Enough. I’d given them time—too much time. If my allies couldn’t find what we needed, I’d tear it out of the shadows myself. The only question was how?

  I stepped outside, wrapped in full Coldian gear. Let them see me. Let them fear me. Or, if fear wasn’t on the menu, then let them spit. Either way, I’d get the attention I needed.

  The first plan that crossed my mind was a political mess—put Leliana under my care. But I couldn’t do that without Manach’s approval, and doing so would turn every eye in the city toward me. More than they already were.

  The next option—grab Doctor Arnell, drag him off, force the answers out of him. But something in my gut twisted at the thought. Too much backlash. Too much exposure. And worst of all… what if that’s exactly what Arnell wanted?

  No. He was already plotting. Leliana had noticed the shift—Arnell had stopped snapping at her, stopped sneering. He wasn’t just tolerating her work; he was allowing it. That meant he had a plan. I just didn’t know what it was yet.

  Which meant I had to move. Now.

  I still wasn’t at full strength. My movements were slow. My shoulder burned. My grip was weak. But at least breathing was easy again.

  Then it hit me—the only move I had left.

  I went back inside, found Leliana.

  "Listen. I have a plan."

  She folded her arms. "I’m all ears."

  "You’ll hate it," I warned.

  She let out a short, humorless laugh. "Can’t be worse than it already is."

  "I need you to find Jorguh. Bring him back here. The two of you need to watch over Manach."

  Her face twisted in disgust. "No. Please, no."

  "I need Leon with me. And I need Manach safe."

  "Why him?" She motioned wildly. "Take Leon. You can work with that pervert."

  "You’re a healer. Jorguh’s a warrior. You’re the only two who can do this."

  I could see her fighting it. Hating it. But she knew I was right.

  She exhaled sharply. "If he touches me, if he even breathes in my direction wrong, I will cut his throat."

  "You have my blessing."

  "Yeah. Right."

  She stormed out.

  Half an hour later, she returned—with Jorguh in tow.

  "Oi! What’s this I hear? The feisty one says I get to babysit while you run some errands?" Jorguh bellowed, grinning ear to ear.

  "I will cut your throat," Leliana hissed.

  Jorguh’s grin twisted into something vile. "Wife material."

  She recoiled in disgust. I was starting to regret this idea. But it was too late to back out now.

  Leon, standing to the side, spoke at last. "And what do you need of me, Koch?" His voice was measured. Steady.

  I met his gaze. "I need you to follow whoever follows me."

  Leon arched a brow. "What makes you think someone will?"

  "Arnell is watching. He has people. If I move, someone will track me, someone will report back. I need you to find out where they report to. I’ll be the bait. You be the hunter."

  Leon didn’t hesitate. He just nodded, a small, knowing smile playing at his lips.

  "Then we start now," I said, turning toward the exit.

  I paused, glancing back at Leliana. "Good luck."

  "Don’t worry, snow-sniffer," Jorguh crooned, licking his lips. "I’ll take care of her."

  Leliana’s face hardened.

  Her hand moved smoothly to the table, plucking up a small syringe, slipping it into her pocket in one fluid motion.

  I was the only one who saw it.

  Good.

  She might need it.

  I didn’t like leaving her with that red-bearded lunatic.

  But it had to be done.

  I didn’t know much about Leon—only what he’d told me. But my gut told me he was the right man for this job. He’d survived the Hinterlands alone while his friend was kidnapped. He’d even managed to convince Manach and me that he was an ally and dragged us into this mess. That kind of man could handle himself.

  Now, I had one job: make myself seen. Make myself interesting. Give whoever was watching me something worth reporting.

  So I walked straight to Parliament.

  It was a bad walk. A hard walk. Not just because my body was still betraying me—weak muscles, slow steps, aching joints—but because of them. The stares, the sneers, the muttered curses. The small shoves. The globs of spit that missed or didn’t. The rocks hurled from unseen hands, cracking against my skull.

  I kept walking.

  Tradition of hatred, I thought bitterly. Maybe History of Massacre would be a better title.

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  Coldians like me—those who could hold their peace of mind longer than most—were rare. And even we had limits. If the others had to endure this, the city would have been nothing but ash by now. Maybe that was why even the Citadel forbade Coldians from entering this place unless under direct orders.

