Book 1 Chapter 5: With a Flip of a Coin

The carriage, a sleek, utilitarian marvel of Solarian engineering, glided across the desert floor. Instead of wheels, two broad, polished skis, an invention by the Solarian people for fast travel, had been fitted to its undercarriage, allowing it to move with silent speed across the sand. Four camels, powerful and disciplined, pulled the strange vehicle, their rhythmic steps a comforting counterpoint to the rush of air. Inside, Corvus Vale, a fifty-year-old man, looked anything but comfortable. He was a creature of desks and ledgers, not deserts. His face, freshly clean-shaven, and his short, neat brown hair were a testament to his desire to maintain a professional appearance for Master Hugo. But his meticulous exterior was a stark contrast to his inner turmoil. His hands, though pale and smooth from a life spent behind a desk, constantly played with a stray strand of his hair. The journey itself had cost him three weeks' wages, but the urgency of Hugo’s request left him with no choice.

He peered out the window, watching the endless desert unfurl. The sun, a relentless disc in the vast, empty sky, beat down on the landscape, making the horizon shimmer with a mirage of movement. He saw the rolling dunes, the occasional patch of hardy cactus, and in the distance, a solitary, shimmering tower of stone, a forgotten monument to a civilisation now buried in the sands. The sight of it sent a small shiver down his spine. He was getting closer to Dustfall, a city he knew only from reports and maps, a world of gritty merchants and ancient prejudice that was utterly alien to his life in Solara's capital.

His mind replayed Hugo’s last report. A personal note, handwritten, with only a single, terse request: Come to Dustfall. It is urgent. Bring me everything you know about Solaran insignia. There were no further details, and the lack of context filled Corvus with a professional dread. What could have happened? Had one of Hugo’s risky ventures run afoul of the military? Or worse, had someone from Solara found out about Hugo's secret contact network? His usual comfort in structure and protocol was gone, replaced by a cold, prickling anxiety. He was going to meet Hugo in person, and he had no idea why.

His mind, unable to focus on the unfamiliar landscape, drifted back, finding solace in the familiar territory of memory. He thought of the first time he'd received a letter from Hugo. He had heard the name, of course; every Solarian with a scrap of ambition knew of the mysterious merchant guild leader in Faph. The letter, hand-delivered and meticulously sealed, was a simple inquiry about any developing trade routes around Solara that might impact Dustfall. It was public information, trade routes were in his purview, and he hadn't thought much of it, simply replying with what he knew.

A few days later, a small, heavy coin purse had appeared on his desk, left without a trace. He opened the bag and was stunned. Inside were two gold and seven silver coins, his exact weekly wage. Attached was a note, with the same meticulous script: Thank you for your information, we will be in touch. Hugo. The gesture had been so simple, so perfect, so precise. It was the start of their arrangement, one that had continued without fail for years. Hugo would ask for information, Corvus would respond, and a few days later, his discreet payment would arrive. It was always one-way, never a face-to-face meeting, until now. The lack of personal contact was a comfort; the request for an in-person meeting was a terrifying break in protocol.

The carriage began to slow, its runners hissing a soft protest against the shifting sand. Corvus looked out his window. The walls of Dustfall, a formidable barrier of earth and stone, loomed ahead, their size making them look almost primitive in comparison to the massive, polished granite fortifications of Solara.

The carriage shuddered to a stop. "This is as far as I can go," a voice from outside called out. "I'll wait here for your return."

Corvus looked around the interior, patting down his travelling coat to ensure he had everything: a small satchel containing a few spare scrolls of parchment and his pen, a tightly-packed lunch tin of spiced sausage, a flask of water, and, most importantly, a leather-bound folio containing his detailed reports on Solaran insignia. He fumbled for the door, opening it on the second try, and stepped out.

He was instantly met by two guards, their postures rigid and their eyes sharp. Their uniforms, a simple, dusty brown canvas with no adornment, were a stark contrast to the impeccable, midnight-black uniforms of the Solarian army he saw every day. Corvus wore a finely tailored, deep-blue wool jacket over a crisp white shirt, the kind of attire that would have been considered standard professional dress in Solara but now made him feel as if he had a spotlight on him.

The guard closest to him, a man with a stern face and a hand resting on the hilt of his sword, stepped forward. "Your purpose for being here?" he demanded.

"I am requested to meet Hugo," Corvus replied, his voice betraying none of his nervousness.

The guard looked him up and down, his gaze lingering on the fine fabric of Corvus's jacket. "So you are Corvus Vale," he said, the name a statement, not a question. "We are requested to escort you to Hugo's stall."

