Chapter 4: Flaming Tempers
Asher lay in the snow, his breath shallow, eyes barely open as he tried to make sense of the absurdity before him.
The bear, once terrifying, was now sprawled on the ground, legs flailing comically, its ferocity gone.
"Well, ain't that something."
The sharp voice jolted him from his daze.
Asher turned his head sluggishly, catching sight of a craggy old woman standing over him. Her silver hair was in a wild curled bob, and she was wrapped in layers of furs.
Her piercing red eyes met his, her expression a mix of exasperation and irritation.
"Well, well. A perfectly good bear trap ruined by some idiot who can't hang onto a rope." She shook her head with a deep sigh.
"What the hell were you thinking, boy? There's no faster way to get yourself eaten than wandering this forest during migration season."
Asher opened his mouth to respond, his voice strained. "I—I was just... I didn't—"
"Street urchin," she interrupted sharply, cutting him off with a knowing glance. "Looking for a silver mine to turn your luck around, am I right?"
"I—no, I..." he stammered, blinking as his thoughts struggled to keep up.
"Forget it." She waved a hand dismissively, her tone sharp. "There's no mine worth the trouble around here. It's all just rumors and lies. You're better off starving than chasing that fool's errand."
With a huff, she turned her attention to the still-dazed bear, its legs twitching like a bug on its back. With a heavy sigh, she lifted her boot and gave the beast a firm kick to its side.
The bear let out a startled grunt, scrambling to its feet and stumbling backward. With one last disgruntled growl, it turned and lumbered into the trees, retreating with surprising speed for its size.
Asher's heart pounded, the tension that gripped him slowly easing as the bear disappeared into the woods.
Relief washed over him, but it came too fast and too strong. His limbs went heavy, his vision blurred, and his breath evened.
"Badheil bless me..." the woman muttered under her breath, her tone a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.
Before Asher could make sense of her words—or even the fact that he was now safe—his vision spiraled into darkness.
(three asteriks)
The sharp click of polished shoes echoed down the wooden corridor.
A tall butler, his uniform crisp and immaculate, led a young man through the halls.
The young man's blonde hair was combed to perfection, each strand aligned with almost military precision. Not a single one was out of place, glinting faintly under the warm light. He carried himself with the kind of fastidious care that suggested appearances mattered far more than the world around him.
His eyes scanned the high walls, lingering briefly on grand paintings and the soft glow of ornate gas lamps.
The butler's pace was steady, his steps deliberate as he guided his charge toward a large office at the end of the hall.
Inside, a man sat behind a cluttered desk. His disheveled red hair matched the exhaustion in his bloodshot eyes. Books and papers were scattered across the surface, many half-open, some spilling onto the floor. A forgotten cup of cold tea sat at his elbow.
The butler knocked briskly before stepping inside. "Sir, your guest is here."
The red-haired man blinked as he looked up, fatigue momentarily replaced by sharp assessment. His eyes landed on the blonde, who greeted him with a smug smile.
"You know how hard it is keeping your little mess under wraps."
The blonde smirked, straightening his posture with deliberate pride. "I imagine it hasn't been easy. But not impossible, right?"
The red-haired man sighed, his voice heavy with irritation. "Don't twist this. You made the mess. I'm just cleaning it up."
A cold chuckle escaped the blonde, his amusement evident. "Fair enough. But everyone has their secrets—things that could be... inconvenient if exposed."
The red-haired man stilled, his sharp gaze narrowing. He refused to rise to the bait.
"What do you want?"
The blonde leaned forward slightly, his tone calm but insistent. "Feysac and Loen's personal accounts of the Konotop Sea battle—and the discrepancies in the reports. Also, insight into the next sequence of Hunter."
The red-haired man leaned back, rubbing his neck. "The Konotop reports? What's so important about that?"
"You're telling me you haven't noticed the discrepancies?"
The story doesn't add up—especially with the involvement of 'that' organization."
The red-haired man pressed his fingers to his temples, his frustration mounting. "The upper echelon of the church is falling apart, and you're asking me about a naval battle?"
"You're in the know," the blonde pressed. "You've seen the chaos. The church is one thing, but this goes far beyond us."
The red-haired man glared at him. "And why would I help you with that?"
"Because you owe me," the blonde replied smoothly. "And because you know what's coming. The chaos at the top won't stay there forever."
A tense silence stretched between them before the red-haired man exhaled sharply. "Fine. I'll look into it."
The blonde's lips curled into a sneer. "You'd better."
The air between them grew thick with tension, but it only deepened when the blonde added with a glint of malice, "How's your sister been lately?"
The red-haired man's eyes darkened, a flicker of anger flashing across his face.
"You're walking a very fine line."
His voice was icy, filled with menace.
"I'll count to three. By the time I get to three, you'd better be out of my office."
With that, the red-haired man deliberately rose from his chair, his stance shifting as he leaned over the table, palms flat against the surface. His voice dropped, a low, controlled growl.
"One."
The blonde didn't react, but his gaze didn't leave the red-haired man.
"Two."
The red-haired man's voice was tight, each word laced with impatience. He stood there, unwavering, watching the blonde with a gaze that demanded compliance.
The blonde's face hardened, his lips curling in disdain. With a sharp motion, he turned and stormed out of the room, slamming the door behind him with a force that rattled the ornate paintings.
The red-haired man exhaled, his fists still clenched. He sank back into his chair, the tension in the room dissipating.
Reaching for his cold, bitter tea, he took a long sip, the drink doing little to settle his nerves. His gaze drifted toward the window, the last traces of daylight fading into dusk.
"I'm sorry, sister."