Forbidden Love

(And here's mine, even later. I blame technology for making me write it all up again after gmail ate my attatched file...)

The sun didn’t beat down, nor did it shine down upon the people like molten gold. It was just in the sky, shining. Any bard would have been hard pressed to invent a metaphor telling how luminous or radiant it was without blatantly lying. It simply was there.
More interestingly, however, were two people that happened to be outside.
Archaeon lounged up against a tree, its branches shielding his eyes from the sun’s rays. He didn’t need to look to his left to know that his companion and long-time friend, Isis, was resting peacefully.
Carefully, he found her hand with his and gave it a gentle squeeze, not wanting to awaken his sleeping beauty.
Something else drew Archaeon’s attention away from Isis; a sound. He strained his senses, catching the sound of wood bending slightly.
He brought his hands up sharply and in front of him, throwing up a shield of power.
Just in time.
An arrow sped towards him, stopping only as it struck the magical shield.
Archaeon dropped the shields power and struck out with his magic again, this time pulling the culprit towards him.
And who should fly forwards but Nail.
The younger clan member landed in a heap at Archaeons feet, bow still clutched firmly.
Archaeon sighed and helped his fellow Mischiefite to his feet, relieving him of the bow as well.
“You have my attention now, Nail. What do you want?” asked Archaeon, none too pleasantly.
Nail looked at his feet briefly before grinning sheepishly at Archaeon.
“Mina sent me to get you. She said you have to come to the spire now.”
“And the bow?” Archaeon asked, still holding the offending weapon.
“I wasn’t aiming at nothing. It was just to get your attention, that's all.”
Archaeon rolled his eyes, dropping the bow behind him.
“Did Mina say what she wanted me for?”
“Nah.” Nail shook his head. “She was just very definite that you were to come now.”
Archaeon ran his hand through his hair nervously, thinking quickly.
“How will I explain this to her?” he asked himself rhetorically.
“No need” came the reply from behind him.
Only Nail saw Archaeon wince slightly.
Archaeon turned, smiling sadly at Isis.
“I have to go.”
“I understand” said Isis. “We both have other duties.”
As Archaeon and Isis looked into each other’s eyes, the silence was broken by one voice; Nail.
“Hey! What’s that?”
The pair looked to where Nail was pointing and saw a small, rather beat-up box.
Nail made to grab for it but Archaeon got there first. Sheer terror can propel a man to achieve new land-speed records.
“What was that? Asked Nail, watching Archaeon hurriedly stuff the box into a pocket. Isis also watched on, mildly amused.
“Nail, let it drop.” Archaeons tone would have got him thrown out of the Inquision for being too nasty, but Nail pressed on, unaware.
“It looked like a box for holding a necklace or something. Maybe a small rock. Why do you have a rock box, Archaeon?” If ignorance truly is bliss, then Nail had enough bliss to last him through until he was seventy.
“No reason,” came the sharp reply. “Now drop it.”
Nail shrugged, no longer caring about the box. He stepped around Archaeon and retrieved his bow.
Archaeon flicked a glance at Isis and, upon seeing her guarded expression, cursed inwardly.
He gestured cryptically at the picnic gear and it sprang up, packing itself neatly into the hamper.
Nails eyes went wide as the hamper floated towards him. He turned to Archaeon.
“Can you teach me that some time?”
“Only if you carry it back” came his reply.
Archaeon took Isis’ hand and kissed it gently.
“I will want to pick up where we left off.”
Isis giggled slightly, nodding as she looked back at Archaeon.
“Farewell, my sweet…” he said, clicking his fingers and vanishing, taking Nail with him.
If anyone else had been around, they would’ve seen her face crinkle into a smile.

