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𝗙𝗔𝗟𝗟𝗢𝗡 𝗧𝗢𝗥𝗥𝗘𝗡𝗧
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The Council’s underground labs breathed with quiet power, walls dark black marble covered by glass and floors a dark gray stone with rugs scattered about. The hum of magical machines and clockwork trinkets seemed to echo forever in the stone ribs of the vaulted ceilings. Most of Voxthain never saw this place—didn’t know it even existed—but Fallon had always thought it felt like standing in the belly of some great beast, everything alive with potential energy. And he was nothing if not one to rush into the said belly of a great beast.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀A cold blue light washed over his features as he leaned toward the first specimen case, where thin drops of blood hovered in suspension, caught in the preservation field like insects in amber. The fragments pulsed faintly with residual energy, as though the magic threaded through them hadn’t fully surrendered to death, trying to weave itself back together. Some particles gleamed brighter than others—tiny, jewel-like shards of crimson against the sterile glow, each one held apart so they could be studied from every angle.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fallon tapped the edge of the glass with the tip of his pen, the sound soft but insistent, then angled his head toward Casmir. “Lean in. Look at it.” His voice cut through the stillness, sharp with conviction. He gestured toward the faint shimmer where one cluster of suspended droplets seemed to throb unnaturally, their edges forming an almost perfect ridge of crystallization.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“The decay curve doesn’t match a spontaneous release,” Fallon stated, hazel eyes narrowed as he traced the formation in the air above the glass, following the uneven circle like a field soldier outlining a crime scene. “See this ridge? Right here?” The blood’s edges caught the light, glinting like fractured ruby. “It’s too clean. A natural dissipation would scatter, Casmir, leave jagged fractures, random degradation. But this—” Fallon’s voice dropped, steady, certain. “Why does this look more as if the goal was to siphon and death was just a side effect?”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀The pen rolled between his fingers as his hazel eyes flicked toward Casmir. He wasn’t asking for agreement, not really, as Fallon rarely asked for such things. But the silent weight of his stare said he wanted it all the same. He straightened, pushing back from the table with restless energy, hands already moving to scribble calculations on the paper sprawled between half-dismantled conduits and abandoned coffee cups.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀His jaw tightened, and he pressed the pen hard enough against the page to nearly snap its nib. “If I—or you—chart its mechanics and figure out how magic could have . . . taken magic . . . ?” Fallon stopped, pacing a short line before swinging back to Casmir, words spilling quicker than his thoughts could tidy them. For a long beat he held Casmir’s gaze, seeking that quiet flicker of understanding, of validation. It wasn’t just discovery he craved—it was recognition. Not the whispers of the elite who doubted him, not the murmurs of militia who thought science was too slow to matter, but the undeniable proof that he, Fallon, could do what no one else dared.
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⠀ CASMIR ⠀
The lab was Casmir’s home more than Asterath ever was. He had a cot in the corner poorly concealed behind a curtain and several changes of clothes were tucked in a drawer meant for lab equipment. His lab mates hadn’t mentioned the setup to Casmir, but he knew that they were aware that he spent more nights than not in their shared space. It wasn’t like Casmir had to stay there. He had an apartment only a few blocks away courtesy of the Council, but it was filled with cobwebs and dust. In recent weeks, it had gotten increasingly hard for Casmir to make the walk from the basement-level lab to his third floor apartment. His body was deteriorating at such a rapid pace that he needed the additional time in the night to work on a fix for his condition. No, the lab was where he belonged.
It had been especially busy in the lab in recent days with the shadowfog steadily approaching and the Militia hounding them to figure out the magic draining in their new murder investigation. Casmir knew his team was capable enough to solve both problems, but the Council and Militia needed to back off and give them the space they needed to work. If he was stuck upstairs in meeting after dull meeting, they would never get anything done.
