[SS] Hazy Silhouette

Erin stopped in her tracks, if for but a moment, upon reading that name. Silas Sharpthorne... why did that look and sound familiar? Picking up the pace, she held the letter in one hand and fished out her notebook with the other, reading over the notes contained within. Silas was one who Birdway mentioned being at the center of vampiric research and study.

Could this be a key to unlocking the truth of the matter surrounding Whitby? As much as she wished to open the letter to read its contents, that would be in bad taste should she ever run into the sender. She wrote down both names and addresses in her notebook for the time being, and kept the letter sealed as she sought out the Whitby address.

She recalled the appearance of the man who dropped the letter, and kept it firmly in her visual memory as she approached the address of the so-called Nate Fours. She still did her best to carry her usual assortment of improvised weaponry out of sight in case things got rough; what if the man was not the same one who dropped the letter?

Well, she'd find out. She'd like to get a good look at the man before even revealing she had come bearing a letter at all. If he was not who she remembered, then she would simply pretend to be a door-to-door salesperson of historical clothing, or something along those lines. If he was indeed the same one, she'd still be cautious but mention the letter and perhaps get involved in the matter. By not opening the letter before returning it, perhaps that would allow him to see her as trustworthy?

Albrekka watched the man move further into the fog, eventually vanishing.  Certainly wouldn't be the last time she saw him, though hopefully the next time won't be so tense.  Letting out a sigh to try and loosen up, looking over her purse and her things, she seemed ready to move on from the library, Birdway obviously ditching her for whatever personal motives she had.

“So, who’s this Francesca person and what are the deal with these kids the two of you were talking about?”

Right, the girl.  She was certainly curious, like the man was, but in a different way.  "Lets talk as we walk.  Company would be nice, after all."

Beginning to move, Albrekka passed through the fog with Saravati in tow.  In a way, she was right.  The night had set in and the town in general was certainly tense, those who she had made decent ties with were nowhere to be found.  Perhaps this girl, too, could be reasonable?  She wanted to give her a chance, as she did with the man who had let her be, though she was yet entirely sure.

"Francesca, though...well, I don't know her too well."  Seemingly in thought, she put her hands up to her face in some vague way to help her think back to the previous day, relaying the events to the girl.  "A man by the name of Mark and I ran into her, looking for a 'friend' of his.  She needed someone to look after the orphans she had been looking over in exchange for some information.  Well, I don't have any large contacts and my hotel room is rather small, and I doubt that, even if I said yes, I could protect them in any major capacity, so I was unsure about that.  Mark had suggested that his organization take them in, so he did.  The priest back there seems to know about this, so I imagine something went wrong."  A glance was made to Saravati, to see if she was listening, and to listen to her reply if there was any.  "Also, this 'organization' Mark works for: its Dawn-Colored Sunlight, and his friend was its leader, Leivinia Birdway, though I don't know if that name rings a bell with you."

Albrekka's concerns may or may not be misplaced, but certainly Birdway's involvement seemed likely.  What was her motives in all of this, and wanting to place Albrekka at the library?  To meet the priest, meet Saravati, or have her move to find the children?  What would finding the children she had personally hidden accomplish?  And if this was all just a coincidence or not, did it matter?

"And you?  I figure you're here because of the rumors."  It was then that Albrekka turned to Saravati and looked to her, cutting off her own train of thought.  She wanted the girl to have some time to speak, after all.

As she followed behind, likely reminding the green-haired young woman of her presence, she finally heard the first sign that her attempt at breaking the ice had been successful.

"Lets talk as we walk. Company would be nice, after all."

With a satisfied smile, Saravati followed behind Albrekka into the fog and took in everything she had said. It was a bit of a quick and dirty summary but it was enough for Saravati to get a gist of who the woman was looking for.

Though, with the exception of the presence of a person by the name of Mark and talk of his organization, there really was not much different from what she was able to glean from her eavesdropping. As Albrekka had finished the first portion of her spiel, she turned back to face Saravati, likely wanting some acknowledgement that her words were not falling on deaf ears. Naturally, Saravati nodded with a smile.

She wanted to question Albrekka about this Mark person and his organization. The organization was definitely not Necessarius, after all. Any other organization that was in the area was likely a dangerous element or the Knights and she highly doubted this Mark person came from the latter.

Luckily for her, Albrekka seemed to answer the question she was going to ask almost preemptively. Unluckily for her, however, the name of the organization she spoke of was not the one she had expected nor was it one she wanted to hear the name of. After all, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight was a cabal that even Necessarius had trouble dealing with and was one of the biggest targets for the anti-magician organization.

So, she’s made contact with that organization, if even slightly, and even the Roman Catholic Church. Is that why he asked me to do this?

Saravati could only ponder that man’s reasons for sending her out to do what she was doing. As free-spirited as he was and as fun as he was to be around at times, she could never truly figure out what that man was thinking. All she could tell was that he had something in mind. It did tend to lead to truly annoying predicaments. Though, on the other hand, it meant she had free reign to get the job done however she chose to.

"And you? I figure you're here because of the rumors."

Conversation! Sweet, flowing conversation! What a wondrous thing conversations could be when the parties involved could avoid stiltedness. It seemed that Saravati’s attempt to strike conversation was a complete success.

“You could say that.” Saravati, scratching her cheek with her right index finger, replied with a chuckle. “Then again, most people who have come here in recent days are here for that very reason. There’s also the fact that certain organizations, especially within this country, have a bit of a vested interest in coming here.” In the end, Saravati was completely aware that she was speaking some fairly unnecessary words, but there were still certain things she had to obfuscate while still keeping honest. She just had to have faith that her new accompaniment could pick up the proper cues. “Though, it seems like every group here mired in something and tangled with each other for some reason or another. Really, it’s far too restrictive here. This kind of thing rarely affords the chance to just sit back and smell the roses,” she sighed.

