The Moon's Fangs | 1
44 | ambrosia + silks

Reks Arlen

During the Age of Paradise, his true era, Reks had the unpleasant privilege of attending countless events the empire hosted, along with many outside of Orlaith.

Many were with allied nations, however, a fair share of the festivities he attended outside of the empire were mission-oriented within enemy territory. When it came to the ladder, assassinations tended to be the theme of his nights.

He had no idea what tonight had in store for him and Amelia. It made him uneasy.

Sio had gone suspiciously quiet after his devastating trip to Amelia’s mindscape a few days ago. Why? Just like El, the cobra always had an agenda.

They were at a large disadvantage when it came down to understanding the superior Guide’s motives. Especially in uncharted waters.

The citadel might as well be Sio's hunting grounds.

Just like Amelia, this wasn’t a world he knew. Sure, some elements remained the same. But this gala felt more like a mission in enemy territory than attending a party at home. Even if some faces shared resemblances to his past, he didn’t know these people.

Still, with the large time gap separating then and now, it seemed the party themes hadn’t budged.

He killed the resigned sigh building in his chest. It could never be something simple, like black attire. Shayd, no. It always had to be something elaborate and arduous.

Though he frequently noticed how the rich liked to hide their own secret meanings behind their themed parties.

As Reks casually strolled through the men’s styling hall as the moderately reserved Piren Voa, he observed several men dressed in nothing but shiny golden trousers. A few stylists worked on painting golden serpents around their bare stomachs and chests, splitting the body into two heads which curled down their arms to end on the tops of their hands. The only differences among them were how the artists did their faces; some with fine or angled lines while giving others thicker, more dramatic strokes.

Many other stylists attempted to capture the theme in a similar, less dramatic way, incorporating the Guides into their designs and ensembles.

After the scare the astralquake gave everyone, this was likely The Circle’s sideways way of reminding the public they are protected by the Divine Fates and not to blame the council for astral-related hiccups.

Typical.

Among the overabundance of Guide-related styles, there were also those who represented Orlaith before most of it became nothing more than a sea of ash. Then there were the classic styles of those whose fits were inspired by other elements, such as water, fire, lightning, and so on. It was impressive how those styles in question grasped a near-perfect illusion of those elements. A man wore a glamour that provided the illusion of fire. Imitation flames lashed out across his back like rays of a blazing sunstar.

Fates. He’d gain a headache if he looked at some of these men for too long. When the lump sum opts for flashy outfits, it turns into an eyesore.

Others, thank the stars, favored simplicity.

After a few more minutes of idle observation, he spotted a man adorned in a cross between a prince’s garb and a soldier’s armor. No doubt a tribute to the Lucils, coupling their rule with their war tactics. One arm was decked out in top-tier scales of silver, set with a plate on his shoulder that matched the man’s opposite leg and plated boots. The rest of his fit consisted of royal red garb, offset by white and grey.

He’d seen him before, after the astralquake. He was a less-rugged version of his old commander, General Nasalas Rhosyn. He even had that angry smolder twisting his face Reks used to love to provoke.

That must be Nolan Rhosyn’s brother. Reks mused.

Luk scanned the brother, and when Reks turned the corner towards the closed bar, Luk subtly altered his vitiate suit into something similar to Rhosyn’s fit. It took his Guide a handful of seconds to copy small details of others’ clothing around him to create something to fit in with his new peers.

Luk altered the colors so it wouldn’t look like a duplicate, changing Reks’ armored sides to be scaled in a matte black, the royal garb to a cyan blue to match his Guide for camouflage purposes if the need arose, and offset it with black detailing to match the scales. His Guide stole a passing stranger’s style of a deep v down the chest, showing off Piren’s pecks–not as defined as his own–then swiped another’s style of a half cape, materializing it only partially to one side of his hip.

And just to be predictable, Luk added a flare of gold to the half cape to match the many who represented the Guides. That small detail would help him blend in with the rest of the attendants and gain their subconscious approval.

A vitiate’s uniform was a true master of disguise, especially when paired with a sufficient glamour. Ellison had especially spoiled her hand-selected vitiates with all manners of astral-infused goods. But it spent a lot of astral energy in the process. He'd rather not keep up this illusion for longer than a couple of hours if it could be helped.

Once he ran out, that'd be it. The empress wasn't here to refill his supplies when he ran low anymore.

As Luk finished syncing the final details, he checked to make sure the coast was clear before sneaking a rather expensive and highly rare bottle of liquor.

