The floor boards creaked and squeaked as the team took hesitant steps into the woman's house. A shiver rushed down Salo's spine while he took in his surroundings. Countless of books lay in dusty shelves, some of which had broken spines and bookworm-eaten pages. Small particles danced in the atmosphere, as if taunting the boy. They could escape from cracks in the windows and holes on the walls. He was trapped inside a mansion with the woman who spawned a murderer.

Bela led them to a small sitting room. Burned wood was stuffed into the fireplace and a tall flame consumed them, crackling and reaching out its welcoming arms. Every cell of Salo's body wanted to dive next to the fire, close his eyes, feel the warmth lick his skin. He used the last drop of his energy to resist that urge.

A large window revealed the garden beside the house, which Salo found weirdly well-cared for. The witch didn't seem to be concerned half as much for the rest of her estate. "Come, sit," she smiled, exposing a bright set of teeth. Why do they call her an hag, anyway? Salo wondered, examining the woman through half narrowed lids. Because she's old? Is that it?

"We won't be here for long," Arden informed, yet he eagerly collapsed on a dirty sofa. "We just want answers. Then we'll leave."

She cackled a hoarse laugh. "Why the rush, boy?"

"I think you know the answer to that."

Bela's smile fell as she nodded. "Yes, yes. The same reason that cursed son of mine won't come visit his poor mother." She leaned back, her joints grinding against each other like rusty gears. "Although that son has a much higher chance to find the artifact than a few lowly thugs."

Salo's mouth dried. How could she know that? He sucked in a breath, throwing a glance at Arden's calm posture. His eyebrow twitched and his silver eyes studied the old woman, but the boy didn't betray his emotions. So that's why. She really is a witch.

A few seconds of suffocating silence passed by. Salo realized he was holding his breath as he waited for Bela to throw them out, call the guards to arrest them for treason. A reaction. A sign she was still loyal to her country. Yet the sight of the people who defied her son seemed to amuse her instead of disturb her. She cackled, shaking her head. "I'm no sorcerer, boy," she corrected his thought, although he doubted it wasn't his face that gave away his surprise, instead. "Your walk is arrogant. I've seen it a million times before in Tama Square, in the market, everywhere. Those punks think they own this place."

Salo sighed in relief. It was better if Bela didn't know who they were, or their past. It was one of his weaknesses. One mention of his father, and he could easily be distracted.

"Why help us, then?" Ailyn asked quietly. She hadn't taken a seat. Her arms were crossed on her chest, guarding herself from the words of the old woman. Something was wrong. Salo could sense it.

Bela finally stood. "You mentioned Korin. " She released a long sigh, puckering her wrinkled lips. "Since you are here bothering me, I suppose he's dead."

Nora reached into her pocket and pulled out the deceased man's handkerchief. The team had taken the cloth from Korin's collar before they left the factory; a bright yellow fabric with sparkling white details sewn on its edges. Most of its surface had turned brown when they had taken it. Now the blood had dried and flaked. Salo tried not to gag.

The girl let the handkerchief fall on the arm of the couch, a sour smile stretching her thin lips. "Pretty much".

The woman's gaze lingered on the dark stain before returning to glare at Nora. "I promised the man a favor when he was last here. I owe him. And you should know, I never renege on my vows." For a moment she looked at the garden, examining the vibrant leaves blanketed by snow. It seemed to relax her. "I can help you as long as you help me."

"How?" Salo tried to say, but it came out as a raspy croak. He didn't realize how dehydrated he was until the words scratched his throat like sharpened daggers. Lake water was something he tried to avoid. His caution had consequences.

"I only have one condition," she continued, and her gaze darkened when she spoke again. "Bring my son here."

"That won't be as hard you as you think," Arden informed, pushing himself off the dusty love seat. "Eventually he will find us. Now, how can you help us?"

Bela smiled, her fingertips grazing the thick fabric of her robe. Her golden eyes made her seem sly and feline, like a tiger ready to pounce at her meal. "I know things, boy. But I cannot tell you everything. That, you must find out yourself."

Nora groaned, pinching the bridge of her nose. "There's no time to waste, Krastalov. We need answers now."

"Don't be so greedy, young lady."

"I'm well into adulthood!"

Bela raised her brows, the creased on her forehead multiplying. "Do you think your age can change my mind? I will guide you to the right answer. But I will not betray my son."

"You are betraying him by guiding us, as well," Salo said lowly, trying not to be heard by the rest.

"No," she hissed curtly. "I'm saving him from the destruction he calls 'progress'. I don't know where the Kingfisher is, loves. I know many places where it could be, and I know a few that I'm more certain of. You're getting them all. Be grateful."

Ailyn sighed. It pained her to talk, and she seemed especially disturbed by the old woman standing before her. "One more thing," she whispered, averting her gaze from Bela. "We need a place to stay. And food."

"Are you sure you want to stay here, girl?"

Ailyn's eyes snapped to her, narrowing to two crystal slits. Do you think I'm doing this for me? her glower screamed. "Yes," she spat finally. "I'm certain."

