2407 Xavem 10, Velpa

Sera's footsteps were light but purposeful. The corridors of the palace, the woven tapestries lining the walls, and the pillars supporting the entire building whizzed through his periphery. He glanced at the setting sun from one of the open windows he passed by. At that angle, by the time he got to the press, it'd be dark out, leaving him with less time to come up with his piece for tomorrow.

Curse that meeting about the economy of demian glass. It wasn't like the Cabinet ran out of time to talk about that. Why would they pick the slot closest to dinner?

He gritted his teeth. He should have just bailed out when he could. But then again, wouldn't that raise suspicion? It would bring forth the question of why the Prince was in a hurry. Darmer did say Sera should act like nothing happened over the past few weeks and that he should lay low.

"Be like a shadow," the memory of Darmer's voice played in Sera's head. "SIlent, but determined to follow their target without fail."

Sera, when Darmer had brought it up, reasoned, "It's not like shadows can choose their targets. They're deeply rooted in place and cursed to follow one object forever."

Darmer shrugged, the analogy and symbolism lost on him. Even Sera, himself, didn't know exactly what they're talking about. Besides, they're fire sprites. Without fire, without the very thing that made them who they were, there wouldn't be shadows. Well...unless one brings pixies into the equation.

But Sera understood what his friend had meant. Sera shouldn't do all he could to be noticed around the Palace. He needed his position inside so they could work on the contents of the prints, now more than ever. What would he do should he be removed?

Sera snorted to himself as he walked. He'd think about that when it happens. Or maybe Darmer already has a back-up plan in place. That sprite never did run out of ideas. Even on his bad days, he's still churning stuff out like a defective fountain.

His gut turned at the thought. The fact that Darmer had willed to let all of this bulldoze over his daily life was something Sera didn't quite understand. The mechanic had nothing to gain by helping him. All Sera brought in Darmer's door was trouble upon trouble. So...why would Darmer help him, even going as far as proposing the idea of doing the prints?

Sera shook his head, his curly locks bouncing against his forehead. He hadn't bothered to comb and part it the same way he had been trained to do. It seemed so futile if the oasis wind was only going to shuffle it loose.

The Palace's exit was looming in the distance now. All he had to do was to clear the elaborate lobby leading to one of the receiving halls for dignitaries. A wave of relief washed across him. Another successful day of sneaking out. Inhaling deeply, he stepped forward, towards the line separating the lobby and the corridor.

"Seravel," someone whom he wished to all the gods to have never met on his way out said behind him.

He swallowed all the blatant curses bubbling in his throat, slowly grounding his heels on the ground and turning to face his father. The Fire Potentate stood underneath the corridor's ceiling, looking at Sera with the same dark gray eyes he owned. Most of the time, Sera felt like he was staring at himself from a mirror whenever he met his father's eyes.

He forced his tongue to unstick from the floor of his mouth. "Yes, Father?" he said. His own voice came off as squeaky in his ears. Probably should tone the pitch down? "What do you need?"

"I ask the questions around here, boy," the Fire Potentate said, eyes narrowing. He stepped towards Sera and it took everything in Sera's system to avoid stepping back in response. When the Fire Potentate reached Sera's spot, he jerked his chin towards the Palace's exit, much to Sera's relief. "Walk with me."

Sera didn't let his eyebrows raise in askance despite them heavily wanting to. Instead, he nodded and strode at the same time as his father did. Awkward silence hung in the air between them. Growing up, Sera was taught—harshly—not to speak unless spoken to. He also shouldn't turn his head to glance up at his father. It was a sign of rebellion.

So, he watched the Potentate from his periphery, keeping his head level to the wide scenery stretching before him. The sun had crawled closer and closer to the ground, inducing more tightness in Sera's stomach. When could he get rid of his father's presence so he could stalk unwatched out of the Palace? As it was, the courtyard and the tall, umine brick walls drawing nearer was the gods' way of taunting Sera.