“So, what about you? What are you going to do now? I’d imagine it’s safe to assume that you aren’t walking around here aimlessly, after all.”

The address on the latter was indeed the home of Nate Fours.

It was an old building, likely a leftover from the 19th century, at least it should have been from how well aged it looked. It was built with old techniques, in victorian style and yet fit into a tight 70s neighbourhood. There was a small garden with stone wall and metal gate just as one would expect. It had two levels and two letter boxes. One carrying the name of Nate Fours, the other that of a family called Mayson. Going by the way it looked it may have been that Nate Fours was the landlord while the family were just renting the upper level.

Whichever it was, about half a minute from when Erin had rung the doorbell next to the small metal gate, someone immediately came running. Not from inside, but from the behind, across the street.

«Oh, my forgiveness. My forgiveness. You wouldn’t be happening to have rung for me?»

The man approached her politely, immediately showing his most apologetic face and tone. He was old, his hair white and he wore frameless oval shaped glasses. His leather coat was old fashioned and in his hand was a walking cane. However besides that he actually seemed to be quite sporty for his age. Definitely this man was the same she’d seen before.

«I just saw you through the window and figured no one responded. I was a bit intrigued so I watched you, that I must admit, but I think that was a good turn, wasn’t it? I still apologise.»

His politeness was that of a gentleman. He’d even justify for why he had been only a few seconds late to respond, even though it was entirely natural, considering he had just been seated in the cafe across the street. Not even giving the actually strangely dressed girl a second sceptical look or even any unusual reaction at all, he was truly an oddly friendly character.

«Since I can not recall having ever met someone as outstanding as you, would you mind if I asked why you came to ring at my door?»

Only one thought crossed his mind at that moment when he gave the order. There was no way he will be quick enough to react and save a child on his own. For this, he had to rely on those with him as all possible avenues was just too far for him.

Alexander was much slower than the others, and it made matters worse that the fires were surging ahead with increasing speed as time carried on. So accepting his limits and doing what he can do within those limits was the way forward. And he didn't have to think about it, and the answer laid with the giant man called Sir Moore.

He didn't see what his superior had done, but from his stance and expression, it was evident to the knight his superior has done something which had left him exposed.

He didn't have to think about it, the young knight's body moved despite his inferior capabilities. His sword and shield no longer holding their usual blessings became heavier making it harder to move, but that didn't matter to Alexander. So focused on his objective the young knight found a way to use this to his advantage. The extra weight helped him to manoeuvre his body mid-air as he leapt into the desired position.

He stood now between Sir Moore and the surging flames, bracing for the impact he attempted to guard immediately with shield first and his sword as a secondary layer while hiding his face behind them. Only barely managing to do this as the flames smashed into him without mercy.

There had been no fear in his actions, fueled by a sense of purpose he stood his ground among certain doom. Not knowing the success of his fellows or condition of the one he tried to protect the young knight acted as a human shield for them all who was lucky to be behind him.

At a devastating cost to his safety.

His armour only served to boil his body, the parts that weren't protected by metal had started to burn, and even his shield was causing him harm as hid his face behind it. But despite the pain and suffering, the young knight roared attempting to reactive his shield.

"Cooommeee onnn!!"

Then suddenly as he felt something twist in his conscious, he blanked out.


"...."
"...."
"...."


He didn't know how long this was the case, maybe for a few seconds or minutes, it didn't matter for when he became aware his body felt so heavy the young knight immediately collapsed to the ground.

...Clang...

His sword dropped to the ground as he fell upon his knees and barely held himself up as he gasped for air. Every breath and every movement caused him great pain. His face was burned all on one side, the clothes were scorched, and his armour charred all over.

As he knelt there reassured the worse was over, Alexander relaxed slightly pulling himself up which caused his hood to fall revealing the terrible burns he had suffered.

"Is everyone alright?" the young knight spoke out suddenly, which immediately lead to coughing as that took a lot to do with his current condition.

And that is what all it took, this senseless act of selflessness, even after all he had just suffered had reawoken a miracle.

The Shield of Galahad was fueled not only by his life energy but also by the acts of conduct and chivalry that Alexander had performed. And with a warm glow, the energy of his shield started to envelop him as his entire body begun to heal. It would take a few minutes before he will be well enough to move, pulling his hood back over his head it seemed clear though his recovery wasn't on his mind.

The smell of death and burnt flesh, the orange tint air, and the devastation of everything around him was fully captured in his mind as his eyes widened with sorrow. And yet no words left his lips, no screams of anger or pain filled the air. Just kneeling there in silence was enough to show how he felt as his mind started to move on to something troubling.

«...................... Fools that have been daring enough to challenge me and my master. Burn.»

His eyes narrowed in response as he thought upon those words, thinking about what could happen next.

“Ah...”

No matter what she could do, that was all that seemed to be coming out of her mouth as she stared at the funeral pyre of a warehouse that she had been in not only a few seconds prior while holding tightly onto the orphan girl, Diana, in her arms.

She was unable to even summon the strength to let her tears flow from her eyes as she sat on her knees and stared, letting her vision slowly grow blurry.

Within the psychological wreckage that was now Francesca’s mind, all there was was a girl who was stuck in place. She could no longer walk forward or turn back. She was exhausted, in both mind and body.

After those long hours she spent chasing and running around, there was one thing that was certain. She was too tired to move.

“Big sis?”

The young girl who was being clutched had cracked open her eyelids and looked at the woman who was now holding her.

But there was no response. Not even the short utterances she had made before were even coming out.

“Big sis, are you alright?” she asked, placing a hand on Francesca’s cheek.


