Chapter 38 - The Taste of Apple

"How long have we been waiting here?" asked Aldes, his boredom stretched beyond its limits. He was sitting on a bench beside the tavern where they were supposed to meet the marshal, together with Atbara, yet there was no sign of him anywhere.

"Two hours..." replied Atbara, his voice tired and faint.

"You seem to be suffering from this heat even more than I am," said Aldes, mildly surprised.

"I'm too exposed to the sun... Even though I'm an Akrasan... the sunlight still... exhausts me..." Atbara spoke slowly, each word dragging behind the other.

"You're dressed in black, that's not helping," Aldes pointed out.

"I've always worn black..." Atbara continued in the same weary tone.

"There must be someone around with an umbrella, right?" Aldes glanced around and spotted a woman in a striking pink dress, holding a white parasol against the blazing sun. He stood up from the bench and started walking toward her.

"This won't end well..." murmured Atbara under his breath.

"Excuse me, ma'am, sorry to bother you, but I was wondering if—"

"AAAAAAHHH! A MONSTER!" screamed the woman, bolting down the street in terror.

"Bingo..." muttered Atbara with a weak chuckle.

"Pffff... What are we supposed to do now?" asked Aldes, hands on his hips.

Atbara slowly rose from the bench.

"Let's head to the military headquarters. He's probably there," said Atbara, now, somehow, holding the woman's white parasol.

"What? When did you—How did you even take that?" stammered Aldes, astonished.

"Let's just go. I'm done waiting," said Atbara, walking off without even acknowledging the question.

"R-right..." Aldes followed behind the vampire.

Five minutes later...

"Here we are," said Atbara as they stood before the royal military headquarters, a massive, classical structure encircled by dark gothic railings. Groups of soldiers moved about in organized clusters, clad in bronze-colored armor that gleamed under the light.

"I suppose he's inside, maybe in his office?" Aldes asked.

"Most likely. We just need to follow the strongest current of Fernia. The general's presence might confuse the signal, but if we focus carefully, we'll tell them apart," explained Atbara, beginning to walk forward.

"Damn, you're sharp," said Aldes as the two passed through the gate. The guards by the entrance nodded politely in greeting. Inside, soldiers bustled through the corridors from one side to another. Women, likely secretaries, coordinators, and clerks, hurried by with their arms full of documents and reports. The whole place felt like a living anthill, every member of the dominion carrying out their assigned duty for the greater order.

"Now that I think about it... have you ever seen a female dominion soldier?" asked Aldes curiously.

"Now that you mention it... you're right, that is strange. Hm? What is it?" asked Atbara, confused by Aldes' staring.

"You forgot to close the umbrella," Aldes said.

"Oh. Right," Atbara folded the parasol and glanced around again, deep in thought.

"What's wrong?" asked Aldes, noticing the vampire's focused expression.

"I'm trying to distinguish the Fernia energy between the general and the marshal. As far as I know, the marshal's power should be roughly forty percent greater than the general's, maybe slightly more," said Atbara.

"Maybe we should just ask one of the soldiers for directions? You look like this is giving you a headache," suggested Aldes.

"There. I found it," said Atbara, turning sharply down a left corridor.

"You sure?" asked Aldes.

"Just follow me," said Atbara, moving forward with quiet confidence. He walked the corridor alongside Aldes, scanning the nameplates above each door. They reached the end of the floor without finding the right one, so they ascended the stairs to the next level. Suddenly, Atbara's expression shifted, more alert now, and Aldes could sense a hint of curiosity rise within him. The vampire turned left and began walking faster. The demon followed close behind until Atbara finally stopped before a door.

"Here it is," said Atbara, standing before the polished wooden door with the name Milfar Mildura engraved above it.

"Oh, hell. You actually found it," said Aldes, visibly impressed.

"Let's knock," said Atbara, rapping three times on the door.

A few seconds passed in awkward silence before a voice called out from within.

"Yes, you may come in, or come in, plural, depending on how many of you there are."

"Forgive us," said Atbara as he opened the door to the marshal's office.

Inside sat the marshal himself, relaxed in his chair, dressed only in a white shirt, his usual coat and cap resting aside. In one hand, he held a knife, calmly peeling the skin off a few green apples.

"I've been expecting you. Please, have a seat," said the marshal, gesturing toward the two chairs in front of his desk.

Aldes and Atbara settled into their seats, the tension in the room thick enough to feel. The marshal watched them closely as he slowly peeled an apple in his hands. The sound of the knife cutting through the fruit filled the silence that hung heavy in the office.