Why would the Potentate talk to him now? His father wasn't known to approach his family and ask to talk. No. It simply didn't happen. So...why this time, specifically?

Sera's eyes widened and his breath hitched. The Fire Potentate's eyes fell into him and he made the show of fiddling with his sandals. "Tripped on 'em," he flashed a sheepish smile to his father who ignored him. Sera had to jog to catch up to his father's long, unrelenting, and steady pace.

Still, that didn't erase the budding fear in his system. Could the Potentate have traced the Ember Chronicles to him? Was life as he knew it over? What would happen to Sera now?

They reached the rim of the stairs. The Fire Potentate's sandals screeched to a stop, forcing Sera to do the same. He took a deep breath, clasped his hands behind him, and whipped to Sera.

Oh, no. Here it comes.

"What do you see in front of you?" the Fire Potentate's voice bled into Sera's ears.

What? Sera opened his eyes. He didn't even realize he had closed them. His mind was slow to pick up the Potentate's question. His father hated slow responses too. Sera was doomed, wasn't he?

"Um," Sera blurted, trying to buy himself some time to think despite the Potentate's hate for the dreaded filler. What was the question? What did he see in front of him? Uh, trees. Sand. Sky. Instead, he said, "The courtyard?"

He totally didn't mean to add that questioning intonation. The Potentate hated it when people weren't sure of their answers.

Instead of getting angry like he usually did, the Potentate turned away from Sera and into the sweeping landscape of bricks and desert beyond him. "What you're seeing is the glory of our empire," he said, voice modulated to hide the growing annoyance in his tone. After all, the Rovodia family was good at that. "This is the glory I have inherited from my father whom he inherited from his father. Which you will be inheriting when I pass."

Sera didn't speak. Couldn't bring himself to. What would he say to that? Thank you? His condolences? Both sounded good but inappropriate. So, Sera clamped his jaw shut, waiting for his father to get to the point. His eyes traced the fading sun in the horizon and resisted the urge to click his tongue. Darmer was waiting for him to get those prints done. At this rate, he's going to have to sleep inside the press.

Beside him, the Potentate, oblivious of the roiling thoughts in Sera's mind, continued, "For us to continue the dynasty Bryth Rovodia has left us, I need you to be on my side," he said. "To be my reliable ally. My heir."

Well, wasn't he the default to that? Sera bit that retort back. He wouldn't get far with his life if he ever dared say it aloud. Sera pursed his lips and fought to keep his arms still by his sides. Any adverse movement and his father could pick something up from it.

"Was it a dynasty of fear and terror?" Sera asked, as innocently as his tone could project. "Am I expected to uphold such?"

The Potentate's face didn't twitch. Didn't even show the slightest inclination of change. Sera wondered what stopped his own father from pushing Sera off the stairs and watching him tumble down until he died. The fact that he found no answer to that question bothered him up to no end.

"It'll be a dynasty of order and discipline," the Potentate said, his eyes scanning the horizon with a hardness rivaling the mesas dotting the expanse of sand and the oasis. "And I need you to promise me you will not let anything happen to the destiny left by our ancestors."

If Sera recalled his history correctly, Brynth Rovodia, once a trusted general to the previous Potentate, Xalmi Sylda, had stabbed his master in the back and taken the throne for himself. Asking Sera to uphold a dynasty brought about by betrayal, murder, and shifting loyalties was like asking him to ring a bell in the middle of the Temple and ask the priest if it pleased the gods. Still, he couldn't bring himself to contradict anything his father was saying. Sera wasn't the Potentate to do that and he sure wasn't planning on challenging his own father to a duel to the death just to prove a point.

So, Sera allowed himself a sigh. "Of course, Father," he said. His own words sounded fake in his ears. Let him hope to the gods of the gods the Potentate wasn't keen on it. "Whatever you need, I'm here."

As a bonus of showing his innocence and lack of ulterior motives, he smiled. "I'm not going anywhere."

The Potentate huffed. "Where are you off to this late into the day?" he said. Apparently, that was his attempt at cracking a joke...or not. He looked pretty serious.

