C3 Chapter 3

At the Blue Hawks’ headquarters, located in the administrative center of the capital of Albion, Lieutenant Thiel was waiting impatiently for his subordinate: the hooded figure that appeared so frequently in Enrique’s recurring dreams.

Sean Thiel, son to a Kiltish mother and Albionese father, was nearly thirty years old and had an imposing presence. Sean was a fire and darkness mage. He came from the Principality of Kilto, a country in western Elievagrand, one of the two continents that neighbored Albion. Kilto was governed by its prince and the World Magic Council and it was the sole nation responsible for keeping magic under strict control. Magic was for exclusive use by the Kiltish and they had kept its existence hidden from the rest of the world.

Everything about Sean Thiel had a marked coldness: his blond hair, his pale blue eyes, his every gesture as he gave orders to those around him. He was an astute and careful man, always keeping an eye on others. He understood the importance of knowing each person’s strengths and weaknesses in case he wanted to use them to his advantage and avoid unnecessary confrontations. During high school in Albion, Sean began to understand his true potential for dark magic and recognize his own thirst for power. It was also at this time that he became aware of his weaknesses. In difficult situations, one could not simply rely on luck.

One spring morning, a young Sean Thiel, who had already been practicing dark magic using his mother’s books – against her wishes – was with two school friends when they were confronted by a pair of street thugs. They had gone walking on the outskirts of the city, and while crossing through an abandoned lot, they were threatened at knifepoint by the two men who had been following them, and who now demanded they hand over their belongings. Sean knew that the use of magic was forbidden; thus, he ruled out attacking with the fire element. However, as he watched his friends struggling to fend off the thieves, he decided to use two dark magic spells to target the thieves’ internal organs. Dark magic had the ability to corrupt matter, causing immediate and fatal damage. The spell was almost impossible to detect, and took Sean mere seconds to cast. Almost immediately, the thieves began to shriek in pain, one struck with an intense stomachache and the other with an unbearable headache, leaving him babbling incoherently. The two men fled to a nearby open field. Sean, intrigued, did not follow his friends as they ran back home, but instead chose to pursue the attackers. Both of the would-be thieves were lying on the ground, almost a hundred yards away. By the time Sean reached them they were already dead, still gripped with expressions of horror. One of the men was hemorrhaging blood from the mouth, nose and eyes. The other was lying in fetal position, in a pool of blood – mixed with the feces that streamed out from between his legs.

A flood of thoughts invaded Sean’s mind. It was the first time that he had felt the enjoyment of inflicting an absolute defeat on another. He realized that he was nearly immune to such horrific sights, and this only confirmed his suspicions; for even as a child, he had never felt sadness or pity upon seeing dead animals. This time they were human beings, but his reaction was the same: indifference. Sean was a mere observer, with no connection to what he was seeing. This was his first opportunity to truly witness the power of dark magic. He could see why other mages had rejected it so sternly. Yet he felt no regret. If he had not been so quick to cast the spell, and if the thieves had not been so sure of themselves, he might not have defeated them. He had to admit that luck had played a part. And thus, he vowed to always calculate his next steps; he would minimize any chance there was for failure. When he returned home, he could think only of obtaining more power, of becoming stronger, of needing never again to depend on luck. Mastery of his actions was essential. His mother – who had always been his teacher in magic – noticed the change in Sean. She deduced what had happened after reading newspaper reports about the dead men and receiving letters from the families of Sean’s schoolmates. There was nothing she could do to stop her son; she was now resigned to witness his rise to power. It did not take long for Sean to grow into one of the best mages that the Principality had ever seen.

Sean Thiel was a lieutenant in the Kiltish Navy – an institution he had made his way into so he would eventually gain access to the secrets of the state. Thanks to his work in intelligence, he knew what was required to manage the logistical operations of a new, special police force. This unit, called the Blue Hawks, was to have new roles and a new name. It needed someone with precisely his abilities: a new leader that could come to grips with the enigma of the university murders.

Being a lieutenant, as well as an emissary – a member of the Emissary Corps, a special group responsible for controlling the tentacled and clawed monsters – Sean could choose to wear either of the two uniforms. He preferred to wear his military uniform. It amplified his personal sense of power. The military uniform was comprised of a white suit and a circular cloak that only covered his chest with golden and black details, ending in a ’V’ shape in the front. The rest of the uniform consisted of a jacket with buttons down the middle, and some golden and black distinguishing features on the shoulders and sleeves; straight-legged pants and black boots completed the attire. His medals hung from his jacket, at chest level, hidden by the cloak.

With a folder full of documents under his arm and flanked by two Blue Hawks’ officers who were also carrying a large stack of papers, Sean Thiel entered the meeting chamber with a commanding gait that distinguished him from the others. The room was rectangular, with white walls and golden details decorating the corners and the columns. The space had been adapted to make it suitable for important briefings on the latest killings, as well as for meetings between Kiltish emissaries. The wall facing the windows was dominated by a large picture depicting a strange mountainous forest located in northern Kilto.

The floor was covered in square marble tiles, and flower-filled vases adorned furniture against the walls. There was a round table surrounded by armchairs, and another, larger, oval table, surrounded by several elaborately carved wooden chairs. A massive candelabrum was suspended from the ceiling. At night it served to illuminate the entire room, giving it a majestic air. Sean’s round white cloak shone in the morning sunlight streaming in through the wide, soaring arch-topped windows. A solitary cream-colored hooded silhouette stared out into the inner garden from one of the windows.

