10 years prior to the Archbury Reservoir Detonation - The Journals of Ivan Kalis, Ph. D
Dr. Ivan Kalis was not easily scared. Little could compare to the flooding terror of his eye getting gouged out. So right now, he wasn’t feeling very scared at all, no. But perhaps a bit intimidated.
Across the courtyard, Prince Dacien stood, speaking quietly to a woman his age. In all he’d heard of the prince - admittedly little, and all from Blanka - no one had bothered to mention just how young he looked.
The prince was short, pale, with a white flop of hair that seemed more fitting for a teenager than a monarch. His eyes were serious, grey, on a solemn face. He wore a violet vest with an intricate diamond pattern on the back, and some sort of sleeves in a similar hue. Other than the violet —which seemed to be a theme in the palace grounds — the prince was monochrome. His companion was dressed in similar colours, though less formal, especially with her hair dyed a violent pink. Ivan couldn’t make out her face from so far away, but could guess that it was the royal advisor, Cassandra.
Blanka had explained her role on the way there, snatching a newspaper with her photo on it and some article about raising the military numbers.
“She looks young.” Ivan had noted. Blanka laughed, as brash as always, and explained. When King Adel passed, the crown prince had refused a regent, and took over at just 17. Instead, he took an advisor, Cassandra Conroy, who was practically nobody, some bureaucrat’s daughter. People had questioned if she was there for her skills, or for more personal connections, as the Conroys had been old friends of the royal family.
Looking at her now though, it was clear she was skilled for the job. She looked up as they got closer, analyzing them with cool eyes an unnatural hue - a brown closer to the pink of her hair than actual brown. Moments after, the prince followed her gaze, watching them with an equally calm, but milder gaze.
“Your highness,” Ivan said. He bowed with one arm across his chest, as Blanka had insisted he do. “Thank you for this audience.”
“Dr. Kalis,” the prince said, extending a hand.
His clear eyes flicked towards Ivan’s scar, still gruesome and raw where it splayed over his face.
“I hear you have a proposal for me?”
Ivan looked up at Prince Dacien, watching hungrily as the air around his head rippled with tension. The infamous magic of the land. Patrium.
Doctor Ivan Kalis entered the private employ of Prince Dacien later that week.