Their charge was successful because his rifle failed right then. It seemed fair; they were unarmed. Dirakh dropped the rifle, took a few steps back and prepared for it.

  The first swung a fist at him and the other kicked his leg. Dirakh caught the fist but the kick connected with the back of his knee. He stumbled a bit and the first attacker freed his fist.

  Dirakh swung at one of them. The first one dodged while the other attacker grabbed his mid-section and tried lifting him. Dirakh resisted and the attacker only managed to push him back. Dirakh grabbed him, readying to attack but stopped when the second attacker tackled his knee again, making him stumble.

  Both free, they hit his midsection simultaneously and another head-butted his face squarely. The metal of his visor grinded against his face roughly. It hurt and Dirakh stumbled back. When he regained sight, he saw them laughing. They could have escaped but they chose to stalk him and laugh.

  He peeled the helmet off, livid.

  The first attacker charged at Dirakh again, the second right behind him. The first attacker leapt, aiming for chest boots first, but Dirakh crossed his arms, charged and shoved the cyperan aside. With the building momentum, he tackled the other attacker.

  The first attacker flew into the dome buildings by his right and Dirakh went after the second attacker next. Grabbing his helmet, Dirakh dragged him across sharp, broken pieces of dirt. Dirakh lifted him halfway and punched his helmeted head with everything in him. Even with the raging fires in the distance, he could hear the skin of the attacker's neck tearing as his neck stretched to an unnatural extent.

  Almost immediately, Dirakh was hit in the side by a large rock thrown at him. What followed was a plasma shot piercing through the same side.

  Dirakh collapsed in a loud groan, struggling to fight through the pain. The rifle jammed again but the attacker kept trying, wary of nearing Dirakh.

  The attacker cursed in a language Dirakh didn't understand when he saw his partner, whose stretched neck was visible even with the armour on. The sight of it gave the attacker the anger to attack closely. He hit Dirakh with the butt of the rifle as he tried to rise then stomps and kicks followed.

  The hot air, the plasma shot wound and the pain between his eyes, all of it got to him as the masked cyperans continued his attack.

  He checked his wound, there was a thin but steady flow of blood coming through. Healing from a plasma wound took more seikans than he had to spare in the Thirteenth Sector. The attacker hit him again and he realized any future at all was only possible if the attacker stayed too angry to check if the rifle was active again. If he did and it worked, he was done for.

  Dirakh couldn't wait till it did. He rolled out of the way of another stomp. The attacker seemed to notice the giarded way in which he'd done it and went after the wound. Dirakh let him kick his side and held onto his leg. Forcing through the pain, he pulled hard and the attacker fell, letting go of the rifle.

  There was a struggle as the attacker tried to stand and free his leg from his grasp. Dirakh feigned weakness and the attacker turned around to run. With another hard pull, the attacker fell, and Dirakh leapt on his back, pressing the attacker against the hot, hard ground.

  The attacker didn't understand till he realized breathing wasn't possible anymore. His chest-pores were clamped shut with the pressure from Dirakh. He was struggling, trying to find a way to escape but held him in place. The attacker peeled off his mask but the air was too hot without Life Armour, his nostrils too tiny. It took a while but his violent struggle became utter stillness.

  He was dead.

  Two cyperans came out from the corner of the rock buildings. Both were unmasked and unarmed. The male, broad and tall, wore a dull red Life Armour with a cloak modification. He had back askora which usually meant he wasn't a ground worker or any kind of guard, but he didn't look like a noble, instead he seemed like the female's protector. She wore a regular, brown Life Armour that clashed with her chartreuse skin. Dirakh recognized the female instantly.

  “You tried to stop me earlier before the fire started,” Dirakh said to her. He stood up slowly and checked his injury. The steady flow was almost a torrent now, the wound much wider. “Want to try that again?”

  “You are injured, threats are a fool's response.” she stated.

  “Don't go near him and don't provoke him,” the large male said. “You saw how he killed that masked one. These vile hunters are worse when hurt.”