“She seems to be sleeping.” Mark spoke up to the child, letting a euphemism for ‘pass out’ flow through his lips. There was no need for the little girl to know, after all. “I imagine you’re tired as well, so just rest in her arms, okay.”

“Will you be back, mister?”

“I will.” With that reply, he made his way back to the warehouse, certain that the spell had long since ended, in order to assess the damage. As he entered the warehouse, there was a better sight than he could have hoped for laying in that smoldering carnage.

It seemed that Diana was not the only orphan who was saved, though there was the unlucky few who could not be saved. He clenched his teeth as he stayed mostly out of sight.

The heat had faded, but his mind had not.

But even so, it was muddled. As he looked around blankly, he saw people, people lying on the floor, in tears, injured, dead. To him, it resembled the aftermath of a terrorist attack more than any kind of battle. There were warriors kneeling on the ground, but the truly tragic forms were those who should have held no place in any variety of warfare.

Pulling himself up, his body protested in the extreme. But he was too tired to care, too exhausted to hear his body's pleas. The pain of his body was vague, and his reaction to his surroundings too was dull. And more than that, his reason for standing was something stronger than the weakness of his body or the dullness of his mind.

Looking down in front of him, he saw the form of his subordinate, Beathen. He remembered. At the last moment, he had been protected by that shield of his. Beathen had shielded him with his own body. It was thanks to Beathen that he could stand. He was covered in burns and surely wounded horribly, but thanks to him he was still able to ignore all that and drag himself onto his feet.

"Beathen. When you can move, the children. Their armors, should be hot." he said slowly, between deep careful breaths. He had been fortunate enough not to breathe in any of the air as the flames washed over him, but even the rising of his chest stretched his damaged skin too far to be ignored.

But to the one who had saved him, he still felt the need to speak those words. Not only because he knew of his healing spells; he felt sure that the one who had risked his body to save at least him wouldn't be able to rest knowing there was still more to do.

The sacrifice of the knights may have changed the fates of the children, but after being bathed in the flames, they should be burning. Metal was a superb material for defense, but it's easy convection of heat was a weakness. For the knights themselves that wouldn't amount to much on top of the injuries they'd already received, but Moore was worried about the children cradled in their arms.

With an unsteady gait and a slow pace, Moore tottered over to where the five were collapsed. He had noticed the entrance of the young girl, and the presence of Mark Space and the nun still occupied a place in his awareness, but with the effort he put into moving that body of his, he could not spare the attention needed to give them even the most cursory of acknowledgments.

After a short while one of the men in armour collapsed sideways.

Of all of them it was the usual rock hard Addicott that had given in first, or maybe he had done so intentional, as the timing and motion were perfectly aligned with Moore’s sudden reveal. He dropped on the ground with a heavy thud, leaving entirely uncovered the child he had shielded. It was a small boy, breathing and sweating heavily. Most certainly he’d been surrounded by extensive heat for quite a bit.

Much like the boy the man had difficulties catching his breath, however not just for the heat but for the extensive burns covering his entire body. Wherever the armour had been too tight there only was a cruel wound. It had been for him and it had been for his friends. They all suffered. Those unfortunate bastards.

Was that what it meant to be a hero? Or was that what it meant to be a fool? Were they beaten or had they defeated?

Another collapsed sideways and another. They all did it with their last remaining strength. They all struggled until there was no point to go any further. Until their mission was entirely fulfilled.

Those were the knights of England. The bravest of men.

«…the rest…is up to you…»

Their strong hearts’ conviction would resonate throughout that gigantic hall.

There was nothing to suggest this smooth-talking man was anything other than a con artist looking to take advantage of an opportunity. If she trusted him about his identity here with no proof, then she would be a fool. The man could very well be another human trafficker for all she knew. She figured she could beat the man at his own game if that were the case.

"A thousand pardons, good sir! There is urgent business to discuss immediately, and it cannot be done in view of the prying eyes of the masses, I assure you! Spies everywhere, you know. Since I presume this house belongs to you, and you are the one I seek, may I come inside? Also, I will need a signature..."

She produced a spare page from her notebook, and began writing on it some legalese-worthy agreement of secrecy between them, with an empty space for his signature. If it was truly the same person who wrote the letter, and the man was indeed the one who owned the estate, then she would be close to knowing.

First, if the signature matched that of the letter, then she could feel some sort of relief. But also if he were to produce a key and unlock the door, and the inside of the house did appear to belong to him, then there could be even more relief. If he wasn't who he claims to be, then she could pass off this incident as a weird sales pitch for Napoleonic era reenactment acting. The 'urgent business' and 'spies' could be passed off as the Napoleonic war, and French spies respectively.

No way was she blindly trusting this man who turned on the charm immediately when they were only meeting for the first time.

“You could say that.  Then again, most people who have come here in recent days are here for that very reason. There’s also the fact that certain organizations, especially within this country, have a bit of a vested interest in coming here.  Though, it seems like every group here mired in something and tangled with each other for some reason or another. Really, it’s far too restrictive here. This kind of thing rarely affords the chance to just sit back and smell the roses.  So, what about you? What are you going to do now? I’d imagine it’s safe to assume that you aren’t walking around here aimlessly, after all.”

"Go to the police."  Wait, what?

"I don't have much of a lead on these children, and at this point I don't exactly have many allies here, and those I would consider one are too far away to be in any contact with them.  This was something I was planning on doing in the first place.  If anything, maybe I can get a lead on something else."

Strange, why would a magician want to have anything to do with the police in this town?  Certainly there was no point in talking with those who are essentially fodder or a nuisance to a magician?  Regardless, it was clear that Albrekka's path was taking her to the station, if Saravati knew its location initially.

"Sorry if such an idea sounds boring.  I'm sure its bothering our priest friend also, I doubt he let me go so easily, after all.  But, still, the city should know what is going on.  They don't have a whole lot of power to deal with the issue, but they should know.  After that, I'd like to know more about this Paul Oldturf fellow."

