Stacian spent the next hour frantically helping Leornars "prepare." In reality, Leornars sat perfectly still while Stacian adjusted a series of silver hair ornaments that clinked like tiny bells.
"The Harbinger's men are already downstairs," Stacian whispered, her hands shaking slightly as she pinned a heavy, jeweled brooch to his collar. "The innkeeper said they don't usually meet buyers this quickly. You've piqued their curiosity."
"Curiosity is just a precursor to a transaction," Leornars said, his cyan eyes fixed on his reflection. He practiced a slight, condescending tilt of the head. "And greed is the grease that turns the gears of this city. Let's not keep them waiting."
The private dining room was a theater of excess. A long table of polished mahogany was laden with roasted meats, exotic fruits, and wines so dark they looked like congealed blood.
Seated at the far end were two men. One was massive, his neck thicker than Stacian's thigh, his face a map of scars. The other was lean and pale, wearing a suit of charcoal silk that screamed "middle management." He was the one who spoke.
"Lady Elara," the lean man said, rising with a bow that didn't reach his eyes. "I am Vane. This is Krog. We represent the interests of the... organization."
Leornars didn't sit immediately. He glided to the table, his silver hair shimmering under the magical chandeliers. He looked at the chair, then at Stacian. With a practiced sigh of annoyance, Stacian hurried forward to pull the chair out for him.
"The wine," Leornars said, ignoring Vane's introduction entirely.
Vane blinked, his smile faltering for a fraction of a second before he poured a glass. "A vintage from the southern Isles, My Lady. Quite rare."
Leornars took a delicate sip, his throat moving elegantly. "Pedestrian," he remarked, setting the glass down with a sharp clack. "But I suppose one cannot expect high culture in a city that smells of damp fur and desperation."
Krog, the brute, growled low in his throat, but Vane held up a hand. "We understand you are looking for... 'special' stock. Our master, the Harbinger, usually handles such high-profile acquisitions personally, but he is a busy man."
"I do not deal with middle-men," Leornars said, his voice dropping to a dangerous, icy silk. He snapped his fan shut. "I am here because I heard the Harbinger possessed a rare Moon-Elf with high-affinity mana circuits. If that is true, I have brought enough gold to buy this entire district. If it is a lie, I have wasted three days in a carriage for nothing."
Vane's eyes lit up at the mention of the gold. "The Moon-Elf exists. But she is not kept here. She is at the Rigs. The main processing hub."
"Then take me there," Leornars commanded.
"Tonight? My Lady, the Rigs are... not a place for someone of your standing. The sights, the smells—"
"I did not ask for your opinion on my standing, Master Vane," Leornars interrupted, leaning forward. The "melons" Stacian had complained about earlier pressed slightly against the silk of his kimono, a tactical distraction that clearly worked on Vane, whose gaze drifted for a second too long. "I asked to see the merchandise. Now."
The "Rigs" were located on the edge of a jagged cliff overlooking the churning, grey waters of the Serpent's Maw. It was a massive, skeletal structure of iron and wood, anchored into the rock by rusted chains.
As the carriage approached, the sound of the waves was drowned out by something far worse: the collective, low-frequency hum of thousands of voices in pain.
"Stay close, Stacian," Leornars whispered, his persona dropping for just a heartbeat as they stepped out into the salt-sprayed night. "If things go south, aim for the supports. I'll handle the guards."
Vane and Krog led them down a steep, narrow staircase carved into the cliff face. Torches flickered in iron brackets, casting long, dancing shadows.
The Rigs were a labyrinth. Levels upon levels of cages were suspended over the crashing waves. In the moonlight, Stacian could see them—demi-humans huddled together for warmth, their eyes reflecting the torchlight like trapped animals. Some were mutilated, their limbs replaced with crude mechanical parts; others were covered in the glowing blue sigils of Salene's "jigsaw" style, though these looked far more amateur and painful.
"This way," Vane said, leading them to a central platform.
In the center of the platform stood a tall, slender figure draped in a cloak of shifting grey shadows. He didn't turn around as they approached.
"The Lady Elara," Vane announced, his voice trembling. "She is here for the Moon-Elf."
The cloaked figure—The Harbinger—turned slowly. He wore a mask made of polished bone, carved into the likeness of a weeping face.
"A Moon-Elf is a rare prize," the Harbinger said. His voice was distorted, sounding like two people speaking at once. "But a silver-haired beauty with the mana capacity of a Great Mage... that is a treasure I didn't expect to find tonight."
Leornars froze. Stacian's hand flew to her dagger.
The Harbinger stepped closer, his bone mask tilting. "Did you think a simple light-refraction spell could fool me, Lord Leornars?"
The air on the platform turned freezing. The guards drew their swords. Krog stepped behind them, blocking the exit.
Leornars didn't panic. He let out a soft, feminine laugh that slowly morphed into his natural, deep baritone. He reached up, and with a flick of his mana, the illusion shattered.
The beautiful silver-haired lady vanished. In her place stood the tall, imposing figure of Leornars, his black robes billowing in the sea wind, though he was still wearing the exquisite indigo kimono underneath—a sight that would have been hilarious if the situation wasn't so deadly.
"Well," Leornars said, his eyes glowing with a violent cyan light. "I suppose the 'Damsel' act was getting a bit tight in the shoulders anyway."
He opened his sandalwood fan, but this time, the slats were reinforced with razor-sharp magical steel.
"Stacian," Leornars said calmly. "Kill the big one. I'll deal with the mask."
"Lyra's parents and siblings are somewhere in here, look for them" Leornars adds coldly