Reunion
(An Excerpt from the Kalabra Series)
In the dimly lit chamber that Hazleflar now called her own within the sprawling complex of Orbius Sanctuary — Home of the Sey Order, the flicker of candlelight danced across the pages of an open diary. She sat deep in thought as Her quill moved with deliberate strokes, each word a testament to the trials, tribulations, and triumphs that marked her journey from the ashes of Banonthrep to the hallowed halls of an order shrouded in mystery and steeped in duty.
“Each day within these ancient walls,” she wrote, “unfolds layers of my being I had never known. Where once fear and uncertainty clouded my path, now purpose and resolve light my way. The Order, with its enigmatic teachings and rigorous disciplines, has become both crucible and sanctuary, forging me into a vessel of power I scarcely recognize as my own.”
As she paused, reflecting on the weight of her words, a soft knock on the door jarred the silence of her quarters. Setting her quill aside, she called, “Enter,” her voice steady, betraying none of the introspection that filled her moments before.
The door creaked open to reveal a cadet page, no more than sixteen summers, his posture rigid with the formality his position demanded. In his hands, he held an envelope sealed with the emblem of the Grand Commander, the insignia a stark symbol against the parchment’s aged hue.
“Miss Hazleflar,” he began, his voice betraying a hint of nervousness beneath the surface of his official tone, “a letter from Grand Commander Syborn. You are summoned to his office at your earliest convenience.”
Accepting the letter with a nod, Hazleflar noted the weight of the seal in her palm — a physical manifestation of the weighty duties that membership in the Order entailed. “Thank you,” she replied, her gaze lingering on the seal as the page bowed slightly, backing out of the room with the practiced grace of one accustomed to the protocols of the Order.
Breaking the seal, Hazleflar unfolded the letter, the script within as familiar as it was foreboding. Syborn’s hand was decisive, each stroke bearing the gravity of command. The message was succinct, a summoning that brooked no delay, yet carried the undercurrent of concern that was uncharacteristic of the Grand Commander’s usual communiqués.
With a sense of resolve tightening within her, Hazleflar rose from her desk, the diary and its reflections left behind as she stepped into the corridor, her path now set towards the heart of the Order’s command. The journey to Syborn’s office, though familiar, seemed charged with a new significance, each step echoing the silent question that hung in the air between the words of his letter.
What could warrant such a personal summoning, and at such an hour? The corridors of the Order, usually alive with the muted sounds of cadets and emissaries going about their duties, now seemed to hold their breath, as if in anticipation of the revelations that lay ahead.
As Hazleflar stepped into the dimly lit waiting room, the familiar silhouette of her brother, Morte, emerged from the soft shadows, almost as if he were a part of them. His presence, always so reassuring in its quiet strength, suddenly filled the space between the stone walls, dispelling the chill of the ancient corridors.
“Morte,” she called out, her voice tinged with a mixture of joy and disbelief. “What a surprise! I didn’t expect to find you here.”
Morte turned, his usually reserved face breaking into a rare, genuine smile at the sight of his sister. “Hazleflar,” he replied, stepping forward to meet her halfway. “It’s been too long.”
Their embrace was brief but spoke volumes, a physical reassurance of the other’s presence, a connection rekindled after months of separation. As they stepped back, Hazleflar couldn’t help but laugh softly, taking in Morte’s appearance.
“I see the north hasn’t changed your sense of fashion,” she teased, eyeing his dark attire that seemed to swallow the meager light of the room.
Morte glanced down at himself, then back at his sister, with a mock frown. “And I see you’ve become even more flamboyant, if that’s possible. Bright red britches, really?”
Hazleflar’s laughter filled the room, easing the tension of the impending meeting with Syborn. “Someone has to add a bit of color to this place. Besides, it’s been dreadfully dull without you.”
Morte’s smile widened just a fraction more, his eyes softening. “I’ve missed this… missed you. Training in Larvana was rigorous, but it kept my mind occupied.”
“And your shadow skills?” Hazleflar inquired, curiosity lighting up her eyes.
“Improved,” Morte admitted with a modest nod. “But enough about me. I’ve heard whispers of your achievements. They say you’ve become quite the force within the Order.”
Hazleflar shrugged, a blush creeping up her cheeks. “I’ve had good teachers. And motivation,” she added, her voice dropping slightly, a shadow passing over her bright expression.
The door to the inner office creaked open, and Houden appeared, his face a mask of professional detachment. “The Grand Commander will see you now,” he announced, gesturing for them to enter.
As they moved toward the door, Hazleflar squeezed Morte’s hand briefly, a silent promise of support. “Together again, for whatever lies ahead,” she whispered.
Morte nodded, his gaze steady. “Together,” he affirmed
Houden’s steps were measured and silent as he led Hazleflar and Morte through the heavy oaken door into Grand Commander Syborn’s office. The room, a blend of austere martiality and scholarly order, was dominated by a large, meticulously organized desk and shelves brimming with tomes and scrolls, the weight of history and responsibility palpable in the air.
Syborn, a figure both revered and feared within the Order for his strategic acumen and unwavering commitment to the realm’s safety, stood before the expansive window, his gaze lost to the horizon. The lines on his face, etched by years of service and the burdens of command, seemed deeper, more pronounced as he turned to face the siblings.
