All was still; nothing, or at least it seemed like nothing, could break through the fragile tranquility that hung over the quiet villa. Slowly but surely, life began to stir inside of it; a faint rustling, no louder than the gentle autumn breeze, started to disturb the peace. A magnificent oak door, gilded with shining gold trimmings, swung open, admitting a group of rowdy-looking men and a lithe silhouette in.
"Are you sure we should do it? Should we really trust that man?" asked one of the men in a raspy voice.
Though his countenance gave off the aura of a wild bear, which was incidentally strengthened by his enormous brown beard, the man's iron face softened with anxiety as he asked this. He looked at their leader through genuinely concerned eyes, treating her not just as his superior, but as someone to look up to—a role model.
The silhouette walked past him, reached for the lights, and turned them on. As soon as they were on, she said, "I'm sorry for worrying you all."
A flash of platinum shone across the room; she let down her long silvery hair and held out an elegant, spidery hand.
"Your jackets," she said, her voice carrying the warmth of the sun.
It was clear from their mutual understanding and respect that they were tied to each other beyond comradeship. Family was a better way of describing this special bond.
She hung their jackets on decoratively shaped hooks on the side, she turned around, clearing her throat.
"Do you all trust me?"
A collection of murmurs rose together as one.
"Yes."
"Then rest assured; there will be no trouble coming from Blight if we make an alliance with him. Both of our goals align with each other, so I don't see any problems for the time being."
Though the hearts of the rebels were uneasy, they were all silently reassured by this simple statement. A dense silence shrouded itself on them all; each member of this fallacious group of outlaws pondered on the future. For them, death was around every corner, hiding maliciously behind every mission and striking painfully when it was least wanted—that was the inevitable future for a rebel. Whether by disease or fatigue, execution or fighting, death stuck to them like burs.
"Why have we resumed fighting again, Mira?" piped up another man.
Their leader sighed and descended onto an armchair. Surveying her party with dark-grey eyes, she answered, her voice lighter than a feather, "Since we're about to enter into an alliance with Blight, I thought it would be wise to draw Grock's attention away from it, else he might try and interfere."
"We haven't fought directly for a while now; won't he feel like something's wrong?"
"He won't, because I've fabricated a reason for us doing so."
"A reason?"
Evidently, the rebels gathered there were confused.
"Yes," said Mira, stretching her arms. "I've called you all here to explain. From now on, we'll be targeting pharmacies and anywhere that stores medication."
Everybody understood what she meant now. The 'reason' she had been talking about was obvious.
"We'll be setting everything up to make it seem like we're slowing down because of disease while actually diverting the Enforcers' attention away from our future meeting with Blight. As for the details, I'll fill you in later, so don't worry"
A moment of peaceful silence followed, broken only by the sound of falling autumn leaves outside.
This very day had always been something meaningful to the rebels; after all, it was on the same day a decade ago when their old leader fell dead to the hands of an incurable disease.
"It's been ten years already, father," whispered Mira, gazing nonchalantly at the dancing yellow leaves in the massive expanse of gold and orange trees.
"We've already paid a visit to his grave," said one of the rebels, noticing her solemnity.
—
From her youth, Mira Hoffman had been separated from the world; the shadow of the Enforcers followed her no matter where she turned. Her father, Markus Hoffman, the rebels' leader, never found the time to interact or even greet his daughter; instead, everything was provided for her, from her basic needs and education, to personal attendants. She never complained to anybody or asked questions—her father was a very busy man, and that's all she needed to know.
It was only until he began to fall ill and become unable to keep leading his comrades when Mira finally met the aged strategist in a damp, drab room with only a single oil lamp to light up the man's rough features. There he laid on the bed, helpless as a fish on land.
Everybody waited with abated breath as Mira edged closer and closer to the coarse bed lit up by the warm orange glow of the candle. She bent down, prompting her father to summon his remaining strength to whisper, "Please, Mira, listen to me. I… I know I've never been a parent you could rely on, so I'd like to apologise for that first…"
His voice cracked and broke into a fit of violent coughs. After he pulled himself together again, he continued, "I know I've no right to make any requests from you but I want to beg you… Please listen to this selfish man's words just this once…"
Wheezes rang out from his bed again; this time was running out.
"Please…"
The frail voice just managed to get the last few words out.
"Help me… Guide them… They will need a leader… Help me, Mira…"
And he slumped back onto the pillow, exhausted. Mira shrank back from the bed speechlessly. Her? Take command over the rebels? During her entire lifetime, which only lasted for a measly fourteen years, she'd been estranged from her father for her own safety, yet now… she was asked by him personally to guide his comrades.
