2nd of Blossom Moon

The sky stretched out before him—cloudless, endless, blue. The spring air was cold through his wings, but he didn’t care. The wind in his face was a welcome reprieve after four months of dreary winter.

Kellan loved this feeling. Like he was alone, above it all. Like whenever he let his wings free and soared through the skies, all his problems stayed firmly on the ground.

That was mostly why he was avoiding landing, despite the two winged legionnaires behind him blaring sirens and commanding him to halt.

He circled lazily above one of the Grand Gardens, debating landing in a thicket of trees and throwing them off his trail. But that would never work—they already knew who he was if they knew he was flying without a permit.

Kellan sighed and made his way down to a patch of grass within the garden, his combat boots tearing up the soil as he landed heavily. He pouted and turned to the officers landing behind him.

“Private Kellan Manchester,” one of the black-suited figures said from beneath their visor. It covered most of the legionnaire’s face, hiding their eyes behind mirrored black glass. “You are flying without a permit. This is grounds for punishment under Spiral City jurisdictional law section seven, subsection—”

“Thirty-seven, I know,” Kellan said, cutting the legionnaire off. “I’m aware.”

The legionnaire sighed. “Then you knowingly broke the permit law?”

Kellan shrugged. “I guess?”

The other Legionnaire, who’d been standing to the side watching this exchange happen, chimed in. “Since you’re Legion yourself, we reserve the right to take you before your commanding officer.”

This time, Kellan laughed. “By all means, please do.”

The first legionnaire began turning a dial over their temple, presumably looking up his ranking structure. Kellan could see the exact moment they found his direct report—their mouth went slack, shoulders tensing.

“You’re—”

“A Fallen, yes. Nineteenth division. Indentured servitude and all that. Take me to see the commissioner, then.” He held out his arms in annoyance, daring them to chain him. Not that it was worth it to do so.

The second legionnaire stammered, “C-come with us then, Private Manchester. Regardless of your status within the Legion, someone must reprimand you for your flagrant disregard of the permit laws.”

Kellan smirked. “Take me away, boys.”

♦♦♦♦♦

The legionnaires who’d tried to arrest him had insisted on escorting him all the way to the commissioner’s office. The elevator ride up had been incredibly uncomfortable. One had shifted on his feet the entire time while wringing his hands; the other had stood stock still and asked Kellan hundreds of questions about the commissioner without taking a single breath.

They now stood before the massive oak door that led into his commander’s office. Both legionnaires stood still, staring up at the top of the doors in slack-jawed wonder.

“Well?” Kellan said, gesturing to the door. “Aren’t you going to knock?”

The legionnaire to his left swallowed hard as they stared up at the doors. “Are you sure we can just—”

“We must report this disobedience,” the legionnaire on his right insisted, but made no move to knock on the door themselves.

Kellan sighed. “Bunch of wussies. He doesn’t bite.” He lifted his hand and knocked.

The answer was almost immediate. “Come in.”

They pushed the doors open to reveal a massive office and a man sitting at a glass desk in the center, tapping away at a holographic display. He lifted his face to the door, expression never changing as Kellan entered, flanked by his two captors.

“Commissioner,” Kellan said, bowing his head.

The legionnaires flanking him mumbled the same, bowing their heads as well.

The commissioner was not an imposing man, but he had an air about him that betrayed his years as a leader. His salt-and-pepper beard masked his age, and the delicate points of his elven ears poked out from under a well-coiffed head of fiery hair.

His gray eyes shifted between Kellan and the legionnaires, the question on his lips obvious, but he didn’t speak. They’d interrupted him, after all.

Kellan spoke first. “Sir, I was caught flying. Just thought you should know.”

The commissioner sighed. “Private Manchester, we’ve discussed this before. Until you’re provided with a flier’s permit, you cannot fly over Spiral City.”

Kellan bowed his head. “Yes, sir.”

The commissioner cocked an eyebrow, then turned his attention to the legionnaires flanking him. “I have this under control. You are dismissed.”

They didn’t hesitate before turning on their heels and exiting the office without a single glance backwards. Kellan bit his lip to stop himself from laughing.

“Private Manchester,” the commissioner said, “I know you want to stretch your wings, but the rules are in place for a reason; and, as a member of this organization, I expect you to adhere to them.”

“I know, sir. It was only going to be for a few minutes, but I—”

The commissioner held up a hand. “I don’t want excuses, Private. I’m letting you off the hook this time, but don’t expect my generosity again.” He sighed, rubbing his temples. “I have a job for you anyway, so this was good timing.” He gestured to one of the black leather armchairs before his desk.

Kellan sat. “What’s the job?”

The commissioner swiped a finger across the holographic display before him, bringing up a short file with a name in bold letters at the top—Levi van Alder.

He squinted at the file, reading the details below the target’s name. Van Alder was apparently a medical researcher, but there was no reason listed for his elimination.