Was Albrekka's plan her real goal, or some effort to have Saravati look elsewhere?  Clearly, such a path would not lead to the truth of the matter.

"Ah, here it is."  Whitby's police station loomed overhead.  It seemed that Albrekka was perhaps not bluffing...

For someone in Albrekka’s position, going to the local figure of authority was a solid position to take. That being said, Saravati definitely had her qualms about taking to the police station. Beyond the issue that was the possibility of being arrested for public indecency thanks to her almost swimsuit-like outfit, there was definitely the issue of efficacy.

After all…

“The straightforward, boring nature of going to the police is the least bit of concern here.” Sara spoke up as they stood before the police station. Even if it meant going against the concept of non-intervention that her superior had set out for her, she still had to speak up even if it meant she would come across as hypocritical. “Let’s say you do tell them of what’s going here regarding these orphans and this Francesca woman. What then? What good will do them? No, what good will that do for anyone? Do you really think a small group of constables would be able to do anything of use with that information?”  

In the end, divulging information regarding the orphans would only pull the police further into the world of the occult that they were supposed to be segregated from.

Sara really had to wonder if Albrekka realized exactly what would happen if they reported the information about the orphans.

“You know exactly what the people who’ve waltzed into this town are like. Do you really want to wet the feet of those who have yet to be dyed in the occult by trying to get them involved with something they definitely cannot respond well to?”

There was no way she would allow Albrekka to inadvertently chain the feet of the common folk down.

Raising an eyebrow the old yet sporty gentleman answered the girl’s unexpected reaction with silence of his own, right before he chuckled in delight.

«I see, I see. Yes, I see. I must admit: you are some very peculiar character, young miss.»

There was no doubt, no longer confusion and nothing that implied that he despised her demands in any way. Actually, as if it was an entirely natural scenario he would reach for the pen immediately and set his hand into motion, imprinting his rather extravagant old school signature.

Right after the man would unlock the door in front, pushing it open in the same well behaved and charmingly inviting way he’d performed all of his actions in. However after he had taken just a single step through it, he’d suddenly stop, turn around and discard all hospitality.

«Now, before we can proceed. What is it that you want from me? I am not someone who has grown foolish just with age, you should know. Allowing a stranger into my house without knowing any reason for it? Especially if they are dressed like a robber and so hung up over secrecy. Truly, that would be too rash to be healthy.»

Eyes as sharp as swords, slicing away all that’d obstruct the truth. The way he glanced at her was a rather special kind, something she should be rather familiar with. After all it was one of the aspects characteristic for a detective.

«Now, can I please receive my answer? Or will you play just as sly as the others?»


The police station of Whitby unlike the rest of the town, was entirely tranquil. While the place had been thrown into disarray the night before, it now was entirely dead. No employees outside and only a few lights visible through the windows from the outside. There was no activity, hardly sounds, nothing to bother with at all.

Something truly unusual considering the situation the town was in.

Behind the thick fortified entrance doors, there was the same old lobby. It was just like what one would expect of a police station, only less lively as well. A lady in uniform standing behind a counter and another two working at their computers at an office space in the back.

Beyond that however, nothing was really on, not even the lights in the distant corridors.

Had nightshift already kicked in?

"Beathen. When you can move, the children. Their armours should be hot." Moore spoke out reawakening life within the fallen knight, who first turned and stared at his fallen brethren behind him.

One by one as also reacting to Moore's voice they all seemed to have moved just enough to allow the children out from their protective grasp easing any potential worries about their health. Most notably Addicott had caught the young knight's attention as he seemed to have given way first and following his example, the others dropped as if to confirm they've done their part.

«…the rest…is up to you…»

Hearing those words brought a smile to the young knight, they have truly done their part. Unlike him who failed to achieve his objectives, they, in turn, did all the heavy lifting and managed to save as many children they could in those final moments. Soon enough the kids will catch their breath, and the other knights will lay there resting and trying to recover.

"Though we shouldn't dilly-dally..." Alexander had thought who had observed that no one seemed to have suffered any life-threatening injuries he will still need to provide some healing. But any thought on this was washed away with the sound of footsteps as his ignorance crumbled.

Though he seemed to have stumbled forward in his haste, the young knight grabbed his sword and rose to his feet seemingly gaining strength with each passing second.

The blessings that once faded had now returned showing that despite his appearances there was confidence in the young knight's eyes as he seemed to have entered a perfect defensive stance. But all of this was instinct, and in those moments instincts often blinded what the eyes see, and this seemed to be the weakness of any knight as much as a strength. But it was justifiable in this instance due to the situation they found themselves. Not only are there children, but most of his allies were wounded and not in fighting condition.

Any enemy worth their salt would take this chance to strike.

But looking at those approaching them, and the other was a child? Two kids? Alexander was admittingly puzzled here, the one with blondish hair and big emerald green eyes seemed composed more confident than just any ordinary child.

Narrowing his eyes in response, the young knight pulled down his hood revealing his burns on the face had made a remarkable recovery, and even now it slowly faded as if it never happened. But his condition wasn't on his mind; the young knight was still being cautious after seeing a lack of hostility from those approching, thinking it was right to show that same respect he lowered his sword and shield into a non-threatening stance.

However, this doesn't mean he had let his guard down; the young knight was ready to act if needed and his body recovered enough to do it.

But diplomacy remained his best course of action

"I mean no disrespect, but that's far enough. I can't so casually take the risk when you're a stranger to me and considering our situation..." Alexander said while pausing for a moment before continuing. "I have friends and children to protect." Alexander said trying to find the middle ground between being diplomatic and remaining careful. "Sir Alexander Beathen, thus have given the honour of sharing my name. However, what concerns me more is your business here and why ..." He said as he glanced towards the little girl with the green emerald eyes, there seemed to be something off which he didn't like and maybe it was just her sudden appearance.