The tap of Fallon’s pen against the glass that held their sample pulled Casmir from his thoughts. His mind was hazy with sleeplessness and pain, but still sharp enough for what the city needed. He watched the beads of blood pulse weakly with the last remnants of magic that the assailants hadn’t been able to pull from the victim. Fallon spoke and Casmir let him work through his process, humming replies in the pauses. He agreed that the blood was not behaving like any other sample they had studied from a deceased host. Magic left the body over time, dissipating as a person’s lifeforce drifted away with their consciousness, so any other sample of this age would have threads of magic pulsing with a steady rhythm even as it dissipated into the ether. But this? This was unnatural, wrong. The threads of magic had snapped, as if it had all been sucked away in one fell action.
That was enough of that. It unnerved Casmir to look at the blood for too long. He returned his gaze to the mechanism he was tinkering with, still listening to Fallon’s thought process. The piece before him was a prototype he was working on for the shadowfog situation—a canister to potentially suck up some of the shadowfog for him to study more closely in the lab. A gear on the release valve was stuck, and he pulled at it with tweezers while Fallon paced beside him.
If Fallon was movement and restless energy, Casmir was preternaturally still. He was quiet where Fallon was loud, contemplative where he was reactive. He had known Fallon long enough to trust his process of thinking out loud, only choosing to speak up when he thought his input was truly necessary. There was something in Fallon’s comment about magic draining magic that caught Casmir’s interest. Why did it have to be magic? They were scientists, engineers, men of metal and chemicals. They didn’t rely solely on magic to solve their problems.
“Why do you fall to the assumption that magic did this? You and I both know the power of machines. If magic exists within the body like any other lifeforce—blood, water, breath—then who is to say it could not be removed by force by a machine?” Casmir’s words were blunt and questioning, a tone that sounded harsh and unforgiving to those who did not know him, but Fallon would understand that he was not arguing, just pushing them towards the truth.
If anyone were to know the true power of machines, it was the two of them. Casmir had augmented much of his body with metal—a brace screwed into his spine to keep him from collapsing in on himself, screws in his elbows and knees allowing him to move more freely, bars down the sides of his legs to support his weight. He was only able to stand and work as freely as he did because of his modifications. Who was to say that someone else couldn’t have figured out how to drain magic the same way?
“I think we are the sharpest minds in the sister cities, but there could be someone hiding away somewhere acting in malice.”
𝓣𝓱𝓮𝓸𝓭𝓸𝓻𝓮 𝓚𝓮𝓷𝓷𝓮𝓽𝓱 𝓢𝓮𝓪𝓿𝓮𝔂
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Teddy had never felt like he belonged anywhere the way he did down here. Or, at all, really. He had simply never fit in. Not in his family, not in noble society, not in Cogworks. He had spent so much of his teen years stressing over what to do with his life. He had never had any interest in journalism, just one of the many ways he disappointed Father. The thought of being a Councilor had never appealed to him. And for some reason, actually pursuing a career in science hadn’t even occurred to him, until one of his teachers had suggested it. And suddenly, everything had made sense. Father didn’t approve of course, he didn’t consider it a “Seavey career”, or something like that. But could he really expect all of his sons to do the same thing? Surely, two out of three wasn’t so bad. And this - this was undeniably where Teddy belonged. He was still just an intern, but he was also still in school, and that would change. Besides, he didn’t feel like anyone was looking down on him which was honestly still such a new feeling. And he was in his element in the science lab, working on projects, especially when it came to working on inventions.
Here, he was recognized for what he was good at, and not all the things he wasn’t. No one was concerned with whether he was a good speaker or writer, and talking about science was so much easier than anything. No one was criticizing his clothing choices, or telling him he was too weak or quiet. And honestly? It made it so much easier to just… breathe. He was actually happy here. And he hadn’t even realized how unhappy he was before.
He headed up out of the Lab. He was supposed to meet the militia hacker, and bring her down. The sound of Fallon’s and Casmir’s voices faded behind him, as he climbed the stairs. This whole thing was disturbing. Not only was there a murderer on the loose, but the fact that the bodies were drained of magic? That was odd. He didn’t like it.
