“We must understand that powers, while not unique in category, are as distinct in their expression as fingerprints upon glass. Cannot the same fundamental ability bloom in countless variations, like a single melody played through different instruments? Here I must challenge Lorfantal’s reductionist hypothesis—I speak not merely of raw strength, but of how each bearer shapes their gift, bending it toward particular aspects, favoring certain expressions over others. This ‘power fingerprint,’ I argue, mirrors the infinite variety of the human soul itself. Yet our understanding remains but a candle’s flame in a vast darkness, suggesting depths of knowledge yet unplumbed, truths yet unimagined.”

  – Orhan Malenk, On Faith and Power, Year 311 of the Age of the Tetrarchy

  Omvar paced back and forth in the empty meeting room. Pulse racing. Would she come? Would he say the right things?

  Time. He should have taken more time to prepare his thoughts. His words. With a mixture of anticipation and fear, his eyes periodically flicked toward the wooden door. There was no time. Any moment now, she would arrive. This had to go perfectly, if he wanted to catch her off guard.

  He was not ready.

  A creaking sound from the door made him whirl around. This was it—all or nothing. Omvar swallowed his panic and watched the door swing open. Ravena sauntered in, hips swaying, wearing a black dress that clung to every curve.

  “Hello, darling,” she purred and started to look around the room. “I received your note. I must say, this is quite the scandalous rendezvous you’ve arranged. I’m all in, of course.”

  Omvar suppressed a shudder and forced his face to remain neutral and collected. How could she be this phenomenon before him and this… creature in her letters? Not wanting to lose momentum, he forced himself to speak. “Please, Ravena, have a seat.” He gestured toward the high-backed chairs that surrounded the large wooden table.

  Ravena’s smile faltered momentarily, as if she re-calculated the situation that she found herself in. Then she strode past Omvar and instead perched herself on the edge of the table, crossing her legs slowly and deliberately, hands folded over one knee. She regarded Omvar with a curious, cat-like gaze, enjoying his obvious discomfort.

  He took a deep, steadying breath to steel his nerves. It was now or never. “Let’s stop with the games. I know exactly what you’ve been planning, Ravena. Scheming to manipulate us all into an unnecessary war.” He shook his head. “And for what? Just to gain even more power.”

  Ravena arched a perfectly groomed eyebrow, looking amused. She slowly traced a long, manicured finger along the surface of the table. “My, my, those are some serious accusations you’re making there. I was hoping for a different kind of scandalous, I must admit. But, tell me, do you have any actual evidence for all this? Where is this coming from, all of a sudden?”

  Sensing the challenge in her voice, Omvar stood his ground. He could not show any weakness now. Ravena would pounce on that like a jaguar on wounded prey. “Enough evidence to expose your treachery. Enough to force Feldar’s hand.” Omvar sighed, though he could not say whether it was out of exasperation or from the relief of finally voicing his thoughts. He was not sure about anything right now. “Just look at yourself. Look at where you are, at our history. You’re not only deceiving everyone, but you have the audacity to go on to secretly transform yourself into a living goddess, like the legends of Selvi himself. Like our own legends. Has history taught you nothing, Ravena?”

  After he finished, Ravena studied him for a moment before she erupted in laughter, the sound echoing harshly off the walls. “Oh Omvar. You’re clever, I’ll give you that. So clever. But you have no idea what you’ve stumbled into, playing detective. Better to back off while you still can, my dear.”

  She rose from the table—slowly and languidly—moving with the predatory grace of a jungle cat sizing up its prey. “So, tell me, Omvar, what did you hope to achieve with this little stunt?” she purred menacingly. “Did you maybe think you could intimidate me into a confession?” Her voice now dripped with contempt and barely concealed violence. “Or that I would break down, repent, and cry on your strong shoulders?”

  In response, Omvar slammed his palms on the table. “I’ve had enough of your pretense and lies!” he yelled, feeling himself losing control. Keep it cool, he warned himself, this woman could kill you at any moment. Without even breaking a sweat. But, if he failed, Ravena would kill far more people than just Omvar. He breathed once. A tiny fraction more collected, he continued. “We’re ending this deception, right here and now. I have proof!”

  Despite all his bravado and firm words, he withdrew the stack of official-looking documents from his coat with visibly shaking, sweaty hands. Way to go to show her how confident he was. Omvar took a deep breath, clutching the documents so tightly his knuckles turned white. Whether it was anxiousness or righteous anger, his breath shook as he flung the papers onto the table between them.