Archaeon, with Nail in tow, re-emerged in the meeting hall of Asteri’s spire. The whistling on Archaeon’s lips died as he took on the silence and emptiness of the expanse.
Humming a pleasant ditty, Archaeon strolled to Mina’s office, practically barging in on her.
“So,” he said cheerfully, “what have I done wrong now?”
He could not have said a more inappropriate thing.
Mina looked up from where she was sitting, eyes red from crying, the salty liquid causing her make-up run in lines down her face.
“Err…” he began.
Sobbing afresh, Mina threw herself at Archaeon and cried into his shoulder. Carefully, Archaeon guided his superior to her seat and prised her off his shoulder.
After ten minutes and several of Archaeons silk handkerchiefs, he got the picture.
Mordred had reportedly started a bar fight the previous night and place several “victims” in a critical condition. All of the victims claimed Mordred had interrupted their quiet drinking and began assaulting them. Mordred had given his word that he was attacked and defended himself using nothing more than his hands. The barkeep had sustained a blow to the head and didn’t remember who started the brawl.
Archaeon listened patiently, offering support and more handkerchiefs as necessary. When she had finished for good, he knelt down in front of her and asked what he could do.
“Mordred is still imprisoned, and most of the so-called “victims” are in the hospital. If you go and visit the bar, I’ll check on the patients and meet up with you at Mordreds cell later on.”
Archaeon nodded and made to leave when Mina stopped him. He turned at the sound of her voice.
“Archaeon, don’t make things worse. I want him freed legally, not sprung from jail by a vigilante gang.” Minas eyes bored into him as she spoke, searching for his common sense.
Archaeon nodded soberly.
“You have my word, Miss Mina.”
With that, he turned on his heel and left the spire, making a mental note to buy more handkerchiefs.

Archaeon made his way to the bar, his journey hindered several times by passing women. When he finally arrived, several hours and several bunches of flowers had come and gone.
Whistling a merry tune, he pushed open the door and promptly tripped over a city guard. Cursing in Dwarvish, the guard helped Archaeon back to his feet and look him sternly in the groin.
“Now, what are you thinking, barging in and falling over a dwarf like me. You think I’m some sort of footstool or something?” the Dwarf scowled fiercely, possibly because there was a lot of expression and not enough face to show it. Therefore, any expression he made could be called concentrated.
Archaeon mumbled an apology and almost stepped past the dwarf into the crime scene. He was led around and watched as guards examined the room and questions patrons.
Archaeon, with all the stealth he could muster, eased over to the barkeep and caught his eye.
“A pint, if you would be so kind…” Archaeon asked, placing some silver on the bar. The bartender looked around the guard-filled room, shrugged, and poured a pint for Archaeon.
Archaeon lounged at the bar, sipping the pint and casually asked what happened the night before.
“I didn’t really get a good look, sir, on the account of having a bottle hit me in the back of the head.” He turned and showed Archaeon the stitch marks of a recent injury. Archaeon murmured his sympathy and was about to motion the story to continue when the door opened again.
And in stepped Sherriff Sorik.
Archaeon cursed under his breath. He may have been able to fast-talk his way past the regular guards but not past the corrupt-as-the-day-is-long Sherriff.
Sorik scanned the room and almost instantly picked out Archaeon. He walked over, an expression of curiosity and annoyance on his face.
“This is a crime scene. What are you doing here?” he asked, not bothering with small-talk.
Archaeon drew himself up, radiating authority.
“I am Mordred attorney. Darius appointed me and Mina to represent him in the trial. Right now, I am interviewing a witness. Is the problem?”
“Yes,” replied Sorik. “You are doing it in a crime scene. Take him outside to finish, if you must.”
“No need,” replied Archaeon, seeing the barkeeps expression out of the corner of his eye. “I’d just finished with him. But Mina and I will want to drop by your… office this afternoon to speak to you and Mordred.”
Sorik just nodded. “After I’m done here, I’ll be heading back to do paperwork. Drop by anytime.”
Archaeon nodded in return and headed for the door, making sure to avoid any and all Dwarves.

Face screwed in concentration, sweat dripping from his brow, Archaeon struggled to remember the whole meeting with Sorik. He made sure to include personal notes about the encounter and refrain from using too many expletives to describe the corrupt Sherriff.
He was just finishing this masterpiece as Mina walked in and sat at his table. Wordlessly, she scanned the document for the key elements.
“Not very helpful, was he?” she asked, looking up.
Archaeon shrugged.
“Well, enough chit-chat.” Mina said briskly. “Mordred is expecting us. Come on.”
Archaeon stood up and walked silently to follow Mina outside. After a few minutes of walking, Mina halted and turned to him.
“You’re awfully silent, Archy. We must have passed three women who should’ve caught your eye. What’s up?”
Archaeon stopped walking and turned to regard Mina sombrely.
“It’s the bartender. He seemed very nervous to have Sorik and his cronies around. And that stitch on his head looked too neat to be from a thrown bottle.” Archaeon paused, rubbing his chin in thought. “Know what I reckon? He’s been paid off to get Mordred out of the picture.”
“Can you prove it?” asked Mina, returning his cool stare.
“No,” Archaeon said, shaking his head slowly. “Not without more proof.”
“Then we get it.” Mina said simply. “Perhaps Mordred will have some answers.”

