Another year has gone by, and once more Winter's Crown arrives for all those across Charon to celebrate. However, not all are filled with joy and cheer.

Eameia paces back and forth at the hidden underground entrance of the mansion as she waits for Caedes to join her. Having traded in her dresses for dark coats and leathers, she’s doing her best to find any means of distraction from the grim reality. Months have passed since Zarius’ untimely death, but the wounds are still fresh. There’s been no reprieve or even time to mourn his loss. Every job she’s had to take on is just a painful reminder of how much of a burden her brother had carried for their family’s sake.

In preparation for today, she thoroughly familiarized herself with her brother's notes on Lyari and all the dealings they were in the midst of setting up. Even then, she hardly feels prepared to meet the woman herself. She also doesn't feel too confident about filling her brother’s shoes while keeping it a secret that he isn't around anymore.

Part of her still can’t believe that her father asked Caedes to pose as Zarius to make the whole charade as convincing as possible. She can't imagine how much that request has messed up the changeling. She wouldn't blame him if he thought less of all of them for putting on this laughable show.

It’s awful, but what else could they do? If their enemies learned of Zarius’ death, there was no shadow of a doubt that they would feel emboldened enough to act violently against their family’s business, if not members of their family themselves. And they wouldn’t be able to defend themselves. Despite having studied magic all her life, her first venture out into the world where she had to experience combat firsthand greatly humbled her. Even if she came out of that altercation fine, if the circumstances had been different she would have likely died or have gotten Eirynor, Snow, or Shael killed.

Never before has she felt so…helpless, vulnerable, and foolish. It feels like she’s wasted her years because of the comfort and safety her brother provided them by shouldering so much of all the hardships their family’s business brings. All that time she should have been doing more, trying harder, and preparing for anything. Though she’s never had any delusions that her brother’s work could end his life one day, now that it’s happened nothing feels real anymore.

She takes a shaky breath.

Pull it together.

She has to step up now. If something happens to her father and mother, she will have to take responsibility for everything. It’ll be a monumental effort, but she would do it. Even if that means sacrificing her personal dreams.

The Mage’s Guild has never felt more like a childish dream until now. But she can’t imagine being part of that organization anymore. She should have accepted that when she learned of Del’s history given the risk of the Crown finding out what she knows. It’s stupid that it took the death of her brother and the loss of someone she thought was her friend to make her finally come to terms with her position in the world.

She bites at the edge of her nail out of anxiety. Over and over again she mentally rehearses how she should approach today's meeting. Lyari is a shrewd coordinator of Darkveil's black markets. The woman no doubt would pick apart any display of weakness like a starving jackal with the scent of carrion on the breeze. A single slip-up would be devastating, and while Eameia has experience with talking to people and being the face of a business, she hasn't had a lot of experience interacting with criminals on the same level as he brother and father. Drunk bar patrons and dazed goons were a lot easier to deal with. 

There's no doubt in her mind that Lyari would find it odd that she hasn't had any direct communication with her brother in months. She could only hope that the woman is more focused on the task at hand than asking those kinds of questions. According to the most recent encoded correspondence from the woman, the freedom of her own underlings was hanging in the balance. That could work in their favor. If they learned anything about Lyari from last year's mix-up is that she does overlook some details if it means securing the safety of her underlings. They'd just have to hope she would do it again this year.

Eameia's pacing is finally interrupted by the sound of quiet footsteps approaching from down the stairs. She looks up and folds her arms under her chest as she waits for Caedes to join her by the door.

"Are you ready?" She asks, studying the man's face closely out of concern for how he's been holding up. 

---

SPOILER: Click to show

Quest Name	Free the Red Rogue
Participants	Exactly Two ( Other participant can be working on opposite quest. )
Location	Anywhere
Post Requirements	6 posts 200 words per post
Reward	+2 Renown Access to listed shop
Description	Popular red rogues from past years have been assaulted and kidnapped by hired goons, nobles wanting to keep them until after winter. Many of these rogues are being held captive in camps all across Charon, and need to be rescued. If the Night of the Red Rogue is to happen this year, then those rogues need to be freed! Help us by going in, fighting off the hired mercenaries, and freeing the Red Rouges before Winter's Crown!

Another year has passed; and as the winter’s chill sweeps through the Ash Lands, it heralds the soon arrival of the Winter’s Crown. Many will celebrate with family and friends; others will look back on this year in remembrance; and others still do not have the luxury to mourn for the past.

For many, the damage left behind in Darkveil was substantial in the aftermath of Vulcadreus’ waking; hierarchies were shaken; ecosystems were upheaved; and homes were toppled. The gods know that the citizens of Darkveil were, and still are, floundering over the destruction. The Ashen Fathers— assuming they are not busy defending themselves in the aftermath— are fighting for scraps left over — and with their heir gone, the Rha’Oriyn do not seem to be in one of those advantageous positions.

Months have passed since Zarius died, but time hasn’t been kind enough to heal the open wounds of those left behind. Caedes’ shoulders fall with a brief exhale while he latches the clasp of his cloak together as he heads towards the underground entrance of the mansion to meet with Eameia; and he brushes his palms beneath the shadows under his eyes as if they might wipe away.