The guards turned and walked away, their boots making a familiar rhythm on the packed earth. Corvus stood there for a moment, unsure of the local custom for this situation. Instinctively, his hand rose to his short hair, a nervous tic from a bygone era, but he caught himself and forced his hand back to his side. The twitching in his fingers was a stark reminder of his unease. He took a deep, fortifying breath.

"Oi, what are you doing standing around?" The demand cut through his attempt at composure. Corvus's head snapped up. Both guards had stopped and turned to face him, their expressions flat.

"Do we need to hold your hand?" the other guard added, a smirk playing on his lips, which made them both chuckle.

"Sorry," Corvus muttered, quickly closing the distance between them. As he fell into step behind them, he reached for his hair and started to twirl a small strand between his fingers. He had not realised it, but he was already nervous again. I am here for Hugo. You can do this. You can do this. The thought, a mantra, repeated itself in his mind.

As Corvus officially entered Dustfall, a cacophony of sound hit him, causing him to look up and around in astonishment. The city was a sprawling, chaotic spectacle, a symphony of industrial clamour. To a stranger, it was an alien marvel. Towering structures of weathered stone and timber were interwoven with a bewildering network of gleaming brass pipes and thick, hissing iron tubes. Plumes of white steam vented rhythmically from rooftop chimneys, a constant, misty breath that softened the harsh desert light. Gears, large and small, turned with a grinding rhythm in open-air workshops, their brass teeth glinting in the sun. A massive, central steam-driven clock, its bronze face the size of a small house, dominated the skyline, its intricate hands moving with a heavy, purposeful thunk. The streets, though dusty, were alive with the racket of steam-powered bellows from blacksmith forges, the rattling of small, steam-powered carts, and the incessant hum of unseen machinery working beneath the packed earth. It was a city that ran not on muscle, but on the tireless, percussive heartbeat of clockwork and steam.

The guards led him from the industrial hum of the city's gates into a sensory explosion. Corvus felt as though he had stepped into a different world. He stared, utterly captivated. This was the true heart of the city: a vast, sprawling merchant section with hundreds upon hundreds, no, thousands of stalls, all packed together, selling a chaotic array of goods. It was a sight he had never witnessed, a scene that felt both unnatural and almost backward. He fell behind the guards, his eyes wide as he took it all in.

This was a city run by its people. Every stall was a private enterprise, every merchant working for themselves, making their own money, building their own wealth. It was a vibrant, unruly force that Corvus, a lifelong servant of the state, couldn't comprehend.

The juxtaposition with his home, Solara, was stark. In Solara, every citizen worked for the government, and every service, every good, was managed by government employees. Citizens served to strengthen the army and the state, not themselves. The economy was a meticulously orchestrated machine, a single, unyielding entity, with every person a precisely placed cog. Here, in Dustfall, the economy was a living, breathing creature, a wild, untamed beast, all teeth and chaotic energy. The contrast was stunning, and as he watched, a sense of profound shock and reluctant admiration began to grow within him.

"Mr. Vale!" The words were loud but said with a bored sigh. Corvus’s eyes moved from the stalls he was staring at, and they landed on the two guards who had, again, stopped and were looking at him.

"I am sorry, I have just never seen—"

"For Chronos' sake, I don't give a shit!" the guard interrupted. "This is an escort, not a tour."

One of the guards moved towards Corvus, and he felt a sudden dread wash over him. The guard’s unpleased look sent a chill down his spine as the man drew closer. Corvus tensed up, expecting a physical altercation, but the guard passed him, standing behind him with a huff.

"Keep walking," the guard demanded as he gave Corvus a slight push.

Corvus, not wanting to cause a scene, turned and walked on. The guard in front, looking pleased with himself, started to lead the way again. Corvus heard the guard behind him sigh, a clear sign of his frustration.

"We don't mean you any offence, Mr. Vale. We have a duty to guard the front gates, and we can't afford to waste time on this escort for Master Hugo. We are only doing this for the coin promised."

Oh, I see. This is not a normal thing for the guards to do, Corvus thought, a wave of guilt washing over him. He quickened his pace, feeling as though he was causing a great deal of trouble.

Corvus and the guards reached a massive stall that stood out from the rest. It was twice as big as any other and surrounded by a thick crowd. He could hear people eagerly bidding on goods that a small army of workers held up behind a barrier of wooden benches. "Oh, it's auction day," one of the guards said with a hint of excitement. "Maybe we can get off work early."