Bela grinned again, but her smile was more cautious this time. Her eyes ran over every figure, measuring their strength, their muscle, everything she could use in her advantage. "Excellent. There are a few things you need to do to share this roof with me. Let's start with the food."

༺──────────────༻

A few hours later the sun had started to slowly descend behind the Mushan mountain range. Heavy drops of rain mixed with ice were sinking to the ground, making the soil glisten with the orange glow of the last daylight. The mansion looked even more enigmatic now as the windows rattled by the wind, and under the glare of the evening sun it could almost be called haunted.

Salo didn't believe in ghosts and poltergeists. Maybe some time long ago he did, but the fear of the paranormal had subsided over the years. After his father died, he was desperate enough to try and contact him. He had heard rumors and whispers when he first arrived to Sevin; burn an image of your loved one, put it out with moonflower oil. The smell will attract the deceased, an old man had muttered. The boy tried it. He got nothing but ashes upon ashes of his father's last portraits. 

Now, Salo rested by himself in the sitting room. The fire had almost died down, along with the activity in the house. Arden knew the hidden lanes and the shortcuts to main avenues, so Bela sent him to Pupara, a small neighborhood in the outskirts of Karahi, for weapons and medications. Nora had left for Tama Square in order to find some discreet clothes. The princess couldn't do anything useful, but she still insisted she left from the house with a long glare directed at Bela. She had worn a hood and took off for the herbal shop downtown, hoping to find some peace in the private store. 

Bela had told Salo to wait. So he did. But there was nothing for him to do, not besides dusting shelves and looking around the house, which was something he would rather not do. The woman had asked him if he could cook, and he had slowly shaken his head, to which she replied with an exasperated sigh and a slam of the kitchen door. She muttered something about having to feed four cretins, and the chopping of vegetables resumed. Two hours later his hands had started twitching and his leg was bouncing up and down. The countless moments of staring at a dull wall had numbed his exhaustion successfully.

He stood, walking hesitantly to the door and knocking it softly. Not a second later, it burst open. Bela raised a brow, staring at Salo expectantly.

He cleared his throat. "Is there any way I can be useful here?"

"Does relaxation not satisfy you, boy?"

"No, somehow it doesn't."

The old woman sighed. "Alright," she declared after a minute of thought. "You want to do something helpful? Go to the herbal shop and tell sunshine girl to boil some bilsen." Her wrinkled hand rose to point at her heart. "It's for the pain."

Salo almost choked on his saliva. He stared at the woman bewildered. How? How does she know that? When it was obvious he couldn't articulate his confusion, Bela smiled a sad simper. "You think I wouldn't notice? She was at the brink of collapsing. Besides, her chest was black."

The boy puckered his lips, looking at his feet. "How long does she have?" 

"That depends on her," she said tartly, but a hint of sympathy had started blooming in her gaze. She was sorry for her. "I have never dealt with this before. She's alone now."

Salo nodded. He knew that much. But somehow, hearing it again sent a pang to his heart. The darkness would soon spread, and the symptoms would intensify. He didn't want to witness that. He didn't want to see her in pain. Yet he still felt some kind of twisted justice in him. She asked Kage to help. Now she's facing the consequences. The very lethal consequences. Another bite in his chest. Another wave of melancholy that overwhelmed him.

Ailyn wasn't long for this world. Just like his mother. Just like his father years ago. It was a vicious cycle that kept repeating itself over and over again. It was as if the universe was looking down upon him, wondering when he would learn his lesson.

Dad is gone. But mother isn't. Ailyn isn't. Just the thought that he could alter the course of someone's life, that he could change it completely, prompted him to grab his coat and storm out of the door.

༺──────────────༻

It took fifteen minutes for Salo to get lost.

What did I think would happen? He wasn't sure. Maybe the colorful lights reflecting from the puddles of icy water had distracted him. The hundreds of tourists may have disoriented him. Or perhaps it was the myriads of questions that swirled around his mind that occupied him as he sauntered around the market.

Why is Bela helping us? Just so she can see her son again, when he's a few hours away? What if it's a trap? But even if it was, there was little he could do about it. Korin had wasted his final breath directing them to the woman. Where else could they go, if not at the only lead he gave them?

The market was different under the gentle glow of the sinking sun. The taverns were opening their doors once more, drawing in customers with all kinds of promises for the night ahead.  Merchants had laid out their goods in hole ridden table cloths; exotic maps of the Isles of the Wind, ornately carved knives, dark veils embroidered with stars and moons. Salo thought he even spotted fireworks lying on a short stall. The last day of the winter festival was three nights away, and the town was already brimming with tireless foreigners rushing from one tourist trap to another.

Musha had nothing remarkable to display to the other nations, but they were good at one thing; making people think they did. Clever marketing and enticing promises were all the country had to offer, yet more people would rather see a paper dragon wandering around Karahi than witness the spectacles Seyal organized every year to improve the public's opinion of the Ascended, or the march of the king of Gwein outside Mona.

