Destinies (WangXain)

12. The Mystry Underneath

. . .

' Crunch

' Crunch

' Crunch

Hastily Crushing the old frost-edged leaves that had fallen to the ground. A man hooded in dark robes rushed around in the markets of 'Shirong'. The secluded mountains in the deep north, are also known as the criminals' den. They were called so for two reasons, one being the official place where the royal traitors were deported, with the only means to come back was to fly through spiritual power. But with the distance so vast, along with rigorous terrains and dropping atmospheric pressure, it was an impossible challenge. And second, this was the place where most of the underworld transactions were done. And most people here are up to no good.

The heavy drapes moved along with his rushed movements. Even though his entire face was almost hidden by a hood. One could still tell he was a novelty by the exquisite quality of the robes. It was Mid spring', but even though the colds have subsided in the Su regions, these deep forgotten northern parts remained in ice all year long.

The man in the dark-clad suddenly came to an abrupt halt. Unsure, Yet somehow there was a creeping uneasiness. Turning around he scanned again.

Odd!

Even in the bustling crowds, he could tell each person's intent apart. The hooded man tensed. For the past hour, he sure felt as if someone was watching. Yet no ill-intended aura. There was nothing. He lets out an exhale. Nevertheless, he hurries off being cautious as he quickly walked down the turning to a shadowed dark alley.

Coming to the snow-covered downtown. He scanned to trace down an old leaning building at the edge of the street. A dusty cranky building, with an old architecture, the upper floors leaned off the base but somehow it still retained its balance. Looking around once more before pulling his hood further down he chanted 'fleur signus'. A spell marking an invisible sign in the winds.

Entering the old vast athenaeum, he tossed a stack of gold coins at the counter shushing up the note of his arrival. the owner nodded to putting his quill down, as he pulled over another ledger.

"Purpose," The old man asked lowering his moon-rimmed spectacles.

"Nothing much" The man stated in a deep voice as he slid down the chipped gold coin cut into embossed in a bizarre ancient inscription.

The sight of it made the old man fumble in nervousness as he pressed a polite smile while he rushed to find something. His mind filled him with numerous questions. Having produced such a rare bargain, even his ancestor has seen known them in record books. This bargain was never good news. Either a high aristocrat or the nastiest devil. Not many people knew this secret chamber of messaging. He bowed low as he placed a specific key on the table.

Rummaging around the sorted record sections, the man Calculates to reach a certain rack. Taking the contents out of the selves, He mumbles to chanting a spell as he closes his eyes to felling though fingertips find a keyhole in the backwood.

'There!'

Turning the key in, the whole shelf rumbles to disappear downwards revealing a spiral staircase leading to a chamber below. Looking towards the side he tosses the key back to the old man as he taps his foot in a pattern, meaning 'secure'. The old man bows from afar turning around, as the man in dark robes, descends. The fewer words exchanged the better,  You never know when the air hearsays. It is a belief that the higher the mountains the deeper the magic resides in the air, even if it is defamed as the criminals' den, it is also where semi-human spirit beings can reach high cultivation attainment. But that is somehow rare and extremely difficult with all the nature's energies channelizing.