Felix jolted awake,his eyes fluttering open, blinking against the unfamiliar light.A searing pain lancing through his body as he instinctively hugged himself. He was covered in crisp, white bandages, and his left arm was cradled in a sling, a stark reminder of the ordeal he couldn't quite recall. As he pushed himself to sit up, something soft tumbled from his chest onto his lap. It was Lily, the small, familiar doll. He picked her up, his brow furrowing in a futile attempt to piece together the fragmented memories. He remembered getting knocked out, the world swirling into darkness, but there was a flicker, a vague impression of someone fighting Tibera in his unconscious state. Was it Trice?
Then, a clearer, more horrifying image solidified in his mind: Tibera, his face contorted in a sneer, carrying Trice's limp body away. And before the final plunge into oblivion, a hand reaching out to him, a desperate attempt to help. He clutched Lily tighter, the doll a tiny anchor in the tumultuous sea of his thoughts. He swung his legs over the side of the bed, the rough blanket still clinging to him like a protective cloak. Covering himself, he pushed open the door and stepped into the quiet hall.
Almost instantly, a chorus of gasps and exclamations filled the air. Hamza, Adade, Fatima, Matoi, and Lucille, their eyes widening in a mixture of shock and profound relief, rushed towards him. Their faces, etched with worry, now brightened with an almost blinding joy. But his legs, still weak and unresponsive, betrayed him. He stumbled, a jolt of agony shooting through his broken ribs and newly bandaged arm. Before he could hit the floor, Lucille was there, her strong hands steadying him.
"Felix! Easy, easy," she urged, gently guiding him to a plush, velvet couch.
"You shouldn't be up. Your wounds are severe. You need to rest." Her voice was soft, laced with a tenderness that pricked at his heart.
He leaned back, the cushions a welcome support against his battered body.
"How long... how long have I been out?" His voice was a raspy whisper, unfamiliar even to himself.
A collective sigh seemed to ripple through the group.
"A week, Felix," Hamza said, his usual laid back demeanor replaced by a rare flicker of concern.
"You've been out for a whole week."
Felix's eyes widened, a fresh wave of disbelief washing over him. A week? He'd lost a week? He pushed himself up again, the urgency to act overriding the pain. But another sharp, debilitating jolt of agony shot through him, sending him sprawling back onto the couch, a low groan escaping his lips. His ribs screamed in protest, each breath a struggle, and his internal injuries throbbed with a dull ache. He was weaker than he had ever been.
Hamza knelt beside him, his voice grim. "Whoever put you in this state, Felix, they didn't want to kill you outright. They wanted you to suffer. Sliced your vital spots, making sure the pain would be excruciating, rather than just immobilizing you."
Felix, propped up once more, his face pale and drawn, managed a single, hoarse word. "Tibera."
Fatima, who had been watching with a worried frown, folded her arms, her expression hardening.
"I knew it," she declared, her voice laced with righteous anger.
"I knew that old man was up to no good."
Matoi, her brow furrowed in confusion, piped up.
"But wasn't he your mentor, Felix?"
A weak, bitter smile touched Felix's lips. "That's exactly why I lost so badly," he rasped, the irony not lost on him. He had been taught by the very man who had nearly destroyed him.
"Where are we?" Felix asked, his gaze sweeping over the unfamiliar, yet comforting, surroundings.
"We're in a town close to the northern border, Felix. Just a few miles from here, and we'll cross into Adonis. This is a guest house we purchased. The whole thing. The owner wasn't too keen on selling, but we...persuaded him a bit." Adade said.
Hamza's emerald eyes, usually a warm, shifted to various, almost hypnotic hues for a fleeting moment. He nodded slowly, a knowing glint in his gaze.
"Hypnosis, huh?" Felix murmured with a faint smile echo of his old mischievous self. He looked at each of them, a fierce determination flickering in his weary eyes. "We need to go after Tibera. We need to save Trice."
Hamza, however, interjected, his voice firm but not unkind.
"Felix, we understand your urgency, but we can't. Not now. Youre in bad shape . Even if you heal faster than most people, it will take a while before you can even think about moving around properly. You have broken ribs, a broken arm, significant blood loss, and some internal injuries that need time to heal. Rushing in would be suicidal."
Too exhausted to protest, Felix slumped back against the cushions, his gaze drifting upwards, fixed on the ceiling. He felt the weight of his helplessness pressing down on him. Lucille, sensing the growing tension and the bitter self-reproach etched on Felix's face, stepped in.