"Does your sudden  appearance don't seem coincidental at all?" Alexander said taking further note of the girl's composure.

Calming children had never been something easy. To worsen it, just when she was about to succeed at making Paula and Ronny adjust just a tiny bit, someone cut in, in the most roughish way applicable.

Sword in hand, even though lowered, and sharp tone. For an expert, not all too much trouble, but for small children that had just gone through hell it’s serve as trigger with obvious effect. Bláthín couldn’t avoid biting her lip with her long canine, noticing the two at her hands retreat behind her, shivering, crying all over again.

«Seriously now, are you really just that dumb thugs? English gentlemen? Bloody ruffians rather!»

That small frail girl unleashed her quite sharp trap, biting back right away. She wasn’t the most polite to begin with and her way of talking — the kind of pronunciation she used as well as her overall selection of words — was entirely childish. However to tip it all off she even had her own anger over the situation leave some impact.

«Also I know who you are, so no need to bother with that, got it? I’m not here to waste my time discussing formalities. Then again I wonder if I should discuss anything with bloody ruffian thugs like you to begin with. Aaaah how annoying. Aaaah. Doesn’t that wanna-be mastermind asshole understand what being a fair maiden means? Well, whatever.»

Truthfully, the way she simply fired back, triggered by a rough attempt at diplomacy was a bit over the top, yet again supported by her very own age. Then again, it was also an action she obviously took to step up for those she was shielding right now. Because in fact her very stance, her posture, how she held out her left arm to shield them and the emerald eyes that met the man’s, they all were actions taken for the sake of others, not for her own.

«Doesn’t your and Moore’s presence whenever there is a huuuge fuck-up in this town seem like a coincidence to you either?»

The moment she was done with her own backfire, she finally began to lose a bit of tension, slowly lowering both her arm and softening her expression. What she had originally come here for had likely occurred to her, through the sound of someone’s sobbing finally entering her ears.

«Now, if you would please be as kind as to at least apologise like a proper grown up all will be forgiven. And no, this isn’t about me.»

She’d step aside, revealing the frightened two cowering behind. Both their fear and pain were written all over. With everything Paula and Ronny had gone through, this situation had just added to their burden.

«…the rest…is up to you…»

He had underestimated his subordinates, it seemed. He had done them a disservice. Before he could take the action, first Addicott and then the rest used the last of their strengths to free the children before they collapsed. Moore truly couldn't feel anything but respect towards them. Even if their leader had lead them into this situation, they were still undoubtedly proud knights.

Even with that, Moore didn't intend to stop his slow advance towards them. His purpose may have changed, but he still had reasons to continue. To take care of the children, to ensure the health of the new collapsed knights. But with the immediate worry gone, such intentions had to be put off, at least for a short while. A glance to the side where the young girl who had just entered was sparring verbally with Beathen told him that something else would need to come first.

"I'm sorry for Beathen's rudeness," he said with a light sigh. "He means well, but he's just a bit on edge, so could you forgive him?"

One of the superior's duties was to take responsibility for those under them. Though Moore doubted that just his apology would satisfy the girl, he'd never intended such a thing. He was giving an example, apologizing not just to the young girl in revealing clothes, but also to the two children who cowered behind her.

"The mastermind you're referring to is Longroad, right? You're the one he sent to keep on eye on us, then. If that's the case, could you lend us a hand? As you can see, we have barely enough hands to clean up after ourselves, so I don't think we're best people to leave the kids with."

He spoke candidly, almost casually, lacking any of the anger or frustration one would assume he'd have after such a failure, and being talked about in such a way. He could be viewed as callous to act in such a way, and a kinder perspective might say he was just in shock. But Moore didn't know or care whether anyone present would notice what was in his heart, and simply stated what was necessary.

The girl had not stated her identity, and she had appeared out of nowhere, so Beathen's caution was understandable. But Moore had known from before that there was no chance that the man in the church would have allowed to simply walk freely. A dog needed a leash, and that offered easy conjecture as to what she was doing here. But more than that, her protective attitude of the two behind her showed that regardless of who she was, she was at least an ally of the children. That alone should have indicated that even if she wasn't an ally of the knights, for the moment she at least wasn't an enemy.

So without minding things, he fulfilled his duty and requested that which was necessary to continue on to the next stage.

From his out-of-sight position in the warehouse, he had observed the six small forms that lay near the five collapsed and one barely conscious knights. As he turned his eyes to the strange new intruder, he saw the two that she was keeping with her. As he marked out the eight others that had survived, he gave only a half-sigh of relief, remembering that three or four had likely perished in the hellfire that had ensued.

While it was hardly a happy ending, it was a far better outcome than he had expected from the inferno and that would likely bring some meager solace to Diana and Francesca when they woke up.

But, that could wait for now.

While the new entrant of the warehouse and the knights were focused on each other, he could take his time focusing on another important matter entirely without much worry of interference—the jester.

It was fairly obvious that he was nowhere near the River Styx so focusing some brainpower on how to deal with him was far from meaningless.

There was something familiar about the man, but Mark could hardly put his finger on it. Going by that route was a feasible one seeing as the jester was at least familiar with Mark for some reason or another.

As he walked to the spot where the jester was before his fiery exit, he continued to mull over all the possibilities that had flashed in his head before while sifting through the jester’s various actions and words. Based on how he described his spells and what Mark had observed, countering him was simple enough. It was just a matter of execution. The main issue was figuring out who this person was.

After meandering and avoiding the gaze of anyone else, he found himself at the spot where the jester stood before disappearing. A spot that was now occupied by a single pristine rose.

