That was the nicest sleep I'd had in a while.
Stretching my limbs, we stepped off the train into the polished grandeur of the Noble District's central station, a stark contrast to the Outer Rim's smoky underbelly. The journey had been thirty minutes, a testament to the sheer size of the city.
Polished marble tiles reflected the light of wrought-iron gas lamps hanging above, and golden embellishments traced every support beam like veins of arrogance.
I tugged at the collar of my formal jacket,the same stuffy thing I'd worn to Arthur's ceremony, already hating the feel of its fabric against my neck. The weight of the Noble District wasn't in the air, not here at least. It was in the posture, the stares, the expectation to pretend the world outside its walls didn't exist.
Or maybe they revel in the fact. Assholes.
Mary walked beside me in her cloak, hood still drawn over her head. She caught confused glances from passersby. A shrouded figure like her drew attention, especially here. But thankfully, no one recognized her outright, and there were certainly weirder things in this city than a nobody in a cloak.
And me? I was praying I hadn't become some local celebrity after the incident. The last thing I needed was attention, not yet, at least.
Hopefully, the minor nobles wouldn't recognize me, as most hadn't even been invited to the ceremony. And the high nobles? They weren't the type to walk around in public without ten layers of protocol and a small army in tow. Or maybe a golden carriage.
It'd be worse if they were from the capital. I couldn't imagine watching luxury airships float above me while I toiled away at a factory.
We exited the station into a cobbled courtyard surrounded by sleek carriages. Each one polished to a shine, with brass embellishments and deep-red interiors - a sort of taxi system in this city for those needing transport from the train station. Mary raised an eyebrow at them.
"These things still exist?" she muttered, curious. "The capital moved on from carriages decades ago."
I gave a shrug, admiring the embroidery on some of them. "Looks fancy to me."
These would weirdly be considered luxury on Earth, I think.
She sighed like I was a stray dog that had mistaken a rusted tin for silverware and shook her head. Seeing her disapproval, I started to feel more like a country bumpkin, but it didn't bother me much.
I wouldn't mind retiring on a farmstead someday, maybe with an ordinary wife and a couple of kids. That would be nice...
Lamenting inwardly, I found a carriage that would hopefully meet Mary's standards and paid the coach two gold and five silver for our fifteen-minute journey.
We rode the "outdated" carriage in silence. The roads were lined with perfectly trimmed trees, rose-colored lamps, and lavish boutiques displaying jewelry, tailored coats, and antique weaponry that hadn't seen battle in a century.
The Noble District was exactly what you'd expect, marble estates with wide terraces, fountains shaped like angels, paved stone roads smooth enough to slide on. Every detail screamed prestige. Even the air smelled different - cleaner, perfumed, pretentious. It was enough to calm me a bit, albeit temporarily.
As we rolled to a stop at Cassian's estate, more a small fortress than a home, Mary leaned toward me, her voice low.
"I'll probably be grounded for this."
"Not my fault," I replied with a faint smile, choosing not to dig it in this time.
She pouted slightly, the kind of noble sadness only those who wore velvet could get away with. "Still, thanks for the walk. Next time, let's stick to the Nobility District, please."
Waving her off, I gave a big smile that didn't reach my eyes.
"No."
Freedom-!
She lingered for a second longer before slipping into the building, escorted by a stern-faced maid in traditional attire. I could already picture the lecture she was walking into; I could still hear the maid's stiff voice echoing from the entrance.
Another maid came up to me. She wore a similarly styled uniform, her posture upright and pristine. She bowed politely and greeted me in a voice that was well-practiced and pleasantly formal.
"Good afternoon, Sir Damian. The Lord Regent has been expecting you. If you'll allow, I'll escort you to His Lordship's study."
I nodded and gave her a polite smile in return, falling into step behind her.
She walked across the marble floors with disciplined grace, her footsteps echoing softly in the hall. We ascended a set of polished stairs, turned into a long corridor - quiet, clean, and sterile.
Boredom started creeping in, so I decided to break the silence.
"You'd think the Lord Regent would hang a few paintings around here. There's absolutely nothing to admire."
