Visionless

"Feel anything yet?" Ren's ears twitched as he leaned against a nearby tree, watching Adam intently.

Adam squinted at the small crystal in his hand, his face a mask of concentration. "No… not really," he muttered, frustration creeping into his voice.

Ren sighed, crossing his arms. "You sure you know anything about magic? I mean, I've been around my fair share of mages, and I've never seen them do… whatever this is." He gestured vaguely at Adam's hunched posture and furrowed brow.

"I don't know magic," Adam shot back, his tone defensive. "I was told I might be able to sense it, though."

Ren raised an eyebrow, tilting his head slightly. "Sense it? Okay… maybe try feeling for any power inside you or something. A few mages I've met said magic feels like a current, like water rushing through their body."

Adam closed his eyes and focused harder, trying to picture a river flowing through him. A minute passed. Then another. Finally, he groaned and tossed the crystal onto his lap. "Nope. Nothing. Not a spark, not a trickle." He slumped back, rubbing his temples.

Ren smirked, shaking his head. "Well, congrats. You've successfully ruled out one way to sense magic. Only a few hundred methods left to try."

Adam glared at him. "Oh, thanks. That's so helpful."

"Hey, I'm just saying. Maybe magic's not your thing. Or maybe you're overthinking it. Relax a bit." Ren grinned, baring a flash of teeth. "Who knows? Maybe it'll hit you when you least expect it. Like lightning."

Adam muttered something under his breath, picking up the crystal again. "Yeah, well, let's hope it doesn't hit me literally."

-----------------------

"Edward, they're calling for you. Go on in," said the masked man, his tone calm but commanding. Edward sat perched on a wooden crate just outside the towering carnival tent, the chaotic sounds of laughter, music, and spinning rides filling the night air.

The masked man, the enigmatic leader of the carnival and the sole liaison for Blackclaw's elusive employers, stood at the tent's entrance. His unsettling porcelain mask reflected the flickering lantern light, making him appear more like a ghost than a man.

Edward stood, brushing the dust off his coat. "Anything I should know before I go in?"

The masked man shook his head slowly. "No. Just keep quiet. Speak only when spoken to. Otherwise…" He tilted his head and let out a dry chuckle. "Well, I'm sure you can figure it out."

With a theatrical bow, the masked man stepped aside and gestured toward a darkened section of the tent. Edward hesitated for a moment, adjusting the collar of his jacket, before striding forward. The carnival noises dimmed behind him as he entered the shadowy interior.

The first thing he noticed was the oppressive silence—a sharp contrast to the riotous energy outside. The air was heavy, thick with an unplaceable tension. In the center of the dimly lit space, a figure knelt on the ground. Their face was obscured by a curtain of disheveled, filthy hair that hung down like a veil, and their arms were raised above their head, wrists bound together by something invisible.

Edward's eyes narrowed. It wasn't rope or chains that held the person; their arms seemed to be suspended by sheer force, as though gripped by unseen hands. The way their body strained and quivered told of pain, though no sound escaped them.

As Edward ventured deeper into the shadowy expanse of the tent, the eerie atmosphere pressed against him like a living thing. The bound figure he had seen earlier, now clearly a woman, began to move. Her arms twitched, shifting as though she were pulling at invisible strings. The motion was unnatural, a puppet master controlling unseen marionettes—or perhaps herself. 

A voice boomed from the darkness, cold and authoritative, cutting through the oppressive silence. 

"Let the meeting commence. Edward Terikson, you are to answer all questions truthfully. Failure to comply will result in... punishment." 

Edward froze, his breath caught in his throat. His shock turned to unease as another voice joined the first, this one feminine and dripping with a refined menace. 

"Now, Mr. Terikson," the woman said, her tone as smooth as velvet, "I trust you'll be cooperative. It would be such a shame if we had to resort to... improper measures." A faint chuckle accompanied the words, light yet laden with threat. 

"Step forward," she commanded, her voice hardening. "It is time for judgment." 

Edward swallowed hard, his throat dry. His boots scraped against the wooden floor as he stepped forward, the sound echoing unnaturally in the confined space. As he moved, faint glimmers of light flickered to life around him—small candles igniting one by one, their pale flames casting dancing shadows across the walls. 

The dim illumination revealed more of the tent's sinister interior. A circle of thrones came into view, each carved from a strange, mottled material—a bluish hue that reminded Edward of drowned flesh, cold and lifeless. The thrones were unsettlingly identical, save for slight details marking each occupant's identity. 

Upon the thrones sat six figures—or, more precisely, six puppets. They were fashioned from polished wood, expertly painted to mimic human features, yet their faces were deliberately obscured by shadows cast by their towering headpieces. Each puppet seemed alive in its own way, their heads tilted as though watching Edward with silent judgment. 

