Agency.

Tryn fidgeted in her seat, withering under the paladin’s searing gaze. For the first time since he’d met her, the goblin seemed to have nothing to say. She’d even withdrawn her hand from his thigh to clasp her fingers nervously. It took a few moments before she managed a soft, “Oh…”

“The missing persons case, victims of the necromancer at Marlowe,” Erica spoke up, breaking the tension to John’s immense relief. “Hawthorne’s been missing for almost two days now, and she matches the previous victims. Lorelei’s insight led us to a scene at the Inferno. Blood, but no bodies, and no clues about her whereabouts. I got information out of Dante while John found her last known location. He ran into a magical trap there, courtesy of the Academy Witch. She has some kind of investment in the missing princess, but we don’t know what.” As his partner recounted the events they’d been through in a clipped, military fashion, the Warden pulled out a chair and sat heavily in it.

Her armor jingled and she drummed one gauntleted fist against the table. The rhythmic clicking of her fingertips against the wood didn’t help with John’s anxiety.

“We don’t have the firepower or justification to directly contest the witch, you know that. Not while she has the defenses of her Workshop,” Moira glanced at John, her expression unreadable. “How much of this is Newman’s fault?”

Hold on a minute!

“Hey! I didn’t do anything wrong! I don’t know why she thinks I’m involved, but I’m not!” It dawned on him that protesting likely only made him look more guilty. His outrage faded and John’s shoulders slumped as he slid back into his seat, “Ugh. Yeah, I stole an SD card from Vanessa’s phone yesterday, okay? That’s it.”

Moira’s fingers stilled.

Erica interjected before the searing remark that was forming on the paladin’s lips could leave them, “Wentworth said that his debt was paid. He’s paid for his mistake enough already.” She sighed heavily and looked between John and Moira, “She also said that she’d deal with it personally… but I can’t just leave this alone. There are too many unanswered questions. Lorelei-”

“Questions are not a good enough reason. If Wentworth is handling the situation, we stay out of it.”

John felt a hand slip into his and give it a squeeze, easing the tension that had almost locked up his body. He looked down to meet Tryn’s eager smile. She leaned against him and nuzzled her head to his chest. Her loving presence helped him settle down.

“So, what? We just roll over and let her walk all over us? She nearly killed John today! We could at least pretend the protection pact means anything!” To the surprise of everyone in the room, even Moira, Erica slammed one hand against the table. “When did we become a bunch of cowards?” She pointed at John, “What does the Lady say about leaving him to die?”

The sound of Moira’s iron gauntlets digging into the table made John want to clap his hands over his ears. The grating noise was painful to listen to, and he wasn’t the only one who felt that way. Erica and Tryn both winced as she left visible scratches in the wood.

“The Lady…” Moira growled the words, her voice soaked in anger, “objects.” The paladin closed her eyes and took a slow, deep breath. When she opened them again, rage was still simmering inside her, but it was contained. “It is the duty of the Order to protect the helpless, even if they are…” she didn’t finish her sentence, but simply fixed John and Tryn with a stiff look.

When no one else spoke, the Warden pushed back her chair and addressed the room at large, “Mr. Newman. You and Lady Carpenter will report to the Lord-Protector in twenty minutes to discuss this further. In the meantime, you and your… companion will be shown to separate rooms and looked after.”

John winced.

That could have gone better.

Tryn objected to being assigned different rooms, insisting she share with John to no avail. Moira’s instructions were adamant that they each have their own space and the servants followed the orders of their Warden. Eventually, with a bit of coaxing from both Erica and John, the goblin relented and let herself be led away to a different wing of the Manor, while a maid guided him down a different hallway. They stopped at a door that, to John, looked identical to the rest and he was let into a guest bedroom.

It was unreasonably luxurious, with a full, king-sized bed that was way too big for one person and a desk twice the size of his at home. A large metal plate sat on it, covered with a dome-shaped lid. It all felt like he was staying in a five-star hotel, and the comparison only felt more apt when he examined the bathroom. It contained a marble tub large enough for three people to comfortably fit in, two sinks and a toilet with a privacy curtain.

The maid excused herself, leaving John alone with his thoughts… and his hunger. It’d been hours since he’d had something to eat, but he’d been too focused on other things to notice. The smell of finely cooked meat and toasted bread wafted out from underneath the lid of the dish. He lifted it, salivating as his stomach rumbled.

Food first, other stuff later.