"I'm going to prepare something for us to eat," she announced, her voice a soothing balm. Fatima and Matoi, understanding her intention, followed her out of the room.
Left alone with Adade and Hamza, Felix's thoughts spiraled.
He was so weak, so utterly incapable of even saving a friend who had been taken right under his nose. He, more than anyone, should have seen through the old man's facade. He remembered, with chilling clarity, the ruthless, uncaring way Tibera had trained him in the art of assassination seeing him not as a son but a tool to be shaped and used in future.
" Right, it was the mist that was clouding my judgment." He thought.
His words echoed in his mind and raising his good hand and slapped himself. Blaming the mist was just an excuse, a cowardly evasion.
He was the only one to blame.
Adade and Hamza exchanged startled glances, their eyes wide with concern at his sudden action.
He looked down at the small doll in his lap, tracing the delicate stitches.
"You were the one who saved me, weren't you, Lily?" he whispered, his voice thick with emotion. He pressed his forehead against Lily's, a silent "thank you" hanging in the air between them.
A few moments later, the girls returned, carrying trays laden with steaming cups of herbal tea and plates of light refreshments. They settled back around him, their presence a comforting warmth. Felix, taking a deep breath, began to fill them in, recounting his audience with the King of Blasphemy and his brutal fight with Tibera, leaving out no detail of the old man's betrayal.
He picked up a hot cup of herbal tea, the warmth seeping into his aching hands, but then gently placed it back down without taking a sip. He looked at each of their faces, their worried expressions reflecting his own somber mood.
"You're right," he admitted, his voice regaining a touch of its usual strength, though still laced with weariness.
"It's foolish to rush in, not with things as they are." He paused, gathering his thoughts.
"First, there'll be an investigation into what exactly happened a week ago. Someone is bound to have seen something, so it's best to wait until things die down. And as Hamza said, I'm not at my top form. I'd only slow the team down." He looked at them, a flicker of hope in his eyes.
"And lastly, Trice is strong. He may act cowardly, but he's a strong guy. He'll be able to hold out until we get to him. So now, we need a course of action."
Hamza nodded in agreement.
"We are yet to report to Lady Sharone," he reminded Felix.
Fatima chimed in, "And since the artifact in question is in Ezkanur and Lord Kojo is already there, wouldn't it be better to leave it to him?"
Felix shook his head.
"That would be relying on him too much. We became agents of Moonshadow because we wanted to do something for ourselves. Leaving it to the higher-ups is like a child who always goes to his parents to solve a problem. He won't grow."
"What will we do then?" Matoi asked.
Felix thought for a moment, a plan slowly forming in his mind.
"We'll make our report," he said, his voice gaining conviction.
"And then, we'll lay low for a while, gathering more information about the state of affairs in the capital. After things calm down, we'll use the info gathered to see if we can intercept the acquisition of the 'Vanguard' relic."
Adade raised an eyebrow.
"Doesn't that mean we're still leaving it up to Lady Sharone?"
Felix shook his head again.
"It's more of a pincer attack type situation. There's no guarantee that they'll be able to do anything while it's in Ezkanur, so we'll try and follow up on this side. One way or another, we'll be able to halt its acquisition and meet Tibera again. And by all means, save Trice while we're at it."
The others looked at each other, a silent understanding passing between them. They nodded their heads in agreement, a renewed sense of purpose lighting their faces. Felix, watching them, felt a surge of resolve. He would get payback.
**********
Meanwhile, in a dimly lit, damp chamber, Trice stirred. He was in a cage, the cold iron bars pressing against his bruised skin. He heard footsteps approaching, the rhythmic thud echoing in the oppressive silence. He scrambled to his feet, his heart pounding in his chest.
Tibera, his face a few bandages stark came into view. In his hand, he held a single, hardened feather, its tip glinting menacingly.
Trice tensed, every muscle in his body rigid with fear and anticipation.
Tibera stopped just outside the cage, a chilling smile playing on his lips.
"Awake at last. I trust you're comfortable? Don't worry, my dear boy. I'm going to 'treat you well.' We have so much to discuss, so much to...get along on."he purred, his voice a low, sinister rumble. His eyes, cold and calculating, held a promise of unspeakable torment. With a final, taunting smirk, he turned and walked away, his footsteps fading into the darkness.
Trice slumped against the bars, his breath catching in his throat. He could only hope that his friends were okay, that Felix was safe. The thought was a fragile lifeline in the suffocating darkness of his captivity.