A man who actually got down to business for a change. Nice. That was a welcome change of pace from people like Birdway, who couldn't have an honest conversation if their life depended on it. She let slip a look of relief, her hesitation evaporating into the aether, no different from the amalgamation of haze gathered in the town. It was time to get down to business; this man would either be an ally, or a foe. All that remained was to take that first step into the danger zone and determine which one it would be.

"Warsaw's a rather pleasant place at this time of year, isn't it?"

The man's eyes could very well be a glimpse into his soul. If there was the slightest amount of confusion in them, there was no need to continue this further. However, on the off chance that he knew what she was referring to, the next steps could be taken.

Of course.  Albrekka's words, after all, would set any magician off.

"How would you feel if your world was torn asunder, and those who could tell you the truth denied it?  Its their right to know.  Its up to them to go any further than that."  She said this very matter-of-fact-ly, without harshness.  To Albrekka, it was a teachable moment.  

"And that's the thing.  I think, in terms of finding these children, it is within their capacity.  Will they need support?  Yes, doesn't everyone?  I'm willing to help them if they are willing to help the town.  And really...who else will help the orphans?  If the church was willing to neglect them and hunt me down for caring for them, and the mentality of magicians is to ignore those who need help if it isn't in their best interest, then who?  But I believe I've explained myself well enough. I understand if you can't, I know where you're coming from. You don't need to feel guilty."

At most she could really justify her actions, but it wasn't like it would convince her.  Just like her words would probably not convince those in the force.  But one thing would be certain:  children were in danger.  If Albrekka had to do what she could to find justice for them, she would.  How much she could do, was another story.

Albrekka stepped forward, with or without Saravati in tow, towards the police station.  What would Saravati do?  What would the police force do?  What would she or the culprits do?  Only one way to find out.

Saravati clenched her teeth at Albrekka’s words. Of course, a magician would be steadfast in their paths and actions, regardless of the consequences. It was only natural.

“You’re just attempting to distance yourself from the consequences of your actions.” She was wrong. She was definitely wrong. “‘It’s up to them’? That’s irrelevant when you’re perfectly cognizant of what actions they’ll take next. Sure, no other organization may want to help. Sure, it may be in their capacity to find these children, but what next? If they find the children, there’s a high likelihood that magicians will be involved. How much blood would be shed as a result. How many new magicians may be birthed from pure resentment alone? You may think all you’re doing is the equivalent of giving them a map but it’s not. What you’re doing is like guiding someone suicidal to the cliff knowing their intent.”

No matter what, pushing those unmarred by the occult into it was an unacceptable option. Saravati highly doubted that Albrekka would listen to reason, but she would not just let things go without pointing out the sophistry Albrekka was using to justify her actions, even if it was doomed fall on deaf ears.

“Don’t blind yourself to that reality.”

That’s all Saravati said before following Albrekka into that police station. There was no way she was going to let Albrekka’s actions go unsupervised and unchecked. At the very least, she could try to mitigate any of the negative consequences if she was there.

In the end, it seemed like the recommendation of non-intervention had been shot full of holes and there was no turning back.

We might need to turn back…

It was plain as day that something was wrong with the police station. The still and tranquil environment subverted all expectations of a police station during a time of alert. Wordlessly, she began to don various ornaments: two snake-like bracelets, a ring-shaped headdress, and a choker-like necklace. The escape plan was now set.

Like a balloon the tension suddenly burst as the gears clicked.

The rest was simply compiled in his head and when that process was done the old but sporty man couldn’t help but chuckle.

«The letter. You found it, didn’t you? And you just came here to return it? Now that is surprising. Here I thought it was eternally lost and I had to replicate its entire contents. You wouldn’t imagine how much work writing it was…»

His shoulders dropping, he expressed his full relief over the entire situation, having a truly lengthy and heavy sigh. It seemed he’d been worried over it before, but now that it returned to him, he could finally relax a bit more. He smiled, his hostility from a moment ago entirely fading.

«I am impressed little miss. I guess you were this hung up over everything to prevent the letter from falling into the wrong hands, didn’t you? Both making me sign on this paper and to have me unlock the gate myself functioning as proof that I am honest. You must be an avid reader of detective novels.»

Once it came down to it, Nate Fours easily became the talkative type, especially once something sparked his interest. As someone who was a bibliophile himself there was of course no greater joy than to meet someone whom he believed had similar characteristics. In fact, as a lover of detective stories even, he could only feel his heart soften at the chance meeting with another who held the capability of actually embedding that into their actions.

However, now that he thought about it a bit deeper, something still bothered him.

«Considering you put so much into this, there must be more behind this than just returning it to me. Am I correct in assuming that?»

«Seriously now, are you really just that dumb thugs? English gentlemen? Bloody ruffians rather!»

There was something wrong at the back of his mind, the appearance of this rather absurd individual who destroys all sense of formality in speech and protocol had broken the sensible matrix inside Alexander's mind. He came from the world with high-class living standards, formality and noble bloodlines. Such rough behaviour coming from anyone was truly outside his normal understanding. This new territory was unknown to the young knight and his responses to such behaviour may become frank to cut the time to experience it as short as possible.

«Also I know who you are, so no need to bother with that, got it? I’m not here to waste my time discussing formalities. Then again I wonder if I should discuss anything with bloody ruffian thugs like you to begin with. Aaaah how annoying. Aaaah. Doesn’t that wanna-be mastermind asshole understand what being a fair maiden means? Well, whatever.»

The girl's fury to Alexander's rough attempt to speak diplomatically had continued, further acting in a way unknown to him but yet he felt more calmed as she spoke. Any worry in the back of his mind seemed to slowly fade accept this nudging feeling. Even as she continued the young knight seemed to be glancing towards the distance trying to determine if it was a misplaced worry.

«Doesn’t your and Moore’s presence whenever there is a huuuge fuck-up in this town seem like a coincidence to you either?»

