Mélo stood straight, impeccable in her fitted red-and-black guard uniform, right in front of the marble reception counter.
It looked as if she hadn’t budged an inch all night and was simply waiting for us.
Her stoic, icy gaze swept over our battered faces without a single emotion breaking her perfect Sprigan features.
“There you are at last…
It is time for your mission.”
Our pitiful appearance and extreme fatigue mattered little to her.
The underlying message was crystal clear: at Eresboros, you fall in line or you die—there is no room for weakness.
Without giving us time to catch our breath, she guided us through the maze of the fortress’s gothic corridors to an immense underground hangar where several archéfléas were lined up, ready for takeoff.
Mélo gave a brief nod to one of the drivers, and we climbed aboard the magical vessel in silence.
After tearing through the spatial rift of the third space in the clouds, the craft dived at top speed toward the ground of Malbour to drop us off in the heart of a dark, filthy, isolated alley not far from the lower town’s central market.
“Follow me,” Mélo ordered in a crisp tone as her boots hit the ground.
“And walk in silence.”
Her footsteps were completely noiseless on the damp cobblestones.
She wove through the morning crowd and the market stalls with disconcerting speed and fluidity, forcing us to practically run so as not to lose sight of her figure.
Taking a turn down yet another hidden alleyway, she began her briefing in a low but perfectly distinct voice:
“I am going to give you your very first official mission objective.
Listen carefully and remember every detail, because I will not repeat myself.
Your task today is simple: you must proceed immediately to the city port.”
“The organization is expecting a specific shipment arriving from the outer kingdoms.
Once you have retrieved it from our contact and secured it, I will join you on-site to execute the final drop-off.”
A glaring inconsistency in her instructions struck me.
I slowed my pace and risked a bold question:
“We are to go alone?
You…
aren’t coming with us to supervise?”
She stopped dead in her tracks.
Her body pivoted slowly, and her sharp, predatory gaze locked directly onto mine.
I met her gaze without flinching, clenching my fists, flatly refusing to look down before her.
After a heavy silence that seemed to last an eternity, she resumed in an even icier voice:
“I am not coming.
This first field mission will serve as a real-world test.
It will determine whether you are capable of handling a crisis situation on your own, without the permanent support of your commander.
If you fail, you know the price.”
She set off again at a quick pace, stopping a few meters further at the corner of a discreet fishmonger’s shop that directly overlooked the bustling docks of the port.
“Very well.
As soon as the objective is secured and under your control, use this item to signal me.”
She handed me an earring finely decorated with meat-carved engravings, set with a small mystical orb that glinted with a bluish light.
Without another word, she turned around and instantly melted into the dense market crowd, leaving us alone with our fate.
Lucas threw me a look heavy with anxiety.
Upon arriving at the port of Malbour, the atmosphere changed completely.
Sailors and dockworkers bustled about in a relentless din, unloading heavy cargo left and right.
After the hellish night we had just spent locked in the foul, confined air of the cell, the salty ocean breeze and sea air did wonders for our minds, which were saturated with violence.
The sharp cries of seagulls mingled with the rough voices of captains shouting instructions to their crews.
We discreetly approached one of the dockworkers unloading crates of fish.
Ever since my blood test with Callis, I knew I had to be careful, but I was familiar enough with the organization’s jargon and secret code to attempt an approach:
“Excuse us, sir.
The shadows sent us for today’s delivery.”
At those code words, the man froze.
His eyes swept the surroundings nervously, making sure no city guard was watching us, before giving a discreet nod to a colleague posted further off.
The latter signaled for us to follow him down an adjacent alley.
He escorted us to the back of an abandoned, dark, and isolated warehouse where two large crates of raw wood, reinforced with iron bands, were resting.
As I stepped closer to inspect the cargo, I noticed with surprise a series of small holes drilled at regular intervals into the upper wooden planks.
The dockworker threw a heavy metal crowbar at our feet, making the iron clink against the stone floor.
“Make it quick,” he spat nervously.
“We don’t have all day to deal in contraband.”
Lucas and I picked up the tool, wedged it beneath the lid of the first crate, and threw our entire body weight onto it for leverage.
The wood creaked with a sharp, loud crack.