Taking a plethora of jobs to keep himself busy— whether it be related to Cyran, maintaining relations, or simply for the Rha’Oriyn— have led to many sleepless nights. Time has started to feel like a blur; days blend together in such a way that it feels he’s watching the time pass outside of himself. 

Right now, however, it’s preferred.

When sleep comes, it is not restful: he watches the fires again inside a quaking temple; faces Zarius’ empty, azure eyes once more; and listens to the last beat of his heart.

He sees it over, and over, and over again; and it feels like there’s something wrong about it every time. It’s deeply disconcerting, but Caedes also experienced a great deal of nightmares from the night he died; and so, he doesn’t think too much on it. 

He just tries to avoid rest at every gods-given moment.

Caedes sighs; he lowers his lashes, gathering the pieces of himself back together in the few moments he has before he will find Eameia at the entrance.

He is not proud of what he’s agreed to do for the Rha’Oriyn’s sake, even if there was truly no other option to patch the cracks that Vulcadreus had left behind. He finds himself ruminating often, curled in a bed undeservedly offered by the family with a letter between his hands, about whether this is what Zarius meant when he asked him to continue on in his absence because it feels so deeply, terribly wrong.

Apologies to the shadows or to flickering candlelight are met with silence. The first time he caught glimpse of his familiar reflection in the glint of a simple candelabra took his breath and twisted his stomach into a nauseating knot. He’s a walking impersonation; a mockery, a doppleganger, a ghost: the guilt eats at him and settles bone-deep.

If he feels this way, he cannot possibly imagine seeing himself through the eyes of the family.

“Eameia,” he greets when she finally comes into view.

Sans the night Caedes approached the family with the news of Zarius’ death, he swore he wouldn’t break down like that again in front of them. Cyran’s betrayal opened a generous amount of old wounds that he had managed to push down once; and now, they’ve resurfaced, along with all that had happened to finally break him that day. 

Grieving has been a complicated process; one that still lacks closure.

He's a wreck, and he's tired, but he's still trying to hide it.

He halts in front of Eameia, shoulders rising with a short inhale: she looks nervous. “You’ll burn a hole in my head if you keep looking through me like that.” he jokes, but his tone falls flat. “I’m ready as I’ll ever be.” He offers her a lopsided smile and reaches up to flip his hood over his head.

When he glances back at her, his expression softens somewhat. “…How are you doing? You’ve been out of town until recently, haven’t you?”

The fellblood's nails dig into the fabric of her sleeves. 

"I am not looking through you. I see you." She eyes him up and down for a second time. "And you look like you are running yourself ragged." 

It's upsetting to see him like this. It's even more upsetting that she knows there's little she can do to help. She has already offered to help him carry his burdens and he chose not to accept, just like her brother kept her from sharing in carrying his burdens. 

"Do not...do not wear yourself thin like-...just...please do not push yourself so hard." 

As much as she wants to lecture him, she won't waste her breath on it. Everyone had their own way of coping, and she had no better alternatives to offer the assassin. Admittedly, her own way of coping hadn't been any healthier for her either. So who was she to criticize him?

She takes a shaky breath. "I have been better. Though that goes for us both I think." 

They both have taken a pretty heavy blow from everything that happened. Not only did they lose Zarius, but they lost Cyran too...Caedes was at least spared reading the letter Del had left behind in full with Eameia only giving him the synopsis. 

As far as damage control is concerned, the letter did little to make Cyran's continued avoidance any less painful or damning. If the Legion of the Black Sun and the Stablemen weren't breathing down their necks, they could have dedicated more resources to finding the runaway elves, or at least made attempts to reach out. Instead, their time is dedicated to glancing over their shoulders around every street corner and protecting Shade's Valley from getting hit by rival Ashen Fathers desperate for a power grab. 

She nods. "It has not been a pleasant experience...maybe it would be better for me to focus my efforts here rather than gallivanting around like a headless chicken." 

There's an undeniable bitterness in her tone as she feels torn about what to do. She doesn't want to give up searching for a way to return her brother to them or go back to relying on someone else to doing all the heavy lifting. But she's not as ready for the real world as she previously thought. Even with Eirynor, Snow, and Shael supporting her, she's a lousy leader and just doesn't have the strength to survive beyond Darkveil's city limits. 

Rather than let herself dwell on it, she recomposes herself and focuses back on the task at hand. They had work to do, and keeping Lyari waiting would not garner any favors from the busy woman.

"We should go." 

Stepping through the door, she leads Caedes through what remains of the underground tunnels running through Darkveil's underground. Many of the tunnels are inaccessible or borderline hazardous, but they've managed to clear a few out that at least get them to areas under their control. 

When they get to an exit at the surface, Eameia pulls her own hood up over her head while they head down towards the shipyard Lyari uses as her base. Due to the increased military presence from the capitol, many of the underground coordinators have beefed up their own security to keep the soldiers from sniffing around. Lyari is no exception with some of her remaining clients who have evaded being exposed by the Stablemen funneling extra manpower and funds her way to try and protect what few assets they have left. 

Before they get too close, Eameia pauses in an alleyway while Caedes checks to make sure the coast is clear. She watches him before her eyes flit to the ground. 

"Caedes...?" her voice comes out quiet and timid, a far cry from how she usually speaks. "Have you...ever been afraid of us?"