Exactly ten minutes and one fantastically juicy roast-beef sandwich later, John found himself standing in the ‘War Room’ of Brighton Manor. It was a circular space, capped with a stained-glass dome that showed three women each with the mark of the Golden Rose on their armor. One bore a familiar shield, another, a sword and the third, a spear. Candles flickered in a grand chandelier that hung from the center of the dome, casting a moody glow throughout the room that made everything feel a century older. A massive ink map of Springfield covered the central table, with various figurines and terrain that closely resembled tabletop miniatures carefully placed about it. Books by the dozens lay open at the edges of the map, written in languages that John couldn’t read. Their pages were so mottled by age that even the air itself tasted like musty parchment and ancient dust.

There were no less than ten people milling about the room, engaged in conversation or sifting through the bookshelves around the walls. Lord Brighton stood at the head of the table, in quiet conversation with an elderly man named, according to observe, ‘Cornelius’. It was the first time that John had ever seen the imposing man in his element as the commander of the Order, and, though the only armor that Lord Brighton wore was a simple fencing vest, the aura he projected was hard as steel and sharp as a razor.

“-we’ll bring in the contractors for this. Contact the Hound and Anderson.” He gestured to a young man in a suit standing at attention nearby, “Caldwell, requisition a second pair of Necromium shackles from the vault. If she wants to stop us from doing our job, we’ll bring her in too. Ah. Newman.”

“Uh, yeah?”

“You and Carpenter will be joining the Second Regiment tomorrow. Don’t do anything reckless,” he locked eyes with the Gamer, dead serious. “This isn’t a game. Follow orders and do your part.”

How do I even respond to that?

“Yes… sir?” John said, hoping he sounded more respectful and serious than he felt right now.

Maybe he did, or maybe Lord Brighton didn’t care. Either way, the man gave him a gruff nod and returned to assigning logistics. John breathed a sigh of relief, and looked around the room for a familiar face. Erica wasn’t present yet; Moira was leaned over the table, staring at a batch of terrain shaped like a graveyard. Presumably that was the target. He decided not to try talking to her. She’d tried to kill him with a look earlier…

Okay, so I lied about being in a relationship with her, but I had to! Mostly. Maybe? ...yeah, no. I need to apologize to her sometime that she won’t take my head off.

The only other person in the room he recognized was the blind seer, Lorelei, who was sitting on a stack of books with one open on her lap. She ran her fingers across it as he approached and John recognized lines of braille.

“John.”

She hadn’t even looked up at him.

I’m never going to get used to that.

“Hey,” he said, immediately at a loss for where to go next. Maybe, ‘Thanks for the warning about the giant dino-shark. I really appreciated knowing I’d have to play hide and seek in underwater hell?’ No, that wasn’t her fault. She’d given him the best warning she could. “So, you sent Erica something earlier. Vanessa’s alive?”

Lorelei’s fingers stopped and she carefully tucked a ribbon into the spine to keep her page before closing her book. She looked up at John, and her silver mask glinted orange in the light of the candles, “I am not sure. I can see where she is not. A hole in the world shaped like the girl you described.” The seer clasped her hands over the leather cover and continued, “There are fates worse than ****, John. I fear something hideous wears her skin. A creature that cannot survive without consuming another. Around her, the Lady’s light draws inwards and dies, draining the color from her surroundings.”

Her voice went cold, “What has killed will kill again.”

John shivered. He had no idea what to make of the seer’s words. Just a sinking suspicion that he was almost afraid to put into words, lest it become true. He took a slow breath and focused on what he knew. There was one way to find out what had happened.

Enough chasing shadows. I need to find her and end this mystery.

“Here,” he opened his inventory and withdrew the broken locket, carefully placing it in Lorelei’s outstretched hand. The cold metal was surprisingly hard to let go of, his breath quickening as he felt the chain slip from his grasp. The seer curled her fingers around it and focused. Now was finally the time for answers. John took a deep breath, “Where is she?”

Lorelei was quiet for a long time, then whispered one word, “Home.”

Then that’s where I’ll go.

A commotion broke up the background murmur of discussion, and John recognized Moira’s trademark ‘dulcet’ tones. Whatever it was, it was probably important. He nodded to the seer, almost snatching back the pendant as he took it from her, “Thank you, Lorelei.”

“Be careful, John,” she said. Her voice eerily echoed the warning she’d issued earlier in the day. “I can see your shape inside her shadow.”

Great. Another mysterious warning. Why can’t I ever get a ‘Good luck, John. Things look safe and I have a feeling that everything will work out.’?

He turned back to the table, which had become the center of everyone’s attention. Erica was standing at it, with enough space on her left for both John and Lorelei. She waved at him and they hurried over, joining the discussion in progress. To his surprise, the blind girl seemed to have no trouble at all.

