"Well," a voice said in the dark.

The younger Lendril, now head of his family, jumped out of his seat. He glanced around, saw nothing, smelled nothing. "Who's there!?" For a moment, he prayed to every god his people acknowledged that he wasn't going insane now that he was in power.

"-looks like everything has worked out in your favor," the voice continued. Moments later, a figured stepped out of the dark: Arin, the adviser of Princess Adageyudi.

Lendril wasn't certain how a human could have hidden in that dark corner. Even now that he was looking, it didn't seem possible for the shadows to hold an adult man. "How did you get in here?"

"Let's say I have a specific set of skills, which are the reason I am serving the princess." Arakash smiled; he so loved when he had them and they didn't even know it, yet. "In this case, I'm the one who noticed the poison you've been feeding your father."

Lendril's eyes widened. "Get out!" He shouted, pointing at the door. "How dare you even insinuate such a thing."

Arakash shrugged and turned toward the door. "My apologies. And I'll apologize again after I tell Lady Celeste of my suspicions, and she confirms I was mistaken." He put his hand on the door handle. "That is to say, if, she confirms I am mistaken."

He knew he was beaten. He slumped back behind his father's former desk, and accepted his fate. Some part of him looked forward to confessing his sins. "It wasn't-"

"I don't care." Arakash didn't turn, and instead basked in the voice of a broken man. Delicious. He would have liked draw the suffering out, but circumstances didn't allow for such luxuries.

Lendril stopped. "What?"

"I. Do. Not. Care." Arakash pronounced every word. "Your motives mean nothing to me. But I'm not the one who's in charge." He sighed and opened the door to the office, revealing Princess Adageyudi on the other side. He would have preferred gaining his own individual leverage and use it for his own goals, but it was difficult enough to evade Celeste. "She cares."

"Why?" Ada asked. Patricide wasn't an alien concept in Midara, but the availability of resurrection magic to those of wealth limited its utility in the pursuit of succession. Poison was even less popular in the halls of power, since chemicals strong enough to overcome magical protection were often hard to disguise in food or drink.

Lendril looked up at the princess, begging her forgiveness with his eyes. "It was never meant to turn out this way. I wanted to stop the madness, but only made it worse. He was bankrupting the family. Even now, we're teetering on the edge of collapse."

Ada stared down at the man, silent. "So you tried to kill your father."

"No." Lendril chuckled, at the absurd state of his affairs. "It was taken from the puffer fish. Deadly in humans, to be sure, but in my people it causes little more than lethargy and... libido loss."

Without Celeste around to judge his intent, Ada had to take him at his word. "You were trying to stop your father's excesses, then."

"All it did was drive him to get more girls." He buried his face in his hands. "As if he could just. Ugh, I don't want to think about it. And I was afraid to stop giving it to him, in case it convinced him his stupid plan worked."

"Which led to a bunch of women, fearing for their livelihoods, killing off the competition." Ada sighed at the sad state of the Ort-Selucid family. "So, what are you going to do about it?"

Lendril looked up again. "You mean you're not going to report me?"

"What would be the point?" Ada said. "It won't fix anything, or save any lives, or help any of these poor women. I'd much prefer we continue the original business dealings; I wasn't lying about brick making being a desirable industry in Tyras. If you're willing to provide them, I promise they'll be purchased."

He blinked away the tears. The princess now represented the last remaining hope his family had for survival. "I promise, we'll use all our influence to pressure Karana to open negotiations."

"Good." Ada smiled at the man. "I have one other condition: I know that with your father disgraced, his wives are for all intents disposable. Don't you dare."

"But-" Lendril started to protest. He glanced over at the man he knew as Arin, standing in the corner.

"Don't look at me," Arakash said. "I told her not to bother, and that this sort of blackmail material was too good to waste on a bunch of nobodies."

"I'm here for justice, not revenge or personal gain," Ada kept her eyes on Lendril. "And justice means not ruining a bunch of innocent lives. You don't have to treat them like royalty, just ensure they have food, shelter, and security if they want it. Keep them here, pay them to leave, give them jobs, whatever it takes. Do not throw them out like the trash."

Lendril considered the terms for a moment. "I suppose we could use them to fix some of the workforce issues. And brick making might not require magic or great strength, but it does require time and some training."

"It will also take time to get trade lanes opened, even if we face no resistance," Ada said. "I'm sure you'll find a way, and look forward to doing business with you for a very long time."

"Thank you."

.....

Halfway across the sprawling coastal city, Shiara was busy with work of her own. In total darkness, she did delicate work stroking her fingers along the long, hard shaft of steel, leaving the soft red glow of metal in their passing. She focused on control, using her power to not just create the heat, but feel it and understand how it played with the structure of the metal.

It was an instrument, a dance, a symphony of magic, molecules, and thermodynamics. At this level of fine control, the distinction between Revelations broke down and the human brain lost its ability to contextualize magic. The lies evaporated, and Truth became clear. All that remained was a blade, a girl, and power.

Then her moment of clarity was lost with a shout.

"Perfect!" A man, Clemal pulled the half-formed sword back, set it on his anvil, and began hammering the steel. Tap-tap-clang! Tap-tap-clang! Unlike the wild, brutal strikes of fiction, each strike was quick and precise. Metal bounced with every hit, shaping the steel into the blade it would soon become.

