Qia — Roleplayer Guild

 
In collaboration with @The Savant
Mentions: Vincent (@Estylwen) Interactions: Asterion (@The Savant)
Shuffling Allegiances: Final Part

His eyes were heavily set on Emilia when she spoke about how Accardo already had his claws into the woman and had a great leverage over Isabella. “Mhm… how disappointing. I do love it when a woman begs,” He sounded disappointed with a lack of sincerity as if he was mocking her words a little bit. 

Leaning back into his chair, he set his small hand of cards faced down on the arm while that hand came up to put two fingers to the side of his head and let his jaw rest on his thumb and palm. “Nothing,” Asterion spoke almost too truthfully. There was no one that he couldn’t lose. The second of a thought popped into his head — his little siblings — but then again. They were strangers. He didn’t know what his little sister looked like anymore. If she grew to be beautiful and intelligent or if she was dead before being an adult. He couldn’t pick his brother out from a crowd either. It might have been shameful to some but he had to keep that distance and that distance caused issues — connected relationship issues. Then again, he killed his mother when he was a younger teenager. He already had more issues than he needed with relationships. 

Then he thought of Krish… and he couldn’t say he would do much for him either but he would be awfully depressed if the man passed away. He might become more of a cold blooded killer than he already was. Asterion chuckled lightly to himself, “Actually, I can think of one person. If anyone hurts them. I would do ten times worse,” he was serious about that. He would do much worse. 

“And who is this important individual to Isabella? A person she holds so dearly and closely?” He was curious as he lifted his drink and took a sip. Finally being halfway done with it. His body was beginning to relax more as he let himself find comfort in the chair he was in. 

Emilia tilted her head slightly as though weighing how much to reveal. Her gaze flicked briefly to the cards in her hand then back to Asterion before placing the cards on the table. 

“Someone who represents more than just family or loyalty to her. A brother,” she replied evenly. “Mathieu Delacroix. Her younger sibling. A bright, promising mind, and perhaps the last tether she has to something…untainted by all of this.” Her voice softened imperceptibly as if brushing against a delicate memory before regaining its edge like tempered steel.

“It’s no secret that Isabella is ruthless. To some, she’s the Iron Rose—unyielding, calculating. But there’s a reason she would sacrifice her kingdom, her district, and everything she’s built, for him. In him, she sees a hope for something different, something better. And, for Accardo, there’s no more potent weapon than that kind of love.”

Leaning back into her chair, Emilia’s expression settled into an inscrutable mask, a study in control. “He holds Mathieu not merely as leverage but as a trophy, a weapon designed to corrode her will from within. Isabella knows this all too well, and it is why I stand before you now. Every moment she hesitates, every hour she delays, he tightens his stranglehold—not only on her but on any who might dare challenge his dominion.”

“You might not have anyone you’d move heaven and earth for. And perhaps that’s why you see such a weakness as foreign to you. But alliances are not about shared weaknesses; they’re about shared resolve. You benefit because an alliance with us means you’ll never face Accardo or his ilk alone.”

Her fingers brushed the rim of her glass, her eyes unwavering as they locked onto his. “But make no mistake, this isn’t a plea for charity. It’s an offer to stand together before the pieces on the board shift irreversibly in his favour. You’re a man who plays to win, after all. Tell me, Asterion—what do you see as your next move?”

Asterion continued to keep himself comfortable in his chair while his twilight-blue eyes were heavy on Emilia as a whole. He was not staring specifically at any parts of her body though his eyes roamed around her face more than anything. Their game seemed to end uncomfortably which was not fun for him. They were back to strictly doing business and he hated how he was ending his night like this --- dinner with Flint Weathersteel and Vale. Attempting to go to the gym and a possibly crooked cop bothering him and harassing him. Now this... a woman showing up late at night to talk about politics and business.

He could not help the sigh that left his lips, he shrugged his shoulders as if he was slightly bored, or he could not focus on what was happening. Emilia bothered him while he was in the middle of working on paperwork and making sure everything was lining up for tomorrow's raid on Yellowbrick. He needed to make sure he knew all the inventory and everything else that he needed to execute that plan. Continuing to play with his glass of alcohol, he seemed a little interested in the fact Isabella had a brother, and Accardo was using it against her. What made him any different? Couldn't he do the same? Why did Emilia or her district leader think he would be any different? "You paint a vivid picture, Emilia," he admitted with a smooth voice as he took another sip of his drink.

"You could write a storybook --- a ruthless queen, an innocent little brother, and a tyrant dangling the noose," he teased the woman as his eyes flicked down to his drink as if he was contemplating if that was too far. It might have been.

