12-20-2025, 06:22 PM
Nora fumbled with her keys, her fingers so numb they felt like wooden pegs. The Moscow wind gave one final, spiteful shriek, whipping a flurry of crystalline snow into the hallway before she managed to heave the heavy door shut. She leaned her back against the wood, relieved to be inside.
The safehouse was small and smelled perpetually of furniture that hadn’t been dusted in ages, but tonight it held a different scent. It hit her like a physical wave: lemon, cracked black pepper, and the savory tang of searing chicken. Her stomach let out a treacherous, audible growl.
Claude was at the small kitchenette, silhouetted against the warm glow of the stove. He looked entirely too comfortable, a sharp contrast to the frozen, soul-weary shell Nora felt she had become.
Nora didn't answer immediately. She just shed her coat, dropped her bag, and slumped into the chair he’d gestured toward, the warmth of the apartment finally beginning to prickle her skin. It was a painful, itching sensation.
"Hell yes," Nora rasped, her voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel in response to the offer of a drink. "Give me the strongest thing we have that won't actually blind me.”
She let out a long, ragged breath and pointed a fork at the plate of chicken. "You’re a lifesaver, Claude." She took a bite of the chicken, the flavors exploding on her tongue. It was real. It was grounded. It was the exact opposite of the airy, metaphysical nonsense she'd been drowning in all day.
"It’s a madhouse, Claude," she said after a few more hurried bites, her mood souring as the memories of the day caught up to her. "A gold-plated, incense-scented madhouse. They have these ceremonies the 'Ceremony of Reflection' where they basically poke around in your head until they find a soft spot, then they press on it until you admit you're a piece of garbage that needs their 'light' to be whole again.”
She gestured vaguely toward the lantern on the floor. "I’m an 'Ember' now. They gave me a lamp and told me I’m carrying a spark of the divine. It’s absolutely cult-like. They don’t just want your service; they want your identity. They want you to believe that without the Brotherhood, you’re just a flickering wick in a hurricane.”
She leaned back, the alcohol and the food finally softening the sharp edges of her irritability. "And the leader? This 'Luminar'? He’s like some invisible god-king. He denied my request to stay at the Sanctuary without so much as a reason. Just a 'no' from on high. The arrogance of it is staggering, even for a bunch of people who think they can talk to this bizarre Veil.”
She took another sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her brother. The banter was over; the job remained.
"Anyway,” she said, her voice dropping to a more steady tone. "I'm in. I'm an Ember, which apparently means I'm 'actively illuminating' or some other flowery crap. Now, tell me about your end. How did it go finding Nox?”
The safehouse was small and smelled perpetually of furniture that hadn’t been dusted in ages, but tonight it held a different scent. It hit her like a physical wave: lemon, cracked black pepper, and the savory tang of searing chicken. Her stomach let out a treacherous, audible growl.
Claude was at the small kitchenette, silhouetted against the warm glow of the stove. He looked entirely too comfortable, a sharp contrast to the frozen, soul-weary shell Nora felt she had become.
Nora didn't answer immediately. She just shed her coat, dropped her bag, and slumped into the chair he’d gestured toward, the warmth of the apartment finally beginning to prickle her skin. It was a painful, itching sensation.
"Hell yes," Nora rasped, her voice sounding like it had been dragged over gravel in response to the offer of a drink. "Give me the strongest thing we have that won't actually blind me.”
She let out a long, ragged breath and pointed a fork at the plate of chicken. "You’re a lifesaver, Claude." She took a bite of the chicken, the flavors exploding on her tongue. It was real. It was grounded. It was the exact opposite of the airy, metaphysical nonsense she'd been drowning in all day.
"It’s a madhouse, Claude," she said after a few more hurried bites, her mood souring as the memories of the day caught up to her. "A gold-plated, incense-scented madhouse. They have these ceremonies the 'Ceremony of Reflection' where they basically poke around in your head until they find a soft spot, then they press on it until you admit you're a piece of garbage that needs their 'light' to be whole again.”
She gestured vaguely toward the lantern on the floor. "I’m an 'Ember' now. They gave me a lamp and told me I’m carrying a spark of the divine. It’s absolutely cult-like. They don’t just want your service; they want your identity. They want you to believe that without the Brotherhood, you’re just a flickering wick in a hurricane.”
She leaned back, the alcohol and the food finally softening the sharp edges of her irritability. "And the leader? This 'Luminar'? He’s like some invisible god-king. He denied my request to stay at the Sanctuary without so much as a reason. Just a 'no' from on high. The arrogance of it is staggering, even for a bunch of people who think they can talk to this bizarre Veil.”
She took another sip of her drink, her eyes narrowing as she looked at her brother. The banter was over; the job remained.
"Anyway,” she said, her voice dropping to a more steady tone. "I'm in. I'm an Ember, which apparently means I'm 'actively illuminating' or some other flowery crap. Now, tell me about your end. How did it go finding Nox?”
![[Image: Shield-removebg-preview.png]](https://thefirstage.org/wp-content/uploads/2025/01/Shield-removebg-preview.png)