The private room that Ruben and Corbin were left in was a cage. All polished mahogany and velvet drapes, the air thick with the cloying scent of lemon polish and something faintly metallic. Ruben looked at the round table only to see his reflection and that of the overhead chandelier in fractured shards of light.
Outside the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city sprawled like a circuit board, there were very few differences one could immediately point to that showed the difference between a big city here and one in their old world. Well the first big difference would be the number of Skye's patrolling like big silver fireflies, their silent surveillance almost made them undetectable.
Corbin slouched in his chair, legs kicked up on the table, his scowl etched deep enough to crack stone. "This place reeks of rich people pretending they're not sweating under their perfume."
Ruben asked him. "What do you mean? How often were you around the rich?"
"I was rich." Corbin giggled. "My dad had a really good job before he passed, I lived in a mansion my whole life. And my Mom's in fashion and modelling and stuff."
Before Ruben could ask more questions about Corbin's old life, the door clicked open.
Two Paladin's stepped in, the boys could tell due to their uniforms. Black as the starless night, silver stars stitched into their cuffs like frozen constellations. The woman was tall, her posture rigid as a spear, her blonde ponytail a whip of sunlight against the dark fabric.
Her eyes were the colour of poisoned absinthe, sharp enough to flay skin. The man beside her matched her height, his navy hair cropped close to his skull, his face was a mask of glacial indifference.
The door locked behind them with a sound like a guillotine's drop.
Ruben straightened. Corbin didn't bother.
"Elise Vogel," the woman announced, her voice crisp. "And this is Felix Hartmann. We're here to ask you questions. You will answer them."
Corbin's grin was all teeth. "Or what?"
Elise's nostrils flared. The man, Felix remained still, his dark eyes tracking them like a sniper's scope.
"You two appeared out of nowhere," Elise said, stepping forward, her boots silent on the plush carpet. "No records, no history. And yet, the Star of Ostara himself scoops you up like stray kittens. Why?"
Ruben held his tongue, just as Dario instructed.
Corbin however, leaned back, lacing his fingers behind his head. "Maybe he's got a soft spot for strays. Or maybe he just knows quality when he sees it."
Elise's lip curled. "Quality? You reek of street filth and arrogance."
"These garms belong to that old man so you could only be speaking down on his taste." Corbin shot back. "But at least I don't sound like a dying fox for fun."
Felix's jaw twitched. Elise's gloved fingers tightened.
"Strange attacks have been happening," she hissed, "And then you two show up. Coincidence?"
Yes. Honestly.
Corbin's laugh was like the bark of a dog. "Oh, yeah, you cracked the case, sherlock. We're from a secret organization of spies. Now tell us what we're here to do."
"...sherlock?"
Ruben could hear Felix whisper in confusion. Right. Sherlock and other forms of the media they would be used to most likely don't exist here.
Ruben watched both Corbin and the lady Elise argue. Her composure frayed at the edges, her poise continued to crack under Corbin's relentless barrage of mockery.
"What are your Egos?" She demanded.
"None of your business." Corbin singsonged.
"They'll be documented either way."
"Then document this!" He flipped her off.
Elise's control snapped. "You insolent little…!"
"Little what?" Corbin's chair screeched as he stood, his voice dropping to a venomous purr. "Go on. Say it. I dare you."
The air thickened, charged like the moment before a lightning strike. Ruben understood it now. Corbin wasn't just being an ass. Well he was. But he was probably testing them. Trying to figure out what the people were like, Dario as the strongest has to be some type of weird anomaly that isn't like the rest. So he's just figuring out any big differences.
So Ruben played along.
"You're wasting your time," he said, his voice low but as sharp as a blade. "We're not here to entertain your paranoia."
Felix moved then, circling the table like a wolf closing in. "Paranoia is what keeps people alive."
Elise's smile was a razor's cut. "Let's see how clever you are when you're—"
The door exploded inward.
Dario stood in the threshold, his grin a crescent moon of amusement, a middle-aged man in robes stood by his side. The room's tension shattered like a dropped china set.
"Ah," Dario drawled, stepping inside. "I leave you two here alone for five minutes and you've already got some of the Bureau's finest sweating through their starch."
