The sun had barely risen when Hyperion and Ida returned to Iadica. The day long mission had left them tired and silent. The salvageable remains of Harlem Puffridge lay sealed in a metal box. A grim prize for a job neither of them had enjoyed.
After a day of rest and washing away the filth of Or, they made their way to the huntsman headquarters. The morning air in Iadica was sharp and clinical, the silver towers catching streaks of sunlight like blades. Inside the Huntsmen office, everything smelled of paper and polish.
"Good morning, Mr. Hyperion, Ms. Ida," said Mr. Wyatt, looking up from a pile of documents. His office was as neat as his speech, not a pen out of place. "Good work on your mission. Although," he leaned forward, eyes shifting to the box, "I see you brought the criminal back dead."
Ida crossed her arms. "He had rune magic cast on him. Meant to silence him. There wasn't much we could do about the 'dead' part."
Wyatt's pen stilled. "Rune magic, huh? That's serious."
Hyperion stepped closer. "You don't seem very surprised that a band of criminals could use one of the most sophisticated forms of magic. Sounds like you knew about them already."
Wyatt gave a measured sigh. "I never said we knew nothing about the Corvus Aurum. You just never asked."
He leaned back in his chair, locking his fingers. "The truth is, we have more questions about them than answers. They appeared about five years ago, and since then, crime in the Octad Cities has changed. Cleaner, quieter, more… deliberate. They've organized the underworld. A chokehold, some call it."
Ida tilted her head. "So you've known they exist, but didn't tell us?"
"Their existence, yes. Their structure, no. The first time we heard the name was from a captured member. The man called them a brotherhood, or a cult. Before we could extract more, he used suicide magic. The only thing he left us was a name and a corpse."
Wyatt's tone darkened. "We believe they mix legal enterprise with the criminal world, disappearing into both. They're not just criminals. They're patient, purposeful. You two were sent to Or because we suspected their influence there. Seems that suspicion was correct."
The room fell silent for a moment before Hyperion spoke. "Then you'll want to hear what we found."
***
Hyperion explained everything, Harlem Puffridge's, the enslaved townspeople, the rune magic, and the hints of something larger moving behind the scenes. Ida filled in the details he skipped, and when they were done, Wyatt looked almost impressed.
"That's a lot coming from what you called a 'disposable pawn,'" he said finally. "If they can throw away operatives like Harlem, we're dealing with something far bigger than expected. Anyway, that'll be all for now. I'll contact you when we have something."
The pair left the headquarters and stepped back into the streets of Iadica.
***
By midday, the city was alive with color and noise. Streamers hung across the plazas, and vendors shouted over the music. Ida glanced around with wide eyes. "Hey, wanna go to the festival?"
Hyperion gave her a look. "What festival?"
"The Founders Festival. They're celebrating the founding of Iadica. Come on, it'll be fun." She was already tugging him along by the wrist.
"That question would make more sense if you weren't already dragging me there," he muttered. "When did you even hear about this?"
"A woman has her ways," she replied, grinning.
The carriage ride took a couple of minutes, ending at the city center. A plaza dominated by a statue of a barefoot man in an old, masterfully embroidered robe, holding a lantern. The air shimmered with the scent of perfume and liquor. Hundreds of people danced in identical robes and carved masks matching the statue's face.
"Who's that supposed to be again?" Hyperion asked.
"Quartus," Ida said. "Founder of Iadica. Kind of a legend."
The music pounded. Drums, flutes, and laughter merged into a wild rhythm. Ida vanished into the crowd before he could protest.
After being dragged into two forced dances and one spilled drink, Hyperion retreated toward the festival's edge. He was about to call it a night when a young woman stepped in front of him. Her mask hung loosely around her neck, revealing a sharp face and a playful smile.
"Care for a dance?" she asked, already taking his hand.
"I suppose asking first isn't the tradition here," he murmured.
"Is this your first time at the Founders Festival?" she asked as they spun through the crowd.
"Yes," he said dryly. "It's… lively."
She laughed. "Yeah, they say Quartus himself was..."