He recognized the swirl of shimmering petals within the scarlet tonic, remembering how Mylo Lucil would use the ambrosia as a talking point when it came to important guests of the empire.

Mylo used to swear it to be the lifeblood of slane gods of the archaic worlds. How the narcissistic princeling came upon that information or got that in his head was beyond him. He never cared for that man and preferred to keep his distance.

But that didn’t mean Reks couldn’t use the priceless ambrosia to his benefit now the princeling was no longer here to hoard it.

Dispelling the council’s locks on the treasure was easy enough, only taking him a few moments to decode it then rearrange the bottles to make it appear like one of the bottles wasn’t missing.

He doubted anyone would ever notice. At least, not in a timely matter to affect him.

He quickly pocketed his gate ring, and with his shiny prop in hand, Reks strolled back to the main hall and toward his target.

As if the Fates themselves curried in his favor, Nikoe Rhosyn was now accompanied by the man of the hour, Nolan the gunslinging nuisance. His ensemble looked to be inspired by the guardian kinyas of the Ourea Mountains. The antler crown adorned around his head made for a fitting prop.

To make matters a little more interesting, the two brothers were arguing as he reached earshot.

“You don’t know what you’re talking about. Lighten up.” Nolan laughed, playfully clapping his brother on the shoulder.

Nikoe’s body language practically simmered. “I heard there’s a legion on Planet Vofura who were quite literally bred to trick the public into loving them so much to the point their peers would look at them as family. It wasn’t until recent years someone discovered that for generations, this legion had already succeeded in implanting parasites into most of Vofura’s population, turning them all into this legion’s puppets.” Nikoe forcefully shrugged Nolan’s hand off of him. “Sometimes I think you were made for a similar evil.”

Genuine hurt flashed across Nolan’s face, striking a cord for a second before being replaced by the same playful demeanor he sustained when talking to Amelia in Altered. “Damn, harsh. I’m starting to regret implanting that drama parasite in you.” He tipped his head back in a wholehearted laugh.

Nikoe rolled his eyes, losing a bit of that tension stitched in his shoulders. “Happy-go-lucky moron.”

Reks swiped three liquor glasses off a nearby table before choosing that moment as his gateway in their conversation. “Fates, you two almost sound as bad as me and my sister. Sometimes I wonder if she exists only to set off every nerve in my body.”

The brothers assessed him with the quick precision all Rhosyns were trained to do by their predecessors. In a matter of seconds, both absorbed any valuable information there was to know about his glamoured identity: Piren Voa.

“Welcome to my world.” Nikoe grunted, shooting Nolan a lazy glare.

“Don’t think I’ve ever formally met you,” Nolan moved to shake his hand, then stopped when he saw his hands were full. Nolan’s head tilted in interest toward the bottled ambrosia, watching the shimmering petals swirl in a hypnotic dance. “My man… how did you get your hands on such finery?”

Good. Since he hadn’t officially met Piren, then this conversation should go smooth than anticipated. Neither would pick up on variations of mannerisms or differences in dialect if this is truly their first conversation with Piren.

The real Piren hadn’t left him with too much detail on his personality or any quirks worth mentioning. All he’d left for the glamour user was an outdated voice memo stating: “Yo. Don’t go making friends or flirting with randos. I’m not trying to do homework or pay visits when I’m back home. Got it? Oh. And if you do anything someone might question me about later, leave a note with Shion. Don’t piss me off with a long ass story. Bullets that shit.”

The voice memo Piren left was helpful enough. It allowed him to hear the inflections and speed of his friendly, yet surprisingly sleep-deprived tone of voice. On the surface level, Piren appeared like a humble, soft-spoken guy. The memo he left weaved a different version than what he pictured.

Reks lifted the ambrosia, embracing the performance of a new persona. “Oh, you must be referring to my date for the night. She looked awfully lonely in my father’s office. Hasn’t been touched since before the Fall.” He proceeded to set the glasses down, grinning as the bottle sizzled when he popped it open. “Ah yeah. Hear that? She’s singing her gratitude.”

Nolan whistled. “Damn, dude.”

“Your old man just let you take it?” Nikoe gave him a questioning look as Reks poured each of their glasses halfway.

“Have you met him? Heh. Not the kind of man to give a damn. At least not in the ways that matter.” Reks shrugged, offering a glass to both brothers.