But right now, he had to worry about greeting the militia hacker. What was he going to say? He paused about halfway up the staircase, chewing on his lip. Hello. Hello was a good greeting for this situation right? Or would good evening be better? Good evening? Hello? Good evening. Hello. Or maybe just hi would be better? But wasn’t that too informal? And was he supposed to introduce himself? He should, right? Hi, I’m - Wait, how was he even going to introduce himself? Teddy? Or Theodore? And what would she think about his being a Seavey? Being a Seavey could be an issue. Hello. I’m Teddy. This way. Too simple? Did he need to say more? Or was he supposed to say less? He made himself continue up the stairs. Maybe he didn’t need to introduce himself? It was probably better to do it.Hello. This way. That wasn’t enough, was it? Okay, so he should introduce himself. Or… Hello. I’m Teddy. This way.” With a pause to let her return the greeting, and introduce herself too. ”Hello, I’m Teddy.” Pause. “This way.” That was good, right? Well, he was nearing the top of the stairs, he didn’t really have time to change it.
He reached the top, and waited a moment for her to show, then managed to get through the greetings. “Hello, I’m Teddy.” He gave her a moment to respond before turning back toward the stairs. “This way.” he led her down into the lab.
Voxthain’s citizenry rushed past, talking and laughter reaching Harlow’s ears, bringing a soft smile to her face as she sidestepped a few grinning teenagers. She didn’t mind, not when their grins lit up their faces and their shoulders sat relaxed. Not when people enjoyed life. That was something in short supply as of late–joy. So really, let people have it. Harlow knew better than many what rough, horrific, stringent upbringings could do to one, and so seeing the youth of today so carefree had a small ball of warmth glowing within her.
Though, there were not going to be any carefree youth–or anyone–unless the Shadowfog vanished. Threatening to consume the sister cities, constantly prowling towards them, a jaguar in the dark. Harlow had had her mind wrapped around the issue for a while now–was there any possible way she, with her strong abjuration magic, skills she had learned from a young age and perfected now as the Tempest Scribe, could help to stop or at least hold back the fog until the scientists found a way to end it? Maybe at first it was a silly thing to even consider, but she had longed worked her wards in unconventional ways, using them to break peoples’ codes, or their own spells, interrupting messages flowing between people like a blight upon a mushroom. If she could break the fog’s spread, or, Lantas, shield Voxthain and Asterath when the fog was near, find a way to bubble the cities until the shadows were destroyed…contain the fog, even…well, she owed it to the people to try. For years she had done bad things, and while most of it had not been with her full understanding of what she had been truly doing, sometimes, Harlow still felt ghosts of her past coming out to play.
Regardless, destruction left her feeling ill, and so when Commander Hayden had called her into her office and mentioned that Harlow should try and help the scientists meeting in the Lab Cavern in any way she could, Sergeant Hayden, as a Councillor, giving her permission, she had not been able to refuse. The commander knew Harlow’s skillset, and Harlow was no fool–anyone observant knew the woman had a prosthetic leg, and thus, the fog was a very personal enemy to her. Harlow had agreed to do what she could, despite her knowledge limited in the form of illusions, abjuration, and some hacking and communications skills with scientific objects. Still, she had to try–and besides. The Militia wanted to know exactly what was going on down there with the scientists and the shadowfog, and Harlow knew how smart it was to keep all groups on the same page–the science teams, the Militia, and the Council.
With one last look over her shoulder, dark eyes following the group of teens until they rounded a bend and disappeared, laughter lingering for a mere breath before it vanished, Harlow steadied herself and straightened her Militia coat. A few people in the streets took one look at her and backed up, freeing the path to the Council Building, but she simply nodded and stepped forward, gesturing for them to keep going. Some citizens, she had learned, feared her for the uniform she wore, but it had never sat well with her–she had caused enough fear growing up without meaning to. Harlow wanted to begin solving problems, not causing more.