Edward's breath hitched as the woman's voice spoke again, now sharper and more commanding. 

"Do not keep us waiting, Mr. Terikson. You stand before the Tribunal of Strings, and we are not a patient council. Begin." 

Edward's mind raced, his pulse hammering in his ears. The puppets' unmoving stares were suffocating, and the air seemed to grow heavier with each passing second. He stepped forward into the center of the circle, the flickering candlelight casting his shadow long and distorted across the tent. 

"Good," the woman purred, her voice curling around him like smoke. "Let us begin."

"Edward Terikson," an elderly voice rasped, sharp and commanding. "Is it true that the mission assigned to Admiral Blackclaw has ended in failure?"

Edward hesitated, taking a measured breath before answering. "Yes. The mission was a failure, resulting in the death of Admiral Blackclaw."

A different puppet shifted slightly, the polished wood of its joints creaking faintly. The voice that emerged from it was smooth and cold, carrying a sharper edge. "And what of the items Admiral Blackclaw was sent to safeguard?"

Edward raised an eyebrow at the question but kept his composure. "I'm not certain what items you're referring to," he replied cautiously, his tone steady.

The puppet tilted its head, as if amused by his answer. "A dagger... and an arm," it clarified. "I believe you're familiar with at least one of those."

Edward's thoughts raced. A dagger? I know about the arm—that monstrous thing of his, strong as ten men—but a dagger? What dagger?

After a moment's pause, he spoke, his tone carefully neutral. "I'm unaware of any dagger. As for the arm, from what I've gathered, it was destroyed and subsequently taken by the Guild."

The elderly voice hummed thoughtfully, the sound reverberating eerily through the tent. "Destroyed," it repeated softly, as if testing the word.

"Convenient," the smoother voice interjected, its tone laced with suspicion. "Destroyed, yet claimed. Curious, wouldn't you agree?"

Edward clenched his fists behind his back but kept his expression composed. "With respect, Blackclaw's arm was a tool of destruction. I doubt anyone here would mourn its loss."

The puppet chuckled faintly, an unsettling sound like dry leaves scraping across stone. "Perhaps not. But tools, Mr. Terikson, often have a way of finding new hands to wield them. As does the dagger."

Edward frowned. What is so important about this dagger? He nodded slowly, feigning understanding. "If it still exists, it would be in Guild custody, along with what remains of Blackclaw's possessions."

The elderly voice spoke again, sharper this time. "See to it that you confirm this, Edward. Our benefactors will not tolerate loose ends. The arm and dagger are of... significant interest."

"As for the dagger," a new voice cut through the silence, sharp and eager, with a youthful edge that barely masked its greed. "Well, it should be nothing more than an ordinary metallic blade without any unique properties... as of now. Thoughts on mass production?" 

The elderly voice responded, deliberate and firm. "Not yet. It requires further testing. Send a few batches to the Arhime Academy. They'll uncover its potential." 

A refined, mature voice scoffed, dripping with disdain. "You mages are all the same—worse than dragons when it comes to hoarding knowledge! Always tinkering, always scheming. You'd burn the world if it meant another discovery for your collection." 

The authoritative voice, cold and commanding, silenced the growing tension with its sheer presence. "Enough. This bickering is beneath us. Edward." 

Edward straightened at the sound of his name, his heart pounding. "Yes?" 

"You are to oversee a new mission," the commanding voice continued, unyielding. "A transaction of great importance will soon take place. You will ensure its success. No complications. No interference. We do not tolerate failure twice." 

Edward hesitated, wondering briefly if they could see his reaction. "Understood, sir. I'll ensure everything goes smoothly." 

A pause lingered, heavy with expectation. Edward, feeling the weight of their silence, cleared his throat. "Where will this transaction occur?" 

A small, wispy voice finally answered, soft and chilling, like the last breath of a dying wind. "In the capital of the Holy Empire." 

Edward's breath caught for a moment. The Holy Empire—a place crawling with inquisitors, guards, and watchful eyes. He nodded, then realized they might not see the gesture. "I'll prepare for it immediately," he said aloud. 

"Good," the elderly voice intoned, heavy with finality. "The dagger's significance will soon reveal itself. If you falter, Edward, know this—there will be no place in this world or the next where you can escape us." 

Another voice chimed in, playful and mocking. "Don't take it personally, Edward. It's just how we operate. The stakes are high, and so are the punishments." 

The candlelight wavered as if in agreement, casting unsettling shadows across the puppets. Edward felt the weight of their expectations crush against his shoulders. 

