Legacy of Arthur Leywin

Scytches

The small café was dimly lit, its atmosphere cozy and unassuming—just the kind of place we preferred for discussions best kept out of the public eye. The warm scent of brewed coffee filled the air as I sat at the corner table, nursing a cup that had long since gone cold. Across from me, my companion, another of Master Regis' agents, sat back in his chair, his eyes scanning the near-empty room as if even the faintest hint of interest from the other patrons would be enough to make him vanish.

"The timing couldn't be worse," he muttered, his voice low and even, careful not to draw attention. He wasn't wrong, of course. Master Regis' departure for Epheotus meant that for the next several months, we would be operating without our primary link to him. That kind of void was dangerous—especially now.

"Do you think it was deliberate?" I asked, taking a sip of my lukewarm drink.

He glanced at me, his dark eyes narrowing slightly. "I don't know. But with everything that's been happening here in Alacrya, it feels like a poor time to be cut off."

I leaned back in my chair, my gaze drifting out the window to the bustling streets of the Central Dominion. There was a palpable tension in the air, though most of the citizens didn't seem to recognize it yet. They were too busy living their lives to notice the cracks forming beneath the surface. But we knew. We could feel the storm brewing, and it was only a matter of time before it broke. And now, with Master Regis unreachable, it felt like we were standing on a knife's edge.

"The timing is suspicious," I admitted, my voice barely above a whisper. "But there's little we can do about it now. We just have to be vigilant until he returns."

My companion nodded, though I could see the frustration in his eyes. "Still, this is happening at the worst possible moment."

The sound of distant cheers reached us then, faint at first but growing steadily louder. My companion turned his head toward the window, his expression darkening. "Seems like the Council is making their move."

We both knew what the noise meant before we even stepped outside. The Council of Alacrya was about to make a public address, the first in months. This was the announcement we'd been waiting for—the one that would confirm what we feared. The Scythes, Alacrya's deadliest enforcers, were about to be presented to the public.

"Shall we?" my companion asked, rising from his chair.

I stood, pulling my cloak tighter around my shoulders. "Let's see how they plan to play this out."

We slipped out of the café and onto the streets, careful to avoid drawing any unnecessary attention. The plaza in the heart of Central Dominion was packed, throngs of people gathering to witness the spectacle. The cheers and shouts of the crowd echoed off the stone buildings that loomed around us, creating a cacophony of noise. I could hear the people's chants—"Long Live Alacrya! Glory to the Council!"—as they surged toward the platform where the Council members would soon appear.

We moved through the crowd, our hoods drawn low to hide our faces. The air buzzed with excitement, the kind of energy that could quickly turn dangerous if provoked. Everywhere I looked, citizens were waving banners and chanting for the glory of their dominion.

As we neared the center of the plaza, we caught glimpses of the stage where the Council members would soon speak. The tension was almost unbearable, but the citizens of Alacrya were blissfully ignorant of the weight of this announcement. To them, this was a celebration—an affirmation that their empire still stood strong despite the recent failures against Dicathen.

The Council had gathered to restore their people's faith. But for us, we knew what this meant. Alacrya was desperate, and the unveiling of new Scythes was meant to bolster morale and distract from the darker truths beneath the surface.