Chapter Text
The lobby of the Bureau of the Architect was abuzz with eager creators, many engaged in quiet conversation while waiting for their names to be called. Iris shifted uncomfortably in a corner of the room, her satchel clutched protectively to her chest.
Thankfully, no one had thought to come talk to her here. Here being Amaurot, capital city of Etheirys, and where she had grown up and received her formal education. Her time away had not fostered much fondness for the capital’s seemingly never-ending list of arbitrary rules and expectations. But she was here on a mission, and even the stuffiest society could not deter her from it.
Her stomach rumbled; she had been awaiting her turn for over two bells by now. She cursed herself for not having had anything to eat before making the trip to the Bureau, but who would have expected it to be this busy?
“Iris Thaumas?” the concept clerk called. “To present the concept of—“
“That would be me!” She barrelled through the crowd, muttering apologies as the sea of black-robed figures parted for her, and then she was flying—no, falling, having tripped over her robes in her haste.
She landed painfully, hands and knees taking the impact of the cold stone floor, though it was her pride that hurt most.
“I believe this is yours, miss,” a kindly voice spoke from above her, and she lifted her eyes to a hand holding out her own mask, which had fallen off her face in the chaos.
She muttered her thanks, mashing the mask back on her face as firmly as she could and brushing off the dust from her robes. A wholly unnecessary gesture, she thought as she got to her feet—this was Amaurot, after all, and above such mundane inconveniences such as dust and dirt.
“You're most welcome," he—the Bureau official, she presumed—answered. "My name is Hythlodaeus, and if you are ready, I should be glad to review your concept. Right this way, please.”
And so, cheeks burning and knees smarting, Iris marched into the office after him. A terrible start, but she was naught if not determined.
“Please, make yourself comfortable.” The official wove his way through the crowded room to his chair. A few books sat atop his wooden desk, which he hastily crammed into a drawer. “Miss Iris Thaumas, was it?”
“Yes, but just Iris will do,” she answered, her voice coming out a little too loudly for such a small space. She winced inwardly, but he barely seemed to notice. "I'm sorry, I didn't quite catch your name."
“Hythlodaeus at your service," he replied. "A mouthful, I know. I’ll be assisting you with the proposal of your concept.”
“Hythlodaeus. Right.” A mouthful indeed, but it had a pleasant ring to it somehow.
He cleared his throat. “May I see it, if you please?”
“Oh yes of course!” She reached into her satchel, pulling out a dull greenish fragment of crystal. One that should have glowed orange and green, if it had been intact. O“It’s broken!” she cried, frantically digging in her bag for the other fragments.
“Broken?” The official—Hythlodaeus—repeated, sounding strangely… gleeful. Iris wasn’t sure if she was imagining it, but he was already getting up and coming around to her side of the desk. “May I take a look?”
She handed him the chunk of crystal before retrieving three other, smaller pieces from the bag. “It’s probably useless now. I’ll have to use a new concept crystal.”
“While I am loath to get your hopes up needlessly, I may be able to fix it,” Hythlodaeus replied, gently taking the other fragments out of her hands. She watched, hopeful, as he sat down to test how they fit together, making soft hmm and ah sounds to himself.
“Now… where did I put it?” he muttered to himself. “Iris, would you be so kind as to fetch that jar over there?” She turned to see a shelf across the room, where a curious glass jar stood, encased in several coils of thick copper wire.
It was curiously heavy in her hands, and seemed to be brimming with unseen energy. “What is it?” she asked, gingerly placing it down on the desk in front of him.
“I present to you, the kráta gerá,” he announced proudly as he popped open the jar with a flourish. “One of the most simple, yet useful concepts approved by the Bureau, as I’m told.” He pressed his fingers to the copper coil, which began to emit a soft humming sound.
So engrossed was he in the workings of his strange object, that Iris almost felt regretful about interrupting him with her follow-up question. “But what does it do?”
Hythlodaeus looked up at her, puffed himself up, and took a deep breath before speaking. “The kráta gerá binds objects together, or in a position relative to one another, through the use of a near-imperceptible aetherial current, negating the use of a magickal or corporeal adhesive,” he rattled off.
