Alyssra Volade

"What makes Pardus Mountain so extraordinary?" I asked.

"Alyssra Volade," Thorne replied.

"Okay, what's so unique about—"

"She's a Wraith, a shape-changer, she possesses a Great Weapon, she's probably the deadliest Wizard alive, and she has a tendency to kill anyone who approaches her. That's unless she chooses to transform them into a Morga or Vorgan instead."

"Being a Vorgan isn't the worst fate, boss."

"Quiet, Opal."

I questioned, "How much of this is verified and how much is mere hearsay?"

"What difference does it make if everyone believes the hearsay? I know I won't risk going near that place."

I shrugged. Perhaps if I were Imperion, I would have understood. "Well, it seems I'll have to go myself."

"Do you have a death wish?"

"I don't wish to let him run off with—how much did he steal?"

"Over two thousand imperials."

"Darn it. I want him caught. Find out reliable information about Pardus Mountain, alright?"

"Huh? Sure. How much time should I invest in this?"

"Three days. Also, dig up some information on Ignar while you're at it."

"Viktor—"

"Go."

He left.

I leaned back in my chair, pondering over the legends, eventually concluding it was futile, and began drafting a letter to Zandria. Opal went back to his spot on the coat rack and proposed helpful ideas for the letter. Had I believed Zandria had a liking for dead Baku, I might have considered some of his ideas.

* * * *

Sometimes, it feels like I can almost recall my mother.

My father's narrative kept fluctuating, so I'm uncertain whether she passed away or left him, and whether I was two, four, or five then. But every now and then, I get these mental images of her, or of someone I believe to be her. The images are too vague to describe, but I'm somewhat content to have them.

They aren't necessarily my earliest memories. Rather, if I prod my memory, I can recall ceaseless stacks of dirty dishes, and nightmares of being forced to clean them perpetually, probably an offshoot of living above an inn. Don't misunderstand me; I wasn't really overworked, it's just that the image of the dishes has etched itself into my mind. I often wonder if my entire adult life has been a quest to escape dirty dishes.

One could presumably have worse objectives.

* * * *

My office is situated behind a shop selling psychedelic herbs. A room separating the shop and the office hosts an almost nonstop Torben game, which would be legal if we paid taxes, and would be closed if we didn't grease the palms of the Huang Guards. The bribes are less than the potential tax, and our customers can enjoy their winnings tax-free. The office part comprises several small rooms, mine and Thorne's among them. I have a window that would provide a fantastic view of an alley, if I ever decide to uncover it.

It was around an hour past midday three days later when Thorne entered, and a few moments later, I presume, when I realized he was there.

I asked him, "What have you learned about Pardus Mountain?"

His response was, "It's enormous."

"Appreciate it. Now, what details did you uncover?" I inquired.

He retrieved a notepad, thumbed through it, and queried, "What do you wish to know?"

"A lot. Let's start with why Ignar believed he'd be safe heading to Pardus Mountain? Was he simply getting old and desperate, and decided to take a chance?"

Thorne responded, "I've pieced together his activities over the past year or so, and—"

"In three days?"

"Indeed."

"Quick work for an Imperion."

"Too kind, boss."

Opal, positioned on his coat rack, chuckled into my thoughts.

"So, you were saying something about his activities?"

"The only intriguing detail I discovered was that around a month prior to him joining you, he was dispatched on a task to a certain Drevolan."

I mulled over this, then admitted, "I've come across Drevolan before, but I can't recall the context."

"Distinguished Wizard of the House of the Dragon and a companion of the Empress. Resides around a hundred and fifty miles inland, in a hovering fortress."

"Hovering fortress," I echoed. "That's it. The sole one since the Regency Break. Quite a showboat, then."

Thorne grunted. 'Understatement of the year. He names the place 'Nocturne Black Castle.'"

I shook my head. To a Imperion, black symbolizes magic. "Alright. What's the connection between Drevolan and—"

"Technically, Pardus Mountain falls within his territory. It's roughly fifty miles from his castle's usual location."

"Intriguing," I remarked.

"I wonder how he goes about taxing," Opal mused.

"It's the only striking point," Thorne noted.

I agreed. "Mountains tend to do that. But alright, Thorne. It's a link, anyway. What else do you know about Drevolan?"

"Not much. He spent a significant portion of the Regency-Break in Terran, so he's believed to be receptive towards Humans." Human means, well, human like me. But Imperions call themselves human, which is obviously absurd, so it can get a bit confusing.

I suggested, "Well, I could start by paying Drevolan a visit, if he's willing to meet me. What information did you gather about Pardus Mountain?"

"Pieces here and there. What are you curious about?"

"Primarily, is Alyssra Volade really real?"

"She definitely was prior to the Regency Break. There exist records of her frequent court visits. Deathgate, boss, she held the title of Warlord more than once."

"When?"

"Around fifteen thousand years back."

"Fifteen thousand years. Got it. And you think she might still be alive? That's like, five or six times a regular lifespan?"

"Well, if you buy into the rumors, aspiring heroes from the House of the Pardus often venture up the mountain to confront the wicked Sorceress, and they're never seen again."

"Right," I responded. "But the question is, do we trust the rumors?"

He blinked. "I don't know about you, Viktor, but I do."

I pondered over aged legends, Sorceresses, unfaithful Point-men, and mountains.

"Trust is a rare commodity these days," opined Opal, who landed onto my right shoulder.

"I concur. It's an unfortunate reality." Opal snorted psionically. 'No, I'm serious," I claimed. "I trusted the jerk."

I withdrew a dagger and started toying with it. After some time, I stowed it away and instructed, "Alright, Thorne. Relay a message to Lord Drevolan, requesting if he'd be gracious enough to meet me. Whenever he's available, of course; I'm not—hang on! How does one get there, anyway? I mean, if it's a hovering castle—"

"You blink," Thorne replied.

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