2407 Rab 5, Velpa

Darmer had been right, not that the mechanic had ever been wrong before. Sera walked back from visiting his shop to the Palace an hour before the torches turned their lights off, his fingers already itching to write the next page in his journal.

"You could have given me a larger journal," Sera had complained to Darmer during his visit. "A page the size of my hand wasn't enough."

Darmer had chuckled, running a hand down his stomach. "Finding parchment is not my problem," he said. "I'm sure the palace has a stock of those."

And for real, it did. Sera spent yesterday tracking where the palace stored their inventories. He asked a ton of soldiers, servants, and even the gardener who dropped by every fourth day of the week. When he found what he was looking for, it was safe to say he hadn't anticipated what else he uncovered.

It was still fresh in his mind, even after a whole day spent attending more revolting trials and keeping his mouth shut during the numerous briefings. The inventory, a separate hall down in the lower floors of the palace, was a place of secrets and crimes. It wasn't enough for the Potentate to oppress his own subjects. His own father had to be part of a territory-scale corruption to enrich his own coffers.

The inventory held all of the hidden records of the Potentate's transactions to businesses operating in Lanbridhr. It was common knowledge that for interracial companies to penetrate through Lanbridhr's market they have to pay some fees. It didn't occur to Sera that those fees involved paying the Potentate as well as the territory.

There were more inside the inventory, not just stacks upon stacks of crates filled with versallis of all the different sizes, colors, and shapes. The most Sera had seen was a pile of the largest kalta selme Sera had ever seen. These coins were ones with the highest value used in the island. Where in Daexis's name did they get that much?

He had just shook his head then and grabbed what he needed—a stack of large sheets of parchment made of rhenne fiber. Then, he locked himself in his room and started writing, starting from the records he saw.

Now, he rested his arm over his eyes, the back of his head pressing against the chair's backrest. His lower back throbbed from being slouched for some time but he was too lazy to shift positions. He should have just laid down while he could.

Well, whatever.

Outside, sand and dust from the city beyond the wall blew in huge clouds over the courtyard, influenced by the whistling wind storming through the desert. It was always like that whenever it was going to rain. Up in the inky dark sky where the moons shone in all their glory, the thick sheets of clouds had never looked darker. It was either going to rain tomorrow or the day after tomorrow.

Sera blew a breath, his chest lightened from the heavy load he had been holding back. He could use some cold after a whole month of heat. His siphood succulents could use the drink too. It was important if he wanted them to get better, especially Tillda who was beginning to show signs of wilting. Damn, he hoped those guys could pull through. Perhaps he'd visit them tomorrow if he had the time.

Some of the scratchy breeze tore through his window, bringing with it a slew of sand particles. Sera frowned. Would he be able to sleep with all this sand billowing around him? Then, his gaze landed on the lone closet he owned in this room. Pushed against the wall opposite the door and the one adjacent to it, the closed doors to his closet looked terrifying now that Sera knew what was hiding in the clothes slotted inside it.

A listening device. Concealed inside the special vests commissioned by the Palace. Darmer had promised him they'd figure out a way to make it seem like the listeners were still connected to the device while making sure none of them could really hear anything from Sera's side all along. It was the only compromise either of them could think of. And for that, Sera was grateful. No matter how long that took.

He couldn't handle more souls ruined because of him being so careless. Then again, he still couldn't wrap his head around the fact that this was the state his territory had stooped towards. Had the Potentate no shame? Did he know this was happening? If so, why hasn't he stopped it?

Spying on one's own constituents to control them...

Where in Umazure would it be a good practice in exacting peace and order?

Sera gritted his teeth and brought his arm down. He straightened in his seat and picked up his graphite stick once more. This was the third one he had to request from the servants since his previous ones were snuffed out or broken into wee pieces after he accidentally clenched his fingers around it too hard.

Then, he wrote his anger away on the parchment, word after word flitting off his mind and being enacted by his hand. Soon, a complete block of writing sat on the page, staring back at him in its precise swirls. The words blurred in Sera's head. He didn't seem to have any memory of having written it. When he read it over once, he had never realized he could sound so...convincing.

Something flickered off in Sera's periphery. He edged off his seat and trudged to the window. All at once, the torches lining the Palace's outer walls flicked off. Only the ones decorating the tall parapet guarding the Palace remained burning. A distinct knock came to his door. That's supposed to be the servant assigned to his floor and his wing.

"Your Grace," came the feminine voice muffled by the distance and the door between them. "I've come to check if you're present. Otherwise, I will send for the soldiers to look for you in case you get lost in the corridors again."

Well, considering she, and the countless other maids assigned to him in rotation, had asked him the same thing every day for the last five years, he could easily find his way through the palace even though it's pitch black. Of course, it was a fool-proof plan from the steward in charge of managing the fortress. Sera could easily stay until the maid had come to check on him and sneak out after she had gone home.