“Did you... memorise that?” She couldn’t help smiling. His enthusiasm was rather infectious, after all.
“I did.” He beamed. “Frankly, I wish I’d come up with it myself.”
Iris touched the copper coils. They were pleasantly warm to the touch, and she could feel a faint current running through them. “So if I’m hearing this right, you’ll be joining the crystal back together through some sort of aetherial magnetic force.”
“An accurate deduction.” Hythlodaeus seemed pleased. He patted the jar affectionately, as if it were a living pet of some sort.
“Could you not have just reassembled them through aetheric manipulation, though?” she asked.
“Mayhap, but the seam created by the binding aether does have a way of obscuring the contents of crystals such as these—unless you’re exceptionally skilled, which I’m frankly not,” he explained. A thought seemed to dawn on him right then. “Wait, could you have done that on your own? I assumed—”
“No! I mean, not quite, I don’t think,” Iris admitted. She was fairly sure her aetherial manipulation capabilities were more suited for brute force than such a delicate task.
“Oh good. Very good. I needn’t worry then,” Hythlodaeus muttered, half to himself. “Now,” he announced, “observe the kráta gerá in action.” Spending fingers held up a fragment of crystal, before lowering it into the jar. Once in, he relaxed his grip. Rather than falling to the bottom, the piece stayed suspended right where he’d left it.
“Impressive. And very convenient,” Iris remarked.
“I thought so too,” Hythlodaeus said happily, picking up another piece. He nudged it against the first one, fitting it into place. And then another and another, until the entire crystal had been reassembled, held together by the kráta gerá’s unseen aetherial force.
“Now, it’s time for the final step.” The lid was placed back on. The copper coil took on a white glow, growing brighter and brighter till it hurt her eyes to look at it, and then it abruptly dimmed.
She was almost afraid to speak. Hythlodaeus too, stared, as if transfixed. “Is it finished?” Iris finally asked, leaning forward and peering between the copper wires.
“See for yourself.” He pushed the jar towards her, watching as she reached in and retrieved the crystal.
Iris pinched it. Hard. Then rolled it back and forth between her palms. The bond held. If not for the faintly visible lines where the crystal had been broken, she may not have even believed it had been anything but intact.
“Fascinating,” she breathed. “What a marvellous invention. I’d imagine it would have a great many uses.”
“It was initially created with the intention to use it for building construction, but that would require a kráta gerá too large to be convenient.” Hythlodaeus leaned back into his chair, his lips twisting into an embarrassed smile. “I, however, purchased this one purely for the purpose of mending concept crystals.”
“Break a lot of them, do you?” Iris quipped.
“They have an uncanny knack for getting swept off my desk,” he said airily. “I can’t be angering the creators by asking them to recreate their work, so I devised a method to fix them myself.”
“Do the objects have to be touching each other for the current to work?” Iris turned the crystal over in her hands, running her fingertips over the faint hairline cracks where the shards connected.
“Good question. The answer is no; it’s actually seen a lot of use in holding things suspended apart , rather than together.” Hythlodaeus bolted upright in his seat. “Have you perchance been to the restaurant on the roof of the Capitol Annex? Kouzína Stin Tarátsa?”
“I’ve seen it from a distance, but never stopped by,” Iris admitted.
“Oh, you must visit when you get the opportunity. The food is wonderful. But I digress—being on the rooftop, there isn’t a ceiling or walls where you’d attach lamps.” Hythlodaeus gesticulated with his hands as he spoke. “So the owner had the lamps suspended over the tables using a kráta gerá. A larger one. Obviously.”
Iris frowned, picturing the scene. “So if I were to… tip a table onto its side…”
“The lamp would come along, yes.” She could feel his eyes boring into her through the mask. “Is that the first idea that came to your mind? Overturning tables?”
“Just a passing thought.” Iris shrugged. A moment of silence passed as Hythlodaeus continued to study her thoughtfully. She cleared her throat, feeling uncomfortable under his gaze. Perhaps she had gone too far. He was, after all, an Amaurotine . “Let’s see if the crystal works, shall we? I think I’ve wasted enough of your time.”