So, she slipped down the street, at least relieved there were not too many people out. Dodging and weaving through endless shoppers grew tedious, so within a few more moments, she reached the building. Knowing an underground lab resided here piqued her curiosity, and her black brows furrowed as she scanned the area. Where was the entrance? Where was her contact? Hands tucked behind her back, thick hair in two braids down her back, she began to walk, pacing beneath the glistening stars and glowing lights of the Building. She–
There. A young man–younger than her, merely a student, if her guess on the man being a teenager were correct–with a mop of light brown hair emerged from a doorway to Harlow’s right, and she turned and walked over to towards him as soon as his eyes found her, seemed to find her uniform. Oh, but he was so young. Her brow furrowed once before she remembered not to stare, and smoothed the lines out on her forehead, replacing it with a small, pleasant smile. “Teddy?” She asked, and held out a hand for him to shake. “A pleasure. Harlow Suyin, Militia hacker. I’ve been sent here by my superiors and the Council. I presume you’re my contact?” Age did not mean much, and she knew that–one of her own Militia superiors was two years younger than her, for one–but nevertheless, seeing a literal teenager working on the shadow fog problem set her spine on edge. But, he had to know what he was doing to be down in this lab and on this project, right?
When he said this way, she nodded once, gesturing for him to lead the way. Descending into the labs, she found her jaw dropping. Brilliant light shone from somewhere Harlow couldn’t see, while the temperature dropped the further they went. Briefly, she tugged the sleeves of her uniform jacket a little snugger over her wrists, but the lights reflected dancing stars in her eyes as her curiosity arched like a dolphin from the sea. Cold or not, the place left goosebumps on her skin for an entirely different reason. A whole lab emerged, ceilings sprung and vaulted above her with the glass and stone combining to make an intimidating yet ethereal aura only something in Voxthain could attain.
Reaching the bottom, her gaze fell on the labs themselves and two men–scientists–already hard at work. Taking a breath, Harlow straightened, drawing her chin up but keeping her expression more open and pleasant. The work she did, no matter what it was, was always done as thoroughly as possible, and she was not about to screw this up. Nor did she want to intimidate or offend the scientist down here in case some of the old divisions she had witnessed in Cogworks sprung up here, too, where the more jock-like, Militia-destined kids would always show off their muscles and intimidate those who tended to prefer education and experiments. These men were brilliant, she presumed, probably the best Voxthain and Asterath had, and she was determined to make a good impression.
If anyone did not belong here, she presumed, it was her. “Hello,” she greeted both of them, nodding once, respectfully, to each, before holding her hand out again. “Thank you for letting me in here. I’m Harlow Suyin, Militia hacker. It’s a pleasure to meet you both. So, what’s the situation, where would you like me?”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fallon barked out a short laugh at Casmir’s blunt counter. Why do you fall to the assumption that magic did this? His grin sharpened, the sort that came from irritation and delight in equal measure.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀“Because everything in this city falls to the assumption that machines can’t,” Fallon shot back, pacing a short, jagged line yet again before snapping his gaze back to Casmir. “And maybe you’re right. Maybe it wasn’t magic. Maybe someone built a siphon somehow, but they wouldn’t be from Voxthain or Asterath. No, the cities rely far too heavily on magic,” he stated, no doubt in his voice. He—and Casmir, he supposed—were the most intelligent in the cities when it came to non-magical studies and ideas. There would be no way someone could do such a thing without them.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Fallon leaned on the table next to Casmir who was tinkering with items in front of him from his chair, eyes darkening with thought. “Neither option is to be ruled out.”
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀He barely noticed Teddy slipping out until the boy returned with the uniformed woman at his side. Fallon turned, eyes on the movement, eyes flicking over his apprentice first as he leaned backwards on the table, elbows propped. The poor boy’s ears were red, which led Fallon to assume he embarrassed himself somehow or said something odd, but he’d clearly managed. Fallon’s mouth twitched, halfway to a smirk, but he kept any verbal tease to himself—for now.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Instead, Fallon’s gaze shifted past Teddy to the woman. The uniform caught his attention first, offering all sharp lines and a polished appearance, though the two neat braids trailing down her back softened the severity. He found himself quietly approving of the balance she struck in her appearance—practical, composed, and not without thought. His grin spread, lazy and confident, though he made no move to rise from where he lounged against the lab table. Let her cross the distance first.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀When moved further into the room with Teddy, Fallon extended a hand, palm steady, voice edged with that familiar cocky ease. “A pleasure to meet you,” he offered, voice charming and low. “My name is Fallon.” As a loyal defender of formalities and chit-chat before getting into it all, he didn’t quite tell her where to go, what to do, or what they were doing. Typical.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀Beneath the swagger, though, sat a flicker of something rarer from him—a moment’s respect, because he’d already heard enough about Harlow Suyin to know she was sharp and far too intelligent to dismiss. He respected intelligence and appearance, so he knew they’d get along quite well.
