There is a boy, aged seventeen, who goes outside the citadel every now and then, and I kid you not, returns unarmed. Every bloody time.
I would consider scouting him for your guild as he has great potential.
—Charlie (letter to the Berserker Guild)
It's midday. There's forty of us—I counted. What? I was bored—waiting in the large white, empty room.
Folks familiar with each other are clustered across the room in random little knots, gossiping amongst themselves.
Me? I'm alone sitting in a corner.
I know a scant few of these people, but we're not close, and I like to keep to myself. I close my eyes and let the noise of scattered chatter wash over me.
When it quiets down, I know he's here.
But I don't move my spot, hardly a need too. Instead, I open my eyes.
At the edge of the room stand Lord Echen, and behind him are two the Agema—a special elite unit that guards the pantheons.
He's by no means a small man but he's dwarfed by the Agemata.
They're covered from neck to feet with a long black cloak that no doubt hides weaponry, and on their backs is a sheathed longsword.
Their face is covered with plain black masks.
Everything about them—from how carry themselves, to their gait, their eyes scanning behind the mask's slit—screams power.
I wonder how I'll do against them in a fight.
My lips curl into a feral grin and my fingers tingles with excitement. I've fought a shitload of the dead but never tested my self against the living.
It seems my bloodlust leaks, as their gaze falls on me.
I see slight movement beneath their cloaks. No doubt they're reaching for a weapon.
Feels like an invitation to me. I'll gladly oblige.
Lord Echen's voice stops me.
"Ladies and gentlemen, shall we begin?"
Tch.
But how did we get here? Let's go back to the beginning.
I met with Lord Echen before dawn in Olympia—His own personal estate. He was putting together a team to help transport a team of Maesters from Asgard—The closest citadel to ours—and back. I asked him why he didn't send the Agemata instead. He said they're busy with something else apparently, probably something to do with Deucalion uprising I guessing.
He was gathering the strongest available Mad Men from all the top guilds for this job. That's how important it was.
I pressed him for more information on why those Maesters were so important but he somehow managed to verbally steer me away from questions. He's a smooth talker, that Lord Echen.
Anyway, I obviously refused him. He's the leader of the twelve pantheons that rule Olympus—our citadel—and played a pivotal role in the great slum floods five years ago—the event that led to the birth of the revolution led by Deucalion.
I can't work for such a man, I have honor. Or at least, I had.
The offer of a thousand credits was a bit too much to refuse.
Plus, the part of the slum that was flooded kinda had it coming to be honest.
They were dealing drugs and involved in other nefarious activities.
I accepted his offer on the condition that I won't be under the command of anyone.
My solo act was non-negotiable.
We sealed the contract and l left, searched for Ana, found her, and took her home.
We had a great time. The girl's got some skills, I tell you. But that's all I'm willing to divulge, okay? Mind your business.
And oh, my half sister came to visit later. Nagged about my promiscuous habits.
Tried, and failed to get me to stop being one of the Mad Men. And then she left.
She seemed a little bit worried—even more than the usual. But she'll figure it out, I guess.
Then I took a nap. Didn't get much sleep because I was with Ana.
Which brings us back to the present.
"Ladies and Gentlemen. Shall we begin?"
He goes on to briefs us on the job and the importance of its success.
The Maesters work, if completed, can significantly improve humanity chances in winning the unending war with the dead.
Our departure time is first light tomorrow.
He wishes us good luck, reiterates the importance of the job and takes his leave.
For the entirety of his monologue, the Agemata eyes are fixed on me.
They see me as a threat. That kind of warms my belly.
I yawn. That's my body telling me it needs rest. It'll be stupid to ignore it, especially before a dangerous job.
So, I stand up from my corner and make my way home.
But someone stops me.
He's a man with full head of grey hair, broken nose, tired eyes and jowls along his jawline. Despite his aging features, I can feel the barely hidden strength he possesses. Usually, I'd be thinking of fighting him and all the ways to take him down.
But right now, I'm tired.
"What?" I say, irritatedly.
He frowns. "What a hot-tempered brat."
I twist my face into a sneer. "Wanna go?"
He laughs me off like an adult does to child throwing a tantrum. I don't like this man.
"I just want to address the group before we disperse for the day. So please, wait a moment, okay?"
I don't reply, but I don't leave either.
"I greet you all my fellow Mad Men. My name is Fehra Dumm. My Epithet Is: Stubborn Bastard. Everyone here was selected based on merit so you've all done some pretty badass shit. You have my respects. I've worked with some of you in the past. For those of you younger folks who may not know me. I'm the oldest Mad Man in this citadel, and I'll be in charge of this group for the job."
As if sensing some push back he quickly adds." Don't worry, I don't plan on micro-managing you, but we do need someone with some leadership experience to keep the group together. Now, I've read the dossier on all of you and I have a pretty good grasp of your strengths and uhhh... Failings. All except you."
He turns and points to me.
"You don't belong to any guild, so I don't know much about you except what I've heard by word of mouth, but clearly you're good enough to be here."
I shrug." I get by."
He waves me off. "No need for false modesty here. According to the log at the outer gates, you've gone out of the citadel a total of twenty-four times in past three years."
I hear scattered gasps.
"That's right, guys. This kid right here has one of the highest survival rates of Mad Men in the three known citadels."
A rough looking man with scar plastered across his face stamps his foot on the ground.
"You want me to believe that brat has gone to the domain of the dead twenty-four times and survived? Is that a joke? He's what, eighteen?"
"Nineteen," I correct. My birthday was a few weeks ago.
Before the man can speak, Fehra continues.
"He might look young but he has the experience of veterans. I barely have more outings than him and I've been a Mad Man for over three decades. His presence here reassures me of our success. But what I want to know is—"
He walks over to me. "—what are your powers, son?"
No way in hell I'm revealing my cards to these people.
"Well, I can smell bullshit." That's not even entirely a lie.
He scoffs. "Fine, be like that. But if you act in anyway that destabilizes the group, I'll cut you loose."
"No problem," I say matter-of-factly.
He nods. He's about to turn, but stops himself.
"What do we call you?"
"Call me by my epithet."
"You want me to call you Dead man's fear?"
He pauses to let that question sink in. It does. I can see his point.
"Call me Tiresias."
"That's not your real name, is it?"
"No, but it'll do."
He eyes me for a moment, nods, and then turns back to face the group.
"Let's all try and get some long rest, we don't know when next we'll be able to have that luxury for the foreseeable future. Let's make sure we're all gathered at the inner gate by dawn. That'll be all, comrades."
I'm the first to leave.
***
At dawn, we all arrive at the inner gate and hold a brief meeting before we set out. All forty-one of us.
Come dusk, only eight of us are left.