Shadows of the Lost

Southeastern Cyrom, for as long as it lived and breathed, was the very capital of diversity. Home to three kingdoms and two cities which were spread out among the different landscapes, each establishment was unique. Jamesport, a sea-side city, met its level of uniqueness through the homes and structures built upon the cliffs as well as its lack of magic. The streets of cobblestone held water in place from the occasional rain as the carriages and cabs rumbled by and the people wandered to and fro between the shops and open windows. The fresh scents of bread, flora, and the sea breeze wafted through the air bombarding the nostrils. The cliffs overlooked the edge of Cyrom’s only bay where the water sparkled from the sun’s early morning or evening rays while the ships would sail steadily across the waves loaded with men and goods.

Jamesport was the center of sea trade and travel with the other provinces of Cyrom making it a hot spot for thieves and underground marketers. Despite its beauty and peace, Southeastern Cyrom had an unwanted and notorious reputation for being home to a small town’s worth of fugitives or members at large. So, it was no surprise that on shipment day, security was at an all-time high swarming the docks. Owen Riley, a junior patrol who had been commissioned three weeks prior, made his way to his officer. Owen was considered the typical Jamesport boy; born and raised a city kid with wild but seemingly neat pinewood hued hair. His eyes held the royal blue portraying the firm, kind character he was. His officer, however, oozed power and authority. His every feature was dark, from the color of his hair, to the stony eyes, and right down to the clothes he wore.

“Officer Shanton, Sir,” Owen saluted. Shanton turned from the busy activity of the docks.

“Well?”

“No signs, sir. Not even from any other wanted persons.”

“Good.” Shanton nodded. “Take positions. We are ready to unload the shipment.” Owen turned to leave but stopped.

“Officer Shanton, sir? Doesn’t the absence seem suspicious to you? It’s not normal. It’s said that the duo are everywhere at every moment, sir. The...”

“Did I ask for your thoughts, Mr. Riley? No, I did not. I care not if the notoriously famed ‘duo’ set their presence here or elsewhere: my commands are to patrol the docks and prevent the breaking of law and code! I don’t have time or room to ponder over such extraneous thoughts.”

Mumbling a “Yes, sir”, Owen bit back his anger and left to his post. In the shadows of a nearby alley, a hooded figure absorbed what he had seen. The figure, having finished observing the chaos, turned back, traveling the alley roads slowly making his way to the offices of the Jamesport Military Training Academy. The school building was on the other side of town along the fringes of the country where the grounds could cover more acres of land. Within less than five minutes, he reached the back entrance where a darkly dressed figure awaited his arrival.

“How much time left, Tim?” An unmistakable feminine voice whispered from behind a black mask worn by the darkly dressed mercenary. Tim removed his hood revealing dark brunette hair matched with sly, boyish eyes.

“They should be unloading now; that gives you about an hour to get what you need.”

“Perfect. I shouldn’t be long.” She tugged on her leather gloves then adjusting her belt, the sheath of her dagger caught reflecting light. She pulled the edge of her black, leather hat down low over her eyes and climbed up to the top right window. Silently, she fiddled with the pane working out the quietest option until the window was opened. Dropping in, she was met with the suffocating white noise. Her pale, blue eyes swept the room looming on every detail. The office walls were a bland, sandy hue having nothing but the Rust-Tail crest hanging on the far right. The floor, scuffed and worn, was crafted from the pines of the Cyrom Woodlands, polished with the blood of the willows imported by the Potomac West. The only furniture present was the intricately carved and polished oak-wood desk paired with a set of fancy desk chairs giving the demeanor of high station and power.

Walking up, the masked fugitive smoothed her gloved hand across the desk’s surface. Glancing down, there were a number of seven drawers: three stacked vertically on either side and one horizontally stretching the length of the desk. In this drawer’s center, a small keyhole barred unwanted visitors, violators, and prying eyes. The thief pulled back the master chair, squatted down and proceeded to inspect the lock. At that moment, the murmur of voices accompanied by footfalls began making their way to the office. With her last chance on the line, she tucked herself in the corner by the door...she was not going to leave until she had what she needed. The steps stopped outside the office, but the voices droned on unawares.

“Thanks, Roan. See you at the meeting.” The door opened and one of the men walked in.

“Huh. Could have sworn that window...” Footsteps traveled to the open window and there was the sound of it being slid shut. In the reflecting plane of glass, the man saw the intruder...smirking...as she slowly shut the door.

“William Roan. Surprise, surprise.”

William made a small side-step to his desk. “Who are you?”

The masked figure unsheathed the small blade. “You don’t know? Well, maybe this will help.” She pointed the tip in his direction. “Open the lock.”

William didn’t move. “What happens if I choose not to?” His answer came as a dark piercing glare. Oh if looks could kill. Before things could get out of hand, he removed the key from his pocket and unlocked the drawer.

“In the drawer, you should find a file containing information on a specific mission that was initiated two weeks ago...as well as the letter you ignorantly ignored.”, she continued.

William fumbled with the file as his hands shook in violent sputters. As he lifted the unmarked file, underneath, an envelope with a blood-red seal decorated by an elaborate cursive “P” lay boring into his eyes. He stumbled back in a realization of horror.

“The file, Will. Now.” She began to walk toward him.

“N-no. Take one step closer and you’ll have the militia on top of you!”

“Hand me the file or I’ll be on top of you.”

William was engulfed in a panic.

How did she know? The Rust-tails took every precaution…

The oppressor continued to move closer, step by step; a wolf stalking its cornered prey. In desperation to get through alive, he hardened his resolve.

“You want this?! Come and get it!” In a flash, he lunged, flinging his chair and knocking the oppressor back. Seizing his chance, he dove for the door swinging it open.

“Phantom! The Phantom…” A thick smoke exploded filing the long hall of the office building causing William to cough and choke. The Phantom smoke: one of the mercenary’s greatest mysteries always appearing at her will and always in the form of explosion. In a matter of seconds, William was slammed into the opposite wall of the hallway and striking his head, sinking to the floor dazed. The shouts of men filled the upper hall as the smoke cleared, but the most wanted criminal had vanished along with the file.