⠀⠀⠀⠀⠀As he waited for Harlow to respond, Fallon tilted his head just slightly, eyes sliding toward Teddy. He offered a gentle, somehow mentor-like wink—subtle encouragement wrapped in his usual cocky ease. With a small jerk of his chin, he motioned the boy closer to the table, toward the suspended vessels glinting under the lab’s lights. The message was wordless but clear—watch, learn, and take your place in this conversation. He would not mentor a spineless shrimp of a boy.
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⠀Despite knowing that they were due for their meeting with the Militia and that he had just sent the intern, Teddy, up to fetch the hacker the Militia had sent, Casmir could feel himself getting lost in the mystery of the mechanisms of magic removal. He and Fallon often found themselves on opposing sides of a scientific quandary, leading to heated debates and furious scratching of calculations at their workstations until they solved the puzzle of the day. Today, apparently, the battleground was whether magic or machine led to the draining of magic from the murder victims in the city. It was very like Fallon to hold an opinion and act like he could go either way on it. That way, he never had to be wrong, but Casmir knew him better than that. Fallon had a hypothesis he wanted to prove correct even if he wouldn’t bring the words to life.
“And therein lies the fallacy of your argument. The cities rely heavily on magic, but the world and all of its citizens do not. I certainly do not, and yet here I am in Voxthain.” Casmir knew his argument was sound, but there was more to it than just that. Fallon was assuming that the inventor or magician was a native citizen of Voxthain or Asterath when the cities were a hub for immigrants and refugees. The person behind it all could very well have been from anywhere across the moon. As the thought crossed his mind, Casmir turned away from Fallon and their bloody experiment to jot down scribbled notes before his mind moved on to the next thought. “Just because the draining occurred in the city does not mean the machine was invented here, nor does it mean that the inventor was born here even if they did create it within our borders.”
At Fallon’s last statement, Casmir snapped his notebook closed with a sharp thwap and turned to stand from his desk, grasping for his cane. Something about the words made him want to dive into a roaming lecture on the theory of science, as if Fallon did not know and understand the process of science just as well as he did. Every bone in Casmir’s body groaned in protest as he hefted himself onto his feet, leaning more of his weight on the cane than his deteriorating legs. The brace he had fashioned around his abdomen creaked as he turned, and the leg braces over each of his calves clicked with each step.
“Ruling out options is our entire purpose here, Fallon. I trust that you know this. It is paramount that we rigorously test each of our working theories to–”
A rattling cough broke through Casmir’s words, jolting him from his speech. As the cough made its way out of his body, Casmir’s lungs convulsed with the force of it, causing him to push against the lab table behind him for additional support to remain upright. The cough was thick and wet, mucous and spit forcing their way out of his mouth and into the handkerchief in his waiting hand. Casmir turned away from Fallon and the entrance of the lab to compose himself, coughing too hard to hear Teddy and the hacker’s arrival. Before he turned back, Casmir shoved the handkerchief back into his pocket and straightened his vested uniform. If there was anything other than spit in that handkerchief, he didn’t want to know and have to deal with it until he was alone in the evening.
A woman stood beside Teddy, definitely Militia from her dress and uncomfortably straight posture, but Casmir had missed her name. Fallon had transformed from the scientist Casmir saw as his partner to the cocky businessman he presented to the world, and Casmir fought the urge to step away from his schmoozing to pretend he had no association with the man. Not that Fallon’s outer persona bothered him, but it was far livelier than Casmir ever wanted to be himself. It was like Fallon had hastened a spotlight on himself, and Casmir wanted to remain far from its proximity.