The surprise waiting inside wasn’t much of one for criminals of Eresboros’s caliber, but it left a bitter, nauseating taste in my mouth.
The crates contained children.
A dozen little girls and young boys, passed out and piled on top of each other like simple livestock.
Lucas stared at me, his face suddenly pale, but he heroically kept silent.
It was predictable, after all.
We were in the depths of a shadow mafia.
I realized with a sudden inner dread that the more I uncovered the horrors of this organization, the colder and more unfeeling my heart became.
Granted, the fate of total strangers had never particularly touched me in the lower districts in the past, but Eresboros operated in an entirely separate category of monstrosity and sadism.
Under the effect of the fresh air rushing into the crate, the first children began slowly regaining consciousness, whimpering weakly.
Lucas and I pulled them out of the wooden boxes one by one to group them together and try to leave the port area as quickly as possible before drawing attention.
Some of the kids, still heavily under the influence of the magical sedative administered during the journey, walked submissively beside us like sleepwalkers, their eyes vacant.
Others, older and more alert, immediately understood the terrible reality of the situation and began to panic uncontrollably.
We had to force them brutally, pulling them firmly by the arm to compel them forward through the alleys.
Around us, the sailors and dockworkers conspicuously turned their heads away, feigning complete indifference to the children’s tears and pleas.
In my mind, cold logic and absolute calm had to take precedence over empathy if I wanted to keep my head on my shoulders.
Suddenly, just as we were about to reach the end of the boarding quay to retreat into the safety of the lower city, a sharp, violent sound tore through the air.
A gunshot from a magical musket.
Bullets began whistling dangerously around our heads, slamming into cargo crates and the stone floor in showers of wood and sparkling metal sparks.
In the general panic that ensued, Lucas and I grabbed the nearest children by the collar and dove for cover behind a heavy row of brine barrels.
My heart pounded furiously in my chest.
Who could be attacking us in broad daylight?
The royal guard of Malbour?
A rival criminal faction determined to steal Eresboros’s cargo?
The terrified little girl I was holding tight against my side stared up at me, her eyes drowned in tears and her cheeks soaked.
She frantically clutched the fabric of my jacket with her small, trembling hands:
“Please, mister…
where are you taking us?
Where are we?
Where is my mommy, mister?”
I slapped my hand roughly but firmly over her mouth to muffle her sobs and prevent her cries from giving away our position.
My eyes were pinned on the mouth of the street.
It was then that a powerful voice, broken with grief and heavy with visceral hatred, rose distinctly above the gunfire:
“YOU!
YOU MONSTERS OF ERESBOROS, RELEASE OUR CHILDREN IMMEDIATELY OR YOU WILL ALL DIE HERE!”
The words echoed painfully against the warehouse’s brick walls.
It was neither law enforcement nor rival bandits.
It was the victims’ parents who had armed themselves to track down the abductors.
My mind went into overdrive, analyzing every variable at lightning speed.
How could these civilians have known our exact arrival time and delivery spot?
It was a mathematical certainty: one of the corrupt dockworkers at the port had sold us out to the parents to make extra money on the side by playing both ends.
I had to devise an emergency plan, and fast, to get us out of this bloody mess before the situation spiraled completely out of control.
I snapped my head toward Lucas to give him our retreat orders, but I froze when I met his gaze.
Lucas was deathly pale, his skin almost translucent.
His eyes were fixed on the stone ground, devoid of life, and his limbs were shaking uncontrollably.
The legitimate accusations of the man outside had hit him straight in the heart, shattering his moral compass and awakening his old demons from the slums.
He was mentally collapsing right before my eyes, completely incapable of moving or thinking.
But this was absolutely not the time to have a crisis of conscience or shed tears over our morality.
If we released these children, the Blood Contract imposed by Déva Callis and sealed into our skin would activate for treason, and we would both die on the spot in excruciating agony.
I grabbed him violently by the collar of his shirt and shook him with all my strength to snap him back to reality:
“Lucas!
Lucas, look at me and get a grip right now!
If we stand here hesitating, we’re going to get shot by these people or killed by Callis’s Contract!
So pull yourself together now!”
We had to get out of here.
And we had to get out alive, no matter the cost to our souls.