Elise and Felix snapped to attention, their earlier venom replaced by stiff respect. "Warlord Kosta," Elise said, her voice clipped.
Corbin burst out laughing. "Oh, now you remember manners? Kiss-asses."
Dario chuckled, shaking his head. "Trouble is starting to stick to you two like glue, huh?"
Elise's glare could have melted steel. Felix's expression remained unreadable, but his fingers flexed once, as if itching for a weapon.
Dario clapped his hands. "Well! Since we're getting along so well…" He shot Corbin a look. "... how about we move this along?"
The moment hung, suspended, before Elara finally exhaled through her nose and stepped back. But her eyes promised this wasn't over.
And Corbin? He just grinned, wild and unrepentant, already ready for the next round.
***
The room they were ushered into next was a stark contrast to the other room that felt so closed off it could pass for an interrogation room. Although this one wasn't any better. A single terminal hummed at the center, its surface a pane of smoked glass waiting for input.
Behind it, a doctor in a high-collared gray coat stood motionless, his face obscured by a thin silver visor that reflected the scrolling data in fractured glyphs. He did not speak, only gestured toward the terminal with a gloved hand.
Ruben approached first, the screen flickering to life beneath his fingertips. Columns of text materialized, clinical and impersonal.
NAME:
AGE:
PREVIOUS NAMES (IF APPLICABLE):
EGO DESCRIPTION:
EGO DESCRIPTION:
His fingers hovered over the keys. He typed slowly, methodically, Ruben Okoro. Thirteen. Then, the third field gave him a pause. Previous names. A wry twist tugged his lips.
He had never carried his father's name, not even in the man's first marriage with his mother. His mother's surname had been his from birth. He never understood why his father carried it too, at least until his second marriage.
Below, the terminal prompted him again. He exhaled, recalling the golden dragon that coiled around his shoulders, its fur like sunlight given form. Dragons. It was weird, the creatures of myth were always seen as powerful and menacing. Even to Ruben they were seen as such. But ever since he summoned his first one earlier, he couldn't help but feel a little disappointed. They weren't the big great he was expecting. And maybe that was his own fault.
That would be something he could figure out later.
For now, he was allowed to give it a name. People with dragon-like abilities have shown up before, but from the way Dario explained it, Ruben's was more unique, there was no medium and other things that Dario thought it best for Ruben to figure out on his own later.
"Dragons Forge." he typed. The description came haltingly; "Can summon dragons." Bare, unadorned. What else was there to say? That they smelled like burnt sugar? That their eyes held the same amber hue as his own? The Bureau didn't need that poetry.
Corbin shouldered past him, jabbing at the screen with restless fingers. "Corbin Hayes. Thirteen. No previous names. Why the hell would I?" His Ego entry was even more succinct: "Boost. Hit hard." He snorted, slamming the submit button. The doctor didn't react, though the visor's glow pulsed faintly, as if sighing.
A chime sounded. The doctor stepped forward, lifting a slender device, a camera, its lens an unblinking black iris. Ruben stood stiffly as the flash seared his silhouette into some unseen archive. Corbin bared his teeth in a mock grin, the light catching the sharp edges of his canines.
They were individual pictures meant to be fitted along with the information they had just documented.
Elise's voice cut through the hum of machinery, sharp as it was before, like a scalpel. "This is absurd. Those descriptions are useless, no parameters, no limitations, not even a proper classification!" she stood beside Felix, both facing a tall man in robes that pooled like liquid gold and crimson at his feet.
They were told he is part of the government in this country. So was Dario. Governments weren't called politicians though, at least not in Ostara, they were called Pillars. And in front of them was the Pillar of Memory, Alaric Weiss.
The older man listened with the patience of a statue. His ivory cane tapped once against the floor, a sound like a judge's gavel. "The law requires only that they register, Elise." he said, his voice a dry rustle of parchment. "Not that they bare their souls."
Corbin couldn't resist. "Aw. What's wrong? Scared you can't bully us without a manual?" He draped an arm around Ruben's shoulder, grinning. "Don't worry. With that big forehead of your's I'm sure you can fill in the gaps."
