The Thief and the Skull

~Four - Lord Ordin~

Amber halted, her breath catching in her throat. Before her, a stone path unfurled, beckoning her forward, curving through a stunning rose garden—a vibrant tapestry of colour bloomed in joyous profusion. Roses of every imaginable hue—crimson, gold, blush pink, and deep violet—perfumed the air with a sweet, intoxicating fragrance.

Beyond the garden lay an open courtyard leading to the grand entrance of the Lord of Earth’s mansion. For Amber, accustomed to the stark lines and manufactured perfection of the urban jungle, this floral, earthly beauty was a revelation.

Amber squinted against the throbbing pain behind her eyes and peered closer. The mansion was even more beautiful than she had initially thought. Rough-hewn stone, carved from the very mountains on which it stood, formed a mosaic backdrop against the building, blending with the surrounding terrain. Like the mansion had sprung forth as an extension of the land itself. Vines, both delicate and tenacious, climbed the walls, softening the edges and adding a touch of wild beauty.

“Wow, this is beautiful,” she whispered, the words escaping before she could process the wave of emotion washing over her.

Beside her, Cricket continued his rapid-fire verbal tirade, this time impressing and irritating Amber with his knowledge of minerals and formations as he rattled off their names.

Goose casually leaned against Lucile. The girl had developed a strange fondness for the metal beast, stroking its chassis. This made Amber curious about Goose’s unusual name. While Cricket’s name matched his constant talking, she couldn’t help but wonder why the quiet girl was named Goose.

The mansion’s colossal doors burst open, unleashing a torrent of iron-clad guards. The clatter of metal echoed across the courtyard as a terrifying triangle of silver formed around them, each man armed with a sword and wearing a grim, unwelcoming expression.

“Well, that’s a warm welcome,” Amber quipped, hoping her sarcasm wasn’t lost on this intimidating reception committee.

“It’s not that warm,” Cricket chimed in, reaching to test the air temperature.

With a sigh, Amber shook her head. This place was going to take a lot to get used to.

Goose, composed, stepped forward and curtsied gracefully. “We seek the assistance of Lord Ordin. Amber is injured and needs to be treated, and,” she gestured to Lucile, “Lucile is broken and needs fixing.”

Amber shrugged, acknowledging the truth in the girl’s words. However, she doubted this backward place possessed the expertise to repair Lucile. If only one place here had the right amenities! What she needed was a way to get home.

The men remained as silent as the statues that had witnessed her thievery at the Regal Eagle Museum. Remembering the item beneath her jacket, she adjusted it, attempting to make it less obvious. A hush fell over the guards as a figure emerged from the mansion, his every step exuding regality.

“Lord Ordin,” Goose greeted, with a precise, almost theatrical bow.

“Lord Ordin!” Cricket chirped, the greeting a burst of energy compared to Goose’s controlled pronouncements.

Ordin descended the imposing granite steps, and Amber froze. This Lord of Earth was nothing and everything like she’d imagined. He possessed a slightly tanned, muscular physique, a testament to his connection to the earth itself. Gone were the flowing robes and ethereal glow she had expected. Instead, he wore simple, well-worn pants and a dark, almost black shirt that stretched across his broad shoulders. His hair, the colour of rich soil after a spring rain, was brushed back and unkempt, framed a face smooth and refined. But it was his eyes that held her captive. Dark, almost obsidian, they seemed to carry the weight of the world.

“Amber,” he said, his voice a low rumble that vibrated through the ground beneath her feet. His gaze swept over her, from the top of her head to the tips of her black boots. “I know everyone in the Earth domain, but you’re not from around here. Where are you from?”

A strange electricity jolted through Amber, momentarily short-circuiting her thoughts. She faltered, knowing that answering his question truthfully was impossible. She fell back on a tried-and-true tactic: changing the subject. “I’m sorry to barge in, but I need help, and these two children mentioned you could help.”

The atmosphere shifted. One guard, as stoic as any royal statue, stepped forward and brandished his sword in her direction. A prickle of unease crawled down Amber’s spine. Had she said the wrong thing?

Ordin seemed to notice her discomfort. “Forgive Trip’s… zeal,” he said, a slight, almost apologetic smile curving his lips. “He takes his duties very seriously. They all do. It’s expected of them.”

Behind her, Cricket’s nervous chatter erupted. “…I was watching the birds again, Lord Ordin, but not the blue jays, the little brown ones. I’ve been told they have secrets, and Goose thinks it’s silly, but I don’t know, maybe they do. When I found her, she was unconscious…” His voice trailed off into a mumble.

Goose rolled her eyes and gave her brother a gentle nudge. “Enough, Cricket.”

The guard, Trip, lowered his sword and rejoined the ranks, his eyes never leaving Amber. This was a strange place, full of unwritten rules and unspoken tensions. Goose seemed to know these rules. Maybe, when Amber had a free moment, she would ask the girl.

Ordin continued his steps towards her. He was an interesting figure, radiating power, and an imposing presence. Amber could tell by the way he held his head and studied her he was smart, not the street smart she possessed, but calculating and observant. She knew he could see right through her carefully evaded questioning, and navigating this encounter would require more than just charm and quick wit. This Lord of Earth was a force to be reckoned with, and she was stepping into his domain, carrying a secret, and if she wasn’t careful, he would unearth it.