His split attention was cut short as the girl continued and not by the sharpness of her words, what spoke more to this girl's character was the changing of her tone. And this was not triggered by any response from him or Moore but by the sound of a sobering cry.

«Now, if you would please be as kind as to at least apologise like a proper grown up all will be forgiven. And no, this isn’t about me.»

Sighing deeply as all the tension broke, the regretful knight put his sword away slowly as to avoid making sudden movements. The sword slid perfectly back into its scabbard and a slight glance in the distance the young knight relented. Showing a sense of faith in this girl and probably confirming his fears of continued danger being long gone he removed his shield and secured it to its rightful position on his back.

He was about to speak as he took off his gauntlets, but Moore spoke before he could respond.
"I'm sorry for Beathen's rudeness," Moore said with a light sigh, "He means well, but he's just a bit on edge, so could you forgive him?" Alexander had knelt down at this point looking calmly towards the two children who had been crying. He purposely disarmed himself and removed his gauntlets to strip back the layers which made him seem less human. With now the only thing on his mind was how would he act if this was his younger sister crying instead.

"I didn't... I'm so sorry you two... no to all of you.." Alexander spoke calmly and in a friendly tone towards not to those crying children, but to those rescued. Though deep inside the young knight was hurting, it hadn't passed his mind for one single second some children had lost their lives today. He took all the blame onto himself and only him. He felt he could've done more in those critical moments.

"The mastermind you're referring to is Longroad, right? You're the one he sent to keep on eye on us, then. If that's the case, could you lend us a hand? As you can see, we have barely enough hands to clean up after ourselves, so I don't think we're best people to leave the kids with." as Moore continued Alexander with his surprisingly small hands compared to the thickness of his gauntlets had reached into a pocket on his side. And pulled something out which looked remarkably clean and shiny.

"Forgive this silly adult who couldn't do the simplest thing of all and that is to protect you from our world." He continued as he reached out opening his hand revealing the marble he had kept all this time. He seemed to have polished it and kept it clean since showing the meaning that came along with it. But beyond this marble's history, it had a purpose originally as a toy, something which children could enjoy and he hoped it would be enough to help calm them down. "I will allow you to have this shiny marble if you give me a hand checking on the others?" Alexander asked seeing if the children want to see the others who was saved by the knights, seeing this as a chance to not only make sure they're not suffering from any injuries but to also start getting everyone back up on their feet.

«I’m sorry for Beathen's rudeness. He means well, but he's just a bit on edge, so could you forgive him?»

Finally someone had demonstrated a calm mind. Bláthín found herself surprised as Moore stepped in to handle the ticking bomb. And in fact she felt relieved upon realising that he’d lost his temper she’d witnessed before, becoming someone that was seemingly able to handle the situation. When he laid bare the deductions he made she just nodded three times to confirm in a positive manner.

«I would love to, but I’m no good with that stuff. I’m just a spy you see and bad with children…obviously…»

She was honest, but that may have been a side effect of the sudden change in the knights’ behaviour. She’d expected them to be way more hostile towards her, yet in the end they had both dropped their weapons while Beathen was even trying to communicate with Paula and Ronny in a brother like yet a tad odd manner.

From the distance she was able to tell that they weren’t calm at all, shying away from the large metallic man, even though he was extending a hand peacefully. She could tell there was no evil or disrespect in that, but just the weigh of the entire experience. After all it hadn’t been normal circumstances they had been in right now.

Those two had been through things that went far beyond their comprehension. The pain they must have felt was a kind people rarely ever experienced. The trauma they had undergone may be one to stick with them for the rest of their lives. Even adults couldn’t endure those things, so just how bad could it be for children from an entirely peaceful world?

«…I think it would be best to leave the two of them a bit…for a while…to calm their heads, you know…»

There was nothing to imply that she was convinced of the words she spoke. Much rather the opposite was quite obvious. But could anyone blame her? That small girl in skimpy clothing was by far no psychologist, nor anyone used to dealing with such matters. Even with Necessarius it was rare trying to take care of people and she most certainly wasn’t in a position that gave her those chances.

«Actually I am not here to chit-chat with the two of you. No matter how much you’d prefer chilling around while the world burns down we do have more pressing matters to take care of right here and right now. Fucking hell, it’d be bad if we lost more time in trusting some unprofessionals with that stuff, so let’s go right ahead.»

A change in her overall mood went over her, as she quite bluntly pulled something forth from her pocket. A device that would always be a strange sight on a Magician, yet again unfortunately standard equipment these days: A flip phone, no Magical charm or whatever attached.

Bland as it was it was quite obvious how much she must have despised the device. Yet when she used it she appeared to be rather adept, did she not waste a second pressing the right buttons to make a call and turn it on loud.

Followed by three beeps, eerie silence and a static sound the call finally connected.

『Mhmhm, what took you so long Bláth? The meat’s already cold, y’know… Either way, I guess everyone is present? Beathen, Moore, whatever is left of your forces? Give me the details, will you? And I mean eveeeryyyything.』


A red rose amidst the end of the world. Blood, burned flesh, blackened floor yet innocently unharmed red and green. It was perfectly placed at a point that was perfectly devoid of any damage. However he had done it, the way it was, was just artistic; no other word sufficed to describe the set-up.

Yet even that wasn’t all. The rose may have been a sight, yet around it’s perfectly green neck there hung something attached with a thin golden string. A piece of elegant, obviously expensive cardboard usually seen at gift stores and used for special events like marriages, funerals or balls.

Inscribed with a truly masterful calligraphist’s handwriting remained a very short message of so little words yet heavy content.

Sincerely yours,

Ambroise.

Knowing where the marble came from, Moore couldn't help but give but give Beathen a slightly odd look as he offered it to the children, but ultimately this wasn't the time for that. He'd have to save questioning the contents of his subordinate's skull for later.