  Ravena’s seductive smile instantly faltered and her eyes narrowed, as she looked down at the scattered documents. She tried to quickly mask it, but Omvar was sure he caught a glimmer of recognition in the Delegate’s eyes. After a tense moment, she let out a long, annoyed sigh. Ravena grabbed one of the papers and quickly skimmed through it. Every second of reading felt like an eternity to Omvar, as he fiddled with his hands.

  “Personal correspondence with the Tetrarch?” She briefly looked at him. “You do realize that I work with Feldar daily, don’t you? Or this here: ship charters showing that I’ll accompany the fleet.” She rolled her eyes dramatically. “This laughably flimsy nonsense is what you consider solid ‘evidence’ for bringing down a Delegate? To prove your divine conspiracy?”

  She looked up from the document, crumpled the paper up into a ball, and casually tossed it over her shoulder. Ravena stepped closer, eyes flashing dangerously. “I wonder. Who gave you permission to access those records? Some of those look like they came straight from my personal desk, where I had them locked up. You’ve clearly been snooping around in places your limited pay grade shouldn’t have access to. Bad move, bureaucrat.” She practically spat her last words, circling him like a predator toying with its prey.

  Despite Omvar’s racing heart and the beads of sweat that now dripped down his forehead, he forced himself to stand firm in the face of her burgeoning rage. Somehow his plan of confronting her sounded less good now than it had in his head. It had seemed so straightforward: confront Ravena and get her to see the truth of things, or at least gather more evidence. In none of these scenarios did he envision Ravena hurting him. Surely, she would not hurt him… would she? This whole stunt suddenly seemed terribly na?ve. Too late now. He had gone too far already. No other way than forward.

  “The records speak for themselves,” Omvar declared as boldly as he could manage. “This has been going for months. Months, Ravena. There are battle plans in there. Believer allocations. Your believers. By name. All of these are clearly preparations for an aggressive military expedition against the continent. I think you’re planning to use the news of Loratha’s incursion as a pre-text for launching the whole thing.”

  Ravena took another step closer, her eyes now flashing with barely contained lethal intent.

  “And just who, exactly, gave an insignificant worm like you permission to access such sensitive information? To think such great thoughts?” she purred menacingly. “Such ambition. I must say, I wouldn’t have expected this from you, of all people. Blood and bones, under different circumstances, I might even find it appealing. But tell me, what did you hope to achieve from this confrontation?”

  Good question. Despite his mouth going dry from fear, Omvar met her gaze unflinchingly. “The truth,” he declared in a raspy but firm voice. “Your treachery ends here, Ravena. I’ll see to that.”

  “The truth?” she laughed derisively. “Oh, you sweet, innocent child. Whom is that supposed to help? I’m trying to bring order into the rot and decay that’s infested our great society. I only do what’s needed. Really, you should thank me.”

  He caught something in her eyes, something breaking through. A moment of softness, of warmth. Without further warning, Ravena leaned in dangerously close, her full ruby red lips just barely grazing his ear. “Join me, Omvar,” she whispered. “With the power I’m amassing, we could reshape this world as we see fit. No more playing lapdog to the bureaucrats and sycophants who leech away our society’s true potential.”

  Once, Omvar Dravan, Bureaucrat Second Class – Devotional Allocation and arbiter of gods, would have melted under such an assault. All his defenses tumbling down in one fell swoop. Now, his reaction was somewhat different. Revolted, he recoiled from her, disgust openly twisting his face. “Do not. Do not even pretend for one second that this is for the good of anyone beside yourself. Reshape the world with lies and bloodshed? No, thanks. You’re going to bring death to thousands. I want no part in your self-serving madness.”

  Like a closing door, Ravena’s expression hardened instantly. “Madness?!” Her usually melodic voice turned shrill. “I, Tetrarchy Delegate, generously offer you a chance to transcend your pathetic existence and stand alongside a goddess, and you dare call it madness?” She jabbed an accusatory finger into Omvar’s chest, causing him to gasp in pain. “I gave you a chance to share in my glory. Beyond your wildest dreams! And what do you do? You throw it back in my face.” Disgust contorted her features for a moment. “You’re a coward, Omvar. Nothing but a slave clinging desperately to his shackles.”

  “The only slave I see here is you, Ravena.” Omvar pushed her hand away from his chest, anger simmering in his eyes. “A prisoner of your own endless greed and delusions. You know, when I found all this, I was so angry at first. I had this incredible, white-hot anger. Just wanted to break something. Hurt something. Anything. Can you even imagine it? Betrayal of my city, my office, my feelings. That must’ve set some kind of record. But now,” Omvar shook his head, “now all I can feel for you is sadness. And pity.”

