2407 Xavem 17, Jyda

The morning light blinded Sera awake. He opened his eyes to the usual scene of his room. Nothing was out of place. Everything was going as Sera intended it. He rolled out of bed, stalking to his desk and glancing at the mess of parchments he had been working at last night.

Since the day he ran late and having Blazes save his rear, he made it a point to develop a queue of at least five days worth of articles. That way, he wouldn't have to visit Darmer and the press every day. That would lessen the suspicion on Sera as to where he goes out to.

Today was one of those days where he would hand his five-day queue to Darmer. They had just finished printing the last of the previous batch he had given him. It's important for Sera to be able to get out of the Palace either this afternoon or tonight. He couldn't have Blazes catching him in his fall once more.

His fingers rubbed his eyes, massaging the sleep off of them. He blinked once. Twice. Then, he got the painted clay figurine of Kelion, the goddess of knowledge and truth, and placed it atop his writings. The wind wouldn't get the best of him again with this.

Kelion's face stared up at him from her place on the table. Despite being made of clay, the various shades of weristen made her feel life-like. She looked like a mini-fairy strutting atop his desk, waving her sword and gigantic quill around. He smiled. What an irony for her to choose a territory such as Lanbridhr for tutelage. How would she feel upon knowing the fire sprites didn't worship the gods as they were?

Sera shook his head and mussed his hair, feeling the curly waves underneath his fingertips. There were a few meetings throughout the day, most of them were on trials. Ever since the Ember Chronicles started, the Palace had been seeing more and more people being convicted and sent to gaimouth for something as simple as being seen near a copy of Sera's prints.

He blew a breath, feeling his conscience weigh in on him once more. Technically, this was all his fault. He had urged the people to stand up for themselves. He had stoked the fire that would have otherwise died if he hadn't. All in all, it was his fault his own people were being terrorized.

But, as Darmer convinced him, they're working towards something bigger, something that would prevent anything like this from happening in the future. Sera just didn't know what the convicted people, who had spent their days in Gaimouth, would think of them playing around with their lives, using them as a means to get to the end Sera had been dreaming up for them.

It surely wasn't easy being in power, in being accountable to the lives of a million others. How in Umazure did his father do it? Was that part of the "hard choices" they have to make in order to protect certain things? When and where did the Potentate deviate from his ethical duty and focus on saving his own rear end? At some point, would that become Sera's fate, too?

That's why power was scary. It could poison one's mind, leaving nothing to be salvaged.

He squared his shoulders and exhaled through his nose. It was just another day in his life. This one's going to be as ordinary as Seravel Rovodia's life could be. For the last time, he glanced at the mirror slotted on the wall to the left of the door to his room. His hair was left in its messy state, having just rolled out of bed. His gray eyes looked as stormy as ever, unlike the scalding heat in the desert in his backyard. He smiled at his reflection and it smiled right back.

Time to start the day.

He strode towards his door, his fingers itching to twist the knob to it. His legs looked forward to tromping the familiar carpeted corridors towards the throne hall. He reached the door, gripped the knob, and turned it.

It didn't budge.

What? Sera's brows knitted as he twitched the knob from its plate. It wasn't moving. Something prevented it from twisting fully to open the door. What's going on? Was he...was he locked in?

A million scenarios popped in his head. Did he accidentally lock the door on himself last night? Should he call the servants? What about the trials? He's going to be late if he waited for the servants to get him out. Should he just burn the knob down? Probable.

Sera shoved his fingers into his hair and began pacing a few steps away from his door. Okay. Calm down. Focus. First things first. Why was he locked in? For him to find out the answer to that, he needed to get a servant's attention.

He rolled his shoulders and strode back to the door. He jabbed his splayed palm against it, the banging noise sure to reach the corridor. If there were someone passing by, he would've gotten their attention. Come on. Come on.

Instead of the familiar, muffled voice of the maid assigned to his floor and wing, it was a grouchy rasp of a voice that could only belong to a soldier. "What is it, Your Grace?"

Sera blinked. Why were there guards in front of his room? What were they guarding him from? Also, why now?

A swirl of dread churned in Sera's gut. Did...Did the Potentate trace the Ember Chronicles to him? Was that it? Was he barring Sera from leaving the Palace so that the press would lose their leader and die off on their own?

"Can you open the door?" Sera answered the voice from the opposite side of the door. Both their voices were muffled by the slab of wood dividing them. "I need to get to my duties for the day."

