CHAPTER 137

  THE INITIATION?

  Theodred found himself seated across the table with the most wanted man in Genas. Not in chains but not from his free will either. He was in the den of the most dangerous people walking these lands. A little mishap and his life would turn miserable in a flash.

  But that wasn’t his concern. He wanted to skip the fate Aadya had written. He wanted the rebellion sword, his father in front, alive and answering. Telling him the truth and only the truth.

  And to achieve that, he was willing to shake hands with the devil himself. And he was in front of one.

  “You sure lack your welcoming etiquettes,” he commented. “The least you could do is offer a glass of water.”

  Xandor, as always with an undecipherable and ever-changing face, responded.

  “Oh, trust me—I’m doing my very best not to put you in your place.”

  “Tough impression—nice. It won’t work on me.”

  “You from Parv?” The owner of these dangerous people, their leader, asked bluntly, that even surprised Hans.

  “Does that matter?” Hans asked back.

  “You are not denying it?”

  “I’m not accepting it either.”

  “Hmm…this is going nowhere,” Xandor rested his back. “Since you plan on joining—”

  “There seems to be a misunderstanding.” Hans interrupted, both his elbows coming to rest on the table as equals. “There is no way in hell I’d join your company. So take that useless life of yours and gamble it somewhere. All we have is a transaction binding us.”

  “You’ve balls, I’ll give you that. But courage and foolishness have a thin line separating them.”

  Hans, as Theodred, turned even more sere, his eyes unwavering.

  “Since I have the ability to come here—I too have the ability to leave, unharmed. You are free to test me. But you’ll be losing a great deal of opportunity—I desire something that you have and have something that you want. We both take each. As I mentioned, this will be a transactional relationship.”

  “Ability to go unharmed. Running, that’s not what a knight of your stature should say.”

  “A knight has to be alive to say anything either. As you said with your words of wisdom. There is a very thin line between courage and foolishness.”

  Hans had never seen Xandor’s real face; every encounter had a different face. And now that face was amused and for the first time his LumenGaze detected that smile.

  He thought.

  Just a bit more, and I might see his real face.

  However, Xandor was confident that if he really tried, there was no way this greenhorn in front, spewing nonsense, could go away, at least not unscathed. He was itching to subdue him. But the name Theodred used—The Ateliers—was holding him back.

  In his hunt for the truth of forgotten history and an unknown agenda to unravel it—he had come across the word Ateliers—the sinner or humanity—a powerful clan which brought the world to its knees.

  “What are you offering?” He asked, suppressing his impulse.

  “A node,” Hans replied simply.

  “A Node?” Xandor squinted and his eyes got detected. Something familiar. But as he questioned, they became undecipherable again. “And why would I want that?” He asked.

  “Because the node I’m offering once belonged to Parv. The war reparations you people had to pay to Clandor upon getting defeated in the Elven war.”

  “I’m not a patriot. My actions and will not support the nation who abandoned me. It serves the Eclipse—”

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  “Then how about—to have leverage over the Deadlands? If your purpose is to serve the need of Eclipse. Isn’t it time to stop running? Parv will never stop hunting you. You can hide and all, but do you think—the people who joined your cause want to hide like cowards?”

  Hans paused, looking at some of the members standing behind, and continued. “Nodestone—the huge sunstone which serves as the relay point of the Deadlands barrier—imagine if one of those broke—it would bring down the whole barrier.”

  “How do you have that information?” Xandor was puzzled beyond belief. This was something that not even the high-ranking people of the world knew. Only the creator, the node master, and the process to break it—only he knew because he was the hidden blade of the Parvian king at that time.

  He turned serious, “I ask you—how do you know this—”

  “Isn’t that common knowledge?” Hans answered nonchalantly.

  “No.” Xandor hissed.

  “Well, it is to me. You can’t stop us whether you take my offer or not; it’s up to you. But the shadow family, who was lax in hunting you guys and even didn’t take part in the Elven Civil War, will actively hunt you down. The federation will give in to the pressure, and I don’t have to spell it for you what happens then. Arat has your location and will keep tracking.