Everything he said was a lie. He didn’t know Piren’s family. And his own father had been a kind and loving man, as far as his few memories recalled. However, from what he gathered from the Rhosyn family, their relationship was edged in something more contemptible. He planned to exploit that.

Just as he hoped, they both took the bait, accepting the glass.

“To you, Piren,” Nolan raised his glass in salute. “For being gracious enough to share this most delicious date of yours.”

The three of them tinked their glasses together and poured the shimmering liquor across their awaiting palates. It went down smoothly, like a melting dream with a visceral aftertaste that awakened the tastebuds, leaving him to desire another taste.

Even Luk trilled from the exposure.

Nikoe’s eyes widened then drooped, like a man who only just took his first bite of the best meal he’d ever tasted in his life.

Reks and Nolan both chuckled at his sudden change in expressions, which only prompted Nikoe’s scowl to creep back.

“I think he’s trying to figure out if you’re going to request him to share his date with you as well… and deciding if the trade is worth it or not.” Nolan tipped his head back in a laugh.

Nikoe paused before taking another drink. “Shut up. I’m only acting as her escort. Nothing more.” Though by the withering look on his face, Reks read between the lines.

Reks moved his fingers over the neck of the bottle as if to ‘cover’ his date’s ears. “Gentlemen please, don’t make Ambrosia jealous.”

They laughed at that, finishing off their glasses, savoring the contents. He refilled them to the halfway point once more.

“Escort, huh?” Reks carried on the conversation with ease. “I can only think of a handful who’d be worthy of having a Rhosyn on their arm.” The person who came to mind was the girl named Danika Daario. His glamoured eyes flicked to Nolan. “I assume you’re on escort duty too?”

Nolan flashed him a wry grin. “The only thing I’ll be escorting is my drunk ass on that dance floor before my brother is forced to drag me to a basin to vomit in.”

“Not happening.” Nikoe scowled, then gave Reks a daring look. “Perhaps I’ll pass that torch to our new up-and-coming recruit here. Fieldwork and all.”

Good.

Reks hoped they would read farther down on his glamoured profile to read what he personally implanted into the fine print.

They were both in charge of their own regiments and trainings for new recruits. He wanted the brothers to look at him like someone they’d consider putting under their wing.

Reks feigned a look of slow surprise, letting the bottle slip a little in his grasp before fumbling to steady it. “Don’t mess around, man. I thought we weren’t supposed to learn the results of acceptance until the Onyx Moon.”

Nolan and Nikoe shared a look of amusement, as if their new pal, Piren forgot who he spoke to. Fates, he was too good at this.

“It’s not just up to us,” Nolan started before his brother picked it up. “Any new recruits who fail the gauntlet on day one turn into the laughing stock of the pack.” Nikoe moved to poke his glamoured chest, which only looked softer than it appeared.

Reks shoved his hand away before he made contact and gaped at the brothers as if he took offense. “Here I am sharing my delicious date with you, and you thank me with mockery.” he laughed to show he could handle the jokes and hoped it was enough to deflect possible suspicion.

Nolan chased his smirk with a drink. “I’m curious though, Piren. What made you want to join the soldier ranks? No offense, but your twin might fit the role better than you.”

Mm. Interesting detail.

“You wouldn’t be the first.” he pushed out a resentful sigh, taking another sip. “Frankly, the news about the barrier scared the shit outta me. People are talking about what you said down in Asylum, Nolan. I’d be lying if I didn’t say it played a part in inspiring me to sign up for the soldier ranks.”

Nikoe rolled his eyes like it wasn’t the first time hearing the spiel.

Nolan grinned. Strangely enough, it seemed genuine. And perhaps a little sad. “Fates. Thanks, Piren. That means a lot. Things may be kinda intense right now, but I’m betting on a turn-around after tonight."

“Shayd damnit, Noles.” Nikoe groaned. “You locking horns with The Circle is only gonna piss father off. You’ll end up making a fool of yourself, and Varkin’ll be upset you turned their event into a tense political debate.”

“Locking horns, eh?” Nolan pointed at his antler headpiece and laughed.

“You’re insufferable.” his brother sneered, finishing the last of his drink before setting it down.

“Hey, I kid.” Nolan reached out and lightly shook his shoulder, earning him another glare. He sobered. “Look, I hear you. Loud and clear. But in order for our broken little empire to be whole again, we have to make some waves. In the grand scheme of things, five to seven years is practically nothing. If we don’t plan for the future now, we’re doomed.”

