Clyde frowned as he looked at Hamr, the frown on his forehead deepening. However, his mind right now still thinking about the strange feeling that had jolted him awake.
The sensation wasn’t just lingering — it was gnawing at the edges of his consciousness like a puzzle with missing pieces that he couldn’t quite place.
Hamr’s eyes caught Clyde’s distracted deanor. "You alright, boy?" he asked, his gruff voice carrying note of concern.
"Yeah," Clyde replied curtly, shaking off the haze. He locked eyes with Hamr, his expression questioning. "It’s quick, though. How did Maethion manage to get the results so fast?"
Hamr scratched his beard, his expression grim. "Because he had to consult the High Council. They know about it now."
Clyde exhaled sharply, the weight of that statent sinking in. Of course they knew.
The High Council’s obsession with control over everything in the Sivagadh Fortress ant they would never pass up an opportunity to ddle. This developnt was both predictable and frustrating.
"They’ll be hounding later," Clyde muttered under his breath.
Still, he understood why Maethion had to involve them. Without their support, obtaining results this quickly would’ve been impossible.
At the very least, Clyde hoped that this would earn him so degree of trust from the Council.
Perhaps now they’d stop placing their probing spells around his quarters or attempting to spy on him as though he didn’t notice.
"Alright," Clyde said, his tone resigned but firm. "Let’s go."
Hamr gave a short nod but hesitated before speaking. "We’re not heading to my workshop, by the way. The Council’s waiting for us in their headquarter building."
Clyde’s jaw tightened at the ntion of the Council’s domain. He stepped back into his roo then take his black coat and strapped on his sword. If he was going to face the High Council, he would be prepared for anything.
Hamr noticed the subtle shift in Clyde’s deanor and the way his movents carried the readiness of a warrior expecting a fight. But the dwarf didn’t comnt — he couldn’t bla him for being cautious around those folks.
The two exited the building where Clyde’s quartere located and began walking through the labyrinthine streets of Sivagadh Fortress.
Skyscrapers of gleaming steel and glass stood alongside dieval stone castles, and ancient temples lood next to industrial-era factories.
The architecture clashed and blended in ways that defied logic, showing the fortress’s role as a refuge for those displaced by ti and catastrophe from the Selection Stage.
As Clyde and Hamr made their way through the shifting streets, Clyde’s gaze swept over the buildings. Despite the fortress’s chaotic appearance every structure served a purpose, its placent carefully dictated by the Council’s will.
The High Council’s building was a particularly imposing sight. The building was a towering edifice that combined gothic spires with modern glass facades, its architecture exuding both authority and foreboding.
Clyde’s thoughts wandered as they walked. He couldn’t shake the sense that tonight’s dream that jolted him awak were tied to sothing much larger.
The strange feeling he’d woken up with, the shadowy figures he saw grabbing into... things... it all felt like pieces of a puzzle he wasn’t yet ready to solve.
As they approached the Council’s building, Clyde adjusted his coat.
They entered the High Council’s building area, the sharp clang of boots on stone alerted them to the two guards stationed at the main gate.
Both guards stepped forward, barring their path with an air of disdain. Their sharp gazes locked onto Clyde with hostility in their eyes that impossible to miss.
"Stop," one of them said. "What business do you have here?"
Clyde stared at them with an unflinching gaze, completely unfazed by their aggression.
Hamr, sensing the brewing tension, stepped in with his usual diplomatic charm.
"Ah, yes. Actually, Maethion called for us," he said, offering a friendly smile and a calm tone.
The second guard raised a skeptical brow. "Really? We haven’t received any ntion of your arrival."
Hamr chuckled softly, scratching his beard as if the oversight were a minor inconvenience. "Uhm, maybe he made a mistake. But trust , he’s expecting us."
The first guard narrowed his eyes and stepped closer, his eyes shifting to Clyde. He scrutinized him with an almost mocking curiosity, his lips curling into a sneer.
"You don’t look so strong, Clyde," the guard said. "I know you. You’re that arrogant kid who struts around here like you own the place."
Clyde t the guard’s glare with icy indifference. "I don’t act like that," he replied, his voice flat.
The guard snorted, unimpressed. "Your na’s been spreading, though. People say you’re even stronger than Samuel and his friends. Is that true?"
"I think I am," Clyde answered matter-of-factly, as if stating a simple truth.
The guards exchanged glances, their lips curling into amused smirks.
"But Samuel is not the strongest fighter here, you know," the first guard said, his voice laced with condescension. "He’s just the most known because he’s always running around doing errands. But us? We’re tasked with guarding this building. We don’t need to brag about our strength like you do."
"Or maybe you’re just cowards who don’t dare to face real danger like Samuel and the others. You sit here, pretending your job is important, while they’re out risking their lives," Clyde replied.
The words hit their mark, and the guards’ smirks vanished, replaced by clenched jaws and darkening expressions.
Both guards’ hands moved to the hilts of their swords, the scrape of tal against leather reverberating in the still air.
Clyde remained unfazed, his stance relaxed but his eyes sharp. "I need to get going. Let us pass," he said, his tone as icy as ever.
But the guards, after their pride stung, ignored his words. One of them drew his sword fully, the blade catching the dim light of the courtyard as he stepped forward.
"You think you can talk to us like that and walk away?" the guard growled.
Hamr sighed, stepping back slightly to give Clyde room. "Oh, boy. You two really don’t want to do this," the dwarf muttered under his breath.
Clyde’s fingers rested lightly on the hilt of his own sword, his expression unreadable. "I don’t want to waste my ti with this," he said quietly, his voice carrying a lethal edge. "But if you insist..."
---
Reviews
All reviews (0)