----

  Orion sat inside the enclosed imperial carriage, the night air whisking past his skin. He looked towards the ground, his eyes narrowed, and sighed.

  "Let me know when you would like to proceed, sir," said the driver hidden behind him. The curtains were drawn, the lantern lights swaying. He sat on the cold leather seat. He ran his finger through his gelled hair, remembering what his father told him.

  "This is not discipline, this is removal."

  "No witnesses."

  He wasn't ordered to kill, not execute, but remove, erase him entirely.

  Why was he sent personally? Why not the guards? Did his father's hatred run that deep? This wasn't hatred towards Caelan. He didn't even know the boy. It was hatred towards his weak, pathetic son, Zorian, to show him what could happen if he went out of line.

  Orion sighed. He had killed many before, but killing an innocent boy who was just defending himself felt wrong. However, he had no choice. It was either Caelan or himself who would die. A failed order meant death.

  He knocked on the side of the carriage, signalling the driver to move forward.

  "As you wish, sir," said the driver.

  The wheels began turning. The carriage moved. No bumps, no stalling. It moved smoothly and quietly.

  The White Meridian was silent during the night. The outside was filled with only faint noises of chatter. However, for some reason, the sector smelled murky, like dried blood, as if something had happened.

  They moved through the streets. Orion took out his cigarette pack from his pocket, lit one of the cigarettes, and put it in his mouth.

  He exhaled, the smoke filling his face.

  He paused for a while, then took out his curved sword from its scabbard. It was shiny, reflecting his face when he looked at it. The hilt was made of hard wood and shaped around the tang, the grip made of leather. He rested the blade on his lap and caressed the edges.

  "This should do the trick. No need to use my mark," he thought. Using his fractal mark in this case wasn't necessary. It would be like trying to kill an ant with a hammer. What would be the need?

  As he stared into his reflection on the sword, doubt started to fill his mind. Was this really necessary? The words of his sister echoed in his mind.

  "Just do it."

  "You have to for the family."

  He closed his eyes and inhaled.

  They should be arriving soon.

  The carriage came to a sudden halt.

  "Sir, we have arrived at the first destination."

  "Thanks, driver," replied Orion as he stood up from his seat. He put the sword back into the scabbard and walked outside while he smoked the cigarette.

  The crickets sang in the distance, the full moon staring at him. He stepped onto the smooth white ground. In front of him was the Central Registry Annex, where they kept the records of all people in the dominion.

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  It sat near the inner district, between the government halls and military offices. There were no shops nearby, no crowds.

  On the outside, it was a tall rectangular white stone structure with no windows and no banners.

  He walked towards it, his hands resting in his coat pockets. He knocked on the door. People couldn't simply walk in. They needed permission.

  A man opened it. He wore a grey uniform, the shirt embedded with the sign of an open book, the mark of the annex, and a hat. He looked in disbelief as he saw Orion.

  Seeing Orion, he opened the door without hesitation, standing upright as he tried to look calm.

  "Welcome to the Central Registry Annex, sir," he said, leading Orion inside.

  The smell instantly changed to metal, old books, and ink.

  Inside was a massive hall, with high ceilings lost in shadows, hanging crystal lamps, rows of stone counters, and seats for waiting people. Long lines of bookshelves were organised behind glass. Everything looked symmetrical and perfectly ordered.

  "Sir, no need to wait. You can go straight to the counter," said the man. Figures. He was royalty, after all.

  He went to the stone counter, where a clerk was waiting. He sat down.

  The clerk smiled, folding his arms.

  "So, what can I do for the second born of the Whitlock family?"

  His face frowned. They didn't even call him by his real name.

  Orion put his arms on the counter and took out his cigarette.

  "I'm here to gather the files of an academy student," he told the man.

  The man's face lit up.

  "Well, even if you are a Whitlock, I can't give the files just like that. I need a reason. What is your reason?" he said while rubbing his chin.

  Orion looked at him calmly and pulled out a letter from his breast pocket.

  "It's an order from my father," he said while handing the man the letter.

  The man raised his eyebrows. He opened the letter and read it slowly, his eyes tracing across the paper.

  "Very well," he said.

  "Please wait by High Archivist Vaelor Serin's office as I gather the records of Caelan Merrow. He would like to see you."

  "Vaelor, what does that bastard want?" Orion thought.

  They had been childhood friends. Vaelor went on to become the High Archivist, the head of the annex, while Orion became an imperial anomaly inquisitor, a person whose job was to deal with anomalies. That hadn't happened in ages, but he certainly didn't want it to start now.

  Orion smacked his lips. Guess he had no choice. He walked towards the office. He knocked on the door.

  "Come in."

  He walked inside.

  "Orion, my old pal," said Vaelor, as he sat on a chair piled with notes, drinking a glass of fine wine. He had short black hair and amber eyes.

  "Fuck."

  "How have you been?" he asked.

  Orion sat on a chair next to him.

  "Fine," he said quietly.

  "Oh, come on. Why so bitter?"

  Vaelor got up. He walked behind Orion and started to massage his shoulders.

  "Fuck me."

  "We haven't met for a long time. Tell me more."

  Orion didn't answer.

  "How's father?"

  "He's fine," replied Orion, frustration growing on his face.

  "Come on, give me more. What is his health like?"

  "It's improving."

  The door knocked.

  Finally.

  "Sir, here is the file that was requested," said the man.

  Vaelor handed the file to Orion, and he opened it.

  IVORY DOMINION

  CENTRAL ANNEX RECORDS

  Continuity Oversight Bureau

  Citizen Mark Registry

  Subject: Caelan Merrow

  Registry ID: A7716LD

  Origin: Orphanage Sector 17, Lower Dominion

  Age: 16

  Mark Classification: Branch

  Status: Active Student, White Meridian Academy

  Orion rubbed his head as he gazed over the records.

  "Origin doesn't mention his parents?" he said to Vaelor.

  "Let me look at that."

  Vaelor grabbed the file.

  "Oh yeah, I know him. Caelan Merrow."

  Vaelor handed the file back and folded his hands.

  "The orphanage found him on their doorstep. No parents were identified."

  "They weren't tracked?"

  "They were, but nothing came up."

  "And that doesn't seem strange?"

  "Well, it is. However, it is highly unimportant, don't you think?"

  Orion scratched the back of his head. He read the files again. A branch. So Caelan was like him. His registry ID started with an A. That meant he was from the Pale Verge. That was surprising.

  "How did someone from Pale Verge get into the academy?" he asked Vaelor.

  "He had a highly intricate mark, as far as I remember. It's rare, but it does happen."

  Orion raised an eyebrow. He eventually closed the file.

  "Thank you," he said as he walked outside.

  This was more than enough.

  ----

  He arrived at the academy, where he saw Caelan lying in the courtyard. He seemed exhausted.

  This was the boy he was meant to kill?