Huh that was good to know.
"Psst Damien considering what you said I'm now more sure that this is a certain bitch's trick. I'm going to try something."
"Um Darell you told us once that Herbert had a scar on one of his pecs that was a little faded needed surgery I'm sure that if this is Herbert we will see the scar."
Dearil quietly listened to the askers and anons, a look of skepticism on his face, though he sighed heavily. “...you have a point. All of you do.” He stated and faced Damien. His eyes looked so... tired. “Damien, I am trusting you for this. Don’t waste it.”
Damien nodded firmly and gently took Hubert’s body into his lap. Dearil joined his side and so did Dmitri, though Dmitri remained closer to Dearil than his father.
Quietly, Damien brushed away the blood that covered Hubert’s chest. He was careful and deliberate with the way he brushed away the blood, his face contorting into that of a thoughtful expression. He also carefully picked away the tattered clothing to get to the man’s pectorals.
He paused momentarily, his eyes sharpening like a predator towards what he saw.
Or... more accurately... what he didn’t see.
“...there’s no pectoral scars.” Dearil whispered quietly, a spark of hope suddenly flickering into his face.”
“Hubert’s alive!” Dmitri exclaimed, all the while openly sobbing from the emotions he had tried to hide away.
“But then who created such an elaborate illusion? And what purpose did it serve...” Dearil whispered softly and turned to face Damien. “You said you can possibly trace it? How?”
“I can certainly try.” Damien responded with a curt nod. “But it’s a matter of if it’s the type of magic that I think it is.”
His hand sparked to life with bustling electricity that crackled along his fingers. He lowered the hand to move it along the body, and just like that, a small glowing trail of red and white rose from the illusion.
“Ah, just as I thought. Spirit Seer magic.” Damien murmured quietly to himself. “But it’s too powerful to trace it directly to its source.”
“How did you...?” Dearil whispered breathlessly, his brows furrowing in confusion.
“Spirit Seer magic reacts to a change in air pressure. An illusion like this one needs to use the air pressure to mirror an image for others to view. Electricity tends to accelerate the air pressure and cause this,” Damien explained and moved the hand closer to the illusion to show the wavering effect of the illusion as it struggled to remain existent. “It seems we have a greater threat among us.”
“You have a Spirit Seer under your rule, yes?” Dearil suddenly asked Damien with a look of skepticism. “Where is he now?”
Before Damien could answer, the air morphed and warped in the form of some sort of portal, and just as he was mentioned, Drogo stepped out into view. He had his hands clasped behind him, though briefly moved one arm to his chest in a formal bow before straightening.
“My apologies for being delayed.” Drogo said and moved closer. “But I have not done this. Not only do I not have a motive, but I have an alibi and witnesses to back me up.” He stated and moved closer to kneel beside them. It seemed both kings weren’t exactly surprised by Drogo’s appearance.
“What is your alibi?” Damien ordered, his sharp eyes focusing upon the Sorcerer.
“I was with the askers and anons the entire time until just now, and not to mention, I was also with Muria.” Drogo explained and observed the illusion carefully. “But I do know who did this.”
“...as do I, with the given information.” Dearil sighed quietly and looked up at Drogo. “Keres.”
“Correct.” Drogo glanced towards the guards, then, and seemed contemplative. “Also wasn’t there a certain... blue-eyed leader in this search party? Where is she now?”
Dearil stood up and whirled to face the remaining guards, his eyes burning bright with determination. “Find her! The guard who led this expedition. Now!”
On his command, the guards spread out, disappearing down streets and searching in alleyways. Dearil returned to face Drogo, his eyes soft. “I know this is asking a lot, but you seem to know a lot whenever we need it. You wouldn’t happen to know where my son is, would you?”
“He’s going to the Toppat Kingdom.” Drogo answered with no hesitation. “He met King Right who was injured, so he is trying to get him home.”
“...of course.” Dearil sighed softly and nodded. “Very well. I know where I’m going next.”
“Let me come with you!” Dmitri pleaded, his expression a mix of worry and determination.
“Absolutely not. You are to stay here and hold down the fort. I’ll bring my son back.” Dearil ordered, though he knelt down in front of the young man. “But I admire your determination and strength. There’s no one else I’d rather have looking after the kingdom than you.”
Dmitri almost looked ready to cry- in a positive way, of course. He stared up at Dearil who had his hand on his shoulder and just nodded. “I’ll do my best, sir.”
