Tavern Verardi

The streets of Venice opened before them, winding and narrow, lit by the sunlight filtering past the buildings' walls. The young Venetian walked beside Shirei, his steps quick but light, while he kept casting admiring glances at him.

"So, Sir Shirei," he began, his voice betraying curiosity and a hint of fear. "Where do you come from? You don't seem Venetian, nor from these lands. Perhaps you're a traveler from beyond the sea?"

The son of Cragar maintained an enigmatic air, observing the reflections of the water flowing beside them. If he wanted to gain information, it was only fair to offer some of his own. Besides, he was curious to discover the identity of Niccolò's divine parent. Since he had the Sight, Shirei assumed the boy beside him must also be a Blendbreed.

"I come from very far away," he finally answered, without revealing too much. "A place that doesn't appear on maps."

Niccolò widened his eyes, seemingly fascinated by the vague response. "A mysterious place, then…" he murmured. Then, with a nervous laugh, he added, "Forgive me, sometimes my curiosity gets the better of my common sense, but it's rare to meet someone like you."

They walked through another narrow alley. The smell of the canals grew stronger, mixing with the scents of spices and wine wafting from nearby taverns.

"And that weapon…" Niccolò lowered his voice, as if afraid his words might attract unwanted attention. "That dark blade. I've never seen anything like it. It's… magic, isn't it? Are you a sorcerer of the Devil? Or maybe… a fallen angel?"

Damn, thought Shirei, realizing the mistake he had made. In this time period, witnessing something like this could spark a hunt for the Devil's followers. The myths of Christian theology hold great importance in this temporal frame.

He had confirmation that Niccolò was unaware of his true identity, but he needed to find a way to keep him from growing defensive.

He stopped for a moment, studying the young man with a steady, but not hostile gaze. "I am neither a sorcerer nor an angel," he replied, then resumed walking. "I am merely a traveler with a task to complete, and I work solely for the good of the people."

"A holy knight! I knew the Pope had something in mind. I can help you with your mission! That blade you carry, Sir, it's to defeat the followers of Satan, isn't it?"

Shirei breathed a sigh of relief and nodded. For now, his cover was intact. Niccolò seemed about to ask more, but understood it wasn't the time.

"Here we are. My tavern!" he announced proudly, quickening his pace to open the door.

The sign was faded and the windows shuttered, as if hiding a place forgotten by time. Upon entering, Shirei immediately noticed the simple setting: rough wooden tables, a few candles lighting the darkness, and chairs that bore the marks of long use. The tavern was empty, and the atmosphere exuded a kind of melancholy, as if dreams and hopes long gone had once been spent within those walls.

Niccolò pointed to a table near the fireplace. "Please, Sir, have a seat. I'll go fetch some wine and something to eat." Then, with a nearly reverent smile, he added, "If there's anything else I can do for you, don't hesitate to ask."

The Blendbreed did as instructed and watched the Venetian hurry to pour two glasses, then sit across from him with a conspiratorial smile.

"The tavern is always empty during the day. Don't worry, no one will disturb us."

The son of Cragar nodded, catching the note of pride in the Venetian's voice. He then began with the first question: "Do your parents let you run the place?"

"Not exactly, to tell the truth. My father is a gondolier, while my mother usually runs the tavern on her own. Lately, though, she seems to have come down with an illness."

"An illness?" repeated Shirei, intrigued.

The events from the previous rift came back to mind, and he wondered if it could all be connected.

"So there's the mysterious truth. I had gone out to look for remedies, then I saw her, I saw the monster, and I decided to help. I've never really been the heroic type, you know?" he continued, staring into his glass. "I'm just the son of a tavern keeper… and of my father, who ferries gentlemen back and forth across this city. We're not nobles or wealthy, and we never will be, but we're honest," he said with emphasis. "It's a rare quality these days."

Shirei listened silently, studying every detail of Niccolò. His manner revealed a blend of humility and repressed ambition. There was intensity in his eyes, as if he were hiding aspirations far greater than his reality. But that didn't distract him from the greater risk.

If the mother is ill, she could be infected with divine blood and transform into a monster like the Phasmafili.

All he could do was wait for the young Verardi to finish his thoughts.

"I admire those who have the power to change things," Niccolò continued with a dreamy gaze. "Like Lorenzo de' Medici, for example. Have you ever heard of him? What nonsense slips from my lips. Of course you've heard of him. An incredible man—and just imagine, soon he'll be right here, in Venice. I suppose that's a surprise even for you."

Shirei looked up, intrigued by the mention of the unusual visit of Lorenzo de' Medici to the city. He was beginning to suspect that the event might be connected to the heart of the rift—perhaps even to the anchor he needed to find and destroy to restore the temporal flow.

"Why is he coming to Venice?" he asked, keeping a neutral tone, but with an attentive gaze, evaluating every reaction from his interlocutor.

Niccolò hesitated for a moment, then replied as if sharing a secret. "Well, it seems the Pope himself has sent him here. They say it's to deal with certain matters. A new doctrine is spreading among the people, especially the common folk. I imagine you're here for that too—the worship of the god of the abyss."

Shirei betrayed nothing outwardly, but the name struck him.

So this is the core of the rift… everything is starting to connect. Who is the god of the abyss?

Niccolò leaned forward, lowering his voice to a near-reverent whisper, as if afraid someone might hear him even in the silence of the empty tavern.

"Here in Venice, something strange is happening—something unsettling," he explained. "The city has changed over the past year, and many have been seduced by the darkness. They've abandoned the light of God and pledged themselves to the new doctrine of the Sect of the Abyss."

He glanced up the stairs to make sure his mother wasn't listening, then continued, a note of fear in his voice.

