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“Is there a reason we’re meeting here?” Arimus asked Orson. “I mean, I love the place. It’s very cozy. But I was under the impression that we would be meeting with all of the other officials.”
“I’m afraid not,” Orson said, reaching down to the glass coffee table, picking up a tiny cup of tea and bringing it to his lips. Arimus waited patiently as he tried to ignore the rays of sunlight shining through the blinds and directly into his eyes. He had never seen blinds in a Paragon home before, but now it seemed as if they were becoming more commonplace. He wasn’t sure if it was because people didn’t want to see the Sages or that the sun was becoming brighter.
“Then what is this?” Arimus asked, fidgeting on the red plush couch. Orson sat on the far side of the couch watching the Sage from the corner of the eye. He put down his tea, clinking it against the saucer, and then crossed one leg over the other as he stared out into space.
Arimus followed his gaze to the various paintings hanging on the wall. There was a piano in the far corner of the impressive sized living room, a few other couches, a rug that would invite one to sleep on it—it looked so comfy, and an buffet filled with different tea cups, kettles and plates.
“We’re waiting for someone,” Orson finally said. Arimus swallowed the lump in his throat as he kept his eyes on the paintings—blots and splashes of color thrown about the canvas. “I’ve always loved these,” Orson replied.
Arimus swiveled his head toward him. “Excuse me?”
“I said I love these kinds of paintings. True art, if you ask me.”
“How so?” Arimus asked, not looking to offend.
“Because they are like a blank canvas in a sense. Of course, with a literal blank canvas, the viewer is forced to fill in the space. That’s a completely different feeling than what is happening right now.”
“And what is happening right now?”
“It’s bringing out who you are through and through. Because there is something on the canvas, you have to bring about your own interpretation, and because it’s so formless, that interpretation will reveal more than intended. If I was to say this was art, for example, your answer would tell me a lot about yourself. If you’re cultured, we would speak further on the matter. If you’re not, it’s just further proves that we have nothing in common. But do you want to know what I love most about it?”
“What?”
“How your opinion matters so little in the end. You can say whatever you like about the painting, but my thoughts on it are all that matters as I am the owner and the artist. Not only do I tell everyone what it is and what to think about it, but I can change the meaning to my tastes on any given day. That blue splotch? That’s a dog. Tomorrow it may be a cat. Or an apple. When I’m in the mood, I imagine it to be the head of James.”
Arimus kept his body still as he listened attentively.
“See?” Orson replied, reaching down to pick up his tea cup. “My opinion is all that matters.”
“And what does this have to do with what we’re waiting for?”
“Because I own Paragon,” Orson said. “My men and I. The King is supposedly in charge, but that can change as easily as this painting. See, when people die now, there’s this nasty habit the body has taken on—it leaves no trace of what happened to it. It just turns to ash and then disappears completely. So if the King was to suddenly be murdered, who’s to say he wasn’t sick? Who’s to say he hasn’t turned into a blue splotch?”
“This is rather bold of you...to tell me all of this.”
“Well, I know how much the Sages dislike the King.”
“Are you saying that you believe in what we stand for?”
“Ah, I see,” Orson said excitedly. “And I’m just feigning my hate for you in public?”
“Right.”
“Wrong,” Orson scowled, putting down his cup. “I hate the Sages. Or to be more precise. I hate you and your little cult. Not that it matters. You have your opinions, but really, you’re lucky that they’re even expressed. You’re fortunate that you even get to keep your tongues.”
“Again...a bold thing to say considering we’re the best hope Paragon has to defeat Cimmerian.”
“So delusional,” Orson sighed, shaking his head. “Allow me to reveal to you my take on the matter at hand. Gideon, can you please come out now?”
A door opened from down the hall, and out stepped the Sage that had given Arimus and his friends so much trouble. Arimus rose to his feet and Orson rolled his eyes.
“If anyone fights in my house, I will be forced to burn down this entire city just to wipe the memory clean. You don’t understand. Beauty is all we have left in this increasingly ugly world. No thanks to that little offcomer, Bastion.”
Arimus sat back down cautiously as Gideon walked toward them. He sat down by the wall across from them, right under the painting that Orson admired so much. Arimus took a deep breath. This wasn’t good.
“You seem anxious, Arimus,” Orson replied. “Tea?” Orson offered Gideon. Gideon shook his head and cleared his throat. He barely acknowledged Arimus’ presence, and the way he folded his arms and his eyelids fluttered, it was like he was bored.
“He’s the one that attacked us earlier,” Arimus said.
“Oh? I didn’t hear of this,” Orson said with raised eyebrows. He lowered them before Arimus could continue. “At least, not from you.”
“You’re working with this man?”
“Oh, stop acting like he’s the enemy. He’s no such thing. Cimmerian is the true evil. Gideon is simply a dissenting opinion against your own beliefs.”
“That’s a bit of an underestimation.”