  “I ask how do you know these things.”

  “And I told you—you can’t stop us—the Ateliers. Martys was first, next is the Nodemaster Anfaleen. Your old wound to your pride, the one you failed to kill. Your addition will just make the process easier.”

  The name riled him up pretty good, but he was a veteran at hiding his emotions. “You said you desire something I have. What is it?”

  Hans pointed to the deathly husk.

  “You want my most powerful creation.”

  “I don’t fucking care about the undead. I want that sword.”

  Han! Xandor mused. “The rebellion is a cursed sword. It won’t work—”

  “The artefact forged by Ateliers—we don’t have a way. Is that what you are saying.” He turned the topic. “Think hard. Being in control of Node, you will have a place for whatever games and ambitions you have. The world, including Parv, will leave you be—since they don’t want the Deadlands barrier to break either. No one could touch you lot.”

  Xandor contemplated. “The node is internally protected by its own separate field. Even our Adrian’s dimensional fails—”

  “I’ll take care of that. I’ve a spirit that could hold the reality for a while. No barriers would be active—a perfect window to infiltrate.”

  “And the cost will be an artefact that can shoot my knight’s aura high—why do you need that sword?”

  “For another transaction—the one who wants the sword has the Book of Power—”

  Another myth that Xandor was chasing. The records and technique left by his former king.

  Hans stood, alerting others.

  “If you are in this game to bring down a node. Come find me in Deadlands.”

  He pulled out the Eclipse medallion—deactivating it right in front of them to show. He knows his way around artefacts, but his command centre had done it for him.

  “I’ll reactivate this so you can track me during the Red demon trials. And don’t bring that undead king. Bring his sword instead. The other party does not know of your defection.”

  Hans took a step back. “And just for your information— my clan is the one who made the way you travel—INGRESS.”

  With a swift motion, the light pillar fell on him and sucked him away from Elven Federation land.

  He had used the same tactic Aadya used, putting the blame on some mysterious thing. Here, Hans had used the name Ateliers. Since Xandor was chasing the history unknown to the world. A mysterious name gave the perfect cover. To make him curious and believe him when his rationality screamed otherwise.

  Hans had left them with many questions, and the nature of Xandor was to know the truth —it was an obsession, and Hans was banking on the very nature. “He will come.” He mumbled as he landed on the doors of OSIRIS.

  Yet something else welcomed him. The harmonic tremors one after another.

  “So she let you out,” Hans smiled at Monoceros, glancing at him with curiosity.

  He waved a hand and entered the temple, the metallic gate groaned open as he stepped through, the cold steel sliding aside like a reluctant whisper, shut completely like a ghost mansion, swallowing him completely.

  His steps were heavy, an unknown pressure at his heart. He turned human, finally giving in to the pain that came with transformation.

  Door after door yielded to his presence, sliding open with a mournful hiss until he stood before the great flask, swollen with the ghost of his father—a corpse still breathing, still watching. His palm pressed against the glass, fingers splayed like a tentative confession.

  “Soon,” he said, his voice low, brittle. “Soon, you’ll be here, father. And then... you’ll tell me the truth—the cycles Aadya spoke of, whatever you had to do…everything.”

  The words hung between them, heavier than the stale air.

  He pivoted toward the Goddess’s quarters, finding her there—peaceful, untouched by the chaos he caused. A sharp laugh threatened at his lips. “After what I was put through, she sleeps like a child here—should I just give her a quick smack in the head?”

  His knuckle lifted, aim sharp, but softened before it touched.

  “Whatever—I’m leaving. Thanks for filling my blade with your restorative powers. I hope you don’t have to wake up to save my bacon again.” He turned away.

  And as if she had heard him, her lips curled up slightly. He wasn’t there to witness it but knew his words had reached.

  He looked high, his eyes anticipating. Another chapter had closed, and another was about to be written. “INGRESS,” he called, and the carrying beam fell, making him vanish into the shadows beyond the temple walls.