"This sect seems to grow stronger by the day, like an underground river that swells and spreads. Even my mother had converted, and now she can't even get out of bed. Sir, the situation borders on tragedy."

Shirei gave himself a few seconds before replying. "And you believe the two events might be connected."

"Yes, Sir Shirei. Am I mad?"

The son of Cragar stared into the void for a moment, weighing his words. Niccolò wasn't the fool the bandits had believed—he could see the monsters.

I still don't understand why the books say humans can't see them—yet these people realized it immediately. Maybe I should ask Marina… he thought, before returning to his train of thought. If the sect was evil, like the nurses at the hospital in Colorno, then Niccolò was not wrong. Only one thing remained to be understood.

"Who leads the group?" he asked at last.

"Lyra Morosini," Niccolò replied, his expression becoming both dreamy and disturbed. "She was once known as the Doge's adopted daughter—rumor had it she was born from a union with a foreign noblewoman. But now, everyone calls her the Saint of the Tides. She leads the faithful. Some say she can speak directly with the god of the abyss. She receives visions, messages from him… and she's persuasive—more than you can imagine."

Shirei kept a calm expression, but in his mind, everything was starting to align.

So this Lyra is the point of contact with the rift—the anchor that keeps this place alive must be tied to her.

"Lorenzo de' Medici is here to stop her?"

Niccolò nodded eagerly. "Exactly. The Pope fears the doctrine of the abyss could spread and undermine the Church's authority. That's why he sent the Magnifico—he wanted someone with his influence, someone capable of dissuading the people and curbing this pagan doctrine."

Shirei furrowed his brow slightly, fascinated by the information he had just received. He had been thrown into the midst of a historical event with catastrophic potential. Only one crucial question remained.

"Is Lyra a Blendbreed?"

Niccolò tilted his head, puzzled. "Blendbreed? The term is new to me. What do you mean, Sir? I'm not sure I understand."

The Forbidden Heir remained silent for a moment, reflecting on how to explain a concept that, to him, was obvious—but to the townsman must have seemed unbelievable. In the end, he made his decision. Speaking of the divine world would provoke a strong reaction, but it could bring great benefits in the long run.

"The Blendbreeds," he said, with a tone that carried a deeper inflection, "are the result of a union between divinities and mortal beings. Creatures born halfway between. We are not human: we perceive the world differently, and we are capable of wielding magic."

Niccolò's eyes widened, and he instinctively gripped the edge of the table. "Y-you're saying that… you're one of these beings? A Blendbreed?"

Shirei nodded, carefully choosing his next words. "And I'm afraid you are too, Niccolò."

He let the revelation drop like a stone into still water. The young man jolted back, too quickly for his own weight. The chair beneath him tipped and he crashed to the ground, breaking the tavern's silence with a loud thud. He scrambled back to his feet, unsteady, his eyes locked on Shirei with a mix of disbelief and fear.

"It… it can't be," he stammered. "What you're saying is impossible. Myths, stories… they aren't real! This is blasphemy! God is one and does not consort with his servants."

The son of Cragar drew a deep breath and rose from his chair, towering over the Venetian. "It doesn't matter what you believe. The truth is that there is no single god or absolute divinity. There is a pantheon—a group of veiled entities who govern the fate of the worlds from behind the scenes."

He paused, his gaze piercing, as if it could reach the depths of Niccolò's soul. "Your mother's life depends on this. If you want to save her, you must believe me, because I want to help you."

The boy trembled, his hands clenching the table as if seeking an anchor in the midst of a storm. At last, a look of realization crossed his face.

You realized it, Shirei noted.

Niccolò said nothing, choosing instead to sit again. The Forbidden Heir didn't urge him to speak, even though they were wasting precious minutes. In a way, he knew he shouldn't force his pace—he could understand him. He wondered when he had learned to act that way, and whether it had to do with the time spent in Lilies Park.

"My… my father," Niccolò began at last, his voice fractured. "I don't think he's really my father. He told me so long ago, in a moment of weakness. It was during a month when, alas, gondoliers had little work, because of the great frost. The tavern had just closed for the day, and he stayed behind, staring at the wall with a bottle of liquor. He said he pretended to be my father to protect me, because he didn't want my mother to be seen as a woman of loose virtue. I've lived with the fear of disappointing him ever since."

He stopped, his eyes shining with emotion, looking at Shirei as if he were a living miracle. The Blendbreed with violet irises lowered his gaze for a moment.

"I'm sorry," he said sincerely.

But Niccolò shook his head, his face breaking into an uncertain yet hopeful smile. "Don't apologize, sir. My father is kind, loving, and supportive—the best anyone could ask for. He cared for my mother, and now that's my responsibility. Maybe you're exactly what I needed. A sign, a gift from fate," he continued, nodding his head. "Please, help me find a cure for my mother."

Shirei looked at the Venetian for a long moment, then nodded. "I'll do what I can, but I need you to help me understand what's happening in this city."

"Of course. So, as I was saying, it's all Lady Morosini's fault," Niccolò continued. "I don't know if she descends from a god or if she's just a regular mortal, but she's the plague that will destroy Venice if she's not stopped."

The son of Cragar took a breath and pushed the still-full goblet away. "You don't seem to have much faith in your people."

"There's no reason to place faith in the people of Venice. Even those who don't believe in the god of the abyss follow her, entranced by her charisma and beauty," he replied, then his eyes lit up as if an idea had struck him. "Speaking of which, if you're trying to learn more about all this, I can take you. The Saint of the Tides is holding a gathering today. You could see her with your own eyes, and maybe understand what I've been telling you so passionately."

Shirei nodded, showing a hint of interest.

"Show me."