Then his eyes flicked back up to the woman, "You are correct, my world does not revolve so heavily around ties that are so fragile like others," but he wished they did. He wished that he knew his little siblings better than he did and somehow... they were still the world to him. That was the reason he built his empire to make sure his siblings or people like them could have better lives while being completely out of their lives at the same time. It was a lonely truth and existence to know your family was out there, how close you were to them, but not being allowed to step in their direction at all.

One other person was like that to him, in a sense, and that was Krish. A brother that he found on the streets and they have been together since their teen years. More or less, Krish was always a street kid while Asterion put himself in that position. He could have been adopted out. Had a different life but he didn't want a home life after experiencing the torturous one that his mother and father put him in. Why would anyone want a home life? He doubted others had extremely different home lives. Everyone had their childhood traumas.

Putting his glass down on the built-in coaster of the chair while his fingers rested on the side of the glass, the sound of deliberated punctuation in his words, "Yet, you misunderstand me if you think I do not recognize the importance and value of such bonds. People like Isabella, for all their ruthlessness, become predictable when their heartstrings are tangled. Accardo knows it and you are not wrong to say he is playing her like a violin. However, there is one thing about him you have not yet mentioned — his arrogance or lack of understanding of those emotional familial bonds."

Asterion titled his head slightly, his gaze sharpening as if dissecting Emilia herself, "Arrogance will blind men like Accardo, they overreach, overstep, and they continue to tighten their grip without remembering that people will begin to slip through the cracks. People can only be pushed so far. Clearly, Isabella and you have been pushed too far which is why you are here," he gestured to her with a hand. "You are the links that are slipping through the cracks," he emphasized.

His lips curled into the faintest smile, a cold, and calculating expression devoid of warmth. "And I am willing to consider helping you but I cannot consider helping Isabella until I meet her. My next move has nothing to do with you or the district you are attached to," he chuckled a little. "I am a busy man and you can say that I do not play second fiddle and I do not take risks without rewards," he added on.

"Reward me, Emilia. Bring me proof of what you have said, not words, not stories — evidence. Set up a meeting with Isabella. Tell me where and when to meet her. Give me more information about Accardo, what are the cracks in this man’s armor?" he wanted these things before he considered joining forces with the woman. "Do these things and if I see it as worth my while, then we will talk more about what standing together could look like."

Emilia studied him in contemplative silence, her expression carefully neutral save for the faintest quirk of her lips—a whisper of a smile that hinted at something deeper, a thought held just beyond reach.

“You are nothing if not pragmatic, Mr. Kairo,” she remarked. “ And, truthfully, I would anticipate nothing less from a man of your station. Tangible proof, irrefutable evidence, measurable value—these are the currencies with which you trade. And why shouldn’t they be? In your world, certainty reigns supreme.”

The subtle smile on her lips widened imperceptibly, a veneer of confidence underscored by an air of intrigue. “I came here prepared for this conversation. While my presence tonight may not have been to your immediate satisfaction, I assure you, I never come empty-handed.”

Emilia allowed her hand to glide to the clutch she had safeguarded throughout their conversation. In a movement as fluid as the turn of a river, she retrieved a sleek, metallic flash drive, its polished surface catching the dim light like a sliver of moonlight. She held it between her fingers, letting its presence speak before she did. “This contains surveillance footage accrued over the last week—an indisputable visual documentation of Accardo’s operatives surveilling critical nodes within Isabella’s district. Snippets of intercepted dialogue accompany it, fragments that, when pieced together, sketch a prelude to something far beyond mere reconnaissance. This is no idle observation; it is the precursor to escalation.”

She leaned forward, placing the drive on the table between them. “Consider this a gesture of good faith. Review it at your leisure. You’ll find it more enlightening than any story I could tell.”

Leaning back in her chair, the woman allowed a moment of quiet to stretch between them, the sound of the city outside faintly filtering in through the penthouse’s walls. “As for Isabella, I’ll arrange a meeting. Though I must warn you, she is...less inclined toward pleasantries than I am. Her priorities do not often accommodate diplomacy, especially under the circumstances. But I trust you can…. handle her,” she added with a knowing look.

She rose from her seat, the fluidity of her movement betraying her calm confidence. “I’ll arrange the meeting with Isabella. Consider this my opening move. The rest of the board, Mr. Kairo, will depend on you.”

Asterion’s eyes fell onto the flash drive before looking back at Emilia, “If she is not pleasant with me, Emilia. I will not be pleasant with her,” he spoke truthfully and any idiot could tell how honest he was at this moment. If people do not want to be pleasant with him — he could care less about wasting his time.  “I am a man that requires basic and general respect. If she cannot give that. I do not care to waste my time,” he shrugged his shoulders as he stood up. 