  Dirakh was used to the scorn some held for the Trigad. He ignored his words. “Are you Eorah?”

  “Eorah was the first one you killed,” the female said, pointed at the dead attacker with a swearing plasma wound in the head.

  “But you're here for the case?” Dirakh asked.

  “What does it mean to you?” She asked. Neither of them were with the case, she could've lied but she didn't. “Why did you kill so many to get it?”

  “I killed them because they killed families. Barimi's death I could live with, but they killed younglings, some no older than ten cycles. That was unforgivable.”

  “And the case?”

  “I don't care about Kolvak enough to kill for it.”

  “Does your Lord Commander know you think that, Pomian?” the large male asked.

  “Is he just here to annoy me?” the wound still hurt, however calm he tried to appear and it made him irritable.

  His outburst, though unplanned, helped him avoid the guardian's question. If there was anything he'd come to understand since coming to Kolvak, he knew that people never revealed the noble that sent them.

  The female, in turn, only smiled, though forcefully. It was uncommon to be used to this degree of heat and smoke. Even Dirakh was struggling now that he was injured.

  She saw him favour his uninjured side and said, “I can heal that in less than a micro-seikan if you want. You just have to stop lying to us, and tell me what you want with the case.”

  “Not interested,” Dirakh said as he turned to leave. Anyone else might have fallen for that but not him. He was part of the Trigad where injuries happened all the time; no technology could heal that fast.

  There was a part of him that wanted to listen to her and do as she asked, the heat made the injury almost certainly fatal. It was sane to be desperate but there was no way he could believe anything she said.

  She appeared surprised that he responded that way. Her guard was just as stunned and he took that as a chance to leave.

  She called to him as he backed away, too cautious to turn around. “That injury isn't as simple as it looks. It'll keep getting bigger until no treatment can save you and the heat of the fire quickens the pace by at least a hundred times. You'll die before your Baroness decides if you're worthy enough to heal.”

  Once again she assumed he was from Pomia city. That, along with the reason she didn't really threaten him, was what he found confusing. They were unarmed, but her big, burly guard was right there and his injury was getting worse like she said. Instead of physical attacks, she continued with warnings like she wasn't allowed to do otherwise.

  Dirakh continued backing away and that triggered a reaction. Both guard and talker looked toward the corner they had come from. They were speaking to someone.

  Someones. And they were people he recognized. People even Araan knew. Burvan and Captain Pors came out first and led a group of twenty armed soldiers. They weren't regular guards or even soldiers of the Sector Army, they were Redinan Soldiers.

  Dirakh recognized them by the armour. The white, body-fitting gear was made entirely of metal with black joints made of what looked like toughened cadmani material. Their necks were protected by the same material and on their faces were white, featureless helmets.

  On their backs were black, shell-like armours; four thick, opaque tubes extended from those shell armours, the shorter two connected to their chests, the other tubes circled their right arms and ended up in a fairly large, modified rifle mounted on their forearms. Ten of those special right arms were raised and fixed on Dirakh. He didn't move another step.

  One soldier carried the brown case. Dirakh noticed there was more reverence in the way he carried it than Barimi ever did. Barimi respected the case because of the royal's order but this soldier seemed like he knew what was in it. They all did.

  Burvan continued speaking with the first female while her guard stood with the soldiers. Captain Pors was watching him as if the soldiers' guns weren't enough. Whatever the argument was, Burvan finished and turned to him. She gestured that he came closer.

  He obeyed.

  This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road. If you spot it on Amazon, please report it.

  “It is the hardest challenge convincing these youths of anything,” Burvan said as she walked out of the group, carefully avoiding the aim of the soldiers. She gestured toward the female she'd been speaking to. “Saebith believes you serve Miranna instead of Araan, hence her attempts at manipulation to see your truth.”

  Serve Araan?

  Dirakh laughed in spite of the pain in his side and Burvan added, “I agree, Dirakh. Not every outcast serves the Baroness of Pomia, the prejudice is well earned but uncalled for in your case.”

