Ardan was slowly, painfully, coming back to his senses. His ears rang, and the world in front of him shimmered as if he were staring at a lake’s depths on a windy day. Worse yet, his nose caught a dreadful smell. Burnt flesh. Human flesh.
He jerked his head, barely stifling a groan of pain, and opened his eyes. Lying right on top of him, charred to the bone, with flaking bits of its scorched skin landing on his face, was a body burnt beyond recognition. Only the charred remnants of leather boots fused to the bone and a few melted ornaments embedded in the vertebrae hinted that this corpse had once been the mother of that girl.
The girl...
Just as he had back then, in the prairie, digging himself out of the ashes — not only wooden ones this time, but also human ashes — Ardan tried to stand, but even as he clenched his teeth, he nearly collapsed back down.
His left leg was covered in horrendous blisters, his left hand could barely close its scorched fingers, and half his torso was a blistered mass of raw skin and seared fabric.
Unable to hold back his moan of pain, Ardan felt a wave of agony wash over him, the initial shock beginning to fade. His left side felt as if it had been submerged in boiling water, his skin bubbling and the muscles burning beneath. He had an overwhelming urge to scrape off the unending fire, but he fought down that impulse, gritting his teeth.
It was only then that he noticed his right hand was still gripping his staff, which was remarkably untouched by even the slightest hint of scorch marks.
And around him...
Bodies lay scattered everywhere, twisted into unnatural poses, their limbs distorted, some parts of their bodies scorched through and mixing with the molten stone that sizzled like lava beneath his feet. The glass had melted out of the burnt window frames, and the walls were blanketed in thick soot and char.
The wooden counter had vanished, and only the metal cash registers, smeared with something melted, lay toppled on the charred floor. Beyond, the blackened skeletons of clerks, their skulls grotesquely resembling duck heads thanks to the melted visors of their work uniforms, remained welded to their chairs.
Behind him, naturally, no wall remained — only smoldering embers that were once humans, walls and desks. Even in the ceiling far above, there were holes, hissing and sparking, through which glimpses of snowfall could be seen, though the snow could barely touch the building before vanishing in a haze of steam.
Leaning heavily on his staff, hobbling and dragging his smoldering, unresponsive leg behind him, Ardan took a few steps toward the spot where the little girl had been standing, hoping to see a miracle.
Only two faint, child-sized black footprints remained, a dark echo of her presence.
"Oh... You managed better than I thought you would."
With great difficulty, Ardan turned around. Standing atop a spreading pool of slag where the stairs leading down to the vaults had been, was the same elf from before. Whole. Unscathed. Looking like he hadn’t been at the epicenter of a fiery storm. And, oddly, his hands were empty. He held no bags of exes, no gold ingots, no jewels — nothing.
"You..." Ardan struggled to speak.
"The Dandy will pay for this lead," the elf cut his attempts off, stepping over scattered bodies and crunching their brittle bones underfoot. "And what am I supposed to tell my client now? That I burned down the Imperial Bank for nothing? A grand show, wasn’t it? Though..." He let his gaze drift to the bank’s charred, smoldering entrance and the street beyond. "It lacks grandeur. Fanatics would’ve aimed for something more impactful..."
The elf smirked, and it was a mad, crazed grin. Ardan looked back to see a crowd of bystanders gradually approaching the building. Some carried buckets, others wrestled with fire hydrants, while still more tried to clear the few abandoned cars out of the way.
Ardan couldn’t even rasp. The air, for a brief moment, felt scorched, and he realized he was suffocating. The elf, without moving his lips, extended a hand and summoned not a True Name, but a shard of it. A shard so potent and anchored in his will that it was enough.
Enough to ignite the crowd. Dozens of people transformed into living torches in an instant. The road jumped like a startled cat, the asphalt melting into viscous streams. Cars were thrown skyward and wrapped in flames, crashing back down as blazing comets.
The heat surged down the street, shattering windows and turning snow into meltwater, then steam, which vanished among the smoke. Soot-blackened buildings lost their winter veils, and the snowfall shifted into a prickly rain, while ashes rose like birds into the graying sky.
No one even had time to scream. They froze in place, a macabre puppet theater, each of them an effigy of a burning, blackened, collapsing skeleton.
"Better," the elf nodded to himself, stepping past the mother’s corpse and toward Ardan. "Farewell, half-blood."
And, as if nothing had happened — as if he hadn’t just killed over a hundred people — the elf strode out of the bank and down the street. Ardan could only watch his retreat, his eyes fixed on the red cloak flapping in the dry, hot wind, and flanked by burning cars.
So much pain... So much death...