Caedes runs a hand through his hair, shoulders rising with a slow breath while he averts his eyes from Eameia’s inquisitive gaze. He hums his acknowledgement in melancholic tones, allowing a waterfall of ink-stained tresses to fall from between his fingers. It’s easy to fill in the blanks when Eameia stops herself mid-scolding; and a wash of guilt comes over him.

He purses his lips and lowers his lashes.

He doesn’t want to worry Eameia, but he does not know how else to handle the extent of his grief except to push through it. The wounds left from Zarius’ death— that of his loss, and that of a sense of betrayal— are still fresh; and those left behind from his family’s death? Those had never really healed.

Together, they’re overwhelming.

He has a lot of thoughts that can’t be silenced; of how he didn’t do enough then, and of how he’s not doing enough now. Regrets of the past and regrets in the present; everything he would have done or said differently if he knew that it would end like this yet again; and regrets that he didn’t know better to start with.

If he’d known, he certainly would have pushed harder for Zarius to take more breaks; it wouldn’t have stopped what happened, but maybe his family could hold onto more recent memories in the same way that Caedes can hold a single evening on the shores of the Crescent Isles close in the aftermath.

He should have done more; and all those thoughts, regrets, what-if’s, and if-only’s clamor together for his attention— overwhelming him quickly in a myriad of feelings that he does not have time to address.

“I rest when I can.” He assures Eameia after he blinks the distant thoughts glazing over his pale eyes to meet hers. “It doesn’t come easy; but when we’re able to shake the eyes off of us, I’ll be able to rest easier.” It’s wishful thinking; even if the Black Legion and the Stablemen were to decrease their activities in Darkveil; he has doubts he’d find rest. The lack of sleep will not kill him, at least— he is already undead— it’s just that his body is not used to going without.

He listens quietly to Eameia while she speaks; nodding subtly in response to her assumption; but then she mentions her travels out of Darkveil. He hasn’t heard much about them— not the details, anyways. “Do what you feel you will not regret when all is said and done,” he remarks, shoulders lowering with a sigh; his expression softens briefly. “Safely, though. I know you have Eirynor, Snow, and Shael with you; but I’d come with you in a moment’s notice as well, should you ask.”

He steps after Eameia when beckoned, lowering his head while he pulls his hood over his head. It won’t take long, as they go, for the shadows to pass over Caedes— and a change washes over him— after all, Lyari ultimately knows him as Mei, not himself. _(1,2) The change is swift within the flicker that it is not entirely noticeable until the light hits her in the right ways, or until she should speak.

Mei follows Eameia out into the surface of Darkveil; she adjusts her hood, pulling it as far as it will go with gloved fingers, to ensure that she’s as obscured as she can make herself to the elements, and to prying eyes.

The duo head out through the streets of Darkveil towards the shipyard, passing through an alleyway on their way, when Mei hears Eameia’s voice. She’s peering around the corner when she hears it; but it’s not the same voice the fellblood used earlier. It’s quiet. She doesn’t turn her head, but glances at Eameia from the corner of her eyes.

The question takes her by surprise; so much so that she winces slightly.

She looks back out towards the street for a moment longer and lets a sigh escaping between her lips. “I…” she starts, pulling back into the alleyway so she can face the fellblood and finishes in a soft tone. “I know that you know me well enough to know the answer to that question.” Mei’s expression seems guilty despite the shadow of her hood; but she looks with Eameia with a breadth of concern nonetheless. “I have been… but I am not anymore.”

Her shoulders lift with a breath, and she averts her eyes briefly to look back towards the street; she motions for Eameia to come forwards when she declares it clear. She glances back Eameia’s way, brows furrowed in concern. “Regardless of what I may have thought in the past, I care for you and your family, now. What brought on this thought?"

---

1. Alter Self

2. Sound Throwing

I know that you know me well enough to know the answer to that question.

Eameia digs her nails into the fabric of her cloak. Does she know? She thought she knew Cyran well, yet he ran away. If she was being brutally honest, she knows very little about Mei. That was intentional. Zarius kept Mei's secrets close to the chest, keeping most details he knew even from his own family members, even from her. She tried not to take it personally or make a fuss over how risky that choice was out of respect for her brother's wishes. It didn't take long for her to catch on that his reason for keeping the information close at hand wasn't just for work. It was personal, even if Zarius would never admit it. 

Despite her self-doubt, Mei's answer isn't too surprising given their family's suspicions about the Shadow Crawler's involvement in the murder of a family member. Even so, with all that could have gone wrong, with how Mei must have worried what her fate would be returning to them with the news that awful day, she still showed up on the front steps.

Cyran and Caedes rightfully had reasons to stay away after what they witnessed. Only one of them made the choice to run in the end. 

"...I just-" her voice catches in her throat and her eyes drop to the ground. "It's hard to know if your friendships were ever real when someone is scared you'll do something awful to them."

She feels a burning welling up around her eyes and she's quick to wipe the tears away on her sleeves. This wasn't the time or place for this. 

"Apologies, that was a stupid question. We should go."

Recomposing herself, she strides past the changeling and heads towards the shipyard.

