Not many seraphim were willing to admit that just like any other city, Adalrich had its dark corners where crime thrived and sin was currency. Especially not the guards who were charged with protecting the city. They would never publicly admit that one of their most reviled enemies, the Spectres, had their headquarters right in the capital. Of course, they could never admit it as long as they had no clue where the actual headquarters was located. Detailed sweeps of the city by the guards, no matter how discreet or thorough, had never turned up anything.

That was because they all thought like seraphim. For a race that could fly, they would never think to look underground. Or among their own dead. Itzal strolled through the cemetery, stopping at the statue of Mercy. It was so named for it stood guard over the graves of those who had died too young, or of terrible illness. As detailed as the statue was, a closer inspection of the statue would have revealed that there was a missing feather on one of its wings. The missing feather was the key to the door, so to speak. Each member of the Specters had a feather that matched the missing one and placing it upon the wing would reveal a flight of stairs that led straight to the entry.

Of course, stealing a feather would not guarantee one access. Ancient magic tied the feather to the life of its holder. If a Specter were to be killed, the feather would cease to function. If the feather were to be used by anyone else, the thief would find themselves joining the dead in that graveyard. Unsure if the magic was still in place after his "death", Itzal unlocked the entrance and braced himself for the pain. None came.

He descended underground, appearing in an elaborate hall carved right out of the mountain. It was supported by huge marble and obsidian pillars, a testament to the prosperity and brazenness of the founders who built the organisation. Alcoves and balconies also lined the wall, so that floor of the main hall also became a killing floor in case someone managed to breach the entrance. It wasn't crossbows and magic that met Itzal's arrival, but the head of the organisation himself, along with those who were present in the headquarters at the moment. A welcoming committee, or execution squad?

"The prodigal son returns." Veles commented, spreading his arms open and embracing Itzal. The old man sure had gotten sentimental in old age. "A bittersweet moment for me, I suppose. You swore never to return until Halden was brought to justice for his crimes, and that oath was fulfilled. A pity my son would not see reason, but at least I did not lose the one I adopted. Even if he returns with a new face."

Itzal gave a pained smile. Halden was a brother to him once, but the man's death was a weight off his shoulders, not some grudging mercy kill of a man he could not save. No, the bastard made his choice, he reaped its reward. "Come, we have much to talk about."

[hr]

So passed an hour where Itzal detailed the six years of his journey, or however much of it Veles had not heard through his own agents. Even the part with Neon's quest. Including the events of the past two days. Veles furrowed his brow in frustration. "To murder a councilman in his own home. I suppose you came back for answers more than a reunion."

Itzal nodded. "This was where... she died. I found it hard to return even after the blood debt was paid. I might not have, if the situation were not dire. We are killers, but not warmongers. We do not assassinate a member of the Council and throw the city into chaos. Those are important tenets of our organisation. I cannot imagine Vates had any information that might endanger us that would warrant his death, no matter how much he loved reading ancient tomes."

"No, we have not needed to take such extreme measures in a century. After Halden's treason, I kept a close eye on our operations here. No one could have taken a contract on the councilman without my knowledge or permission. Someone else wanted him dead, though whether it is to incite a war, I cannot say for certain. It seems we need to ferret out this killer." The old man answered. The Specters were assassins and spies, but they thrived in the midst of law and order, not war and chaos. Armies on alert and soldiers on every street were bad for their business, after all.

"Though there is another thing that worries me. The fact that you returned with a new body." Veles got went over to his shelf of books, and pulled out a thick tome that looked like a religious text. "The spell you performed can only be done by a select few. It's not just ancient magic, Itzal. For all their knowledge, none of the ancient races that walked our earth could truly cheat death. It seems my fears are confirmed at last, when I first found you in that burned down village."

Itzal was confused. When he was first taught the spell by Veles, it was described to him as ancient magic only available to shadow users, those who could directly manipulate spirits and the life force unleashed upon death. There was more to this power he was given? What was the old man talking about?

"Perhaps it might be tied to the state of our world at present..." The old man was musing to himself, under his breath.

"Spit it out, old man." Itzal's patience was wearing thin. He had [i]died[/i] to achieve this spell and rise anew. The cryptic talk of the old man was pissing him off, and when Veles got in such a mood, he could talk for hours before getting to his point. No, the black seraphim wanted answers now.

"The magic only works for those who have a spark of divinity within them. Individuals chosen by the gods."