"There's no need for that, Your Grace," the soldier said. "The Potentate has waived all your summons in all public functions starting today. We were told to keep you in your room at all times."

Sera felt like slamming his head against the door. "Can you tell me why the need for this drastic measure?" he asked. "It's not like I'm joining any poachers' circles."

The soldier chuckled—a merry tone for something as grim as this. "The Potentate thought it would be unsafe for you outside," he said. "There are numerous reports of protests and civil disobedience. You may get caught up in them due to your affiliation with the Palace."

Unsafe, his foot. Sera caused that to happen. He wouldn't be randomly caught up since he knew when and where these protests were taking place. He told them to do that. It's a miracle, even, that there were people listening to a bunch of prints up to the point of taking to the streets and making their stances known.

"Okay, that's good to know," Sera spat out just to get out of the conversation. The soldier didn't reply and Sera edged away from the door. Then, he threw himself back to bed. A frustrated growl climbed out of his throat. It wasn't just not to leave the Palace. He was locked in his room. A room, for Pidmena's sake.

So, maybe the Potentate already knew Sera was somehow connected to this. That's why Sera was being corralled like a wayward dagrine until he learned his lesson. He drew the blankets over his head before kicking the sheets off as a new thought crept into his mind. His gaze landed on the five-day queue he had built up. If he didn't get those to Darmer...

It's...good, right? The Inferno could take a few days to rest, leaving it up to his other writers. Sera's teeth clamped down against his nails as he began pacing once more. No. It's not good. The Potentate would confirm Sera had something to do with the prints if the Inferno were to suddenly disappear around the same time Sera was placed under house arrest.

No. The Inferno must never vanish.

Sera gritted his teeth, the crunching sounds it made bringing more anxiety into his head. How in Kelion's underpants was he supposed to get his writings to Darmer without being able to leave the room? Moreover, how could he let them know of the situation in the Palace?

He tramped back to his desk and regarded the objects scattered on it. Okay. What did he have now? A stack of cut parchment. A quill stuck on a bottle of ink. A half-consumed graphite stick. A timeteller showing him how late into the morning he was. A set of bound tomes containing sprawling adventures nowhere close to being true.

Nothing. Sera had nothing that could help him out of this predicament. He considered jumping out of the window but what would being seen escaping do to the Potentate's suspicions of him?

He needed to get out one last time. Darmer could figure out the rest. Blazes could still cover for him tonight. One rest day for the Inferno wouldn't hurt. He sank into his cushioned chair, picked up his graphite stick and a piece of fresh parchment, and wrote.

When he finished, he sank into his bed once more, taking the timeteller along with him. Then, he spent the next hours staring up to his bare, clay ceiling, waiting for lunchtime to pass.

A knock came to his door, shaking him awake. He didn't even realize he had fallen asleep even though he had just woken up. Groaning, he tucked his note still clasped in his fingers into the inside of his vest and strode to the door. It opened before he could even grab the knob.

The view of the corridor almost drove Sera to tears. How he missed those bland sienna walls! Instead, a burly, armored soldier blocked most of the doorway, making Sera step back for good measure. A passive scowl was plastered on his face, twisting his otherwise handsome features into that of an annoyed dagrine.

"Lunch," he said, passing Sera a small bag. Inside, a set of vials clicked against each other. Oh. Fairy potions. How thoughtful. "I'll be shutting the door now."

"Wait!" Sera blurted. The door stopped mid-swing. "I...I have one request."

The soldier raised an eyebrow. He didn't speak so Sera took that as a sign to continue blabbering. "I think you know I love nalda to a fault and I can't function well without having a whiff of those," he said. "So I must insist on getting a box for myself in the city. I know a good place."

The soldier appeared to think about it. "No," he said not even a few seconds after. THe door came back in full swing.

"No, no!" Sera waved his arms in front of him, his throat constricting until it became uncomfortable. "I mean, you could come with me while I step out. That way, you can still keep an eye on me. I'll be quick! The Potentate wouldn't even know it. And I promise the nalda was so good you'd forget your name once you tasted it. After that, I'll gladly stay put. You won't have to worry about me bothering you. Just this once? Please?"

The soldier narrowed his eyes on Sera's face. Sera made sure he smiled as innocently as he could. After a while, the soldier nodded. "Come on."

Sera could have skipped in glee on his way out of the Palace. Only the note tucked in the pockets of his vest was what kept him maintaining his professional stance. The soldier stayed a few steps behind Sera, eyes flitting in and out of the courtyard, the walls, and the streets after they got out.