Sera rolled his shoulders. "Just going to check on the rhenne trees to see if they're producing fruits before the storm season comes," he said. "It might be useful to harvest them before the wind blows them to smithereens. I heard the servants have been enjoying sweetened rhene in their free time."

The Potentate didn't react. Apart from enriching his coffers and protecting his dynasty, there was very little that could entice him. In the end, when their conversation had dwindled into a one-sidedly comfortable silence, he turned on his heels without a word and stroded back to the corridor he came from.

Sera watched the last of his loose-fitting trousers to disappear past the bend, for the darkness creeping through the Palace to swallow his form. When he was certain no one was watching him save for the guards posted at the base of the stairs, at the gates, and the crenelations up the walls, he made a run for it.

He craned his neck to the sky as his footsteps slapped against the dusty cobblestones, stirring puddles of sand blown in by the wind as he went. Damn it. He took too long with that talk. What an unfortunate timing. What has Darmer been doing all this time? Would Sera make it in time?

The guards by the gates didn't attempt to stop him as he burst through in between them just as they were coming to intercept him. "Off to buy nalda before the store closes!" he yelled after him just to deflect the questions of why their prince was running at top speed out of the Palace like a rabid aksaba.

As soon as he cleared the towering walls and was declared not worthy to be shot in the rear with a crossbow, he dashed into the open roads. The chatter and the booming noises of crates being set against the semi-compact ground of Calca joined the cacophony of heartbeats pounding in his chest and ears. His breaths came in huge gulps, his throat constricting to the point of hurting. One thing repeated in his head with every thudding footstep he slapped against the sand.

He had to make it. He had to make it. He had to make—

A startled aksaba reared back with a shriek, kicking its clipped hooves in the air. Its gangly legs reminded Sera of the ball chimes he watched sway with the wind as a child with its knees bulging in their places. He ducked, arms shielding his head. The merchant, and the aksaba's rider, yelled at him to clear the road. He bowed and shouted his apologies. Then, before he could win any more attention from the passers-by, he tackled the nearest corner he could and burst into a less busy alley.

Then, with maneuvering rivaling an insect in search for its nest, he tore through the roads until the alley where the press was located appeared. By the time he came across the building's facade, saw its peeling paint and mess of standard bricks holding it up, and slammed his hands against the door frame to steady himself, sweat poured in buckets down his face, back, and arms. Even the humid wind felt cold against his skin.

He rapped his knuckle on the wooden door. Come on, Darmer. Answer. There's no time to get lost in the inventing area. Sera gasped, a breath long overdue reaping its time from his lungs. Come on. Come on.

The door opened with a whiny swing. Somebody needed to oil those hinges. Darmer appeared, his orange hair as messy as ever. "Nice of you to have made it," he said. "I was beginning to think you wouldn't come."

Sera raised his head from being hunched down in catching his breath. "Wouldn't come?" he rasped, chest still heaving. "I still need to work on the prints."

He pushed past Darmer who closed the door behind him. He strode past the arranged tables and chairs reminiscent of a tavern and went straight to the door at the back of the room. With a yank, he ducked inside the small room where a set of stairs leading down into the darkness greeted him. His sandals and the sand he had imported in his mad dash scratched against the stone. Behind him, a series of blubberings courtesy of Darmer resounded.

"What is it, Darmer?" Sera snapped as he sprung off the last step and cleared the landing in a smooth stride. "Spit it out."

He paused in his tracks when he saw the lantern lit at the end of the room. The sound of parchment crinkling, the gears and bands in the printing press chugging along, and the wet splotch of ink being slathered into the parchment echoed in the thick air. Standing by the desks lining the wall opposite the huge printing machines was a fairy sorting through the most recent branch drying on metal racks.

Sera's magic flared to the surface, the fire in his fingers crackling to life. "Don't move!" he screamed at the fairy who flinched. He raised his hand and was about to lob a ball of fire when a hand closed around his wrist, stopping the motion. What—

"Dude, chill out!" Darmer's voice jarred Sera back to reality. "She's here to help!"