"Stop," Ardan managed, his lips cracked and bleeding.
The elf didn’t even think to stop. Ardan raised his staff and tapped into the energy of his Star.
"That is a bad idea, boy," the elf’s voice, though he was already far away, sounded so close, as if they were speaking face to face. "I won’t spare you a second time just because we share a path."
"A path?" Ardan’s breathing steadied as his focus returned. His Matabar blood was kicking in, dulling the pain. He could barely stand. His left leg refused to move, and his left arm was barely responsive. "You... filthy bastard..."
The elf turned halfway, a mocking gleam dancing in his pink eyes.
"Give it time, young Speaker," he said in a bored tone. "One day, you’ll become just like me."
Ardan began to shape the most powerful combat seal he knew: Ice Barrage. But due to his pain and shock, the process was much slower than usual.
"Foolishness," the elf stretched out his gloved hand. "There are too few left in this world who truly understand the Art. Don’t make me bear the sin of killing a kindred soul."
"You’re... no kin to me..." Ardan growled. "You... pointy-eared... vermin..."
He tried to pour energy into the seal, but he wasn’t quick enough. The elf sighed and shook his head. From his palm, a torrent of roaring fire burst forth, taking the shape of a massive mustang. It struck the ground, its hoofbeats making the surrounding lava bubble, its mane a thick plume of smoke, breathing out flames as it stormed into the bank, an unstoppable force of raw fury.
It hadn’t even been made by a True Name...
And yet...
And yet, after the events in the steppe, Ardan had replayed his duel with Gleb Davos in his mind hundreds, even thousands of times. He’d spent hours poring over methods to counter that fiery vortex. Had any other Aean’Hane besides the elf attacked him, Ardan would have joined his father and great-grandfather.
Using what little strength he had left, Ardan forced his Ley energy to subside, preventing it from feeding the seal. Intentionally breaking his creation, he formed a different structure.
It was a variety of the Universal Shield crossed with the Basic Shield taught at the Grand. This was his own creation, born from the events on Fifth Street.
Before him, a Water Shroud formed, taking two more rays to do so, and manifesting as a thin, almost imperceptible ripple. Like the edge of a woman’s scarf, it spread out, enveloping the torrent of fire and swirling it around in a graceful dance as easily as Anastasia, delicate and small, had once twirled with an awkward Ardan.
The Water Shroud spun and spun, guiding the fire in its gentle embrace until, unexpectedly, it stretched toward the elf in a single thread. And the fire that had been on the verge of devouring Ardan was redirected with that same fury straight at the elf.
But he merely snapped his fingers, and the flaming horse vanished, dissolving into harmless sparks.
"Star Magic?" The elf asked, disappointed. "I thought you could do better, Speaker."
Ignoring the elf’s taunts, Ardan struggled to shape an Ice Arrow seal, though the process dragged on. Concentrating on the pattern while keeping a wary eye on his opponent, lest he strike suddenly, was no easy task, especially with the searing pain gnawing at his consciousness.
"Well then..." The elf exhaled slowly, and Ardan felt something he’d only sensed once before while descending into a dormant volcano with Atta’nha.
But this time, the volcano wasn’t asleep. It was waking. And with it came all the relentless, destructive force that lurked within its blind rage.
The elf was calling upon the True Name of the earth’s inner flame!
"Ah," the elf paused, and the sensation subsided a little. "You can hear the Name of the Flames of the Deep? Who taught you, boy, that you can so easily hear unfamiliar names and-"
The elf jerked his head sharply to the side.
"The Cloaks are close," he muttered with clear irritation. "We’ll have to cut this little chat short, amusing Speaker. But don’t worry — we’ll meet again, and then you’ll tell me everything about your teacher."
He lowered his hand just as Ardan completed the modified Ice Arrow seal, one that could draw as much energy as was fed into it.
Ardan gave it everything he had. Four rays flared from his Star, which immediately dimmed. But even as that happened, a two-meter-long icy spiral as thick as a grown man’s thigh materialized, spinning wildly.
With a velocity greater than a bullet fired from an army rifle, it shot forward, leaving frosty patterns across the cooling, freezing ground. It covered the distance to the elf in the blink of an eye and... dissolved into a hot puddle at his feet, barely dampening the bastard’s boots.
"A mere first Star, boy — that’s not even close to my level," the elf smirked, tipping his hat with a mocking flourish. "Until next time."
He turned and slipped into a narrow alleyway leading to a small restaurant.
Ardan remained standing in the bank. Perhaps he should have stopped there. After all, he’d done everything he could. The law of the hunt was clear about the fact that this wasn’t his prey. Not his burden. There was nothing here for him to claim. No reason to pursue a far stronger predator, but...