  Laach’s paper burned in my pocket. His signature. His kindness. My ticket to do whatever the hell I wanted—and to pin the blame on him if it all went to shit.

  Guards took notice as I neared the Parliament. I counted them, measured them. Their armor was solid. Heavy. But their grips on their weapons? Weak. Their stances? Amateur. Fodder.

  Then, an old man stepped in my path.

  He wore fine clothes—expensive, but not flashy. Common enough to blend in.

  "Mister Coldian." His voice was steady. Wise.

  I hesitated. It wasn’t a curse. It wasn’t spit.

  "Yes?" I answered warily.

  "Your presence is required at the tavern."

  His bony hand lifted, just barely motioning to the nearby building.

  "By who?" I asked.

  He didn’t answer immediately. His lips quivered before he forced out the words. "I was given no name. Only a threat. To my whole bloodline." His throat bobbed as he swallowed. "Please… obey. My grandchildren—" His voice cracked. "Please."

  Fear lived in his eyes. Deep. Hollow. The kind of fear men felt when they’d seen something crawl out of the abyss and smile at them.

  A shiver ran through me.

  Someone powerful wanted me in Lampis. Someone who left terror in their wake.

  I was curious.

  I followed.

  The tavern sat there, pristine, quiet. Large glass windows gleamed, lanterns bobbed in the cool air, their light dancing across the cobbled streets.

  The outer seating was empty.

  The sign above read Red Apple.

  Stupid name.

  I stepped inside.

  The tavern was refined. Polished oak tables, well-kept. Cushioned chairs, dark-wood stools lining a long, elegant bar. Lanterns, paintings, small intricate decorations—everything screamed wealth. A stage stood in the center, waiting for singers or storytellers.

  And yet, the place was empty.

  Except for the tavern-keeper.

  He stood behind the bar, white-knuckled, terror in his eyes.

  What the hell is going on here?

  He lifted a shaking hand, pointing toward a separate room.

  No words. Just fear.

  I adjusted my grip on my sword hilt and walked forward.

  The room was a VIP lounge. A lush sofa sat before a small fireplace. A table, set with food—fresh, untouched. The scent of spice and roasted meat hung thick in the air. The walls gleamed with polished wood, the décor careful, deliberate.

  And yet—

  Empty.

  Something was wrong.

  Then, a voice.

  "Sit."

  I froze.

  The voice was commanding. Male. It slithered out from the shadows like something ancient and patient.

  I didn’t sit.

  "Come out," I said, voice firm.

  And then he did.

  Intricate robes of grey and yellow, Coldian markings embroidered into the fabric—symbols of the Sheer Cold Empire. Short, well-groomed hair. A beard, neatly trimmed. A human. No. Not just a human.

  An Archon.

  Not just any Archon. Athion.

  The Chaos Archon.

  My breath came slow and measured. The air in the room felt heavier now, charged with something unseen.

  Athion. A name that carried weight. One of the highest agents of the Sheer Cold Empire. A man with no allegiance to any singular order, no division, no house. He worked directly for the Council. A free hand of the Empire. A weapon without a leash.

  And he was here.

  "Athion," I said evenly.

  "I apologize for the charade," he said, voice refined, each syllable clipped with regal precision. A Reaper's tongue—cold, formal, dangerous. "But I required your attention. Privately."

  I didn’t bow. Didn’t salute. He had no authority over me unless someone higher said otherwise.

  "You wanted to speak with me?" I asked, wary. "That is peculiar. Why?"

  "Please, sit." He gestured at the sofa. "We have much to discuss."

  I sat. Not because he asked, but because there was no immediate threat. Whatever this was, it was better to hear him out.

  I leaned back, watching him carefully. "What do you want, Archon?"

  Athion picked up a glass of wine from the table, swirled it, took a slow sip. "Relax," he said smoothly. "Tell me—how is your stay here? Do you require assistance before we speak of other matters?"

  A trick question. A trap, maybe.

  I did need help. But not from him. He couldn’t heal Manach, and his involvement could complicate things.

  "No," I said firmly. "I have it handled."

