Chapter Thirty-Three
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The headquarters' outlines began to appear on the horizon with the first golden threads of sunrise. The city streets breathed with the clamor of dawn; bread vendors pushing their heavy carts, milk sellers shouting with hoarse voices, and children slipping between the sidewalks carrying empty baskets.
Karsu walked beside Fargas with quiet steps that did not match the exhaustion of a night of fighting. Fargas sighed inwardly as he watched that calm shadow.
Now I understand how Aynnd lost a verbal battle to this man. I thought I would never see anyone more irritating than Aynnd in my life...
Another deep sigh.
Here I am.
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They reached the gate of the ancient stone headquarters. It was a three-story building, its stones dark gray, its windows narrow and iron-barred. Above the main door, an engraved inscription read: "Council of Security – Investigators' Headquarters."
Fargas opened the door without looking at the guard who bowed to him respectfully. They entered a long corridor, then climbed a narrow spiral staircase. Each step echoed through the old building's walls.
Until they reached a room at the far end of the third floor.
Fargas's room.
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The room was spacious, its walls lined with shelves filled with leather files. In the center, a heavy wooden table covered with maps and papers. But what caught Karsu's attention was something else.
At the top of the room, in a small glass cage hanging from the ceiling, there was a butterfly.
A golden butterfly.
Its glow was faint, calm, as if it slept with open eyes.
The Qaz of Truth.
Karsu recognized it from the books he had studied in a distant past. A very rare Qaz, not subjugated by Qaz Lords. It lives in a cage, used only in the rarest of matters. A golden butterfly... if its color turns red, the spoken words are lies. If it remains golden, the words are true.
So, we have reached the decisive moment.
Karsu knew—as did all Qaz Lords—that not all Qaz are stationary worms. Some are butterflies. Some are other creatures. Every Qaz has a form, and every Qaz has a lifespan. What the Lords subjugate is only one type. The rest... die after limited uses. Once. Three. Ten. Depending on the Qaz, its type, and even luck. There are Qaz thought to have three uses that survive to a fifth, and others that die after only two. Hence, the most dangerous and risky type of Qaz to use is the limited-use kind. Exactly like the Qaz of Truth.
This Qaz... how many times has it been used? Could today be its last use? It doesn't matter. What matters is that it will work now.
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Fargas sat behind his desk. He did not invite Karsu to sit. Karsu stood there, in the middle of the room, his eyes half-closed.
A long silence. Then Fargas asked, in a low voice, yet sharp as a sword:
"Do you have any connection to the 'Lord of Threads'?"
He paused. Then added, as if reading a death sentence:
"Or are you yourself... the Lord of Threads?"
He raised his hand and pointed to the glass cage. The golden butterfly had opened its wings. It was ready.
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Elsewhere – The Lord of Shadow's House
Knock knock.
The Lord of Shadow opened his eyes suddenly. He had not been sleeping deeply, but the knock was harsh, random. He rose from his bed, his hand touching a dagger beneath the pillow. He walked toward the door with the silence of a cat.
He opened it.
An old man. An elderly man, his back bent, his hands trembling. He looked at the Lord of Shadow with wandering eyes.
"Sorry... sorry... You are Tanaan, yes? I think I have the wrong place. I am looking for my daughter's house. Can you show me the way?"
The Lord of Shadow (Tanaan) sighed inwardly. A lost old man. Ordinary in this poor neighborhood.
"Walk to the end of the alley, then turn left. You will find a house with a blue door."
He gestured with his hand in the direction. The old man touched his hand during the gesture. He felt a piece of paper pass from the old man's sleeve into his hand. Tanaan's expression did not change. He only closed his eyes for a moment, then opened them.
"Thank you, my son. Thank you."
The old man walked away, leaning on his cane.
Tanaan closed the door. He unfolded the paper.
Blank.
He smiled. Of course. A trick.
He took a small vial from his pocket, containing a clear liquid. He sprayed it on the paper. Letters began to appear slowly, like ghosts emerging from nothing. He read:
"Our latest investigations into Zalil have failed. All our spies have been killed. However, there is confirmed information: Zalil (the Lord of Mist) survived an assassination attempt. The attempt failed miserably, and the assassin was captured. He will now be much more cautious. I am telling you this to announce that the fee will increase if you wish to continue the investigation. We have suffered heavy losses…"
He burned the paper in a candle flame. Ashes scattered in the air.
"Just mercenary dogs. I am sure they know who sent the assassin, but they did not include that information—even when I pay. Damn them."