Sera led the soldier through the haze of roads and alleys, sidestepping passing merchant carts, whining aksaba, and passing fire sprites. He came across the familiar merchant stall he and Darmer had come up with. "It's going to be our little branch, where we could keep an eye on the city," Darmer had said and Sera agreed.

He was kind of glad he did.

The soldier's armor clinked with each movement, reminding Sera without fail of what was the price of being able to go out. He approached the stall where Flamma was. The writer's dark blue hair looked out of place in a world covered in orange, yellow, and brown. His head shot up when Sera dropped into his space. His dark green eyes widened but Sera flashed him an urgent look.

Play along. Sera thought. Let him hope to the gods Flamma got it.

"Hi, I was hoping you still have your boxed nalda," Sera said aloud. He made a show of fumbling inside his vest as if to draw a purse or something. His fingers caught the note. "I heard it was the best in Calca. Do you still have some?"

Flamma blinked. Sera subtly shook his head, keeping the soldier in his periphery. Despite standing a few steps away, he doubted the soldier couldn't hear their exchange. "I...we're sorry," Flamma blurted. "We ran out of nalda a few hours ago. LIke you said, it is the best in the city."

"What!" Sera slammed his hands on the stall's counter, the note safely tucked under his palms. With his eyes, he urged Flamma to take it. "Do you know who I am?"

Flamma didn't. The writer only knew Sera as the Inferno so the fear was real in the writer's eyes. "N-no," he said, flinching.

"Blasphemy," Sera hissed. He really should get a few subjects of acting and theater in the Academy. "I should have your head for this."

Flamma ducked his head. "I'm really sorry," he said. "I'll contact our makers for it!"

Sera huffed, crossing his arms. Flamma had swiped the note from the counter faster than the soldier's eyes could track. "You better," he said. "I'll be waiting back home."

"And where is your home?" Flamma asked.

"The makers will know it," Sera said.

With that, Sera trudged back with the self-centered attitude he had watched some nobles display. When they were a few distances away from the stall, Sera's tight shoulders slumped. That should do it. Once Darmer received the note, he'd know what to do. He'd better think of something.

The walk back to the Palace felt like his final breath of fresh air. He glanced longingly at the sand, the sky, even the rhenne trees as if this was the last time he'd see them again. Was this what those convicted people sent to Gaimouth felt?

The wait was even more excruciating. Once the door closed behind him, he flopped into the bed and waited for Darmer's solution. He waited. And waited. And waited.

When the sun had already been replaced by the moons, Sera had gotten to the ends of his thoughts in trying to entertain himself in his solitude. Then, an urgent knock came to his door. It opened to reveal a maid bearing a square box. Sera blinked. What was that?

"Delivery for the Crown Prince," the maid said. "The merchants said it was of utmost importance."

"Oh," Sera said. The maid thrust it towards him and he took it in his arms. The heat was still fresh, the smell wafting with the smoke told him what it was. Nalda. A huge smile crept to his lips. So this was Darmer's solution. "Yeah. I did ask for that."

The maid didn't give any inclination she understood nor cared enough to understand anything other than making sure Sera got his package. She bowed in respect before strutting away, probably attending to her other duties. That left Sera and the soldier standing by the door. With a gruff grunt, the soldier shut the door in Sera's face.

Sera laid the box of nalda on his desk. His memories of eating the delicacy with Darmer played in his head as he yanked the lid open. Inside, there were six wraps waiting for him. Now, what was Darmer's real intent with this delivery?

He took the first nalda wrap from the right and bit on it. The sweet and savory taste of the sauce used to season the bits of meat exploded in his mouth. He was about to take another bite as the first one disappeared down his throat just as quickly when something flashed in his periphery. He knitted his eyebrows. What was that?

Scooting the next wrap, a small, metallic slot that looked like a keyhole greeted him. His heart pumped in his chest. A secret compartment? Really, Darmer? The mechanic sure had outdone himself with this one.

Sera ended up transferring the wraps into the box's lid to view its bottom. A false bottom. He noticed a small chain attached to one of the box's walls. He plucked it to reveal a single, metal bar with a misshapen end hanging on it. The key.

Going with the only reasoning present with being faced with this situation, Sera slotted the key into the lock and turned. The false bottom popped up, giving way to a small space capable of containing at least ten sheets of parchments.

A smile played on the edge of Sera's lips. This was genius. Darmer's a freaking genius.

What's more, it looked like the Inferno was back in business. And they're bringing the endgame now.