“Oh, it’s no trouble at all,” he answered, reaching under his desk. “I’d probably have broken it myself if you hadn’t.”
She snorted. This Amaurotine didn’t seem so bad, at least.
The crystal slid into its receptacle with a satisfying click. A fuzzy, moving image of a wyrm appeared, creeping along a layer of sand and rock which hovered above the desk.
“It works!” she cried.
“It’s a wyrm!” Hythlodaeus exclaimed. “Is this the sort of thing you’re into?”
“Keep watching.” The wyrm began to burrow into the sand, swallowing little bits of rock as it went along.
“Is it… eating the ground?”
They watched, Hythlodaeus with an expression of morbid fascination, and Iris with a smirk of self satisfaction, as the wyrm made its way back to the surface and proceeded to pass out the bits of rock from its bowels.
“That looks immensely disgusting. Not to mention painful for the poor creature,” Hythlodaeus remarked drily. “I presume you are about to tell me its purpose.”
“Yes, as a matter of fact,” Iris answered. “This wyrm—I haven’t come up with a name for it, so it’s just wyrm for now—burrows deep into the ground, eating through even the hardest minerals. After digesting any useful nutrition, it returns to the surface to rid its body of… well, whatever’s left.”
“As I’ve seen, but do go on.” He poked at the image, and the wyrm wriggled away from his intruding fingers.
“The purpose—our purpose—for the wyrm, is to root out traces of harmful substances which may be present in the soil,” Iris explained, trying not to giggle as Hythlodaeus amused himself by prodding the image of the wyrm repeatedly. “Toxic waste, for example, which may be polluting nearby bodies of water, or preventing the native flora from effectively flourishing.” By then, the wyrm had retreated under the soil and refused to come back out.
“So you would analyse the contents of the wyrm’s bowels for the presence of toxins? How revolting. How exciting .” He grinned, and Iris couldn’t help grinning back. “However, there is one problem.”
“Oh no.” And there it was. “What is it?”
“It’s a living concept. Which means extensive testing, to ensure it won’t upset the balance of the ecosystem, destroy all life as we know it, and so on and so forth.”
“Right.” Iris bit her lip. “I see how a rock-eating wyrm might cause issues for the environment."
“An army of them could cause a fair bit of damage,” Hythlodaeus murmured. “Out of curiosity, are you in a hurry to see this concept approved?”
“I am. I was.” Iris slumped down in her chair glumly. “I’ve been helping a village far off from here. The lake nearby has been tainted, you see, and we’ve been trying to root out the source of the corruption.”
“So you came up with the idea of the wyrms.” Hythlodaeus scratched at his head through his hood, releasing a lock of lilac hair which fell into his face, over his mask.
Iris sighed. “I suppose I could find another—” She started as Hythlodaeus stood up suddenly, slamming his palms down on the table as his chair fell over behind him.
“I may not have a permanent solution for your quandary… but I do have something.”
“Already?” A similar concept would be very welcome. Preferably one that didn’t require her to analyse wyrm faeces.
“To the archives!” Hythlodaeus declared, as if he were about to go on a spectacular adventure. “But you can’t come. Bureau staff only.”
Iris rolled her eyes. He couldn't see it, but he might as well have, with how he stopped to look at her. “I’ll wait here then.” He continued staring. “What?”
“Don’t… overturn my desk,” he warned, waggling his finger in feigned disapproval.
“Your desk is quite safe with me, I assure you.”
Strange man. But rather pleasantly funny, she thought.
He left, and Iris found herself wandering about his office, looking at the various contraptions and tomes. She was flipping through what appeared to be an instructional book on training dragons when she felt the aether stirring around her.
“That’s a good one,” Hythlodaeus remarked as he reappeared, a note of approval in his voice. “Have you read it?”
She shook her head, closing the book. Hythlodaeus came to stand beside her, looking down at the well-worn cover.
“A work of fiction, and comedy at that, despite its rather misleading name. Nonetheless, exceedingly illuminating, especially if you’ve ever wondered about your purpose in life.” He pressed the book into her hands. “I’ve read it enough. It’s about time I passed it on.”
“I couldn’t,” Iris began, but he shook his head.