A flicker of light cut her sentence short. Hyperion's instincts kicked in. He twisted, pulling her aside just before a glowing bolt cut through the space they'd occupied. The crowd barely noticed, lost in their frenzy.
He set the girl upright. "Excuse me," he said, already scanning the rooftops.
Another shot came, and he neutralized it with a burst of his own energy. He tracked the direction of the blast. Someone was using a firearm augmented with magic. But there was no trace of a signature.
"Someone's masking themselves," he thought.
He spotted a figure in the distance; black hood, metal weapon, possessing no aura. The moment the man realized he'd been seen, he bolted. Hyperion gave chase, weaving through the mob and into the side streets. The city's laughter faded behind him, replaced by the rhythm of boots on cobblestone.
Hyperion finally lost sight of him, he was about to turn back when a dull thud echoed through the alley.
He followed the sound, and found Ida standing on top of a limp body.
"You noticed?" he asked.
"I never took my eyes off you," she replied. "Tagged him with my signature when he tried to sneak past."
The man beneath her was trembling, eyes wide with terror. "Please… don't leave me like this. I need to kill the golden haired guy, bring proof to him or I'll die. Please, I don't want to die!"
Hyperion crouched, grabbing him by the neck. "Who sent you? Who's 'him'?"
But the boy's breath hitched. His eyes went blood red, and his skin began to blister and rot. Within seconds, the stench of decay filled the alley. He was gone.
Ida stepped back, grimacing. "Please don't tell me this is becoming a regular thing in my life."
***
Hyperion called headquarters, and within minutes, a team arrived to collect the corpse. He and Ida walked back toward the inn, exhausted.
"You know," Ida said after a long pause, "there's a spring outside the inn. Wanna come with me?"
He shot her a look. "It's public property. And illegal."
"Aw, you're no fun," she teased. Then, with a sigh, she dropped onto his bed, resting her head in his lap.
He looked down at her. "They sent an assassin after us. Doesn't that bother you?"
"First of all, me not us. Secondly, that guy was too sloppy to be called an assassin," Hyperion said. "But yes, it bothers me. I'm allowed to worry a little?"
Hyperion exhaled. "They're smart. Whoever's pulling the strings knows more about magic than most scholars. But if they think this is enough to scare me, they're mistaken."
Ida smiled faintly. "You know, you could at least pretend to appreciate my concern."
He brushed her hand off. "Get some rest. Tomorrow will be another long day."
***
Morning came with the chill of uncertainty. They were summoned to headquarters again, where Wyatt was already waiting with files spread across his desk.
"Thank you for coming," he began. "We've completed autopsies on both Harlem and the boy from the festival."
He tapped a file marked Classified. "Harlem yielded nothing. No birthplace, no records, not even a traceable spell origin. His entire identity seems manufactured. But the boy…"
He slid another file across the desk. "Derek Wilkinson, sixteen, of noble lineage. Student at Zenith Academy, Sapphiri. One of the most prestigious academies in the Octad cities."
Ida frowned. "That's a long way from here."
"Indeed. His background makes his involvement… suspicious. The Wilkinsons were known for their isolation, rivals everywhere, enemies in every house. The boy was kept indoors his whole life. That means whoever coerced him into the assassination attempt did it at the school."
Wyatt paused before continuing. "His cause of death was a rare poison, one that causes rapid organic decay after activation. The timing suggests he was killed remotely, likely as punishment for failure."
"remotely activated magic," Hyperion said quietly.
Wyatt nodded. "Exactly. He also possessed a magical artifact, one called Mist. It masked his signature from detection. Advanced work, far beyond a student's reach."
Ida leaned forward. "So it's them again, Corvus Aurum."
"That's our belief," Wyatt confirmed. "The boy's final words imply he was forced into service. Whoever controls them uses fear and magic to bind their pawns. But this time, we have a lead."
He smiled grimly. "With help from the Wilkinson family and our contacts in the Huntsmen Organization, we're attempting to place agents inside Zenith Academy. The investigation is open ended. No time limit, no constraints."
Then he looked up at them both. "You two are our best candidates. So tell me…"
He closed the file. "How do you feel about going to school?"