Chapter 45: His sickly greed

The silence at the top of the Exarch’s Tower was a beast.

It was the silence of a predator holding its breath before pouncing.

Theron felt it on the back of his neck, a cold tickle telling him that any wrong move, any breath too loud, could be his last.

He had been standing in front of the obsidian desk for five minutes, not daring to speak.

He could only see his lord’s back, a silhouette cut against the window showing a sickly Phaedra under a gray sky.

Finally, the beast moved.

“Intriguing and disgustingly dangerous.”

Exarch Caelum’s voice didn’t bounce off the walls; it was devoured by the polished obsidian of his study.

Theron almost jumped out of his skin.

Caelum turned slowly, a glass of wine in his hand. He swirled the amber liquid.

SSSSSS…

The wine started to boil.

There was no fire nearby, only the mage’s skin. Small bubbles burst releasing alcohol vapor, casting twisted shadows over the map of Phaedra spread on the table.

The subordinate loosened his robe’s collar. The fabric stuck to his back like a second cold, wet skin.

“Dangerous, yes, Exarch,” Theron said, forcing his voice to sound firm and taking a step back out of pure instinct. “But his lies run deep. Raziel… his existence makes no sense.”

CLACK!

Caelum slammed the glass on the table.

The sound was a gunshot in the silence.

“Danger is the spice of life, Theron. Without it, this world would be a boring and unbearable piece of shit.” The Exarch got up and walked to the window, turning his back on his subordinate. “The boy claims to be a Fire Elementalist. A prodigy, say the idiots in the cloister, but you and I were in the courtyard. We saw his aura.”

Caelum turned around, and his eyes shone with a sickly greed.

“That wasn’t fire, Theron. It was like a dirty prism, light refracted through a corpse.”

He walked to the map spread on the desk. His index finger, wrapped in almost invisible smoke, traced a line to the south.

“He reminds me of… her.”

Theron tensed up. His mouth went dry instantly.

“Her?” he whispered, even though he knew perfectly well who he was referring to. The name was poison in the Church’s hallways.

“That whore playing goddess in the southern borders,” Caelum spat. The map under his finger started to turn black. The “Liberator.”

The name hung in the air, heavy as a death sentence.

“Her heresy is the same, they say her magic ’doesn’t fit’, that it is an antithesis to the Goddess’s grace, a magic without chains, without dogmas. A promise for idiots and desperate people.” Caelum locked his gaze on Theron, making him feel like an insect. “If Raziel is one of her pieces, if that bitch managed to put one of her agents in the heart of St. Celeste…”

“Impossible!” Theron rushed to say, pale as a ghost. “Raziel is an orphan of the system. We’ve tracked him since he was in diapers! There is no connection, no visits, no letters…”

“No?” Caelum smiled. It was a grimace full of teeth, with no joy at all. “Rats always find ways to get into the pantry, Theron, and I don’t care if it’s an agent or an accident. If Raziel has even a drop of that heretical power or if he is the key to something bigger…”

The Exarch pressed his finger on the map until he burned a black hole in the paper.

“The Heart of the Forge.”

Theron felt a chill that had nothing to do with the room’s temperature.

“Exarch, with all due respect, that is a myth. A story to scare novices and justify crusades.”

“Myths hide truths that people are too cowardly to accept.” Caelum went back to the brazier, extending his hands toward the dancing flames. The fire licked his fingers with almost dog-like submission. “Imagine that power, Theron. Total control. Absolute order in this dump of a world. And I think our ’innocent’ Raziel knows where the key is.”

BAM, BAM, BAM!

The knocks on the door sounded like hammer blows, violent and desperate.

“Come in,” Caelum ordered. His voice dropped the room temperature by ten degrees.

The door burst open. A messenger entered almost tripping, soaked in sweat and shaking like a leaf in a storm. He threw himself to the ground, hitting his forehead against the obsidian.

“Exarch Caelum! Sorry for the interruption!” the boy squealed, not daring to lift his head. “Urgent news from Eldoria! Code Red!”

Caelum didn’t even blink.

“Speak. And do it fast before I get bored and decide to use you to feed my flames.”

“A… a renegade elementalist! Earth User! Unknown level. He is… he is demolishing the village! He has cut the trade routes and is demanding tributes. He says the Church has no power there!”

The Exarch let out a long, tired sigh. As if he had just stepped on dog shit in the street.

“Unacceptable.”

He turned to Theron and the smile had disappeared. Now only the look of an executioner enjoying his work remained.

“Prepare a hunting party. We will deal with this trash personally. I’m sick of mysteries and whispers. It’s time to make some noise.”

Theron nodded frantically, grateful to have an excuse to get out of that suffocating room.

“Orders for the renegade, sir? Do we capture him for interrogation?”

Caelum looked at the burnt hole in the map. He thought of Zion. He thought of Raziel. Too many variables, too many unknowns. This renegade, however, was a simple problem. And simple problems deserved simple and violent solutions.

“I don’t want prisoners.”

The fire in the brazier roared, reflecting the violence in his eyes.

“Burn him, Theron. Turn him into ash and make sure everyone sees it. I want him to serve as an example for anyone who thinks they can challenge us.”

“At your command!”

Theron bowed and shot out, dragging the messenger with him as if his life depended on it.

Silence returned to the Tower, dense and heavy.

Caelum stood alone, staring at the flames.

“Novice…” he muttered to the void.

A shadow crossed his face.

“If you are a pawn of Zion, I will rip your skin off in strips and use it as a rug. But if you are the key I think you are… then, boy, I’m going to squeeze you until the last drop of your soul.”

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