“I’ve called together this council to enact the Lady’s judgement upon the vile Cabalist necromancer, Mortimer von Stitches. He’s killed six so far and harvested an unknown number of bodies for parts. According to Carpenter’s information, he’s making something. We don’t know what, but based on the ingredients, it won’t be pretty.” Lord Brighton pointed at the graveyard, “His current base of operations is located underneath the abandoned Mortuary. It will be heavily warded and reinforced, but we have the information and tools necessary to break in. Our objectives are as follows: get in, eliminate any necromantic abominations he may have raised, secure or eliminate Mortimer, destroy his research and collapse the barrier forming his Workshop.

“To reiterate, we don’t know what we’ll find down there, but we know it will be Cabal. It will be deadly, horrific and disgusting, and we will purify it with faith and good, old-fashioned steel. Is that understood?” Lord Brighton looked around the table as everyone present assented one by one, his eyes lingering on John as he mumbled a ‘yes’.

The Lord-Protector leaned back, folding his arms, “We move at dawn, when the wards will be weakest. Dismissed.”

“What about the Hawthornes?”

To John’s surprise, the person asking wasn’t Erica, it was Moira. He glanced at the paladin, but she refused to meet his gaze. “We’re not just letting that go, are we? They’re connected to her, but they are still only human. It’s our job to keep them safe. No matter who they associate with.”

Lord Brighton’s expression didn’t change. He placed one hand on the table and looked from the graveyard to a second set of terrain, located all the way across Springfield. A purple question mark had been placed in the center of the wealthiest neighborhood in the city. John felt his heart skip a beat.

“Sir?” he asked, immediately regretting speaking up as Lord Brighton turned his attention on the Gamer. “The last victim should have been Vanessa Hawthorne, but she’s still out there. I’m sure of it. According to Lorelei, she’s gone home.”

“Is that true?” Lord Brighton asked the seer, who nodded.

Hushed conversations struck up between several present, and John turned to Erica, “Did something happen?”

“Yeah, dude. There’s an anomaly at Vanessa’s place. It popped up just a few minutes ago.”

...Of course there is. Why can’t anything ever be simple?

In a way, it was a relief. John had gotten so worked up and worried about the Vanessa situation that knowing that something, anything, was actually happening was a weight off his shoulders. His fear was validated. Now, he just had to do something about it.

“I can’t afford to waste time and resources on something that could be a trap when we have a bigger threat in front of us. A known Cabalist takes priority,” Lord Brighton stated tersely.

John clenched one hand into a fist. He could understand the logic, but he needed to go after Vanessa. He was about to speak up, when he was surprised again.

“No,” Moira’s definitive rejection silenced the room. “The Order is the shield of man against the Abyss, and the Lady does not judge the worth of one life against another. That’s what you taught me, Father.” Things got so quiet that John could hear the clink of Moira’s chainmail as she gestured at Hawthorne Manor. “We need time to gather our forces and prepare anyway. I will deal with this, and return in time to move against the Cabalist.”

Lord Brighton shook his head, “Absolutely not. We cannot afford to risk you. Not now.”

“I am the Warden, Father. Not just your daughter!” Moira slammed the table hard enough to rattle the miniatures, “This is my job. Let me do it.”

“Do not shout at me, girl.” In comparison to his daughter’s outburst, Lord Brighton’s voice was unnervingly calm. “My job as Lord-Protector is to protect you from yourself, and as long as I’m alive, I will do just that. You are the Order’s greatest asset, a trained weapon of the Lady, not a hero that recklessly attempts to solve every problem on your own. Temper your anger and focus on your duty. An unfettered agent of the Cabal is more important than obvious bait.”

The paladin attempted to splutter an indignant retort, but her tongue seemed intent on betraying her. John had never seen Moira speechless before. He wasn’t sure how to feel about it. It was cathartic to see the righteous girl get smacked down, but… she was right. Something had to be done…

…and someone has to be the one to do it.

It took every ounce of John’s courage to say, “What about me?” He looked at the rest of the table, trying to project confidence, “I can handle it.”

“We’ll handle it,” Erica added, emphasizing the pronoun. Their eyes met and she gave him a look that mixed pride and admonishment.

“Very well.” Lord Brighton gestured at John and Erica, “The two of you will destroy the Barrier at Hawthorne Manor and investigate the missing victim. You’ll rejoin with the Second Regiment for the **** on the mortuary when you return.” When Moira attempted to speak up, he clapped his hands loudly over her objection.