Unrepentant

Ornate gates creaked open as a harried messenger from the Alchemist Guild strode through, his brow sweaty. His hurried arrival did not go unnoticed by the guards who flanked the entrance. One of them, recognizing the guild’s insignia emblazoned on the messenger’s cloak, stepped forward.

“The Alchemist Guild?” The guard’s tone respectful.

“Yes, an urgent message for the Magistrate's guest!” the messenger replied.

The guards exchanged a quick glance before one of them motioned for the messenger to follow. They led him through grand hallways adorned with tapestries depicting Rhysling’s storied history. The air inside was cool and thick with the scent of polished wood and burning incense.

Within moments, they reached the Magistrate’s meeting hall. A curt knock on the door announced their presence. The Magistrate of Rhysling, his rotund figure seated behind an expansive desk cluttered with documents and ledgers, looked up from his work. His eyes, sharp and intelligent, narrowed at the intrusion.

“Enter,” he commanded.

The guard pushed open the door wider, allowing the messenger to step inside. The Magistrate’s gaze flickered from the messenger to Selen, who was engrossed in adjusting a delicate mechanism on one of the golems nearby. Her silver hair shimmered under the light, and her piercing blue eyes shifted to meet those of the intruder.

“What is it?” The Magistrate's voice held an edge of impatience.

The messenger cleared his throat, visibly nervous under their combined scrutiny. “My Lord! Artificer Selen! I bring an urgent summons from Guildmaster Arim!”

Both Selen and the Magistrate exchanged a look of surprise. The alchemists were typically meticulous about their schedules; any deviation usually meant something significant.

“An urgent summons?” The Magistrate leaned back in his chair, fingers steepled as he studied the messenger. “What is this about?”

The messenger hesitated briefly before responding, “Guildmaster Arim has requested Artificer Selen’s immediate presence at the guild.” He then read the full message Arim penned himself.

Selen’s eyes sparkled with a mix of slight greed and mischief. She glanced at the Magistrate before addressing the messenger directly. “It seems like someone can't wait for the auction,” she remarked dryly, yet happily.

“I’ll be right there,” Selen said with money signs in her eyes.

She turned back to her work briefly before gathering her tools and heading out to meet whatever awaited her at the Alchemist's Guild.

Silas, now with a refreshed and almost unrecognizable appearance, exited his room at the Merry Minstrel Lodge. His once ghastly visage now appeared more approachable, almost benign. He moved through the inn's lobby with a grace that was unsettlingly incongruous to the staff who had seen him earlier. Confused stares followed him, the whispers of disbelief palpable.

“Wasn’t that the man who checked in earlier?” one of the inn workers muttered under her breath, eyes wide.

“He looks so different,” another replied, barely concealing her astonishment.

Silas paid them no mind. His purpose was singular as he made his way out of the inn and into Rhysling’s bustling central square. The afternoon light cast long shadows across the cobblestones, and the City's pulse beat around him.

He cut a path through the throng of people.

As he was walking to the guild on the western side, his attention was briefly drawn to an unsettling scene unfolding nearby. A pale man struggled through the crowd, carrying a girl in his arms. Her body trembled visibly, and her sobs were muted but heartbreaking. An old man trailed behind them, his face etched with horror.

The crowd parted for them instinctively, a bubble of silence forming around their passage. Silas’s eyes narrowed as he observed them, his mind briefly contemplating their plight before refocusing on his objective. Whatever misfortune had befallen them was not his concern.

Continuing onward, Silas arrived at the entrance to the Alchemists' Guild. The controlled chaos inside was much as he had left it: alchemists bustling about, engaged in fervent debates and experiments.

He approached a different clerk this time—a young woman whose eyes widened as she recognized him from earlier. She stammered a greeting before directing him towards Arim’s office once more.

Selen entered the Alchemist's Guild. Her silver hair shimmered under the dim light, cascading down her back.

The guild's guards gave her a wide berth. She was promptly escorted by a clerk towards Arim's office, her stride confident, eyes scanning the bustling hallways with calculated interest.

Arim rose from behind his desk when she arrived, a veneer of cordiality masking his underlying anxiety.

“Ah, Artificer Selen!” he greeted with a respectful nod. “Thank you for coming on such short notice.”

