[INTERLUDE]

  {DARSIUS AND SERENYA}

  Darsius relished the feeling that lingered whenever Serenya placed her head on his chest. His body stiffened, trying not to move so as not to wake her up. Her soft breaths drew him into a rhythm that drowned him in a soothing tepidity he could only call love, but he did not. He let her intermittent, gentle snores lull him further into comfort, opening up a new world of peace.

  He liked her flowery smell. Her hair? Her skin? He couldn't tell. The appealing scent triggered memories of his mother; the memories dug up a time he wished to forget. It was a time before he gained purpose. A time when he was only destined to be the baker's son, or even worse, a time when he still had a father.

  Darsius disliked his father, not because his father was an alcoholic, not because his father was a violent man who beat his wife and kids. Darsius hated his father because he was an unambitious wretch, a shit baker who lived that way for the rest of his life. The weight of their hidden legacy crushed his father's soul and spirit; it ground him down into a shell of a man. Darsius took that burden away from his father, and he was so close to accomplishing his goal. His destiny lay at Valedara's Crypt, and time was slowly inching him closer to it.

  *-----*

  Serenya raised her head from Darsius's still chest. The drowsy heat of the bed fogged her mind and made distasteful beads of sweat cling to her body. Long minutes of coitus proved somniferous, and after much-needed sleep, she desired a shower. She met Darsius's tender smile. Her heart skipped a beat. Something casual was becoming something more. Serenya struggled to frame what she felt. Was it love? She was not sure. Serenya was not born into love; her world only knew war.

  However, aren't wars all about love? She thought.

  "Nya?" Darsius called.

  Serenya was drawn back to the smile; she smiled back.

  "Yes, River, or is it Dar?" She teased.

  "Call me yours," Darsius said, tugging Serenya's chin close, their lips grazing.

  "Now that's cringe and undeserving of whatever you are attempting," Serenya said.

  Pulling away from the bed, Serenya felt his fingers run down her skin as she whisked away from Darsius. His smile had turned sly. Heat reddened her cheeks, and she bit her lips. Darsius tried to catch her hand, but Serenya slipped away. She stood at the edge of the bed. His eyes roamed, and so did hers.

  "What's the rush?" Darsius asked.

  "I presume restraint is not your strong suit."

  "No man can resist you, especially looking like that," Darsius said as he got out of bed as well.

  "How do I look?"

  "Hot," he took a step," risqué," he added.

  Darsius wrapped his hands around her waist.

  Serenya wrapped hers around his neck, pulled him in. She listened to his uneven, pacy breaths. His ears reddened as her breath grazed them.

  "I think a man like Cassian can resist this."

  Darsius scowled. She grinned. His scowl became a frown. Joy bloomed in her chest.

  He clicked his tongue.

  "I don't like how he looms around my neck. It's bothersome,"

  Serenya stood by the bathroom door.

  " Then do something about it," she said.

  "I might do."

  "You probably won't," Serenya commented from behind the bathroom wall.

  *-----*

  Darsius could not define what he and Serenya had. He knew he did not hate her. He also knew he could not trust her, but he also knew it was no longer just sex. Strings were already attached, though he could not call it love. The love he knew was not gentle nor kind; it was rough and hidden in acts of violence and negligence. Darsius questioned whether Serenya felt the same. Is it just a game? A ploy to distract him. He did not need distractions, and he had a decision to make.

  He dipped out of the bath, and the water splashed in response. He faced the mirror. It showed flesh—but he looked deeper, past what others saw to what he truly was. A child of destiny born to fix the world. Rid the world of the Imperium's oppression. A force of nature willing to do anything to make the world better. He was ready to start with Cassian Atrius Valerian.

  Darsius peeled away from the mirror and towards the main room. Serenya dressed in a white tunic, the fabric flowed like water as she draped it over her legs to sit.

  "Wool?" Darsius asked.

  "No!" Serenya said as if repulsed," Dustmere, the good kind."

  "Silk is better."

  Serenya frowned. Darsius passed her as he went for his drawer. Serenya turned to Darsius.

  "The cheap fabric imports from the south are doing irreparable damage to our culture and industries. Even the military no longer uses Imperium fabrics."

  "Because they are not worth the money. You are only complaining because your family owns a Dustmere milling factory."

  "That's beside the point. Everyone wants silk dresses and Vicu?a coats. They are even more expensive than Dustmere and Ossari, but you wouldn't know."

  "Because I am a plebeian?" Darsius asked.

  "No, because you are ignorant."

  "There isn't much difference between the two," Darsius joked.

