XXXV
Harry isn't used to wearing clothes that don't fit quite right, but Dimtr's spare trousers and sweater are good enough for now. He looks like a quiet young man with a bad haircut, which is fine—exactly the point. His hair's been flattened under a cap. His magic's muted. His flame, however…
Yeah. That one's harder.
Fon leads them through the city's winding alleys until they pass through an unassuming tailor's shop. It smells like dust and ironed linen. An elderly man watches them enter with no surprise—just a subtle nod—and pulls aside a dressing screen to reveal a staircase behind it. They descend in silence until they reach the room beneath. It's not large, but it hums with quiet power. Not the kind Harry's used to—the structured hum of wards and magic—but the raw, instinctual kind. Like wolves watching from the dark.
It's a Flame hub.
More specifically, the Assassin's Guild.
Harry's steps slow as he looks around the large space, filled with tables and chair where people are drinking as if they were in a normal bar. He wants to continue looking but Fon keeps walking, unbothered and, as Dimtr sticks close to Harry's side, he has to follow him, lest they rest behind. They continue walking until they reach a door. When Fon opens it, it shows a smaller room, dimly lit and lined with filing cabinets, desks, and a massive bulletin board that has far too many real knives stuck into it for Harry's comfort.
Behind a long wooden desk, a woman with short slicked-back hair and a cigarette between her teeth looks up. She's wearing suspenders and a green that doesn't quite match her indigo shirt. Her gaze goes from Fon, to Dimtr, then finally lands on Harry.
It sharpens.
"Fon," she says. "Didn't expect you here. Last word was that you were in China still, running away."
The Storm doesn't raise to her taunt, he merely takes a metallic card and passes it to her. "I need a message sent to Renato. It's important."
The woman raises an eyebrow and touches the card, giving it what looks like a poke, but Harry can feel her flames touching the small card, muttering, "Don't they always say that?"
Still, she grabs the card and passes it under a machine while her other hand reaches under the desk and pulls out a narrow black form and a pen that looks suspiciously like it's made of solid steel. "Sender. Message. Contact point. Optional return info."
Fon fills it out quickly, then gestures at Harry and Dimtr. "They will be able to retrieve the letter I receive. They're also being added to the free agent registry."
That gets a double-take. The clerk leans forward, gaze assessing, before a sharp smile forms in her lips as she hands them another form for them to fill. "Alright, names, ages, pictures, Flame category. No weapons declarations or real names needed since you're not affiliated."
Harry hesitates while Dimtr shrugs and writes his information like it's a survey at a university. He seems to hesitate for a second as he's about to write the name, but it's not more than a moment before he's returning the form. Harry kind of wants to ask him what did he write as he doesn't think he will put his real name. However he doesn't as he has a bigger problem to tackle. From what Fon's said, Skies are rare, after all. He doesn't know if writing his flame will put a target on his back. He can protect himself, true, but...
"Do I really need to put my Flame category?"
The woman stares at him for a beat. "We already know what you are," she says, too casually. "You just need to confirm it."
Fon's eyes narrow, and his smile stretches—sharp and thin.
"He can still write other flame," he says, voice low and almost amused. He's standing slightly behind Harry now, but Harry can feel the shift in posture. The change in pressure. The clerk must feel it too, because her pen stops moving midair as she answers, "Not if he wants his card to be done."
Fon leans forward a little, smile still in place, and murmurs to Harry without taking his eyes off the woman:
"We need to teach you how to hide your Flames. You're a Sky without bonds, after all. You don't the shackles and protection of being under an organization. That's rare here. That's… tempting."
Harry blinks. "That's bad, isn't it."
"Very."
Dimtr, still beside them, hums as the clerk takes a picture of him. "Why so?"
"It's like being a walking crown without a kingdom," the clerk says, smiling. "Everyone sees a chance to wear it."
Harry exhales through his nose. "Perfect."
Still, he steps forward. Looks the woman dead in the eye as he gives her his form filled with his real name, his age and his Flame type. He hesitated in writing his real name, but in the end he went through it as there's no history of him in this world.
Her lips twitch as she reads his form, like she wants to smirk but thinks better of it. "Smile for the camera."
A flash later, it's done. Then they have to give an imprint of their flames in a machine that luckily doesn't need them to be able to know how to use their flames. They just need to draw some blood, two drops, and put it on it. She explain how one drop is for their database and the other is for the card.
Twenty minutes later, she hands them each a thin metallic card, made of something that looks like a mix between metal and plastic. The names and flames etched into them shimmer faintly—enough to tell it's keyed with Flame. He hadn't notice before on Fon's card as he hadn't seen it close, but his own has an orange shimer to it under the light, while Dimtr's has a green one.
"You're now in the system," she says. "We've got hubs in major cities. Show the card, and you'll get access to neutral ground. Or information depending on the price."
"Anything else?" Fon asks.
"You'll get any reply Renato gives here, so better to stay close. Or send them to get it as you agreed to let them be able to read it." The woman eyes Harry one more time. "You ever decide to take on contracts or want to work for us, let us know. Sky Flames are… rare. Even untrained, you'd make an impression."