Selen responded with a knowing look, a hint of amusement playing at the corners of her lips. “Guildmaster Arim,” she replied smoothly, “I assume this is about the Bloodmoon Thorn?”

Arim’s wry smile deepened the lines on his face, betraying a mix of relief and trepidation. “It may be,” he said, pausing for effect. “But more importantly, this meeting is to facilitate an introduction with one of my esteemed acquaintances.”

Selen arched an eyebrow, her curiosity piqued. “Unless there’s an extremely lucrative offer on the table,” she said good-naturedly, “I believe I stand to gain more from the auction, I warn you in advance.”

Before Arim could respond, the door creaked open and a guard entered hastily. His eyes darted nervously between Selen and Arim. “Senior Ji has arrived again,” he announced. “He wishes to speak with you, Guildmaster.”

The involuntary shiver that passed through Arim did not escape Selen's notice. She filed away that piece of information for later use. Regaining his composure quickly, Arim chuckled with forced mirth.

“Perfect timing,” he said smoothly. “Bring him in.”

Silas stepped into Arim's office, a faint smile playing on his lips. His eyes met Selen’s, who leaned back slightly and let out a low whistle.

“Well, you’re definitely no senior,” she remarked, her voice carrying a note of playful flirtation.

An audible gulp escaped Arim as he stood by, his composure wavering. Silas chuckled, the sound low. “I’m flattered,” he said. “Truly a lucky coincidence I arrived when I did. I’m sure Arim has you here after my persistent badgering today.” He cast a slightly apologetic glance at Arim.

Arim nodded stiffly, beads of sweat forming at his temples. “It was no trouble for someone such as Senior Ji,” he said, though his mind screamed, Horseshit, you psycho!

Selen laughed, the sound bright and genuine. “A handsome man like yourself doesn’t need an intermediary if he just wanted to meet me,” she teased. “But I assume this is a business call?”

Arim's internal voice roared again, You are digging us both a grave here, you idiot! Outwardly, he forced a polite smile. “I do believe I am unnecessary here. The Alchemist's Guild has only acted to facilitate your meeting. My trust in Senior Ji is boundless.” He turned to leave. “I shall leave you two to talk.”

Silas’s laughter filled the room, though it held an edge in Arim's ears that made his stomach tighten even more. “Thank you for that,” Silas said warmly before raising an eyebrow. “But have you also prepared the money you owe me?”

Arim nodded frantically and reached into his robes to produce a sealed letter. He handed it to Silas with shaking hands. “It’s a check for the amount owed,” he stammered. “You can withdraw it at the Empire’s State Bank.”

Silas accepted the letter with a nod of thanks as Arim scurried away like a frightened mouse, leaving Selen intrigued and Silas smiling in the quiet room.

Selen watched him with keen interest, her blue eyes searching his face for clues to his intentions. The tension that had filled the room dissipated slightly as they were left alone together, each appraising the other.

“You have my attention,” Selen said, breaking the silence.

Silas’s smile widened ever so slightly.

Selen's gaze lingered on Silas, curiosity evident in her eyes. “Why is the Guildmaster crapping his pants when talking to you though?” she asked, her tone light but genuinely curious.

Silas leaned back slightly on his seat, his smile growing more pronounced. “Arim and I have a bit of history,” he began, his voice steady. “His Master and I were good friends. We learned together, advanced our skills side by side…. Arim was introduced to me by his late Master, so he has had a... respectful fear of me ever since.”

Selen's eyebrow arched in intrigue. “I see,” she said slowly. “Forgive the rudeness, but as a fellow cultivator of the mystic arts, I’m curious about your age.”

Silas chuckled softly, the sound almost melodic. “Not as old as you might think,” he replied with a slight wink. “But decently old enough. The title ‘Senior’ was given to me by a group of people who sought me out for insights.”

Selen's cheeks flushed ever so slightly, embarrassment evident. “I must admit, I haven’t heard your name before,” she confessed.

“That’s natural,” Silas said smoothly. “Ji would perhaps only be mentioned by old fart alchemists looking for new ideas.”

She laughed softly, shaking her head. “I see,” she said again, more to herself this time. Her gaze met his once more, sincere and curious. “May I ask your true name if you wouldn’t mind?”