Their approach does not go unnoticed as a gaggle of armed guards rise up from the crates they were taking a smoke break on. They form a defensive line with hands rested on the hilts of blades and fingers itching to pull the triggers of loaded crossbows. 

"Hold up there," one raises a hand to them as they come near. "Sorry, ladies. You can't just wander through here." 

"We have business with your handler." 

The man scoffs. "Sure you do, lass. Why don't you just keep on walking before I-" 

A sharp nudge to the man's ribs catches him off guard as his companion gives him a warning look. 

"Ow! What was that for?"

"Shut up," the other man hisses through his teeth before looking at Mei, recognizing her well enough to know better than to piss her off. "Follow me." He turns on his heel and makes sure they have no more trouble getting to Lyari's office. 

As they walk, Mei would notice Eameia's posture shift, straightening, her chin held high and her eyes growing cold and sharp. A familiar look, one which Caedes received directly from Anselm himself when they finally met face-to-face. Seems the Ashen Father trained all his children to wear the same masks as necessary. 

Given how perceptive Lyari is, it's probably for the best that mask doesn't falter. 

Eameia’s voice catches in her throat. Mei’s gaze lingers, her puzzled expression softening when the fellblood looks to the ground and averts her eyes.

Things have not been easy for anyone since Zarius died; but he and Eameia were close. Mei already knows from past conversation that what ultimately happened to Zarius was something that she originally feared as a worst-case scenario for her brother; but she likely would have never expected it the end to be dealt by a man she considered a friend—

— and then abandoned by the very same. Mei certainly did not expect it. She did not expect it either time it happened; and she should have been on high alert. She should have known better. Cyran’s participation in Zarius’ death wrenched her heart; but his absence in the aftermath is the salt in the wounds left behind.

Dazed by devastation, Mei remembers seeing him when the dragon woke; he was beaten and battered.

It feels like a dream, a nightmare that took place long ago.

Had Cyran showed up at the Rha’Oriyn’s home that night, she wonders if she would have forgiven him: if he had shown up in the days following, she wonders if she would have forgiven his absence the night it happened; but the days passed, and they turned to months, and he never showed up for the family.

Her soft expression sharpens, brows furrowing when a wash of resentment tightens her throat; she swallows it, letting a quiet guilt suffocate the sharp edges. She’s one to talk, though; she’s made herself so busy chasing ghosts and specters that she’s hardly had time for Eameia past check-ins and pleasantries.

“I understand.” She admits, her voice halting in its hesitance. She doesn’t get anything else in before Eameia wipes her eyes and strides past her, leaving Mei looking through the alleyway where she once stood. “After all you’ve been through, it’s not a stupid question.” The woman closes her eyes and breathes a sigh before turning to follow her; she tucks this topic away for later; when they’ve handled Lyari and her problems.

As the duo approach the shipyard, they’re met with unexpected— but unsurprising— resistance. “What a warm welcome…” she mutters, putting an arm out in front of Eameia— not necessarily to halt her, but to cloak her. “Greetings usually start with a hello.” She quiets up, listening to Eameia before she adds, “Your handler won't appreciate the delay to our meeting if you keep us out here.”

She looks between one man to the other, keeping a stern expression until one of them starts to show some kind of recognition. Her crimson gaze flickers to him, eyes narrowing while he elbows the other.

At least someone has the manners.

She lowers her arm, stepping after their escort towards the shipyard, and offering the other men a side-eye as they walk past. They meet no more trouble with the help of their escort; and Mei takes a slow breath as they reach Lyari’s office. She listens to each knock as it reverberates against the door. She glances sidelong at Eameia, who has long since begun holding herself differently; an elegantly cold posture and expression that she’s seen time and time again; most recently, from Anselm himself. 

She turns back to the door, resting her hands together behind her back as Lyari’s voice bids them to enter.

When the door opens, the elven woman doesn’t even look up; she’s leaned forwards on her elbows, burning a hole through papers and blueprints scattered across her desk with a restless gaze. “You took your time.” She remarks cooly, rubbing the corners of her eyes with her index fingers while she leans back in her chair. Mei would not be surprised if, like many of Darkveil’s underground, she has been sleeping with one eye open since the Black Legion and the Stablemen began actively sniffing around Darkveil. 

Lyari is, typically, well composed— but the state of her office and the shadows beneath her eyes betray her restlessness.

She finally bothers to look their way, her sharp features cast in a resting scowl. “We had a small run in at the gate; but our escort brought us in swiftly.” Mei informs her; and she watches while Lyari looks past her, and does not need to ask why her expression begins to harden further. "Our sincerest apologies for keeping you waiting." The elven woman has taken notice of a new face; she doesn’t answer Mei, and instead, looks Eameia up and down with a blatant look of skepticism. 

She leans forwards, resting her elbows on her desk, and intertwining her fingers.

Her narrowed eyes never once leave the fellblood; her voice is chilly when she speaks: “And who is this? I did not expect an unfamiliar face with you today.”

The young fellblood sticks close to Mei's side as they are escorted through the shipyard. The place is dismal. It's reminiscent of a graveyard, filled with the exposed ribcages of abandoned projects now long left behind as people fled in the wake of Vulcadreaus' wrath. A grim reminder of what could become the fate for all of Darkveil if even more hardship befalls it. 