"Do you like apples?" he asked suddenly.

"Y-Yes, they're quite tasty," replied Atbara, a bit puzzled by the question. Aldes shot him a bewildered glance, unsure what to make of this strange conversation.

"I've read," continued the marshal, "that one can tell a lot about a person's character based on their favorite kind of apple. Which kind do you prefer?"

"What in the hell is going on?" muttered Aldes under his breath.

"And you, Mr. Marshal," asked Atbara cautiously, "what kind of apples do you like?"

"I appreciate all of them," said the marshal calmly. "Each has a unique taste. But I've always been intrigued by the orange apple. The green one is too sour; the yellow, too sweet; the red, a blend of the two. But the orange apple... I can hardly taste it at all. It's as if it's hiding a flavor my tongue was never meant to know."

He locked eyes with Atbara as he said this. The vampire clenched his fist, his expression tightening. Aldes noticed the tension in his partner's hand and stayed quiet.

"In the end, they're just fruits," said the marshal, easing the atmosphere again as he turned his gaze back to the apple in his hand. "Probably some fortune-teller wrote that nonsense."

"So, why did you call us here?" asked Atbara, his tone firm and composed.

"I like that serious look on your face," the marshal said with a faint grin. "At the police headquarters, a few positions have mysteriously gone vacant. No one knows why, or for how long, but it caught the attention of some higher officials. The interesting part is that these positions were responsible for the guarding and maintenance of the eleven Spheres of Alitus. I assume you know what those are?"

"Y-Yes, we have an idea," said Atbara.

"Good," said the marshal. "Now, given that those positions are vacant, what do you think happened to the spheres?"

"Um... they were stolen?" guessed Aldes hesitantly.

"Exactly. All eleven spheres have been stolen. Bravo." The marshal gave a small, sardonic smile. "Naturally, you two were the prime suspects at first. But eight years ago, a person disguised as one of the nurses carried out a mission that remains... unclear to me."

Both Atbara and Aldes were taken aback by what they heard.

"What struck me," continued the marshal, "was that this person used a teleportation method very similar to yours, Atbara. Any idea why that might be?"

"Do you have a specific date for this incident, Marshal?" asked Atbara.

"31st of Eirm'Haiir," he replied.

"I was fighting a lich that day, south-east of Guhojre. Aldes can vouch for me," said Atbara.

"It's true," added Aldes quickly. "His horse was killed by that monster."

"I remember now," said the marshal. "Igorus himself came to deliver the report to me. He's always had a habit of wandering through the forest... never changed. Anyway, back to the matter at hand. The Spheres of Alitus are volatile by nature. The more positive your essence, the more negative your reaction to them will be. You two are, in many ways, the most compatible subjects to face the existential paradoxes these spheres pose.

"And what's even stranger," he went on, "is that no one has the faintest clue about the missing employees. We've scoured the entire kingdom, no traces, no records, nothing. It's as if they never existed. Frankly, it's astonishing that a criminal with such precision even exists... someone capable of erasing all evidence. That's partly why I doubt you were involved."

"Was that supposed to be an insult?" asked Aldes dryly.

"Do we have any indication of when these people might have vanished, hypothetically speaking?" asked Atbara.

"The Spheres' custodians operate in extreme secrecy," the marshal explained. "Their work isn't spoken of, not even among themselves. Status reports on the spheres are only required when the barriers weaken, for security reasons. And as I've said, neither the spheres nor their keepers are currently accounted for."

He paused, setting down the knife. "So, here's what you're going to do. I've received direct orders from Queen Kaliga herself to assign you both to a task."

Aldes and Atbara listened intently as he continued.

"You're to investigate inside the Royal Palace of Angels. Only investigate, nothing more. If you encounter resistance or if the situation spirals beyond your control, withdraw immediately. Observe what's happening in there, and when you return, give me a full, detailed report of everything you saw."

"It might be a bit difficult—" began Aldes.

"Not with my abilities," interrupted Atbara confidently.

"There's a fair chance someone in the palace has information about the spheres' disappearance," the marshal continued, tossing the apple peel into the waste bin. "Our relations with the angels have grown... tense."

"When do we execute the plan?" asked Atbara.

"In two days. You'll also meet with the queen tomorrow, her orders, not mine," said the marshal.

"Understood. Then, with your permission..." said Atbara, rising from his chair alongside Aldes.

The marshal watched as the two left his office, quietly biting into the freshly peeled apple. He looked down at it and frowned.

"Not ripe..." he muttered...