Moving over to Emilia and grabbing her chin, lightly, and making her look into his eyes. “And if this is a setup, Emilia. I will make sure you are the first to pay for it,” Asterion wanted to make this very clear. He didn’t care for his time being wasted or fooled around with. 

Giving it a long pause before he let go of her chin, he seemed friendlier, as if a coin flipped at another outcome. “Let me walk you out,” Asterion gestured. 

Her lips curved into a sphinx-like smile. 

“A fair warning,” she murmured, her voice soft but laced with steel. “Though I should warn you in turn—if this were a setup…. I’d have made sure you never saw it coming.” She let the pause hang for a moment before adding in a lower, almost teasing tone, “But I’m far too invested in seeing what you’ll do with this opportunity to waste it on something so…trivial.”

As his hand fell away, Emilia stepped back with an effortless poise, her fingers brushing against the fabric of her jacket in a casual adjustment. 

“Shall we?” she said with a slight arch of her brow, her heels clicking softly as she prepared to follow him. “I wouldn’t want you to lose sleep over me staying too long.”

Asterion's lips curled into a sly smirk, his sharp eyes glinting with amusement as he took a step closer, his voice smooth and rich with unspoken promises. "Lose sleep over you?" he said, tilting his head as if weighing the idea, his tone teasing.
"Oh, Emilia~ you really do not understand me. I would not mind at all if you kept me up all night..." he leaned in just enough to let the words linger, their faces close together, and then he backed away with a roguish wink. "You do seem like a busy lady," he took a step away as his voice lost its touch of interest. 

Emilia’s gaze lingered on him with a delicate arch of her brow. Her attention flitted over the nuances of his face—the sharp contours, the minute shifts in expression—his proximity close enough that she could discern the cadence of his breath mingling with her own. Then, as though caught by an uncharacteristic timidity, her lashes swept downward, their motion veiling her gaze with an air of feigned demureness.

“To truly dive into something exciting,” she murmured, her voice honeyed yet tinged with an undercurrent of intrigue, “there must be trust, just the same.” Her eyes flicked upward, catching his with a fleeting intensity before lowering once more, a subtle punctuation to her words.

Turning slightly, Asterion gestured towards the way they came — his office — his demeanor seamless in neutrality and interest in the woman. "Shall we? You did seem so eager to get away from me and I do not think you would be able to handle spending a night with me," those words sounding more like a warning than a playful grasp for her attention. 

"Plus, I have work that will keep me busy all night and I doubt you and I are on the same page of what sleepless excitements could mean," taking a few steps towards the office, he glanced back at her, as if he was testing her.

Her heels clicked softly as Emilia eventually followed his gesture, walking past him without stopping.  As she passed him, she let her shoulder brush lightly against his.  “I should say…. if I were as fragile as you seem to think, I wouldn’t have made it this far in this kind of world,” she remarked, her voice smooth, almost playful, as she cast a glance over her shoulder.

Her lips curved into a smile, one that lingered just long enough to suggest she had no intention of letting him entirely dictate the dynamic between them. “Trust is earned—and so is the privilege of underestimating me. But like all worthwhile things, both require time, don’t they? And time has a way of revealing far more than intentions or threats ever could.”

His eyes watched her like a predator watching its prey as she walked away and went ahead of him before stopping. This was when his eyes roamed up to her face, connecting their stares, “I was not underestimating you. I promise. You are definitely a strong woman especially for being in such a field like ours,” his voice sounded as if he was praising her a little bit without the excitement of what most people would sound like. It sounded as if he was stating a fact more than anything. 

“And —” he walked closer to her. Pushing a few stray hairs out of framing her face and behind her ear. “If trust and privileges are earned by time, why not keep me up all night, so you can teach me them?” His fingers caressed her jawline before propping up her chin. Delicately touching her this time without being threatening at all though his eyes had a threatening sharpness to them — it was different — it was lustful. Just a tinge at the moment. A speck of intrigue. 

His other hand came up to touch her but it curled back as he thought about it, “Unless you do not have the time or care to waste it?” His eyes stared into hers as if he was trying to read them like a book. 

Emilia luxuriated in the closeness, the air between them steeped in a mélange of fragrances—his cologne, earthy musk with undertones of cedar and something else, intertwining with the floral sweetness of her perfume, a suggestion of orchids kissed by sunlight. Each heartbeat, hers and perhaps his, resounded in her ears like a muted drumbeat, a rhythm that thrummed beneath her polished veneer of poise.  Her lips curved into a smirk, playful and predatory, as he battled the urge to touch her, and when she finally spoke it was with the beguiling cadence of a siren's song, her breath a sultry caress. 

