The city of gold
“It’s time for your meeting, sir.”
“Yes, go ahead. I’m right behind you.” Malthane, sitting at his desk, closed the book in front of him. He stood up, grabbed his jacket, and left. The meeting he was about to attend was of grand importance.
Thirty minutes later, they reached their destination.
Before them stood the estate, a vast, imposing palace of pale limestone that seemed to demand reverence. It stretched wide across the grounds, an architectural marvel of ornate balustrades, carved reliefs, and deep, arched doorways that looked less like welcoming entryways and more like fortified gates. Darker, rounded windows lined the lower eastern wing, hinting at private studies and quiet, wood-paneled rooms where the fate of the region was decided behind closed doors. A crowning dome of verdigris copper sat atop the central hall, topped by a slender finial that pierced the brooding sky. Framed by the dark, reaching branches of ancient trees, the building possessed a cold, unyielding grandeur that made anyone standing on the sprawling front lawn feel exceedingly small.
They walked slowly inside. The interior mirrored the cold austerity of the facade, with echoing marble corridors and vaulted ceilings that dwarfed their footsteps. Malthane navigated the labyrinthine halls until he reached the heavy mahogany double doors of the council chamber, stepping into a cavernous room dominated by a long table.
Three figures already sat waiting. It wasn't that Malthane had arrived late; it was that they had all arrived entirely too early.
“Wait for me outside, Leonard.”
“Yes, sir.”
Malthane closed the door behind him and walked slowly to his chair. He couldn’t help but feel that the tension in the room was already suffocating.
He took the middle seat at the table. To his immediate right sat Lord Verdan Vericio, a short bold guy with a round shaped body, and an economic behemoth from the City of Gold. As the owner of the vast majority of the port network, nearly half of the cargo entering the city passed through his hands. He was unimaginably wealthy, and the raw power he wielded had earned him a seat close to the new crown.
Next to him sat Tariq Thagirion, a tall man with wavy black hair that reached his shoulders. The Thagirions were one of the most prominent noble families in the Kingdom of Light, holding immense sway over Malthane’s decision-making, especially since Malthane's new wife was a young lady of their house. Tariq served as their direct spokesman, acting as the vital bridge between their patriarch and Malthane himself.
To Malthane's left sat only one man: Alphonse Graves, a blonde white man with straight features and a strong jawline, his hair was short but taken care of, and his frame was big and solid. He was one of the three candidates in line to become the Supreme Judge, and the clear favorite following the mysterious death of his predecessor two months prior. Though Alphonse currently sat lower on the ladder of authority, he was Malthane’s preferred choice among the candidates. He received special treatment at this table, as Malthane was busy cultivating a strong alliance with the man before he inevitably assumed the promised position.
“The date is closing in on us, and we are not nearly prepared enough.” Alphonse spoke first. He pulled a folded piece of paper from his pocket and spread it out on the table before the others. “This is the report brought back by the soldiers you placed under my command,” he said, meeting Malthane’s gaze. “They’ve just returned from Nauz.”
Malthane took the paper. As he scanned the lines, a shadow of worry crept across his typically stoic features. “I see,” he whispered.
“What does it say?” Tariq asked.
“The people in Nauz are planning a revolt. They are preparing to sabotage the Grand Auction.”
Tariq paused for a moment, processing the news. “But that shouldn’t be a problem, right? I mean, we can deploy a capable security team. Those rats can barely agree on the simplest of matters; an organized sabotage of the auction is highly unlikely. We can simply imprison or execute anyone who crosses the line.” He waved a dismissive hand, waiting for Malthane's response.
“That logic would hold under normal circumstances. We could easily fend off minor disruptions,” Malthane replied. “However, there is a far greater variable to worry about. That is what you are getting at, isn't it, Alphonse?”
“Yes, that’s exactly it. If they are behind this, we must prepare for all manner of unpredictable events,” Alphonse replied, his fists subtly clenching.
“I don’t understand. Who are they?” Verdan, whose temper often mirrored that of a spoiled child, began to lose his cool at being left out of the loop.
“There is a new organization that recently took root in the Nauz underworld. They call themselves the Qlipoth Order,” Alphonse explained, shifting his gaze to Verdan. “We believe they were responsible for the murder of the previous Supreme Judge, as well as the Black Prison breakout. It is also safe to assume they were the ones who stole the shipments that arrived at the second port, capitalizing on the chaos of the breakout to cover their tracks.”
“What did you just say?!” Verdan roared, surging to his feet and slamming his palms against the table. “And you are only telling me this now? They are the ones who stole my goods?! I had to pay millions in compensation!” He turned his furious glare on Malthane. “I will not accept this! You knew who did it, and not only did you hide it from me, but you still haven’t captured them! What kind of incompetence is this?!”
“Lord Verdan. I will ask you to sit down.” Malthane’s voice was perilously calm, but his gaze was terrifying. Verdan clicked his tongue in frustration but slowly lowered himself back into his seat.
“I will have the head of their leader for myself,” Verdan muttered.
“What else do we know about them? These Qlipoth members?” Tariq asked.
“Not much. We are incredibly lucky to have uncovered their existence at all,” Alphonse admitted. “We don't have exact numbers, but based on the whispers in the underworld, there are only three or four core members right now. However, we must expect their ranks to grow once they locate new, capable recruits.”
“By ‘capable,’ you mean...”
“Yes. Cursed individuals.”
