Outer Region of Polskin.
The smell of sewage refuse filled the air of the quiet city, dark and gloomy streets with not a single light as a guide in the darkness. Polskin had turned into a city where degenerates from all walks of life could frolic about and pretend there is no order. Everything was possible in the city of chaos.
In a tucked away corner lied the Delor Bar, a different kind of establishment as opposed to the usual gatherings. It was a quiet bar filled with incense and silence, the kind of place you wouldn't exactly seek to find midst the chaos. A carriage stopped in front, with a gold gilded frame encrusted with jewels, much too flashy to be stopping in the sloppy outskirts. With heavy steps the carriage door opened as an old man got down, face hidden beneath the hem of his hat.
A middle-aged man who looked far too unassuming that he seemed more of a passerby than anything, stood next to the door and bowed his head.
"Lead the way," the old man said.
Inside the bar, the place had been furnished to mimic the Bayonnant period, where rose framed glasses served as partitions and bar tracery of the windows. High ceilings with more rose murals crawling up the walls. But the place had a certain pestilential trace to it, as if the more time you spent here, the worse you'd become.
They weaved through the heavy smoke of incense and deep-seated sofas where intoxicated people lay, too preoccupied with drinking or ingesting drugs to notice their figures. There were really only two floors to the establishment and the second one functioned as an attic rather than an office where supplies were stored.
As the old man was escorted to a hidden staircase behind a shabby painting of the lord of Polskin, which had seemed ironic given the lack of authority to the place, his eyes narrowed at the sight of it. The middle-aged man did not follow him, but nevertheless he thanked him for the guidance and made his way up the rickety staircase.
The air turned more stale as silence grew more suffocating for every second that passed. When he got up the last step, the only light that shone through was the single oculus atop the wall, the temperature had gotten colder and the lack of furniture did not help diffuse the chill.
Not a moment later, someone stepped barefoot into the light. A small child dressed in simple clothes, looking no more than 12, and a complexion so pale it seemed that she would topple with a single breathe.
"You're awfully late."
The old man removed his hat and sighed. "I am of old age with weary bones. Even if you told me to run, this is the best I can do."
A chair was conjured in the middle of the room and the old man naturally sat down. He did not question where the chair came from, nor how it happened.
"What brings you here tonight?"
"The dirua."
The child's eyes flashed with contempt, but it quickly came and went. Turning around, they pulled out several bags that clinked together. It landed on the floor before the old man's feet with a heavy thud. Satisfaction filled his eyes when he thought of the business venture accomplished by the child.
Winter season wasn't as harsh in Polskin, a deadbeat region in some backwater country. But that's precisely why people loved to come here. People with dirua, that is. With no need to worry about the inclement weather, traveling here was within arm's reach, who wouldn't go?
He placed the bags in his hat, disappearing without a trace. The child didn't seem to question it either and instead asked, "Our deal. It's been three years, when will you uphold it?"
Nodding he said, "I remember. It just so happens that my good friend is accepting students again."
"Are you sure?"
Hesitation flickered in his eyes, but soon it was gone. "I'm sure. Now, if you'll excuse me."
He stood up and turned to leave, but before he could take a step, the child's voice rang out.
"Hyrel's will."
The old man paused. He knew very well that the child had no education and no free will. There were no books to be read nor people to teach her, how could she know? But... would he really risk it? He wasn't a fool. He was going to uphold his promise, just that...
"Hyrel was my only friend. Did you think he wouldn't tell me his own will?"
The child turned to look at the moon behind the oculus, the pale shimmer of moonlight caressed their ashen face. "The will of the dead is stronger than any vitalis in the world. It's ancient."
How could the old man bear to break a will? His grandson was his greatest treasure, the one who would've continued his lineage and carry his legacy. But instead it all went to this cursed child that didn't even shed a single tear for him.
Beneath the glow, strikingly vibrant eyes looked at him.
"Tell me, do you have a way to break the will of your dead grandson?"
That cold voice penetrated into his bones, sending a chill up his spine. The lack of emotion made him shiver, indignation creeping up his stomach. How could his grandson leave everything he had to this child? What exactly made it special?
In the language of ancient Eos, a will represented the deepest and greatest desire of the dead, using up every vitalis in their body as a bind. If ignored, the gods could mete out punishment equal to the power of the will.
The old man wanted to keep this cursed child away, he wouldn't even dream of touching one. But power cannot be chained to one place, his greed will eat away at his own life if he delayed the will any sooner. This should be enough.
Hyrel, his poor grandson. Could he ever forgive his own grandfather for what he had done?
"I will uphold my end of the deal, as well as the will. Just give me time." The old man shut his eyes, trying to block out the painful memories.
The price of keeping a zabiya, it was greater than he could have imagined. In return for the riches accumulated, death seemed to be nearer. He was going to get rid of it anyway, might as well do a good job of it.
The child smiled, this time, a sincere one. But the old man didn't notice and instead asked, "In order to get everything sorted, I need your name."
"After all this time, you've only though to ask me of my name now?"
The old man frowned and explained, "It's essential to your identity. We can't have a rogue zabiya out in the open."
The child nodded and turned to look at the moon, a small smile decorating her lips.
"Vihrea."