“Return it to me then, when you next come to the Bureau. The entire series is brilliant… but you didn’t come here to listen to me wax lyrical about books. I apologise.” He turned back to his desk, righting his chair before sitting down again, waving a concept crystal in triumph.
“Not at all. I’d like to talk about it more, when time permits.” She gently tucked the book into her satchel, suddenly overwhelmed by the unexpected kindness of this stranger. “Thank you.”
“You are most welcome. And now, without further ado…” An image appeared, of what seemed like a floating green blob of slime with three eyes and a mouth.
“It’s… some sort of creature,” she observed most astutely.
“A dust anemoi, to be exact. I won’t bore you with the unnecessary details, but its core might be of interest to you as a marvellously useful reagent for purifying water.”
“This… thing.” She looked up at Hythlodaeus sceptically. “Are you certain it won’t worsen the situation?”
“Indeed I am. I’m not sure how this particular usage was discovered—some ill-conceived game, I suppose—but the core seems to absorb impurities in the water, rendering it perfectly fit for drinking.”
“And how much water can a single core purify?” Iris prodded at the image, and the blob snapped at her finger viciously. She snatched her hand back. Just in case.
Hythlodaeus let out a cough that sounded suspiciously like a laugh. “I’ve heard that a few dust anemoi cores can purify an entire reservoir in a single turn of the star. I’m assuming more cores would do the job faster, and prolong the effects?”
“And how would I get my hands on one of these cores?”
He had the audacity to look surprised at her question. Like he hadn’t been waiting for it all along. “Ah. Yes. That. How good are you at fighting?”
The sun was beginning to set when Iris stepped in the door of the apartment in Achora Heights. Tearing off the hood and mask, she took a deep breath, savouring the faint scent of tea and herbs that permeated the air.
Raising a hand, she channelled her energies, and several crystals on the room’s walls lit up, illuminating the space for her to cross the room to the dinner table. She had just begun unpacking the contents of her satchel when a soft, soothing voice jolted her from her thoughts.
“That took a while. Did you run into any trouble at the Bureau?”
“Venat!” Iris jumped to her feet to embrace the tall, white-haired woman, then stepped back to look her up and down. “Shouldn’t you be in bed?”
“I was… but I heard an intruder, and thought they might have come to raid my kitchen.” Venat ruffled Iris’ hair fondly.
“No raiding here. I’ve come bearing food. And some good news.” Iris fished out the concept crystal and brandished it as if it were a weapon.
“So you were successful.”
“Not quite. Well, not yet, at least. The official told me it could take moons to get a living concept approved, so we’ll have to put the wyrm idea aside for now.”
“Well, that’s regrettable,” Venat sighed. “What’s the good news?”
“The good news is, he introduced me to a creature that might help our village after all. At least, temporarily.”
“Oh?” Venat shuffled to the table, sitting down with a wince of pain. “Let’s hear it then.”
The younger woman gave Venat a look of disapproval. “Will you not let me heal you again?”
“You’ll need all your aether for the morrow. Besides, it was just a few bruises.”
“You were caught in a rockslide, ” Iris corrected. “You should be at the Asclepion, getting examined by the healers.”
“Who would only prevent me from doing my duty,” Venat answered without hesitation. “You know very well that I don’t have the time to tarry.”
Iris knew. More than anything, she knew how much the people beyond the borders of Amaurot were in need of help. Help that only Venat, and a few others like herself, would deign to offer. “Then let me do it for you. Or at least, let me patch you up so you won’t get worse,” she pleaded. “Please, Venat.”
Venat was still for a moment before her expression softened. “Oh, alright. I’ll go see them tomorrow. But only because you’re so very persuasive.”
Iris grinned, batting thick, dark eyelashes which framed her lavender eyes. “Only because I’m your favourite. Admit it.”
Venat rolled her eyes, but couldn’t help a mischievous smile. “That depends on what you’ve brought home for dinner.”
“Dolmades! And those spiced carrots with labneh you liked so much the last time.” Iris took note of Venat’s grateful smile before she flitted off to the kitchen, returning with plates and utensils.
