Tasaar Quinus was an Awakened almost 600 years old, yet he didn’t appear to be one day past his fifties. He was 1.8 meters (5’11”) tall, with deep bronze skin, greyed black hair and a beard that emphasized his pearl white teeth.
He was considered one of the best Wardens and swordmasters of the blood desert.
He was still inwardly debating on whether he should be angry for his heir’s defiance or for the fact that his heir failed to kill a seemingly rogue Awakened. The purple aura exuding from his body made his white robe flap like he was amid a windstorm.
“Do you have any idea how long it took me to obtain my territory? To have Overlord Salaark bestow upon me full authority over my tribe? Now I risk everything, and for what?”
The only reason why Tasaar wasn’t already in Zantia to murder his successor with his own hands instead of talking to him with his communication amulet, was the distance between them.
“Have you forgotten what happened to Treius? Are you eager to join him in death? Well, I’m not! Come back here immediately.”
“But, father, there is a storm outside…”
“Don’t call me father! I’ve had dozens of children, but you are the only one who managed to go from most talented to most idiotic in less than a day. I prefer you dead in a snowstorm than alive doing more damage.
“Bring Kieran with you. I hope he has a good explanation. You know that I’m not serious when I say that I will kill the two of you, whereas Lesalia might not be so kind.” Tasaar said.
“Master, I- I can’t obey.” Deraniel stuttered.
“Kid, if you make me come there, Lesalia will be the least of your problems.” Tasaar’s eyes flared with mana. He could understand his young and hot-headed successor making a blunder, but defying his orders was unacceptable.
“I mean I’ll depart immediately, but Kieran is dead. I can’t even bring his corpse back because it exploded.” Deraniel went pale. His father was a meek man, but once angered he could upturn his entire domain to find a single missing coin.
“What? How?” Deraniel took his father curiosity as the opportunity to get off the hook and told him all about the demonic beast they had faced.
“You moron! Are you telling me you didn’t ask the permission of neither the Awakened human nor the beast who rules over the Kellar region? I swear, if I have to offer them any compensation, it will come out of your pocket! Get home, now!”
Tesaar hung up the call without waiting for a reply. He had a lot of calls to make. Tyris, Raagu of the human Council, the rulers of the Kellar region, but more importantly his life long friend.
Kieran was Lesalia’s successor just like Deraniel was his own. They had hoped they would grow into good friends like their masters were, but life had decided otherwise.
‘I don’t want her to learn about her heir’s death from a stranger. Kieran might have died an idiot, but she deserved better.’ Tasaar sighed. He opened a Warp Gate leading directly inside her Forge.
Not only was Lesalia one of the best assassins in the Blood Desert, she was also one of its best Forgemasters. She trusted no one, so all the equipment she used, no matter if it was clothes or caltrops, she made herself.
“Dammit!” He heard her yell.
“I can’t further purify adamant without Origin Flames and those damn beasts demand a lot of money for it. Do you have some left?” She asked.
“No. The only dragon I know asks so much for a single flask that it’s more convenient to call him when necessary rather than stockpiling it. Look, we need to talk.”
Lesalia took off the white mask covering her face revealing a skin with the color and the wrinkles of hardened leather. Being almost 600 years old, she looked like a woman in her mid sixties, with several grey streaks amid her raven black hair.
She was wearing a scaly leather apron over a black tank top and leather work pants. Her gloves covered her arms up all the way up to her elbows and just like her apron, they were made from the golden skin of a Wyvern.
They protected her from the intense heat of the furnace which was strong enough to harm even an Awakened’s enhanced body.
Her figure was slender, but she was strong enough to crush stone with her bare hands. Her average height and build allowed her to go unnoticed. She had sharp eyes and a long nose, giving her the look of a demanding artisan, but Tasaar knew better.
Her Forge resembled a real blacksmith rather than a magical lab. Several furnaces and silvery tables occupied most of the stone cave she had built inside an active volcano, sometimes even using its heat for her most difficult pieces.
She was currently working at a forge fueled by a mix of lava and magic which made even her enchanted tools white hot. Yet the silvery liquid inside the obsidian mold refused to boil.
A snap of Lesalia’s fingers made the purple flames and the small tornado empowering them disappear. The liquid turned solid in an instant as she cursed her bad luck.
“Is this about Kieran?” She asked, making Tasaar choke on his condolences.
“You already know?”
“Of course, I do. I had a tracking device and a communication system embedded in his suit. I can show you how hard we failed to teach those youngsters.”
Another snap of her fingers and the green crystal lighting the cave made the room go dark as its light focused on the nearest wall to project a hologram of both ambushes. The one the two Awakened had performed and the one they had suffered.
“See? In the alley, Kieran had all the advantages, yet he lost. He wasted time talking, he didn’t capitalize on the venom, and stuck too close to the opponent.” As one of the greatest assassins alive, every tiny mistake Kieran made was a capital sin to her.
Tasaar couldn’t see anything wrong in the assassin’s moves. If he had been in Lith’s shoes, he would’ve survived only thanks to his artifacts
“This Lith is an interesting fellow. He turned the tables as soon as Kieran revealed himself to be an Awakened. His technique is a bit rough around the edges, but he adapts fast and there’s no wasted movement. He clearly practiced a lot.” She sighed.
“At the warehouse, it was an outright massacre. Once Kieran triggered the trap, his fate was sealed. That’s what I tried teaching to all of my disciples, yet even the best of them was beaten by a mere Wyrmling at our own game.”
“What are you going to do about it?” Tasaar asked.
“Nothing. Kieran failed twice, proving to be unworthy of inheriting my legacy. I told him many times that we are assassins, not warriors. Patience is of the utmost importance. Yet he mistook discipline for chains and my warnings for insults.
“I’m not going to cross two Countries and as many Guardians for a broken blade. Because that’s what he was. I forged many before him, hoping they would receive my heritage. Some of them were too soft and were bent by my teachings. Others were too hard and couldn’t endure them.
“When a smith fails, they don’t blame the flames or the metal, they blame themselves. When a blade breaks, they don’t collect its pieces, they learn from their mistakes and move on to a new project.”
