Nikolai Elytis

Within the next few moments, a head would roll down the podium—the one I had bought.

The city of Kertneigh fluttered with life; markets were in full swing. The painted sky gazed upon them, an ornament for the earth. Shouts from saccharine vendors were ingratiating, beckoning for rich eyes and overflowing pockets. Plastic lanterns hung above, ready for the rush of the night and their colours—a mush of rainbows. Bread, fruits, and roasted meat—rabbits, deer, hens, and goats—overpowered the heavenly smell of flowers on fabrics.

I trudged through them, my weight pressing down on the cobbled stones that hid the ground, as I avoided scraps of fallen food devoured by the poor and unlucky. The tap dancers and living statues were lauded in the centre of the market square. The grand structure of Verilea towered ahead, where the executioner's stand stood stark against the vibrant backdrop, a grim reminder of justice served in blood. People meshed together, many on their toes, necks outstretched, while others stood above.

The purple uniform that clad me, boring the emblem of the Emperor, was enough to push past the horde of people crowded near the executioner's stand. Tension cracked like an electric whip, beckoning me to the front as the crowd avoided me like a plague. Fear. It was the strongest scent I have been attached to. And I have always been under or above it, with the mercy of time, but never away from it.

Kertniegh was full of eyes laden with hope, ears tuned high, and mouths majoring in gossip and the spread of rumours. I headed to my station, my eyes levelled and searching. The crowd hushed as the raised execution stage bore its guest of the day. A man, with his legs and hands cut and burned, his ears and mouth slashed to a forceful deaf and dump, a pitiful sight—my beautiful handiwork. I bit back a smile.

Ether guards flanked him on both sides as they dragged his body. His handicap shrank him to nothing but a bulk of flesh and bones. He quivered at the sight ahead, his fate a blow to his chest. I could see it in his eyes, the betrayal still fresh as he was forced to an end; he had himself written for the damned. For people like me.

When I had captured him, I had made sure to have him draped in the same clothes he had worn when he had crashed into unsuspecting houses and lodged his knives in the throats of Wielders years ago. 'Wielders are the spawns of demons, full of rot they are.' He had laughed at them, and now fate laughed at him—a cruel deja vu of his past.

The looming and large doors of Verilea Hall opened, and the Emperor's most finely trained pets emerged like victors. They were clad in all black, while one had ornamental gold threaded to the ends of his cot, the ministry. Tension heightened at their presence, their power a grim testimony to the iron grip of the Emperor.

The crowd silenced as the ministry took the stand, their obedient reverence a chilling testament. "Greetings to all the Savorlean subjects." The ministry's voice boomed, echoing through the ears of the hundreds of spectators gathered.

"We have all come together here to witness the never-ending grace of the Emperor. His rise had us all blessed and safe from the abominations that threatened to have us annihilated. The very curse of the earth, the very reason our ancestors had their blood mixed with the soils of our fertile lands."

Everyone bowed in respect, perfectly together—a harmonious wave of heads.

"Today has marked the death of another one of those abominations. A wielder from Frijaia was caught by our talented Ethers. Ether Silas has the honor of this flawless capture. Another step to our great future."

The man tied to the fate of the Executioner blade squirmed as he saw me emerge. The condemned man's eyes bore into mine. He knew the truth and who truly wielded the beast under their skin. He shook his head mad; his eyes almost bulged out of his head as he tried to point to the crowd of his truth as I stepped to the front for a moment of valour. But amidst the orchestrated spectacle, his actions failed to add rhythm to the tune.

The crowd murmured anxiously, their eyes fixated on the raised stage where the condemned awaited his fate; to them, he was just another Wielder. The ministry continued as I stepped back. "We shall be blessed by the ancestry in our blood; we shall wipe the earth of another one of their murderers."

The crowd hummed together. "We shall be blessed." I closed my mouth to prevent a yawn.

"Kaeren Wilry, a wielder who has murdered three officials of the Empire, has been sentenced to death by execution." Kaeren looked at me, his eyes screaming at those words I had stopped him from uttering forever.

Behold him! It's he who killed them. I, a human, was falsely accused. Please, someone! That's Nikolai Ekytis! His pleas fell and shattered in the space in front of him.

I hid a smile as the executioner took hold of his blade. The crowd murmured, excitement soaring through their veins. All ignorant of the wolf in the mist, the real culprit of the accused's crime. The same who wrongly fingered him to death, the same who made sure he would never escape with the truth that now resides under carved meat that used to be his tongue.

