Chapter 51 The Flapping
Warden Voss
When the world settled, I stood in the bustling streets of Ember. The noise—the clatter of carts, shouted orders, the scrape of boots on stone—was a stark reminder of how different life was outside Aetheria, yet my thoughts stayed fixed on the palace, on Magnus, and on the threads I could not yet control.
If Magnus had avoided appearing before the Emperor, it meant one of two things: he anticipated confrontation and chose not to engage, or he did not consider the Emperor’s summons urgent enough to interrupt his plans. Neither option favored me.
In the posh business area of Ember, I stopped for my midday meal at the old restaurant I had frequented as a student, when all I could afford was tea. The familiar scent of herbs and roasting meat greeted me, and the owner—Maurice, a tall Black man whose dark hair was now streaked with white—came around the counter and pulled me into a warm hug.
“Maurice, how are you?” I asked, returning the embrace.
“I’ve been well, Elara,” he said with a laugh, stepping back to examine me. His hands lingered on my arms as his eyes roamed my figure. “Before, you wore all white. Now it’s all black. But those lines at the corners of your mouth… you do not smile much anymore. Why, Elara? Are you not happy?”
I let out a soft sigh. “I am happy, Maurice. Truly. But I’m exhausted—that’s all. Too many responsibilities. Too much expected of me. And the crown…” I lowered my voice to a whisper, “they don’t care. All they care about is the coin I bring them.”
Maurice’s gaze fell, sadness flickering in his eyes, before he shook it off with a practiced smile. “The people grow restless,” he murmured, almost to himself, “Dust-born especially.” Then, as if switching gears, his face brightened. “Enough of that. Sit. I’ll whip up my famous lamb stew for you.”
After eating, sharing laughter, and catching up with Maurice, I turned my attention to Andreas Thorne’s abode. Finding it proved more difficult than I had anticipated. It was tucked away behind two lavish homes, hidden from plain sight. The narrow pathway leading to it wound between trees that I had once assumed were planted for aesthetic charm, now revealing their true purpose: concealment.
By the time I reached Andreas Thorne’s small cottage, the sun had begun its descent, slipping behind the trees that cloaked the path. I knocked sharply twice on the old wooden door. No answer.
The place looked closed, carefully maintained, but not abandoned. Every shuttered window and creeping vine hinted that someone cared for this home.
It was possible he wasn’t too sick to tend to his plants. I knocked again, louder this time, enough to rouse anyone inside. No answer.
“Andreas Thorne,” I called out, rapping against the door once more. “I’m Warden Elara Voss. I need to speak with you.”
Still, nothing.
I pressed my hand against the door. Locked. My eyes swept the narrow, secluded path between the larger homes. The trees formed a natural barrier, and no one stirred. Silence pressed in from all sides.
Satisfied the coast was clear, I leaned close and spoke a single word, “Aperta.” The lock clicked obediently. I pushed the door open and stepped inside, greeted by the faint scent of old paper and waxed wood.
“Hello,” I called out. “Is anyone here?”
The cottage answered with silence.
I moved through the rooms, checking every corner, but the place was empty. Andreas Thorne was gone.
From the outside, the cottage had appeared cared for, almost lived-in. Shutters were intact, the path to the door clear, and the plants tended just enough to suggest recent presence. But inside, the truth was plain. Dust clung to the corners, the air was stagnant, and papers were scattered across the desk and floor. Drawers sat partially open. Nothing seemed broken or forcibly removed, yet the disarray spoke of hurried packing rather than intrusion.
He had left.
I stepped closer to the desk. Among the scattered sheets were small slips of parchment—raven messages. The wax seals had already been broken. Someone had read them all and left in a deliberate rush.
Most of the papers were routine Academy memos or notices of taxes past due. But one parchment caught my attention: an invitation for Andreas to preside as an Examiner at Dust District. I paused, trying to place him in memory—searching for him among the Examiners during Sera’s Rank Day.
Could the old man with the wispy white hair be him?
I needed to find a portrait—something, anything that confirmed it was Andreas.
I moved through the rest of the cottage systematically, rifling through his bedroom. Drawers, closet, desk, chests—every corner yielded nothing. No personal mementos, no portraits, nothing to mark him beyond the work he had done. Even his office offered no answers. Unlike Ysoria or the other professors, he had no portrait pinned to the walls, no keepsakes, no hints of himself outside the paperwork.
I realized it now: I had only heard his name today. He must have joined the Academy after I had left. The thought made my jaw tighten. The man I was looking for left no presence behind—only traces in documents and empty rooms.
I decided to question the neighbors.
Stepping back onto the narrow path that threaded between the houses, I noticed an elderly woman tending a row of clay pots. The woman moved slowly, watering each plant with care, her attention mostly on the greenery. She glanced at me only briefly before returning to her work.
I approached her. “Good evening,” I said.
She nodded once, without lifting her eyes. “Evening.”
“I am looking for Andreas Thorne.”
This time, she set down the watering can and let her gaze sweep over me. Her eyes lingered on the insignia pinned to my breast before settling back to my face.
“He left,” she said.
“When?” I asked.
“A week ago,” she replied.
“Did he say where he was going?”
“Yes. Lunara," she answered, her voice steady for an old woman such as herself.
“For what purpose?”