Archaeon banged on the wooden door again.
“Open up, Sorik!” he called. “I know you’re in there!”
The door was suddenly yanked open by a grim-faced Sorik.
“Keep that up,” he said, staring coldly at Archaeon, “and I’ll arrest you for Disturbing The Peace.”
Archaeon ignored Sorik and stepped past him into the musty guard-house. As Sorik turned to berate Archaeon some more, Mina brushed past him.
“Which cell is Mordred being kept in?” asked Archaeon, looking around.
“He’s in cell two,” said Sorik “and you’ll be lucky to have the ten minutes I’m allowing. I’m in a generous mood.” His expression clearly said otherwise.
“Thank you,” said Mina graciously, smiling warmly at the Sherriff.
Sorik grunted a reply and slowly collected the right key before leading down the short stairwell to Mordreds cell.
Mordred looked up at Mina as she approached and Archaeon felt the atmosphere brighten. Sorik did as well, and did his best to put a damper on it.
“You’ve got ten minutes. Not a second more.” He said, unlocking the main cell door and tramping heavily back up the stairs.
“Wait!” called Mina. “Aren’t you going to unlock his cell for us?”
“Ha! Nice try, missy.” The footsteps disappeared as Sorik reached the top.
Mina sighed as Archaeon dragged a couple of chairs over for them to sit on. Mordred remained silent until they had both been seated.
“Upon my honour,” he said, before the others could get a word in, “I did not start that fight. I am terribly sorry that they were injured but I have been forgiven by the Evergreen Goddess, Mentmacro.”
Sensing a pause, Mina jumped in and explained the situation. Mordred took the news sombrely.
“So,” he said, looking from one to the other, “you two will be able to prove me innocent.” He said, not as a question but as a statement, as if he could already see the outcome of the trial.
“We will do our best,” said Archaeon. “I’m sorry but I can do no more.”
Mordred nodded, accepting the answer.
“Why don’t you tell us what really happened? That way, we can sift through the lies for the facts” said Archaeon, wanting to keep the pair talking and not day-dreaming.
Mordred nodded again and began to lay out the evens of the night in his clear, level voice. Only when he had finished did Archaeon and Mina question certain aspects.
“How long were you there before the fight broke out?” Mina inquired.
“No more than five or ten minutes.”
“Could it have been they were waiting for you?” asked Archaeon.
Mordred shrugged.
Mina began to ask another question but was cut off by footsteps at the stairs. Sorik walked down, followed closely by several guards.
“Your ten minutes are well up. Time to push off” the Sherriff gruffly stated. Archaeon peered at one of the guards, who just leered back at him.
“But we haven’t finished talking with Mordred. Can we have more time?” pressed Mina, looking imploringly at Sorik, who remained impassive.
“No.” he replied. “We agreed on ten minutes, and ten minutes is what you got.”
Archaeon stepped between the pair, arms held out to avoid a confrontation.
“Just let us have a few minutes more, Sorik” he asked, staring the Sherriff in the eyes. “What harm could that do?”
“More than my job is worth. Now, push off before I push you off myself.”
“You don’t want to do that,” said Archaeon, his hand dropping down to his sword hilt.
“Don’t even think about it,” warned Sorik, catching the motion. “Draw that sword and you’re a dead man. These men behind me are uncomplicated people.”
Archaeon’s grip tightened on his sword, and he made to draw it.
Except Mina stopped him.
Grabbing his shoulder, she spun him around. In doing so, he caught the expression she made. He sighed and turned back to Sorik.
“I apologise, Sherriff. I don’t know what can over me.” He said sincerely.
“True,” agreed Sorik, drawing a cudgel from his belt. “It overwhelmed you and we had to knock a bit of sense into you, eh boys?” The large men started laughing, the sound echoing through the tiny room.
“You can’t do this!” protested Mina. “It’s illegal!”
“No,” said Sorik, shaking his head sadly. “See, what happened is that you and the pansy there got excited and so me and my boys used ‘reasonable force’ to sedate you.”
“You… worm. You disgusting little worm.” Said Mina, backing away from the advancing guards. Archaeon stood next to her, hand pressed to the bars behind his back.
“Mina. Mordred.” he whispered out of the corner of his mouth. “Shield your eyes. I have a plan.”
Mina stared at him briefly before deciding to trust him on this.
When Mordred and Mina had shut their eyes, Archaeon brought his hand around and in front of his body, revealing the contents of his cupped palm to Sorik.
An egg-sized ball of glowing light.
“Boo…” he whispered.
And the ball exploded.
Bright light filled the room, piercing even those with eyes wide shut. The worst effect was had on Sorik and his gang, who followed the natural reaction to a glowing object: stare at it. The guards clutched at their eyes, unable to see.
Archaeon grabbed Mina’s hand and fled with her up the stairs, past the stumbling guards. The last thing he heard as he ran up the stares was Mordred voice.
“My trunk, Archaeon! They are in my trunk!”