“Casmir Gujić, lead scientist. Have you come with any additional information on the case? We have been waiting on the tox report from the latest victim and the magic profile on record. I would also like to know your thoughts on the mechanism of magic removal. You are a hacker, yes?” Casmir didn’t wait for Harlow to respond to anything he said before continuing to barrel on with his speech. She could catch up or the Militia could send someone more suited to the environment of the lab. “Teddy, you too. Tell me, what do you think could have drained the magic from this person’s blood? This is not a graded quiz—I would like your true thoughts on this.”
Over the years, Casmir had learned that the more eyes and minds he had on a problem, the faster it was solved. Each person had their own insight and assumptions, and putting more minds together allowed the different insights to counterbalance each other. Even Teddy, a child still in Cogworks, could offer observations with the potential to break the case wide open.
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Teddy fought to keep his eyes on Harlow Suyin as she returned his greeting. Was she staring at him or..? No, he was overthinking, people looked at each other when they talked. “Yes.” He didn’t know what else to say. He should reply, shouldn’t he? He took her hand after what was probably a second too long. Why was interacting with people so hard? How long were handshakes even supposed to last? He wasn’t used to them. He smiled as he pulled away, not sure whether he should say anything else. His eyes kept wandering as she spoke, which she hopefully wouldn't be upset about. He knew from experience that a lot of people found it offensive if he didn’t look at them while they were speaking. So he dragged his gaze back to her. He nodded. Was he supposed to say something? “Yes.”
He turned away to lead her down to the lab, chewing his lip. Hopefully that hadn’t been horribly wrong. Maybe he needed to try to interact with other people more often. But it never seemed to get easier, so what was the point of doing it more than necessary? He led the way down the stairs, back into the lab. Just being back down here in the cooler, darker area made him feel more relaxed. Yes, there were lights, but they weren’t Luminos. Besides, he had grown familiar with the lab since beginning his internship, and at this point, he felt more comfortable here than in most rooms on the Seavey estate. It was a place dedicated to the things he loved and was actually good at, where people actually paid attention to him for reasons other than mocking him, and he didn’t have to worry about running into Father or Tam. The presence of the militia hacker did still have him on edge, however. She, he was not used to. He didn’t really know anything about her, and there was no telling what she thought of him. And he was quite positive he had managed to mess up the introductions. He pretty much always did.
They moved further into the room, toward the two scientists.Casmir was coughing, and Teddy was certainly no medical specialist, but it didn’t sound good. He seemed to pull himself together as they approached, however. Suyin introduced herself to them, while Teddy hovered off a bit to the side. Fallon replied first; since he wasn’t speaking to Teddy, he let his eyes wander about the lab, landing on the blood samples in the suspended vessels. As Fallon finished speaking, Teddy’s eyes drifted over him in time to catch him wink, and jerk his chin toward the table. Teddy headed over, fingering the edge of his sleeve.
He listened as Casmir spoke to Suyin, then blinked when he addressed him. He was still getting used to being asked his opinion on things, and was still nervous about sharing them. But that was what he was here for, right? He would never be an actual scientist if he couldn’t do this. But he had been thinking about this question already, and it was a rather difficult one. What could drain the blood of magic like this? It was perplexing, for sure. “I mean, I’ve never heard of anyone using magic in such a way, but it might be possible.” He was, granted, not the most well-studied in magic. He knew what he had had to learn for school, and he was pretty good with metal manipulation, but aside from that? It wasn’t like he was well-versed in what all it could actually do. “However” he bit his lip “it could perhaps be some sort of machine.” That probably sounded ridiculous. Maybe it was just his own tendency to obsess over inventions that led him to such a theory. But was it really less likely than straight-up magic? “Maybe this was the work of technology, not magic. Or maybe a combination of the two. Some invention that can draw magic out of the human body. Kind of like drawing blood. But magic would be much harder.” He leaned in for a closer look at the blood samples. “Or…” Another possibility presented itself. Vague, but he might as well mention it, right? “Have we checked to see if there are traces of anything in the blood?”
As soon as he had asked, he was sure this was a stupid theory. But shouldn’t they consider all possibilities? But honestly, he had probably just listed the same possibilities they had already considered without bringing anything new to the conversation. But he also didn’t want to say too much.