"You'll receive further details soon," the cold, commanding voice concluded. "Dismissed." 

Edward bowed stiffly, his mind already racing with the challenges ahead. He turned on his heel and walked out of the tent, the flickering candlelight dimming behind him. Once outside, he exhaled deeply, the carnival sounds washing over him in stark contrast to the grim meeting he had just endured.

(My revenge will have to wait for now, Edward thought as he exited the oppressive atmosphere of the tent, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. But with their resources, their influence... I might be able to achieve far more than I ever imagined.)*

The cool night air hit his face as he stepped into the carnival's chaotic vibrancy. The clash of cheerful laughter, music, and flickering lights felt grotesquely out of place after the grim meeting. His jaw tightened as his mind raced with thoughts of the transaction ahead—and the risks involved.

Waiting just outside the tent, the masked man greeted him with exaggerated flair, a wide, sweeping bow and a flourish of his hand. His ornate mask, painted in swirling colors of gold and crimson, gleamed in the torchlight as he straightened.

"Ah, Edward, there you are!" the masked man exclaimed in a sing-song tone, holding out a sealed envelope as if presenting a grand prize. "This little treasure is just for you—a juicy tidbit of information about your exciting new mission!" He leaned in conspiratorially, his voice dropping to a theatrical whisper. "Danger, intrigue, the thrill of it all! How positively delicious!"

Edward snatched the envelope without a word, his expression locked in a grim scowl. The masked man's antics grated on him, but he reminded himself that this over-the-top performer was his only tether to the shadowy figures inside the tent.

The masked man clapped his hands, the sound ringing out like a drumroll. "Oh, do lighten up, my dear Edward! Life is far too short for scowls and furrowed brows. Who knows, you might even enjoy yourself! And should you survive—if you survive, of course—do bring me back a little souvenir, won't you?" He giggled, the sound high and melodramatic, before adding with mock sincerity, "Something shiny, something deadly, something with a story to tell. Hahaha!"

Edward's grip on the envelope tightened as he suppressed the urge to tell the man off. "I'll keep that in mind," he muttered, his tone clipped.

"Oh, splendid!" the masked man replied, spinning on his heel with a flourish of his velvet cape. "Now off you go, brave adventurer. The night awaits, and so does destiny! Or death. Either way, it'll be a grand show!"

Edward walked away without another glance, the masked man's laughter trailing after him like a haunting refrain. He slid the envelope into his coat, his thoughts churning. The road ahead was dark and treacherous, but in that darkness lay opportunity—and Edward intended to seize it with both hands.

------------------------

"…WAIT, I THINK I FEEL—" Adam froze, his face lighting up with sudden excitement, only to deflate a moment later. "No, never mind. Just a breeze." He slumped against the log he was sitting on, frustration etched across his features. "Ugh, this sucks!"

Ren, lounging lazily by the fire, chuckled. "Don't sweat it, kid. Magic's tricky business. You'll figure it out eventually." He stretched, his muscles rippling beneath his coat as he let out a wide yawn, his sharp, pristine teeth gleaming in the firelight. "Anyway, give it another shot tomorrow. We're about halfway to the capital now, and if anywhere's gonna make your magic sense kick in, it's there."

Adam raised an eyebrow. "You think the capital's magical enough to just… flip a switch in my head?"

Ren smirked, leaning back on his elbows. "You'd be surprised. Place is practically dripping with arcane energy—more rituals, enchanted stuff, and weird old relics than you can shake a stick at. Maybe being around all that will help. Or…" His grin widened mischievously, a glint of humor in his eyes. "…maybe you'll just get a really bad headache trying to keep up with all the mages."

Adam groaned, rubbing his temples. "Great. Something to look forward to."

"Hey, it's better than sitting here whining about breezes," Ren teased, flicking a small twig into the fire. The flames crackled and danced, reflecting in his amber eyes as his ears twitched, listening to the sounds of the night.

Adam sighed, leaning back and staring at the stars. "I just wish this wasn't so damn confusing. Everyone talks about magic like it's this mystical force you can just feel if you try hard enough."

Ren shrugged. "Well, not everyone's born a prodigy. But hey, no rush. You've got time." His tone softened slightly, though his smirk didn't entirely fade. "And if you don't figure it out? Well… I'll still keep you around. Someone's gotta fetch firewood and scare off bears."

Adam threw a pebble at him, which Ren easily dodged with a low chuckle. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, furball."

"Anytime," Ren said, his grin growing wider as he settled back against the log, his tail swishing lazily behind him.

(Furball? Seriously? That's the best I could come up with?!) Adam groaned internally, slumping deeper into his seat as embarrassment washed over him.