Archaeon sat at the bar in Mischief’s hall, a half-glass of whiskey on one side and various pieces of paper about the up-coming trial on the other.
But he couldn’t shake the voice in his head telling him to look in Mordreds trunk. Yes, Mordred had said to open it. Yes, Mordred had said he could use the contents. So why hadn’t he opened it?
Archaeon shook his head, trying to clear it. He took a swig of whiskey and felt it burn a trail down his throat. It felt so good that he took another, longer swig.
“Drinking on the job, Archaeon?” a voice asked.
“A nightcap does me wonders, Mina. You should try one.” He replied, not turning around.
Mina stepped behind the bar and begun to mix a drink of her own.
“Something about the case bothering you?” she asked, pouring the ingredients into a tumbler.
“Yeah, niggling little bits don’t seem to add up.” Archaeon sighed. “But I suppose they could wait until morning. I’ve had a long day.”
Archaeon made to get off the stool but Mina stopped him.
“It’s about to get longer. Tell me what you think.”
“If you insist.” Archaeon said, sighing once more. He cleared is throat and looked distantly into the glass before starting.
“First, the bartender. He seemed awfully chatty when I first came in. He even poured me a drink in the middle of a dozen on-duty guardsmen. But as soon as Sorik turned up, he went real quiet real fast. And that’s my second point: Sorik turned up literally a minute after I got there. Why was he not overseeing the scene already?”
Mina nodded as Archaeon spoke and waiting until silence before voicing her views.
“Those seem like good theories but, like you said, they are just little bits. Perhaps the bartender is afraid of losing his business. And perhaps Sorik stepped out to visit the lavatory.”
Archaeon peered up at Mina.
“I thought you were on my side, Mina. Are you sure you want Mordred freed?” he asked, scowling.
Mina hesitated briefly at the accusation before melting down into a warm smile.
“Of course I do. No-one wants him freed more than I do. I was just voicing concern about what the opposition may think we are trying to get at with those statements.”
“We are trying to get reasonable doubt, Mina. There is, and I’m sorry to say this, no way we can prove he is totally innocent. Casting doubt is our…”
Archaeon was cut off as Mina slapped him in the face.
“How dare you…” she spluttered, panting in rage. “Of course he is innocent. I never want to hear you say anything to contradict that. Never!”
Mina screwed her face up in agony and fresh tears rolled down her cheeks. When she wiped them off, she saw Archaeon still sitting there, turned away from her, a look of sorrow and her handprint both clearly visible on his features.
“I’m sorry” he said softly, bowing his head slightly and looking straight ahead. “I was wrong to say such things. I’ll take my leave. Goodnight.”
Archaeon got up smoothly and left the room before Mina could stop him. He opened the door to his narrow room and flopped on the bed.
He sighed as he extinguished the candles and rolled onto his side. In the remaining moonlight he closed his eyes and let one, solitary tear roll down his cheek.

