Field beyond North Gate, Brandholt City
Kion barely slept that night.
He stayed awake in the air, hovering far above the soft soil, wings keeping him steady in a lazy, restless rhythm.
The barrier hummed faintly around them, a pale shimmer only visible when the wind brushed its edge.
He kept adjusting it, thinning the mana flow, reshaping it tighter when she shivered in her sleep. Anything to keep the cold away from her.
The red trail that had hunted him still lingered in his thoughts, though hours had passed.
That fight already felt like something from another lifetime. Yet every time he closed his eyes, the echo of it returned.
And with it, her face. The way her body had locked. The way silence took her.
That feeling in his throat, sent through the tether, hadn’t faded either.
Subtle, but there. A phantom pressure that wouldn’t dissolve.
Not pain, not exactly. Just a trace that refused to vanish.
He wondered if she felt it too.
He’d heard of such things before. The body closing on itself, the voice locking away.
People said it was what trauma sometimes did. But he’d never seen it, never met someone it happened to.
What had happened to her?
What could possibly make her freeze like that?
Before the Echoing Hollow? After?
What did Accord do to her?
“Consumable tools.” That’s what she’d called herself.
Not just herself, them. As if it were a natural truth, carved into her bones. He could still hear the certainty in her tone.
It had taken every bit of force not to react. Not to argue. Not to reach out and tell her she was wrong.
Because if he had, she would’ve withdrawn.
She always did when something reached too close.
So he swallowed it. Let her think he didn’t flinch at the words.
But it burned.
Were all Accord shadows like that?
The only one he’d ever seen near was Caustic, and Caustic didn’t carry that same emptiness.
There was a pulse of humanity in him, however buried under cynicism.
He’d seen the quiet way Caustic looked after Drenna, his superior. Not mechanical, not trained. Personal. The kind of attachment Accord supposedly didn’t allow.
Had Writ never been allowed that?
Or did they train her differently?
He only knew rumors. An orphan program, some kind of conditioning facility. Whispers and half-facts, nothing certain.
Never where. Never how. Never what was done to the ones who came out of it.
His mind kept looping through the day’s fragments. Her report, her words, her small slips in phrasing, anything that might hint at what she’d lived through.
Piecing together an impossible puzzle without the key.
And then, it struck him.
A line from her exchange with Caustic.
“And being a ‘good puppy,’ that felt good too?”
“I’m used to it. I thought that was just how some people had fun.”
He froze in midair. His wings stilled.
He’d almost forgotten the rage that had burned through him then.
How the tether hummed with familiarity with that command, how easily she’d dropped to her knees before a room full of people.
Like it was muscle memory.
Like it wasn’t the first time she’d been forced to do that.
Someone had made her learn that posture.
But Caustic hadn’t known what to make of it. The entire panel had looked horrified, confused. Only Caedern had smiled, laughed.
That reaction told him everything. This wasn’t Accord’s standard practice.
Someone had gone off-script. Someone had made her that way.
Caustic had even asked her who it was.
“Not Harbringer Tiran.”
“Then who?”
And she hadn’t answered.
She’d redirected, avoided, locked down.
Was there anything else in their talk? Any other hint?
Anything beyond the confirmation that Tiran wasn’t the one behind it?
He was her current supervisor, right? The one who stopped the act.
Then for now, she was safe.
Right? Right?
He knew Caustic and Writ had talked a lot, yet only fragments remained.
He replayed their exchange again and again. But there was nothing else. No name. No lead. Just a wall.
He’d been too focused on preparing the barrier. Ready to cover Writ if Caustic made a drastic move.
Too focused on Caustic’s every gesture as he paced her room, only half-listening to the conversation.
He cursed himself for it.
He buzzed higher, restless, circling in small loops above the faint glow of the barrier.
His mind wouldn’t quiet. His body wanted to move, his thoughts refused to rest.
He tried to remember what he’d missed. Tone, hesitation, any small tremor in her voice that might hint at something.
He found nothing.
He was back at the same dead end.
And he couldn’t press her without risking her voice locking again.
He couldn’t afford that.
So he waited.
And hated waiting.
Eventually, his eyes drifted toward the barrier again.
She was still, her breathing slow and even. The faint pulse of mana brushed her outline, gentle as a heartbeat.
At least she was safe tonight. That was something.
He sighed, shoulders heavy. He needed rest.
So he pulled a vial of the same sleep aid he’d given her and drank it. It tasted faintly metallic.
His mind resisted. His wings still buzzed.
Thoughts crawled back to work. The tangled politics of the Bronze Concord, the Accord’s creeping reach within it, the threat that might doom Glitterstorm and everyone under their care.
And Blissbane, that thing everyone whispered about but never named.
