Strands of mist stacked onto the ether-rich air inside the reserved room.

The blue and silver couch Luke and Emalia sat upon sank from their weight. Sooty settled down on Luke's right shoulder, and Whispering Tome floated above his left. The light in the room slowly died down, barely a bother to Luke's senses. Emalia was a bona fide tier 2 herself, although a noncombatant class, her visual acuity couldn't be discounted.

Ceasing the dance around the subject, Emalia said, "Your father isn't the first of his kind, my family is far from a clean group, but we ultimately want what is good for this Duchy, because that is also for our own survival in the end. Something those isolated in wealth forget until it's too late." Her spirit shone in her face. "We've done a share of unsavory acts. Shipping away Elaria's talents out of the country is not one of them."

"Shipping away? You mean to say that you think my dad isn't in this Duchy anymore?"

"Precisely. A mere unmarried maiden like me with only a middling position in the family couldn't know where he went next. In the interest of keeping a good relationship with you, I'll say that it's possible he's within Duchy borders, unlikely as that is." She splayed a hand over her chest. "In no way, shape or form is he still within Sylen. The people with any possibility of firsthand knowledge would have to be the tier 3 leadership members of the underworld powers, or the heads of either Titled noble family."

The noblewoman crossed her legs. "Your father is alive, but you already knew that. The Sacrament cult has infiltrated deep into every power that be in this city, except for your Defiers." She pointed at the back of Luke's hand. "That symbol you hide within there prevents them. Any who try meet a swift end by the High Defier."

Picking up on details, Luke said, "That includes your family? This Sacrament cult is part of the two Titled noble clans as well?"

Emalia blinked slowly. She kept a sad smile. "They are, as for how high up they go, or who exactly has converted, I don't know. They developed a method to hide the mark on their tongues. Each has taken a drop of the Ichor of one of the god creatures at some point. My grandmother is at her wits' end trying to develop a method to root them out with certainty, with only mixed results so far."

"How do you know your grandmother also isn't one?"

"Then we would all be Sacrament members, myself included."

The Reaver took that at face value. When he viciously battled Garic and Vathen, they both took Ichor, and he could sense an intense revulsion at their presence. He didn't know if that was because they just took Ichor, revealed it, or some other factor. But that same revulsion never picked up around Emalia or her uncle. Thinking back on it, when those tier 2s ambushed him on Sylen's streets, a similar sense overtook him. Like his deepest blood rejected anything divine.

Quite fitting for an inheritor of one of the seven sins, if he could say so himself. He wondered if it worked if near enough to someone within the Sacrament, or if they ever drank a drop of Ichor. It obviously didn't work over a great distance, otherwise he'd have long been on a cult slaughtering spree. He did do something similar against lesser underworld groups for different reasons.

Piecing together Emalia's reveal, Luke summed it as best he could. "There's a chance some members of your family are still involved?" He said, unable to fully conceal the sharp tone.

"There could be, but I swear it on the World Spirit, whoever the defectors are, they aren't the ones primarily responsible."

Luke sighed. "That's probably the best I can ask for in this situation. If your family is afflicted, how bad off are the Pyrites?"

"They keep any such leaks down airtight. Any of our spies planted in their manor have been killed ruthlessly over the last months. I'm afraid both sides are in the dark about the other, with how deep the corruption runs."

Certain that Emalia had little else to reveal, the Reaver got up, he put a hand on her shoulder before leaving. "Those involved, whether they be Miel, Pyrite, under Sylen, or with a god creature." He paused, breathing in deeply. "I will kill them all. Thanks Emalia, since I'm in debt to your family, we may be seeing more of each other."

He tapped onto the orb responsible for teleporting people off this floor and reappeared at the entrance on the ground floor. Except for attendants clearing out the closed auction, one other soul remained behind, apparently waiting for him, as Luke read from her body language.

With each step toward Luke, sound waves rippled in the air, controlled like a limb—visible to the naked eye. Ophelia genuflected a hand out to Luke, her black hair floating at the edges. "I overheard that woman choosing to reveal the existence of the Sacrament to you. In due time, you would've encountered them with regularity. Any who begin to reach the top of Sylen will clash against their aims."

"You could've told me at our last meeting. Didn't you suspect their involvement by then?" Luke said, noting the sound aura barrier the City Lord skillfully set up with a glance.

"It would change nothing, novice Defier. Men and women loyal for years, suddenly traitors the next. My personal checking with the deepest sound waves catches them every once in a twin moon. That method is far from perfect. The High Defier himself is troubled by their latest methods. None have managed to fool the Defier Mark. Your group is the last pure of their insidious means."