An uneasy energy hangs in the air, and the sense of being watched from every corner is borderline oppressive. Somewhere amongst the clutter and shadows there's the sound of a knife scraping across a whetstone, a wheezy breath exhaling with the scent of a sweet smoke wafting on the slight sea breeze following, and the shifting of shadowy figures in their periphery. Even when they finally get to Lyari's office and the door closes behind them, the tension hardly eases. 

Eameia glances around Lyari’s office. The state of disarray is not that surprising, though it does tempt her to try and pocket a few loose papers if possible. The sheer amount of information that is just lying scattered around the room is equivalent to a carrot being dangled in front of a woolful’s face. Horrible intrusive thoughts aside, Eameia keeps her composure and her hands to herself as Mei takes the lead in addressing the woman.

Judging by the surrounding chaos and the darkened circles under Lyari’s eyes, it’s clear that the underground coordinator is dealing with a lot of stress. No doubt the foreign military presence and arrest of several of her clients or competitors must be weighing heavily on her mind.

It’s both a blessing and a curse for them. On one hand, she’s more likely to request their aid, but on the other hand, it means she might be more likely to slip up and take everyone down with her.

Eameia doesn't flinch under Lyari's scrutinizing gaze.

"Hello, my name is Eameia.” She steps out from behind Mei and gives a slight bow. “Some recent developments with the Fighter's Guild demand my brother's attention, so I will be standing in for him for the time being. It is a pleasure to meet you."

'Pleasure' might be not the right word. While Eameia can admire a woman who commands such authority and has so much power within the criminal underground, the circumstances of their meeting leave a bitter taste in her mouth. Her brother should be the one standing here, not her. She's just some 'unfamiliar face'. 

Despite her feelings on the matter, she has to play the part to the best of her ability. She would be wasting this woman's time and Mei's efforts if she let her resentment get in the way of business. 

"We would have sent word in advance of the change," she says while pulling her hood back. "However, we know the Stablemen are actively intercepting couriers and letterdrakes. For the time being, the less our agents are seen moving about the city, the better."

Lyari narrows her eyes; there’s a cat-like scrutiny in the way she follows Eameia’s movement to introduce herself. That edge behind her expression hardens just slightly before softening. Her shoulders rise in a deep, exasperated breath; and a sigh lets them fall. The elven woman glances sidelong at Mei, as if she might provide further explanation to Zarius’ absence, but she receives nothing but a practiced, leveled gaze.

At first, it’s unclear whether Lyari is going to pitch a fit about Eameia stepping in for the Rha’Oriyn’s heir, whom she had grown significantly more familiar with between the family’s dealings. Luckily, she seems to have heard Eameia’s introduction just fine. To insult another child from the Ashen Father by insinuating her presence weren’t trustworthy, or weren’t enough, would be devastating for her when she’s already lost so many clientele.

She needs help.

Lyari closes her eyes for a moment while she leans back in her chair; she pushes her palms into the arms to rise to her full height; and dips her head in a slight bow. “A pleasure to meet you, miss Eameia. In light of your brother’s absence, I am happy to see someone just as competent in his place. Please, take a seat.” She gestures to a couple of uncomfortable looking chairs across from her desk.

She does not know the sting the words leave behind.

Once the two have seated, she takes her usual seat across from them. She leans forwards, resting her hands overtop each other in front of her lips, and breathes a sigh. “Funny how the Capitol left us here to rot for eons. Centuries on centuries, the people of Darkveil scraped along by ourselves the only way we could. We built this city with blood, sweat, and tears; they created us. The moment we’re weak, the bastards finally swoop in.” Lyari opens her hands, her expression briefly defeated. “Not to help the people, of course. Only to arrest, maim, and execute the only people who can help them.”

She crosses her arms across her desk, “I hope you will forgive my initial skepticism. As you’ve already said, the Stablemen are actively intercepting couriers: letter drakes, pigeons, mice— anything that could carry a message on it." she explains in a begrudged tone, "And as you know, every year, I send out Red Rogues to target… large manufacturers. Usually noble bastards from the Capitol who think they can earn a quick solar through the Black Market... and sometimes, for reasons more personal. This year, more than any, I needed them to succeed for the sake of the city. We need funds to rebuild. Rations. Clean water. It's blood money, perhaps, but it's money that Darkveil won't get from anywhere else.” She pinches the bridge of her nose, exasperated.

She gazes with a glazed expression at her bookshelf before letting her eyes wander back to her guests. “The shipyard is about to be abandoned.” She gestures to the table, providing some context for the mess past how deep the shadows under her eyes are. “It was only a matter of time before it became implemented. I sacrificed for each of the men I sent out that night. I trusted them. It’s why I personally chose each of them for this mission.” She lets her hands rest again. "I was wrong. I don’t know which of them traded their allies in for the promise of Capitol Safety- but I want my men back- and I want to deal with this rat personally."

Eameia takes a set in one of the chairs across from Lyari and folds her hands in her lap. 

"They certainly have a strange sense of humor in the Capitol."

In her own opinion, it was only a matter of time before the leaders of the world turned their eyes on them. The shadows could only hide them for so long. Now with the skies cleared and the light shining down on them, it only stands to reason that those vultures would have no excuse to continue to ignore them.