The guards pushed their way through the crowd. People being shoved turned in anger, but their rage instantly vanished when they saw the uniforms. The crowd parted, and the guards easily made a path through the throng of people. They reached the stall and continued around it. It was so large that the noise of the auction became a distant echo. The guards stopped at the back door. Before the guard in front could announce his presence, a well-groomed voice called from within.

"Officer Corban, Officer Loom, come in, please"

Corvus froze, a wave of profound shock washing over him. The man was young. Much younger than he had ever imagined. In his mind, a man with this much influence, with a network that spanned Faph and reached into Solara's highest offices, had to be of his age, perhaps even older. But this man, with his silky, combed-back brown hair and neatly trimmed beard, was no older than thirty-three, barely past the prime of his youth. A chilling thought struck him: a man this young, holding this much power and control over an entire continent, was frightening. The effortless authority he wielded, the quiet confidence in his intelligent eyes behind his wire-thin gold glasses, was a stark reminder of the depth of Hugo's ambition. 

"Come forth," Hugo said, his tone relaxed and measured, neither loud nor whispered, yet the words held so much intent that Corvus instinctively took a step forward. As he did, a hand pressed against his stomach, halting him. It was the guard to his left, Officer Corban. "Stay here," he demanded as he and the other guard, Officer Loom, stepped forward.

Hugo looked from Officer Corban to Officer Loom, not at Corvus. "I hope it was not too much trouble?" Hugo asked.

"No, Master Hugo," both guards said in unison.

Hugo produced two small coin bags from his pocket and handed them to the guards. They bowed and said, "Thank you."

"Officer Corban straightened first and asked, "Do you need us to stay during the meeting?"

Hugo chuckled. "Oh, no, not at all. There would be no need." He looked from guard to guard. "Thank you again, you two are dismissed." The guards bowed, then walked past Corvus and out the door. As soon as they left, the room felt darker, smaller, and colder. Corvus was alone with Hugo, the weight of his full attention thick and heavy. Corvus wish the guards stayed, not to protect Hugo from him, but to protect-

"Please take a seat and let's get started," Hugo said, a smirk that seemed to be a permanent resident on his face.

Corvus felt as if it took all his concentration and strength to take a step towards the table. The space between them stretched, and the table seemed to move further away with each step. He had never felt so nervous in his life. His hand slowly moved to his head, a familiar nervous tic, but he caught himself and forced it to his side. What am I doing? Corvus thought to himself. He looked up from his feet to Hugo, whose eyes were still fixed on him, watching, waiting, and measuring. He had definitely noticed the nervous tic.

Corvus finally reached the table and sat down, and as he did, Hugo finally spoke. "Thank you for joining me. It must have been a long journey." Hugo indicated the bowl of fruit between them, and also a jug with two glasses. "Please, help yourself to some fruit and wine?" Hugo asked, raising an eyebrow. Was he being hospitable, or was this a trap or a test? Corvus’s fingers twirled in his hair as he looked from the bowl to the jug.

"Corvus," Hugo's voice was soft, and the sudden shift in tone made Corvus lock eyes with him. "You are a guest and my friend; you have done so much for me, and I wanted to meet you in person." Corvus's fingers stopped, and his hand moved from his head to the armrest of the chair.

Hugo slowly stood and picked up the jug, pouring a glass of wine. He then moved to the second glass. "Would you like some? It is locally made." Corvus licked his lips, but his tongue was caught in his throat. Hugo poured wine into the second glass, placed the jug down, and then picked up the glass and walked over to Corvus. Hugo placed the glass in front of him, then walked back to his chair. Corvus slowly reached out and grasped the glass. He looked up at Hugo, waiting. Hugo took a sip, and then Corvus did. The wine was unexpectedly crisp, with a subtle sweetness that instantly calmed him. It felt like a liquid form of the cool air that he had enjoyed that morning. The tension that had been a permanent resident in his body slowly drained away, leaving him feeling centred and grounded.

Hugo then greeted Corvus to the meeting, gesturing around the spacious back area of his stall. "Welcome, Corvus. This is where the magic happens, so to speak." Hugo's smirk was a permanent resident on his face. "You know me as a successful business owner and the leader of the Merchant Guild, but I am also an information broker. Which, of course, you would know by now, right?"

Corvus nodded slowly, the wine suddenly losing its comforting warmth as the implications of Hugo's words settled.