  Darsius dressed, he said, "I hear cotton is great. It's what the military uses."

  "It's not different from wool," Serenya argued.

  "How would you know, and I thought I was ignorant. You might be a commoner too."

  "There's nothing common about me," Serenya said, smiling.

  The bed creaked as its edge sank to bear Darsius. Darsius battled his thoughts. He tried to align words into a difficult question. The tangled words came together, he broke the dead silence.

  "What are we doing?" Darsius asked. He hid his shaking hands behind his back. Serenya could not match Darsius's gaze.

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  "What does that have to do with anything?"

  "Everything!"

  Serenya stood and began pacing.

  "We have a good thing going. Is there a need for labels? Love and lust. Two sides of the same fucking coin," Serenya's voice broke. Darsius stood. He took her hands into his.

  "I need to know whether I can trust you once we are in the Crypt."

  Their gazes matched. Embers of sadness burned in Serenya's eyes as she could tell what was happening. Darsius was trembling. His eyes shone with silent conviction.

  'No distractions,'

  "You can trust me. Why wouldn't you?"

  "I know you want it as much as me, whatever Valedara hid there. Everybody fucking does, and one of us will take it from the other."

  "Is this goodbye?" Serenya questioned.

  Darsius could not answer.

  *-----*

  Serenya lived by her family's values and principles, and in a family full of matriarchal war mongers; there was no room for sentiment in their ethos. Her kin disdained her prone nature to show emotion. She mostly hid them well, and the only instances she did not, she lost a part of her everytime.

  Her tunic swished as she hurried down the halls. The dim lights were a good enough guide, but she did not need them. She knew where she was going, and her legs autonomously took her there. Her mind roamed through time to the first instance she let her heart dictate her actions.

  The first time, she lost a piece of herself, her twin, and her place in The Iūdicium. She was disappointed in herself, let herself fall for a plebeian with a god complex. What had begun as curiosity had just killed the cat. The thrill of pleasure had clouded her mind and deceived her heart. She felt a tear trail down her cheeks. Serenya stood in her tracks. She wiped it out with a finger; it left a wet spot on her fingertip. Her raging emotions calmed. The thought that she shed a tear for a man, no less, gave her clarity.

  She continued.

  Serenya knocked at Brutus's door. Loud creaks filled the void of silence. Embarrassed. Serenya wiped her eyes. The heavy, clumsy footfalls stopped at the other side of the door. The door opened. Serenya looked up, Brutus looked down.

  "Are you crying?" He asked in his gruff voice.

  "Why would I?"

  "I don't know. Maybe the charlatan left you."

  Serenya laughed," You just said charlatan. Funny."

  " I would rather not call him names. It's too late. Or too early to be cursing."

  Brutus vacated from the door frame and disappeared into his room. Serenya followed- darkness swallowed them both. Brutus's aether was violent like a storm. Serenya felt it slip and slide towards the room walls. The mage lights mounted on the walls buzzed first then spat out a gentle blue hue.

  "Please wear a shirt," Serenya said tiredly. She settled in the desk chair while Brutus combed through a pile of clothes. His dense body shifted as he scoured. The thick-lined scars patterned his back. They were a topic Brutus never talked even when drunk, and it did not take much to get him under the influence. There were times he would answer when she prodded too much, but the answer would be dumber than the one he gave before.

  "You just said please. There is something definitely wrong. I warned you. He is bad news," Brutus said, dressed in a brown, stained shirt. He bore his weight well, no longer burdening the floorboards as he came toward the desk beside Serenya.

  "I'm okay. You may be happy to know I will no longer be involved Darsius," Serenya said.

  Brutus smiled, "Finally, off with that fraud. You broke it off?"

  "Yeah," She lied.

  "Good. Good," He couldn't hide the joy in his voice. He got close, sat on the desk, towering over Serenya.

  "Your report?" Serenya asked.

  "Oh, right!" Brutus exclaimed calmly. He scoured his desk for a set of papers," My glasses."

  He pointed at the set of glasses at the edge of the desk. Serenya handed them over. They hugged the bridge of his nose as he went through the papers.

  " First, Panos cannot be found; he is presumed dead, but I will confirm with Solmir or his generals. Second, Cassian has returned, but there is no movement on that front. Last item, we have to do something about Aetius. He is rallying some nobles, and that only means trouble."

  Serenya took the reports from Brutus.

  "Maybe he is done hiding his debauchery. Regardless, it does spell trouble. Others will start thinking I can't control my people."

  Serenya looked back at Brutus. Brutus wore a smile that signaled he had a great idea.