“That.” Nikoe aggressively pointed at him, voice lowering. "That is precisely the reason why I’ll inherit the title of General and not you. You can’t fucking talk like that in front of everyone at the gala. You’ll invoke fear. We’re supposed to represent a pillar of strength. Not being a damn doomsday to life.”

Reks set his glass down next to the bottle. The movement was a small reminder to the brothers that they weren’t alone in the conversation. They both straightened.

He knew he shouldn’t interject in this argument, but he couldn’t help it. “It’s not my place to cut in,” he said, altering the words to not come off in a way he’d normally phrase it, easing the jab. “But avoiding the inevitable doesn’t make one a pillar of strength. It makes them a spineless coward and an inadequate leader. Take me, for example. I'm here because I am scared. Fear is what's making me take action.”

Anger visibly rolled through Nikoe. “You’re right. It’s not your place to cut in.” he uttered, leaving the conversation without another word.

He watched him go, holding back the sharp disappointment lingering on his tongue.

Nolan reached over a poured himself another glass, leaving enough in the bottle for one more. “Appreciate the support, Piren. But go easy on that kind of talk. Yeah? Nikoe wants the same thing. We just have a different way of reaching the finish line.” he paused to take a big drink of the ambrosia, then abruptly spit it back out in a forceful spurt.

Reks stepped away from the spray, turning to see what had suddenly sent Nolan into a sudden fit of laughter.

A man dressed in a fire element-inspired ensemble stomped towards them. Purposefully ripped and burned, the black garment clung to his waist, held together by a glowing red ring at the hip. The cloth matched the singed cape around his neck. Several damaged-like cuffs adorned his arms, legs, and neck – a few, likely minor fashion glamours, to present the illusion of flames licking up his body.

The stylist's work was impressive. At first glance, no one would notice that under all the lava-like lacerations decorating his body were truly scars underneath the guise.

"I'm gonna blacken your eye again if you keep laughin' at me." Etch growled, grabbing at the band around his neck like it was a leash he couldn't rid himself of. He shot Reks a piercing look through the volcanic makeup. "Shayd damnit. Why can't I've worn somethin' like that? That snippy designer you stuck me with made me sit there for hours. My ass hurts and this shit on my face is itchy."

"What? I thought you'd love this whole Volcanic Nimbus spin. It totally fits your personality." Nolan grinned, then gestured towards Reks. "Etch, Piren. Piren, Etch. You'll both be inducted into the same class at the colosseum this coming Onyx Moon."

Interesting. He hadn't predicted Etch would get into the gala. Why? Reks dropped a bomb of an incomplete truth on the fighter before parting, and he assumed he must have confronted Nolan about it since he mentioned being the reason behind his previous black eye. He wondered what happened during that heated encounter.

If they were here together and on good terms again, the duo must have come to an agreement.

"Damn, this powerhouse?" Reks laughed, feigning astonishment at Etch's impressive build. "This might as well be an introduction to the bottom of the class to the top."

Etch smirked. "Already kissin' my feet. Ha! Do me a favor and scram, eh? I need a word alone." he shooed Reks off like he held superiority, despite being in a room filled with posh.

The arrogance only resonated even deeper with Etch's lineage.

Nolan offered an apologetic shrug, lifting his glass to him in parting farewell.

Reks didn’t spot Amelia when he reached the main ballroom of the bustling gala.

Nikoe Rhosyn had already greeted Danika at the opposite entrance, presenting his arm to her before escorting her toward the open bar for a drink.

The entrance, he noticed, rippled in floor-to-ceiling lengths of colorful fabrics. They swayed as women navigated through them to get to the gala.

He casually weaved through the guests, discreetly reaching out to Amelia via Guide. ~Don’t tell me you’ve gotten yourself lost in the sea of fabric.~ he mentally crooned.

He felt a ripple of surprise down the mental line of their joined comms, then heard the sweet sound of her laugh. ~For a second, I thought you were behind me. And I’m not lost. No yet, at least. This is like walking through jellyfish tentacles. Well, except for the ouchy-stingy part.~ he felt her grimace through their connection. ~It’s kinda hard to keep my random thoughts from pouring through to you when we talk like this.~

He smiled to himself. ~Try not to get tangled up by the fabric monster before you get here.~

His gaze flicked to Nolan Rhosyn, who straightened his kinya-styled jacket before heading towards the council, who filed in from a private entrance to take their seats on an elevated podium. If the gunslinger stayed true to his word, he was about to attempt that trivial conversation. More privately, likely for his brother's sake.

