Felix sat before the shimmering projection, the faint hum of the magical link filling the silent chamber. Lady Sharone, her regal posture unwavering even in the ethereal glow, listened intently as he recounted the tale of his audience with the King of Blasphemy, the brutal betrayal by Tibera, and Trice's abduction, as well as all the information they had gathered about the Khaos Nocturni, slave networks, and criminal syndicates in general. Around her, the other esteemed leaders of the Moonshadow sat, their expressions a mix of grave concern and quiet contemplation. They were gathered in a meeting room at the Duke's estate, so Duke Philip was obviously present.
He finished, ending with the fact that guards had gone into the hole that Trice had bored into Aegisforge, but they found nothing but a small, constrictive space. They dug around and searched, but the nearest tunnel was an underground sewer 200 meters away from the opening, which led him to believe that the Umbral Spire, the criminal den, was an artificial space created by an ability or artifact that either could be moved around or required special conditions to enter. This also reduced his suspicion that the dwarves were working with the Khaos Nocturni all this time. Of course, there would be a number of people within the upper ranks of Quava who knew what was going on, but it would take an investigation to fish them out and even more time to get them to confess what they knew. With that, he ended the report and proceeded to tell them about their group's next course of action.
A heavy silence settled in the room when he finished speaking, broken only by the crackling of the projection. Sharone pondered for a long moment, her gaze distant, as if sifting through the intricate web of events. Finally, she spoke, her voice measured and calm.
"Felix, you've handled this with commendable foresight. Your course of action is sound. However," she paused, her eyes softening as they focused on his bandaged form, "you are wounded, severely so. While Trice's captivity is a pressing concern, you and your team must prioritize healing. Rushing into this would only lead to further complications, as you yourself assessed."
Felix nodded, acknowledging the undeniable truth in her words. He could feel the dull throb of his broken ribs and the constant ache in his arm, a testament to his current limitations.
"I will inform Lin," Sharone continued.
"She's also in Ezkanur, and I'm sure she can glean some valuable information regarding the situation there, perhaps even a lead on this relic."
"Thank you, Lady Sharone," Felix said, his gratitude genuine. Her support, even from afar, was a much-needed comfort.
Just then, the chamber door creaked open, and three figures entered, carrying trays laden with steaming tea. Lyra led the way, followed by two younger girls who immediately drew Felix's attention. Finn, with her bright, eager eyes and a mischievous grin, was practically bouncing on the balls of her feet, while Fiona, her movements graceful and composed, carried herself with an air of quiet dignity. Seeing their familiar faces, even through the projection, sent a wave of warmth through him.
Sharone offered a small, understanding smile.
"I'll give you a few moments," she said, her voice gentle, and then, with a subtle flick of her wrist, the projection flickered, and her image momentarily blurred, signifying her intention to cut the transmission soon.
Finn, ever the tomboyish and giddy one, wasted no time. She practically bounded towards the projection, her questions tumbling out in rapid-fire succession.
"Onii-chan! Are you really okay? What happened? Was it a cool fight? Did you use your new move? Are you going to be a hero? And what's with that doll on your lap?"
"Finn, pipe down!" Fiona chided softly, her tone more of gentle exasperation than true annoyance. She then turned her attention to Felix, her calm demeanor a stark contrast to her sister's exuberance.
"We heard you got hurt, Onii-chan. Are you truly alright?" Her gaze, though soft, was sharp and assessing.
Felix managed a reassuring smile, though he felt the familiar pull of pain across his bandaged chest as he did.
"My wounds are nothing, Fiona. Just a few scrapes. I'll be healed up in no time." He tried to project an air of nonchalance, but the truth was, every movement was a small battle against discomfort.
Through the faint distortion of the projection, Fiona's sharp eyes didn't miss a thing. She saw the extent of the bandages wrapping his torso, the way his left arm was cradled in the sling, and though he tried to hide it, she noticed the slight catch in his breath, the almost imperceptible grimace that flickered across his face when he attempted a laugh. She glanced at Finn, seeing in her sister's momentarily stilled expression that she, too, had picked up on the subtle signs of his struggle. Fiona pursed her lips, a tiny crease forming between her brows, but she kept her emotions tightly reined in.
"Do your best, Onii-chan," she said, her voice a little softer than before, a hint of unspoken worry in her tone.
Finn, momentarily quieted by her sister's observation, quickly bounced back, though her usual boundless energy was tempered with a touch of earnestness.
"And don't strain yourself! Oh, and bring us souvenirs from your travels, okay? Really cool ones!"
