The shadows flowed around Alven in a world of violet light, obscuring and lighting the path to a house a short ways away. Alven breathed in the air - smooth and thick, a bit of a gasoline smell, and dense with vigor and love and killing intent. He was still a bit dazed from the warp - he hadn’t gotten used to it yet. Still, Alven loved the scent of the air, as he loved the obedience of the living shadows as he dismissed one with a request for scotch. He strode across the swamplike shadow, making his way to the candlelit home. Everything around him reminded Alven that he was, unquestionably, a villain.

  Alven walked into the front door without knocking. In the limited light, Alven could still make out the simple arrangement of seating around a coffee table, steam rising from two brews set there. Behind it all was a woman, aged like fine wine, with curly hair of multiple metallic shades from copper to platinum to gold, shimmering in the flickering light. Her skin was a faint metallic copper, her eyes, yellow like her namesake, tinged with hints of metallic gold. In the light, she absolutely gleamed - not so much that she was difficult to look at (how could she be?) - but the way light danced across the woman made her a sight to behold. He slid into the love-seat across from her.

  “Professor, I see you’re radiant as always,” Alven said. “Can I get you anything to drink?”

  “You wouldn’t, you’re as happy to hand off responsibility as you’ve always been. I was shocked to see you opt into such dangerous assignments.”

  Alven suppressed a shiver. Everyone in the organization chose a risk level - from outside allies who could rightly claim ignorance, to those accepting missions with a high probability of death. Of the two, Alven was off the charts on the right end of the scale. He tried not to think about the choice too much, until it mattered.

  “How else would I feel a true part of everything, if not going all-in as they say?”

  “By all means, the hard work needs to get done. It’s just a surprise. I didn’t think you would be so serious. Though, I suppose you’re going to let perfectly good tea get cold again? At least have some before you report in.”

  Alven grinned grimly in response, accepting a well-timed shotglass from the shadow he’d dispatched before shooing it away. He gave the tea a taste for her sake, then switched to the scotch. He hummed appreciatively at the taste.

  “My task goes well. I’m in position at the MTT. I have been feeding the programs to subvert it slowly at the console, slow enough that it wouldn’t be caught by anyone else checking on my maintenance or the failsafes on board. They’re lying in wait, but it won’t be long until I can assume full control with a command,” Alven said with a proud grin.

  “Impressive,” Citrine said, humming appreciatively as she sipped her own tea. “And with no deaths. It seems they’ve overlooked the injury to that bystander woman as you expected.”

  “Yes, I was particularly proud of that scheme,” Alven lied. A pang of regret and guilt at having to hurt her swelled in him, but he squashed it. Villains didn’t regret. They monologued. “I’ve overwritten her record with one of improper conduct and bad decisions. She’ll likely be fired once discharged. The fools don’t expect a thing.”

  Citrine rolled her eyes and gave Alven an indulgent look. “The important thing is that they don’t suspect you. Virus did his work well. Your ‘record’ is unassailable.”

  “On the point of Virus - I’m sorry to say that things didn’t go as planned on his mission. He set up the fire so that the adults would have perished without his needing to touch them, leaving him to acquire the assets. However, two unexpected elements appeared and confronted him.”

  The professor nodded, frowning but keeping her composure as she interlaced her long fingers. “I assume they yet live? I didn’t expect that guards would appear so soon.”

  “It wasn’t guards. It was… children, that foiled him. One of them was a nameless brawler of sorts, and the other was a bodiless soul.”

  Citrine’s eyes flashed a metallic golden color for a moment - the color of eyes that saw all truth. Citrine trusted Alven, he thought, but he did not begrudge her the use of gold. He could have been confused, misinformed, or manipulated. After a moment, her eyes returned to their base yellow shade. She drummed her finger on the table, nodding absently.

  “Virus has made an absolute mess of things,” Citrine said with a scowl. “His directive was to bring us the family’s children. Not only was the use of fire an unnecessary act of violence, the theatrics make the failure all the more crippling. His being foiled by children makes the Black Hand appear not only pointlessly cruel, but weak.”

  Alven sat back with an exhale, relaxing somewhat. “Some among our number would argue that we need to be heartless.”

  “Are you ‘some’?” Citrine asked pointedly. She conjured an illusion of hard light. Like holographic statues the size of chess pieces, the image of a frightened boy raising his hands before a knight in black armor was conjured. Alven examined the question for a trap - his mentor was dangerously astute with mental traps - but didn’t see one.

  “No,” he admitted cautiously. “I think we need to be heartless sometimes.”

  Citrine nodded her acknowledgement. The unmistakable likeness of the Xexen King was conjured behind the frightened boy. At the same time, a sword appeared in the frightened boy’s hand. He struck out at the black knight, who struck him down in a single stroke, continuing on to strike the King in a single movement. Just before he struck, the illusion faded, and Citrine explained her point.

  The tale has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  “We must make cold decisions when it is required. That does not mean killing our emotions entirely - as long as we act when it is required. Describe the children to me.”

  “One of them,” Alven answered, “he described as a limber dark-skinned girl, just into her teens perhaps, who had intuitive command of lightning and metal. The other was a lunatic spirit that claimed to be the Prince.”

  Citrine massaged the bridge of her nose, but it was difficult to gauge her reaction.

  “Would you like me to ‘deal with’ Virus for his failure?” Alven asked happily.

  “It’s a good thought,” Citrine mused, “but no, he’s too slippery, and a man like that must have dangerous contingencies. I still have use for him, but we won’t allow him to act individually any more.”