Salo sighed, shaking his head vigorously. He was forgetting his mission. Find Ailyn, give her some bilsen. Focus. Focus. Yet it was surprisingly hard to do so. The lights were dazzling. The flower garlands were absorbing the entirety of his attention. How am I ever going to find her?

"Hello, Salo Canbar." A whisper, in Seyali.

The boy snapped his head around, but he only caught a glimpse of red strands before a hand clasped around his mouth and twisted his neck to its previous position.

At first, Salo didn't know how to react. His limbs had frozen and his mind was twirling into a spiral of confusion. It only took a nudge from the figure behind him to snap him back to his senses. He started clawing at the hand concealing his yells, kicking his feet back, moving his head around. Nothing worked. The figure was more aggressive this time; it brought up its knee and shoved it on Salo's spine, causing the boy to slump forward. Soon, his already limited vision was taken away by a tough cloth wrapping around his eyes.

"If you try anything, you're a dead man." A male voice. A fierce one, too. Salo felt a cold surface on his neck. It dipped into his flesh, and blood oozed out of the wound. A knife. He has a knife.

The hand on his mouth retired, but another locked around his elbows before he could strike. That man wasn't like the preoccupied Arden he had fought back in Sevin. He was like how Arden would have been, had his mind been clear. What would Arden do in this situation? Salo asked himself, but he was soon met with an answer he didn't like. Give them what they want and avoid unnecessary conflict. If they're asking for too much, fight.

The man advanced. He led Salo down alleys, narrow streets. There wasn't a single sound in that neighborhood, and if there was it was completely over-shined by the pulse pumping frantically in his ears. "How do you know my name?" he whispered, trying not to aggravate the figure pushing him around.

Silence. Then, "Your friends called you that in the morning. And then you said something about the Kingfisher."

Salo's heart dropped to his stomach. They didn't want money. They wanted something he didn't have, something he needed for himself. He didn't try to run. If he had, the man would have snapped his neck right there and left him for the rats. "I don't have the artifact," he stated. The figure didn't stop moving.

After five minutes of thick silence and occasional prayers from Salo, the man halted. "There are steps here," he informed bluntly, and pushed the boy forward.

As they descended, Salo's ears popped. We're underground, he noted with dread. Why did he have to get distracted? Why didn't he escape while he still could? He began bargaining with his brain, calculating how things could have been if he had been braver. Maybe by now he would have found the herbal shop, helped Ailyn and returned to Bela's house with a shocking story to tell. He wasn't so sure he would even see that house again anymore.

The humid air stuck to his skin, and his gasps turned shallow. There wasn't an abundance of oxygen there in the first place, so his rapid breaths and pounding heart didn't help his case. It seemed like an eternity of stairs before the blindfold was finally removed from his face.

His eyes took a moment to adjust to the low lighting of the room. Or rather, the Mushan catacombs. He thought the only time he would find himself down there would be long after his last breath, but he was fully awake and conscious as he examined his surroundings. Piles of bones were stacked in openings on the walls, rattling with every vibration the man's heavy steps sent across the tunnel. Half-melted candles were illuminating Salo's horrified expression as he examined the mossed stones, the soiled rodents rushing by his feet, and finally, the large door towering over him. Some Mushan words he didn't recognize were carved on the wood, along with dragons and other mythical creatures.

He gulped, not daring to look back. "Where are we?"

There was no response. A hand extended next to his head, banging on the door three times. The sound reverberated across the crypt, sending the mice squeaking away.

A voice muttered something from the other side, and the man answered with words Salo couldn't understand. The door flew open, revealing a tall woman with long platinum hair running down her back glaring down at the shrunk boy. Salo's breath hitched.

"Listen," he quavered instantly after she removed her knife from its sheath. It glinted dangerously under the lamplight. "I know nothing more about the artifact than you do. Please--"

"Silence, puny boy." Her accent was thick, unlike the man's, who stepped in front of Salo right after the door was slammed closed. He couldn't be older than thirty. His slick ginger hair was pushed back, revealing pale skin full of scars and wounds. The brown eyes occupying his sockets would have otherwise seemed gentle, but under the terrified glance Salo threw him they seemed cunning, like a fox's.

"What... What is this place?" the boy stuttered, finally taking the courage to look around.

The place was packed. The tunnels of the catacombs were mostly tight, enough for only one or two people to pass at a time. Yet this room was different. The roof raised into a stone dome above their heads, from which a rusty chandelier dangled graciously. Multiple people of all races wandered around, duelled, argued. A certain insignia was in rugs hung from the wall, tattooed on scarred skin, worn as necklaces or wielded as daggers; a silver sword facing the ground and spread angel wings in a rich emerald emerging from its hilt. It was the same knife the tall woman was holding.

"This is the Resistance," the woman spoke and lowered her weapon. A wide smile spread on her lips, revealing pearly, sharp teeth, which gave Salo a foreboding shiver. "We have a deal for you."

***

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