Korrath was a city that didn't scream. It whispered its very existence. A city destined to decay. Towering spires piercing the grey skies, and below them, the streets with flickering neon, automated drones, and the murmurs of death threatening to consume the city. Korrath didn't care for justice or ethics. It cared for its margins, for its profit. And Alaric understood that better than most.
Alaric stood on a rooftop in the outer ring, overlooking a city built to save its people but was molded to crush them under its very weight. He wasn't there for the view; beneath him, across the street and near the pier, lay an old warehouse. The warehouse blinked with weak security lights. Inside, a man with slicked-back hair and an emaciated body was preparing to sell a myth fragment—a condensed sliver of the very forces that govern and bind the universe, a concept—to the highest bidder. Unauthorized, dangerous, and extremely valuable.
In the world of Ashkar, power came in concepts – literal Myths – manifestations of primal truths bound into crystalline cores. One didn't simply wield a myth like a weapon; they were bound to it, becoming one with it. The results were all unique, personal to their user, sometimes beautiful, and often chaotic.
Alaric touched a commlink in his ear. "I'm in position."
The voice that answered was dry and gravelly. His handler is Ivelle. "Ten-minute window"
Alaric focused and mentally activated his myth; flashes of grey-black symbols flashed through his eyes. He uttered two sentences.
"Four hours of rest for bullet time."
"Satiety for enhanced speed"
His killer combo, powerful but with a 2-minute limit, he named Flash. He dropped from the rooftop with precise grace and dashed across the street faster than the common eye could register. Inside, the seller paced nervously beside a black briefcase. He looked like someone who thought they were about to win the lottery without realizing the ticket was counterfeit.
Alaric observed for what seemed to be a moment, timing his breaths, watching for his tells—any weapons, implants, or signs of any foul play. There were none.
He entered without a sound. One moment the man was alone, and the next, Alaric's black blade was pressed to his throat, calm and radiating a faint aura of death.
"No screaming, just answers," Alaric said. It sounded mechanical, repeated a dozen times over.
The man froze but remained silent.
Alaric's eyes roamed the warehouse. "The fragment."
He gestured with his eyes; his body trembled with fear. "Didn't open it. Didn't look inside. Just—just the handoff."
Alaric slashed the ligaments in the man's arms and legs with practiced ease and walked to the briefcase. Inside, sealed in containment foam, pulsed a pale amber crystal, its glow rhythmic, like breath.
"The Myth of Ambers," it whispered.
Any Myth could destroy the continent in the right hands, or the wrong ones. Especially a myth like this that falls within the Brand of Destruction. However, that was not Alaric's problem to deal with; this was simply another 1000 credits in his account.
He closed the briefcase. Turned back to the seller. "Who gave you the coordinates?"
The man moaned in pain.
'Fuck, I am a dumbass.' Alaric thought, and the next moment he disappeared from the warehouse and reappeared atop the warehouse.
Ivelle's voice returned. "Report?"
"Fragment secured; Seller was freelance."
"Confirmed. Meet up at the safehouse."
Alaric disabled his commlink and looked down at the city; his gaze seemed to freeze his very surroundings.
Alaric took the long route back to the safehouse, considering what to do with the myth. The mission details were merely to stop the sale; therefore, by the law of the guild, the myth was his to do with as he pleased. The answer was obvious; the sale of myth was illegal unless sold to the Shakar Kingdom or the Trubton Guild. Both of which severely underpay.
When he arrived, he found Ivelle there. Her voice did not match her. She was conventionally attractive, with gray hair and green eyes. Heavy amounts of mythic energy radiated from her.
He tossed the briefcase towards her.
"Sell it to the Guild. With this sale and the mission completed, we should be able to get our Diamond Plates."
"Vacation period is nearly over; you should be heading back to the academy soon," she responded.
He walked past her and entered his room, and as the door closed, his voice lingered: "Soon."
'An academy student at the peak of the Mythic Awakening stage—what a monster.'
Ivelle didn't say anything further. She stared at the briefcase, eyes narrowing as if she could see the burning potential trapped inside. The Myth of Ambers—it wasn't just volatile. It was historic. Last time it surfaced, an entire border province had vanished in an hour, turned to smoldering glass.
She ran a finger along the casing, then turned and vanished into the hall, leaving Alaric to his silence.