Rubbing a dress shoe into the flooring, Luke tensed his jaw for a moment. All these puppet masters, dripping information either only when it suited them or he forced it out. He subconsciously rubbed Wayfinder.

"Unrepentant as ever, City Lord," Luke said. "So you admit even your faction is contaminated. Could any of them have contributed to—"

"The chances are all but zero," Ophelia's aura grew into a low hum. "While knowing if they are part of the Sacrament would be near impossible for me, their taking such an audacious act within city limits is not. Each member of the Sylen city government at tier 1 or higher, no matter the role, harbors a Sound Shard of mine. Any violent action they undertake is reported back at the speed of sound."

Internally synthesizing, Luke thought, Direct involvement is a no from the City Lord's faction then. Indirect help could still be possible, though, if difficult. She's not free of suspicion. Rather, her other members aren't, but at least I can be pretty sure they likely aren't the ultimate masterminds.

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Sooty flapped her wings in annoyance. Their bond communicated to Luke that she'd grown tired of this 'gold nest' as she called it. At the end of his own temperance for politics, the man spoke to Ophelia. "Any other reason you've kept me up? I'd like to leave."

Ophelia pressed a finger on Luke's forehead at a speed he couldn't react to, even if his senses picked it up. A special sound wave implanted itself in a metaphysical form. "There, a Sound Shard is in you. When you fight, I'll know where." She sealed his lips with a finger. "You're not officially part of Sylen's city faction, so the limits are stripped away. This is to keep a tracer on you. Remember the agreement between us." She stepped past him, movements echoing, the ground itself shifted. "I wouldn't dare to think you as one, but this city never tolerates deserters before the Tide. We will negotiate after the god beasts devout monstrosities have been repelled. Good day, newborn elemental."

Like that, whisked away by sound, Ophelia Cyrn left Luke's range of senses. He figured the City Lord would plant her own form of insurance. For now, he had little choice in the matter. Annoying as it was, this failed to change any of his planned actions; he just had to remember another string stuck itself in him. The masters may play, but Luke refused to become a puppet to their moves. Ophelia would know his violet actions. She lacked justification to stop any of them, unless directly against her governance.

Which, for the near future, he saw no reason to do that. Avoiding the clutches of anyone else, Luke left the auction house, stepping into Midas Square. Buildings abound all competed to show off their opulence and wealth, fragrant flowers adorned the edges, and fountains spouted out crystal clear water. At this time of night, a handful of patrons from the auctions or other stores in the vicinity stuck around.

None were casual in their intention. Overhearing some conversations, Luke summed it up as last-minute preparations before those who could legally leave Sylen—would. A minority were ruing over their failures in the auction. Far more lost than won in that regard. Crowds parted by Luke, since he unleashed the elemental aura naturally part of him, they left him alone. Owing to his ice affinity, the air entered a state of near freezing.

The Reaver let himself wander where his feet naturally took him. In this case, deeper into the Western Quadrant of Sylen. The part of the city that hosted the majority of the wealthy, nobles, and tier 3 hunters when not in the Silver Black Tower or in the Defier's guild. Meaning the manor of the Miel's or Pyrite's should also be somewhere nearby. That struck an idea as Luke decided to confirm something.

He headed to a less-attended garden and sat down on a bench. Luke summoned his own aura veil to prevent any eavesdroppers, reinforced with the natural elemental power he possessed, it probably did the trick against usual measures.

"Xera start humming or something, just in case." He rubbed a cheek on Sooty. "Fly up above, keep anyone away from the bench. I need some privacy." Sooty flapped her wings and went up into the sky, curious, but listening to the command.

Finally, he looked out into the garden, speaking, yet not making direct eye contact with Wayfinder. "Devil's Needle is available again, isn't it?"

"Sure you want to use that direction this close to the big wabam, frosty? It'll cost another leg of time before it comes back, ain't as forgiving as my other measures either," Wayfinder softly said with his typical flair, not entirely convinced they were alone.

There would always be the chance Luke's current measures failed to account for everything, but he couldn't run around this entire damn city in fear the whole time. Devil's Needle could shed light where he wanted it, so the sooner used, the better used. Luke stayed in close contact with Sooty through Reaver's Link. Xera's terrible humming managed to sound like metal screeching on stone, not all that surprising as a living weapon. Its intended purpose to steer away curious onlookers did its job, often cuffing their ears as they buzzed off.

Convinced the coast was as clear as it reasonably would get, Luke leaned a bit, hunching while on the park bench, under the shade of a tree, the dual moons shone down gentle yet insidious light. Whispering Tome did a semi-circle around the Reaver's back, pages wildly fluttering back and forth.