"Mister, Mister, are you a mage?"
Ardan cursed, glancing down at his numb leg.
"Work," he growled, slamming his fist against his chest as though willing the symbol left by Ergar’s fang to repeat its miracle from the prairie. "Come on! Do something, you useless scrawl!"
But the symbol remained silent. The surge of power, of the snow leopard’s ferocity, did not come. Only pain and a sense of his own helplessness.
"Hell no," Ardan hissed, looking toward the alleyway. "No... it won’t end like this... It won’t end so easily, you pointy-eared scum!"
Gritting his teeth so hard his gums bled, he took a step. Then another, and another, each one slicing his mind with knives of pain, and he remembered. He remembered every day he’d spent in this damned Metropolis.
He remembered Eveless. He remembered Iolai. Arkar. Fifth Street. The Firstborn who had tried to beat him on his first night. The sneers and jibes he’d heard on the city streets; the scornful and contemptuous whispers of the Grand’s students.
And within all of this, he heard hints of sounds that melded into the distant echo of something resembling a name. An unpleasant, filthy name. The sort that made you want to step back and scrub yourself clean after just hearing it.
Atta’nha had warned him never to heed such names, as they could easily lead an Aean’Hane down a dark path, from which no one returned.
But with each new piece of filth that clung to Ardan, with each fresh shard of something vile he accepted, the pain in his leg lessened. It faded faster and faster, and Ardan found himself breaking into a run without even realizing it.
In mere seconds, he was at the alley’s entrance. The elf, turning sharply, looked at him, not with a smirk this time, but with surprise.
"What sort of joke..." He breathed, as though he’d just seen the very creature Ardan had spotted in Baliero. "But you’re not a dark one... So how..."
But Ardan didn’t care. He didn’t care about anything this bastard said. At that moment, he didn’t see the elf as the one who had taken so many lives, but as an embodiment of everything that had suffocated, torn apart, and poisoned his life for the past four months.
And Ardan, clinging to the shards he’d gleaned from his own pain and fury, looked up at the sky. Gray and low, it seemed to have long forgotten storms and tempests. It had certainly never known the rage that boiled over the peaks of the high mountains.
But Ardan remembered. He remembered well the icy lightning that flashed across the heavens. The thunder that echoed the roar of the snow leopard greeting his older brother. And how the earth had trembled with a fury it could never comprehend.
Ardan remembered the fragments of the name he’d heard in the storms and tempests of the Alcade. And he shared them with the sky. Told it that somewhere, beyond the horizon, it had a brother. One who was not as grim, but just as cold, proud, and no less formidable. And the sky answered.
It darkened, now shrouded in the shadow of night, and then, with the ferocious growl of a predator on the hunt, an icy bolt of lightning descended.
With a shimmering fang veiled in streams of liquid ice, it struck the ground right where the elf had been standing.
"Ard Egobar," Top Hat said evenly, his voice smooth. And Ardan noticed that he had intentionally left his name incomplete, despite the Second Chancery’s knowledge of it, thanks to the orcs and Cassara. "If I understand the operative division’s reports correctly, you were given a briefing on proper conduct while at Duchess Anorsky’s estate. She is now Empress Consort Oktana, if you need a reminder."
Ardan said nothing.
Top Hat raised his gaze, his small, gleaming brown eyes meeting his.
"Answer when I address you," he ordered.
Ardan wasn’t in a position to argue, so he quickly replied, "Yes, I was."
"Excellent," Top Hat nodded and flipped a page in his thick folder. "According to our informant, on your first day at the Grand, you got into a fight, during which Baron Lasmelil, Etid Andad, and Etid Innaalif were injured. And you broke Andad’s knee, which required treatment that cost..." Top Hat squinted at the report. "Four exes and forty-nine kso."
"They-"
"You will speak only when addressed, Mr. Egobar," Top Hat interrupted, continuing to sift through the papers in his leather folder. "Your aggression was entirely unprovoked, and you simply decided to, let’s say, assert your dominance, yes?"
Ardan nearly choked on his indignation.
"If I hadn’t-"
"Vulture, if you please," Top Hat turned to the Cloak, a slight wave of his hand indicating Ardan.
The Cloak, surprisingly, didn’t move.
"Vulture!" Top Hat barked.
Only then did the mage from the Second Chancery tap his staff against the floor. A seal glimmered at its edge, and a moment later, Ardan felt himself being bound tightly, unable to move, just like that time in Evergale when his great-grandfather had bound him with the Aean’Hane’s art. Only this time, instead of invisible chains, tangible iron shackles materialized from a glowing seal under the chair, wrapping around his body and twisting around his mouth.
