The light within the study was fading, and with it, another day. Darkness now slowly crept along the chamber’s curving walls, chasing the orange beams of lingering twilight across red-stained wooden panels. The change was making it increasingly difficult for the Mediator to see, but nevertheless, Sevner continued to scour through a seemingly endless mound of papers. For hours now he’d been hoping to get his affairs in proper order, and had even kept himself away from the Springtide festival so that he may better focus on official business. The moot between him and the Honorbound would begin within the coming days, and he, more than anyone else, needed to be ready for the inevitable infighting.
That so much rested upon his tired shoulders was as much an honor as it was a curse. And Sevner had indeed felt honored to be anointed with the title of apprentice. But to have become the Mediator in such uncertain times was a weight he was unprepared to bear.
As a result, of the seven Honorbound in Cambria, only two supported him as Mediator, this leaving the rest to openly oppose his rank or else be skeptical of his every action. It was up to Sevner to prove himself worthy of the title he had been granted, but the future continued to look increasingly grim as public opinions failed to change. Of course, the shifting tides of social favor were not something over which Sevner had full control, especially when his adversaries continuously battered him at every given opportunity at every side. Those that opposed him, he knew, would forever refuse to amend their judgments of him regardless of anything he could do to inspire confidence. Their minds were made up, and thus Sevner’s only option for wrangling them in was to somehow convince the citizens of their regions of his strength and aptitude. In this way, he could hope to force those ruling Honorbound into allegiance, but alas, Sevner had few ideas on how to see this done. Somehow though, he must take action, even if he did not yet know how to go about it. There was always the route of war, but this course weighed heavily upon his conscience. And yet, now, more than ever before, every plan seemed to lead to this inevitable, dark conclusion.
“You left this world too soon, Ivan,” the Mediator sadly sighed. Silently he wondered what his predecessor would have done if he were here in Sevner’s stead. Foul stirrings beyond his control had taken the previous Mediator before his time, the same as it had done to the man’s prior, and original, successor. Something more than just unrest was taking root here in Cambria, and as it grew progressively worse, Sevner felt all the more powerless to stop it.
It was a despairing thing to ponder on, and shutting his eyes for a brief moment, he breathed in deeply to clear his mind. Somewhere there was an answer. In times like these there always was. And as long as he was determined to find it, then there was hope yet that everything wrong with Cambria would return to how it was before. The Valor was still loyal to him, as were the Honorbound of the Ridge and Scar, and by properly using his allies’ strengths, he could surely unite his nation once again.
A bit more hopeful for believing this, Sevner leaned forward in his chair and began to gather up the loose materials strewn across his desk. Once collected, he tapped the stack atop his table before sliding the tidied pile of papers into the nearest drawer. Having been staring for so long at endless scrawling, assorted maps and countless ledgers, his eyes burned fiercely and needed a rest before he could continue on. The sun had nearly completely gone from out of the windows now as well, and so he would need to call for one of the handmaidens to bring up a light to re-illuminate the study. A fire going within the hearth would not be a bad thing either, if only to keep Sevner’s hands from growing cold as they often did when he worked long.
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Before this though, he thought it best to indulge in a relaxed and extended dinner. He couldn’t remember whether or not he had eaten a midday meal, though judging by his hunger pangs, Sevner concluded that he had not. This was not an uncommon occurrence, as Sevner would often lose himself to his work and forget to eat for entire days. It was a bad habit that friends and colleagues alike used to scold him for in his younger years, but such a dedication to his work is what had helped him to become Mediator in the first place. Such devotion was a commendable trait, or so his predecessor, Ivan, had said, and mirrored the determination he had to have for guiding Cambria through its more tumultuous days. At the very least, his own enthusiasm was something in which Sevner could place some modicum of hope, for hope he must if he was to lead his country as he had been charged to do.
Sighing again, fatigue setting in, Sevner stroked his auburn beard and reclined back into his chair. For just a bit longer he wanted to give himself a much needed moment of peace. For too many days he had been dwelling upon the nearing concourse of powers, and in doing so, he had failed to allow himself the time to release his stress. Fortunately, the quiet lull within his study was the perfect atmosphere to simply be; to forget, for a moment, about what was expected of him, and what should happen should he fail.
That nothing stirred here save himself, how calming it was, even if brief. Alas, his peace was soon disrupted by the quiet opening of the study’s door. Sevner realized immediately that the sound had not come from the chamber’s main entry however, having instead slipped out from behind his chair from the secret passage within the wall. It was an entrance that only a select few were aware of; namely himself, the Valor elite, and the handful of messengers that the Valor would sometimes send. In truth, Sevner had been expecting the Valor to want a meeting now that the moot had grown so near, and had been surprised to receive no word from them until this moment.
Tiredly he turned so to welcome the Valor’s messenger, a bit annoyed by their ill timing. Yet as he stood, rather than a formal greeting, he was met instead with a flash of brilliant color. What followed next was an eruption of pain that ripped through the entirety of Sevner’s chest, stealing away the air from his lungs and causing his mind to scream. Unable to breathe, barely able to gasp, his body burned hot as fire, and understanding his error far too late, he realized he had been attacked. Through the intensive pain and his own growing fear, Sevner fought to lift his hand to his chest. There he felt the cool of a blade buried halfway to the hilt, and knew that its tip had threaded through his ribs to cut into his heart.
As quickly as the knife had pierced his skin was it likewise pulled away, allowing Sevner a moment to glace at the face of his murderer. The flash of color that he had seen, it was the hair of a Crystarian girl, one with harlequin stripes and painted hair like that of a circus clown. The very sight of her confused the Mediator for a variety of reasons, not least of which being that his nameless killer was cold-faced yet teary eyed. Whoever she was, she had been crying; a most puzzling thing for an assassin to do, even if Sevner was certain that it was not him for whom the child wept.
But Sevner would never know the truth, for his wonderings faded along with him, both vanishing from the mortal plane with the last of the evening’s light. That the Mediator had breathed his last, the girl’s dark deed was finally done, and after cleaning the fresh blood off her blade she sheathed it back away. Without a word, nor looking back, the assassin left without a trace, and just as swiftly as she had come, she swept into the shadows and was gone.
