ENG | The Cursed Scepter

The Brotherhood

Darkness.

The void of Ignacio's senses echoed in his mind as if death had embraced him.

Or so he thought.

He tried to laugh, but his mouth felt stuck, rigid. It was strange not being able to do the simplest thing: celebrate life.

His father would tell him not to be distracted by fear or let despair run rampant through his veins. He preferred a more sublime and Ignacio Cortez-worthy approach: shouting at the top of his lungs. Perhaps someone would hear and call the police.

Of course, he would do that as soon as his mouth started moving again.

Ignacio was scared when Jackie was taken by surprise in that alley. He became even more frightened when a large hand covered his mouth, and the shiny tip of a needle approached his neck. He had to acknowledge the synchrony of those men.

When he regained consciousness, he only saw the darkness of the black fabric covering his entire head. He also had not heard a single sound, probably due to whatever was muffling the sound in his ears.

Ignacio attempted to smile, only for his mouth to seize up again. He was getting annoyed with that. The captors had exaggerated his capabilities. He wasn't a spy and had a terrible sense of direction; that's why he always used ride-sharing drivers or taxis to get around the city.

On the other hand, Jane was kinda of a spy.

And there was no one he trusted more to get him out of trouble than her. Maybe his capable apprentice, but he loved it when mortality equaled beauty.

Ignacio wanted her by his side the time he used GPS in Sudan and ended up in a dangerous zone where his car, wallet, and phone were stolen. He would never again fully trust the paths in cities he was unfamiliar with.

His vision caught a light that pulled him out of his reverie, like a guide in the darkness, and his hair stood in anticipation. He imagined himself inside a high-resolution camera, where phenomena were captured frame by frame, pixel by pixel.

He heard a gentle sound that Ignacio would swear Chopin himself came to take him to the heavens. The sea of neurons, whose synapses told him he still retained some humanity, relished the idea of living in a paradise with the greatest artistic geniuses in history.

In the dim scenario, his eyes struggled for a better view, blinking incessantly until they adjusted to the beams of light. For a moment, he was impressed by the ethereal beauty of that faint glow that drew him like a magnet. It was like looking at the light at the end of a dark tunnel, connecting two worlds.

He felt the glow enveloping him, winding around his limbs in the same way the invisible hand of the market did in the world. And then, without warning, something threw him into the center of the bright sphere.

"Wakey, Wakey!" a voice that Ignacio recognized called out when the black cloth and ear protectors were removed. Adjusting his eyes and trying to ignore a throbbing pain in his head, he sought to orient himself. A daunting task. "Rasputin, what did you give him?"

"The same thing you gave her," a new voice, deeper and huskier than the first, replied. "I see some bruises, Lupin..."

"Don't be fooled by the size... Miss Andrade is aggressive."

That South African accent and the name were emphatic revelations. As Ignacio adjusted to the brightness, he saw a robust dark-skinned man in a khaki jacket crossing his arms, chatting cheerfully with a fair-skinned young man who supported a slight goatee.

Ignacio swallowed hard. Turning his head to the side, he saw a woman with her head lowered and swollen cheeks tied to a chair. He, too, was tied to the chair.