Shadow Patron Will Be Angry
Jasper, standing tensely nearby, overheard the exchange and instinctively sprang into action to shield Siomha. He shoved her aside as he readied himself to speak in her defense. To his utter disbelief, Siomha’s voice sliced through the charged atmosphere, firm yet gentle, with a single word: "Okay."
Jasper was thunderstruck, whipping his head around in disbelief at her acceptance. Siomha’s consent was so sudden, so complete, it knocked the air from his lungs. How could the young human be so utterly reckless, so dismissive of the danger? On the journey here, she had nodded along obediently at his every word, absorbing the gravity of their situation with a calm that he mistook for caution. Yet now, in a heartbeat, she cast every pretense of heeding him aside, turning from prudence to rashness in a single breath. Her consent to such an outrageous demand came with no hesitation, no pause for reflection. Did she not see the risk she was incurring, the peril that lay in wait down this treacherous path? Perhaps she was oblivious to how horrific and formidable such a ruthless criminal could be. That prisoner was an agent of death, a beast even the Ivory Tower had feared to cage.
Those like him had waded through blood and ascended from hell itself. They were killers, pure and simple. They had taken lives, their resolve steeled and merciless, their will as sharp as their blades. Penetrating their mental defenses and navigating their psychological terrain was a perilous endeavor fraught with danger. It was not a task for some delicate Seer, some fragile human who had only her wits to protect her. It was naïve beyond belief for her to think otherwise, foolish in the extreme.
Desperately, he tried to catch Siomha’s eye, but his frantic attempts went unnoticed. Her gaze was locked on the scattered remnants around the room, lost in contemplation, as if she had already begun the impossible task ahead.
Fireshot’s eyes gleamed with delight as she approached the small human, bending down with conviction to murmur instructions in a hushed tone. “In truth… extracting a confession isn't the priority. What truly matters is the location of the Naiad’s Love,” she whispered, her voice dripping with intrigue. She winked, her expression shrouded in mystery as if sharing a forbidden secret too tantalizing to withhold. “That’s a realm relic that doesn’t belong in that region. Priceless. The higher-ups crave it. We must secure it and send it up.”
The surrounding air thrummed with the thrill of conspiracy, the tension a living force that seemed to swell and gather in pulses of excitement.
Bessie’s words, carried on by a wave of cunning, came as a shock to Jasper’s ears. He was not prepared for the depths of the beastwoman’s scheming, the layers upon layers of treachery she so casually revealed. Her manipulation was masterful, her reach extending far beyond her position. What Siomha had taken as a mere test of her abilities was actually far more insidious, a twisted mission that could easily claim her life. The stakes were higher than he imagined, the danger more dire. He had to make her understand the full scope of this plot, the monstrous ambitions that drove it.
With Bessie’s ulterior motives unveiled, Jasper redoubled his efforts to get through to Siomha. But she seemed lost in her own world, the enormity of the situation yet to penetrate her calm façade. His heart pounded in his chest, each beat a desperate plea. He couldn’t let this happen, not without a fight. He prepared to seize the moment, to break through Siomha’s focus and bring her back to herself, to rationality, to safety. But the words died on his lips, choked off by a rising tide of disbelief and rage that surged within him, a storm of helpless fury. He could do nothing but watch as Siomha committed herself to the impossible task, resigned to a course that could only end in ruin.
She was slipping through his fingers like sand and there was nothing he could do to stop it. Nothing he could say to sway her determination.
His Patron would not look fondly on this failure of his, a deadly lapse in control that might spell disaster.