Desperation. The desperation in his voice convinced her that it wasn't only for the rebels she'd be helping but also herself. Since her father was on the edge of death, who could provide her with meals and a roof over her head? She must keep herself and the rebels safe with her own hands; that was her father's final wish. From then on, no more doubts were raised. No questions. She was now the rebels' new leader.
—
"Mira."
The voice suddenly transported her back to reality.
"Are you alright?"
"I'm fine."
She rubbed her forehead painfully. Unwanted memories were to stay hidden, never to rise again and haunt her mind. Noticing that the other rebels were also looking at her with great concern, Mira decided to change the topic back to what she intended to say from the start.
"I'm really alright. Anyways, I've called you all here to tell you the news; I'll be meeting Blight in Revalty next week. He has graciously allowed me to bring up to four guards along with me, so I'll prepare for that as well."
"Can we really trust him? He's already gained control over revalty, so we can no longer consider there to be neutral ground. In my opinion, you should prepare a few weapons just in case it's a trap—"
"No."
Her voice was flat but she looked at them as if wordlessly thanking them for their concern.
"I am very sure it's not a trap. Both of us want to see the Custodians fall, which gives us a shared objective. Besides, Blight could've trapped us earlier if he wanted to. Do you remember August Rook? Rook was only a proxy for Blight, I'm sure of it. Ever since he was found murdered in that apartment and Blight defected from the country, a majority of those in the underworld who relied on him scattered. Although the police are still hunting for the culprit, there's a high chance Blight killed him to completely sever his bond with this country."
Murmurs rippled throughout the room. Everybody understood. After all, it was common knowledge in the underworld that whenever Rook visited Blight's mansion in Eden, actions would always be made; thus, many criminals secretly spun their own theories around Blight.
Mira put on a warm jumper and an old scruffy military coat.
"I'm going to head out for a bit; make yourselves comfortable here as usual."
—
Although situated in District 1, the district furthest from the mountainous border between Ecclesia and Revalty, the villa, even without a snowy background, still felt the chills of a steadily approaching winter.
A cluster of flowers lay shivering on the cold gardenbed, their stems wilting slightly. Mira walked up to them, bent down, and plucked them straight out of the ground along with the roots. She took their roots and pinched them off, leaving only the flower and the stalk.
Putting them safely in her hand, she set off to visit her father's grave, which was on top of a tiny knoll just beyond the villa. When she made the final step up the hill, a dull stone slab sat there, waiting for her. The freshly plucked flowers in her hand were laid down gently upon the slab, while her lips quivered and mumbled, "I'm here again, father."
Her voice was soft but deep down at its core was a strain of strength and determination.
"I'm a little frightened of showing my true self to others for the first time, since I've been using your image to portray myself to the enemy…"
She bent down as if speaking to the rock.
"I suppose… I just need to find courage to get over this last hurdle, don't I? After this, we'll be one step closer to freedom. Isn't that what you've always wanted, father?"
She grinned melancholically to herself. As she got up to leave, Mira couldn't help but feel a bit relieved; if the negotiations with Blight and Revalty went well, they would soon have the upper-hand against Grock.
—
"So the negotiations will start next week?" asked Mr Arden.
"Yes," replied Blight for what seemed to be the tenth time. They were sitting on the veranda of the State building, which overlooked the entire city. From there, everything looked shrunken; the people, the buildings, everything.
Mr Arden gave a short cough.
"So," he said, checking his notes. "We'll be accommodating Mr Markus Hoffman, leader of the rebels in Ecclesia, is that right?"
"Not only him. I have invited another guest you might be surprised to see, but do not be alarmed when the time comes; I will take control over everything."
"And are you sure that this will secure our first victory against Ecclesia?"
"Now, now," chuckled Blight. "I think that question should be raised after next week. The necessary preparations have been prepared; Bork's technological advancements, the rebel's cooperation, Sigerson's neutralisation…"
He counted the points off his hands. Mr Arden, hearing the detective's name, asked, "Sigerson? Isn't that the detective who was chasing you down in Ecclesia?"
"Quite right. I hate to admit it, but he could potentially be the only one who can harm my plans, so we'd better make that alliance quickly."
He gazed up into the sky serenely.
"Who knows how the future will play out? War has never been predictable in human history ever, but have faith, my good man; Ecclesia will not take over us without a fight."