Harry doesn't respond.
They leave a minute later, and once they're out on the street again, Harry breathes easier.
Fon gives him a sideways glance. "We'll work on suppression tomorrow."
Harry makes a sound halfway between a groan and a laugh. "Please."
XXXVI
The hotel room is dim, lit only by the sunlight leaking through the curtains. Dimtr has curled up in one of the beds after dragging a pillow and notebook with him, still jotting down thoughts in barely-legible scrawl. They have decided to stay until Dimtr has to check out so as to give him time to write his ideas down before he gives his notes to Harry for him to put in his pouch later. Fon sits cross-legged on the floor, his eyes closed but not asleep, clearly meditating. Harry, still in human form now that he's decently clothed, lies upside-down on a plush armchair, staring at the ceiling like it might provide answers to the universe.
"Hey," he says suddenly, breaking the soft quiet of the room. "That thing you said… about me being a Sky without bonds. That's not normal, is it?"
Fon doesn't open his eyes. "No," he says, as calmly as if he were answering the weather.
Dimtr makes a thoughtful noise and sits up a little, pushing his glasses up. "You mentioned earlier how Skies attract others, true, but why is it rare for one to be a free agent?"
Fon hums softly, then finally opens his eyes. "They're usually poached," he says simply. "As soon as a Sky manifests, the underworld starts looking for them. A Sky is not just a rare Flame—they're stabilizers, after all. They harmonize with other elements, not just their six primary Guardians. A Sky offers balance to others under their influence, they're important."
"Which means," Harry mutters, "that people don't like it when one of us is just… floating around?"
"It's more than that," Fon says. "Without a Sky, Flame users start unraveling. There are no famous Famiglia or organization that doesn't have at least a Sky and there's a reason for that. Without Harmony, instinct kicks in for the Flame user and their personalities… intensify. The stronger one is, the more unbalanced one becomes."
Dimtr's eyes sharpen with interest. "What do you mean?"
Fon exhales slowly. "Flames reflect the mind. But strong flames… start to shape it. After a certain age, most flame users begin to lean into their archetype, and the more pure the flame one has, the earlier it starts."
"You're saying the Flames start molding them?" Dimtr asks.
"Yes. There are not many powerful free agents because not many have the patience for meditation, so it's 'easier' to be under an organization with a Sky in it. The Sky acts like the keystone of every organization because of that. Without a Sky… Storms become more obsessive. Suns burn themselves out trying to help everyone. Clouds grow violent or rootless. Mists get lost in delusion. And so on. Also, the stronger one is, the more difficult it's to find a Sky to fit them."
Dimtr slowly blinks, lips twitching upward. "So being a flame user is like a being under a strict horoscope… with the posibility of mood swings."
Fon gives him a mildly judging look, but Harry ignores them as he frowns thoughtfully. "And me? Can I stabilize people even if I don't know how to use my flames?"
"You can," Fon says. "An Element doesn't need to be bonded to a Sky receive Harmony. They just need to be in the presence of one, as that's enough to keep them from losing themselves."
Harry groans and drops a hand over his face. "Oh, great. And here I thought the phoenix thing was enough pressure, now people will be after me."
"Remember I said it wasn't a requirement for you to bond, or to accept other into your circle," Fon says, amused now. "You're strong, so you can do whatever you want."
Dimtr is scratching notes again. He ignores Harry's whining as he says, "Explain the archetypes. In more detail. I want to know how much I should panic."
Fon glances at him once, then gives in. "Fine. But don't complain when it gets weird. Though each flames falls under two categories: Classic and Inverted."
"Let's start with your Flame," Harry says, his voice sounding muffled from where he's trying to suffocate himself with a pillow.
"Well, Storms are obsessive. They burn hot and sharp and most times they have explosive tempers. Hold grudges better than anyone—except a Cloud. Their fixations can be anything. A classic Storm pour passion into their fixation and go overboard with enthusiasm. Inverted ones? They seek perfection. One mistake, and they'll do it a hundred times over until it's flawless. I'm an Inverted Storm."
Harry mutters, "It fits what you've told us about you. Your fixation are martial arts?"
"Mm," Fon agrees.
"Then we've got Suns," he continues. "They are restless. Physical. Always moving. They're healers, technically, because their Flames can heal. However, most push for growth, be it in themselves or in others. Classic Suns are nurturing—they want to bring out the best in everyone, even when it's not wanted. Inverted Suns, though? They only work with people they think are worth their time. And they will force you to improve whether you like it or not."
"Sounds exhausting," Harry says.
"They usually are," Fon agrees mildly. "Renato is an Inverted Sun, by the way."
Harry groans for a long while before he looks up. "What about the clerk?"
"She's a Mist," he says, and this time a faint twitch crosses his lips. "They're tricksters. Good at illusions and at bending the minds of others. Classic Mists meddle in everything, creating mischief like it's breathing. Inverted Mists are introverted to the point of caricature—projecting exaggerated versions of themselves because they're not sure who they really are anymore. She's a Classic Mist."