He hated that work would go on unaffected in the morning, as if none of this had happened.
He hated that his panic wouldn’t matter.
Maybe he should resign. He didn’t need the job. Didn’t need the currency.
But no. Resigning meant losing access. Losing the protection it gave his teammates.
And if the Accord made another move, they’d be vulnerable.
He’d already lost too much to walk away now.
When the potion finally dragged him under, he surrendered to it. Sleep taking him like water closing over his head.
Dark. Merciful.
For a while.
The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.
The first light reached the horizon when he blinked awake, still hovering, body stiff and folded midair.
The barrier had thinned through the night, its shimmer now faint and pale.
Writ sat a few steps away, back to him, watching dawn break. The sky rippled from violet to orange to a bruised kind of gold.
Her silhouette was quiet. The tether hummed with a slow, even calm.
He released the warm air from the barrier and let the cold morning seep in.
She tilted her head back, breathing it in like relief.
He reached into his satchel, pulled out a small jar, and drifted down beside her.
Let his glamor smooth over his form as he twisted off the lid and set it between them.
“Cookies?” she asked quietly, glancing at the jar, then at him.
“Emergency ration. They last for weeks.” He picked one up, bit it, crumbs scattering in the air, “only take it if you want to. No pressure.”
Her brow furrowed, “don’t you have... standard rations instead?”
He grinned, “nah. Those taste too sad to eat daily.”
She hummed, half amusement, half disbelief, and took a single cookie anyway.
Small, careful bites, eyes still on the tree line.
“Feeling better?” he asked.
She nodded without looking at him, chewing slow.
He felt her discomfort faintly through the tether.
He knew sweet food wasn’t her thing. She didn’t say it, but he could tell it took everything in her not to spit it out.
He made a mental note to bring something simpler next time.
Then she asked, “how should we enter? Invisibility?”
His hand froze halfway to the jar.
“We didn’t leave through the gate,” she added, “just stepping in would double the entry log.”
Right.
The gate.
The logs.
He replayed their path.
Leaving through the wall tower, Knell finding her outside the borders.
The Accord had eyes in Bronze. That much was clear.
One thing he’d learned from watching Writ. The Accord loved their paper trails just as much as Bronze did.
That mismatch would catch her sooner or later.
The discrepancy was obvious. No exit log.
They’d notice.
She’d be flagged.
He exhaled quietly through his nose, thinking.
"Right. About that...," he placed another cookie in his mouth and scratched his nape.
He could fix it.
He should.
But to do that, he’d need to use his Bronze authority. Something she wasn’t supposed to know he had.
He couldn’t risk the illusion breaking.
Not with her trust this fragile.
Finally he said, “no. We can’t use invisibility. The gate’s got detection wards. I’d rather not risk it.”
A lie, smooth and easy.
His invisibility could’ve slipped through unnoticed. But he needed them visible, for the records.
He’d still obscure them, though. That went without saying.
Writ nodded slowly, “no more flying and falling, please,” she murmured.
He chuckled, a low sound that made the morning lighter, “wasn’t it fun?”
She blinked at him, deadpan, the tether flickering with unease.
He laughed again, warm.
She didn’t at first. But then she smiled, small, reluctant, “no thanks.”
The way she said it made something in his chest ease.
She finished her cookie and he passed her a flask.
She drank, washing away the sweetness.
“Doesn’t the Hall have similar wards?” she asked suddenly, “you passed through that just fine.”
“Hall systems are internal,” he said as he spun the cap shut, “the gate might be different. Never checked it myself. Better to play it safe.”
Another clean lie.
He was getting too good at this.
She nodded, accepting it without a hint of suspicion.
“Then how?”
If he was going to log her exit and entry as legitimate, he needed the name she officially used, and the timing.
“Let’s see...,” he leaned his chin on his hand, feigning thought, “what’s your public name again?”
“My issued name? Nema Solenne. Why?”
Perfect. He just needed Knell’s next.
He kept his tone casual, “do you know what Knell’s is?”
“Selena Avenell. Shouldn’t have changed since she didn’t station elsewhere.”
“Hmm,” he nodded absently, masking calculation with idle sound, "and Knell came right at the seventh bell, right?"
"Yes."
Her unease pricked faintly through the tether, but he didn’t look up. Not yet.
Monday morning. Good.
A marked shift for migrant crossings. A safe window.
Glitterstorm’s contact would be on duty. Lio, if he remembered right. Definitely not Accord plant.
Lio was the reason he’d flown north yesterday. To make sure an ally would be close by, just in case things went awry.
His partner wasn’t confirmed yet. Eric, was it?
Early morning meant he was probably still on his Monday run.
If Eric was around, Kion would need to draw him off first.
