A World Without Power ⊹ kotlc

05 - unknown

I silently prowl through the streets of New Eternalia. The quiet night stillness is punctuated only by the chirps of crickets and few lights are on in the huge crystal skyscrapers dotting the rolling green hills.

It was the perfect time to strike. They would never know what's coming.

I press a button on my earpiece, fitted snugly and secretly. "Do you copy?" A slight crackle of static, and then a cold female voice answers. "Yes, assassin. Are you finally in position?" I grit my teeth and answer in the nicest voice possible, "Yes."

"Stop sounding so chirpy, you're about to commit murder for heaven's sakes. Don't sound too thrilled," my buyer instructs, and I roll my eyes. I would cancel this job, seeing as I don't usually do face-to-face gigs when other methods work just fine. But I need the money, and if this anonymous woman has a bone to pick with the target and a deep pocket, that's fine with me.

"Now, tell me who this elf is," I say, finding the correct address. The target's house is a modest-looking house (by elven standards) with only one floor and walls made out of a silvery opaque metal.

"Just important enough to be taken out," the woman says. "That's all you need to know." I start to hate her tinny voice in my ear, but I ignore it and get ready to break in. From a pocket of my dark tunic I procure a set of lock picks.

"Do you know of any strange or unusual security measures they might have inside their house?" I ask. "You know, if they're as important as you say."

"Not that I know of. But there could be."

"Great. Thanks." I glance up one last time before I go all in, making sure no one is around. My eye catches on the blinding white palace that stands in the center of New Eternalia, and I can't help but wonder what Gisela is doing right at this very moment. She was probably executing someone else.

Just like she did to...

I shake off the thoughts and push my metal lockpick into the keyhole. Usually, elven houses had a DNA recognition system, but apparently this elf used a lot of human technology.

That was dangerous. Human sympathizing was forbidden.

The lock was open within thirty seconds, and I was in. Silencing the earpiece as to not create any distractions, I crept around a dark living room that seemed stark and bare. The only pieces of furniture were a wooden rocking chair and a crystal cabinet containing valuables and trinkets.

I peer into a hallway to see a row of doors. One door is slightly ajar, and I can hear faint snoring coming from inside the room.

I finger the melder and knife side by side in my pocket.

Melder first, murder after. That would be best. Easy, quick and simple. No time for a fuss.

I pad into the room, quiet as I can be. Only a bed and a dresser are in this room. The dresser stands bare with one drawer slightly ajar, but the bed has rumpled sheets. And under those sheets is a person-shaped figure, fast asleep, with their back facing me.

I slide the melder out of my pocket and step towards the foot of the bed, dangerously close to the dresser behind it. Praying I wouldn't make a sound, I press against the dresser to keep my balance - and curiosity gets the better of me. I peer into the open drawer. A glint of silver greets me.

Sliding my hand gently into the drawer, I withdraw a simple circlet set with obsidian, similar to the type circlet the old Councilors wore inlaid with their choice of jewels, that I had seen many times. But this circlet reminds me of an elf long forgotten, someone who I thought had been executed long ago.

I gasp, much to my misfortune, and alert the elf. They wake up quickly and spot me.

"Bronte, it's me!" I say, but he sprints out of the bedroom. I curse, realizing that the room was dark and I'd had the hood of my jacket up covering my face. "Wait!" I hold tight to the circlet and melder and speed after him. He rushes out the door and runs far into the distance, but before I can follow, a thick piece of paper hits me in the face. I drop everything and fall to the ground, shocked at the heavy piece of fancy parchment that rests in my hand.

The target is too far away now. My client would be disappointed.

Then again, I don't know if I would be able to kill Bronte, but maybe I could. It's all for the money.

I unfold the paper and read it.

It's from Keefe Sencen. The poster child himself. Gisela's son.

The wind must have carried it straight into my path. Maybe it was destiny. After all, I used to know him once upon a time. We were best friends. And then he betrayed us all by siding with his mother of all people. But from the looks of this, it looks like he doesn't want to be with her. At least, not anymore.

I'm the only one left.

From what it sounds, he's pretty broken. And so am I, I guess.

I have to get him out of there.