. My exact duties were unclear, except that they might occasionally involve violence, starting from today. Being human, I was smaller and weaker than the Imperions I cohabitated with. Yet, I wasn’t afraid of violence from them because I knew I could harm them. I’d done so before. More than once.

Now, for the first time, I would receive payment for it, and I certainly didn’t mind. No matter what happens to me, I’m going to cherish the memory of my walk from my small flat to the cobbler’s shop where I was to meet my new partner. A recently born Vorgan, who I was going to acquaint myself with, cuddled against my chest. Its fox head lay just under my neck, wings folded, claws clutching my jerkin’s fabric. Occasionally, I would “hear” it in my mind: “Mama?” I’d relay comforting thoughts back that didn’t clash with my rather belligerent mindset.

* * * *