Elise's gloved hand twitched. Felix's gaze darkened. "This will be reported to the Pillar of Law," she hissed.
"Oh no," Corbin deadpanned. "Anyway…"
Alaric's chuckle was a quiet thing, barely more than a breath. "Forgive their zeal." he said, turning to the boys. His glassy blue eyes held a peculiar weight, like stones smoothed by centuries of river water. "The Bureau thrives on certainty. You are… an anomaly. One that we can only be assured about because of Our Shining Star."
Dario chose that moment to arrive, his presence scattering the tension like startled crows. "And anomalies are the specialty of Paladin." he declared, clapping Alaric on the back. The pillar didn't stagger, but his cane gripped tighter. "Speaking of. Boys, you're with this old man for the rest of the day. He's got a front-row seat to a phantasm hunt with the main character being your's truly."
Corbin's eyes lit up. "Finally. Time to see what the 'Star of Ostara' can actually do."
Alaric smiled, a slow, knowing curve of his lips. "Then follow," he murmured, turning on his heel. The gold thread in his robes caught the light.
***
The room Alaric led them into was a sanctuary of warmth and colour, a stark departure from the Bureau's clinical sterility. Sunlight streamed through towering arched windows, painting honeyed geometrics across plush rugs woven in Ostara's crimson and gold.
A mezzanine level overlooked the space, its wrought-iron railing curling into vine-like patterns, and atop it, a low bar of polished mahogany gleamed, its shelves lined with bottles that caught the light like trapped jewels.
Ruben's shoulders loosened almost imperceptibly. The air here carried the faintest hint of aged paper and bergamot, a scent that curled around Alaric like a second robe.
"Dario mentioned your… unique circumstances." The Pillar began, his voice a velvet murmur as he gestured for them to sit. "Amnesia really is terrible. Even when you already went through the terrible process that awakens an Ego."
Corbin's eyebrow twitched. Ruben met his gaze, a silent exchange, before nodding. Let them believe what they want.
Alaric smiled, as if privy to the unspoken lie. "No matter. Most children wouldn't care for governance anyway." He settled into an armchair, his ivory cane propped against its side like a scepter. "But since you're under the Warlord's wing, a primer may prove useful."
He steepled his fingers. "Ostara is ruled by pillars - seven seats of governance, each overseeing a facet of society. Coin. Law. Memory. And there are more." A slight tilt of his head. "And the Warlord, who holds the Paladin's voice. He commands the Bureau of Paranormal Affairs, but…"
"So he's like some God-King," Corbin finished, slouching deeper into the couch. "So why's he tiptoeing around those Bureau jackasses?"
Alaric's chuckle was a dry rustle. "Power unchecked is a pyre waiting for a spark. Dario understands this. He could force compliance, yes. But authority thrives on consensus, not fear." His glassy blue eyes flickered to Ruben. "And fear, young one, is the currency of Phantasm."
Ruben absorbed the word and then he let out… "You don't have an Ego," he observed.
Alaric's cane tapped once against the floor. "Those who bear and Ego are barred from governance, especially a position within the Pillars, save for the Warlord. Trauma-forged power and governance make poor bedfellows. The people must see themselves in their leaders, not monsters."
Corbin scowled. "So you're just… what? A really fancy secretary?"
"A custodian." Alaric corrected, unfazed. "My position is in charge of things like archiving data and surveillance. It was the last Pillar in my position that came up with the idea to create the Skye objects."
He rose, crossing to a sleek console embedded in the far wall. With a press of his palm, a screen flickered to life, a panoramic view of a ruined cityscape, its skeletal buildings backlit by a sticky violet horizon.
A single Skye drone hovered at the center, its lens focused on a distant figure, it was Dario, his hair made him a white speck against the gloom.
"We'll watch through the Skye's eye." Alaric explained. "Once these feeds were accessible to the public. But civilians have a habit of chasing a spectacle into the jaws of death."
Ruben leaned forward.
Corbin stiffened as he watched the screen and gave a surprised look. On the screen, the horizon erupted, a chain of fireballs spiralling skyward, their light searing the camera's lens.
"The hell…?" Corbin's voice was half-grin, half-disbelief. "Are those…?"
"Explosions!"