"That may be so, but I think you're still a better option than we are at the moment. Rather than us men, I'm certain they'd feel more comfortable around someone like you." Moore felt he might be pushing the issue a little, but his motivations were exactly as he'd said.

Among the Knights, a good number of them were injured, so they lacked the hands to take care of the children. But even if that wasn't the case, with their armour and weapons, it would hardly be a positive environment for the children that had just emerged from this tragedy. They had already survived a battlefield; they didn't need to see any more soldiers.

"As much as I'd be willing to take care of them... I don't think we're what they need at the moment," he said with a light sigh, giving the matter one last nudge before letting it rest.

«Actually I am not here to chit-chat with the two of you. No matter how much you’d prefer chilling around while the world burns down we do have more pressing matters to take care of right here and right now. Fucking hell, it’d be bad if we lost more time in trusting some unprofessionals with that stuff, so let’s go right ahead.»

Though Neve underwent an obvious change in mood as she shifted to new business from discussing how to clean up Moore's mess, he himself showed no such change in mood, no recognition of the impending more serious topic. He simply watched calmly as the girl's expression twisted and contorted, not giving any sort of reaction. The same stance, the same steady gaze.

『Mhmhm, what took you so long Bláth? The meat’s already cold, y’know… Either way, I guess everyone is present? Beathen, Moore, whatever is left of your forces? Give me the details, will you? And I mean eveeeryyyything.』

"A complete failure, of course," Moore said in exactly the same tone as before. Even as he spoke what should have been the last words he wanted to say, there was no variation in his voice. It was collected and casual, just as it'd been when speaking with Neve. "As for more specific details, you'll have to wait a bit. Our audience consists of children and one Mark Space, and none are suitable for giving a proper report in front of."

Though Longroad held the noose that was fitted upon Moore's neck, he didn't hesitate in refusing the 'request'. He had slipped in the bare minimum information of the end result and who aside from the enemy had been present as he did so, but that was clearly for his own reasons more than because of any sentiments toward Longroad himself. The sense of willing subordination that had been present in Moore the last they had spoken was gone now, but nothing concrete seemed to have replaced it.

As he mentioned the name of the man who wore a suit of a different kind than himself, Moore took the opportunity to direct his gaze in Space's direction. He'd mostly ignored the man up to this point, but simply allowing him to leave completely unaccosted wasn't an option. They may not be in any condition to stop him, but they had to do more than just watch.

"What is it?"

Picking up the out-of-place undamaged rose in his gloved right hand, Mark read the lone message that the jester had left behind for the enemies he had likely expected to escape with their lives.

“I see.” Mark muttered, staring at the almost perfect calligraphy on the elegant greeting card attached to the rose. The name Ambroise was enough to jog Mark’s memories. One of his guesses as to the jester’s identity had been straight on the mark. It was likely a set of memories the boss immediately disrespectfully threw out so as to not waste her effort on it, but the name brought back to mind a certain set of incidents and a certain group that they had long since thought entirely eliminated.

“So, he survived.” He barely even noticed that his mutter had been loud enough for others to hear in the silence that had followed Moore addressing him as soon as he finished.

He simply stared back at the knight unit leader who had decided to address him, contemplating whether or not to leave him with that cryptic and easily misinterpreted utterance.

“Our jester friend left a message,” he simply said aloud.

“Sincerely yours,

Ambroise.”

That was all Mark really needed to say.Far be it for him give further information to the knights.

He had way too many questions to deal with. For starters, if Ambroise survived, how many others from that upstart Golden-Style cabal survived? How many had been absorbed into the human trafficking ring? Moreover, could he use this to stir up the boss to take certain actions? After all, someone like her would definitely not want to leave any semblance of an imperfect annihilation to mar the name of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight and she would definitely be averse to letting a former irritant run free.

“You may think all you’re doing is the equivalent of giving them a map but it’s not. What you’re doing is like guiding someone suicidal to the cliff knowing their intent.  Don’t blind yourself to that reality.”

"You misunderstand, then: the truth kills nobody.  People do, when they want to keep secrets.  Suppose I told you a secret, very personal.  Now, suppose you told someone else.  What happens after depends not on the truth, but the person whose secret was shared.  Is that person then warranted to give a punishment?  Of course not; it is an excuse, as if the truth has an owner and I have somehow broken their property.  As I've said, the people here have a right to know.  Magical forces have plagued them and they lack the resources to help themselves, because they have been forcibly not given the tools to do it.  To punish them or me in order to help them is an excuse to give a punishment for sharing a truth that they had no right to obscure in the first place."  It had seemed that Saravati's comments had touched a bit of a nerve, for her to go to such a lengthy discussion, but it didn't show too much on her face.  "Still, I don't meant to cut such a conversation off, I understand if you want to say more, or make a rebuttal but, for now, lets focus on figuring out what we can do to locate these kids and help them. We could have a more lengthy talk later, perhaps over some tea."

She obviously understood her company's reservations.  She was free to distance herself or do worse; after all, it was becoming very likely that this person had some ties to Necessarius, or at least sympathized with them.  That was their rule of law, after all: magicians should be wiped out, but we should have magicians.  We should know the truth, but nobody should know the truth.  A "necessary" evil.

Albrekka, of course, entered the police station, with Saravati in tow.  She took a look around to make some sort of gauge or conclusion of a possibility she had already known: magicians were likely already at work within the police force, with or without their consent.  But it was just a theory, anyway.  Regardless of that feeling, she approached the counter where someone was behind, which seemed to be an information desk.

"Hello, I was wanting to submit some information regarding a possible kidnapping.  Who do I go to for that?"  Albrekka had made her stand to, potentially, several witnesses.  What would be their next move?