  Ravena’s face contorted in rage, crimson creeping up her neck. “You dare insult me?” She seethed through gritted teeth. “Right to my face? I am a goddess! You… You’re less than nothing—barely more than a worm beneath my shoes.” She breathed deeply, hands trembling with fury. “Perhaps it’s finally time I teach you proper respect for your betters. Yes... Yes, I think this has been far overdue.” Then, Delegate Ravena of Kel stalked toward him, a hungry glint in her narrowed eyes.

  Without warning, the room seemed to shudder violently, a piercing shriek suddenly assaulting the inside of Omvar’s skull. He cried out in sheer agonizing pain and staggered backward, one hand blindly grasping for the table to steady himself. It felt as if his very bones were vibrating—fracturing from within—as he desperately clasped his other hand over his bleeding ears in a futile effort to make it all stop.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  Ravena advanced again, a cruel smile twisting her lips as she loomed over his cringing form. Overwhelmed, Omvar finally sank to his knees. Only for the shrieking to intensify. It felt as if his skull had to split open any moment.

  “Hurts, doesn’t it?” Ravena purred with delight, lifting Omvar’s chin with an extended finger to look into his eyes. “You know, I could rupture every single organ in your worthless body, without even having to lift a finger.”

  Omvar gritted his teeth and mustered the last of his strength to glare at her defiantly. He would not give her the satisfaction of hearing him scream. He may well die here—he probably would, if she kept up this assault—but this was something he could cling to. One last act of protest, as feeble as it was.

  “Go on then,” he somehow managed to choke out hoarsely, voice sounding foreign to his ears. “One more bureaucrat out of your way.”

  Ravena tilted her head, considered him like an insect she had not decided to crush yet. But then, ever so slowly, a grin spread across her face as a thought occurred to her. Fury seemed to have taken her through and through.

  “Oh no no no,” she mocked softly. “Death is the reward.” She lifted her hand and the shrieking somehow increased even further in intensity. “First, you’ll suffer.”

  It felt like the sound penetrated every fiber of Omvar’s very being, right down to his soul. Helplessly, he curled up into a fetal position, his body seeking protection from an agony that would not budge. His vision swam as the pain threatened to fully overwhelm his senses and blot out his consciousness.

  Omvar felt his awareness dim, blackness closing in on him.

  Then, just before the tantalizing allure of blissful oblivion could finally take him, the unbearable torture ceased abruptly. All that was left was a faintly ringing sound—not painful, just persistent. Like a distant memory of agony.

  Gasping—gulping air desperately like a half-drowned man—Omvar weakly looked up to see what had happened. Just in time to see Ravena whirl around in confusion. “What in the name of...” she began in disbelief.

  A chuckle emanated from the far corner of the room. Seemed like a vaguely familiar, deep voice to Omvar. Strange. His head still swam in the sea of torment that had enveloped him mere moments ago, making thoughts too slippery.

  “Now, now, my dear Ravena. That’s no way to treat our dedicated employees.”

  Without warning, Leftos emerged out of thin air, an amused smile playing on his lips. Ravena’s eyes widened in shock. “You!” she screamed, hate filling her voice. “How long have you been hiding there?”

  Leftos casually pretended to glance down at the diamond-encrusted pocket watch that hung from his suit. “Oh, about ten minutes, give or take,” he stated matter-of-factly. He went on to examine his fingernails, as if such confrontations happened every day in his life. Who knows, Omvar thought blearily, maybe they did.

  “Just a little trick I happened to pick up over the years. Bending light can be terribly useful, you know?” He winked once and then shook his head. “But playing with treason, Ravena? A dangerous game.”

  “So that’s how it is—you heard everything then.” Ravena snarled and flexed her palms. “Pity. Though I’ve got to admit I never liked you, Leftos. I suppose I’ll have to get rid of you both now. Serves you right, like the meddling bugs that you are.”

  She took a step toward Leftos. Even Omvar, now looking at Ravena’s receding back, felt the menace that radiated from her. Leftos simply stifled an exaggerated yawn. The man was confronted with another Delegate. And he yawned. How was he even still alive after all those years of acting like this?

  Omvar slowly uncurled from his protective position on the floor and crawled toward the table. Being caught up between two angry Delegates was certainly not on his to-do list for today.

