Three days passed in a jiffy.
Magister Kaelith stood just inside the towering front arch of the Shadowed Gavel, fingers clasped too tightly behind his back. His eyes flicked toward the corridor again, scanning for familiar shapes. The crowd of elegantly dressed patrons flowed past him, but he paid them no mind.
A pair of familiar figures finally erged from the outer hall.
Kaelith stepped forward at once, his pace brisk and sharp. "You’re late."
"We’re here," Riku said casually, not breaking stride.
Sherry offered a polite nod, though the slight arch of her eyebrow betrayed her curiosity at the Magister’s tension.
Kaelith didn’t respond to Riku’s tone. He simply turned and gestured for them to follow. "Co quickly. The final warm-up auction is underway, and yours will be next. We’ve held the timing as long as we could."
They passed through a back corridor with Kaelith moving briskly ahead, his usually asured steps edged with urgency. Only once they entered a rune-locked side chamber did he exhale and turn to face them.
"We’ve drawn every important bidder in Dreadspire. Nobles, guildmasters, half the central alchemy court. The rumors worked. They’re expecting sothing impossible. You must remain unseen—until after."
Riku simply nodded, calm as ever. "Good."
"We’re late. What if we missed sothing? It is all because of you..." Sherry whispered as they entered the corridor, elbowing Riku in the ribs with a narrow-eyed glare.
Riku barely glanced at the ornate clock sigil etched into the wall. "They haven’t started anything important," he said with a casual shrug.
Sherry gave him a look that could curdle milk. "It’s an auction. Everything is important."
He offered a small, unbothered smile. "Do not worry. Whatever they have for auction, I could make ten tis better. I’m only here to et the Magister and find out about Rennan."
She shook her head, muttering under her breath, "You’re impossible," before hurrying to walk slightly ahead. Riku gave a wry smile and caught up.
Riku and Sherry were led through a side corridor, far from the common guest entrance. The hallway walls were lined with glowing blue sigils, pulsing faintly like a heartbeat, tuned to keep out eavesdropping and wandering guests. A pair of silent attendants opened an inner door without a word.
"I hope you enjoy the view from here, Master Riku. If anything is needed, please send for ." Kaelith bowed and left the duo in privacy.
Riku and Sherry sat on the comfortable, plush sofa and looked out through the open pane. Beyond it, the auction hall unfolded like a stage prepared for war.
The noise hit them first—not shouting, but a rising tide of murmurs and asured discussion, punctuated now and then by soft gasps or the clink of a goblet being set down too hard. It was the sound of tightly leashed tension, of powerful people gathered with even more powerful ambitions.
The hall itself was enormous, shaped like a perfect circle. Hundreds of seats ringed the floor, tiered up toward high balconies enclosed by shadowed partitions. Velvet banners hung between them, each bearing an insignia Riku didn’t imdiately recognize—but he knew their purpose. Prestige. Privacy.
Down at the center, under a do of gentle crystal light, was the auction floor. Raised just enough to make everything on it feel important. Sacred. Untouchable.
A young male auctioneer, dressed in the silver robes of the mid-tier curators, stood at the platform with a gleaming pair of erald earrings in hand.
"Thirty-two hundred for the Sethelan sapphires. Do I hear thirty-four?"
"Thirty-four," ca a voice from sowhere behind a crimson curtain.
Sherry leaned slightly toward Riku as they were guided to their private box on the fourth tier.
"They’re warming the room," she said quietly.
"They’ve been warming it all day," Riku replied. "They want the crowd tired. Restless."
They entered their suite—darkwood furniture, plush seats, and a rune-locked privacy screen. A silver flute of chilled wine was already waiting on a nearby stand. Riku didn’t touch it. He was focused on the floor.
The sapphires sold. The applause was subdued, polite and brief.
Then the lights dimd.
Not drastically—just enough for the subtle shift in mood to roll through the crowd. The noise quieted. People sat straighter in their seats.
From one of the back arches, a woman stepped onto the platform.
She did not wear the silver robes of the auction staff. Hers were deep violet, bordered in black and lined with whisper-thin sigils that shimred as she moved. Her hair was pulled into a flawless braid. No jewelry. No smile.
A ripple of whispers swept the balconies.
"Is that her?"
"No Way. The Violet Emissary? The Queen of the Gavel? She only appears for items above Tier Seven."
"They say she once turned a cursed relic into gold dust—just with a glance."
"Nonsense. She’s a mage and the disciple of one of the Dark Grand Magnuses. That’s why the House lets her speak without oversight."
Eyes followed her every step as she crossed the platform. Her movents were slow and deliberate. Not arrogant—asured, like a blade being drawn without intent to strike. Her robes never rustled. Her feet made no sound.
She paused before the pedestal, and though she said nothing yet, even the flickering rune lights around the platform seed to calm.
She raised a single hand, fingers outstretched.
Silence fell like a curtain.
Only then did she speak.
"Ladies and gentlen. You may have heard the rumors of an extraordinary item in today’s auction. I do hope you didn’t plan to buy it with pocket change. Fufufu."
"What? What is she saying?"Several people in the crowd started murmuring, confused.
"Our next item has been listed under Tier Nine. Its origin is classified. Its magic rating is undetermined. Its enchantnt matrix is non-standard and not currently reproducible. The Gavel presents this item as-is, with no reproduction or inspection rights extended to bidders."
A low murmur rippled through the crowd—sharper than re curiosity, but not loud enough to be panic. People turned to each other, whispering behind gloved hands and illusion-veiled faces.
"Tier Nine? I thought those were never shown publicly."
"I heard a rumor that the house had such an item today."
"Looks like this will be fun to watch..."
The sharp inhale ca not just from the shock of the classification—but from recognition. For so, this wasn’t a complete surprise. It was the disbelief of finally seeing a legend walk through the doors.
Tier Nine items didn’t appear on public floors.
Two attendants erged, wheeling a long velvet-covered pedestal. Every eye followed it.
The cloth was removed slowly—not dramatically, but carefully, as if even the unveiling might affect the item underneath.
And then it was there.
The Soul-Drinker.
Reviews
All reviews (0)