  Alven nodded deferentially. “It’s troublesome that the scriers didn’t foresee an outcome like this, though. He could be fairly sure of the parent’s actions, and things went to plan there. I don’t like that these complete wildcards weren’t even mentioned.”

  “Our sciers do the best they can,” Citrine said, forming several playing cards of hard light in the air without an incantation. With a sweeping gesture, they turned over, one after the other, leaving two concealed to Alven. “However, they can’t delve too deeply into the future without alerting that sham King. They’re skimming extra information around what we know, mostly. Certainly some rogue children wouldn’t show up in that model,” she said, turning over the last two cards to show two Jokers in the form of an overmuscled girl and a child’s image of a bedsheet ghost. The cards completed a powerful straight-flush of otherwise rubbish cards.

  “You’re right, of course.” Alven said. Resisting the urge the laugh at the ridiculous cards, Alven sat up straight, looking into the Professor’s gorgeous eyes. “Then, what’s next, my lady?”

  “The presence of rogue elements makes things difficult, as always,” Citrine said. “Could that spirit really have been the prince? If so, he is far beyond our previous estimations.”

  “I doubt it,” Alven shrugged. “The boy is timid and deferential, and has no public showings at his age. His lack of legitimacy gives us a great part of our leverage. Delirious spirits of the dead, unable to move on from this world and spouting rubbish - they are uncommon, but not unheard of.”

  “But alternative is also possible,” Citrine countered. “Watch that boy more closely, as much as your position allows.” Alven nodded his assent easily.

  Citrine sighed. “It’s really not a large problem. Your primary objective is far more important than that family, and you’ve acquitted yourself well. In the best case, we may even catch the King unaware and end his reign right there. Tell me, Alven,” she said, looking at him with her head tilted, “why did you get so serious about the cause?”

  “We’re Xexens, Professor. We change. You’re the one who taught me what that meant,” Alven said, grinning. “Empathic integration is a wonderful thing - letting us assimilate information, learn language, and understand people with great fluidity. But as much as the Maturation Theory holds weight, I personally think Aradelle’s Adaptation theory holds more water these days.”

  “It’s just Citrine to you. You should know that,” the woman said, showing a rare smile. “And I only spent a few minutes on him. As much as I appreciate your memory, you can’t really put so much stock in the ravings of a Mad King’s researcher?”

  Alven’s smile faded slightly. “Obviously I have no love for the bastard, but I’ve seen it myself. In school, I was a careless youth, because that’s how everyone with a pleasant aura lived. In the castle, I’m a subservient worker like all the rest. I can feel the simplicity of their routine seeping into me. Why, the other day, the prince politely thanked and dismissed me. I could have squirmed with pleasure! It’s all so strange. And then the moment I slink back into the shadows, surrounded by you and the others, I can sigh in relief and feel like a proper villain again.”

  Citrine sipped her tea, arching golden eyebrows at him. “We’re not villains, Alven. We do as our liege commands - a necessary evil.” The woman’s eyes fell, her taut face relaxing. To Alven, Citrine was still as beautiful as she was a decade ago, still the far-off professor he’d been hopelessly in love with. “And I wish you didn’t need to be a part of it. But… it’s time. You’ll need to make a show of force in the castle - and soon. You covered the incident with that pyromancer well, but it’s only a matter of time before you make a mistake and get discovered. You have your targets. You are to take down as many as possible, then make your escape if there is an opportunity.”

  “So, things are finally getting interesting. I’ll make the final preparations. Just make sure Virus handles the security systems as planned.” Alven said. In truth, he felt a spike of anxiety along with the exhilaration - as they so often went hand in hand. Briefly, he was overwhelmed by a wave of regret. Not for the civilian casualties that would no doubt ruin many lives - Alven had trained himself not to feel such things, except in character. No, Alven only remembered a simpler time, when late spring sunlight streamed in the windows of a building in the sky, warming his face. He would wake his sleeping friend who’d stayed up too late the previous night, then glance back at the lecturing professor - the woman who’d pulled him out of hopelessness. As his mind wandered, he’d wondered if, in a different life, he could have found a way back to those peaceful days with her.

  When he shook himself from his reverie, Alven found Citrine looking at him with a sad smile. He thought he could feel something… pity? Affection? Then, he remembered. With no one else presently in this pocket dimension, even his untrained empathic integration strongly picked up Citrine’s emotions. And she, his. Alven laughed nervously.

  “There’s nothing to be shy about,” the older woman said, rising gracefully from her seat and moving towards his, gait teasingly slow as Alven took in her black dress. It was deliberately the color of mourning - but the color had always suited her. She sat down next to him, hand on his knee. “We of the Black Hand have no future - so there’s no reason not to enjoy the present.”

  “Citrine,” Alven said. His mind took time to catch up to the forward approach bef0re he shook his head. “No future? Nonsense. At your level, I believe - and pray - you will be able to see the new world.”

  Her sad smile returned. This close, he could feel her anxiety swell and relax like her beating heart, pressing on his own emotions. For a moment, perhaps she’d thought to ask him to seek his own safety. But she could feel his own emotions. It was too late. And besides, for once in his life, Alven was going to give a goal everything he had - everything. As the silent clash of emotion subsided, another set of emotions swelled, and Citrine kissed Alven. He hadn’t hoped for this much - but Alven embraced her in turn, returning the kiss. No, he wouldn’t turn back. Even if he was wrong, walking this thorny path was the only thing he could do for her - and so he walked.