"Much better," Top Hat nodded. "Now then, moving on... After your little outburst at, I must remind you, the Imperial Magical University, you thought it wise to swindle poor Mrs. Okladov, the owner of a dressmaker’s shop, selling her, for the absurd sum of four hundred exes, some trinket of questionable craftsmanship that had been made without any proper standards or licenses."
Ardan could only make muffled sounds of protest, but the more he struggled, the tighter the iron chains bit into his flesh.
"But even that didn’t sate your hunger for heinous escapades," Top Hat adjusted his monocle and cleared his throat, his medals jingling. "You then took up residence in a dubious profit house frequently mentioned in reports from the Ministry of Internal Affairs. One that was suspected to be a front for money laundering by a criminal group known as the Orcish Jackets. I suppose you reached an arrangement with them through the Shanti’Ra, a known associate of yours since childhood?"
Ardan fought against the chains, but it was in vain. He could only stare in shock at this strange man who was twisting every part of his life into something unrecognizable.
"And according to witness statements, you were spotted leading a group of individuals who staged a terrorist attack masked as a gang conflict. This happened on Fifth Street in the Baliero district, where your actions resulted in numerous innocent deaths. We discovered their mangled bodies among the ruins of a historic building. A building that had stood untouched for nearly a century until you decided to tear it down, yes? Trying to live up to your great-grandfather’s reputation, Mr. Egobar?"
Top Hat chuckled and turned another page. Ardan stopped struggling. He could see where this was heading...
"And after that, you saw fit to assist a terrorist fanatic — an outlaw elf wielding old magic. And don’t even think of denying it. Many witnesses saw him attempting to evacuate you from the scene after you were wounded. And that’s not even touching on the fact that you were illegally trained in Star Magic and the old magic... What was it called... Oahne? All of this, Mr. Egobar, points to your... let’s say, disappearance, a fate you were warned about four months ago. But I should inform you that if you refuse to cooperate and tell us every detail of your crimes, as well as the secrets behind your magical training, your family will disappear as well. Perhaps they, too, know something?" Top Hat removed his monocle and wiped it with a pristine white handkerchief. "Who knows, perhaps if we press your mother or little Kena and Ert a bit, they’ll share something interesting?"
Ardan instinctively lunged at Top Hat’s throat, but the chains tightened around him, nearly bending him in half.
"A beast in its truest form," Top Hat scoffed, placing his monocle back on.
As he raised his hand, Ardan noticed a ring on his middle finger, sitting snugly against his glove — a ring bearing the emblem of the Tavsers...
"Well then," Top Hat stacked his documents neatly and stood from the table. "It seems we’ll be taking a trip to headquarters, where we’ll review and discuss each incident in detail while we wait for your family. After all, you were so eager to see them, were you not? Such poignant letters you wrote..."
Ardan struggled again, but the chains remained steadfast.
"So," Top Hat gave a slight bow. "You’ll get the chance to meet them... in the afterlife, of course."
He turned to Vulture.
"Take him to the Black House."
The Black House was the central headquarters of the Second Chancery. A building that everyone in the Metropolis avoided by several blocks whenever possible. Rumors about it, the darkest and most absurd kind of rumors, abounded.
"Did I not make myself clear?!" Top Hat’s voice rose when he noticed that none of the Cloaks had moved. Standing at attention in their masks, they remained motionless. "Get the prisoner up and load him into the transport!"
Again, none of them moved.
"That is an order!" Top Hat was nearly shrieking. "I’ll have every single one of you court-martialed! I was appointed by the Upper Chamber and you are obliged to obey me! Not to mention the fact that I outrank every one of you!"
Appointed by the Upper Chamber? Ardan didn’t know much about the workings of the Empire’s executive branch, but he did vaguely remember that the Second Chancery operated as an independent entity, free from the parliament’s oversight.
"Sir," a familiar voice sounded from behind Vulture’s mask — this was the same mage who had fought the Aean’Hane elf. "According to regulations, we are required to hear the detainee’s statement before taking any further action. It is his legal right as a citizen."
"He’s a terrorist!" Top Hat nearly screeched. "And that creature isn’t even human! He has no rights!"
"He’s a suspect," Vulture replied in an even, steady tone. "And his Firstborn heritage does not affect his citizenship status. Everything else remains to be proven."
Seeing that none of the Cloaks intended to move, the Lord-General (a title granted to nobles promoted to general rank) straightened up, appearing somewhat mollified.
"I won’t forget this," he said, begrudgingly waving his hand. "Let him speak. It won’t change a thing. The facts are clear, and I have already made my decision."