“Oh, I rarely waste time,” she began, “and I am particular about how I choose to spend it.” Her chin tilted upward, her gaze locking unflinchingly onto his. Emboldened, her hand rose, her fingers ghosting across the contours of his cheek in a touch both daring and deliberate, as though tracing an uncharted cartography etched into his skin.

“Keeping you awake until dawn... now that,” she continued, her voice dropping to a hushed, intimate register, “sounds less like a lesson and more like an invitation. And if there’s one immutable truth about men like you,”  she murmured, leaning in, her hand sliding to rest lightly against the back of his neck, “it’s that you can never resist a challenge.” 

Her lips hovered a hair’s breadth from his now, the proximity heavy with unspoken intent. 

“Especially one you think you can win.”

For a moment, the world seemed to narrow, the ambient sounds of the room being the only accompaniment to the stillness. Emilia’s heart continued to race as she closed her eyes, as if preparing to close the gap between them. But then, a flicker of something deeper resurfaced: a recognition of the stakes at play. 

An admirable façade of professionalism reemerged, forcing her to reclaim the tether of her resolve; with a swift movement, she stepped back, her voice now a cool breeze that balanced flirtation with formality. 

“But, alas, I am here for matters of business—and I believe our discussion has reached its apex.”

What a pleasant way for one to say they were not interested — he understood to a point — and that was when he gave up for a second. Each word and movement from her only shaped the idea that she wasn’t interested though she was teasing him. As words rang around them from the woman, he let her go, even though she was touching him. His eyes narrowed in thought. There was a part of him that wanted to snap at her, tell her not to touch him, and it was a bad habit of his. He didn’t care for the majority of people to touch him, not even his best friend and street brother Krish, most of the time. 

Biting his tongue about it, his eyes heavily stared down at her, and she grew closer. His body tensed as if he was preparing to react to a threat versus an intimate gesture even one of shallow falsity. Then he grabbed her jaw and secured the back of her neck and neck with his other hand before pressing a kiss to her lips. One that was hungry. Power. Passionate. As quickly as it happened. It wasn’t anymore. Before he stepped back, “Do not tease me with such frivolous things, Emilia, some lines cannot be crossed without consequences,” his voice was stern while he flicked her face away with a slight push of his hand as if he was telling her not to look at him. 

Asterion walked ahead of her before opening the office door and walking towards the elevator, “Come on, Madam Business. You should run home before you get yourself in trouble,” he held his finger over the button as it seemed to register before opening up the elevator. 

Her parted lips seemed to surrender to the pressure of his thievery, their contours adapting to the contours of his own while, at the same instant, a tiny morsel of her tongue betrayed her, delicately probing the crevices of his mouth. The soft, whispery sounds that escaped from the back of her throat were a gentle affirmation of her willingness, even as the tremulous tension of her fingers, wrapped around his wrist, signalled an unvoiced entreaty for restraint. And yet, it was not until the sudden withdrawal of his lips that Emilia's eyes snapped open, her gaze, like a startled creature, springing wide in surprise at the quickness of his actions and the dismissiveness of his words. 

Emilia’s cheeks flushed a vivid crimson, the heat rushing to her skin as the sting of his flick fully registered. For a moment, she stood frozen, her composure teetering precariously between shock and indignation.  Finally, her voice broke through, low and sharp, though tinged with a faint tremor she quickly suppressed.

“You almost had me convinced that you knew how to handle the game we were playing. A shame, really.” Her words dripped with a sardonic elegance as she released a soft, scoffing exhale, her hand rising to adjust the lapel of her jacket with an air of nonchalance. “But do let me know if you ever intend to play fair, Mr. Kairo. I might be tempted to give you a proper rematch.”

She moved past him, her heels clicking with the same sharpness as her words, though the faint flush lingering on her cheeks betrayed that, even as she exited the room, Emilia was not entirely unmoved by the encounter.

Seeing the coloration that appeared on the woman’s cheeks and tingling at other parts of her face told him all that he needed to know — she wasn’t expecting him to act upon any thought that he had. She might have been hoping that he was too scared to do anything but that small affirmation of enjoyment was all he needed to know that she was not against the thoughts of him. His eyes watched her as she entered the elevator and he entered after her. “Why do you think this is anywhere close to being over, Emilia?” His twilight eyes gave her a side eye while he went to press the button. 

