III. Kurosawa Tomoe put a hand over her forehead, breathing deeply. She gave a quick once-over towards the two priests seated across the table in the sitting room of her small rented apartment, situated in the fringes of Prontera. Her hooded eyes gave away only a flicker of a crimson shimmer unique to her eyes.
“I do not feel anything amiss in the waking world, Fathers,” she said in her soft yet steely voice. “Forcing me to close my eyes and sleep while sitting upright would not do wonders.” Her hands were folded in her lap, her expression guarded.
“I’m sorry, Sister,” Dylan said contritely. “It is only now that we have dealt with someone of your Gift—”
“This is not a gift, Father.”
Maraksus tsk-ed. “With all due respect, Sister Kurosawa, we are sorry for any misunderstandings we might encounter from now on, but could you let us just shove it aside for later and try to help? You’re not going to do this for us, or for the Faith.”
“We ask you for your help in behalf of the whole of Prontera, and possibly of Rune-Midgard,” Dylan finished for Maraksus. “Well?”
Kurosawa stared at the two of them with hooded eyes, seemingly to assess their worth. “Very well then. I trust Sir Allicran has mentioned to the both of you about the nature of what you call my Gift,” she said, voice clipped. “What did he tell you?”
“That you dream certain events happening related to the Doors phenomena, before they even happen,” Dylan said. “Most notably, the infestation in Morroc.”
“That is close enough,” Kurosawa remarked as she shook her head, her raven tresses moving with a shimmering sheen. “But not quite. I dream about events. Yes.” Her lips curved in a secret smile, whose meaning could not be deciphered by anyone but herself.
“And—?” Maraksus’s voice trailed off, looking at the dark acolyte, waiting for her to expound.
“And nothing more,” Kurosawa said curtly. “I believe you have overstayed your welcome, Fathers. Good day.” So saying, she stood up and walked over to the front door of her small apartment, opening it.
Taking cue, the two priests left the table and started to leave, Maraksus muttering something about “bitches” under his breath. They were just about to through the doorframe when Kurosawa called their attention.
“A black mist will cover Prontera not long from now,” Kurosawa murmured, looking at them sideways, half-hidden behind the door. “But tell Sir Allicran that he could not do anything about it.”
“What—what do you mean?” Dylan asked, alarmed. The acolyte did not show any inclination to answer, prompting his companion to demand.
“What is this? Do you even care about what happens to the whole of mankind?” Maraksus spat. “Or are you one of those who are responsible?!”
“I am merely speaking the truth, because I know,” Kurosawa answered coolly, closing the door shut in front of them.
The two priests were left standing, staring at the door dumbly for quite a long while. “That was cold,” Maraksus finally said, his brows raised, breaking the momentary silence.
Dylan snorted, then chuckled as he turned and walked to the paved main street. “Don’t tell me she piques your interest.”
“Wait—hold that thought,” Maraksus said, looking as if a most brilliant idea occurred in his head. It did. “You…you’re brilliant, Dylan!” he said, eyes gleaming. He quickened his steps to catch up with his partner, and looked behind him briefly to make sure Kurosawa’s apartment was well out of earshot.
“Do tell.”
Maraksus smiled, licking his lips. “Does the term agent provocateur ring a bell?”