“Is it? Are you sure? What if Paragon backs Gideon, his Sages, and all that they stand for in the next couple of minutes? What then? You’re supposedly part of Paragon so what does that make you all of a sudden? Oh yes, that’s right. It makes you the dissenting opinion.”
“Is that what’s happening? Mutiny against the King and changing of the guard?”
“Maybe,” Orson said. “It hasn’t exactly happened yet.”
“I could tell the King.”
“Yeah, good luck with that.”
“And what if Gideon turns against you?”
“He won’t, for I believe in his vision. You see, he can do whatever he likes once the King is dead. All I care about is preservation of the beauty. Something that the King doesn’t understand. If he doesn’t have a capable army to fight against Cimmerian, then things will be destroyed. If you and your inner circle of Sages aren’t stopped, you will destroy our culture and our way of life. Both parties are guilty. Both the Sages and the King don’t want Paragon to revert back to Paradise. I’m so sick of saying the word Paragon, it’s sickening.”
“And the general population?”
“They want Paradise, not Paragon. That’s all they care about. And from what I’ve heard from Gideon, so do you to a degree. You just want to be left alone and sit out from the fighting. So why don’t you? Just let Gideon end your life. And you will truly be at peace.”
“I won’t.”
“But what else do you have to live for? Your Ashalynn is gone. Your Sages are stronger than you are. You have no stake in Paragon. What is there to live for?”
“I’m still trying to figure that out...but I still have the authority to decide whether I die or not, and that time is not now. Not while I’m needed.”
“Needed,” Orson mocked and scoffed. He turned to Gideon. “Gideon, could you talk some sense into this man?”
“He’s with James,” Gideon muttered. “I have nothing good to say to him.”
“Oh my,” Orson shuddered. “That was cold. Well, can’t say I didn’t try.”
“Why am I here?” Arimus asked. “What’s the point of this meeting?”
“It adds to the suffering,” Gideon replied. “Because you will see firsthand how little you matter in this world, and how little you can do to change that fact. You have been untouched so far, but that will change. Most of your friends are away. Those that didn’t leave have been sent out on missions.”
“They will return.”
“They are sitting in a cell,” Gideon spat. “Right in the heart of the Delilah mountain. They have failed in persuading the people to their cause.”
“Oh no,” Orson said. “Then...wouldn’t that mean the Sages are to face exile? That was the agreement, wasn’t it?”
“You probably had your hand in ensuring it went that way,” Arimus replied.
“Or the Delilah didn’t want to join hand in hand with the Sage that ruined their way of life.”
“You have three days to vacate the Sage Academy,” Gideon said. “Every single one of you. After that, my Sages and I are moving in. Any old ones that stay behind will be executed. In the meantime,” he said, turning to Orson. “I’ll be going to Delilah to repair the damage the Sages caused.”
“That’s excellent,” Orson said. “And unlike James and the others, I have full faith in your abilities.”
Arimus started chuckling to himself.
“Um, what is it?” Orson asked. “I like a well-told joke.”
“Just the pretense,” Arimus said. “It’s obvious that the two of you orchestrated all of this together.”
“And how would you know that?” Orson asked with a wide grin. “Please, tell me your opinion.”
“I’ve had my eidolon out the whole time,” Arimus said, leaping to his feet. He unleashed his windmill eidolon and sprinted toward Gideon who didn’t move an inch. Arimus cocked back his arm and felt a thin hand wrap around his wrist. Before he could assess what was happening, Orson grasped him tight and yanked him back. Arimus spun around and tried to cut through Orson, but the King’s official blocked the blow with a giant axe. Arimus’ mouth gaped open upon seeing it.
“You made me unleash my ugliness,” Orson snapped, pushing Arimus back. Arimus took a few steps backwards and stared at the humongous axe in Orson’s hand.
“How long have you been a Sage?” Arimus asked.
“I’m not a Sage,” Orson said in disgust. “I can make an eidolon, but that hardly makes me one of you creatures.” He sheathed the axe into his abdomen and began wiping his hands across his chest. “Ugh. Such ugliness.”
“You have a lot more to worry about than us right now,” Gideon replied. “Why don’t you take that eidolon of yours and extend it outwards.”
Though reluctant, Arimus obeyed and stretched his windmill shaped eidolon toward the window.
“Altostratus is on the verge of attack,” Gideon said, confirming what Arimus felt. People are already being murdered along the wall. Soon it will spill into the city itself.”
“Cimmerian?” he asked.
“A little. But not all. Tell me...who’s watching Chloe at the moment?”
“No,” Arimus gasped as he turned to face Gideon, but he was already gone, having sprinted out of the room. He faced Orson and pointed his eidolon toward him. “We’ll finish this later.”
“Finish what?” Orson scoffed. “The painting is complete.”
“We’ll see,” Arimus said as he ran out of the living room, through the kitchen, and out of Orson’s home.
His eidolon was shrieking with the amount of information flooding through it. But the worst of it only confirmed his fears.
Though there were a few groups of people running around with compositions he didn’t recognize, the main culprit of the bloodshed was unmistakably his dear friend.
The woman in the green sundress.
