RHYS TORLIN IS ON THE MOVE. With only his wits and ideals, he infiltrates Synketros in hopes of unlocking the secret to its soldiers' loyalty. When a plan goes awry and found friends putting themselves into trouble to save him, Rhys must choose betw...
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For something inside a mountain, Synketros was cozy. Rhys pursed his lips and sauntered forward, keeping his spatial awareness active. Every breeze tickling the sensitive nerves of his wings, every hair on his arms—all of it were on high alert. So far, since the Synketrian left him, no one bothered him, not even with a side glance.
The platform gave way to a huge lobby, hollowing out maybe an entire half of the mountain. Everywhere he looked, supplies littered the expanse, inviting him to start pilfering for the sake of it. Crates stacked over each other, no doubt containing mass-produced flintlocks and other weapons. He had seen some in use in other cartels, so Synketros having some wasn't a far-off possibility. Kegs containing everything from wine, nuts, fruits, and shards of glass peppered the spaces the crates left out. This left a maze-like expanse for Rhys to navigate if he wanted to make it into the various entrances carved right into the foyer's northern end.
People milled in and out of the entrances, carrying more woven baskets. Some, especially the ones who had an air of superiority to them, walked without anything but a weapon strapped on their backs or hung on their belts, and they're out of the prescribed uniform. They might be going on classified missions for world dominion directly under the Sovereign's orders. Who knew? They might even be some of the rumored generals.
Rhys stumbled through the mess of supplies, taking everything in his willpower to avoid colliding into things and drawing attention to himself. Several times, he got himself into a dead end and would have to use his wings to leap over the obstacle. If the Sovereign intended to weed out the newcomers, having this impromptu maze was a nice way to do it.
The air stirred overhead, and he looked up to see other winged fairies sail right in, picking entrances as they saw fit. Which of those would Rhys go to? Then, as he stepped towards the end of the maze, something rippled over his skin. He froze. Was he being scanned? Was someone reading his mind and analyzing his threat level?
Nothing of the sort happened. He'd feel it when someone's trying to poke around his mind, considering he knew what trail thyminka magic has. If it's a rysteme spell, it's going to be flashier and not at all subtle. The Sovereign using sparkling spells to a random nobody like him was out of character.
But something did happen. Rhys continued walking, checking his systems as he went. He chose the entrance in front of him, leaving his fate and what he's bound to find at the end of the tunnel to the gods. Not that he believed in them at this age.
It was quiet. The only sound he heard were his own echoing footsteps against the rugs and the occasional clanking of the platform from the lobby. Amber light glowed from rods stuck into corners made by the leveled ceiling and the walls. They must have had Earth Sprites work on this place. He couldn't wrap his mind around someone else without the affinity to bend the earth working to such a precision.
He reached inside himself and attempted to wrap more cloaking magic into his trail. Just to be sure. His senses were met with a solid wedge of something. A frown pulled at the corners of his lips. What in Rudik's ass? It wasn't like this at the platform. His mind lit up with a realization. Of course. The tingling he felt before he entered this tunnel—that's what it meant.