Trial day, thought Archaeon as he walked calmly into the courtroom, Mina easily matching his stride. He took his seat on right-hand side of the room, arranging his notes on the desk in front of him. He tugged at the collar of his pale blue shirt, the starch itching him.
He glanced at Mina from the corner of his eyes and marvelled silently at how beautiful she looked in her emerald dress. She caught his gaze and smiled quickly, her attention focused on the case at hand.
Sorik walked in next, accompanied by four guards dragging a bruised and beaten Mordred with them. Mina’s eyes went wide as she saw Mordred shackled to his chair, his mighty frame reduce to a collection of cuts and scrapes.
Mordred smile at Mina, a trickle of blood running for his split lip.
Sorik sauntered over to Mina and Archaeon.
“Seems your little friend tried to escape after you pulled that little stunt the other day. The boys and I had to calm him down before he did anything rash.”
Mina glared daggers at Sorik, who just leered back. Archaeon has to restrain himself before he did anything rash to Soriks face.
“You do realise,” started Archaeon “that as soon as we win, we…”
Soriks laughter interrupted him.
“You? Win? I have an open or shut case. I have witnesses. I have the assailant who admits to hurting them. How could you win against that?”
Mina clamped her hand over Archaeons mouth before he could boast anything to Sorik, true or not.
“We will see” said Mina. “We will see.”
Deputy Mayor Phobos interrupted any further conversation by stepping into the room and announcing in his crisp, clear voice.
“All rise for the honourable Mayor of Naerlan, Duke Krow Si’rus”
The entire courtroom rose in unison as Duke Krow entered and took his place.
“Be seated” he said clearly, his keen eyes taking in the mood.
Archaeon sat and arranged some papers as he waited for the real work to begin.
Duke Krow frowned as he saw Mordred.
“Sheriff” he called, not taking his eyes off Mordred. “What happened to the prisoner?”
Sorik stood to answer.
“He tried to escape our custody, your grace. My guards and I had to sedate him before he could make a break for it.”
“Did any of your guards suffer injures to such an extent?” asked Krow, his grey eyes boring deep into Sorik. “And ‘Sir’ will do.”
“Yes, sir. One of them hit himself in the face accidentally. And another split his knuckles open when he punched a metal bar.” Sorik said, his face impassive.
Krow matched Sorik gaze for gaze before Sorik couldn’t look at the older man and shifted his gaze to the papers in front of him.
“Very well then” said Duke Krow, looking around the room. “Let the trial begin.”

He stood, eyes closed and head bowed, outside the courthouse, letting the fading sun glint off the metallic flask he held in one hand. Eyes still closed, he sipped at the flask, gasping softly as the contents burnt his throat on the way down.
Archaeon lifted his head as he heard his name called, slipping the flask into his jackets inner pocket, hiding it from sight.
“Archaeon? What are you doing out here? The recess is almost over, we need to get back in there.” Mina said, looking slightly worried.
Archaeon sighed, turned to face Mina and regarded her for a moment.
“You were in there” he said coolly. “You saw the evidence that is stacked against us. What do we have to counter act that?”
“What have I told you about saying things like that?” asked Mina, her face turning grim. “You were warned once.”
“For what?” retorted Archaeon. “For speaking the truth? For speaking an opinion? Neither should be said by you, sure. But I try to put my emotions aside for one second and I get attacked?”
“Perhaps you should give up now then!”
“Perhaps I should!” said Archaeon, storming off.
He didn’t get more than twenty paces away before he felt a presence at his shoulder. Thinking it was Mina, he turned around, ready to launch another barrage at her.
But found himself looking at Isis instead.
“You were a little hard on Mina, don’t you think? Its not her fault there is little she can do to save Mordred.”
Archaeon visibly sagged at her voice but still retained some of his composure.
“I know that I shouldn’t have said those things…” he began. “But there is so much against us. I know Mordred is innocent, my gut tells me so. But…”
“But your gut isn’t substantial evidence, is it?” finished Isis, patting him on the stomach.
Archaeon smiled as he pulled Isis in for a long and tender kiss.
“Perhaps I should go apologise to Mina. I was rather harsh to her” he said, looking deep into Isis’ eyes.
She looked straight back into home and nodded.
“Come find me during the next recess. I’ll have a surprise waiting for you.”
Isis winked suggestively as she turned, deliberately letting Archaeon only just catch the gesture. She stepped into the flow of people walking by and disappeared from sight. Archaeon toyed briefly with the idea of going after her before he remembered his role today.
He turned and collided with a worried-looking man.
As Archaeon helped him to his feet, he was hit with a flash of recognition.
“The barkeep, right? From the other day? What are you doing here?” Archaeon asked.
The barman looked around suspiciously before beginning.
“I have some information, but I fear that certain… parties would like to keep me silent. Permanently.” His expression clearly said how permanent he meant.
Archaeon put his arm around the other mans shoulder.
“I am sure we can come to some sort of arrangement…

