My hands trembled as I pushed open the tavern door, the lingering chill of the nightmare still clinging to me. Kaelen’s face etched with terror, the chaotic escape, the sheer desperation… it was all too vivid, too real. I needed answers. A gnawing certainty told me Tirrila was at the heart of whatever was unfolding, but the thought of that city, those towering spires, sent a shiver down my spine. The Information Guild was my only option. They claimed to know everything, even if no one knew who truly led them. They operated out of this small, unassuming tavern, a place where rumors and secrets traded hands like currency. Perfect, in a twisted way. But what price would I pay for their knowledge? They demanded a hefty sum, or equally valuable secrets, and I had neither.

Approaching the bar, I was greeted by the young waitress. “What will it be?” she asked, her smile a practiced curve. I slid an old silver coin onto the counter. “I’d like to have the special,” I said, the words feeling foreign in my mouth. I never thought I’d use that coin, a strange gift from a long-gone customer.

“Follow me,” she replied, her ponytail bobbing with each step. I followed her down a dark hallway, the atmosphere thick with unspoken secrets. She activated a glowing magic circle, revealing a trapped door. Carefully climbing down, I entered a surprisingly large room. It was sparsely furnished, a collection of plain chairs and a single, worn table. Odd, I thought. Who needs decorations when it’s a hidden room?

“You can have a seat, make yourself comfortable. Unfortunately, our informants are out today, so you may have to wait a bit,” she said, her smile tight. I tried to appear calm, but my heart hammered against my ribs, and sweat began to form on my palms. A “bit” could mean minutes or hours in a place like this. I couldn’t shake the sensation that unseen eyes were observing my every move. Why all these games to trade information? It seems excessive.

The room’s energy shifted, the air shimmering with unseen power. A pressure that made the hairs on my arms prickle. Then, a masked figure materialized before me, his black cloak rippling like a shadow in a sudden wind. An ozone scent, sharp and metallic, lingered. He adjusted his mask with a theatrical flourish that seemed oddly out of place. “Ah, the ‘special’ customer,” he announced, his voice a dramatic baritone, echoing from behind the mask. “We rarely see your kind. Usually, it’s just disgruntled merchants whining about lost shipments… irrelevant details.” He waved a dismissive hand. “So,” he continued, his tone shifting to sharp inquiry, “what information compels you to use such a… distinctive form of payment?”

I took a steadying breath, trying to ignore the frantic pounding of my heart. “I need to know what’s happening in Tirrila. Something is wrong there. Something… dark.”

The masked figure tapped a gloved finger against the mask’s chin, its opaque lenses seeming fixed on me. “Darkness is a common currency in Tirrila,” he mused. “We deal in specifics. Is this a ‘lost my favorite sock’ kind of darkness, or the ‘eldritch horror rising from the depths’ variety?” He paused, then leaned forward slightly. “And what, precisely, do you offer in exchange for such valuable insights?”

“I don’t have a lot of money,” I admitted, my voice steady. “But I possess skills. I can craft you a weapon, a masterpiece unlike any you’ve seen. A truly unique creation, unattainable anywhere else.” The masked figure’s head tilted slightly.

“Intriguing,” he murmured, his tone laced with a hint of amusement. “Describe this… masterpiece. What makes it so ‘unattainable’?”

“I can apply alchemy to my weapons.”

He practically jumped in his seat. “Alchemy? That’s a rare skill! Sure, we have others who apply potions to weapons, enhancements for a fleeting moment. But true alchemy, where the effects are long-lasting…” He cleared his throat, struggling to contain his excitement.

“So, is that our arrangement?” I asked.

“Yes,” he replied, his voice firm. “We have an agreement. I require a weapon that can pierce through magic.” My jaw almost hit the floor. This was a dangerous implement to accept crafting. In the wrong hands, it could be devastating. But I didn’t have much of a choice. He must have seen the worry wash over me. “Don’t worry, I won’t use it. I simply want it for my collection,” he said. I hoped he truly meant it.

“I’ll get to work on the sword,” I said, weariness surfacing. “I can have it done in a few days.”