“Hazleflar, Morte,” he greeted, his voice carrying the gravity of the matters that weighed on him. “Thank you for coming at such short notice.”
The twins exchanged a brief, knowing glance before Morte stepped forward, his voice steady. “You mentioned it was urgent, Grand Commander. We are at your service.”
Syborn nodded, a gesture of appreciation, and motioned for them to take the seats before his desk. With a heavy sigh, he withdrew a weathered letter from a drawer and laid it flat for them to see. “This,” he began, his finger tracing the faded script, “is a plea for help from the Chief of Lienon. It details a series of disappearances — fishermen, gone without a trace. But it’s the nature of these vanishings and the inconsistencies within the account that disturb me.”
Hazleflar leaned forward, her eyes scanning the letter, the mention of inconsistencies piquing her interest. “Discrepancies, sir?”
“Yes,” Syborn confirmed, his eyes meeting hers. “Reports of strange lights on the water, sounds beneath the waves, yet no sign of struggle or storm damage. And now, silence. No more messages, no further contact. It’s as if the very essence of Lienon is slipping into shadow.”
Morte’s expression darkened, a shadow of concern passing over his features. “Lienon has a…complex reputation. Its strategic location has made it a haven for those less sympathetic to the Crown.”
“Exactly,” Syborn replied, acknowledging Morte’s insight. “Which is why this mission must be approached with both openness and caution. Your task is to investigate these disappearances, to uncover the truth behind the Chief’s claims, and to assess any potential threats to the kingdom.”
He paused, his gaze shifting between the twins, reinforcing the weight of his next words. “I am granting you both the authority to use your abilities freely, should the need arise. However, discretion remains paramount. We do not wish to provoke alarm or hostility among the townsfolk or reveal the full extent of our hand.”
Hazleflar nodded, her mind already racing with the possibilities and dangers this mission presented. “We understand, Grand Commander. We’ll be thorough and discreet.”
Morte, ever the strategist, added, “And if we find evidence of dissent or danger to the Crown?”
“Then you will act accordingly,” Syborn answered, his tone leaving no room for doubt. “Protect the realm, but remember, our aim is to preserve peace, not to escalate conflict.”
As they rose to leave, Syborn’s voice halted them one final time. “Hazleflar, Morte, your talents are unique within the Order. This mission… it’s a test of your abilities, yes, but also of your judgment. Be wise, be brave, and remember: the safety of Ezlethar may well depend on what you discover at the Weeping Shallows.”
With a final nod of acknowledgment, the twins exited the office, the weight of their assignment settling upon them. As the door closed behind them, sealing away the solemnity of their meeting with Syborn, they stepped into the early morning light, the path before them now set towards Lienon
As the first light of dawn crept over the horizon, casting a soft glow across the grounds of Orbius Sanctuary, Hazleflar and Morte made their way to the stables, their steps quick with anticipation. The morning air was crisp, charged with the promise of the adventure that lay ahead. Both siblings, despite the gravity of their mission, carried an air of excitement — a shared eagerness to face whatever challenges awaited them in Lienon.
The stables of the Sanctuary were alive with the sounds of morning routines; the snorts of horses, the clatter of hooves on stone, and the murmurs of stable hands going about their work. Hazleflar and Morte were greeted by their cadet pages, two young members of the Order assigned to assist them with their preparations. The pages had already begun readying their steeds, the animals’ coats brushed to a shine, their tack laid out ready for the journey.
Morte, dressed in his customary black leather, moved with a quiet efficiency, checking the girth and bridle of his horse, a sturdy brown mare named Shanb. His attire, though practical, was imbued with an air of mystery, the dark fabric seeming to absorb the light around him. “She’s ready for the journey,” he remarked to his page, a note of approval in his voice. “Make sure she’s well-fed before we depart.”
Hazleflar, in stark contrast, was a burst of color in the muted light of dawn. Her outfit, a vibrant ensemble of bright red britches paired with a white blouse, was accented by a green leather cloak, its gold embroidery catching the light with every movement. Her hair dyed black and cut short in a style that defied traditional expectations, framed her face with an air of defiance. She laughed, adjusting a ring on her finger, as she approached her black steed, Blaze. “I think we’ll make quite the entrance in Lienon, don’t you think?” she joked, receiving an amused snort from Blaze in response.
Morte, overhearing her, couldn’t help but chuckle. “You do have a flair for the dramatic, sister. But perhaps a touch of subtlety wouldn’t go amiss in a town like Lienon.”
Hazleflar shot him a playful glare, her smile undimmed. “Subtlety is your domain, brother. I prefer to make a statement.
As they mounted their horses, the pages stepped back, offering salutes of respect and well-wishes for the journey ahead. With a final check of their gear, the twins nudged their horses into a walk, leaving Orbius Sanctuary behind.
Passing through the gates at the city limits, Hazleflar glanced over at Morte, her expression turning serious. “You know Morte, there’s always the possibility we might not return… at least not alive,” she mused, her voice barely above a whisper.
Morte met her gaze, his own expression solemn but resolute. “Then we’ll make sure our journey counts for something. Whatever awaits us in Lienon, we face it together”