As the room filed out after Duke Krow had made his decision, Mina grabbed Archaeon by the arm and almost dragged him into a corner.
“How did you do that?” she asked, her green eyes boring twin holes into Archaeon.
Archaeon grinned, most of its effect lost on Mina.
“I have a gift, you know that” he said cryptically.
“Your only gift is getting beaten on by women, so ‘fess up!” she demanded.
Archaeon sighed, his humour lost at a time like this.
“He came forward to me and volunteered some information.”
“And what did he ask for in return?” pressed Mina.
“Money. 20,000 gold pieces to be exact.”
“When did you get 20,000 gold pieces to hand out like this?”
As the pause before Archaeon answered lengthened, realisation dawned on Mina.
“You want the clan to pay, don’t you?”
“Well…” said Archaeon, nervously licking his lips.
“I suppose it’s fair. You did do it for us all.” Mina sighed, defeated. “Let’s just hope its all worth it.”
Archaeon nodded, remembering Isis’ promise.
“We have a couple of hours up our sleeve, don’t we?” he asked, already knowing the answer.
“Then…” he said, just as she was beginning to nod. “I have a date I should be attending. If you will excuse me, Mina.”
Archaeon turned, knowing Mina wouldn’t stop him.
Before Archaeon could get more than a few feet away, a clerk hurried up to him.
“Excuse me, sir, but I was asked to give you this…” he said, holding out a sealed envelope.
Archaeon took the envelope carefully and handed over a gold piece to the clerk for his troubles. Opening it, he saw it was a note from who else but Isis.

Archy,
Sorry I couldn’t be there in person to say this but there is some preparing to do. I’ll be waiting for you down at the park. Don’t worry with food or drink, I’ll take care of that. Just bring yourself. I’m sure that’ll be enough to satisfy my appetite.
Isis.

Archaeon sighed as he snapped his fingers, reappearing in the spire. He rushed to his room to change but stopped at the door to Mordreds room.
“Aw, hell. Why not?” he muttered, opening the door.
Not wanting to violate the room any longer than necessary, Archaeon swiftly walked to the trunk. He marvelled at how it opened to his touch before his jaw nearly fell to the ground at its contents.
In the soft candlelight, resting on the red velvet, the metal gleamed.

Archaeon turned left and entered the park, whistling merrily. He smiled as he passed people, tipping his hat pleasantly to a group of women. In his left hand he held eleven white roses, their paleness matched only by the silk cord tying them together.
As he reached Isis’ favourite tree, he paused long enough to conjure up a mirror and make sure he looked immaculate for his sweetheart.
He rounded the last bush with a grin plastered on his face.
Which promptly fell off as he took in the scene.
The ground was trampled into mush, the picnic set and food it contained joining it. As he looked around, Archaeon noticed three dwarves laying in heaps, all looking very dead.
Archaeon hurried over to one and rolled it over, only to see a dagger-blade lodged in his/her throat, the hilt elsewhere. Further searching turned up the hilt, discarded carelessly in a bush nearby.
Archaeon picked it up, fingering the broken edge nervously. He looked back at the dwarf and saw the insignia of Snowrose on his/her shirt.
“Graden…” scowled Archaeon, and set off through the underbrush, following a trail carelessly left, his eyes flaming with murderous intent.
He reached the docks unhindered, the crowds parting as they saw his face.
But he was too late.
“If you’re looking for Chancellor Graden, then you’re too late. He’s already left in that ship of his. But he should be back in an hour or so.”
Archaeon looked around for the source of the voice and saw naught but an old dwarf.
“How do you know all of this?” demanded Archaeon?
The old dwarf chuckled and looked Archaeon straight in the eye.
“Because the Chancellor told me to tell you. He said ‘Dior, when Archaeon comes along, he’ll be as mad as a bull. Let him know I’ll be back to sort things out’ “
Before the dwarf could even move, Archaeon had rushed over and hauled Dior to eye-height, not an easy thing to do considering all the chain mail and leather they wore. But adrenaline and anger gave Archaeon all the strength he needed.
“He did, did he? Perhaps I should leave him a warning…” threatened Archaeon.
“Do so and I guarantee that you will not walk away.” Dior said, clicking his fingers.
Out of the corner of his eye, Archaeon caught the movements of small, squat figures darting between shadows.
Grunting with the effort, Archaeon practically dropped Dior to the ground. He stormed off, not even looking back to see how Dior fared.
Archaeon parked himself on a crate rested, knowing that he was surrounded. He knew there were only two outcomes today, only two ways he could go from here.
Option One: Isis would return to him and they would clear up any misunderstandings between all parties.
He shook his head. He knew, deep down, that it was almost laughable at how unlikely it was. His eyes narrowed he knew it would come down to option two.
Option Two: Either Graden or himself would not walk away from this dock.
So we waited, patiently, his anger protecting him from the cold sea breezes.
Waiting. Waiting…