Antioch lounged in the lavish drawing room of a grand manor, its marble floors and gilded furnishings an ostentatious display of its owner's wealth and influence. Antioch had always found such decadence amusing. It was the kind of setting that lent itself to games of manipulation and charm, and he was always the master of such games.

The manor’s owner, a minor noble on some diplomatic assignment, had been easy enough to persuade. With a few choice words and a significant amount of gold slipped into the right hands, Antioch had secured the place for his temporary use. The servants moved about cautiously, aware of the charismatic yet unpredictable guest who had temporarily taken up residence.

The clack of boots against the marble floor echoed faintly through the grand hall. Antioch glanced up lazily, his brow arching as one of his senior influencers—a man named Peregrine —entered the room. Peregrine was known for his charm and poise, but today, he looked anything but composed. His usually confident stride was replaced by an uncharacteristic nervousness, his hands fidgeting as he approached the throne.

Antioch couldn't help but notice the unease radiating from his influencer. "Peregrine," he drawled, his voice dripping with mockery. "What could possibly trouble my ever-resourceful influencer? Did one of your silver-tongued deals go awry, or have you perhaps been outplayed in your own game?"

Peregrine hesitated, swallowing hard before speaking. "My lord," he began, his voice steady but edged with unease, "I bring news that I thought... might concern you."

An amused yet curious expression played across Antioch's face. "Well, don’t keep me in suspense, Peregrine," he drawled, gesturing lazily with his hand. "Let’s hear it."

Peregrine shifted his weight uncomfortably, his hands clasped tightly behind his back as though steadying himself. "Selene has been missing for several months," he said at last, the words coming out in a rush, as if saying them faster might lessen their impact.

For a moment, Antioch said nothing. His gaze hardened, and he leaned back in the plush armchair, fingers steepled beneath his chin. When he finally spoke, his voice was deceptively calm, laced with a quiet menace. "And you’re only telling me this now because...?"

Peregrine hands clenched briefly before he forced them to still. "A younger member of our network—Loric—received word that Selene had gone missing.” he said, his voice careful.  “He... assessed the situation and decided it wasn’t worth investigating."

Antioch’s fingers drummed against the armrest of his chair, the sound sharp in the otherwise silent room. "And what, exactly, led Loric to that conclusion?"

Peregrine hesitated, carefully weighing his words. " He didn’t understand her importance to you and reasoned that, since she had forsaken her life as a rogue, it was no longer our obligation to track her down."

Antioch's brow furrowed, his patience beginning to wear thin. "And how did you finally find out?" His voice grew sharper, the annoyance unmistakable.

Peregrine shifted uncomfortably, his posture stiffening. "Because of her family, my lord," he confessed. "After months of silence, they went over Loric’s head. Selene's mother sent a letter directly to his superior, explaining the situation and including a message for you." He paused, his eyes darting nervously. "When their inquiries reached me, I realized the mistake. I’ve taken immediate action to gather more information, but..."

Antioch interrupted, his voice sharp. "And what, exactly, did that message say to me, Peregrine?"

Peregrine hesitated, his fingers twitching in nervous tension. He glanced around as though seeking some refuge from the pressure mounting in the room. “My lord,” he began, his voice faltering, “it’s... quite blasphemous.”

“Blasphemous?” He leaned forward, his fingers steepled as he met Peregrine ’s gaze with an unsettling calm. “I’m not Soter. I can handle a little blasphemy.”

Peregrine swallowed hard and nodded, he pulled out the letter and began to read it.

My Dearest Antioch,

You are nothing more than a ridiculous joke of a god, whose charm and manipulations led my daughter astray and pulled her from the warmth and safety of our loving home. I had thought that by leaving your pitiful cult, she would finally escape your grasp. Yet, it seems your dark influence still lingers over her.

In my heart, I know that her disappearance is your fault, and I hold you responsible. It is time, Antioch, for you to do the one thing that could redeem even a sliver of your worthless existence: find my daughter, and bring her back to me.

Should any harm come to Selene, rest assured, I will pray to Artur and ask for his mighty sword to sever your head from your shoulders, so that you may no longer defile the heavens with your incompetence.

With disdain,
Lady Silvercrest

“Well, well,” Antioch said finally, his voice dripping with sarcasm. “I thought it was supposed to be blasphemous.”

But there was no smirk accompanying his words. His expression was unreadable, an icy mask that hid any true emotion behind it.

“Where, exactly, did Selene disappear?” Antioch asked, his voice calm, yet carrying an undercurrent of sharp command.

Peregrine straightened, though his unease remained evident. “The last confirmed sighting of her was at the port of Windmere, my lord.”

For a moment, Antioch expression didn’t change, but an astute observer would have noticed the faintest flicker in his eyes—a spark of recognition that he quickly buried beneath his calm facade. He leaned back in his chair, his hands steepled once again as his mind churned.

Windmere. Of all places.

The name hung in the air like a challenge, and his thoughts spiraled toward a troubling realization. Windmere was the very port where he had orchestrated Harahel’s passage onto the Serpent’s Fury.

Could Selene’s disappearance be a coincidence, or had fate intervened in some twisted game he hadn’t yet deciphered?

Antioch’s expression shifted, his face settling into a mask of calm authority, though a storm brewed behind his eyes. He rose from the plush chair, his movements deliberate as he stepped closer to Peregrine.