He took another cookie, buying time, and asked lightly, “want another?”
She shook her head.
He made the cookie vanish with a flick, tucked the jar away, passed through his glamor, and into his satchel.
Then drew a steadying breath.
“The gate has rules,” he said carefully, “I need to talk to the guards first, make sure we can pass without trouble.”
Her attention sharpened. The tether twitched.
“I can’t explain the method,” he added softly, “but I promise it’s safe. If you wait here a bit, it’ll keep both of us off the radar. Is that alright?”
She stared for a long moment.
Weighing him, searching him.
Through the tether came the mix he’d come to recognize. Confusion, doubt, fear, logic weaving through all of it.
He kept still. Didn’t push.
Finally, she answered, “okay. I’ll wait.”
Relief bled through his chest.
“Thank you,” he murmured, patting her hair before standing.
Her brows drew faintly together, but she didn’t stop him.
He walked toward the gate, pulling a plain cloak from his satchel and wrapping it tight.
Once he was out of her sight, he shifted his illusion. Hair, features, everything.
Until he wore the familiar “face” that Bronze guards would recognize. Then he dropped the invisibility.
The gate was nearly empty, just one guard on morning duty.
The man startled when Kion appeared, then relaxed. Recognition flashing in his eyes.
Kion pressed a finger to his lips and willed the black glitter on his wrist to bloom, “sssh.”
The guard mirrored the gesture, a brief shimmer of black glitter flaring on his wrist, the Glitterstorm mark.
Kion smiled. Good.
“Didn’t hear of any movement today, sir,” Lio whispered.
“Just patrol. You didn’t miss anything,” Kion handed over his insignia. The Council of Knowledge crest catching the early light, and tucked it away again once confirmed.
“Show me the border logs.”
“Right away.”
Lio fetched two heavy ledgers from the room behind him. One red, one blue, “searching for someone, sir?”
“Just checking,” Kion said easily, flipping the red one open.
Rows of inked names filled the page.
He found Selena Avenell, traced the letters briefly, and while his glamor’s hand hovered still, he whispered a quiet spell under the layer of sight.
A soft pulse spread across the parchment. To anyone else, the text looked untouched. But beneath it, illusion bloomed.
A new line forming a dozen rows above Selena’s name.
Nema Solenne.
Her exit now existed. Official. In sequence.
He shifted the mana trace to vanish. Faint, harmless, indistinguishable.
Accord wouldn’t find it. They hadn’t even noticed the one in her notebook.
“Where’s Eric?” he asked idly, already knowing the answer.
Lio and his partner kept the same Monday rhythm.
“Breakfast run. It’s early. I can handle it alone.”
“I see.”
Good. Monday ritual. Reliable as ever.
He repeated the same trick with the entry log.
One neat addition, no ripple left behind.
When done, he returned the books. Lio took them back inside.
Kion drew his hood lower, “I’m bringing someone with me. No question, no log, no report.”
“Understood, sir,” Lio started to raise his hand.
“And no salute,” Kion added. The man immediately dropped his hand, “helmet on. Cover your face.”
“Roger that.”
He turned, walking back the way he came, adjusting his illusion mid-step.
The Bronze officer’s face dissolved, reshaping into the projection of his own.
When he reached her, she was still sitting, cloak drawn close. Watching him.
“Let’s go,” he said, offering his hand.
She hesitated, questions brimming in her eyes, but finally reached out.
He helped her up, brushed stray grass from her clothes, set her hood low.
They walked together.
The closer they came to the gate, the faster her pulse grew under the tether.
Still, her stride stayed steady.
Lio nodded as they passed.
Eric hadn’t returned.
Writ’s confusion stirred.
Directed at him, at the world, at everything.
He kept his expression neutral.
They crossed the threshold.
No alarm. No notice.
By the time the city swallowed them, stone streets, murmuring markets, the smell of morning bread, the tension in her tether had thinned to quiet disbelief.
He walked her to the Binding Post Inn. Side by side, neither ahead of the other.
No one looked twice. His spell still held.
He offered to see her to her room. She declined, reminding him he’d be late for work.
“You’ll only ask to stay longer if you come inside,” she said.
She was right.
He hated that she was right.
He nodded, forcing a small smile, “see you later, then.”
She paused before stepping in. Looked back once, like she wasn’t sure he was real.
He lifted his hand, flicked his fingers in farewell.
She nodded faintly, then disappeared through the door.
He stood there a moment longer.
The sound of the city rose around him. Vendors calling, wagons clattering, birds darting between chimneys.
The quiet of the field faded.
The barrier’s hum was gone.
Only the ache stayed.
He turned and walked slowly toward his office in Kesherra Basin.
Back to work.
Back to pretending the world wasn’t still shaking beneath his wings.