  He nodded, unsurprised. "As expected from a Zero Regiment soldier." Another sip of wine. "Then, let’s speak of your mission—the one regarding a certain woman. Aurelia."

  The name stopped me cold.

  Aurelia.

  I hadn’t thought of that name in some time.

  I frowned. "That mission? I haven’t even started on that yet."

  Athion's expression didn’t shift. "I understand. But tell me—do you know who Aurelia is?"

  I shook my head. "No. I only know she’s a frost mage. That’s all I’ve got."

  "Indeed." He set the wine glass down. "Now tell me… since first hearing her name, have you felt anything unusual? Memories that aren’t yours? Skills or powers surfacing? Strange realities bleeding into your mind?"

  I blinked. The hell was he getting at?

  "No," I said slowly. "Should I have?"

  Athion leaned back. "No. That is good." A pause. Then—"Listen carefully. This job you’ve taken is of utmost importance. When you find Aurelia, your actions must be precise. Clean. You must not disrupt the chain of events that are meant to unfold."

  I stared at him. "What are you talking about?"

  He exhaled, like a man burdened with a truth too heavy to carry alone. "Things are not as they seem. Things are not as they want to be. I will set them right, alongside my allies. But everything has a price. And the price will depend on how you handle Aurelia."

  I was losing patience. "What the hell does that mean?"

  Athion’s gaze sharpened. "Remember her name. When you see her—be open. Your mind will need it. Be smart."

  I scoffed. "Alright. Enough riddles. What are you actually rambling about?"

  "You will understand. In time." He stood, smoothing his robes.

  Something cracked the air open.

  A small portal bloomed behind him—an eruption of purple-hued magic, spiraling, hungry.

  I stood. "Triggers? What the hell are you talking about?"

  Athion ignored the question. He stepped into the portal, the glow casting long shadows over his form.

  Just before he vanished, he muttered a name.

  "Konneus."

  And then he was gone.

  Konneus.

  How did he know that name?

  What did it mean?

  The questions slammed into me, one after another, relentless. I didn’t even know why it mattered, but it did. A weight settled in my chest—heavy, urgent, and infuriating.

  My hands clenched into fists. Too many riddles. Too many games.

  The table in front of me suffered for it.

  I flipped it in a blind fury, sending food, wine, and expensive decor crashing to the floor. The impact sent a fresh jolt of pain through my still-healing shoulder, punishment for my own recklessness.

  I didn’t care.

  I needed answers. And I needed them now.

  Storming out of the Red Apple, I nearly collided with Leon.

  His eyes flicked over me, quick, assessing. "Are you alright?" His tone was careful.

  I forced out a breath. Forced the anger down.

  "Yeah," I muttered. Then, "Why are you here?"

  Leon smiled slightly. "I finished my task. It was successful, just like you said it would be."

  I blinked. "Already? That was fast."

  "You walking toward the Parliament did its thing. They reacted exactly as expected." He adjusted his gloves. "I have the location. What do you want to do with it?"

  I exhaled slowly, focusing. "Where? What is it?"

  Leon grinned, sharp. "A villa. Very expensive. Large. A mansion in its own right."

  A deep-set instinct coiled in my gut. The puzzle pieces were shifting, forming an outline I couldn’t quite see yet.

  But first—

  "Let's get back to those two," I said, already turning. "Before Jorguh dies."

  Leon chuckled but didn’t argue. We started walking.

  My body moved, but my mind was elsewhere. The name Konneus clung to me like frostbite—sharp, insistent. I barely heard Leon’s footsteps beside me. Barely noticed the shifting streets of Lampis as we cut through the winding alleys.

  I was trapped inside my own thoughts.

  By the time we reached our quarters, the sight that greeted us was almost expected.

  Jorguh was out cold, sprawled across the floor, a syringe still sticking out of his neck.

  Leliana looked pleased.

  Leon crouched beside the unconscious brute, checking him over.

  "What happened?" he asked.

  Leliana stretched lazily. "He slipped."

  Leon glanced at the syringe, then at her. "...Will he be alright?"

  "Unfortunately," she sighed.

  Leon snorted. "When did this happen?"

  "The moment you two left," Leliana giggled.

  Good. No danger, then. At least not yet.