“I believe I must have asked earlier, but do you drink?” Mr Muller asked as he put away a little metal box, roughly the size of a card-holder, into the inner pocket of his jacket.

Mere moments ago he’d taken two teleportation gems out of this box, and I suspected he had at least a dozen more in there.

“I do.” I replied as I looked around. “I hope you aren’t planning on getting me drunk to extort more drawings out of me.”

The German man smirked, before inviting me to follow him with a head gesture.

We exited the small marble-lined room that we had arrived in and he led me down a similarly baren and stone-covered corridor to a pair of heavy wooden doors. They opened by themselves as we approached, revealing a large dining area behind them. Two of the walls, to the left and the right of the doorway, were entirely made out of sliding glass doors, most of which were currently open, letting in a soft warm breeze into the dining area. At the back of the room, where the marble flooring merged with a dark-red wooden wall, a small group of musicians were playing soft jazz. I was somewhat surprised by the fact that I could not only recognise but also name all of their instruments.

“Sir, Madame.” A waiter approached us.

“Just the two of us.” The man I was with replied. I noticed that for the first time his lips were not in sync with his word. “We will order at our table.”

“Then follow me.” The waiter gently bowed before leading us to one of the many free tables.

For the first time in my life, a man pulled out my chair for me. And perhaps, had this man been Etienne and not Mr Muller, I might have even felt honoured. Instead, I just felt out of place, in a restaurant I could have never been able to afford (by the looks of it), with a man I barely knew.

“Would you like something to drink?” the waiter asked ad they handed each of us a menu.

“A glass of Sauvignon White, and a double shot of whiskey on ice.”

The waiter turned towards me.

“Same thing.” I replied in English, hoping that Mr Muller would translate for me if the waiter had not understood me. “Minus the whiskey.”

“Right away.” The waiter nodded, before walking away, presumably to the bar.

As I returned my attention to the table, I noticed that my companion had turned his attention toward the menu.

“Have you ever had proper animal meat?” he distractedly asked.

I presumed he meant that as opposed to monster meat, which I had been very keen on avoiding buying in stores. I opened the menu and skimmed through it. It didn’t come as much of a surprise after his remark that there wasn’t a single ‘minotaur entrecote’ or ‘harpy shoulder’ on there.

“I’ll just have whatever.” I replied after a short silence. I didn’t care as much about the food as I did about the information this man had. “Do you recommend anything in particular?”

“Fish goes quite well with a Sauvignon White. And the grilled founder here is quite authentic.”

I shrugged and nodded in response.

The German man folded up his menu, putting it to the side, next to mine. I was just about to ask him for his first name when the waiter arrived with our wines and his whiskey. He placed our orders, and the waiter disappeared again. I watched as he twirled his glass, taking in the aroma of the white liquid inside it, before setting it aside and leaning onto the table, his hands interlinked together. His expression was neutral enough, but his eyes glistened with determination, and some other feeling I wasn’t quite able to place; pride or excitement, or something in between.

“I don’t believe I quite recall your first name. It has been a while since our first meeting in Geneva.” I spoke first, trying to sound upbeat but coming off as serious as him.

“Theodgar. Theodgar Muller.” He replied, raising a corner of his mouth upwards. “And you are Laura Dubois. Don’t fret about what I said earlier about lying about your name. We all must take certain precautions in life. And, had you told me back then on that pier that you were Nathalie’s daughter, I would not have believed you either way.”

I leaned slightly onto the table, mimicking his position.

“And what was Nathalie – my mother, to you exactly?”

Theodgar smiled, genuinely this time, as he looked to the side, recalling what I could only imagine being fond memories.

“Vincent never mentioned me, did he? I’m not surprised. Your father was known to be a bit of a prick in all the social circles he used to frequent. To me, your mother was a symbol of feelings and emotions that cannot be put into words.” He leaned away from the table, throwing one arm over the corner of his chair, and gesturing around as he spoke with the other. “She was the light that shines in the night sky, guiding you forward and helping you see what’s hidden from you, both in the outside world and within yourself. She was also the sun, as her power and presence overshadowed all of those that tried to compete with her… a sole flower, as pure as a white rose, blooming in the middle of a desert… beautiful, unique, fragile, and yet so, so resilient. She was the reason I kept living, Laura. The reason why I got up, time and time again, she filled my world – my life, with purpose, and when she passed-”

Theodgar briefly paused, as his smile twitched, showing how hard he was trying to maintain it. It seemed that whatever nostalgic train of thoughts he’d been on had come to a stop, and he was refusing to get off. I couldn’t help but wonder what kind of relationship he truly had had with my mother, as there had been something in his tone that suggested it wasn’t just love. He didn’t quite talk about her the way one talks about a human being.

“I thought you and your brother passed with her,” he continued. “I don’t believe in fate, or the will of the Lords, but had we not crossed paths that day, and had you not unsheathed Namura, well, History would have moved in a very different, and very grim direction.”

As he said those words, his face darkened, and I understood from his expression that this was the real reason he’d brought me here. The idea of bringing up Huang, and how he’d change the world in just a few years briefly flashed in my head.

“So the sword is how you tracked me?” I asked.

“A relic like her chooses her owner. I will lay my cards on the table, and admit that I did at first suspect that you’d stolen it. Hence why I took your drawing.” He explained. “Not that your art isn’t worth stealing without ulterior motive of course.” He added with a friendly smirk.

“And from there, you went to Paris?”

“Laura, there was a lot less tracking involved than you may think. And much more getting rid of obsolete ties and coercing old friends – allies, into helping me.”

He paused again, as he picked up his glass of whiskey, twirling the brownish liquid around, before taking a long sip from it. Before I had had the time to ask another question though, he continued:

“Seeing how you survived, I would not consider it unlikely that your brother is alive as well. Would you happen to know where I could start searching for him?”

As he asked that question, he put down his glass, and locked eyes with me, waiting for a response with a tad too much intensity in his eyes.

I simply shook my head.

“I have a skill that allows me to teleport away when I die. I don’t recall much of the accident, nor what came before or after. I only have bits and pieces from here and there.”

Telling this half-truth to Theodgar felt wrong. But there was no way I could begin explaining the complexity of my situation to him now. I didn’t trust him enough, and some part of me argued that I shouldn’t trust him at all.

Theodgar raised an eyebrow, before asking:

“Apologies for being so forward, but what is your class?”

“Courier. Social stealth adept sub-class.” I replied, suddenly feeling shameful for not being able to stand up to the high opinion he had of my mother.

Surprisingly, Theodgar smiled in response.

“An outlier then. That’s good. The less of Vincent you have in you, the better. And, how old are you, 25? Not being an anti-mage saved your life with certainty.”

I gave him a questioning look.

“Oh, you must not be familiar with the term. An outlier is old Russian for someone who did not inherit their class from either of their parents. Although I believe it is no longer in use as it has become much more common nowadays.” He explained.

“No, that wasn’t the part I-”

The sound of breaking glass interrupted me. It had come from one of the tables behind Theodgar, and we both turned in that direction to see what was going on. For a very brief moment, I feared another monster had somehow stalked me here, but it turned out one of the waiters had simply dropped an empty glass.