"Before we start this meeting," Hugo said, "we must undergo a verbal contract. All words, gestures, and suggestions made from this moment until you leave this room can and will be used as monetary goods by The Hugo Corp without your permission. No threats or powers will be used to force information out of you, with or without your permission. If you agree that no words can be unsaid during this meeting, observed only by mighty Chronos himself, please say 'agree'."

Corvus froze, his hand trembling as he set his glass down. What have I gotten myself into? The words echoed in his mind. This was a trap. As a Solarian recruitment agent, he had information on every new and future recruit. Hugo could sell all of this to the Faph army, which would have devastating results. I can't do this.

Corvus stared at Hugo, his hand trembling as he set his glass down. He couldn’t do this. He was a Solarian recruitment agent; he had access to critical information on every new recruit—details Hugo could easily sell to the Faph army. This was a trap.

Hugo noticed his hesitation and chuckled. "Relax, friend. I promise you that I will not ask anything that can be used against Solara. If you feel that something I ask can reveal critical information, then you don't have to answer."

Corvus placed the glass to his lips, the sip turning into a desperate gulp. He placed the glass back down and coughed a bit, the wine suddenly harsh in his throat. "Why am I here?" he asked, his voice strained.

Hugo leaned forward slowly, his eyes gleaming. He softened his tone and simply said, "Agree to the contract."

Corvus thought about it. He had come this far. He and Hugo had done well over three hundred deals, and Hugo had never once used the information against him. He had never turned back on an agreement or short-changed him. Hugo was a man of his word. It was a part of Corvus's weekly routine to report back to the higher-ups, the people in charge, that the usual citizens of Solara had never seen—people with true power over the future of their great nation. Yet this meeting, with Hugo, made him more nervous than those men. Corvus let out a soft sigh. He could just walk out, but he should stay. Corvus locked eyes with Hugo, this man. No, this boy had a chance to shape the future of Faph to his desire. "I agree," Corvus said.

Corvus watched as Hugo leaned back into his chair, his shoulders visibly relaxing. A subtle change in his posture, a small, knowing curve of his smirk, told Corvus he had been anticipating this. He'd gotten what he wanted.

"Let's get started," Hugo said, his voice quiet. "Do you know of a person by the name of Motley?"

Corvus's world turned upside down. His mind spun, replaying a distant memory from his first year at his desk job. Hundreds of applicant profiles had passed his desk every day, each one he was tasked with either accepting or declining, then assigning to a suitable army division. But one profile had been different. It was the first and only time he had seen a profile stamped with a "Top Secret" seal. The file was bound shut, sealed with a crest he was not authorised to break. A note instructed him to simply accept the application and deliver it to the higher-ups.

From that day on, Corvus had kept an eye out for the name assigned to that top-secret profile: "Motley." But he never saw a recruit with that name. Years passed with no mention of Motley, and his desperate search for the name had turned into a faded memory. He had assumed it was just a code name, a placeholder for the top-secret file he had once accepted. He had forgotten about the name until now.

"Where did you hear that name?" Corvus demanded, the words leaving his mouth with a surprising volume. He immediately realised his mistake and tried to compose himself. "Sorry," he added.

Corvus waited for Hugo to respond, his world now a tense stillness. Hugo's eyes were piercing, reading his every move. Then, what felt like a lifetime, Hugo finally responded.

"That name means something to you. Care to share?"

This was something Corvus could not share. It might be nothing—maybe just a past experiment or project. "Sorry, Hugo," Corvus said, clearing his throat, "Master Hugo," he corrected, "I can't share what I know on this topic."

Again, Hugo waited, unmoving in his chair. Corvus's mind raced, searching for the right words, a way to gracefully pivot. Then, Hugo reached into his pocket and placed a silver object on the table. It shone, the light catching Corvus's eye, drawing him forward. It was a badge? Corvus studied it deeply, mesmerised by its intricate details. He recognised the stylised design on the badge.

"Do you know what this is?" Hugo asked.

Corvus kept studying the badge as he responded. "I have never seen something like this before, but it is Solarian."

"What if I do this?" Corvus looked up and saw Hugo sit up and reach for the badge. He turned it over, and Corvus heard a slight clicking sound. Suddenly, the shine dimmed from a section of the badge and… No. It can't be. Corvus looked from the badge to Hugo, then back down to the badge. This is impossible, Corvus thought, why... how... no!

"Where did you get… this?" Corvus's voice was stern.

"A man by the name of Motley had this on him," Hugo said as he observed Corvus's reaction.

"What in Chronos's name was going on?" Corvus whispered.