Now that she was shaken from her meditative reverie, she watched the crafting process. In all her years, she was never given a reason to appreciate the hard work and precision of the craftsman. Those who raised her would never expose her to 'peasants', and when she ran away, those same peasants would have little to do with her, save for purposes she wasn't willing to partake in.

To watch her power turned toward creation rather than destruction was a balm on the ache in her heart.

A flash of magical light distracted her. "Yeow!" Clemal jumped back, holding his hammer. He stared at the blade.

"Are you hurt?" Shiara rushed over to him, hoping against hope that he wasn't hurt. Please, not again. Not this, too. She pleaded to gods that didn't exist, because she refused to pray to the ones which did.

"Ah'm fine," he said. His smile, crooked though it was, was broad and reassuring. "Jus a bit o' a surprise, is all. Gimme space, I ain't quite done yet."

He stepped back to his work, and began tapping again. Every strike, another flash. He had to close his eyes, but now that he knew what to expect, he worked the last shape of the blade into place. He lifted it by the hilt, held it out so he could check its lines. What was otherwise meant to be a simple gladius-style blade now had steel colored like a sunset of gold, orange, and red.

"Would you look at that." He held the blade up and laughed, then opened the door and shouted. "Marid, get out here!"

A middle-aged woman opened the door to the little house that served both as home and shop for the pair poked her head out. "Ahm busy! Whad'ya want?"

"C'mere, look at this!"

She sighed and came out to look at the commotion. "Looks like a magic sword. What of?" Magic weapons were rather commonplace, and as a manufacturer of such wares, she'd seen more than enough. "I'll hand it to you, it's prettier than most, bet it'll sell fast. Wha's it do?"

"I don't know!" He laughed at his wife's confusion.

"Well, what mix did ya use? Did you forget how to read labels, you useless oaf?"

"I ain't used the sarite, yet!"

Marid's complaints died in that moment. "How?"

"That would be my fault, I think," Shiara said as she stepped out to look at the shimmering sunset blade she'd warped with her magic. "I was heating the blade, and, well, I think I got distracted and this is the result. I apologize."

"Apologize?" Clemal laughed again. "My girl, I should thank you! Marid, what's this pig-sticker capable of?"

Marid reached out, both with her hand and with the little magic she was born with. Her essence met with the blade's, joined with it, before she recoiled in shock and confusion. "I... I can't read this. The pattern is too dense. It's obvious that fire magic is heavy within it, but beyond that, it feels like it was Soulforged."

"But, that's impossible," Clemal looked over at Shiara. "It can't be."

Shiara kept her mouth shut. Soulforged weapons brought up memories best left buried, of people and magics she wished she had never been witness to.

"I know it's not," Marid said. "But it's denser than any common enchantment, so much so that I can't penetrate it to learn its strength. But I ain't no archmage, I bet one o' them'd have better luck."

Clemal sighed. "You think it'd be worth it to pay one to take a look?"

"You been smacking your swords with your head instead o' your hammer again?" Marid laughed at her husband; he was a fine smith, but he had no business sense. "You're gonna have to sell that sword to royalty; nobody else could afford it."

"Wait!" Shiara shouted. "Umm, could you keep this a secret for now. I don't want the attention. I don't even know if I could do it again if I tried." If there was anything in this world that could draw the attention of Ifaril's cultists, it would be an undocumented Soulforged weapon. They would locate her, and then disaster would strike again.

Marid smiled at the poor girl. "Don't you worry, dear. We can keep this beauty a secret for now."

Clemal was less enthused about the idea of keeping such a masterwork a secret, but he wasn't going to upset the girl who helped him craft it. If not for the fact that he owed her, then because she could melt metal with a touch. He knew well the danger of such heat, and what it could do to a man's flesh. "Yes, that won't be a problem. Besides, I should get back to work. It is a dangerous world out there, and I need to do my part to equip those who brave its dangers. I'd still appreciate your help, if you don't mind."

"That sounds fun." Shiara followed him back into the darkness of the forge.

.....

BONUS SCENE: The 'neutral' ending of this mission runs a little different, and instead of Ada having the leverage, Arakash does.

"I. Do. Not. Care." Arakash pronounced every word. "Your motives mean nothing to me. All I care about is what you'll give me to remain quiet."

"Humph. Blackmail, then?" He had no fight left in him, but at least he had a little hope that he could find his way to a safe outcome. "What do you want?"

"Oh, I think I want the same things you want," Arakash said. "Wealth, power, and for all my enemies to die of various unpleasant accidents that can in no way be connected to me." He paused for dramatic effect. "But I suspect you mean what I want from you. In which case: nothing."

"Nothing?" Lentril had never been blackmailed before, but he suspected that wasn't the usual response.

"As of right now, you have nothing I find useful," Arakash said. "However, that might change some day. On that day, I will make my demands, and you will give them to me without question or hesitation. For now, let's say you owe me a favor for letting you get away with disgracing your father and taking control of his empire without consequence. Oh, and don't be stupid enough to try to kill me. My death will not go well for you or any you love."

Arakash left the office, smile on his face. With the Ort-Selucid getting their fingers into Tyras businesses thanks to his agreements with Ada, that gave him many potential tools. With luck, he could sneak a vulnerability into the bricks that would let him sew chaos in his true foe's lands. Or perhaps, they could hire an archmage with more greed than scruples to free him of slavery. Maybe they could instead provide shelter and a means of escape after he found another means to break his chains.

The future was and would forever remain uncertain, but having options was forever useful.