  "What if we don't do anything about it?"

  Serenya frowned. Brutus leaned in close, almost ecstatic.

  "Aetius is the Aurate of Dorm Noctis, same dorm as Cassian. We all know the reason he is the Aurate is because Cassian allows it, or rather, did not need the position."

  Serenya interrupted," How sure are you?"

  "Word on the street is House Atrius has the rights to the Crypt.And the rhetors say only three dorms will enter. Our Regelia is the first pick."

  "So he has to ensure he is in one of the two remaining dorms," She interrupted once more. She thought of the idea for some time then said, "The rights thing is true. The House sent a letter confirming it, along with new instructions."

  "Damn. That means things got complicated."

  "Very."

  Serenya sighed. She was pleased. Something to give her focus. Both a distraction and a chance. Serenya then felt relieved. She could channel her strengths somewhere; with Valedara's crypt being a battlefield, it was about time that she reminded the Imperium she was a Harbinger of war, like her kin.

  "You seem better," Brutus said. He took off his glasses and his stern face melted into something more casual. "When did you break it off?" He asked.

  "Tonight, just before I came here."

  "Fantastic. I believe this news deserves a drink. We haven't drunk in a while."

  "I do need a drink," Serenya commented.

  Brutus went to the bathroom, where he hid his liquor, then came out with a bottle of whiskey—the good kind. Serenya noted.

  From under the desk, Serenya fished out two metal cups. The alcohol was poured into the cups, and they each took a cup. They clasped them together to toast.

  "Fuck Darsius," Brutus bellowed.

  "Fuck Darsius," Serenya said softly.

  They both gulped the whiskey. Serenya shook as the alcohol tore through her throat. Her face crumpled up. Brutus was smiling as he began pouring once more.

  *-----*

  The sun rose. The eastern horizon was a plush of red and orange while the skies were dyed a dark shade of grey. The world had not woken up but Darsius was awake. The training room held Darsius and gave him a place to draw out his frustrations and the myriad emotions that had bogged his mind since the night.

  The debacle with Serenya the previous night deprived him of sleep, and that absence of sleep allowed his mind to reflect on the time between them, and the joy those memories once brought withered into a silent ache in his heart all night long. Darsius had tolerated the idea of breaking off whatever he had with Serenya for a few weeks. At first, he knew it was a betrayal of the feelings she had for him and those he had for her but the fickle trust between them haunted him and his chance of success.

  Two hours of strenuous sword practice wore him down. His muscles ached and burned from the strain he was imposing on himself but he could not stop; he needed to focus. Find himself through the way of the sword. The path that had shaped him into who he was and would turn him into what he wanted to become. He laboured for breath, strained shifting forms but he continued. He was to do this until he couldn't.

  Time lapsed more quickly. The sunlight beamed a shaft of gold, its radiance soft. The sky was blue with the clouds misted away. The world had caught up with Darsius. He circulated his aether. The aether did not fuel him or shed his exhaustion; it strained his body even further, Darsius's sword forms were an immaculate display of precision and beauty. Darsius felt his body cramping, the flow of aether was uneven and that was dangerous even for him. He stopped.

  Everything he pushed down washed up and flooded his mind, body and soul. Fatigue flogged his body. Thoughts of Serenya broke his psyche and his ability to think coherently. His soul was torn by regret and guilt. Darsius had some difficulty confronting what he felt, and when he did, he did so through decisive action. It had been eons since he was that vulnerable with himself and others.

  The last time he carried emotional fragility was the night he got tired of his father. Darsius was thirteen years old then and it was a night like any other. Father came home drunk, started beating his mother, then his brother and sister who tried to protest against their father's action. Darsius watched. His eyes burned with rage as they always did, but that night, beneath the rage, there were sparks.

  A strong nudge of what he needed to do. One minute, his father was on his brother, kicks and punches raining down on the poor boy; the other minute, his father clutched his neck. Blood seeped through his father's fingers in a desperate attempt to stop the bleeding. Like a predator, Darsius went for the kill. He punctured his father's torso as much as he could. Each stab killed something within him. Be it years of trauma or even his seething anger. Something left him just as life fled from his father's eyes.

  The rest watched. Conflicted. Darsius had gotten rid of the evil in their life but they did not thank him. His mother took away the knife then slapped Darsius. She took his brother and sister and left. He sat there as his father's body went cold. He stared at his bloody hands for hours.

  Darsius looked at his hands; they were not painted red, but he needed to confront what he felt in the manner he was familiar with, and Valedara's Crypt was the place to do just that.