“So. The man at the Bureau showed me this creature…” Iris chattered away as she set the table and dished out the food. Together they ate, Venat listening intently as her student described the happenings of the day in between mouthfuls of food. “He asked if I was any good at fighting. So I said ‘quite brilliant, actually’.”
“Not an inaccurate evaluation.” Venat’s eyes twinkled.
“I learnt from the very best. Apparently I’ll have to go hunt down the dust anemoi in some far off place. He marked it on the map for me.”
“And you’ll be setting out at first light tomorrow?”
Iris nodded, swallowing a mouthful of marinated rice and vine leaves. “I suppose the villagers could last a couple more days with the supplies we left them, but I wouldn’t want them to start worrying.” She tapped her fingertips on the table thoughtfully. “And I’d like to hunt a good number of anemoi so the villagers would be well stocked with cores.”
“Will you be creating anemoi in the areas around the village?” Venat asked. “It might be easier in the days to come, if they could obtain the cores on their own.”
Iris shrugged. “That depends on how difficult it is to fight them, I suppose. I wouldn’t want anyone to get hurt because I decided to introduce a new threat.”
Venat nodded approvingly. “Very good. You’ve learnt some good lessons, I see.”
“After the debacle with the squirrels, yes.” Iris grinned. “Never again.”
“Never again,” Venat echoed.
“Oh, and I’ve got a new book to read while I’m away. He—the man at the Bureau—lent it to me.”
“I see. How very kind of him. Does said man have a name? What did you think of him?”
“His name is Hythlodaeus, and he seems—“ Iris narrowed her eyes. “What are you implying, Venat?”
“That you might have made a firm new friend! What could I possibly have been implying?” The smile grew broader still.
“Not another word. By the star, Venat…”
“What was that restaurant he recommended again? Perhaps you could ask him to dinner when you return the book.”
“I’d sooner overturn all their tables than spend my time at some stuffy Amaurotine haunt,” Iris scoffed.
Meanwhile, at the Kouzína Stin Tarátsa…
“Wine is an acquired taste, Hades. You just have to give it time and you’ll come round to it.”
“Why do I have to acquire a taste for anything? If it was as pleasant as you claim, I would have liked it at the first sip.”
The man with the pale hair shoved his glass across the table in disgust. Shrugging, Hythlodaeus claimed it for his own, downing the red liquid and licking his lips.
“A whole bottle to myself. This must be my lucky day,” he proclaimed with satisfaction.
Hades sighed and motioned for a server to bring him some tea.
The two were seated at their usual spot, right on the edge of the roof. The place was their favourite for two reasons: its exotic food, with ingredients sourced from all over Etheirys, and the view of the city it offered. The sight of black-clad citizens going about their business below was suffused with colour and richness, thanks to a remarkable gift shared by Hades and Hythlodaeus: soul sight. A gift that Hythlodaeus was using to his benefit right now to peer past Hades’ veneer of calm.
“You’re unsettled.”
“Not in the least.”
“It was a statement, not a question. Do not attempt to lie to me, Hades. We’ve been down that path before.”
Hades let out a grunt of annoyance and acknowledgement, mashing the fish on his plate into tiny pieces. Hythlodaeus, despite his mild, seemingly harmless persona, could be absolutely menacing when he wanted to.
“I’m trying to battle this constant state of ennui that I find myself in, time and time again,” Hades finally replied.
“I take it that things at the Akadaemia haven’t been going smoothly?” Hythlodaeus asked, pouring himself more wine.
“I’ve had stellar performance reviews, if that’s what you’re asking. It all just seems rather… pointless. Most of the research we’re conducting or the concepts we’ve tested don’t seem to benefit anyone except for their creators.” Hades sighed again. “It’s all a hobby to them, and we’re wasting valuable resources on it.”
“Mmm,” Hythlodaeus hummed idly in response. He wondered to himself what Hades would feel about the completely unnecessary effort that had gone into the lamp that floated above them. A fleeting image of a petite woman running amok and flipping the tables over invaded his thoughts, and he sniggered to himself. Hades’ narrowed golden gaze fell upon him.