Lyari's disdain for the monarchy and authorities of Charon is easy to pick up on given her tone and choice of words. The fellblood and her family share many of the elven woman's sentiments in that regard. A good thing too, it wouldn't be good for them to have too different viewpoints on the cruel reality they're now living in. 

"Of course, I never expected to be welcomed with open arms. Such level of trust must be earned," she pauses and drops her eyes to the floor, "and I am not my brother."

She listens to Lyari's explanation of the situation. Mention of the Red Rogues makes Eameia bite her tongue. It's all too tempting to make a snarky comment about being quite familiar with the Red Rogues' yearly crime spree. Some other Red Rogues had pillaged one of her family's warehouses the year before, not to mention how her brother and Mei nearly ended each other over a misunderstanding thanks to Lyari's antics.

That said, Lyari is right. The city is in desperate need of resources, and if the Capitol is going to take advantage of their weakness, they have no choice but to reap what spoils they can from them in return.

"Darkveil cannot afford to lose any more able hands. We will recover your men. The traitor on the other hand..."

News the Lyari had been crossed doesn't bode well. Eameia is more than familiar with how tight-lipped Lyari's men are. Their loyalty is admirable in hindsight, though it was annoying when she was interrogating them during last year's debacle. It took magic to pry what they could from them in the end. Who can say what information a traitor would have willingly surrendered to their enemies.

"Well, if it turns out the traitor is in the Stablemen's hands, or worse, the Legion's, we may not be able to recover them so easily." She raises her eyes to meet Lyari's. "Your revenge may have to wait."

She lets the words linger for a moment before letting out a short breath.

"What do you know about where your men are currently? Any intel you can provide will greatly aid us in retrieving your men."

Lyari is easier to read than she is on most days, Mei realizes, while Eameia speaks to Lyari with a level voice. The elf has a naturally sharp face; years of work and experience had long since jaded her expressions into a natural scowl— a poker face made to intimidate— but she’s tired. That much is clear not only from the state of her office, but the way her usual sharp expressions falter with a subtle softness when Eameia promises to recover her men.

Relief.

Her expression dours, however, when Eameia logically adds that her revenge may have to wait given the circumstances; but then, her brows furrow, and she meets Eameia’s gaze when the fellblood offers it to her.

Surprisingly, she doesn’t put up a fight; instead, raising her hands and tilting her head down in an understanding surrender. “Of course. I would not ask you to put yourself or your family at anymore risk than you already would be by accepting my request.” She relents begrudgingly. “As you’ve said, Darkveil cannot afford to lose able hands. I am appreciative of what you are willing to give. I owe you already for this— and I do not like to owe people—but I keep my word when I do.”

She breathes a sigh as she begins thumbing through the papers on her desk. “I do.” She agrees to Eameia’s request.

A file is gathered beneath a few stray papers, along with ripped, small pages that look like they’ve come out of a notebook. “Descriptions of the team who was sent you will find in the folder. Like I said, I do not know which one was the rat— I presume they will not be with the team when you find them— but only the gods know how true those Capitol bastards will actually keep to their word. If possible, I would prefer them all to come home.”

To use that kind of language is strangely sentimental; she runs a hand through her hair, “—But if it is not possible, just as many as you are able to retrieve will be suffice.” She exhales, then leans over to tap the loose-leaf pages— which seem to be written in code. “These are notes from the tracker that I sent to hunt them down. She was able to follow evidence of wagon travel to a mercenary camp close to the borders of the Ash Lands and Zeinav. I believe the camp is waiting on transport to haul them far from my hands, to ensure that they’re tried in the Capitol.” She breathes a slow breath, “Where they know that we—that I— will lose any real hope of altering their fates from the crown.”

She sighs, leaning back in her chair while she gazes across from the two. “From the report I was given, I believe you’ll largely be dealing with Stablemen-hired mercenaries. My scout did not report Black Legion uniforms among the mercenaries there— but that does not mean they are not involved.” She exhales, "She should still be there, somewhere, once you arrive; I needed someone to inform me should anything have changed. Catfolk. You will know her if you see her. Should you need her assistance, you may use my name to ensure she cooperates. According to the last report I received from her at dawn yesterday, they are still waiting in the camp."

"Owing us is not so bad," Eameia says with a bit of lilt to try and lighten the mood. "Certainly are worse families to owe favors to." 

Collecting the folder Lyari lays out on the desk, Eameia gives a quick glance through each page and commits the descriptions to memory. It shouldn't be too hard to pick out the coordinator's men out from the mercenaries currently holding them captive. It'll be more of a challenge to free them without getting caught or getting anyone killed. Ideally, they wouldn't incriminate themselves in recovering the men. Good thing she's picked up a few new spells that will come in handy for that. 

"If they are already at the border, we will need to move fast."

Good thing they have a racing drake at their disposal. If anyone could get them there as soon as possible, it would be Shael and her storm drake. Having the extra fire-power, and a damn could distraction could come in handy if the mercenaries are expecting any trouble. 

She glances from the encrypted papers to Lyari's face. "Even if we are too late to catch them, we may be able to pull some strings in the Capitol on our end should all other options be exhausted. It is not a guarantee, but even a glimmer of hope can lead one through the darkest shadows."