  She knew who he was. Dirakh thought hard as his anger rose. Araan wasn't the kind of person to speak about someone like that, she must have had her own investigation.

  “You don't know me,” his growl and demeanor was met with more soldiers lifting their arms.

  Burvan simply ignored him and continued. “Personally I don't think it matters. If by some mystery I failed to uncover a piece of your past and you actually serve Tisiryk's mother, I believe you will defect. Once you see what's inside of the case, that is. It has haunted you long enough, don't we agree?” Her weathered face etched a questioning look.

  Dirakh watched the guards and their utter stillness, guns still fixed on him. In Captain Pors' eyes, there wasn't even a glint of familiarity. His scarred, twisted mouth seemed even more twisted with the frown. It was either he agreed or he died—by their hands or his injury.

  That was enough to make up his mind even if he didn't feel the way he felt. A part of him wanted to know what was so valuable about the case that people had to die for it, that a market had to be burned down.

  He nodded slightly and they opened it for him to look.

  At first Dirakh didn't understand what he was looking at. Inside of it was what appeared to be pieces of a crystal arranged across the length of the case. The largest piece was unlike the rest; opaque black while the others were a dirty shade of yellow shards. The largest crystal was elevated, one side resting on a few shards, and the inside of the case depressed enough for the other end of the crystal at a tilt. The winds suddenly blew and Dirakh understood what he was looking at.

  He saw a ripple on the surface of the blackness.

  “I suppose a Trigad Commander would recognize a liquid when he sees one,” Burvan said.

  “A Miranna patriot could do the same thing,” Saebith commented. It earned her warning stares from Captain Pors and her own guard.

  “It's alive, pulsating,” Dirakh noted, finally finding his words. He moved backwards, inspite of the soldiers. “That could be an unidentified creature, many of those attacked cities in the Fourth, it's not safe standing next to that thing.”

  They laughed then; Burvan, Saebith, the soldiers—everyone.

  “It's called Krystal,” Pors said. “In these times, life's safest standing next to one of these. When they're working, that is. I doubt the people you killed would have abandoned it if they truly knew the relevance.”

  “Krystal... You don't pronounce it like the common word.”

  “There is a lot you don't understand and I will tell you all of it.” Burvan told him.

  “Why? Saebith here still accuses me of being Pomian.”

  “This Sector... The Empire will need Araan and he will need allies, battle brothers like you. Come with me, I'll convince you,” Burvan replied. The guards finally dropped their arms. One closed and lfted the case.

  “Where?” Dirakh asked.

  “The Oath Tower. I'm not the only one who wants to see you, I wouldn't have this many Redinan Soldiers with me if I were.”

  “In addition, we need to fix your wound,” Captain Pors continued for her, pointing at Dirakh's side. “And your original attire. You'll need it if you want to get back into the Citadel unsuspectingly.”

  “I burned it,” Dirakh said.

  “We know,” Saebith's guard said.

  “So how do plan on fixing it?”

  There was look of confidence amongst the visible faces of the group. “You'll see.”

  ■

  Somehow Baron Waske had managed to keep the entire hall focused on one thing longer than even the issue of Scavenger attacks was discussed. Truthfully, it wasn't hard to, many questions were being asked and only few got their answers. And that only raised more inquiry.

  Nomik and the Council were at the center of it all now. Nomik Vinid seemed to know about all of it. He had admitted to ordering the burning of the prisoner's body. That drew attention to him on its own but when he said he had been notified of the prisoner's meeting, and had refused to go, it sparked the noisy debate currently going on.

  Araan didn't believe the reaction was well earned. So his great-uncle knew about his eldfather's last meeting and refused to attend, what did that matter? Such things happened often if he remembered right, it didn't make him out to be a conspirator some of the nobles were alluding him to be. They were certainly part of Tisiryk's faction, that was clear. Tisiryk had done so well, they couldn't let the interim council's mistakes ruin it.

  Araan sat lazily in his throne, right elbow on armrest as its loosely closed fist trailed his mouth. A lot was said and some helpful to him. He didn't believe his skills were sharp enough to stir the dialogue in the direction he wanted without triggering the nobles. What that led to was Araan having to sit through micro-seikans upon micro-seikans of banter.