She gave a small, courteous laugh. "His Lordship believes ornamentation breeds distraction, sir. His tastes are… focused."
"Seems a bit cold," I muttered.
"If I may, sir," she said carefully, "His Lordship prefers clarity over comfort."
She wasn't just well-trained - she was practically molded.
I have much to learn in decorum it seems.
I raised a brow. "Do most of the servants here come from the Outer Rim? Inner Rim? Or… elsewhere?"
Without hesitation, she answered smoothly. "Oh, heavens no. His Lordship prefers his staff to be composed of second or third-born children of minor noble houses. Individuals whose families have proven merit but lack direct succession."
I resisted the urge to protest. Even the maids were vetted by bloodlines. The divide ran deeper than I'd thought.
We stopped at a large door with gilded trim. The maid turned to face me, a flicker of concern showing in her otherwise composed expression.
"His Lordship has been… under considerable strain lately. I would advise prudence, sir."
I nodded slightly. "Thanks for the warning."
She knocked softly, then raised her voice. "Lord Regent, Sir Damian is here as requested."
"Send him in."
Cassian's voice was smooth. Polished. Almost welcoming.
He doesn't sound stressed at all.
As the door swung open, I saw him behind a vast desk, back straight, monocle perched over his left eye. He was writing in long, fluid strokes, his quill whispering over the parchment. He looked up briefly, smiled at the maid, and thanked her warmly as she curtsied and departed.
The moment the door shut, his entire demeanor dropped - like a mask slipping off. His eyes sharpened, and his pen continued without pause.
"Take a seat, Damian."
No title. No pleasantries. Just a command.
I sat, silently impressed by the shift in tone. It was surgical. The chair was far too comfortable, which only made the atmosphere more surreal.
I raised a brow. "How do you do that?"
"Do what?" he asked, not looking up.
"Switch faces so effortlessly."
He dipped the pen, unfazed. "A man who claims to wear only one face is a liar - and not to be trusted. I simply show people what they're worthy enough to see."
Figures.
He gestured for me to speak.
I kept it brief: Hallrigg's connections, the weapons dealers, the underground smuggling, the strange signs in the drains, the madman preaching riddles about ravens and doves. I left out my own divination. There was no way I was going to tell him that.
Cassian didn't say a word, not until I mentioned the tunnels.
"That'll be my next step," I said. "Everything else is more noise than signal, but worth logging."
Cassian nodded, noting something in the margin of his page. I tried to glance at the writing - it shimmered oddly, like water moving across sand, some kind of spell or technology no doubt.
I leaned back slightly. "Things getting worse?"
His pen didn't pause. "The high nobles are in uproar over the ceremony. Those who drank the tainted wine remain unconscious. Healers have found nothing. Now the Church demands answers I don't have."
I don't envy him.
"Any sign of the Hierarch?"
His jaw tensed. "No. Both he and the heretical bishop vanished after the incident. No trace. No witnesses."
"And Arthur?"
Cassian finally looked up. His monocle gleamed.
"I visited him this morning. He's under pressure. The city guard's stretched thin, so I've handed him temporary control of the Outer Defense Council until the transition of power is complete."
"A proving ground," I said, a small smile forming.
"He needs it."
Cassian lifted his monocle, now slightly askew.
"You're to investigate the rain drain system next. Low risk - at least, for someone of your ability. I assume you're only just beginning your two pathways?"
I nodded. "Still fresh, though I know my way through a gun and sword."
Cassian nodded slightly. "Good. There may be remnants of heretical gatherings - graffiti, blood traces, arcane symbols. Nothing dangerous on paper. Just catalog it. You'll go alone."
I raised a brow. "No support?"
"We're short-staffed, as usual. Most agents are searching for the Hierarch. You're the only one subtle enough. Your affinity with darkness makes you suited to this as well. That alone should protect you, if you play your cards right."
Of course it does.
We sat in silence for a moment.
Then Cassian capped the ink bottle, stood, and looked me in the eye. The change was immediate: Handler, general, inquisitor, or something more.
He raised one hand in salute.
"The Empire…"
I stood tall, my voice level with his.
"…trusts only the unseen."
He gave one final nod, then motioned to the door.
"Good luck."