The moment he reached her, his gaze finally landed on Lucile. Amber could see the sheer bewilderment etched on his face as he took in the sleek, metallic form. A wave of curiosity, almost childlike in its intensity, overcame his regal bearing.

“What is this monstrosity?” he asked, gesturing towards the motorbike.

“It’s a motorbike,” Cricket chimed in, ever the helpful companion.

His pronouncement earned him a sharp nudge from his sister, a silent rebuke for his bluntness.

Amber tightened her grip on Lucile’s handlebars, fighting down a wave of pure panic. Cricket was right, but how could she explain the concept of a motorbike to a world so clearly rooted in ancient times?

“This is Lucile,” she began, choosing her words, “my motorbike. It’s… like a metal horse. It transports me to places, just as a horse would for you, but she not working. That’s why we came to you.”

Before Lord Ordin could respond, the guard, ever vigilant, raised his sword. “You will address the Lord as Lord Ordin, or Your Highness!” he snapped, his voice laced with disapproval.

Amber inwardly cursed. She bit her bottom lip, a nervous habit that betrayed her anxiety. She was in over her head, and needed to learn the rules, the customs, the proper way to navigate this strange and dangerous world.

Lord Ordin, however, seemed more intrigued than offended. He studied her face, his eyes lingering on her lips for a moment that made her skin prickle.

“Where are you from?” he asked again, his tone now a touch softer.

The question hung in the air, heavy with implication. How could she explain in a way that wouldn’t trigger the guard? The fear was an icy knot in her stomach.

“I’m sorry, Lord Ordin,” she said, drawing out his name to emphasise her attempt at respect. “You wouldn’t believe me if I told you…”

The guard lunged forward, thrusting his sword in her direction. The cold steel glinted in the setting sun, a stark reminder of the instability of her situation. But Lord Ordin raised a hand, a simple gesture that silenced the warrior. The guard obeyed, reluctantly relaxing his grip on the weapon, though his eyes remained fixed on Amber.

He turned back to Amber, a faint smile playing at the corner of his lips. “You might be surprised…”

Amber was unsure what to make of Lord Ordin. He was an enigma, a puzzle she couldn’t yet solve. Was he dangerous? The way his guard moved suggested a deep-seated brutality. Was he kind? That fleeting smile offered a sliver of hope, but she knew better than to trust first impressions. All she knew was that she was a stranger in his world, a world steeped in unfamiliar customs and unspoken rules, and she had better learn to play by them, whatever they might be.

She conceded, knowing her survival depended on it. “I come from another world… one much different from this. It’s a world where machines fly in the air and drive on the ground. I don’t know how I got here, but here I am.”

As she expected, his eyes filled with doubt, that fleeting hint of kindness vanishing like mist in the sun. His persona hardened, the easy amusement replaced by a cold, calculating gaze. Even Cricket and Goose sensed the change, huddling closer to her.

“You lie!” he sneered, the word dripping with contempt. What had he seen in her expression? A flicker of fear? A desperate plea for understanding? Whatever it was, it had sealed her fate.

Then, with a swiftness, he reached out and grabbed the zip of her leather jacket, pulling it down with a rough yank. The Amerist crown tumbled out and clattered onto the ground between their feet.

Terror, cold and paralysing, flooded her body. In her world, a world she longed to return to, the crown was her salvation. Here? Here, she felt a chilling premonition—the crown would be her undoing.

Lord Ordin’s gaze was a vice, pinning her in place. “How did you get your hands on the Amerist crown, thief?” The word, “thief,” stung, a bitter echo of the desperation that had driven her, the memory of Loralie.

Amber froze, unable to move a single finger. How did Lord Ordin know about the Amerist crown? That was impossible. It was a relic from her world, a piece of history that surely had no relevance here. Or did it?

“Answer me!” Lord Ordin demanded, his voice a guttural growl.

From the gaping maw of the mansion’s entrance, a figure stumbled into view. He was hunched over, his back bowed under the weight of a thick, leather-bound book. The flickering flame of an oil lamp, clutched in his hand, cast dancing shadows on his form.

Almost as if responding to a silent command, more lamps lining the outer walls flickered to life, one by one chasing away the encroaching darkness. It was then that Amber realised just how dark it had become.

The man continued his advance, each step measured despite his apparent haste. Dressed in scholars’ robes of earthy green and brown, he was a figure of academia plucked from a forgotten library. The thick fabric swirled around his legs, catching the light and shadow with each movement.

“My Lord,” he said, positioning himself beside Ordin. He pushed large spectacles over the bridge of his nose. “My Lord, it’s the Amerist crown! I can’t believe it!”

Ordin turned to his confidant, his brow furrowed in exasperation. “I can see that, Ruben. But what I want to know is how this thief got her hands on something that has been missing for over a hundred years.”

A hundred years? The words hit Amber like a physical blow. Her hands flew to her mouth, stifling a gasp. The reality of her situation slammed into her with full force.

Ruben reached down and lifted the crown. He held it up to the light, his gaze intense. “This thief, as you have called her, doesn’t seem old enough, or, forgive my bluntness, wise enough, to steal something so valuable.”

Amber wanted to protest, to defend herself, but she was still reeling. Her crafted plan, her fragile hope for a better life, had just been snatched away. The thief had, ironically, become the victim.

Ordin’s unwavering gaze locked onto hers, dissecting her, reading the confusion and fear etched on her face. “Tell me, Amber…” he said, his voice dangerously soft. “Where did you steal the Amerist crown from?”