"Wayfinder."

"Aye?"

"Tell me the limits of Devil's Needle, so I know how best to use it."

For a long moment, Wayfinder stayed silent. Luke thought that perhaps some other rule, like those nebulous 'World Laws' he encountered during Whispering Tome's creation, might be interfering.

Thankfully, that wasn't the case. Wayfinder coughed like an old man, inner springs crunching. His needle pointed at Luke, the compass said, "Askin' for anything beyond your current capabilities is impossible. My guidance always remains in the realm of what your sorry hide misses without me shiny exterior."

"Meaning?" Luke said, wanting details.

"Pointing me for a way directly to your da might be beyond me greatness, if the rapscallions involved are too great an obstacle. Pleading for a steep, yet achievable direction can be the best use, without pissin' away the needle's ability."

Tapping on the bench, it began to freeze. Luke converted it into solid ice in a couple seconds. Eventually, he sorted out the boundary somewhat. He said, "When I ask for guidance, it has to be something I have at least the smallest chance to survive doing?"

"That be one way to put it, I might be an ornery old spirit, but leadin' you to your certain death is something I'll refuse on account of me flimsy moral directions. Ask for a way to bed that City Lord, and all you'd get is a refusal on the needle."

Breathing in the misting night air, Luke internally organized with the other two instances he'd used Devil's Needle as a guide.

During its first use, I was far too haywire from near death by goblin to gather much on the ability. Yet it brought me to the trial door. The second use, it showed bubbling death skulls in nearly every direction. I must've asked for something near the edges of possibility in that case. An icy calm settled upon Luke at that thought. By all accounts, he should've died that night. All because of Chander Pyrite's childish meltdown and position within the Pyrite Titled noble clan.

Suddenly being coerced by debt into direct opposition to the Pyrites didn't sting quite as much. That man-child destined they be enemies anyway, so why fret over it? All in all, Wayfinder simply showed what was possible with guidance and desire. If he asked Wayfinder to show him the 'path' to killing Musai or something else ridiculous, then all he'd receive is a wasted cooldown.

"Can I somehow get a sense if my ask is too much for the ability?"

"Aye, concentrate deeply, see the tether growing when you formulate your particular question for the Devil's Needle. A potent rejection to your blackened spirit is the key, lad. Push for it, and all that stubbornness will get is a waste of my guidance going kaput."

Trying it out, Luke mentally prepared some questions, honing in on Devil's Needle, not activating it, but querying it instead. He started off with a ridiculous one.

Show me how to find my dad in one hour.

An ocean's worth of rejection struck at Luke's soul. Whatever stood between him and the direct path to his dad would result in no chance of survival currently, at least within the allotted time frame. It also perhaps had something to do with the fact Devil's Needle ran out of duration eventually, unlike most of Wayfinder's other abilities, it didn't have an iron set rule to how long it lasted, but it couldn't be something beyond a few hours—likely less than that.

He moved on to a similar mental question, asking for a path within a day, and the whiplash, while still enormous, wasn't quite as severe. It seemed a direct way asked for too much at the moment. Ruminating, he went a different direction altogether, in the hopes it would be reasonable enough to complete.

Guide me to the person most responsible for my dad's disappearance in this city.

The connection calculated for a while. Weighing Luke's abilities and the burden of the ask. A faint acceptance came, one weak enough that the Reaver could brute force it, close to how his second use of Devil's Needle concluded. At the confirmation, a desirous pounding started within. Wayfinder ability came close to omniscience if Luke met the proper parameters. Something he'd use to the fullest.

But not without some preparation. Even he had no clue how he'd act when the time came, and whoever that person may be in this city stood within sight. Two sides battled within, the emotional side: do it now. The logical side: prepare to make the best use of it, you won't have another chance before the Tide.

A mixed outcome won out. He would undergo the second ascension ritual sometime tomorrow. He had the rest of the night. The fact that Devil's Needle accepted the query meant that even without reaching tier 2, Luke could complete the request. Still, barging in without some immediate preparation was stupid, especially when taking into account that Luke rarely controlled himself well in matters like this.

Sending intent through Reaver's Link, Luke managed to get Sooty to land nearby, glide-hopping alongside him. The Western Quadrant fielded a tiny number of inns, each demanded an exorbitant fee for the night, despite the fact they had far below maximum occupancy.

Hard to be booked when everyone who can flee the city, is. Sylen, by tomorrow morning—or the next—would have barely enough people for necessary logistics, and keeping order. Outside of a tiny minority of civilians who voluntarily stayed, everyone else would be combat-capable people. As such, Luke grumbled as he paid the two gold fee for a room. The minutes saved were worth it.

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