SERAVEL ROVODIA, the son of the tyrant Fire Potentate, is a model citizen of all sorts. Obedient, punctual, and most of all, silent. When his friend and long-time confidante gets arrested for alleged sacrilege against the administration, Seravel sta...
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2407 Rab 13, Briss
The Fire Potentate slammed a piece of parchment against the wooden table. Sera flinched, the sound assaulting his ears harder since he was nearer. His gaze flicked up to his father then down the arm clad in sleeves attached to the trademark vest, before finally reaching the sheet trapped between splayed fingers and the table.
A familiar symbol printed in ink peeked from between the spaces, displaying the mark Sera had come up with. It was of a heartridge, a bird known for its red patch of feathers in its chest amidst all the black. It got its name because it has a strip of black in the middle of its red patch, dividing it into two. Like a ridge. Sera had chosen the bird as their symbol because it resembled a torn heart, one beating for their territory and the other for the government.
Also like the heartridge, Sera was also calling into the night, driving those who could hear it insane, mildly annoyed, or crazy enough to relish it.
"Who dares speak against me?" the Fire Potentate growled, his face contorted into a menacing scowl. His eyes roamed the Advisers surrounding him, each holding on to the side of their seats. After all, they all knew what it was like when the Potentate was angry. "Find this criminal. Don't even bother sending him to trial. I want him sent to Gaimouth at the earliest convenience."
Sera held back the urge to wince. If his father realized it was his own son, would he still push through with that order? Most likely. It wasn't like Sera was anything to rival the power, wealth, and comfort the Fire Potentate enjoyed in the Palace. Of course, any threat to take away those things would make him lash out. Even if it was his own son.
And, if Sera was to acknowledge his feelings, that possibility made his stomach churn with dread more than he needed it to.
But he was still here, doing the work that would surely kill him if he got caught. He'd just have to make do and, well...not get caught. They're working on that, he and Darmer both.
"Find out who the Inferno is," the Fire Potentate hissed. "Topple down whatever this Ember Chronicles is! I can't have anyone mocking me with these...foolish quotes. None of you shall sleep until this heathen is bound before me in chains."
Sera sucked in his breath, schooling his face to never betray the roiling thoughts in his head. The Ember Chronicles was something he and Darmer had come up with when Sera first mentioned how he witnessed hope in the servants after reading the sheet he wrote.
"I don't think I have ever seen that expression on anyone's face before," Sera had said during the one time he had dropped by his friend's shop. He has been doing that more often these days. "And I think I want to keep writing for them but...I don't know how to reach them and more people."
Darmer narrowed his eyes at the empty air. His features arranging themselves into a contemplative stare Sera known to be the mechanic's thinking face. If anything, Sera could already see the gears in Darmer's head turning. After a few minutes, the mechanic had snapped his fingers. "I think I got it," he said, his eyes twinkling with youth Sera hadn't associated with Darmer since they met. Oh, Darmer's excited about it. "A printing press!"