Then he leaned in close to her, whispering in her ear, “The fun has only begun, Madam Business, and I can tell you. It is always more rewarding to unravel someone and watch them internally want and beg for something before they get it, for a woman who seems intelligent and who appears to love playing games should fancy such a game, mhm?” Asterion wanted to let his compulsive and impulsive behaviors take control. However, there was absolutely no fun in any of that and he needed to show a little self control with the woman. Standing back up straight as he pressed the button for them to descend. Plus, he had grown bored of one night plays long ago. He needs something else. Something new. Something that is going to keep his interest for more than five seconds especially once they open their mouths to talk. 

As the silken warmth of his whisper grazed Emilia’s ear, a current of sensation unfurled along her spine, igniting a shiver that was as involuntary as it was undeniable. The moment bristled with an intensity that caught her unawares, a visceral charge that seemed to defy categorization—neither wholly invited nor entirely spurned. Yet, rather than lend her tumultuous thoughts the clarity of articulation, she answered with a low hum, a sound poised delicately between acknowledgment and deflection. 

Her gaze flitted sideways, a glance that conveyed volumes while revealing nothing. The inscrutable veneer of her expression held firm, even as her attention shifted to the luminous numbers on the elevator panel. They descended with agonizing slowness, each change feeling like a tick toward an inexorable confrontation or the unveiling of some latent truth. 

At last, Emilia drew a breath and cleared her throat. “Your penchant for unravelling is… duly noted,” she remarked, the soft ding of the elevator reaching its destination punctuating her words. Yet, as the doors slid open, she made no immediate move to step out. 

“You said before that predictability is not an illusion,” she began, “And yet, here we are—every move you make to subvert expectation while paradoxically adhering to it. It’s…quite a paradox as intentional as it is compelling, no?” Her voice softened, laced with a trace of amusement, as her finger absentmindedly brushed her lips in a contemplative gesture.

“Even that kiss,” she reflected, the curve of her lips suggesting a playful irony, “felt less like a moment of spontaneity and more like another calculated maneuver—a  piece advanced on the board.” Her words hung in the air, as if daring him to refute her insight. 

“Or perhaps I misjudge? Perhaps… you’re simply unravelling faster than even you realize.”

Asterion shrugged his shoulders, “If you want to think of it that way. I think of it as more of a… hunt,” he smirked at those words while stepping out of the elevator since she wouldn’t step out of it first. “Honestly, if I can be that way with you, I wanted to tell you to stop fucking touching me before I kissed you,” his voice was truthful and blunt as his eyes fell upon the woman. It was a bad habit and he knew it was. That kiss was not a calculated decision but him allowing himself to bask into the compulsive and impulsive behaviors and thoughts that clouded his mind from time to time. 

The man chuckled, “If I did not pay attention to how fast I was unraveling. You would not have been allowed to leave my penthouse tonight,” those words sounded of clarity as if he was telling the absolute truth. He was managing to control the part of his mind that didn’t want to let her leave even if she had every right to. “And I really do not want to let you leave though I love the idea of delayed gratification even more unless someone,” his eyes glanced around as if he didn’t want anyone else hearing them before they looked back at her. “Or something… changes that.” 

He gestured to the right, down the hallway, as he began to walk down it. “You are correct though, I do love playing games, and this game is similar to chess in a way.” 

Emilia stepped out of the elevator with effortless grace, her movements imbued with a quiet confidence that matched the mischievous curve of her lips. Her voice, threaded with a playful lilt that bordered on provocation, filled the air between them.

“Technically, you touched me first. So, I’d say it’s all fair in the art of war, wouldn’t you?” The warmth in her tone wove dangerously close to mockery, though a bit of introspection tempered it. Truthfully, she found his candour—if it was indeed genuine—oddly disarming. It was a rare trait among men of his ilk, especially one capable of unsettling someone as formidable as Accardo.

Her gaze momentarily flickered to his hand, a subtle yet telling motion, before rising to meet his eyes again. “That said, I must admit,” Emilia continued, “I find your rules of engagement rather...selective. One moment you chastise, the next you indulge. It’s almost as though you’re trying to decipher your own playbook.”

She followed him down the hallway, her voice softening but losing none of its edge as she responded to his comment about delayed gratification. “Delayed gratification does make for an intriguing strategy, doesn’t it? But in chess, as in life, timing is everything. A move delayed too long risks the entire board shifting against you.”

Emilia hesitated, her steps slowing as a contemplative expression overtook her features. “Not that I was ever really good at the game,” she admitted with a wry chuckle. “I always found my attention wandering with the more...unorthodox players, many of which are in a game like that.” Her tone turned pensive, her gaze briefly drifting to the shadowed expanse of the corridor ahead.

Who was he looking out for?

A fleeting emotion passed over her face—too quick to decipher—before she tilted her head.

“Of course… I imagine someone like you always keeps their king impeccably protected. Don’t you?”