The fire in Sera's hand puffed out with a snuff of smoke. He lowered his hand as Darmer let it go. Then, he cleared his throat and faced his friend. "Why would you bring another person in?" he hissed in a whisper. "We can't bring more people in!"

Darmer scratched his orange mop and clicked his tongue. "She's persistent," he said as if that's enough reasoning. "Besides, with you running late, I need another writer to fill in. She gladly did the job."

She what—

"Hi, I'm Blazes," she peeled away from the table to stride towards Sera and Darmer. She extended a hand to Sera. "I mean, I figured we should be saying our pen names instead of our real ones to keep everyone safe."

Sera stared at the hand reaching towards him, contemplating whether to shake it or leave it hanging. He was saved by the choice when Blazes retracted it to her person as she squealed. "I also can't believe I'm meeting the actual Inferno," she said, her clenched fists shaking giddly beneath her chin. "I've been a huge fan since the first issue came out."

Sera knitted his eyebrows and turned to Darmer. "I don't recall you getting a pen name," he said.

Darmer snorted. "I call myself 'The Inventor' for Blazes here just 'cause," he said. "I know. Original. I'm a genius."

"That, you are, friend," Sera tapped his friend on the shoulder.

He turned to Blazes who looked at them like they're a bag of versallis in a pile of dagrine crap. Dark hair dropped to her waist in straight cords, framing her round face, studded chin, and chubby cheeks. Splotchy spectacles sat on the bridge of her freckled nose. Her dark red, sleeveless dress complimented her dry, tanned skin, her leather boots indicating she wasn't from somewhere in Calca. Did she...did she travel all the way here?

Sera inclined his head to one side. "How did you find out about this place?"

Blazes tapped her chin as if she was trying to remember it. "I came across your prints and I got so attached to them because I was like, 'this is exactly what I was thinking!'. Then, I figured I'd join you guys since I have a lot to say too," she said. "So I figured I'd look for a place that must have been recently occupied. Then, I spotted two or three buildings and it took a quick process of elimination to pinpoint which one contained an illegal press."

Then, as if sharing a conspiratorial secret—which in truth, she was—, she leaned in and put a hand at the corner of her lips. "I also learned to listen to the ground," she said. "I've been a miner in Gligan, you see. And I can hear the familiar rak-ka-tak of a machine with belts, gears, and metal from underneath this building."

Sera turned to Darmer who shrugged like it was no big deal. If the soldiers were to really look for them, it'd be this easy. "So, I came in and the Inventor here showed me in," she continued before stalking back to the table where at least three bunches of dried prints were already awaiting delivery. She plucked the topmost copy from one stack. "He told me the Inferno had run into some business and was coming late. So I had to pitch in and help."

She passed the copy to Sera and jerked her chin at it when he took it. "See for yourself," she said, crossing her arms in defiance. "If it's not up to your standard, I'll quietly go and not tell anyone about this. That'll be the last article Blazes wrote."

Sera's eyes scanned the bold, inked letters on the parchment. It was the first time he wasn't seeing his words printed on it. After a few seconds, he raised an eyebrow. That was...not bad. Not bad, at all.

"Well, that's really good," Sera handed Blazes the parchment back. "Where did you learn to write like that?"

Blazes flattened the sheet back into its stack. "I just talked," she said. "And it all came pouring out. You think it's good enough?"

Well, if Sera was honest, it was better than he could cough out at any moment. "Are you prepared for the possible consequences of what we're doing?" he asked. That was more important than the skill or the willingness to keep a secret.

Blazes met his eyes. Like her pen name, her hazel eyes burned with an intensity he couldn't quantify. "I'm prepared," she said. "Willing, even."

Sera let himself smile for the sake of appearing thrilled to have another person in the press. "Well then," he said. "Welcome to the team."

He extended his hand towards her and widened his grin. "I'm the Inferno."