"Do you know why we follow through with these orders," Oligar asked, his voice low and steady, "even though these traders reek of deception?"Haaskin hesitated. He glanced at the ornate tiles under his feet, then back at his master.
"Because you want to see how I'm progressing. That I'm not just your shadow anymore."Every move, every decision—was he still just Oligar's shadow? The Council back home thought so. And Haaskin hated how right they might be.
Oligar raised an eyebrow. There was a beat of silence. "You're not here to prove anything, e have to make sure that, we communicate to The council what the traders union of zedha are upto, even if it might kill us. And don't worry—we're not walking into a suicide mission. I always keep a backup plan.""I've got a contingency," Oligar said, adjusting the cuff of his sleeve ever so slightly. Haaskin caught a glimpse of something metallic beneath the fabric—thin, deliberate, dangerous.
The chamber below was narrow, claustrophobic, and blindingly white. The walls curved smoothly, seamless and without edges. Haaskin's air mask held—barely. He could already hear hissing through the pressure. Soldiers waited. White armor. Smooth helmets. Spears poised.
They attacked.
Oligar didn't wait—he pushed forward with a gust of air that struck like a wrecking ball, flinging the soldiers into each other, piling them in heaps like broken mannequins. Haaskin moved like a storm.
His fists cracked against helmets, knees rammed into ribs, elbows found weak points."Sleep," he muttered. "Sleep more," as his knuckles connected with yet another visor.As Haaskin fought, Oligar's eyes narrowed—not out of disapproval, but calculation. He watched not the punches, but the pauses. The breath between movements. The fear Haaskin was trying to hide.
One soldier lunged at Haaskin from behind, spear thrusting for his back. But Haaskin took notice immediately and twisted with a fluid instinct, trapping the spear between his forearm and bicep. With his left hand, he grabbed the middle area of the weapon and pushed the soldier back, slamming the man into the wall. cramped between the wall and weapon, the soldier is immobile and without missing a beat, haaskin lifted his left foot and kicked the soldier square in the face. The armored figure sagged to the ground, unconscious, then slowly slid down to the floor in a sitting slump.
They moved.A stairwell opened above them, narrow but lit. They climbed swiftly. At the top, they found the traders—eight of them—gathered in a semicircle around an ancient communication console.
Haaskin stepped forward, breath heavy. "What are you up to?" he asked, before breaking into a dash toward them.
But something intercepted him. The air chilled. Light bent around the space near the traders, warping as if rejecting something unnatural. Then he stepped forward, not walking—but appearing, like a page turned in space. His violet eyes pierced the chamber, aglow with judgment. A man, cloaked in black and violet, emerged with glowing eyes—violet eyes. His palm was raised, crackling with ethereal energy. Before Haaskin could dodge, the figure struck him with a shockwave. His body spasmed midair and collapsed. Consciousness fled him.
The traders didn't flinch.Oligar stared at the figure as he stood over Haaskin.
The tallest of the traders, a man draped in crimson with gold trimmings, took a step forward. Disappointment marred his otherwise calm face."Now it might make more sense to you, right?"Oligar tilted his head.
"Yeah," he said slowly. "It does now. The King of Zedah voting against Lord Vulturing was a distraction. Vulturing would've ordered an open strike on the Authority the moment he was elected. So, you joined hands with the Authority."
He narrowed his eyes.
"That's why Zedah pushed back so hard against the Democracy's intervention. But it wasn't the king doing it. It was you—Traders' Union. The whole time. You lounge in towers of gold while the rest of the world burns. Your greed for power will collapse Zedah into chaos. And under the Authority, it won't rise again. They don't want order—they want the world consumed by it. There's still a chance. A change of heart now might lighten your punishment."
"Shut up, mana master", the tall figure spoke fiercely. I believe in giving resources to the competent and none to the weak, this equal proportion to all philosophy of yours,..... the democracy is for the weak and of the past.
"If competent deserves resources, then why aren't you the one starving? You make others do your job. You just order people around and exploit them"
The violet-eyed attacker stepped forward. His voice was sharp and cold."You're a grand mana user. Resistance is futile. Give up, dog."The Authority's enforcers weren't just powerful—they were engineered. Bloodline-spliced, rune-branded, and raised in the Thought Dens since birth.
Oligar chuckled. "Dog of democracy… Haven't heard that one in a while." He slowly raised his hand. "You know the last guy who called me that didn't live long enough to see me leave."From beneath his sleeve, something clicked.A slim device emerged, wrapping around his wrist. His thumb found the button.He pressed it.
Elsewhere, far above the clouds, a cloaked woman watched from a distant mesa. Her comm crystal pulsed once. "He pressed it," she whispered.With a flick, the sky broke.Dozens of airships breached the clouds in perfect formation—sleek, armed, and silent until they roared with light. They descended upon the starcircles, bombarding key nodes and weapon systems. The sky turned white and gold.
Oligar didn't smile. He simply stepped forward as alarms blared.His voice, calm as always, echoed in the chaos.
"I don't do suicide missions," Oligar said calmly. "You just never saw the sky coming."
Inside the starcircle, chaos erupted. The ship trembled as alarms blared and red lights pulsed. Crew members stumbled, shouting over one another in confusion. In the chaos, Oligar turned—his eyes catching the growing cloud of poison surging down the left corridor like a living thing.
Then, something clicked in his mind.
Haaskin.
He had to move—now.
Oligar raised a hand toward the oncoming gas, his expression eerily calm. His eyes shimmered, not in fear, but in calculation. As the poison drew near, he studied it—every swirl, every hue of toxicity—his mana instinctively beginning to replicate its nature.
Just as his study was nearly complete, a violent kick slammed into his face.
The violet-eyed enforcer.
Oligar crashed to the floor—but only for a second. He flipped to his feet with explosive grace, blood trickling from the corner of his mouth. With a sweeping gesture, he unleashed the very poison he'd just analyzed—his mana copying its signature perfectly. A torrent of wind surged from his palm, carrying the synthetic toxin forward. The enforcer was hurled down the corridor—straight into the real gas.
No time to waste.
Oligar dashed to Haaskin's side, hoisting him up with one arm. He turned from the starcircle and pulled a comm-mic from his coat.
"All units," he barked, his voice cutting through the noise. "Rendezvous on the king's location. Secure and extract."
In response, the formation of airships above pivoted, breaking away from the starcircle bombardment. Engines roared as they adjusted course, streaking across the sky with new purpose.
Oligar reached his personal airship, dragging the semi-conscious Haaskin aboard.
But back inside the starcircle, the violet-eyed attacker stirred. He rose slowly, his aura flaring as he sensed Oligar's residual mana in the air.
"So you haven't left… yet."
Without hesitation, he turned and stormed toward the ship's artillery deck.
Oligar's ship had just begun its ascent when a focused beam of red light sliced through the sky. A laser cannon had struck the airship's stabilizing fin.
The craft shuddered violently.
Alarms screamed.
Oligar gritted his teeth. "Brace for impact!"
With a final sputter, the airship nosed downward and crashed into the rocky terrain below.