His candor might have been influenced by growing up on the streets, maybe hashed into when he was very young and still had good parents before everything went bad, or possibly a thank you could be offered to Krish for such behaviors — he was definitely unorthodox in his ways. “Or it might be that I truly do not know what I want or I am telling myself to behave, mhm?” the inquiry came with a little bit of a grin from him as he continued to walk. 

Asterion looked over his shoulder when she asked such a question and he opened a door to a stairwell, “It depends on which way you are referring,” his voice was teasing and showing just a tad bit of a dirty mind as he chuckled about his own words a little bit. “You would be surprised. A friend of mine tells me that I am too easy going and that is going to get me shot dead one of these days. Yet, I do not care if that does happen. Everyone dies. I have already accepted my death a long time ago,” he spoke honestly which was true — when he was a young teenager, before he killed his own mother, Asterion accepted that he would die young. That he wouldn’t live. The only thing he wanted to make sure of is that his siblings didn’t meet a similar fate. They have good families. He ended up on the streets where it was ruthless and grueling. He was alone and being alone almost got him killed a handful of times until he met Krish, a slightly older street kid that was willing to show him the ropes more and allow him to tag along. 

He made a deal with Flint. A deal about death. Asterion truly did not value his own life and it might have been an infectious disease of a mindset but his gyft was a curse. It was slowly eating at his mind and body. The man had memories of everyone that he jumped into. Memories that he might not want to have at all. Sometimes he didn’t know if it was his thoughts talking or the influence of someone else in his head. Everything was constantly overstimulating for him. Overstimulating and he has never been able to find anything that would quiet those memories or influenced thoughts. 

“Then there is another way of thinking about it. My friends tell me that I need to go get laid and have some fun before I die of stress or loneliness,” he shrugged at the thought as if he was truly indifferent when actually vocalizing such interests or a topic. It wasn’t his main goal to get after. Yes, he loved pleasure, but he loved the stimulating word games that Emilia and him kept throwing back at each other over the night. That was way more pleasant to him than going and finding a random bed to have fun in for the night. 

Asterion might be open to such conversations and be unorthodox because he didn’t see what he was talking about as weaknesses or potential weaknesses. They were not in his mind. There wasn’t much that someone could use against him because he lacked the connections of being uncomfortable or fearful of most things. 

She arched a delicate brow, the barest ghost of a smile tugging at her lips. “Acceptance of death is one thing,” Emilia mused, “but inviting it? That’s something else entirely.” Her gaze swept over him, fiercely analytical and appraising, as if she could discern the very essence of his soul. “Besides, I doubt you’d be half as successful if you truly didn’t care.” There was a quiet confidence in her tone, a deliberate goading to test the waters of his convictions. “After all, empires are rarely built by men who surrender so easily to inevitability.”

She followed him down the corridor, her heels a steady rhythm against the cold marble. “As for your friends' advice,” she continued, “perhaps they think a distraction would temper that restless mind of yours. Though I suspect it’s not so easily tamed.” Tilting her head, Emilia’s eyes narrowed slightly, as if contemplating a puzzle. “Then again, Asterion,” she posited, “perhaps you surround yourself with people who don’t truly know you at all.” She paused as if weighing the thought.

“And maybe that’s exactly how you prefer it.”

The implication was subtle yet potent, an invitation for him to contradict her—or, conversely, to validate her assertion. Either way, she would have something to gain: a better understanding of the intriguing but dangerous man before her. 

Emilia allowed another pause to settle before an airy, almost playful laugh escaped her lips.  “But who am I to question your methods?” she added lightly, “We all have our own ways of dealing with loneliness. Some build empires. Others… play games.”

As her hand grazed the banister of the staircase, they continued their descent, Emilia’s voice lowering to a more pensive timbre. “ But tell me…are you truly content with a life measured by moments of pleasure regardless? Or is there something more you're after?”

In that instant, Emilia's slender digits coiled about his bicep with an almost imperceptible tenacity. The motion was neither hasty nor coercive, yet it possessed an unvoiced significance that would arrest his footsteps. As his countenance shifted to converge with hers, he would be confronted with a visage that had undergone an unexpected metamorphosis- the habitual mask of mirth and judicious reserve having been shed to reveal a rare, unguarded sincerity.

“Because men who claim they don’t care about dying,” she began, “usually harbour a reason they cannot let go of for continuing to exist.” She removed her hand, resting it at her side. 

“And I wonder, Asterion... do you know the reason yourself?”

Those words caused his eyes to narrow at the woman — How wrong could you be? — he thought while a faint chuckle could be heard from him. She could think that way if she wanted to but Krish and him grew up on the streets. Zarek and him understood each other hand-to-hand even if they butted heads. Everyone else was more distant to different extents. “A person,” he shrugged at the thought. “Any person would question methods, naturally.” 

