Sorcerer's Shadow

"Why does he have these?"

"I wonder why the Baelis even created them."

"You're clueless, Viktor?"

"Indeed. Enlighten me?"

"Well, Terran legends claim a Baelis smith crafted them to make wars so devastating that none would dare wage one."

I chuckled. "Really? They thought that would work?"

"It did."

"How?"

"Among the Baelis."

"I see."

"Shall we proceed?"

"I'm not sure I can."

"That's a concern."

"It is."

We lingered awkwardly.

"Should we turn back?" Thorne inquired.

"No, we stay put."

"Understood."

Time felt elongated, though it was probably just a minute. The presence of the Dragonlords added to my unease. Displaying fear in front of a Vorgan is bad, but doing so in front of a Dragonlord wounded my pride.

"I have a plan," Thorne interjected.

"I'm all ears," I replied. "Any plan's a good one now."

"It'll take a few moments."

"Take all the time you need. It's not like I'm rushing anywhere."

Thorne's expression shifted, hinting at a mental exchange.

"It's settled," he declared. "Our helper is on his way."

"Who do you mean?"

"A friend from my past. It's not important how we met."

I didn't press. Everyone knew Thorne hadn't always been with the Vorgans; he was once a Dragonlord. His reasons for changing sides remained his secret.

"And his name is?"

"Platov, a member of the Falconlords."

"How's he our solution?"

"He's psychic."

"In what way?"

"His psychic prowess surpasses even accomplished wizards who utilize the Orb's power. Wait here." Thorne momentarily left, whispering to the guards outside. He returned, accompanying a lean, keen-faced Imperion dressed in black. His absentminded gaze contrasted with his sharp features and the Falconlords I was familiar with.

"Thorne," he greeted softly.

"Platov, meet Viktor," Thorne introduced.

He acknowledged me with a courteous nod – an unusual gesture for someone from his House. "Good to meet you," he remarked.

"Likewise," I replied.

He observed the room, murmuring, "Remarkable. Never witnessed so many together."

"I had a similar thought," I said.

Thorne intervened, "Could you perhaps dampen their vibes a bit? Viktor seems unusually affected."

Platov's gaze lingered on me, intrigued. "Fascinating. May I ask why?"

Choosing not to confess my intrinsic Terran unease towards the objects, I shrugged noncommittally.

"Would you mind if I explore why you're so sensitive to-"

"I'd rather you didn't," I interrupted.

He appeared slightly taken aback. "Very well," he sighed, then scanned the room. Instantaneously, the oppressive atmosphere waned. Not completely gone, but noticeably distant.

"That's... better. How did you manage that?"

Considering his answer, Platov began, "Each weapon exudes an aura. If we perceive this aura as a..."

Thorne jumped in, "Psychics."

Pushing my apprehensions aside, I ventured further into the room. Behind, Thorne and Platov followed.

Upon closer examination, the weapons weren't haphazardly strewn about. They were systematically arranged in their protective casings. Their nakedness might have been too overwhelming.

Platov pointed out, "The potent ones are here, and the milder ones over there. I presume that's a Vorgan symbol on you?"

"Psychics," I retorted, adding sarcastically, "And sharp observation skills too."

He paused, "Was that... sarcasm?" contemporary romance

"Apologies. I'm on edge."

"Why?"

Before I could answer, Thorne tried hiding a smirk. Redirecting my focus, I feigned interest in the weapons, but their presence kept intruding my thoughts.

"How do you establish your connection?" Platov inquired.

"To what?"

"The Vorgan. It requires a psychic connection, right?"

"Magic," I curtly replied.

He probed further, "Is it related to-"

"I'd rather not talk about it."

"Okay," Platov replied, his expression a mix of confusion and perhaps a touch of sadness. It was unusual to see such sensitivity in an Imperion.

"So, how should we proceed?" asked Thorne.

His direct approach caught me off-guard, especially in front of Platov. Thorne should've known better.

"What are you aiming for?" inquired Platov.

"It's complicated," I responded.

Before I knew it, I noticed a sudden change in Thorne's expression. Trying to comprehend, I began, "What just—"

"He tried to read your mind, and he's very adept at it," Thorne interjected.

Reacting instinctively, I grabbed a nearby dagger and approached Platov, holding the weapon openly but not threateningly. The previous unease I felt around these objects was gone, replaced by an adrenaline-driven focus.

"I value your assistance," I began, my voice stern, "but invade the minds of my team again, and it will be the last thing you ever do. Understood?"

He seemed more surprised than scared. "I apologize. It won't happen again."

Putting the weapon away, I felt the tension hanging in the air. Breaking silence isn't my forte after a confrontation.

But Platov offered, "I have a suggestion."

I turned to him, my patience waning.

Thorne whispered, "Boss, is he daft or just brave?"

Ignoring him, I signaled Platov to continue.

"Drevolan suspects a theft of these weapons, correct? And you want to—"

"Do you know Drevolan?" I interrupted.

"Yes, why?"

"Just curious. Continue."

"You aim to capture the thief?"

"Capture, or at least identify them."

"I can place a psychic marker. Anyone entering will be tagged."

"That seems too convenient," I remarked.

"People underestimate psychic abilities."

"What about Liora?"

"Who?"

"Forget it. If something goes missing mysteriously, it's Liora's work."

Thorne interjected, "Then what's the plan?"

"We admit defeat," I said, "which perhaps I should've done from the start."

Platov waited for my next move. "Alright, do what you must."

"It's set," he announced.

Thorne murmured, "I felt something, Boss."

Shooting Thorne a knowing glance, I expressed my unease. He took the brunt of it, as always.

Opal chimed in, "Everything will be fine, Boss. Trust me."

I faced Platov. "How does this work?"

"If any weapon is displaced, I'll sense the one responsible."

"And then?"

"Anything you need. Connect you or track them."

"You can do that?" I asked, incredulous.

He nodded, a tad taken aback. "Yes. Is there a problem?"

It was naive to think we'd be done so quickly.

"Let's leave," I said. "We've done what we came for."

Platov inquired, "Where to?"

I hesitated, shooting Thorne a look that begged him to handle it, and left. Thankfully, Platov didn't follow us back. It felt like a small win in a challenging day.

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