For the Love of Democracy

The sea kissed the foundations of stone mansions and warehouses with bronze gates.

Climbing the damp hills of the city’s southern coast, he finally crossed the invisible border into Storm Cove — at last, the noblest region of the harbor.

As he passed through a square, Grace spotted a group of priests dressed in white and silver around an old statue of the Just God, one of the Nine of the Orthodoxy. They sang hymns under the shadow of their god’s marble balance and handed out bread and coins to beggars and prostitutes.

Daniel looked at them with disdain. Religion still held great power in the Outer Ring — among the starving and dispossessed, who had nothing from life but a promise of redemption.

To his eyes, it was just another form of control.

There was a certain irony in a religion that once, at the very summit of power, nearly brought down the Empire, and now survived in the slums on empty promises. But that was not his concern.

He was fully convinced that if gods had ever existed, they had long since departed. Those who remained were merely shapes carved by men.

On the horizon, the ruins of Fort Tinuso loomed over a vast promontory, like the back of a sleeping giant. Though worn by time, the fort retained some of its grandeur in the high arches and narrow tunnels that wound through its dark halls.

A remnant of the days when the fortress was the city’s main barrier against the pirates of Kahell, during the early years of imperial expansion. The fort had also once housed a lighthouse, now deactivated.

Its torch, however, still glowed on specific nights — a signal for watchful eyes. Tinuso was now a den of ghosts and criminals.

He was welcomed by walls carved in worn reliefs.

The salty air and the smell of mildew dominated the atmosphere. Grace passed through curved tunnels and ruined chambers adorned with faded cloth tapestries. The Convergence had briefed him reasonably well on how to navigate the fort, though his mentors advised him not to pry too deeply into the affairs of the underworld.

Any given passage might conceal a chamber preserved as a sanctuary… or a dungeon for the unfortunate and the traitorous.

There was, however, a kind of order within the decay. And according to what he had learned in training, he would find the ruler of that entire structure in a room veiled by purple curtains.

The chamber was dimly lit by golden thaumaturgic lamps, but the host preferred to sit in the dark.

“Fidenzio Crisci de Lio… or should I call you Custos Tecit?” he asked, addressing Daniel by the false name he had adopted, his voice silky like venom, yet poured out with elegance.

“I’d rather be called a friend” Grace replied, narrowing his eyes to make out the figure seated upright in the shadows, a wine goblet in his hands. “Do I have the honor of speaking with the administrator of the fort?”

“Notibus Ravia, at your service” he replied, rising from the darkness like a specter.

Ravia was an elderly man, with fine features and red eyes that scrutinized every detail without ceremony. He exuded an aura of silent power, in the frock coat that clung to his body like a second skin and the meticulously combed hair.

“It is a pleasure to meet you” Daniel said, removing his top hat and bowing.

“I’m not sure if I can say the same, Master De Lio” Notibus said, adjusting the pair of white gloves he wore. His voice was soft and courteous, yet sharper than a dagger. “The underground guilds have a... delicate relationship with the Convergence. Your superiors tend to be far less subtle when it comes to matters of community interest… I’m not sure that we can trust your methods.”

“You’ll trust more when you know why I’m here, Master Ravia.”

They exchanged looks. Notibus was meticulous and ruthless — two prerequisites for his position as moderator of the balance of power between Castra Devana’s criminal guilds.

Daniel, of course, had studied him during his training. A creature of the kind that preferred subtle manipulation to direct confrontation. Even so, his shadowed presence — condensed in his sunken, crimson eyes with dark circles as if he hadn’t slept in days — gave Daniel chills.

“I suppose you’re familiar with our… working dynamics? Acting in the capital involves a complex and very delicate set of rules and consequences.”

“I’ve heard…” Daniel let those two words linger in the air between them. “Two guilds share the main influence in the fort’s clandestine gatherings. The Scarlet Hand specializes in assassination contracts and intelligence, respected and feared for how strictly they uphold their contracts… and how swiftly they silence traitors.”

“On the other hand, the Sons of the Mist are masters of smuggling and forgery. Experts in acquiring anything from spices to exotic weapons, dodging taxes and keeping lucrative deals with merchants.”

“I couldn’t have described it better myself” Ravia’s low, melodic voice held equal power to seduce and terrify — a central trait of his commanding presence. “These guilds uphold a peace that serves not only the Empire’s interests in civility, but that preserves the Grand Continent as we know it.”

A peace Notibus Ravia had painstakingly built, orchestrating intrigue and alliances among the criminal underworld. This, Daniel knew, was implied in his words — along with the cruelty he dealt to traitors, crushing anyone who challenged his authority.

“I’m honored to receive your lessons, Master Ravia. Especially considering how difficult it is to find you during the day. I imagined you might prefer to delegate this minor meeting to one of your men.”

Ravia raised an eyebrow.

Yes! I know what you are.

Yet his calm in the face of Grace’s provocation was unsettling. Measuring him from polished shoes to the straight black hair tied back with a violet ribbon, Daniel saw no reaction from him.

As expected. After all, Notibus Ravia was not just an old man. He was very old… and incomparably cunning.

Some of the rules everyone spoke of had been established by him personally, throughout the entire history of the Empire.

At last, Notibus unexpectedly smiled.

“I’ll ask only one more question, if I may, Master De Lio. What brings you to the Gran-Devana?”

“I’m here to stop the Sword Party from destroying the Empire.”

Ravia nodded.

“Follow me, please.”

The two of them moved through the fort’s winding corridors toward one of the meeting rooms, quickly and without delay, thanks to the administrator’s guidance. At last, the old man opened the door for him, and without a word, gestured for him to enter.

“Greetings, everyone!” Daniel said cheerfully, as if he were not the last to arrive. After bidding Ravia farewell — who courteously granted him privacy — he added, “Apologies for my tardiness. Now that we’re all here, shall we get down to business?”