“I enjoy simple pleasures,” he confirmed. Who wouldn’t? Most people had the things that they fancied doing to bring them pleasure though it was sad to think about. All those simple pleasures that he was usually interested in, were not grabbing his eyes. He had been way too busy to actually relax and do the things he wanted to do. 

Stopping in his tracks from her touching him, his body tensed up, and his mind went to the woman he met only hours ago. Emily. She did the same thing. Why do people like doing that? A part of him wanted to snap at her and tell her not touch him. At least her touch and gesture was not as uncomforting as Emily’s extremely aggressive approach on touching him. Clenching his teeth for a second before forcing himself to relax as he stared at the woman. 

Before he could finish his thought and say anything on the matter of wanting more, he did, but that wasn’t something to share with a stranger or was it? It didn’t seem appropriate to do so. “I do not harbor any of that, Emilia. Meeting death is inevitable. Everyone meets her comforting embrace. The only thing I want to do before I die is make Nocturnia a better place even if it is by a little bit. Yet, if I die tomorrow or not. I know I have done that. Nickel is a semi-isolated fully functioning society,” he shrugged while walking around her and going down the staircase more. 

“People are under contract here, they only can live here if they do not commit crimes. If they do commit crimes, they are punished with the severity of their crime,” he continued down the stairwell. Stopping at the foundational step to look up at Emilia, “Children are going to schools here. There is access to healthcare. People are able to enjoy going to movie theaters, restaurants, clean parks, and everything else in Nickel. If you shot me dead right or if someone tortured me to death in two weeks. I would die happy,” Asterion wasn’t against death. He wasn’t scared of it. That was not something that moved him wrong inside because he knew he should have died so long ago. He was a walking ghost in his eyes. On a timer.  

Then he glanced at the ground for a second, he nodded, “And it would honestly be a waste for both of us if we partook in an ephemeral pleasure. There is no point wasting either of our time with such insignificant night,” he confessed. Asterion began to get bored of the physical pleasure between two people long ago, especially one that lacked any connection outside of that. Every once in a while it was fun but that was less and less. Stress might not have helped or possibly other forms of connection were more pleasurable to him. Like understanding someone’s mind or truly knowing who they were but that didn’t mean anything at the end of the day. He was a dead man after all, even if he wasn’t a dead man… there was no point in getting close to anyone in such a way. 

Asterion began to descend the stairs more. There was not the full truth in his words — he was not ready to die because he wanted more of Nocturnia to be better and be able to run without him. Once that was achieved. Then his goal in life would be final. What else was there to live for after that? He was a ruined and disturbed man that wouldn’t belong in such a society. 
“And yet,” Emilia mused, “you're still here, still building, still ensuring your legacy holds firm.” A fleeting interlude ensued, her lips curling into a faint smile. “For a man so content with his own demise, you seem awfully determined to leave something behind. A legacy, perhaps?” 

Descending the staircase in tandem with him now, Emilia continued. 

“Nickel is impressive, truly. And you should be proud.” Her fingertips drifted over the polished railing, their touch featherlight, contemplative. “But if you’re building something meant to outlast you, then your death isn’t quite the inevitable embrace you claim it to be. It’s a contradiction, one I find… fascinating. Because you say you'd die happy, but would you really? Or would you always wonder if it was enough?” Emilia allowed another brief lull as if considering the question for herself.  

“But then, perhaps I’m simply projecting. After all, who among us isn’t caught between what we say we want and what we truly desire? Even men who think themselves dead men walking.”

“And tell me, Asterion,” Emilia continued, her voice dipping into something softer, “what happens when survival ceases to be about the empire you've built or the vision you've nurtured? When it becomes something far more intimate—when you discover something, or someone, that renders existence no longer a burden, but a necessity?” Her pace slowed fractionally. “I wonder if, in that moment, you will still extend your hand so willingly to death... or if, for the first time, you will understand what it means to fight for something you simply cannot bear to lose.”

Her words caused him to stop in his tracks as he stared down the rest of the stairwell before looking up at her. “I would not wonder. I do not believe I will go anywhere once I die. Everything will fade to darkness, I will feel peace, and I will seize to exist.” his eyes locked onto hers while he said this. His eyes were so intense with those thoughts. There were a few times that Krish dragged him to church because of the safe house they grew up in — the older woman was religious — but religion never brought him comfort. If a god did exist… where the fuck were they!? Why did they abandon everyone and everything in this city? 