“What did he do, sir?” Kellan asked.

“The governor is displeased with his activities lately and has requested his immediate disposal. You’ll be carrying it out tomorrow evening.”

He nodded, unable to argue. He wished, not for the first time, that he hadn’t been born a Fallen. He had no choice, no chance to refuse a request to eliminate someone the governor wanted dead. His fate was sealed at birth.

He simply nodded. “Yes, sir. I won’t let you down.”

♦♦♦♦♦

2nd of Blossom Moon

Kellan took one look at the dark clouds rolling in over the East Gate and swore under his breath. He hated getting wet in the skintight stealth suits he wore for missions—they became unbearably tight when soaked. And there was no avoiding the fat drops that fell from the sky.

He was riding his motorcycle through Lunadere, the glow from his wheels decorative lights reflecting off the now rain-slicked pavement. He slowed; he’d be in trouble if he took a corner too fast in these conditions.

Lunadere was quiet this time of night, or at least here in the residential area. The evergreen trees gave off a pleasant scent, mixing with the smell of the wet pavement. He didn’t see many cars pass as he rode on—most people in this area were long asleep.

He took another corner at low speed, a street light flickering overhead as he turned. The rest of the city loomed to his west, a black outline against the night sky. A neon glow illuminated the brick and glass towers, signs for a variety of goods visible even from this far away.

The neon was probably his favorite part of the city. If he let himself stare long enough, he thought he could get lost in the glow. It made it feel alive, like the city was a sleeping, luminous beast ready to open its maw at any moment. Its roar was the sounds of horns honking and sirens blaring and music pumping loud enough to match the rhythm of his heart.

But not in this neighborhood. All was quiet here—serene. It was a small pocket of silence in the life that thrummed about him.

The rain was pouring now, soaking through his clothes and into his skin, making him shiver. Thanks to this gods-damned weather and the cold seeping into his bones, he knew he was going to have a challenging evening. Scaling the walls would be tough.

But the rain was also a blessing. It would cover any noise he might make; and if he was lucky, it would provide additional cover against security cameras or sensors. Nothing messed with magical security better than the weather.

He parked his bike on the side of the road, strapping the helmet to the saddlebags and praying it wouldn’t be too wet by the time he got back. Part of him knew it was empty hope, especially with how heavily the rain fell now.

After removing the helmet, he replaced it with a visor. It covered both his eyes and ears, and enhanced his senses. He patted his belt, checking for the canisters of poison and his thigh holsters with his daggers.

He was as ready as he’d ever be.

Kellan slipped through the alleyways in the southern portion of Upper Cloud, the skyscrapers making him feel small. He shook the rain from his hair as he rounded the corner before his destination.

Levi van Alder’s sprawling estate was, frankly, idiotic. The towering walls that surrounded the property weren’t necessarily a challenge on their own, but the security cameras and alarm spells that blazed in his visor might be.

But Kellan hadn’t come unprepared. The Legion had jammers, pieces of technology that could block alarm spell signals like the ones blazing around the manor. They could also temporarily disable cameras. He had a time limit, though, which meant as soon as he pressed the jammer’s button, he’d need to be swift.

He took a deep breath, trying to settle into the calm he needed to do this. His last jobs had been simpler than this—much, much simpler.

A large drop of rain splattered obnoxiously on his nose. The sooner he finished this poor sucker off, the faster he could get back to headquarters and out of the rain. Not that he was in any rush to get back to the Guard, but he really, really hated the rain.

Kellan’s finger hovered over the jammer on his hip. He took a breath in, let it out, then pressed the button swiftly.

The alarm spells glittering in his visor flickered and died. A mechanical beep confirmed the cameras were offline as well.

He retrieved a grappling hook from his belt, pressing the button to extend the clawed head up and over the wall. He clipped the cable to his belt, then let the pneumatic motor do the work to help him up the wall. The rain made the walls slick beneath his hands as he found the first handholds and pulled himself up.

He pursed his lips as he gripped the wall. This would be easier if he could fly, but he couldn’t risk it after yesterday’s escapade. Kellan rather liked the commissioner; getting on his bad side wouldn’t do him any favors. So he sighed and pulled himself up to the next handhold.

The climb was challenging, but not impossible. His gloved fingers found purchase in small gaps between the bricks where the mortar had eroded away. Small chunks of loose brick ground under the steel toes of his boots only to be quickly washed away by the rain, falling beneath him in a gritty shower.

He reached the top of the wall, removing the hook’s head from where it had landed in the gravel at the top.

The roof of the manor was one long leap away. Enough for a normal person to hesitate, but not for someone like Kellan. He backed up to the edge of the wall, another deep breath in steadying his footing as he prepared for the jump.

With cat-like grace, he swung himself across the gap and onto the southeastern portion of the manor’s roof, the rubber soles of his stealth suit gripping the tiles even at the precarious angle. The muscles in Kellan's abdomen flexed as he adjusted for the steep grade.