The fellblood tucks all the papers into the folder before rising to her feet. 

"Thank you for your time, and your trust." She bows to the older elven woman. "We will send word as soon as we have an update on the situation, and I am certain you will hear from your scout if we fail."

With their task assigned and information in hand, Eameia turns to leave with Mei. On their way out of the city, they'd have to pick up Shael and Indra. Maybe Eirynor and Snow as well. It wouldn't hurt to have more help with this given the number of foes and targets in need of rescue. 

Once they're clear of the shipyard and headed back down the street, Eameia lets out a long sigh. "Does she always look that tired?"

“Hm.” Eameia’s attempt to lighten the mood is met with a heavy exhale of bemusement through the elf’s nose and an acknowledging hum. “There most certainly is.” she agrees.

Mei leans back in her chair to skim through the information on the files as Eameia thumbs through each page. It’s a straightforward request: the challenge will be to enter and leave soundlessly and without fuss, leaving as little evidence or visual cue of who they were as they possibly can. Mercenaries originating from the Stablemen’s payroll isn’t the most ideal to have snooping around, given the fact that Darkveil is already bleeding with the bastards.

Swiftly silencing those who detect the heist or its instigators will be a priority to ensure there is no trickle effect back to the Stablemen of Darkveil. The last thing Eameia or the Rha’Oriyn need is to be further acknowledged in a time where they need to remain out of sight.

Lyari gazes across the table when Eameia addresses her; there’s some skepticism lingering behind her eyes— Eameia’s offer is too kind for her to not presume there could be no catch-all— but as the fellblood mentioned earlier: there are worse families to owe a favour to. She will cross that bridge if the time comes.

She dips her head appreciatively, “Should it come to it… I appreciate your generosity.” she answers, watching quietly as the two rise. She follows suit, standing to see out their exit, but waves them down one last time before they leave. “Should you return and the shipyard look empty— do not come in. We’ve been stormed.” She rests her hands overtop one another, “It is not a guarantee, but I cannot afford to be any less cautious at this time when there is a rat among my men. Go safely.”

She bids them a farewell with a bow, and sees them out of her office.

With all information in their hands, Mei leaves with Eameia and follows a few paces alongside her; she ensures she remains vigilant while they leave Lyari’s shipyard; but none of Lyari’s henchmen show much parting interest past fleeting glances, glowers, and glares.

Mei lets herself relax minutely once they’ve cleared the shipyard, and glances at Eameia when she sighs. “She does not.” Mei answers, her voice quiet as she strides alongside. “Not when we—” A small hesitation falls across her, but she continues. “—met with her previously.” She takes a breath, shoulders rising, “The circumstances were different then, though. Lyari was one of the top coordinators— untouchable.” She crosses her arms beneath her cloak. “This has clearly been affecting her in more ways than just her business."

When Mei hesitates, Eameia can't help but wince. Her hand moves to find the changeling's with her fingers entwining with Mei's. 

"No one is untouchable...but we can do our best to stick together and get through hardship. If you think we can still trust her, I have no qualms in aiding her."

Hearing that Mei trusts someone would hold more weight. She's not so sure she can trust her own judgment anymore. 

She takes a deep breath and then pulls Mei along. "Come on. We do not have the luxury of hesitating." 

By the time they manage to collect Shael and Indra and head towards the border between the Ash Lands and Zeinav, the sun has long since set below the horizon. The clear night sky blankets the lands in darkness with only the distant glimmer of starlight keeping them company as they travel. 

Despite wanting to tag along, Eirynor and Snow had to stay behind so they didn't weigh Indra down too much. There was a chance they'd have to carry those they rescue, so they'd need to go in as light as possible. Eameia was reluctant to leave Eirynor behind, but the half-elf reassured her that they would make sure the group had a safe place to return to. 

Shael isn't thrilled about flying in the dark, but the silver drake would be spotted a mile away in broad daylight. At least a night they had some cover as they scout out the area for the camp. Traveling for so long in complete silence does start to get to the teen after a bit though and she huffs. 

"I like a good ol' jail break as much as the next person, but you sure just the four of us will be enough?"

"We have the advantage in the dark." 

"You mean MEI has the advantage in the dark," Shael corrects. "Unless you got some shadowy powers I don't know about I can't say the same for us." 

Eameia drops her gaze. She couldn't deny that she was relying heavily on Mei's abilities in this mission. Her own track record with such ventures is lackluster, to say the least, and unluckily for her Shael was there to witness just how lackluster she performed. "...Ideally we will not have a direct confrontation."

"If we do, subtlety isn't exactly a drake's specialty. One lightning blast from Indra will alert everything in the area that something is going down." 

Shael glances back, noting Eameia's demeanor. While she still has a chip on her shoulder with how her first meeting with Zarius went, she does sympathize with just how the loss has affected so many others. The dumb jerk dying ended up being more of a pain than a relief.

"You sure you are up for this? We could go back and-" 

"I am fine," the fellblood snaps at her. 

Shael frowns a bit and looks at Mei. Even without saying anything the elf assumes that the changeling would prioritize Eameia's safety over any of the lives they were sent to retrieve. Guess she'll just have to watch both their backs then. She sighs and turns back to focus on any signs of the camp below them. 