Silas’s smile softened. “Ji is honestly enough,” he said simply.

Selen nodded slowly, shrugging her shoulders.

“You were correct though,” Silas continued, his tone shifting. “Now it’s time to discuss the reason for our meeting.”

Arim bolted down the stairs, each step echoing his frantic pace. He pushed open the heavy door to the storage rooms on the second floor, where rows of shelves held countless vials and jars. His hands shook as he reached for a concoction labeled “Clear Mind,” gulping it down with a grimace. Next, he grabbed a curative for poisons and an assortment of restorative tonics, swallowing each one in quick succession.

His mind raced, replaying every detail of his encounter with Silas. The fear that gnawed at him whispered that he might have missed something, some small slight that could provoke the man's wrath. He whispered a fervent prayer to Rovinius, the god of alchemy. “Please let me survive this encounter,” he muttered, clutching a vial tightly.

Once he felt sufficiently fortified against any possible trickery or toxin, Arim straightened his robes and took a deep breath. He wiped the sweat from his brow and walked out of the storage room, his footsteps now measured and composed.

The second floor buzzed with activity as alchemists mixed potions and debated theories. Arim made his way through the crowded space, stopping to observe and offer guidance. His presence electrified the room; young apprentices eagerly absorbed his advice while seasoned alchemists nodded appreciatively at his insights.

Arim’s initial anxiety began to ease as he lost himself in the familiar rhythm of instruction. An hour passed swiftly as he moved from station to station, feeling almost normal again.

Then it hit him—a sixth sense, an instinct honed by years of surviving dangerous encounters. He turned toward the staircase just in time to see Silas and Selen descending together, their conversation punctuated by Selen’s light chuckle and Silas’s wry smile.

Arim's heart skipped a beat. He forced himself to approach them calmly. “How did it go?” he asked, his voice steady despite the churn of dread in his stomach.

Silas met his gaze with that unsettling smile to his eyes. “Unfortunately,” he said, almost mockingly polite, “we couldn’t come to a deal.”

Inwardly, Arim screamed at himself: “Kill me! No wait, don’t!” But outwardly, he managed a stiff nod, doing his best to hide the tremor in his hands.

Silas watched as Selen assessed him with her sharp blue eyes, the air between them thick with calculations. "I would like to purchase something from you," he began, his tone casual as if he were asking for a loaf of bread.

A knowing smile played on Selen's lips. "If you're after the Bloodmoon Thorn, you'll need to bleed a lot of money in compensation Mr. Handsome. Or…" she added with a flirty look in her eyes, "try your luck fairly at the auction." Her tone became deadpan on the last part.

Silas chuckled softly, amusement coloring his features. "Not that, Master Artificer."

Her expression shifted to one of surprise and confusion. She inclined her head slightly to the side. "What then?"

As the sun cast its rays through the window, Silas's shadow loomed over Selen. Something from his shadow slithered into hers, unnoticed by her.

"I want information on where you got it," he stated plainly.

Selen’s lips tightened into a thin line. "I cannot."

"Is there any chance it can be traded for?" Silas asked, his voice laced with curiosity.

She shook her head sadly. "No. The contract I took forbids me from revealing anything, I assume you are familiar with [Contract Vow's]?"

"A pity," Silas said with genuine regret before shifting gears smoothly. "Well then, let's make the best of this meeting. We might as well both make a new friend today if there's no deal to be struck."

Their conversation flowed effortlessly from there, touching on various aspects of Selen's life and work. She spoke passionately about her latest projects and the intricate balance between magic and craftsmanship with a fellow cultivator.

Silas listened attentively, interjecting occasionally with insightful comments that revealed his understanding of magical engineering. The hour slipped by unnoticed as they delved into topics ranging from the challenges of working with volatile materials to the eccentricities of clients.

As they finally stood to leave, Silas offered a warm smile. "I'm not sure I'll make it to the auction, I shall try though, but I do hope we meet again."

They exited together and briefly conversed with Arim, who Silas observed had indulged in a cocktail of alchemical products. Stroking his chin, he spoke to the man, as if just remembering something.

"Actually, Arim," he continued as if recalling something important, "I need to talk to you in your office once again."

He could almost hear Arim yelling profanities in his mind.