The timer in the corner of his visor had begun counting down when he’d jammed the camera’s signals. The time now read nine minutes and eight seconds. He was behind schedule.

The window he’d chosen as his point of entry led to a bathroom. It was small enough that most people wouldn’t think about it as a security risk, especially not high-class people like Van Alder. Their trust in their security spells was too deep. They forgot easily that magic was fallible. But Kellan couldn’t complain—their carelessness made his job easier.

He nudged the window, testing if it was locked. It shook but stayed firm against his test. He retrieved a set of lock picks from his belt, adjusting himself along the edge of the roof to get a better angle at the mechanized lock on the window. He’d picked locks upside down like this in practice, but this was the first time doing it on an actual assignment.

He breathed slowly through his nose to keep his fingers from shaking. He was freezing, but that wasn’t the only cause.

The lock popped open with a soft click after a few good jiggles of his pick, and the window tilted in from the top. His feet went in first, then his torso, and finally his head was through the gap. His feet made no sound as he landed on the tile in the bathroom, his ears focused on any sounds he could pick up in the house.

Kellan turned the knob over his temple to switch his visor to infrared. So far, so good. A figure was sleeping in a bedroom two doors away—Van Alder. Just where he’d expected him to be.

Another figure was moving through the second floor. His stomach dropped. Van Alder had guards, but they were stationed on the grounds, not inside the house. Who in the world was walking around down there? A mistress? A maid? Had he changed his security protocols in the last few days?

He stayed in the bathroom, unwilling to move until he observed the patterns of the person moving about on the floor below. They hadn’t moved much, standing in one spot and looking like they were rummaging through a desk or cabinet.

A nasty thought occurred to him—had the governor sent someone else because he didn’t trust a Fallen to do the job? He’d never heard of such a thing happening, but he didn’t know enough about the governor to guess.

If he didn’t succeed today...well, he didn’t want to think about what might happen to him.

He continued observing the person on the second floor, but the timer was steadily clicking down. He had no choice. With less than seven minutes left, he needed to move, now.

He opened the bathroom door silently, then snuck across the hall to where Van Alder lay sleeping. In and out, leave no trace. That was what the poison was for.

Reaching back into his tool belt to grasp a canister, he shut the door behind him with a soft click. Kellan pulled the metal mask sitting around his neck up and over his mouth and nose, wincing as the sharp sides of the mask cut into his cheeks. Better a bit of a cut than death, he thought.

Through his visor, he watched the slow rise and fall of Van Alder’s chest. The canister of poisonous gas was heavy in his hand, but he tightened his grip upon it as he approached the sleeping figure. This was how he’d killed the others—this was no different.

He pressed the button on the canister, placing it gently on the floor and rolling it to a stop beside Van Alder’s bed.

Downstairs, the mysterious figure moved. He couldn’t risk them discovering what he was doing. His heart raced as they moved from the second floor up to the third, slowly approaching the bedroom.

He readied his dagger, gripping the handle tightly as he waited. It would be a problem if he had to confront the trespasser in the bedroom, but if they didn’t have a mask, the gas might take them out before he’d need to worry.

Kellan risked a glance, shuffling quietly to the doorway and peering out just as the figure rounded the top of the staircase.

He could see the mysterious trespasser’s features clearly in his visor—delicately pointed ears, silvery blond hair, a wide nose, and a mouth that was tilted down in a frown. He was tall, moving down the hallway with a casual grace that Kellan knew was born of years of combat training. If the daggers at his hips and the sword sheathed across his back were any sign of his intentions, he was bad news.

He wasn’t Legion. Kellan checked his chest for any sign of a divisional pin, but he couldn’t see one.

The man wasn’t wearing a Legion-issue battle suit, either. Although the elven man’s suit was similar, with hard, black plates over his chest, thighs, and arms, the style and color were entirely different from Kellan’s own all-black ensemble. The man had stripes of silver along his biceps, and the sheaths that held his daggers were a deep gray.

The man stopped, checking his watch and frowning. He hadn’t spotted Kellan yet, but it was only a matter of time before he did.

He had mere moments to decide his next course of action. Fight here, or lure him somewhere else. Fighting inside the house would be troublesome, especially since Kellan needed to confirm Van Alder’s death before calling it in. But allowing this man to see what was happening in the bedroom was out of the question.

The sleeping Van Alder was now surrounded by a haze of poisonous belladonna gas, slowly suffocating him.

The other man was nearing the bedroom door on soft feet. Kellan shifted, his back to the wall just inside the bedroom. The mask was working to filter out the gas spreading through the room, and he hoped the man creeping down the hallway couldn’t hear his mask quietly filtering his breaths.

And when the elven man finally reached the bedroom, he stopped. Kellan’s heart pounded in his ears. Why was he stopping?

The man sniffed once just outside the door, then turned on a heel and retreated down the stairs.