  Baron Illige of the outskirt city of Trillak believed the attackers, who were unmarked and decked in high-tech armours, were scavengers and tried to convince everyone of the absurdity. He even tried to reenact the topic of a better defence.

  Sygad Commander Gigge pointed out the possibility of the assassin being from the Thirteenth Sector itself. He was amongst the people who had seen their bodies before they burned and claimed most were the right shade of green and was adamant about it. That implicated the council in more ways than one.

  Had they known or ordered it and somehow tried to cover it by burning them? No one was saying it out loud but in a meeting of this nature, no one really had to.

  “The designs of those armours are not so otherworldly,” High Commander Fuki'ra Im'bah stated at a juncture in the argument. It was one of the few claims that focused on finding the truth rather than mindless blame. Araan sat up, listening to her words attentively.

  When asked how, Fuki'ra spoke of the Weaponer Families. Out of the forty families that owned weapons factories across the World Empire, there were only twelve that focused on inventions rather than the unending battle for the right of production.

  “One of the eleven families designed that armour,” she said. “Even if they were stolen, and the families are not responsible for the manufacture, they would not deny ownership of the design. Not when related to a matter such as this. That should lead us somewhere.”

  “A path from you, maybe,” a noble Araan didn't recognize said. He was sitting two rows above the ground row, two rows above Fuki'ra but she turned to regard him. More faces turned as well.

  “Twelve families are known for manufacture. You mentioned eleven,” the noble said.

  “As you can see,” she said in a calm voice, not taking her eyes off the noble, “I wear my family's latest and only version for complete Cadmani Life Armours, hence the reason I say thirteen. Or is it my loyalty to the Lord Commander that you question?”

  The atmosphere tightened with that response. House Im'bah—any Weaponer Family wasn't to be trifled with. Even if Tisiryk wasn't going to take her words for it and investigate her later, saying it so openly was an insult.

  “The point of Baron Waske's inquisition wasn't to challenge ourselves,” Araan said, intervening before anyone else could escalate things further. “He asked questions about my eldfather's death, questions that I'm sure all of you had in your minds but he asked the heir-designate and the interim council, not the rulers and not the rest of you.”

  Araan turned to Tisiryk then. The heir-designate understood and nodded, he seemed tired of it all but he spoke with the same authority as before. “That you are all as involved in this issue as you are is a declaration of where you stand, House Vinid will remember it.

  “In the meantime, the investigation will remain as it has been. Whatever insights the rest of you may have are welcome in smaller, quieter meetings with the members of the old council or the new. Then and only then.”

  The hall remained quiet after Tisiryk spoke. Araan watched the noble that accused Fuki'ra bow his head to avoid Tisiryk's gaze, his askora slapping against his shoulder furiously. Baron Waske seemed intrigued and there was even an open look of satisfaction on Fuki'ra's face. It was easy to forget the danger of House Vinid until you have been put against them. Not everyone was Ioran Waske or Fuki'ra Im'bah. Challenging Nomik Vinid so openly... They were quite lucky this was all Tisiryk did.

  Araan looked at the interim council once again, now that things had settled. Zamaro was barely visible now, not in the same manner as Finram's inexperience and fear of court, but in comparison to his brother, Nomik.

  Nomik had tried to hide it, Araan knew that much. He noticed the general's deliberate hunched posture, affecting aged weakness. For a moment, during the questioning, he had abandoned the look and Araan noticed it.

  Ioran Waske was responsible for that reveal, Araan admitted. The old cyperan had smiled at him after all of it. Was it a sign to follow Nomik and the other leads? Araan still didn't think Nomik killed his eldfather; he was last in line amongst his brothers, had no heir and Tisiryk was already named next to rule. That removed every common reason for regicide.

  He looked at Baron Waske for any more indications, the old cyperan was fumbling with his cloak, seemingly oblivious to the meeting.