“No one can give me what I truly desire. My desires are too simple for such a complex world,” he confessed with a chuckle and smiled a little bit. Showing those pearly whites of his, “And if someone could give me those desires. They would have to accept what I have already accepted; I am not built to be in a civilized world. My desire is to make something that I am not allowed to be a part of,” he turned around to face her as his eyes kept their darkness on her brighter orbs. 

He stared at her, “What is this even supposed to be about? This conversation. To learn more about me? To realize that you are working with someone that would be clinically insane if we had the proper system of diagnosing mental illnesses? Men like me are not for this world if it becomes more civilized and I have accepted that. Others might not be able to accept that but I have plans for someone to put a bullet in my head once a handful of things are finalized.” Asterion confessed. 

“Technically, nothing I do or want matters anymore. I am a dead man walking. The things that I desire do not truly matter nor did they before I made such a deal — In any world, I would never get any of those things. Those things are fantasies and dreams.” He spoke with content emotion even if there was a glimmer of something in his eyes — sadness, regret, or giving up. Whatever it was. Showed that he truly wanted those things once upon a time but he came to accept that he would never get any of those just as long ago. Asterion turned away as he began to head down the stairs. “...and…” he continued down the stairs. “...I hope no one ever remembers me after I depart from this world.” 

“What is this conversation about?” Emilia echoed, her tone light, almost dismissive. She took a slow step forward down one step.“Isabella preoccupies herself with wealth, expansion, and maintaining order over her people. That is her forte—she constructs the machine and ensures its ceaseless operation.” Her fingertips traced an idle path along the banister before her gaze ascended once more to meet his.

“Me? I deal in understanding them. I see what they won’t say, what they hide even from themselves. Ambition, fear, betrayal—” Emilia’s head inclined ever so slightly, her lips curving in a whisper of something far more insidious, 

“desire.” 

Her proximity shifted subtly, just enough to blur the demarcation between the realm of business and something far more volatile. Something dangerously human. Then, she watched him continue walking regardless, before trailing after him, her expression unreadable. 

“Anyway…that’s what I do. While Isabella watches the empire, I watch the people. I make sure they stay loyal—or at least useful. And you?” A soft chuckle escaped her lips, rich with intrigue. ““You captivate me because you stand at the precipice of something far grander than mere dominion. You have embraced your mortality, yet persist in your relentless construction. That paradox alone betrays you though—you are not as reconciled to your demise as you pretend to be.” Emilia’s fingers tapped lightly against the railing, thoughtful. 

“And if you have not yet uncovered something or someone worth living for,” she mused, her tone slipping into something almost chiding, “perhaps you simply are not searching in the right places.”

Asterion reached the bottom where the door was as he looked up at Emilia, “That is a nice way to say that I am difficult and stubborn,” he laughed a little while pulling out a keycard and opening the door to the ground floor. Holding it open for the woman as he kept his eyes on her, “From the way you talk, you have clearly noticed something, and yes. I have uncovered multiple things that are worth living for but those are fantasies and I rather not share them with anyone,” he admitted “Even you.” his voice sounded so teasing and playful when he said those two words. Putting the keycard back into his pocket. 

“It would be a pleasure to see you again especially when it does not pertain to business but I assume that is wishful thinking on my part, mhm?” 

“Fantasies or not, the difference between dreams and reality is often as thin as one’s willingness to reach for it.” Emilia took a step closer, the soft clink of her heels punctuating the moment. “But some things are best left unsaid, don’t you think?”

A slow, knowing smile crept onto her lips as a teasing hum slipped out. 

“I do enjoy surprises, Asterion. Perhaps this time, you’ll surprise me.” She turned toward the door then, her voice drifting back over her shoulder in a jest. 

“And don’t worry... I never waste time remembering ghosts.”

Her words seemed to get a faint frown from him. He stared at her, his whole expression falling to an emotionless one. One that was devoid of feeling, though his eyes looked past the extent of exhaustion. As if all the fun he was having going back and forth ceased to exist.

Most… if not everything was best left unsaid… he thought. Then, before she could step through the door, he took out a card and placed it into her hand—a blank white card on the side she could see. If she flipped it around, the card had a phone number in magenta ink.

“Have a good night and sweet dreams, Emilia,” Those words were spoken softly as he stepped from the door and let it slowly shut. Through the small window, he was already heading back up the stairs, leaving her out in the lobby.

Emilia lingered in the lobby for a moment, her fingers brushing over the card’s surface while she traced its magenta ink sans rotation. A quiet hum escaped her—half amusement, half something else—before she slipped it into her pocket without further inspection.

“Sweet dreams, indeed,” she murmured to herself, heels clicking against the floor as she strode into the night.
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A Little Weasel

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