“Conference,” she replied. “Some scholar gathering. He said he’d be back in three months.”
“Three months?” I repeated, letting the weight of that time sink in.
She nodded. “Travel to Lunara by ship takes time. Weather’s poor this season. He said it was important.”
“Did he seem hurried?”
She shrugged, brushing a small insect from her sleeve. “He packed light. Didn’t look afraid, if that’s what you mean.”
“Did anyone come looking for him before me?” I asked, my eyes narrowing.
She lifted her gaze to meet mine and held it for a moment, her brow furrowing slightly as she thought. After a pause, she shook her head. “No.”
I studied her closely. Her hands were steady, her expression calm. No hint of nervousness. No sign she was hiding anything.
"Can you describe him for me?" I asked, leaning slightly closer.
"Tall… white hair," she replied, her voice casual.
A small, sharp smile tugged at my lips. It was definitely him.
“Thank you,” I said, inclining my head in acknowledgment.
She picked up the watering can again. “He’ll be back,” she added. “Unless the sea swallows him.”
“Of course,” I said, and turned away, letting her return to the quiet rhythm of her evening.
Lunara.
If Andreas had truly sailed, he was beyond immediate reach. If he had not, then Lunara was a convenient story.
Either way, he was gone.
There was nothing left to do. The questions I had could wait. It was time to return to Dust. I touched the orb at my neck. The air around me stiffened, the world folding inward, collapsing and reshaping itself in a wash of light and shadow. When it righted itself, I was back in my office, the familiar weight of the tower settling around me.
Darkness had already claimed the streets outside. Torches along the roads burned low, their flames flickering against the wind. Silence lay heavy over the district. Even the usual hum of late-night foot traffic had faded.
I was tired.
I removed my gloves, letting the leather slide free from my hands, and pressed two fingers against the insignia pinned to my breast.
“Mason,” I said, my voice cutting through the quiet.
The office door swung open almost immediately. Mason appeared, carrying a tray that balanced bread, stewed meat, fruit, and tea. His presence was always calm and precise—like a shadow that moved without disturbing the air.
“You look exhausted,” he said, setting the tray down carefully on the polished desk.
“I am,” I admitted, collapsing into my chair. “How was your day as Caretaker of Dust?”
“Routine,” he replied. “The Collectors finished their rounds. Taxes are secured.”
“Where?”
“In the small chest beside your desk," he replied.
I glanced to my right. The chest, made of polished dark wood with brass fittings, rested exactly where it should be.
“Any disturbances?” I asked.
He shook his head. “None worth noting.”
“Good," I murmured
He inclined his head and stepped back. “Eat.”
I nodded once, then he exited, shutting the door behind him.
I allowed myself a moment before picking up the bread. The food was warm, and as I tasted it, I realized how hungry I was. Each bite reminded me of simple human needs that could be overlooked in the pursuit of duty.
After finishing half the tray, I pressed the insignia again.
“Darrick.”
A knock sounded, uneven and abrupt. He entered, the faint scent of ale clinging to him. He was less composed than Mason, movements jerky, posture slightly slumped, but still alert beneath the haze.
“You called, Warden?” he asked.
“Yes. Have you gone through Spark to search for the girl?”
“No,” he admitted. “But I have one of the Mistress’s girls looking for her. She was called in to service one of Arlight's councilmen .
I studied him. “You did not go yourself?"
“I’m saving Arclight’s permission for an emergency,” he replied. “No need to use it yet.”
A small, humorless smile tugged at the corner of my lips. “When you have a clear head,” I said, “not drunk on ale, you have imagination.”
He grinned slightly. “I’ll take that as praise.”
“You shouldn’t," I replied flatly.
His grin faded.
“Continue monitoring through the Mistress’s network,” I said. “If you hear anything, report immediately.”
“Yes, Warden.”
I dismissed him.
I pressed the insignia again.
“Llyod.”
Another knock on the door. He appeared promptly.
“Yes, Warden?”
“I need an update on Mira," I said.
“Of course, Warden,” he said. “I have men watching her. Nothing unusual. Routine movements only. No unexpected visitors, no suspicious activity.”
“Maintain your watch,” I said.
“Yes, Warden,” he replied, and vanished as abruptly as he appeared.
The office grew quiet. Shadows stretched across the corners as the candles flickered, their light trembling against the walls. I ate in silence, letting the warmth of the stew and bread spread through me.
The transports had been halted, at least for now. Andreas was gone, gone to Lunara and beyond immediate reach. Mira remained under observation. Sera Bale was still missing, though Darrick’s network was searching.
Magnus had not appeared before the Emperor today. But he could not ignore the confrontation forever.
He would come to Dust soon, that I knew. And when he did, I would be ready.
For now, everything was contained. I allowed myself to sit back, relax, even breathe.
I finished the last of my tea, setting the cup down carefully. Then I heard it. A flapping sound, sharp and insistent, cutting through the quiet of the tower. I froze.
What was that?
I rose and moved to the tall windows, pressing my hands against the cool glass as I scanned the courtyard and streets below. Nothing moved.
Still, the air shifted around me, stirring faint currents that made the torch flames flicker and dance along the walls.
The flapping came again. Faster. Louder. Something—or someone—was moving outside. I tightened my grip on the window frame, eyes narrowing, heart ticking faster.
Whatever it was, it had my attention.