Broken World: Law Breakers

POV - ARES MANGAL-GRAH

Faraday and Ares stumble into another room, surprisingly large for what he imagines would be in this place. It is mostly empty, giving it an echoey, cathedral-like feel.

Ares's eyes lock onto a chair in a corner like it is the most alluring sight imaginable in his current state of agony.

They stagger towards it, their steps a mix of hop, skip, and near-trip, with Ares using Faraday as an unwilling support beam.

They finally reach the chair, and Ares collapses into it with all the grace of a sack of potatoes, the chair creaking under his sudden weight. Both he and Faraday are panting, out of breath as if they've just run a marathon.

Faraday, still catching his breath, curses under his breath, "Bloody hell," before collapsing to the floor.

Ares, now somewhat settled in the chair, takes a moment to catch his breath before his eyes begin to wander, scanning the expansive room.

Despite the grandeur of its features, the emptiness of the room is profound, giving it an almost ghostly quality, as if it's waiting, biding its time for a new story to fill its vast, echoing space.

An old, ornate chandelier hangs from the center of the ceiling, its candles long extinguished, leaving it as a silent sentinel of times when this room might have been filled with laughter, music, and the clinking of goblets. The air here carries a musty scent, a blend of ancient wood, stone, and the faint whiff of incense, as if the room still holds the last breath of its bygone era.

The walls are covered in heavy, dust-laden tapestries, each one a canvas of seemingly ancient lore - knights clashing with mythical beasts, wizards casting spells under moonlit skies, and grand tournaments where honor is won or lost. These tapestries, though faded, still hold their colors in patches of vivid reds, deep greens, and royal blues.

At one end of the room stands a massive window, its stained glass filtering light through it, casting a mosaic of colors across the otherwise empty space, creating pools of light that dance on the floor with the movement of the sun.

The floor is a patchwork of stone, uneven in places, its cracks and crevices filled with the dust of time.

Ares's gaze shifts from the room's ornate emptiness to the people within it. At the center, with her back to him, stands Kirin. She's notably taller than both Faraday and the old woman, her long purple hair cascading down like a silken waterfall. Her frame is a blend of grace and strength, ladylike yet unmistakably toned for combat. Her shoulders are broad, her posture that of someone always ready for action, her concentration evident as she examines something on the large table before her.

In another corner, the old woman sits so still and silent she could be mistaken for part of the room's decor. Her presence is almost imperceptible, her body stiff, her white, blind eyes staring into nothingness, her hands folded in her lap with a patience that seems eternal.

On the opposite side, a couple huddles together, their ages placing them between Faraday and Kirin and the ancient woman. They look at Ares with guarded eyes, their expressions wary.

Elsewhere in the room, a woman with slightly more mature features than Kirin's holds a boy asleep, perhaps eight or nine, in her lap. The sight of the boy, with his peaceful slumber and innocent face, evokes a pang of nostalgia in Ares, reminding him sharply of Romulus.

The woman's eyes linger on Ares, curious and probing, her features set in a complex array of contemplation, as if deciphering a cryptic message.

Kirin finally turns to face them, her gaze sweeping over each person in the room, pausing slightly longer on Ares, her eyes assessing. She begins, "We leave at sundown tomorrow." Faraday starts to protest, but a single look from Kirin silences him.

She continues, "I've planned our journey, factoring in the distance to the nearest black stone and the next blood rain."

She pauses, the room shifting in discomfort at the mention of 'blood rain', even Faraday's frown deepens. Ares wonders what this 'blood rain' could be to evoke such fear.

"If we leave tomorrow, we can get close enough to our destination before the blood rain starts, and maybe, just maybe, we'll have a free path to the black stone." She takes a deep breath.

"There are several factors that could jeopardize our plan, by the way. In my experience, plans seldom go according to the way they're envisioned, no matter how well they're crafted." She looks at each of them, her voice firm yet tinged with a hint of wariness. "I'll do what I can to protect you, but I can make no promises. Understood?"

The couple and the woman with the child nod reluctantly, their faces a mix of resignation and fear. The old woman remains impassive, as if she's heard these words many times before.

Satisfied with their acknowledgment, Kirin issues her next command, "Get some rest. It'll be the last one for days. We leave at sundown tomorrow."

The room stirs with a sense of urgency and dread as everyone stands, the sounds of their movements echoing like the prelude to a storm.

Faraday, his face etched with fatigue, turns to Ares, "I'm exhausted. See you later." Just before he exits, he leans in close to Ares, whispering, "Talk to Kirin. Maybe you two can get along. You need to if she's going to let you accompany us." He gives Ares a friendly tap on the shoulder before he leaves.

With the room now empty except for Kirin and Ares, he gathers his strength, every muscle protesting as he attempts to stand. His legs are unsteady, each step a battle against his own body. He staggers towards Kirin, who watches him with an unreadable expression, making no move to assist.

After what feels like an eternity, he reaches the table where she stands, leaning heavily on it for support. The table groans under his weight, the sound echoing in the vast, silent room.

Ares's eyes fall on what Kirin was examining earlier: a map spread out on the table. Its paper is yellowed and its edges frayed like the wings of an ancient moth, its geography alien to him. A sea of 'X's drowns the map, each suggesting points of either significance or perhaps danger.

The routes sprawl across the map like the wild, untamed scribbles of a madman. They meander like rivers that have lost their way, twisting around what seem to be mountain ranges depicted as jagged spikes or through forests drawn with dense, overlapping lines. Some routes take abrupt turns, veering off in directions that defy geography, cutting straight through areas marked with ominous symbols or through vast expanses labeled with cryptic names.

There are paths that loop back on themselves, creating spirals or figure-eight patterns, suggesting either a need for retracing steps or a deliberate misdirection. Other routes converge at what looks like natural crossroads but then diverge again, splitting into multiple paths like the branches of a tree, each leading to its own 'X'.

Ares, his curiosity piqued, asks, "What do the 'X's mean?"

Kirin's response is succinct, "Danger."

Ares's gaze snaps back to the map, his eyes tracing the dense web of 'X's, each mark sending a shiver down his spine. He looks up at Kirin, who speaks again, her tone laced with forewarning, "I don't know where you're from..."

"Ares," he supplies his name.

Kirin nods slightly, her eyes never leaving his, "...Ares, but you shouldn't have come here."