Felix's smile deepened, a genuine warmth spreading through him despite his discomfort.
"I promise, I'll bring you both the best souvenirs."
"Do your best, Onii-chan!" they chorused in unison, their voices intertwining in a wave of love and encouragement that washed over him.
"I will," he replied, his voice a little hoarse with emotion.
Sharone, who had been observing the exchange with a serene expression, then spoke, her voice signaling the end of their brief reprieve.
"I'll keep in touch, Felix. Rest and recover." With that, the projection flickered and then vanished, leaving him in the quiet of the chamber once more. Sharone turned to Finn and Fiona, her smile gentle.
"Don't worry, girls. Your big brother will be alright." Her words, though meant to reassure, carried a subtle undercurrent of knowing. Things could get worse.
****†****
Far away, in a chamber bathed in the eerie glow of alchemical apparatus, Hanzet smiled, a strange, almost ethereal light in her eyes. She had felt it a little over a week ago, a faint tremor across the intricate magical network woven into her very being – her doll had been used. She wondered what precarious situation Felix had been in to drive her doll to activate. It was sooner than she expected. Hanzet was curious.
"Well, it doesn't really matter. I'll ask him about it the next time we meet," she muttered, then put her hand to her mouth to stifle a chuckle.
"Be mindful of what you're doing, Hanzet," a voice rasped from an operation table in the center of the room. 'Oslon' lay there, stark naked, 'his' pale skin glistening with a thin sheen of sweat. 'His' body was a canvas of raw, exposed musculature and newly formed flesh. The parts that were not yet healed had a rough, almost wood-like quality. 'He' looked like a grotesque masterpiece in progress, a partially assembled doll of sinew and wood.
Hanzet whirled on 'him,' her smile replaced by a sharp scowl.
"Keep still, you fool! This process wouldn't have been needlessly long and reoccurring if you hadn't insisted on having a 'male body'!" Her voice rose, laced with a frustrated vehemence.
"A female soul belongs in a female body, especially a soul as powerful as 'yours,' but nooo... What did you even do to break it this time, huh?" She threw her hands up in exasperation, a faint crackle of arcane energy sparking at her fingertips.
"Tch, it's none of your business," Oslon scoffed, turning 'his' head away from her, 'his' expression a mix of impatience and defiance.
"Just hurry up."
Hanzet's eyes narrowed, a sinister glint appearing in their depths.
"Oh, you don't like it? Perhaps you should make another homunculus then, like the one you made in the city and leave me alone?" The words dripped with a mocking sweetness.
Oslon winced, a flicker of something akin to genuine annoyance crossing 'his' face. "That was lost when those bandits Rigarde hired to raid the palace swindled him," 'he' snarled, a note of bitterness creeping into 'his' voice.
"Took it along with some of my other research materials. Not that it's that big of a deal. That homunculus, though almost perfect, was unresponsive to stimuli." 'He' shifted uncomfortably on the cold table, the raw flesh stretching over the wooden vessel. "I don't have the time or resources to do another one. I'll just have to make do with your marionettes. I had plans on taking the body of someone-"
"Kojo Atari?" Hanzet asked. Oslon nodded.
"But too many things are in motion, so I think I'll wait and watch for now."
Hanzet's smile returned, wider and more chilling than before.
"Of course. Especially since you trusted me enough to share a secret only you and Rigarde know. You need me to repair your body anytime you break it."
Her gaze drifted upwards, towards the flickering light above the operation table, and then, slowly, back to Oslon, a predatory gleam in her eyes.
"Now hold still, this may sting a bit," she whispered, her voice a silken threat.
From the deep, oppressive shadows that clung to the ceiling above the light, two massive, disembodied hands began to materialize, their forms vaguely humanoid but twisted, unnatural, like monstrous shadows given form. They descended slowly, deliberately, their long, spindly fingers reaching downwards. Then, from the very tips of these spectral digits, countless strands of silver thread, impossibly fine yet gleaming with an arcane luminescence, began to descend like a slow-motion rain. They drifted down, each thread shimmering with a faint, almost imperceptible energy, until they gently, inexorably, began to bind themselves to Oslon's naked skin. They wound around 'his' limbs, across 'his' chest, over the raw, unfinished patches of 'his' body, meticulously knitting themselves into place. It was a macabre tapestry, the silver threads weaving themselves into his flesh, not merely fixing the damage done to the marionette body, but securing Oslon's very soul to the vessel, an unholy fusion of magic and flesh. The air in the chamber crackled with an unseen power, a faint, metallic scent filling the senses as the eerie symphony of creation and binding played out.