2407 Rab 4, Kindreth

The door to the shop hit a small bell. Tinkling sounds filled the space, albeit brief and shrill. Sera ducked his head as he slipped inside. Rows upon rows of shelves lined the small, cubical room, a counter leading to a back door blocking Sera's view of the display shelf slotted against the northern wall. Opposite the counter, rising from the floor and curving to a ledge by the ceiling, was a set of wooden stairs.

Light bounced against the glass panes guarding every rung in each shelf, stinging Sera's eyes whenever he tried to squint to get a hint of what objects lay behind. The smell of a newly-opened can of oil trumped the faint wisp of burning coal, molten metal, and the musk of sweat wafting in the air.

His footsteps scratched against the pristine wooden floorboards, wincing at the particles of sand his sandals brought inside. It's going to be hell to sweep later on. Maybe Darmer wouldn't let him drop by if he kept on doing this.

In speaking of Darmer, where was he? If Sera's memory was to be trusted, the blacksmith-turned-mechanic was somewhere in the second floor of his shop, doing things nobody should know about. During the times he was by, an explosion or two wasn't scarce. Who knew what would happen today?

Sera raised his eyes to the ceiling. The glare of the light rods imported from Alkara made his vision pulse with spots of black. Artificial illumination and him did not mix well. He kept his eyes on the landing, hoping his friend would come faster. Had Darmer even heard the bell? Wasn't that why he had it installed in the first place, to inform him whenever someone enters?

Even the bell wasn't doing its job now, Sera concluded.

To pass the time it took for Sera to hesitate calling out like a messenger, he ducked to the nearest shelf and examined the trinkets behind the glass. With his gaze level to it, the light didn't hurt his eyes as much. It took a while but he realized it was demian glass—one of the finest glass in the island, made from the colored sands in Gligan. Seeing as how clear it was, it wasn't some upstart type either. Getting rid of the sheen required a longer process. Damn, what was Darmer up to these days to afford these?

Inside the niche, a set of gears and metallic cranks sat unbothered inside their wooden trays, each arranged according to size and shape. The other stuff in the nearby niches and rungs were in a similar state. These must be machine parts Darmer used to make his inventions.

He moved to the next shelf. Inside one of the niches sat a key he recognized. It was the old masterkey to the Palace's rooms. A small smile played on Sera's lips. So, the old geezer kept it all this time.

It was another one of his hidden escapades when he was a child. Darmer was a former blacksmith on the Palace's roster tasked to craft weapons the soldiers would use. That's how Sera came across him in his late-night wanderings through the dark corridors after the torches had been extinguished.

Sera couldn't recall how exactly he made it to the forges but Darmer found him there and accompanied him by a warm but calming fire. The nalda wrap Darmer had given him back then was still one of the best naldais Sera ever had. He still had to ask his friend what he did to get the filling to stay inside the roasted dough and not drip out even when he bit through it.

Since then, Sera made it a point to visit Darmer in his workplace and Darmer taught him how to use various things like the forges, the smithing slabs, and the sharpening machine. The sprite seemed to be more knowledgeable in how the mechanisms work rather than the actual weapon he was making so it didn't surprise Sera when Darmer said he'd be moving out and starting anew as a mechanic.

The masterkey was not an actual thing, rather, it was a copy of the original. Working in the forges did have its benefits. Darmer had the wicked idea to duplicate it and since then, it's what they used to sneak to the kitchens whenever they get hungry late at night. Seeing how Darmer had kept it all this time told Sera he either missed those times or he valued them enough to get the key its own tray.

A set of footsteps padded in a hurry down the stairs. "Just a moment! I hope you didn't wait too long," Darmer's familiar drawl lined the stairs as he turned the corner and his front faced the door. "I swear I heard the bell but this new project is too enticing. I—"

He stopped then blinked. "Sera," he said, his voice trailing off as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing.

Sera raised his hand in an awkward wave. "Hi," he said. "How have you been?"

Darmer didn't answer but Sera's ears were filled with jarring laughter as strong arms wrapped around his shoulders and his feet rose a few inches off the ground. Sera forgot the mechanic was a huge hugger.

"Ah, I've been good," Darmer made a show of tightening his embrace, almost squeezing the air out of Sera's lungs. "I've been good. How are you, Your Grace?"