  In the time Araan had distracted himself with thinking, the meeting discussed new matters but as he focused on the words of the announcer, his throne— the entire room vibrated.

  Something exploded in the distance.

  Everything happened too quickly, the explosion was so loud and felt too powerful, like it happened right next to the Citadel. Araan jerked to his feet, looking around and to the windows above for a thrown explosive. Were they under attack? What was going on?

  Even as his mind raced for an answer, several citadel guards barged into the council hall in their grey and black armours, carrying thermal rifles.

  “Are we under attack?” Araan shouted to no one in particular.

  “A riot broke out in the High-rim market, my Lord,” one of the captains said. “The explosion is from there, it's too close by and there could be more.”

  As he finished, the guard called on others and all surrounded Tisiryk, escorting him down the dias and out of the hall. Tisiryk went with them without a word; he wasn't leaving anything to chance, this meeting was over.

  “Come with me, Lord Redinan,” another guard said and Araan refused with a wave of his hand. The guard hesitated but obeyed and went for the members of the council. They refused, or at least Zamaro and Nomik did, Finram looked like he would've left if it weren't for their refusal.

  There was a continuous inflow of retinues into the outer hall until the Citadel guards took control of the elevators. That left the outer hall crowded and made exiting slower. Araan stayed back in the council hall with some nobles and guards.

  If there really was a threat to life, the outer hall, with its wall-size window, would be less safe than inside here. The guards knew this and stationed themselves—Araan could see five of them and the foot of a sixth guard from where he stood—by the window. Likewise, the nobles didn't clog the entrance or stay too close to it; those who left did so without a rush.

  Araan thought about Dirakh then. Wherever he was in the Citadel, Araan had to hope he wasn't anywhere near the sealed off area. He imagined it was swarming with guards by now. That was the reason he continued to refuse the guards that came to him: if Dirakh needed a place to run to, it would be the outer hall.

  Long moments passed while he waited. In that time he walked down the dias and moved towards the entrance, though not so close that it made the guards think like he was ready to leave.

  He alternated between looking out, searching for Dirakh and tracing the lines on his vambrace. He could hear nobles beside talk about the reason for this riot. The last riot had been as a demand for better security and they had that now. Their dead Lord Commander was mere micro-seikans away and this was what they did?

  There's too much chaos in Kolvak, Araan thought.

  There wasn't another explosion and tensions began to recede. The exiting nobles left quicker, retinues who'd come up for their nobles were leaving with them, the outer hall was hardly crowded and the council hall was basically empty. Araan left the council hall then and joined the group exiting the floor.

  Still no sign of Dirakh.

  He might have gone to Nioa already, Araan thought when the cyperan in question came through the elevator in front of him.

  Pors stood beside him. The captain immediately joined the guards in their work while Dirakh stood in the same corner he had been in before the meeting.

  There was something about Dirakh that Araan found odd. He seemed too vigilant, overly mindful of everything around him. Then there was his actual look, he wore the same blue Life Armour and all but he looked different.

  Younger felt like the right word to use.

  Araan raised waved till Dirakh spotted him. They met each other half way.

  “Was starting to think they found you,” Araan said in a low voice. He led Dirakh away from the guards by the window and added. “The riot was unexpected.”

  “Riot?” Dirakh said, sounding surprised.

  “The explosion, there was a riot in the city, close by,” Araan said, lifting his right arm in the direction of the window; black smoke could be seen rising to the dome roof. “There's a hill near the area, it has to be what's burning for the smoke to get this high and still be this thick.”

  To his surprise, there was an angry, rueful look on Dirakh's face as he looked at the window.

  “What's wrong, Dirakh?” Araan asked him.

  “Hmm?” Dirakh faced him again. The look was gone.

  “What did you find?”

  Dirakh looked around, at the guards and nobles. No one was staring. “I didn't find anything, Araan.”

  “What?”

  “The sealed off area, like you said,” Dirakh replied, “I monitored it throughout the entire meeting, the workers, the guards that came by... I followed everything.

  “I didn't find anything.”