I smiled at him mirthlessly, taking a provocative stance as I stared him down.

'You asked for it.'

He killed my people; he started it. And he dared think he would be safe from our fires because he caught us with a stab in the back. He thought he had wiped our faces off the earth. And I shall put that false predicament of his to death for good. Anger raged like a fire under my skin, and my hands itched to get a hold of him, to circle his neck, and to watch as I squeezed the life out of him. I took a deep breath. Not here, not now.

Kaeren tried again, nudging his head to me, his eyes pleading, bleeding tears. An Ether guard slapped his face to submission and positioned him on the blade. I closed my eyes, rejoicing at the echo of the slap.

Wrong move.

The cluttered face of a wielder looked back at me. His eyes were white, and his head crested to the stokes of his house. Blood seeped through his neck while the insides of his body hung around like Christmas decor. I gulped and opened my eyes, removing that image before the monster in me broke away.

I heard a tut beside me. "He's at his wit's end. Look at him, hop, and shake his head like a madman." Alskra chided.

"At death's door, I think we might all be."

"Lest it'll be better than his." He remarked, surveying the scene. The triumph of a wielder's death was not lost on him, as it was to me. "You're very cruel to them. Cutting off their legs, arms, ears, and tongue. Sort of disabling them for every uttering or doing something." He said it, mocking pity and sadness.

"I make sure my work can't chant." Or sing like a canary to the ministry about the beast raging under my skin. Kaeren Wilry, the human who had slaughtered thousands of my kind, always had my eyes on him. I had vowed that day that I would kill all who stole from me and avenge my people. And one by one, I had.

Kaeren was forced to kneel. The Ethers tied his head to the bounds for a clean strike. The executioner's blade gleamed in the sunlight, poised to deliver the final verdict. The crowd held its breath while his gaze bore into my soul. His silent accusation burned in his eyes. With a swift motion, the executioner's blade fell, severing his head from his body. Blood sprayed across the podium, a macabre finale to the grim spectacle. The head rolled, and blood slithered out of it, creating crimson slashes on the stand. I turned my face in disgust, but my heart couldn't get enough.

In Kertneigh, a city of shadows and secrets, justice was a fragile illusion, and I was a willing participant in its dark charade. It was the best prey to repay those who had wronged us. People here were unsuspecting as long as the dice were rolled in their favour.

My hand went to my mask, the paranoia of having it fall off my face and ruin my play of Silas, the Ether guard from Cherile at the front. I patted at the ridges of my grape uniform. The grey thread was sewn at the edges, and a long coat of purple cloth draped over it all, covering my back, with its ends tied together at my neck.

"That was fast." Alskra huffed, wiping the sweat on his brows from the sun's glare. He turned to me and said, "Care to join the after-party? I heard there would be a lot of fancy booze, and many of the dignitaries will be visiting." His eyes glinted, no doubt for the beauty of the women at night.

I watched as the Ethers on duty cleaned up the mess. Kaeren's once-honourable and unstoppable vigour was reduced to decaying flesh and bones. "I'm too exhausted for the day, Alskra. You can continue without me." I told him.

"Oh, come on, Silas. It's not like you've got something important to do other than sleep your day away. I assure you, it will be a missed piece of entertainment. You'll regret it." He crooned, hooking his hand over my shoulders. Silas might have had nothing to do, but Nikolai did.

I swatted at his head; the sudden contact had my heart setting the bass for the empire's anthem. I let a second die, ensuring he didn't realize it before continuing with my charade. "Then I shall add it to my long list of regrets; I assure you, it will barely stand out against the others. Especially against you."

"Ouch, you've wounded me." He feigned hurt with a dramatic flare to it. I couldn't help but resist the curl of my mouth. A human entertaining the likes of a Wielder—how coy would he feel once he knew of the betrayal?

"I don't think I'm sorry, Alskra." I grimaced at his possum impersonation of hurt. He huffed, and his autumn hair fell to his shoulder from the loose tie due to the impact. His eyes crinkled, turning into two black dots caved in by brown mud.

I smiled at him, even though my lips were partially hidden by my mask, which covered the upper half of my face. "Farewell to you, Alskra. Don't get drunk on watch."

"Farewell to you too, Silas. Never be fun."

I chuckled, shaking my head. I stepped away and tipped my head at him, who did the same, and with a wave, he disappeared into the crowd's tide. I let out a sigh. Exhaustion crippled my bones, and the urge to get engulfed by the comfort of my bed was my highest priority. With a swift turn on my heel, I headed for the lone streets that hissed at my presence in the opposite direction.