Dimtr actually whistles at that. "What about me? I know I'm a Lightning thanks to you, but not more."
"Lightning users are usually fast processors. Everything happens at once in their heads. Classic Lightnings are easily distracted, jumping from topic to topic. Inverted Lightnings get stuck. Hyperfocused. Tunnel-visioned. You'll never get them off a subject they've latched onto. I think you're a Classic Lightning."
"Okay, yes, that's me," Dimtr mutters.
"What about your sister, Mai. You told me she was a Cloud, I think?"
"She is. Clouds are territorial. Violent or passive depending on the polarization. Classic Clouds are aggressive loners—short tempers, vicious protectiveness. Inverted ones, like my sister, are rootless wanderers, unwilling to be tied down, passive-aggressive but just as dangerous when provoked."
Harry makes a face. "So… don't piss off a Cloud."
Fon nods sagely. "Precisely."
"Rains, like Juan, are diplomats. Gentle peacemakers. Classical Rains radiate calm, like walking still water. Inverted Rains? They absorb stress and throw it back out, usually as snide comments. They pick at people's nerves until everything breaks… and then they fix it."
Dimtr mutters, "Are we sure this isn't psychology with fire?"
"Actually, everyone has Flames so they tend to fall under one category or other, depending on their type. However, as they've not awakened them, there won't be any possibility for their personality to fix too harshly into an archetype, like a Flame user tends to do."
"Still." Harry laughs softly as he thinks of his friends and which Flame types they would be. "That actually explains a lot about some of the people I've met."
Fon finally looks back at him. "You, as a Sky, stabilize all of that. Without bonds, your Flame resonates wild. That's why people notice. Why they want to claim you. And why some Flame users will act out around you."
"…Great," Harry says, mood falling as he collapses back onto the armchair. "So I'm a walking group therapy session with wings."
Dimtr snorts. "More like a living gravity well. I'm sure all the chaotic ones will come orbiting around you."
Harry groans into his hands. "Why am I always collecting weirdos?"
Fon gives him a deadpan look. "Are you calling us weird?"
Harry throws a pillow at him.
XXXVII
The early evening chill slips through the half-cracked hotel window, threading between suitcases and notebooks, catching on the edge of Harry's traditional chinese robe, the only one that doesn't burn whenever he shifts. He kind of wants to ask June how she made it, but he won't return to the Triads just for the clothes. No sire.
Dimtr adjusts the satchel half-filled with papers and a Mafia card before closing it and giving it to Harry, who quickly places it inside his pouch. He's slouched, no longer the sharp figure he made when in their Assassin Guild visit, but someone who could slip right back into the controlled monotony of the space station.
"I wish I could go to Italy now," Dimtr admits, straightening his cuffs. "There's… more to learn. But I've pushed it already. The station might have let me disappear for an entire day, but two? It'd be suspicious."
"You've already done enough," Harry says, his tone calm but firm. "I wouldn't have made it past Yongquan without you."
Dimtr snorts softly. "Yes, because it was definitely me who turned into a firebird and terrified a Triad leader."
"A magnificent phoenix, you mean."
"But," Dimtr ignores Harry's grumbles and continues, quieter now, "thank you both, especially you, Harry. For not dragging me into this adventure. And for letting me see more of this world than I expected I'd ever get to."
"You're not out of the story yet," Fon says—his voice soft but clear.
"That's true," Harry says, nodding as he looks between the two tall men. "We'll be waiting for Renato's message. And I'll visit as much as I can."
"You will?"
Harry nods. "I've told you already—I need to be familiar with a place or a person to travel there, so you both won't be getting rid of me so easily. I could drop in on you wherever you are."
Dimtr's brows furrow. "But what if I'm being watched—"
"I'm a bird," Harry says simply. "People ignore birds."
That earns a short laugh from Dimtr. "You're a flaming bird."
"I can be stealthy when I want to be," Harry smirks as he pats his arm.
Fon steps closer then, holding out a hand. Dimtr takes it without hesitation, their grip firm.
"I'll see you less frequently, so stay safe," Fon says. "Keep your head down until you hear from us. If anything feels off—burn everything and vanish."
"I planned to," Dimtr says dryly.
He turns to Harry next, pausing for a second longer. "Seriously. You're going to visit?"
Harry nods once. "I promise. To check in. Talk. Bother you when I'm bored. All of it."
A beat. Then, quietly, Dimtr says, "Good."
There's no hug—none of them seem to be particularly good at that sort of thing—but there's a pause, heavy with meaning. It's there until Harry watches from the window ledge in his phoenix form as Dimtr disappears into the crowd, another, smaller satchel bouncing lightly against his hip. A lone figure walking into the gray city, back toward the world that he still half-belongs.
Once he's gone, Fon glances up at Harry. "You're going to miss him."
Harry doesn't answer at first, but his wings fold slightly tighter against his sides.
Yeah, he is.
But that's okay. Because now, he can go to him.
Whenever he wants.