“I’ll handle this myself,” Antioch said, his tone leaving no room for argument. “You are to say nothing to anyone—especially not to the rogues.” His gaze bore into Peregrine, sharp and unyielding. “The last thing I need is for them to drop whatever petty schemes they’re entangled in and charge off on some half-cocked search. The chaos they’d leave in their wake would do more harm than good.”

Peregrine ’s lips parted as if to protest, but the look Antioch shot him silenced any words before they could form.

“Do you understand me?” Antioch pressed, his voice low but carrying an edge that cut through the room.

Peregrine nodded quickly, his unease evident. “Yes, my lord. I’ll ensure no one else hears of this.”

Peregrine hesitated for a moment before reaching into the folds of his coat, withdrawing a slim folder bound in black leather. He stepped forward cautiously, extending it toward Antioch with both hands. “This contains everything we’ve gathered so far on Selene’s movements, my lord,” he said. “It’s not much, but it’s a start.”

Antioch took the folder as Peregrine lingered awkwardly, clearly waiting for permission to leave. Antioch finally glanced up, his gaze sharp. “Before you go, one last thing.”

Peregrine froze mid-turn, standing at attention. “Yes, my lord?”

Antioch closed the folder with a snap, holding it loosely at his side. “What of Loric?”

A flicker of hesitation crossed Peregrine ’s face before he replied, “He’s been reassigned, my lord. The council of greater lords needed an aide, and he was deemed… suitable for the position.”

Antioch raised an eyebrow, his mouth quirking into a sardonic smile. “An aide to the lords?” He chuckled softly, the sound low and dry. “I couldn’t have thought of a greater punishment myself.” He paused, his smile growing faintly wicked. “And I have access to demons.”

Peregrine allowed himself the barest ghost of a smile, though it quickly faded under Antioch’s piercing gaze.

He waved a dismissive hand, signaling the end of the discussion. “You may go.”

Peregrine bowed deeply, retreating without another word. The sound of the door closing behind him was quiet, but it felt loud in the room's sudden stillness.

Antioch exhaled slowly, his calm demeanor giving way to something sharper as he returned to his chair. The folder rested in his hands, its weight almost symbolic of the burden now clawing at his thoughts.

Antioch sat down in the plush chair, the black leather folder resting in his hands like a loaded weapon. The opulent room, with all its gold trim and decadent furnishings, faded into the periphery of his awareness, consumed by the storm brewing within him.

Antioch’s fingers traced the edge of the folder’s cover, his expression unreadable as he opened it. The contents were meticulously arranged: notes, witness statements, and sketches, though their order did little to calm the tempest brewing within him. As his eyes scanned the first page, the events began to unfold like pieces on a chessboard, each move laden with implications.

Selene’s disappearance was first reported by Mirna, the owner of the Wayfarer’s Rest, a modest inn nestled near Windmere’s bustling docks. According to the initial statement, Selene had been a frequent guest. She was reserved but polite, paying her dues promptly and asking little of the staff.

One evening, Selene had gone out but failed to return by morning. Mirna, concerned but not immediately alarmed, waited another day before searching for her. When inquiries among the dockworkers and merchants yielded nothing, she reported Selene’s absence to the local sheriff.

The sheriff —a lethargic bureaucrat by the name of Harwood—had dismissed the report, citing “a lack of evidence suggesting foul play.” Harwood had argued that Selene, being an independent woman of no notable station, might have simply left without notice. Mirna’s concerns were met with a shrug and a dismissive wave of the hand.

A month later, Mirna had taken matters into her own hands. She visited the captain of the Stalwart Dawn, a merchant vessel known for its ties to Artur’s disciples. The captain, a stalwart man named Gregory Cairn, had listened intently to her tale. Outraged by the sheriff’s inaction, he brought the matter to the local chapter of Artur’s followers. Their pressure forced Harwood to launch a belated investigation.

Antioch paused. Mirna’s actions stood out in stark relief against the backdrop of incompetence and indifference. She had gone beyond her duty, driven not by obligation but by a genuine concern for Selene’s well-being. It was a rarity in this world—an act of selflessness that deserved recognition.

"Mirna," he thought to himself, "she’ll be rewarded for this." His mind flicked to Harwood, and his expression darkened. "As for the sheriff… he’ll learn the cost of negligence."

Antioch returned his attention to the folder, flipping through the remaining pages with measured precision. Sheriff Harwood’s eventual investigation revealed that the last place Selene was seen was at a tavern called the Rusty Anchor. The sheriff’s notes detailed an interview with a barmaid named Eliza, who vividly recalled Selene’s presence that night. According to Eliza, Selene had shared a quiet drink before being approached by members of the crew from a ship called the Salty Siren.

Eliza’s statement was clear: Selene had left the tavern with the sailors. Despite Eliza’s observations, Harwood had done little to follow up at the time. It wasn’t until six weeks later, when the Salty Siren finally returned to port, that Harwood bothered to question the crew.

The sheriff’s report on the interview was frustratingly sparse. The crew of the Salty Siren claimed to have parted ways with Selene right outside the tavern. No one seemed to recall where she had gone or with whom, and Harwood had apparently been content to take their word for it without digging further.

Antioch closed the folder with a sharp snap, his jaw tightening. Rising to his feet, he slipped the folder into his satchel, his resolve hardening. If Selene was out there, Windemere would be the first step in finding her—or the ones who had taken her. Either way, the hunt was on.