“Certainly, you’d be the last person to understand my predicament. I don’t see how approving concepts for such useless creatures as mogs—what an insipid name, if I may add—could benefit the star.”
Hythlodaeus chuckled and speared a chunk of the grilled oktōpous. “Come now. I don’t think the improvement of the star is something that needs to be quite so… practical.” He motioned towards the spread on the table. “Delicious food, animal pets, entertainment, the arts—one might argue that these could be passed off as useless frivolities, but they enrich our lives and bring joy nonetheless.”
“I suppose I’ll have to see these mogs for myself to judge,” Hades admitted sourly.
“Whether or not you find them wanting, the mogs are staying. Pending a review at Elpis, of course, which thankfully isn’t in your jurisdiction,” Hythlodaeus replied, before grabbing the last kebab from the shared platter.
“You seem to be in high spirits, even for you,” Hades remarked. “I daresay you’ve finished almost all the food, leaving none for me.”
“That’s what happens when you play with your food, Hades. That tónos on your plate died for you; the least you could do is show the poor creature some respect.”
Defeated, Hades simply shrugged. “So what is it that’s gotten into you?”
“I,” Hythlodaeus began, with the air of someone about to make a very important speech, “may have saved a village from ruin by preserving their way of life.”
Hades stared at him for a moment before he threw his head back and burst out laughing.
“I see you’ve perfected your evil villain laughter,” Hythlodaeus observed, sipping his wine solemnly. “I also made a new friend.”
“A far more believable tale than the former claim,” Hades replied acidly.
“I was being completely serious about the village, by the way,” Hythlodaeus announced gravely, but the twitch of his lips was unmistakeable.
“Fine.” Hades folded his arms. “Tell me the tale of how you saved this village.”
“So it all started when this woman came to the Bureau…”
Hades stared grimly at Hythlodaeus. The expression was not something new, but it was always entertaining.
“Do you mean to tell me that you sent an untested person out to slay a hostile creature, relying purely on her word that she was capable?”
“More than capable, as she described herself.”
“And beyond that, you furnished her with the concept in question, allowing her to create more, with no regard for the possible consequences of its proliferation?”
Hythlodaeus waved a hand carelessly. “It’s not as if it was one of the restricted concepts.”
“By the star…” Hades’ expression grew even more pinched, and Hythlodaeus was enjoying every moment of it.
“I suppose there’s nothing to do now but to wait and see what happens.” Hythlodaeus sat back and twiddled his thumbs, pleased at Hades’ mounting irritation. “Once she’s back with my book, I’ll ask.”
“If she even comes back.”
“Oh I’m sure she will,” Hythlodaeus said glibly. He leaned forward dramatically. “I think you might find her interesting too.”
“Interesting in the way one watches a tragedy unfold on stage?” Hades sniffed in disdain.
“Perhaps, but not quite what I was getting at.” Hythlodaeus leaned forward and dropped his voice. “Her soul was… something else.” He paused, letting his words sink in.
“Oh?” At this, Hades’ eyes burned with a fierce interest.
“You’d have to see it to understand. I’ve never seen aught quite like it,” Hythlodaeus raved. “Like a spectacular sunrise, wild and frenetic. I had to stop myself from openly gawping at her.”
Hades shook his head, disgust apparent on the visible half of his face. “You’re lucky she didn’t run away screaming, from the sounds of it.”
But Hythlodaeus had returned his gaze to the horizon, and if one had seen beneath the mask, they would have noticed a faraway look in his eyes. “I know we’ve spoken about this before, but do you still think it means something?”
“The colour of a soul? Yes, but what it means is altogether a mystery to me still,” Hades admitted. “If there is any meaning at all.”
“What is the difference between a blue or a green or a…” Hythlodaeus snapped his head back in Hades’ direction. “Yellow.”
“I believe burnished gold is a more fitting description, you perverse purple lout.”
“My immaculate orchid hues are a thing of beauty, I’ll have you know.”
“As obnoxious as you are, of that I have no doubt.”
Hythlodaeus grinned. “Feeling better?”
Hades let out a grunt of acquiescence, and Hythlodaeus congratulated himself inwardly on a job well done. Nobody—least of all his best friend—had ever been able to resist his charms.