“Excellent. Take the coin back and return here upon completion. Then, you may ask whatever you desire about Tirrila. One more thing,” he added, his tone dropping to a low murmur. “Guard that coin carefully. Its presence in your possession intrigues me. It’s not something that falls into just anyone’s hands.” This coin is definitely leverage, I realized, the weight of the implication settling in. “You may leave.” As I walked away, I sensed his regard linger, a palpable weight on my back.

The cool night air was a welcome contrast to the stifling atmosphere of the Guild’s hidden chamber. I returned to my workshop, the silver coin tucked safely away, its heft a constant reminder of the deal I’d struck. The commission weighed heavily on my mind – a weapon to pierce magic. I began the laborious process, the clang of hammer on steel echoing through the night, each strike a meditation against the unease that persisted. Three days passed in a blur of heat, metal, and whispered alchemy processing.

Finally, the blade was finished, its edge shimmering with alchemical power. I packed it carefully, storing it within my bracelet. The coin nestled in my pocket, and I set out for the tavern, a knot of apprehension tightening in my stomach.

I slid the coin across the bar to the same waitress from three days prior. She recognized me instantly. “Ah,” she said, a flicker of unreadable emotion in her eyes. “Follow me.” Leading me down the same hallway, she opened the secret door. “This time, you enter alone. He’s waiting for you.”

A moment of hesitation crossed my face, then I nodded.

The hidden door swung open, revealing not the bare room from before, but a well-worn office. Magical artifacts lay scattered across a cluttered desk, and guest seating faced the heavily used chair behind it. Whoever occupies this space lives and breathes secrets, I thought, unease settling deeper.

I noticed a figure leaned against the far wall, their face obscured by a book, or so I assumed, given the ever-present black cloak. It must be him, I concluded. He seemed to be studying something intently, his posture relaxed yet radiating an undeniable authority. As I stepped further into the chamber, he finally lowered the book, the mask seeming fixed on me. “You have returned,” he said, his tone smooth and commanding. “I trust the weapon meets my specifications?” A sense of apprehension settled deeper. This was no mere information broker; this was the one in charge.

“It is complete,” I stated, my voice strong and unwavering. I put a part of my soul into this blade, it better be what he wanted. I pulled the sheathed blade from my bracelet, the leather cool to the touch. “This can pierce through magic.” I placed the sheathed implement on the desk.

He practically dropped his book when he saw me set the weapon down, the opaque lenses of the mask fixed on it. He reached out, gloved fingers tracing the leather. “Intriguing,” he murmured, his inflection devoid of emotion. “Tell me, how precisely does it ‘pierce through magic’?” His tone was that of a scholar examining a curious artifact, not a man holding a dangerous tool. Maybe he really does just want it for his collection, I mused.

“Why don’t you see for yourself?” I countered, a subtle challenge in my delivery. I knew he’d want to test its capabilities, which was precisely why I’d summoned a mana crystal. Mana crystals, being a concentrated form of raw magic, would provide the perfect demonstration. I set it onto his desk. “Here. Why don’t you try this?”

His hands, surprisingly unsteady, gripped the blade. It was clear he was no swordsman. With a hesitant, almost jerky motion, he plunged it into the crystal. It shattered, the vibrant mana draining away into nothingness, leaving behind only a dull, empty husk. “Unbelievable,” he breathed, his voice laced with awe. “Absolutely breathtaking. It’s truly one of a kind, and far better than I expected.” He looked up at me, the mask angled toward me, intense. “Now, about our agreement. You have questions concerning Tirrila?” He sat in his chair and leaned forward, the desk between us suddenly a barrier of secrets. “Ask.”

It still seemed surreal, conversing with a figure whose features remained completely obscured. Pushing aside the disquiet, I began, “I’d like to start with… the shadowveil attacks. Have there been more? And has anyone discovered the reason behind them?”

He tilted his head, clearly perplexed. “This arrangement pertains to Tirrila, not shadowveils. If you desire information on them, that will require a separate transaction.”

“Right,” I said, suppressing a frustrated sigh. “My apologies. Let’s focus on Tirrila. What recent events have transpired, and has there been any… unfavorable news?”

“Unfavorable news is a matter of perspective,” he replied, his tone flat. “Tirrila is a city of change, of constant flux. Recent events… let’s just say the shadows have grown longer. And the whispers, louder.” He paused, his masked regard fixed on me. “Do you understand what I’m implying?”