He set Sera down and Sera rubbed a hand against his chest, wincing a little. "I'm fine," he coughed into his fist and averted his eyes, looking everywhere but at his friend's expecting inky eyes. "I've come to get your help on something."

Curiosity arranged Darmer's features into a conspiratorial smile. He rubbed his hands. "What have you got for me, Your Grace?"

"I was hoping you could tell me what this is," Sera started, picking at the small hole he tore through the shoulder area of his vest. He drew the circular device and held it in front of Darmer's face. The orange strands of his unkempt hair were bright against the device's silver sheen. "I found it in my—"

A hand slammed into his mouth, clamping his lips shut. What the—

Darmer raised a finger to his lips, his dark eyes flashing with urgency. Sera pursed his own, his sentiment drowned by the dread uncurling in his gut. Slowly, Darmer plucked the device in Sera's fingers and strode towards the counter. He rounded it, leaving Sera on the opposite side. Objects clattered against the wooden surface as Darmer scrambled about, his hands flying past drawers, drawing tools Sera couldn't begin to understand the use of.

Sera stood there like a curious customer, watching Darmer lay the device on a piece of white cloth. A glass bulb slotted in some kind of triangular mold curved from its clip by the counter's rim and directed bright, artificial light into the white cloth. Gently, Darmer took a tool with long but thin jaws and clamped the device in between. Then, the mechanic jerked his chin at Sera, beckoning him closer with just a signal from his eyes. Oh, he wanted Sera to hold the tool.

He followed, his own fingers looking juvenile against Darmer's calloused hands. The mechanic opened another drawer and took out a chisel and a hammer. Sera raised an eyebrow. What would he need those for?

With gentle but precise movements, Darmer found a ridge at the device's side. Ever so slowly, he slotted the chisel's flat side against it. Then, he struck the chisel's handle with the hammer. A sharp, cracking sound spread from the device's face. Was...that good?

Still not uttering a word, Darmer took the tool from Sera's hands and went on his own. The device appeared to have two faces, like a coin, and when Darmer parted them, a tangled ball of wires spilled out. Wires...

This wasn't fire sprite technology—that much Sera could tell.

Still, Darmer examined the meaningless bumble with an expert eye. Despite looking a few years older than Sera, the mechanic was actually in his two-hundreds. That made up for the experience and knowledge he might have.

A finger tapped against Darmer's chin, his lips pouting and moving from side to side as he thought. Then, his eyes sparkled, having found something. With yet another tool resembling scissors but not quite, Darmer reached out to an arched wire, blue in color, and snipped it. The sound of threads breaking zipped between them.

Darmer blew a breath and set the cutter down, his elbows thudding against the counter's lower table. He rubbed his forehead as if that single action stressed him out or made him lose years of his life. "Hey, you owe me dinner for this," he rasped, straightening and bracing his hips with his hands. "Don't ever dare to bring a listening device in my shop again."

Sera blinked. "Did you say a listening device?" He cast a look at the dismantled machine on the white cloth. "Is that what it was?"

"Obviously," Darmer pointed to the mess of wires. One was visibly snapped into two. "Thankfully, I just turned it off and not disconnected it. Otherwise, whoever was listening from the other side would have suspected they had been discovered. It could be a disaster or a paltry worry depending on the scale of things."

Sera scratched the back of his neck, his gut swirling with the mounds of realization bleeding into his system. "I found it by accident inside my vest," he said, showing Darmer the hole he tore and sewed shut only to tear through again. "These only came from the exclusive weavers in the Palace and given only to the notable members of the fire sprite community."

Then, his thoughts led to a dead end, a conclusion he wouldn't dream of coming close ever. "That's how they're able to track every word Neylan said," he breathed. "And kept track of the other convicts' sentiments."

His chest rose and fell in strangled breaths. He met Darmer's eyes from the other side of the counter. "Can't you see?" he said. "The Palace is spying on us. And he's using everyone who wore this vest. That's how they got Neylan. It's..."

As much as it hurt to say it, Sera forced himself to. "It's my fault."

"Hey, man," Darmer's hand settled on Sera's shoulders, preventing him from keeling over to the dark ledge of his thoughts. Sera raised his head he didn't even know he had dropped into his hands to regard his friend. A small smile painted Darmer's lips. "Look, I know it's all a shock to you now—it is to me, too—but we gotta think logically about our next step."