  “Come now, we both know you have never been a match for me, even on your best day.” He gestured casually with one hand at Ravena. “Let’s not make this embarrassing.” Then he paused to think. “Well, not too embarrassing I mean. I did catch you in the act of treason, after all. No need to make it any worse.”

  She fixed him with a murderous glare. Omvar fully expected another sonic outburst, yet what emerged from Ravena’s lips was a calm, menacing whisper. “So, you want a fight? You’ll get one.”

  Without further warning, she extended her arm in Leftos’ direction. Reflexively, Omvar covered his ears—still sticky with blood—yet he only heard a faint echo of his previous torture. Odd. It must be him, because the side of the room in the path of Ravena’s hand shook, glass ornaments shattering on the wall facing her. Maybe he was deaf? No, he had clearly heard their verbal exchange. Ravena must have some control over the direction of her sonic blast. Omvar found himself grateful for Leftos’ presence, as unlikely as it would have seemed to him before all this.

  With an impressive elegance, Leftos danced aside, and Ravena’s next attack narrowly missed him. It hit a wall instead, sending a cascade of dust and debris down in a shower.

  Not even looking at the impact of the blast, he immediately retaliated with a blinding flare of light that coalesced into a whip that extended from his hand. With a sharp flick of his wrist, it snapped toward Ravena in a dazzling arc. Almost too late, the woman twisted to one side, avoiding the crackling weapon by a hair’s breadth. Omvar heard her wince as the light left a searing mark on her arm.

  With an enraged snarl, Ravena raised both her hands, summoning another shockwave of concentrated sound. This time, it was not targeted at Leftos, but all around the room. She apparently did not want him to dodge again. The walls shuddered under the impact. Leftos shielded his face from flying debris, light whip flickering but remaining steady. Omvar, still cowering behind his upturned table, noticed several new cuts on his own arms. He had not even registered any shrapnel hitting him.

  What he did, however, notice was the expression on Ravena’s face. Beneath the veneer of fury and hate, he seemed to read confusion. Understandably so. It was surprising that Leftos seemed unfazed by her attacks, despite facing them head-on. Unimpressed. By the attacks of a Delegate. What was going on here? And now this: Omvar saw beads of sweat on Ravena’s forehead. Sweat. He had never seen the woman sweat, and they lived in a Belt-damned jungle.

  It took a moment for realization to dawn. If he would not be huddled against an overturned meeting table on a veritable battlefield in his own Ministry, Omvar would have slapped himself. The redirection of Ravena’s believers. Her weaker than expected attacks now. This was exactly what he had uncovered. Leftos’ scheme. By stealing Ravena’s believers, the man had literally leeched away her power, leaving her weaker. More vulnerable. Leftos knew that, counted on it. And the results were all too evident.

  Leftos’ light whip stretched in a wide arc, morphing mid-air into a swarm of miniscule darts that propelled themselves toward Ravena. To Omvar, it looked like the woman tried to conjure up a wall of sound, as a makeshift shield against the assault. Yet she only appeared to manage a shimmering distortion of the air before her. The projectiles burst against it and the resulting explosions of cascading light sent Ravena skidding back. Immediately, blisters bloomed on her raised arms.

  Leftos watched her struggle for balance, a hard glint entering his eyes. “Let’s wrap this up, shall we?” With a snap of his fingers, the room became painfully bright. Omvar pressed his palms before his closed eyes and still felt the light pierce his skull. Ravena recoiled further with a cry, blinded by the searing luminance. Just as instantly as it had appeared, the light fell away. Vision still blurry with after-images, Omvar could just about make out a stumbling Ravena, hands blindly grasping for anything to hold onto.

  Taking advantage of her disorientation, light like radiant honey dripped from Leftos’ hand, shaping itself into a blindingly luminous spear. In one swift, precise, merciless motion, the spear extended from his hand. No, Omvar thought, scratch that. It was an extension of Leftos’ hand. Before his uncomprehending eyes, the lance of light hit Ravena. It plunged right through her heart, exited her back, and scorched the tiled floor behind her. The smell of burnt flesh instantly permeated the chamber. For a second—an impossible second—Ravena still stood, like frozen in shock. Then she crumpled to the ground. As if someone had removed all her bones, eyes still wide with disbelief.

  Around Omvar, the polished floor was marred by scorch marks and shattered furniture. Utterly exhausted, both physically and mentally, he forced himself to look up, to stare numbly at Ravena’s lifeless body. Unable to process the nightmare that unfolded before his eyes. He stared at the pile of flesh, sinews, and bones—the woman—whom he had loved yesterday, despised today.

