Mission
As the new citizens smoothed their clothes with a marvelled expression, a tall woman in dark clothes looked sternly at them. All of the youngsters had potential, yet they had never been allowed to make it bloom. Why though, the answer was simple : they were born outside of Aubiathan.
The country which houses a God and his chosen ones, the country with the best technology, healthcare and military force, the country which could rival a whole continent, if they so wished to do. High walls of blinding translucent ice protected the pearl of this world for everyone's safety and happiness.
Outside the wall, life was dire, people were miserable as they deserved and yet, by drinking the blessed water of their God that flowed and leaked through the wall had made some of them special. Some could forecast the weather, others could make water rise or solidify it. One of the children was making bubbles out of thin air to make the crying toddlers laugh. A pitiful attempt.
They shouldn't have been blessed by such magic. It should have been allowed only for their fateful citizens and yet, the number of potential mages inside the walls kept dwindling. Had they displeased their God ? No, for he was still in his castle of glass, grieving. Had they wronged him ? The death of the Cherished Prince had been an accident he couldn't forecast, it was nobody's fault.
— Madam, some of the children are tired.
— They will learn to endure.
— Can we provide water at least ?
— Do you really want them to feel welcomed ?
The young soldier pondered, his name tag swaying at his wrist as he brought a hand to his mask. The metal parts scrapped together, making the children wince, yet he hummed a joly tune. It enfuriated the esteemed mage of the Maison-Dieu, making the young man smile behind his mask. The children giggled, the scary woman no longer a threat as the nice knight in armor was making fun of her. Some hid in his shadow, others started to disperse as magic began to gather in her hands.
— Your lifespan might be shortened, knight.
Water lit up all around the city, wells of light and hope rising high in the air looking like shimmering stars as the knight fell to his knee in an instant, gracelessly dropping and hurting himself. That was the effect He usually had, yet He took no pleasure in it.
The children started to bow with sighs of relief, their wobbling legs giving up under them as some tried to act like the knight, putting on a brave face. He decided that he liked them.
— Welcome home.
As the low voice rumbled like a tidal wave in their mind, the light ceased and a path created from the thinnest, most delicate ice leaded the way to an High Tower, broken right in the middle, half steady and half ready to fall and trample everything underneath. It seemed to float on its own, until the children whispered : water was carrying the weight with a single string of water coming right from a single cloud. A cloud engulfing all of the empire.
The knight sighed of relief once all the children were assigned a room and a buttered piece of bread with sliced apples and a honey pot to dip them in. His mask was dampened by sweat, yet he dared not undo it.
For it was his sole identity in a see of anonymous masks, and not a single soul must know who he really is. As he escapes the tower and turns in an alleyway to join the underneath channel of waterpipes, his mask slips, just enough to reveal a scar starting from his chin to his lower lip. A scar placated on every wall of the empire.
High treason sounded pretty cool when it consisted of making their God obliterate zealots who lost their way. The snowflake on his throat sparked cooling cold in his veins, pleased by his acts and thoughts.
Then, another pulse.
Another mission.