1852
The man strode down the middle of a packed street, his long, dark cloak dragging across the ground. Somehow, the cloak did not attract a single speck of dust. The hot noontime sun beat down on the water-parched road around him. The only parts safe from it were those in the shade. The crowd parted for him as if instructed to do so. He hurried as if he was late for something very important, and he was.
He jostled through the mid-day crowds, pedestrians grumbling as he shoved them aside. His destination appeared to be an unassuming little shack on the side of the road, made entirely of half-rotten wooden planks. He reached the house, the door creaking on rusted hinges as he pushed it open. He stooped as he entered.
Inside, books teetered in tall, seemingly random stacks. Candles sat on some of those, many lit, a few not. The air smelled like incense and candle smoke, which came as a surprise to no one.
The man wove his way to the back wall. He stopped in front of the only set of bookshelves in the entire house. He grabbed hold of the edge of the far left shelf and pulled. It swung open like a door, revealing a set of stone stairs leading down past where the light reached.
The man stepped inside, swinging the bookshelf closed behind him, plunging him into darkness. Despite the fact that there was no way he could see, he headed confidently down the steps. When he reached the bottom of the staircase, he pushed open another door and ducked through the doorway.
This room was the same size and shape as the hut above, but the walls were stone instead of wood. Niches were carved into the walls, which held flickering candles that lit up the space. In the very centers of the room there was a large wooden table, with six chairs spaced evenly around it. The man made his way to the only empty one. A blonde man who was sitting at the head of the table glared at the man who had just entered as he came in. The blond man was the sort who just seemed like a natural leader. As the new man sat down, the man at the head of the table began to talk.
"Ah, Rhondus. Glad you decided to grace us with your presence tonight."
Rhondus replied, "I had some complications. Now, what were we talking about, Antonio?" Antonio did not seem happy about the change of subject, but continued talking anyways.
"There had been no true sign of Xavion since the New York attack, but we have caught wind of a rumor he's somewhere in Linkoping."
A brunett man spoke up.
"So you're reassigning us?" He asked, eyes glimmering with hope.
"No, Ivern. They don't think we're ready." Ivern huffed. "But we're going to be staying on high alert, in case he decides to move into our jurisdiction when they come after him." A whisper floats from the fair haired girl sitting on Rhondus's left. She looks like the kind of person who picks fights for fun.
"If he's even there at all."
"Darcy, watch your mouth," cautioned Antonio. "We don't need morale down, not now."
"Yeah, right," she said sarcastically.
"Darcy! That's enough." Darcy huffed, but stayed silent.
"Stay alert and report anything suspicious to me. This meeting's over." Antonio grabbed his bag and stormed away.
Silence held the room for only a few seconds before Darcy began to talk.
"Well, that took forever," Darcy remarked sarcastically. Ivern glared at her.
"Didn't you hear Antonio? He said we're not ready."
"Whatever." She turned to the woman next to her. "C'mon, Chia. Let's go." Chia grabbed the books she had brought, then they left together. The last girl, Rena, only glanced at Rhondus and Ivern as she left. "The room was nearly empty. Only Ivern and Rhondus remained."
"That was an entertaining meeting," Ivern remarked.
"We should go," Rhondus replied.
"Yeah." Ivern and Rhondus left the room together, both wondering if anything interesting would happen.
