Guy Montag arrived a few hours after the moon's highest peak. Shifting the weight of the four urns fastened to his back he prepared himself to take flight over the Kingdom. He didn't quite understand the traditions of the people of the Left and why they refused to use their powers on the trek back from certain tribunals, but they have done well by him and in turn, he conformed to their ways. Having returned to the outskirts of the city, Guy released himself of the burden of restricting his Neshamah. Concentrating on the black dots centered in his palms, Montag released two lively flames that seemed to dance under the moonlight. Now, placing his arms to his side, he empowered the flames until two pillars of fire seemingly apparated, jettisoning him into the sky.  

Flying at breakneck speeds came naturally to the man, even more naturally than walking, as if he was meant for the sky. And the sky, in turn, greeted him more warmly than the ground ever could. Clearing the multiple hour travel within minutes he arrived at the bottom of the statue made in the likeness of his King's idol. Greeting the royal guard, Guy made his way down below the statue through the series of intricate passageways and tunnels that lead to the Hall of Fathers.

"Ahab, I have four urns with me. I need you to..." 

Guy's voice trailed off as he noticed the lone undertaker was in fact, not alone. Ahab was a feeble man, almost hunched over as the years had taken its toll on the old man's body. Missing a leg, he hobbled from the weight of a massive harpoon he held in his right hand. Guy had once heard rumors and long lost stories of the old mortician, fables of how the aged man had lost his leg in a bout against an incredibly powerful tribesman whose arms looked as if they were forged into massive shields. Then further fables of how the old man, obsessed with vengeance, scoured the lands to enact his revenge, only to return feeble-minded and scar-ridden. 

Next to Ahab, as if juxtaposed, stood a tall and elegant man with short silver hair, sharp facial features that held two closed eyes, and a sly smile. The man wore heavy plate armor and held his helmet in one of his hands, on his hip shown a scabbard in which a menacing short sword was placed. The sight was an odd one, as warriors of this era had no need of feeble armor to protect their bodies, and no need of swords to cut down their foes. However, this was no normal armor and no normal sword, both sheened with a deadly Neshamah as if the whole ensemble was alive.

After a brief pause, the old man replied to Guy "I finally have it Guy, I finally have what I need to kill that bastard." Ahab held up the Harpoon, showing off the gleaming tool. Much like the Silver man's ensemble, it also had Neshamah imbued within it, although to a lesser degree.

Dismissing the crazed hermit, Guy turned to the man next to him "Swordshaper, the One True Blacksmith, I assume? What brings you to the Hall of Fathers, come to bury the men you've slain?"

The silver-haired man's smile tilted upwards in an almost sinister way, "No. But it looks like you have. I can still feel the Neshamah of the four trapped on your back leaving this world."

Guy grimaced, "Impressive, I didn't know blind men could see so well. Perhaps, then you could see the difference between justice being served and murder for the sake of personal power fantasies."

Guy had not been wrong to accuse the Swordshaper of these crimes. Whispers had come across every Kingdoms' doorsteps telling tales of how the blacksmith stole the Neshamah he used from his fallen foes. While these tales were tantamount to capital murder, they were swept under the rug, as none were able to bring in the blacksmith, and because his services were indispensable for the protection against the tribes outside the walls. 

"Funny you say that. Word travels fast in these parts, and none are louder than that of young rebellious princes," the armored figure retorted.

Feeling the dreadful force of the Neshamah surging out of the hilt of the Swordshaper's scabbard, both Ahab and Guy were forced to take a step back. Guy quickly composed himself and looked back upon the man in front of him. "Are you threatening the princes?"

"Of course not, just repeating the stories of the middle one. The stories that state the four guardsmen on your back were executed by their King despite the great service they had done."

Montag took a step forward, "This is an honorable society Swordshaper, something you would know nothing of."

"Yes, a great honor it is to die for the beasts on the other side of the wall."

Unleashing a large orange flame from the center of his palm, Guy looked menacingly towards the man in front of him. "Watch your words, I will not tolerate any more disrespect towards my King."

Unfazed, the silver-haired man grew an even more wicked smile. "Ooh, what a spiteful Neshamah you have. The kind that likes to burn away at its owner until there is nothing left. I see why they call you Icarus of the Exiled."

"I've long since been able to control my flame, don't dog me with the names of my past," spat Guy in defiance.

"Yes, names of your past. What a shame it is to see a man so afraid of his own Neshamah that he tucks it away so far and deep that he can only use a pittance of it. And to call it controlled at that."

Visibly irritated, Guy retorted, "And what do you know of control? The only thing you know is theft and murder under the guise of skills and trade."

"I don't steal, and I don't murder. I merely witness the wonders others create and emulate them in my weapons. And the only people I kill are those like yourself who would rather threaten me with their Neshamah than talk like civilized folk."

Guy laughed aloud at this, "Me? Threaten you? And what do you call that nasty aura emanating from your blade?"

"It's just a blade, Icarus of the Exiled. Formed from steel and imbued with Neshamah. It has a mind of its own, and much like another person, I have no dominion over how it feels."

Finally noticing the soothing nature of the man's Neshamah in front of him, Guy released the flame in his hand and restricted his own deadly aura. "Enough talk, why are you here."

"I've come to see the Workspace hidden below this Hall."

Guy smiled, knowing he finally had an upper hand, "Well you can't, I see no reason to allow you access down there."

The Swordshaper smiled back, "Ahh, but I do. How does the saying go again? An honorable society will always pay its debts in full? You did say this was an honorable society, right? And this honorable society does indeed have many debts to my services."