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The mist swallowed me whole and spit me out on a different street. The Hemre fog that lived through the distinctions between various streets has always been a welcome change to the heat on Verilea streets. It had come during the age of Wielders and had never left since, obstinately stowed away by humans.

It wasn't the effect of the weather but something that persists even in broad daylight, a mystery to the locals, but all they need is an uncluttered look through the eyes of a wielder to see the decimated magic retained here. Its magic is as old as time, but its survival is a semblance of the ever-lasting love of a mother it was. Her lasting effort as she took her dying breath for a forecasting spell upon Kertneigh to conceal her children from the clutches of the Ether guards. Hemir's children hadn't survived, they had been killed before they could seek refuge from the fog. With its duty still bound and incomplete, Hemir's last words hung in the air, forever waiting for her children that would never come.

And now wielders use it to cloak their scents and hide away in the chase. And dare a human cross it, it would send them to a faraway street, and was it an Ether guard than to the forbidden forest.

My eyes scanned through the endless posters of unrecognizable faces, yet I knew they were related to me, one like me. It was easy to identify them since Wielders were mostly painted in an obscene way to make children and teenagers think of us as villains or monsters who creep under their beds at night and bite a toe or two.

Kertniegh used to be the capital state of the old Breaza Empire, the last empire under the rule of the Wielders. It had been the last of its victims that the deep-etched hatred was still fresh and sinew, the wounds inflicted yet to heal into immortal scars, and the cries of the dead yet to drench in time. When the Emperor took over, he threaded together three empires of different reigns. The takeover was slow and deathly; one by one, he had played chess with our lives. And he has turned us all into mere pawns in his game.

I clicked my tongue as I gazed at the angry words brandishing a huge cement wall. The large, valiant words that caught my attention skimmed at my nerves. 'Serve divinity, banish sorcery.' The painted slogans of those religious cults twitched my nerves. An icy cold grip gnawed at my spine, fighting at the chains I had embellished upon it. The wield in my veins was now deliriously awake and mad. My eyes drifted around for occupants, and a curled smile fixed me as I decided to test the limits of the reins I had on my Wield.

My eyes slowly and torturously skimmed through more of the slogans and quotes.

"We shall cleanse the taint of magic with righteous fire.'

'Witches beware; our faith knows no fear.'

Hatred surged through, and suddenly, the words on the pages skewed and began dancing towards me tauntingly with a salacious smile. The blood-red colour of the ink resembled the blood that had leaked through their eyes. Their bodies were torn apart to shreds as the mortal demon of the humans released hell at them.

My temples throbbed, and my heart slammed at my chest, taking me down with it as I fell to my weakened knees. My lips parted at the wordless horror. My nails dug into the flesh of my palm, drawing blood. Pain latched onto me with its endless and tenacious tentacles, and a scream fought to tear through my thickened throat.

Control.

It was the last thing I had for myself. I scourged for it as it slipped past my fingers with vigour. My eyes glossed over the pain as my body rebelled. With trembling hands, I procured my pockets and surfed through its contents. A pale yellow letter fell to the ground, dropping with a ballerina's grace. My gaze was unsteady as my hands searched until it fell over the familiar sensation and took out a dry, unprepared herb of Woveri.

This would have to do.

I threw it in my mouth and chewed on it. The dark, bitter taste of its juice burned my mouth. I hadn't had any prepared Woveri paste with me, so I was forced to ingest the profligate parts of it, which were dry and unclean as if they had been freshly stolen from the garden of some green panther.

The bitter aftertaste that followed shed no mercy. I sat there, idle, for a moment of reprieve. I had yet to hone the skill of wielding manipulation to its highest levels. My current skill had only barely skimmed the crusty layers of it. It was only a ripple in the water, a low and small one, yet still a ripple that I have mastered. I was one step ahead of the long, unclimbed, steep steps that dive deep into the blurred layers of magic.

My eyes skimmed over the letter. Confusion drenched me as I pondered over its origin. When did it land in my pockets? I could summon any memories having taken it myself.

I opened the letter without sparing a second to the dead.

'At Ironhail Gates by the evening dark.

She will be there.'

I gritted my teeth barely saving the smooth edge of the paper. With a huff, I was back on my feet, the hurled pain vanishing to the ether as I turned away from my path.