Mei blinks; the ceaseless reeling of her thoughts, paranoias, and worries still for just a moment. A soft pressure against her palm surprises her, but isn’t entirely unwelcome; her pale eyes widen just slightly. It’s a small gesture, but the sentiment of days, weeks, and months of resentment and repression that it drudges up into her chest like a broken dam is almost painful, nonetheless. 

She feels her eyes glaze over— and she closes them— taking a steady breath while she laces her fingers against hers and squeezes Eameia’s hand. “…Yeah, we will.” She agrees quietly; she breathes a sigh, letting her tense shoulders rest before she continues. “I think she can be trusted; but I don’t know how useful she’ll be until she gets back on her feet.”

It’s easy to see that Lyari isn’t in the same position she was when she and Zarius met her the year before; sure, her cracks had shown vaguely then; but they’re obvious, now. If she can’t get it together, Mei fears she may not continue to be a useful contact for the Rha’Oriyn. 

If, at any point, Lyari risks bringing them down with her…

Mei feels her shoulder jolt as Eameia pulls her forwards, and she draws out of her internal thoughts; it’s a worry for another day. “I know.”

---

Mei glances sidelong at Shael when she breaks the silence of the flight.

“It's going to have to be enough,” she interjects between the two, “You don’t need ‘shadowy powers’ to get the upper hand from the night; it should be more than enough to give us some leeway into this place.” She’s about to turn back to monitoring the shadows beneath Indra’s flying silhouette when she notices the way that Eameia’s posture slacks. She pauses, watching the fellblood from the corners of her eyes with a slight frown.

Hesitance seems to lace Eameia’s voice after a moment of reflection, immediately challenged by Shael’s point that Indra isn’t exactly subtle should it come to direct confrontation. Before Mei can intervene, Eameia snaps at Shael, making the changeling’s shoulders flinch slightly at the cadence of her tone before she can speak. After a slight pause in which Mei exchanges a quiet glance with Shael, a gentle hand falls upon Eameia’s shoulder as a reaffirming pressure.

“We’ll be fine.” She assures the two of them, keeping her voice firm. “We’re in this together. We’ve got three of us and Indra; we’ll make it count.” Mei turns her head, glancing back into the plateaus below. There's only so much she can see on the back of Indra, and right now, a camp just isn't one of them. She expects a campfire or a couple of lanterns of some kind to hail the temporary home of a handful of mercenaries and their hostages. From this high up, they really shouldn't be that hard to see. “Let’s come up with a plan when we’ve got more information; we need to scout this place and see how many we're dealing with before we get into the details. How far are we from the border at this point?”

Eameia doesn’t look back at Mei despite the changeling’s attempts to comfort her. The steady hand on her shoulder only serves as a reminder of how unfit she is for being out in the world. She lost her temper just like a spoiled brat.

How far are we from the border at this point?

“You're looking at it,” Shael gestures down to the ground below them. It's hard to make out in the dark, but there is a shift in the landscape from jagged mountains to soft dunes. “Luckily for you, I know this stretch like the back of my hand. Raced across it plenty when I was with the Dvoryanin.”

Shael reaches forward and tightens a few of the straps holding a leather saddle onto Indra’s back as she flies. The drake snorts in response but settles back down after the dark elf gives her a few pats on the neck.

“There’s a spot they might be holed up in. Old ruins we’d shelter in when sand storms blew through. Easy to defend too. We should be passing over it in the next few minutes.”

After a little more time spent flying passes by, Eameia gathers enough of her nerve to speak back up.

“I did not know you were Dvoryanin.”

Shael scoffs. “Course you didn't. No one else ever bothered to ask,” she threw an accusing look back at Mei, though it’s clear the dig has a lot less venom in it than is the norm for the foul-tempered teen.

“Do you miss it?”

“Doesn't matter,” she shrugs dismissively. “Not like I can go back now.”

The fellblood sits in silence for a few moments.

It doesn’t take long for the dour mood to start to get to Shael.

“Uuuuuuuugh, you two are killing me!”

“Excuse me?” Eameia responds, almost indignant.

Shael spins around in her saddle to face them both. “Look, this is probably not something you want to hear, but this whole trying to prove yourself,” she then makes direct eye contact with Mei, “and running from your grief ain’t going to help you in the end. I’ve seen plenty of asshats lose everything either from their actions or things completely out of their control and then end up dead in a ditch somewhere. Don’t be like those losers.”

Eameia scowls, not at all appreciating being called out like this. It’s an unpleasant conversation to force on them while they’re stuck on the back of a drake hundreds of feet in the air.

“Do not speak as if you know anything.”

The dark elf returns the scowl and folds her arms. “Maybe I don’t know shit, but I seriously doubt that smartass jerk would want to see you both walking around like wounded woolfuls.”

The temptation to blast the mouthy teen right off the drake’s back is overwhelming, but as much as Eameia wants to lash out, she musters the last of her restraint and just looks away.

Shael huffs and leans back against Indra’s neck. Her eyes drift off to the side to watch the terrain rise and fall as they soar along the border. That’s when something catches her attention down below. A soft glimmer of light in the sea of darkness.

“Eyes up, we’ve got lights.”