“If they are already this dangerous, letting them get their hands on the auction materials could elevate them to a national-level threat,” Malthane said, unconsciously crushing the report in his grip. “We have prepared for this for months. Noble and royal families from all over the world will be gathering to bid on the newly awakened cursed objects, eldritch hearts, and ancient relics. I believe even the Utopians might make an appearance. A security breach or a single mistake during this event would be catastrophic beyond repair.”
“Do you have the inventory for what will be presented each day?” Tariq asked, his eyes lighting up with barely concealed greed.
“To some extent, yes. But if that information leaks, it could ruin the auction's integrity,” Malthane warned. “Even I am not privy to the entire catalog, especially the highly confidential pieces.”
“What do you kn, ” Tariq started, but Malthane cut him off.
“I told you, I cannot share that. Especially since you will be participating on behalf of the Thagirion family. Divulging the manifest to a bidder is out of the question,” Malthane stated firmly. “You already know the logistics, but I will remind you: the event spans five active auction days, with a rest day between each, totaling nine days. Every active day will feature exactly ten items. These include newly awakened cursed objects that started appearing since the beginning of the epoch, ancient relics, rare collectibles, and eldritch hearts, some projected to be Diamond Tier, one heart is even confirmed to be a Apex Tier heart, but I think you already knew that. Bidding is unrestricted among registered participants, with the single stipulation that any item acquired cannot be resold within the City of Gold for a month.”
“Will the auction items all arrive before the event begins?” Alphonse asked.
“No. Each set of ten items will arrive exactly one day before they are scheduled to be presented. It was structured that way to minimize risk,” Malthane explained.
“I see. Then we must crush the Qlipoth before the first auction day and maximize our perimeter security. Without the Qlipoth acting as the head of the snake, the citizens of Nauz will pose no real threat.” Alphonse stood up.
“What do you need?” Malthane asked.
“One hundred soldiers. That should be enough to sweep Nauz, gather actionable intelligence, and flush them out. Once we have their locations, restraining them will be a simple matter,” Alphonse replied.
“Very well. I will arrange it. You shall have your men in two days,” Malthane said calmly, pulling a small notepad toward him and jotting something down.
“Thank you, sir. I will see it done.”
Alphonse turned and began walking toward the heavy double doors, but a sudden thought struck Malthane.
“Alphonse...” he called out.
Alphonse paused and looked back.
“Since the Qlipoth are cursed members, the most valuable intelligence you can gather is the exact nature of their abilities. Knowing an enemy’s power is half the battle in dealing with them.”
“I am aware. I’ve already confirmed that one of their members is an expert in poisons and alchemical drugs. We also finally uncovered the name of their leader yesterday, though I am not yet certain if he is cursed.”
“What is his name?” Malthane, Tariq, and Verdan asked almost in unison.
“He calls himself... Thaumiel.”
Alphonse walked through the corridors, his stride steady and composed, yet he was angry in the inside.
“Thaumiel, I will never forgive you for your crimes, sooner or later, I will have you face justice.”, Alphonse’s determination, was unwavering.
In the underworld of Nauz
Nauz had no sky. It had the underside of a city instead, a suffocating ceiling of stone and ancient brickwork, veined with rusting pipes and dripping in the shadows.
Thaumiel walked with a relaxed but commanding stride, a dark silhouette cutting against the gloom. Wendy kept pace closely at his side, alert and purposeful, while Lilly trailed quietly behind them, stepping carefully over the ruins of the undercity, as they were heading to the meeting headquarters of the Qlipoth order.
Wendy paced the cracked tiles, finally kicking a loose piece of masonry into the shadows.
"Master, I still don't understand," she said, the frustration clear in her echoing voice. "Why did you distribute half of our coin to them? The people down here... they don't even care about you or your noble visions. These filthy humans don't deserve your blessings. They would sell you out for a scrap of bread."
Thaumiel did not immediately answer. His gaze remained fixed on the hollowed-out archway across the hall, watching the eternal twilight of the undercity.
"Filthy, yes," he finally spoke. "But do you truly believe that filth is of their own making, Wendy? Look above us." He gestured upward, toward the invisible ceiling of their subterranean world. "The City of Gold gleams precisely because it drains the life from everything beneath it. It is a brutal law of nature: for their elite to live in the sun, someone else had to be buried in the dark. Nauz is not just a city, it is the industrial exhaust of their opulence."
Wendy stopped pacing, her brow furrowing. "Even so, they act like animals. They steal, they murder, they rot in these gutters. Why pity them if they choose to live like beasts?"
"Because they didn't choose," Thaumiel replied softly. "That is the greatest lie the surface dwellers tell themselves. No one chooses the womb that bears them."
He leaned forward slightly, resting his chin on his fingers.
"Down here, children do not grow, they harden. Their innocence rots away before they even understand what they have lost, replaced by a feral desperation just to survive the day. And yet, the world judges them for the mud on their hands. They are condemned by the very people who pushed them into the abyss. It is a beautifully flawed divine justice, punishing a man for drowning when you are the one holding his head underwater."
"So... the money wasn't a blessing, then?" she asked cautiously. "What is it?"
"It is kindling, decades of misery have bred a venomous hatred in their blood. The people of Nauz know exactly whose boots are resting on their necks. I am merely handing them the spark of exhaustion."
They stayed silent for a second, then Thaumiel added.
"If god couldn’t grant justice to these people, I will do it myself, I will fix the flawed design of this world, creating true, justice."