Darmer led Sera by the elbow, taking him to the first step of the stairs. The wood creaked after they both sat on it. "You mentioned Neylan being captured," Darmer steepled his fingers and blew a breath. "You've gotten yourself into a bit of a mess, I take it?"

"A bit?" A bitter laugh tore off Sera's mouth. "More like a mountain of it," then, with a sigh and his shoulders slumping, he said, "I don't know how to fix this."

Darmer shrugged, the sleeve of his dark brown tunic bunching up against his shoulders with the motion. "Maybe it doesn't need fixing," he said with a quiet tone.

Sera's eyes flicked to the small bulb shining over the listening device. Something in the back of his head told him it was still working and not shut off. He turned back to Darmer. "What do you mean?" he asked.

"Maybe this was how things were supposed to go," Darmer grunted as he rested his elbows against a higher step. "I mean, Lanbridhr existed for as long as it has with it and it's still standing. Perhaps you don't need to change anything."

Sera shot up, the indignation in his veins flaring faster than his caution. "Are you kidding me?" his voice rose to a higher pitch. Why was he even doing this? "Look around you. People are being flogged and convicted left and right just because they expressed themselves. Are you sure it's something good? Where's your conscience?"

Darmer snorted. Sometimes, Sera forgot this fairy used to work for the palace. Of course, he had his fair share of experience seeing the rotten parts from the inside. "How long have you been keeping that in?" he asked.

Sera's forehead creased. "Sorry?"

"You looked too ready to take my head off," the mechanic crossed his arms with a smile. Even after Sera yelled at him, Darmer was still smiling. "You've been holding it back for a long time, right?"

Sera ducked his head, shaming gnawing at his gut for his outburst. "A while, yeah," he admitted.

"Thought so," Darmer stood up and went back to the inside of the counter. He began rummaging through drawers and mini cabinets, muttering under his breath about where he put 'it'.

Then, a whiz of something ocher flashed in Sera's periphery. By instinct, he lashed out, his arm swinging up. His fingers closed around a small journal tied in the middle with a braided twine. He turned to Darmer who was coming back to the stairs, his hands tucked into the pockets of his black trousers.

"What's this?" Sera waved the journal in the air.

Darmer exhaled a quick gust of air through his nose. "Use that to record your thoughts when your head can't handle it anymore," he tapped his temple. "Helped me a lot during my time in the palace. It's helpful to always burn it later. That way, no one could accidentally 'discover' it."

Sera leveled his gaze at his friend. "Do you still do it now?"

"From time to time, yeah," Darmer said.

Sera opened his mouth to ask Darmer about what he thought of Sera and his place in the palace. Even about the legacy and dynasty he was expected to uphold after he took his father's place. But, he screwed his jaw shut and turned away. Knowing would be of no use. Nothing would change.

"Thanks for this," Sera said to which Darmer gave a quick nod. Soon, Sera strode out of Darmer's shop with his vest on. Inside, the listening device was put back together. By the mechanic's advice, it's best to let the Palace think Sera still didn't know it existed. With a wink, the mechanic claimed they'd find a way to cheat it. Somehow.

Sera made it back to his room without any hijinks. The rest of the day bled off in a flurry of meetings, stately meals, and locking himself in his room. As he laid in his bed and stared up at the bare ceiling, he thought about what Darmer said.

He rolled back out, grabbed the journal from the satchel slung against the backrest of his chair, and set it open atop his desk. Then, with a graphite stick in hand, he began to write on the first page. His thoughts poured off him like a current in the River of Wishes, drowning the empty beige space.

Only when the graphite stick had reached about halfway did Sera stop, putting the last dot in his passage. He had written not one page but a whopping five. A light ease settled at the back of his mind. It might have not solved all his problems but they all felt far away now. He glanced down at the pages and clenched his jaw.

The sound of parchment tearing rang in his room. Then another. Another. Soon, Sera gathered the five sheets in his hands. With his synnavaim, he set it ablaze.

And he watched until there was nothing left of his thoughts but ashes and a few sparkling embers. The wind gathered the remnants in its embrace, scattering them into the wide but empty horizon.