Then he looked at his window. Sparrows had begun chirping on the edge of the roof. His black cat had woken up, licking its paw slowly. He walked toward it, placed its food in its designated spot, and waited until it had eaten a little.
Then he put on his coat and left.
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Elsewhere – The City Streets
The sound of heavy footsteps preceded his arrival by seconds.
Cox was riding his black bull, the massive beast that filled the entire width of the street. Its hooves shattered the cobblestones, and its snorting was like distant thunder.
The vendors on both sides of the road disappeared into their shops the moment they heard the bull's sound. No one wanted to be in its path. No one even wanted to look at it.
Cox sat atop it, like a king on his throne. His clothes were torn, the wound on his neck covered with a thick layer of red mud, but his eyes sparkled with mischievous delight.
He reached the guard headquarters. He dismounted with difficulty—his body ached more than he showed. He slapped the bull's flank, and the beast turned toward the rear stables.
He entered the building.
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On the upper floor, in her small office, Remy was arranging papers.
She wore her glasses, her face entirely focused on the files stacked before her. She did not look up even when she heard the creak of the door.
"Sir."
It was not a greeting. It was a statement.
Cox stopped at the door. His wide smile had shrunk slightly.
"Remy... I—"
"I don't want to know."
She raised her head for a moment. Her gaze was sharp, but not angry. It was merely... tired. Tired of cleaning up his messes.
"The forest. The collapse. The Lord of Threads. All of this... I will write a detailed report. The Supreme Council will review it. You will be held accountable."
"Remy—"
"But for now..."
She stood. She took a clean black shirt from her drawer and placed it on the desk before him.
"Wash your face. Change your shirt. You have a meeting with Fargas in an hour."
Cox looked at the shirt, then at her.
"You're angry."
"I am not angry, sir. I am merely... doing my duty."
Cox smiled. A smaller smile than usual, but sincere.
"Thank you."
"Don't thank me. Go."
He took the shirt and walked toward his private room. Just before he closed the door, he heard her voice:
"And sir…"
He turned.
"Seeking treatment for an injury sustained in battle is not a sign of weakness. Sometimes, asking for help or medical care is the wisest choice. Remember that."
He closed the door.
Remy sighed and returned to her papers.
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In Fargas's room, the silence was heavier than the stone walls.
Karsu did not move. He did not take his eyes off the golden butterfly suspended in its glass cage. He was analyzing. Calculating. Reading the situation like a battlefield map before choosing where to strike.
A Qaz of Truth. Limited uses. No one knows how many times it has been used before me. And Fargas... he wants direct answers. Yes or no. He wants to corner me.
So... I will not be in the corner.
He raised his eyes. Smiled.
A soft laugh. Not mocking. Not nervous. It was the laugh of a man gambling everything on one throw.
"What do you think of staggering the questions?"
Fargas did not understand.
"What?"
"I mean... when using the Qaz of Truth, it remains active for a period of time before a full use is counted. Correct?"
Fargas narrowed his eyes. He did not answer.
"So... order does not matter. Whether you ask me about my connection to the Lord of Threads first, or about why I was in the forest, or about the color of yesterday's sky... the result is the same. The Qaz will work."
Karsu took a step toward the desk. It was not a threatening step. It was the step of a man who wanted to sit, but had not been invited.
"Direct answers will be boring. Don't you think?"
He looked at Fargas with eyes that had grown deeper.
"Won't you ask me something else? The very thing that makes you certain that I am Karsu in the first place?"
Fargas's expression shifted for a moment. He had not expected the question to be turned back on him.
But he did not hesitate. He had no need to hesitate. He was in his headquarters. His guards around him. The Qaz of Truth in his hands.
He is trying to evade. He wants to ease the pressure. He wants to unsettle my focus.
But he forgot where he is.
"Fine."
Fargas said it in a quiet voice, but it was like the closing of an iron cage.
"Let's make it more entertaining."
He tilted his head slightly. His blue eyes never left Karsu.
"I will ask you a different question."
He paused. Then said:
"Are you the killer of the two officers from a few days ago?"
Silence.
"Is the name of the officers' killer 'Karsu'?"
Karsu smiled.
A wide smile this time. It reached his eyes. Like someone who had been waiting for this moment since the conversation began.
He reached his hand toward the desk. He did not touch it. He merely placed his palm on its edge, as if leaning on something imaginary.
"The name of the officers' killer is Karsu... indeed."
He paused for a moment. The golden butterfly remained golden. It did not change.
"As for whether I am that Karsu, the killer…"
He closed his eyes for a moment. Then opened them.
"That is also true. I am the one who killed them."
The golden butterfly… did not change again.
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