In fact, it was what Sera had been doing back when Darmer still worked for the Palace. All for a taste of the nalda he had been addicted to as a child.

Now, Sera glanced at the pile of parchment glaring at him with an unspoken threat from his table. He sighed and picked his way towards the door. With a gentle yank, he opened it to a girl barely his age.

Like the uniform they wore he had grown up seeing, a rectangular fabric covered her hair and had been tucked behind her pointy ears. Her tight collar was buttoned up at the base of her neck so tightly Sera began to wonder how in Nira's name these people could breathe. He smiled at her. It occurred to him too late that his hair was out of its proper style and was instead mussed in messy swirls around his head from hours of scratching it whenever he came at a block while writing.

The girl's eyes didn't betray her thoughts as she put her hands in front of her tight bodice. Her pristine white apron covered her mostly crimson dress. "Good evening, Your Grace," she said, politely bowing until her head was lower than his chin. It was the perfect bow as the Cabinet has decreed in their book of etiquette or something. "I am pleased you have chosen to retire to your room early. Have a blessed sleep."

Mentally, Sera ticked another line beside the number of times he had heard of this script. It was almost mechanical, like the machines Darmer had been working on. Still, he smiled and ducked his head at her. "You too," he said. "Thanks for checking up."

The girl didn't look impressed at his pleasantry. Instead she bowed again before retreating two steps back. Then, she strode off, looking for the next occupied room to check. After all, this was the hall where most of the Advisers in the Cabinet lived. The Potentate's rooms were in the opposite wing with the rest of the court halls, the inventory, and yes, his office. A distinct universe, certainly.

Sera leaned out of the door, checking if the maid had made it through the corridor's bend and went to the resulting corner. As soon as the trail of her crimson skirts slinked away into the dark hallway, he closed the door and locked it. For good measure, he kept telling himself.

He trudged back to his desk and snatched the first sheets he had written earlier. His magic speared through his fingertips, the warmth accentuating the flames shooting out of his skin. The parchments crinkled and simmered as the fire tore through them in hunger. Ash rained down on his bare feet, dusting the floor in a rain of black and gray. A soft breeze blew through the room, stirring the puddle accumulating by his legs.

When the flames could no longer dissolve any more of the ashes, Sera dusted his hands and turned back to his desk where his most recent writing sat. The familiar lines by the end drew his eyes over and over again.

The fire we held would only be snuffed out if we let it.

Sera wanted to at least stuff it in his travel satchel and show Darmer tomorrow but he shook his head to dismiss the thought. These sentiments were most useful if they're unheard, unsaid, and unperceived. They didn't have a place in people's minds. They weren't fit for a place like Lanbridhr.

His magic flared to the surface once again, the warmth a comfort no matter how hot the air in a desert was. He reached out to the lone parchment. A stray breeze punched through his window, stirring his hair. While his fingers were swiping at the annoying apricot curls attacking his eyes, the wind picked up the parchment in its current. Then, like a suction being activated, it pulled the sheet out of the window.

No!

A gasp flitted out of Sera's tightening throat. He lurched towards the window, arms outstretched, fingers clawing at nothing but air. Eyes wide as a set of fol sigra, he watched the parchment sail out of his grasp and flutter into the dead of night. His mind crawled with the probable events that would take place should the words etched in that parchment were to be traced back to him.

He would be flogged, captured, and thrown into a prison. His trial would be public, unlike all the ones he had sat through. This, according to the Potentate, would ingrain in the people that even the highest of high could still come crashing if they disobeyed the law. Then, Sera would be sentenced to a lifetime in Gaimouth and, if he's lucky, he'd die off in the next month from an overexposure to the volcanic fumes. If not, he'd most likely spend the rest of his life staring at a wall and pondering about this very moment, where things went wrong.

With his knees shaking, he plopped to the ground. He wasn't a religious person but now he'd gladly believe in all the gods of old. Just let his parchment snag against the torches in the walls and burn into a crisp. Or blow it out of the Palace grounds so he could claim it was written by a passing merchant or a delusional fire sprite.

Just don't let anyone read it and take his words seriously.

He slapped his thigh, the sound echoing in shrill squelches throughout the room. Sharp, stinging pain tore through his muscles. Stupid. He's stupid for even attempting to write down things like that. He's even more stupid for not burning it first or for not putting some weight over it. He knew it was windy. He felt the breezes stir in his room. How in Pidmena's name did he forget the fact the wind could throw a tantrum and doom him?

Sera gritted his teeth to suppress a frustrated growl rising in his throat. There wouldn't be any sleep expected from him now.