Chapter 121
Arya paused for a moment, giving Nirma time to digest his words, then added in a softer tone, almost like a whisper.
"En als er iets met die valse dader gebeurt, als er bijvoorbeeld een ledemaat boven een hete vlam wordt gehouden, dan zal het Abnormal dat we hebben gevangen hetzelfde voelen. Dat zal hem dwingen te doen wat wij willen."
(TL: And if something happens to that false perpetrator, if one of his limbs is held over a heated vessel or something similar, then the Abnormal we have captured will feel the same. That will force him to do what we want.)
Arya pulled his body back, giving Nirma space to respond, while in the distance the walls of Theodosius began to appear faintly on the eastern horizon that was starting to brighten.
In the dimness of dawn creeping along the eastern horizon, Nirma pulled the reins of the black horse until it came to a stop in an open field not far from the main road to Constantinople.
She dismounted with a nimble motion, followed by Arya who quickly freed himself from the horse's back, then walked forward to face dozens of the Prefect's soldiers who began to surround them in a semicircular formation.
Nirma raised her hand, signaling the soldiers to dismount, and instantly the dozens of uniformed men obeyed, standing before her with questioning expressions.
"Soldiers," Nirma began, her voice firm and clear in the cold morning air, "we will conduct a brief briefing before returning to Constantinople. There are several important matters you must understand regarding the investigation we have conducted so far, especially concerning the suspects we once suspected."
The soldiers listened attentively, occasionally nodding, while Nirma continued speaking at length, summarizing the investigation, explaining the reasoning behind each decision, building the narrative they would carry back to the Emperor's palace.
Behind the crowd of soldiers fixed on Nirma, Arya moved quickly yet discreetly.
He crouched on the dusty ground where Leontios had lain earlier, his eyes sharp as they examined every inch of the surface.
There, among small stones and clumps of dry soil, he found it.
A thin strand of brown hair that had accidentally fallen from Leontios' head when the man writhed in pain hours earlier.
Carefully, Arya picked up the strand, pinching it between his thumb and forefinger, then from beneath his upper garment he pulled out a small bottle containing an unknown clear liquid, a substance that shimmered strangely under the growing light of dawn.
His hands did not tremble in the slightest, his movements precise and practiced, like someone who had done this thousands of times before.
Arya brought the tip of Leontios' hair close to the mouth of the bottle, held his breath for a moment, then carefully dropped the liquid onto the strand.
One drop, two drops, three drops.
The hair absorbed the liquid quickly, pulsing faintly, changing color from brown to silvery.
Arya released his grip, letting the strand fall to the ground, and in the blink of an eye, something impossible unfolded before him.
From the point where the hair fell, a thin mist began to emerge, swirling, forming, solidifying, until within seconds, a human figure stood there.
Leontios Chalkeus.
The exact same Leontios who had just departed for the Balkans, with the same clothes, the same face, the same posture.
The false Leontios stood stiffly, his eyes empty, unmoving, like a statue waiting to be brought to life.
But Arya was not finished.
He raised his hand, summoning the special prison of the Abnormal unseen by ordinary eyes, and from the cracked air it appeared again, a rotating circular door revealing a dark chamber filled with transparent compartments.
From within, a dense black mass was pulled out, writhing, trying to resist yet powerless.
The Abnormal they had just extracted from Leontios' body.
Arya produced five thin threads that shimmered like starlight, then with swift movements, he drove one thread into the head of the black mass.
The mass screamed soundlessly, writhing violently, but Arya did not stop.
The second thread he thrust into the right hand, the third into the left hand, the fourth into the right leg, the fifth into the left leg.
Each insertion made the mass tremble intensely, but also connected it further to something beyond.
Arya slowly pulled the threads, linking them one by one to the body of the false Leontios standing rigid before him.
When the final thread was attached, the false Leontios' eyes blinked.
Once.
Twice.
Then his eyes opened, and within them was awareness, not Leontios' awareness, but the consciousness of the Abnormal that had just been pierced by the five threads.
Arya smiled faintly, satisfied with his work, while in the distance Nirma's voice continued explaining the investigation to the soldiers, unaware of what had just occurred behind them.
Dawn slowly crept across the eastern horizon, streaks of orange beginning to color the sky over Thrace as night prepared to fade.
Nirma stood firmly among the Prefect's soldiers who were still stunned by her long explanation, yet her sharp and vigilant left eye occasionally glanced backward toward Arya, who was finishing his occult task.
When the projection device finally shut down, when the waves of suggestion that had enveloped the soldiers' consciousness for hours slowly dissipated like morning mist, Nirma let out a relieved breath.
She felt the burden that had weighed on her shoulders lessen slightly, though she knew their journey was not over, that Constantinople and Emperor Alexios still awaited them with intrigues and questions they could not answer honestly.
In the distance, Arya led a figure walking with stiff steps, the false Leontios newly animated by five invisible threads, and Nirma could only watch with mixed feelings, satisfaction that the plan had gone smoothly, and dread that they had played god with the fate of a man who knew nothing.
The morning sky rose over Thrace, orange hues turning into pale blue as the black horse ridden by Nirma and Arya began to gallop away from the field where they had rewritten destiny.
The sound of hooves thundered along the stone road, blending with the wind that swept through their cloaks, and behind them, dozens of Prefect soldiers moved in neat formation, their horses marching in rhythm like an army trained for thousands of hours.
The false Leontios stood among them, tightly guarded by two soldiers who occasionally cast suspicious glances at the stiff-moving prisoner, yet they did not question, did not dare to speak, for before them Nirma and Arya were authorities beyond dispute.
Dust rose behind the procession, leaving a long trail along the road now warmed by the morning sun, while in the distance, the Theodosian Walls loomed in all their grandeur, awaiting the arrival of riders carrying a great secret within their chests.
Nirma pulled the reins slightly, slowing the horse as they approached the city gate guarded by weary soldiers after a night's watch.
The guards immediately saluted upon recognizing the Prefect's uniform and Nirma's figure as one of the palace's trusted investigators, and without many questions, they opened the gates wide, allowing the procession to enter Constantinople.
To be continued…