  With Ravena’s broken body laying just a few feet away in an expanding pool of scarlet, Leftos casually strode through the room, seemingly unbothered by the grim scene. He looked down at her, his face momentarily revealing a flicker of regret before it hardened into indifference again. Inhuman. “Pity.” Leftos nudged Ravena’s corpse with his shoe, as if to confirm that she was really dead. “She was so useful for communications. I cannot tell you how much I hate relying on doves.” The man sounded genuinely disappointed, like he had just dropped a piece of candy onto the street.

  Shaking his head, Leftos turned. Omvar was still breathing in ragged, broken gasps as he tried—failed—to regain even a semblance of composure. He shrank back involuntarily as Leftos approached, frantically scrambling across the floor as the Delegate drew closer. The only thing left to feel was raw, animal terror.

  Leftos’ expression quickly shifted into practiced warm benevolence and kindness, even as he ignored the still warm blood that slowly pooled around his expensive leather shoes. “Omvar. Omvar, my dear.” He spread his hands. “I assure you that you have nothing to fear from me. My apologies that you had to witness this whole unpleasantness. Really, very unpleasant. But,” he raised a finger in emphasis, “know that it was necessary.”

  Omvar’s mind was totally, utterly blank.

  Before he could even begin to formulate any sort of coherent response, the heavy oak door suddenly flew open with a resounding bang. In strode a woman, surveying the grisly scene with pursed lips. A regal-looking woman, radiating a calm sense of authority. Her face was partially obscured by a silver mask, dark green eyes peering out through slits.

  Temporarily distracted from the horror in front of him, Omvar paused. That woman looked terribly familiar. He frowned.

  No, that could not be… It took Omvar’s addled mind a few seconds to recognize her. To place her. Too late, far too late, it clicked. She looked familiar because Omvar had seen her before. Had in fact seen her hundreds—thousands—of times. In public, in private, in prayer. It was only now that he saw her for the first time. Truly saw her. Before him stood Lavelle, Kelian Delegate.

  His goddess.

  Who, just now, briefly glanced toward the floor, before looking up to Omvar and then to Leftos, assessing the situation. “Was it done cleanly?” At Leftos’ nod, she sighed. Was that… relief on her face? “Very well,” she muttered. “We have damage control to begin.” She carefully stepped around the fresh blood, congealing on the floor, and approached the corpse.

  Omvar finally found his voice and blurted out, “Damage control? She’s dead! Murdered!” His voice was an ugly, misshapen beast. Hoarse, contorted. He was not recognizing his own words, as they left his mouth.

  Lavelle whirled around from Leftos to face Omvar and fixed him with her piercing green eyes. Despite himself, he took another step back. Three Delegates in one room, that sounded like the beginning of a joke. Well, two Delegates, really. He nearly burst out in hysterical laughter, fingers twitching at his side.

  Lavelle approached Omvar and gripped his shoulders, almost tenderly. “Take a moment, Omvar,” she said, soft but commanding. “Compose yourself. Breathe. Then, we need to discuss the aftermath of this... unfortunate incident.”

  He could not help but stare into the deep verdant pits of her eyes. Before him, directly before him—touching him—stood the woman he had worshipped since he was a teenager. He almost felt like he knew her.

  Sure, most of the time his worship had a somewhat ironic character, but you could not pay lip-service for decades without being changed. And there it was, the true tragedy of the faith in their time, the one-sidedness of things. It could warp a man.

  Lavelle gave a slight encouraging smile as she sensed him begin to regain some fragile composure. “There now, much better. Omvar. I need you to listen very carefully to what I say next. For all our sakes. What’s important now is the stability of the Tetrarchy. Not me, not you, not Leftos. Do you understand that?”

  Not knowing what else to do, Omvar nodded once. He felt drunk, somehow. Detached. “Good,” Lavelle continued. “Ravena attacked you—a senior Ministry official—and Leftos was forced to defend you. They fought and he had no choice but to kill her to save his life and yours. Pure self-defense. That’s the story.”

  Omvar reeled in shock as he tried to wrap his mind around her words. Lavelle’s eyes bored into his, leeching away his will as her grip on his shoulder intensified. “I understand this is hard to process, but we must move quickly. For the good of Kel, you will stick to this story. Yes?”

  Still in shock, he could only nod mutely. Satisfied, Lavelle released him and stepped away. And Omvar watched. Watched, as the two Delegates—figures of legend, both of them—discussed how best to dispose of the body of the woman he had loved.