Vulture seemingly did nothing, but the chains suddenly vanished, freeing Ardan. He rubbed his wrists and neck, then said curtly:
"My jacket."
"What?" Vulture and Top Hat both seemed to ask in unison.
"On its left lapel, on the inside," Ardan clarified, deliberately not looking at the Lord-General. He wasn’t sure that he could keep his inner snow leopard from leaping at him if he saw his face again. "There’s a hidden pocket under a patch. Please tear it off."
"What utter nonsense is this animal — this half-blood — spouting!?" Top Hat sneered.
But Vulture, ignoring him, stared silently at Ardan for a few moments before nodding to one of the Cloaks. The one with the cat mask pulled a battered satchel with a slightly bent handle from behind his back.
It was Ardan’s satchel. So, the Second Chancery had already searched his apartment...
Opening it, Cat pulled out the jacket and, after a moment of fiddling, found the hidden pocket and tore off the patch. A faint, metallic clink sounded as a black coin slightly larger than a kso dropped to the ground. Instead of the Empire’s crest, it bore a shield emblem.
The coin drew everyone’s attention as it rolled toward the ocean before Vulture caught it... Releasing his staff in the process, which clattered to the stones.
Had a war mage just let go of his main weapon?
"And what of it?" Top Hat laughed. "Now carry out my orders, or I’ll summon a special squad of guards!"
"Vulture," came another familiar voice from beneath Cat’s mask. The voice of the man who had escorted Ardan from the palace to the Grand four months ago. "Is it real?"
The mage, his staff lying abandoned on the ground, studied the insignia that had been given to Ardan by Yonatan.
"Yes. It’s real."
Cat gave a curt nod and drew his revolver. At the same time, the other Cloaks followed suit, two of them even raising their staves.
They cocked their weapons and activated seals that glinted along the metal, all of it aimed not at Ardan, but at Top Hat.
Vulture tucked the special coin into his coat pocket, then picked up his staff and stood in front of Ardan, shielding him from the Lord-General.
"What...What is the meaning of this?" Top Hat shrieked. "What’s going on?! I’ll have every single one of you-"
"Mr. Egobar has presented us with an officer’s mark from the Second Chancery," Vulture interrupted, his tone so icy it matched the winds of the Alcade. "Until the condition attached to that mark is fulfilled, he is under the Second Chancery’s protection. Your authority, Lord-General, ends here."
"My authority?!" Top Hat practically roared. "My authority ends nowhere! I was appointed by the Upper Chamber! That makes me your-"
A gunshot cracked.
A bullet fired by one of the Cloaks struck the ground directly in front of Top Hat, ricocheting into the wall. In his fit of rage, he hadn’t noticed that he’d taken a step toward Vulture.
"Another attempt to approach Mr. Egobar will be the last thing you do, Lord-General," Vulture explained casually. "Until the officer’s mark’s condition is met, anyone who impedes us will be eliminated. I’ll repeat that for your benefit: anyone."
Top Hat swallowed hard, stepping back.
"And what exactly is this fucki-?"
"Think carefully, sir, before you finish that question," Vulture’s staff crackled with several seals.
"What is the condition of this mark?" Top Hat spat through gritted teeth.
"Presenting an officer’s mark establishes one’s right to an audience with the Head of the Second Chancery. The bearer must be escorted to the Head immediately and without delay, and the Head must grant them an audience regardless of any obstacles, preventable or not."
"The H-h-head...?" Top Hat’s complexion paled to a shade surpassing even Ardan’s or Lisa’s during their ordeal in the haunted house. After all, they had still been able to see a glimmer of hope in that situation.
But Top Hat... The mere mention of the "Head of the Second Chancery" had him looking like he was now facing the inescapable certainty of imminent death.
"Gentlemen!" Vulture, ignoring Top Hat, addressed the other masked Cloaks. "As soon as we determine the location of the Head, we proceed there immediately. Anyone who stands in our way, regardless of rank, position, or citizenship, will be eliminated. Is that clear?!"
"Yes, sir!" The masked Cloaks shouted in unison.
Several of them turned, their cloaks flaring as they strode out. Vulture, facing Ardan, helped him rise from the chair.
"Good move, kid," the Cloak whispered. "And you did an admirable job not holding back while that pathetic moron had his fun. But you could’ve handled that a bit smarter... Yonatan didn’t lie in his report: you’re clever and brave, but your reason just abandons you at critical moments."
What? Hadn’t Yonatan said that Ardan was a coward?
And what exactly was this coin that had compelled the entire Second Chancery to...?
Vulture tapped his staff lightly against the ground, and Ardan fell asleep.