Nolan greeted one of the council members with a bow of his head and a polite smile, who offered a polite vapid-like smile of his own back. The councilman stepped away from the others at Nolan’s request, then squeezed his shoulder like a father would his son's.

Varkin. Head of The Circle.

Luk dove into his identity card files.

Reks didn’t care to sift through the man’s extensive list of accomplishments and pretty titles open for the orleizen public to ogle at. No. What Reks was interested in was the classified dirt Varkin’s high-ranked Guide kept hidden under the shiny, pristine deeds.

Naughty Circle… Reks tisked when noticing exploited files at the end of his profile had been tampered with. To hide his shady business, no doubt. Only the Circle, save for himself, could even see it. The other member's files likely took on a similar form.

Back when the Lucils reigned, corrupting profiles was deemed a serious crime. Not a guided soul under their rule could hide their misdeeds from them. If caught, the punishments could sometimes end in death, depending on what one attempted to bury.

Whatever message Nolan tried to get across to the councilman appeared to not be turning in his favor. Nolan’s body language sharpened as the conversation turned heated on his end, whereas Varkin held a cool and placid expression, nodding to him as if in agreement with what Nolan rattled off about.

Nolan’s lip twisted in a snarl, saying something crude enough to leave the councilman staring back incredulously. Reks observed from a distance as Nolan vacated the conversation, refusing to acknowledge his father, General Rhosyn yelling out his name. Varkin merely clapped the General on the shoulder before gesturing for them to take their seats with the other Circle members.

Nolan's reaction seemed... out of character for him. He should’ve anticipated one conversation wouldn’t do much to sway The Circle.

Though, he did believe he had the right intentions. Nolan would have to learn that if he wanted to gain a listening audience of the council, he would need to make them believe their own personal aspirations were at risk as well. Not only an underground city they hardly paid attention to.

Reks made his way closer towards the women’s entrance, then stopped a distance away when noticing a curly-headed woman ordering two guards, or perhaps personal bodyguards, with a sneer curling up her glossy lips.

She slurred whispered orders at the callous duo, then proceeded to point inside the fabric-ridden hall.

He wouldn’t have normally cared, but the duo disappeared into the hall Amelia currently navigated through. He knew he should stay and listen in on whatever intel he could gather from Nolan’s conversation with The Circle. And to learn of Etch's intentions. But instinct insisted he needed to follow those bodyguards.

And so he did. He waited until the curly-headed girl, profiled as Tansy Cain, disappeared back into the crowd before he followed her hired guards into the sea of colorful fabric. He kept his distance, using the design of the hall to his advantage.

“I’ll distract her long enough for you to do your thing.” the woman guard whispered to her stacked partner.

“This Voa chick really screwed herself when messing with a Cain.” the other mentioned under his breath.

Fire flared within Reks. Luk coiled tightly along his corded muscles. The sway of fabrics turned into one vibrant shade of red in his vision.

He slipped behind one of the thicker sheets when the woman turned to check behind them. “Make sure it looks like an accident. Don't let this one scream like the last one.” she said before taking the lead, disappearing in the fabrics ahead.

Something dangerous and utterly feral boiled through his veins. It was as if Luk had been set aflame within his body, coiling before its single most deadly strike.

Not wanting to risk his cover being compromised, he had Luk temporarily deactivate the glamour, allowing his true self to surface. If things went south, he didn't need security pulling Piren for questioning.

He moved like a shadow between the silks. He was a wolf hunting not for food, but for game.

With the designated distractor out of eyeshot, Reks advanced on her partner. Luk slithered with deadly intentions out of his wrists, snagging fabrics while Reks chose a color. Right now, they all looked red to him.

He squeezed the silk between his fists, then waited for that special moment when the guard felt that strange chill on the back of his neck – that instinct warning him of something dangerous.

Only then, when the brute thought to check to see if anyone lurked behind him did Reks strike.

In one swift movement, Reks slid the fabric around the man’s neck and planted his knee into his spine to add to the forceful squeeze against his throat. Simultaneously, Luk worked to tangle fabric around the man’s limbs, which knocked him to clambering knees.

Reks muffled the brute’s yells, choking them off so he was forced to maintain focus on trying to not pass out. A failing effort.

“Don’t worry,” Reks growled into his purpling ear. “I’ll make it look like an accident.”

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