“How about disappearances or disturbances within the city?” I asked, cutting to the chase.

“Disappearances are commonplace in a city of this size,” he said, leaning his masked head on a gloved hand. “You’ll need to be more specific. As for disturbances…” He paused again, his voice dropping to a low murmur. “The usual vibrant hum of the marketplace has been replaced by an unsettling undercurrent. Voices, once bright with laughter, are now laced with worry and anger. The very atmosphere is thick with tension, the scent of fear mingling with the smoke from hastily lit protest torches.” He straightened, a hint of steel in his tone. “Though such displays are short-lived. The city guard is swift to quell any dissent. And their numbers are growing, along with the tightening grip of the king’s new decrees.”

Curfew? Public examples? The city I remembered felt impossibly distant.

“And, if you don’t mind me asking,” I said, trying to sound casual, “what sort of decrees are they implementing?”

He sighed, rubbing a hand over his mask. “Honestly, it’s hard to keep track. A new one seems to pop up every day. But the curfew… that’s the one hitting everyone hardest. No one allowed on the streets after ten. Businesses are failing, and they’re… well, they’re making very public examples of anyone who breaks it. It’s not the Tirrila we used to know, that’s for sure.”

I leaned forward, trying to gauge his reaction. “And the royal family? Any news on that front?”

“Ah, that’s a sensitive subject. Everyone’s being very tight-lipped. The only thing that’s managed to slip out is that the princess… well, she seems to have fallen out of favor with the king. Apparently, some unwise decisions on her part. And now, he’s brought in his nephew as the new crown prince. He’s got the nobles’ backing, which is a powerful thing, but the rumors swirling around him… let’s just say they’re not exactly flattering.”

A wave of frustration began to rise within me. I felt as though I was getting nowhere, accumulating more questions than answers. I cut through my own thoughts.

“I have a request,” the cloaked man said, his tone laced with an unsettling calm, “one that I believe will be mutually beneficial. I’ve heard you are exceptionally skilled with a blade, and that you survived an encounter with multiple shadowveils.” My mind raced. How could he possibly know about that? Only Noctis knows what happened in the forest.

As if he saw the worry flicker across my face, he continued. “Only Noctis, you, and I know what transpired in that forest. Let’s just say we share… certain connections. Regardless,” he paused, his voice hardening, “I require you to venture into Pillard Forest. Noctis has assembled a team, and you’re to be a part of it.”

“I came here for information, not a wilderness expedition,” I retorted, throwing my hands up in exasperation.

“As I stated,” he replied, his tone unwavering, “this venture will provide the answers you seek. They depart tomorrow at dawn, meeting at the farm on the town’s south edge.” He then slid the book he was previously studying across the desk. “This may prove useful on your journey.” It was an old tome. “I regret I cannot provide more direct answers, but some truths must be discovered firsthand.”

“And what of the sword?” I asked, gesturing to the weapon on the table. “We had an agreement, one you seem to be reneging on.” I crossed my arms, a clear display of defiance.

“I understand your frustration,” he said, his tone calm, “but allow me to explain.” He paused. “May I see the coin?” I retrieved it from my pocket, a flicker of suspicion in my eyes. “This coin,” he continued, his voice taking on a wistful quality, “belonged to a seer. Only three were ever crafted. She foresaw that those who possessed these coins were individuals of great importance, destined to shape the fate of these lands. We were instructed to aid them in any way possible. The sword,” he added, “was both a test and a personal indulgence. I confess, it is something I have long desired.”

The office fell silent, the weight of his words hanging in the air. A sense of betrayal washed over me, coupled with a strange, unsettling importance. An adventure, a prophecy, and a weapon born of selfish desire. My head throbbed. But answers about Tirrila, about the darkness… they wouldn’t come any other way.

“I seem to be left with little choice,” I said, breaking the silence. “I’ll join this mission, but don’t mistake my compliance for enthusiasm.”

He clapped his hands together, a sharp, decisive sound. “Excellent. I’ll inform Noctis immediately.” He summoned a scroll, scribbled a message, and with a snap of his fingers, it vanished. The rest,” he said, pausing for effect, “is up to you.”