Seeing the figure, Sean stopped and made a clear hand gesture to the two Hawks accompanying him – a signal for them to leave the room. They understood the message and retreated through the door in silence. The lieutenant waited until they had left the room and the door had closed behind them. Sean then enacted a movement spell – the equivalent of telekinesis in Enrique’s world. He drew the necessary symbol in his mind and conjured forth an energy that, while invisible, could move the door’s locking mechanism and bolt it tightly.

Sean then approached the masked figure. As he came closer, the morning light coming through the window fell directly on Sean’s face. He reacted by moving his free hand in a quick flurry, closing the first curtain with another spell. He did not need to use his hand to cast the complicated movement spell from a distance. However, his annoyance in the moment made him react. The silhouette turned, a white mask covering its face. Sean knew that the mask was part of the emissary uniform, but he was reluctant to use it himself. Ignoring the silhouette, he walked slowly over to the armchair-encircled table and set down his folder there. He opened it, revealing the contents. Inside there were letters and official government documents, as well as one bearing the Albion coat of arms. Sean and the masked figure always spoke in Kiltish.

"The mail arrived," Sean said, glancing sideways at the masked figure, who joined him at the table. The masked figure’s cream-colored cloak was adorned with golden and silver details along the edges and on the inside; beneath the cloak, he was also wearing a loose beige uniform resembling a battle tunic, and brown leather boots and gauntlets. Very carefully, Sean Thiel took the document bearing the Albionese coat of arms and placed it under the other papers without the masked figure noticing. He then shut the folder. "But there’s nothing for you."

The hooded figure lowered his head and brought a hand to his face.

"Ah, ah. Don’t take it off. It’s best you get used to wearing it all the time," Sean said. The emissary straightened his arms slowly against his sides and stiffened into a rigid posture.

"It is a little uncomfortable," replied the hooded figure, his voice distorted and deep.

"It may be uncomfortable, but it’s necessary." Sean walked toward him and stood by his side. He continued speaking without looking at the masked figure. "How did it go with those Zanszprët?"

Zanszprët , pronounced ’Zandshpriet’, meant ’claw’ in Kiltish. It was the name that had been given to these monsters for hundreds of years – a reference to the terrible appendage that was hidden within their bodies.

An uncomfortable silence followed.

"There is nothing new to report," the figure replied.

Sean shot a cold, sideways glance in the latter’s direction.

"Well. With your curriculum vitae it was to be expected. Continue like this and you will never need anyone’s help." Sean took a few steps toward the door and began to speak – his back still turned to the masked figure. "And what about the others?"

The hooded figure was quiet and as still as a statue. The work of an emissary was not only to regulate, administer, monitor and restrict the use of magic outside of Kilto, ensuring that knowledge of magic did not spread throughout the rest of the world; but also to fight the Zanszprët and stop them from causing harm to innocent people. The Blue Hawks assisted in this task, cleaning up the crime scenes and ensuring that no clues were left behind that could give away the true nature of the crime. Apart from these creatures, there were other individuals who – owing to a specific condition – had to be captured before they could become dangerous: those known as fatesmiths . Almost nothing about these had been revealed to the masked figure. With the help of a special stone – the Aurora Stone – he was tasked to detect and confront them. His brief was to apprehend and deliver the fatesmiths to his superior, Sean Thiel. However, there was something about the coldness in Sean’s eyes that made the masked figure uneasy about carrying out this particular mission. From the very moment he had met him, when he had arrived in Albion at the end of July, he had never fully trusted Sean. He recalled that when he first arrived, and had inquired as to the nature of the fatesmiths, Lieutenant Thiel had responded that it was not information he needed to know. Since then, the hooded emissary had used different excuses to justify his failure to fulfill the task. It was not his wish to submit seemingly innocent people to the lieutenant’s judgment. Unfortunately, Sean had become aware of this; and even worse for the masked figure, it was exactly the kind of attitude that the lieutenant had always sought to weed out from his teams. That his subordinate was clearly uninterested in capturing fatesmiths made Sean furious; the fact that he was unable to punish the hooded figure who came recommended by Jorkast Kolamzi himself – no less than the president of the World Magic Council – made him even angrier.

Kolamzi had read a report on the hooded figure’s exploits dating back a few years; he knew that the latter had vanquished a Zanszprët using an Aurora Stone, without any prior training. Emissaries usually required countless practice sessions in order to master the act of channeling energies with the artifact, but the masked figure had needed no such guidance. According to historical records, the likelihood of that happening was one in a hundred.

"Not even one yet?" Sean continued, turning toward the masked figure with a stern expression on his face, his body held in an imposing military stance. "Capturing these individuals is part of our work. It’s good and well that you fulfill your other role, but you must not forget that it is not the only duty we have. Just make sure of this: any one that you find, you bring it to me." A malicious grin crept over Sean’s face as he spoke. "It is your prime objective. If you can’t complete this mission, I won’t be able to give you the other one."

But he was lying. In fact, Sean Thiel was not going to wait for the masked figure to capture the fatesmiths, he would rather take this task into his own hands.

The lieutenant walked toward the door in silence. He opened it with both hands, pausing for a moment to glance back at the masked emissary, who had not moved an inch.

"And fix your cloak. You cannot wear a uniform in that condition."

Upon uttering those words, the lieutenant disappeared down the hall. The hooded figure waited until he was definitely alone before glancing down to inspect his cloak. It was clear enough: a small section had been ripped off the night before.