Chapter Text
The Fourth District is hardly a place that comes to mind when one speaks of the heights of Ravnica. Located far away from District Ten, and further away from any semblance of planar interference and/or good coffee, the Fourth District is a rather unassuming place of five precincts and a whole lot of nothing. There is absolutely nothing fascinating about the Fourth District, from the waterways spanning from Zonot sixty-four, to the Rakdos theater ranked seventh in personnel safety and retirement benefits in all of Ravnica (according to the Fourth District Times), even to the grand Orzhov basilica, Saint Velden’s, proudly boasting 3.75 APR financing.
The Boros Legion of the Fourth District is better known for hosting public potlucks than high-action arrests, and the Fourth District Times listed the city as having only a 14% chance of dead loved ones coming back as fungal zombies. A popular pet shop on Corner Street is run by a Simic couple, and could breed you any animal you could possibly think of. The city quotes most of its economic growth to a flourishing consumer base, becoming known as a spot for tourism and the safest district in all of Ravnica. Yes, in the Fourth District, people sit on their porches, reading the news and greeting those walking by. Most murders are accidental, and Izzet explosions only occur every other day.
No, the Fourth District is not somewhere to visit on vacation, not a hometown you look forward to returning to on the holidays, and certainly, most certainly not, a place where anything of importance to the rest of Ravnica occurs.
But there are always exceptions to the rules.
The rain that seems to plague Ravnica near-constantly pounded against the window as Argave looked out, a cup of Selesnya Fair Trade coffee fogging his spectacles more than the humidity looming outside. He looked out upon the people below, trudging through the soaking muck of the city streets as fast as they could in the horrid rain. An Izzet tinkerer stood on the street corner, trying to pitch a rain-repellent-apparatus to anyone who would listen, but no one would stop for long in such conditions. It had been raining for weeks in Precinct Three, and the weather forecast kept bumping back the deadline for sun.
Argave sighed, letting the curtain close as he returned to his desk. On the third floor of the Precinct Three Boros Garrison Wojek Branch, Argave enjoyed the amenities of such things like a hardwood desk and internal heating. The Senior Officer of the place, it was Argave’s job to look over paperwork, keep staff moving, and reflect on the legacy that had elevated him to such a position. Pseudo-retirement treated Argave well, with a desk covered in medals and statuettes, and a shiny bronze nameplate that boldly stated this was indeed the office of “Argave Havenport” . It was a nameplate that commanded respect, but no more than what was commanded by the man himself. Argave could catch his reflection in the peripheral of the window, a man of seasoned age, sporting equal amounts gray hair and bodily scars. A shapely beard outlined his face, and had ruined more than one romantic encounter in its stiffness. Argave wasn’t one for fashion, often stating that anything shinier than a zino belonged on a shelf, not a person. For that reason he wasn’t particularly fond of his glasses, gold-rimmed spectacles prescribed to him by a Simic doctor after an incident at the Izzet Boilerworks, the same event that took him off the field to begin with. They sat too roundly on his face, and they always felt like they would slip off should he move too fast. He had made amends with his ego in way of removing them outside office hours, but he was not so prideful as to pretend he didn’t need them. And either way, they were a much better option than the lizard eyes the doctor suggest he put in.
So yes, Argave worked for the Boros Legion, he days done being a beat cop and now sifting through paperwork, but seemingly skilled at whatever task came his way. A private office, a cup of coffee, and a mutual fund in an Orzhov bank that promised to secure his retirement in another three years. On the third floor he was removed from the rabble rousing and loud noise of the main halls, and as much as that pleased him, he was not used to the silence that fell when he entered a room. The respect from his subordinates was gratifying, but it was respect towards a man who was done making a name for himself, preparing to slip into obscurity. Yes, Argave was old, but he didn’t want to accept it. So long as his muscles worked, he would continue to dedicate himself to the Boros Legion, and even further then. For today, however, that service had manifested in a large stack of Azorius warrant papers, the ones he pretended didn’t exist as he stared out the window.
Another sigh and Argave looked at the first paper on the stack. It bled of bureaucracy and signatures in triplicate, paragraphs on paragraphs, all necessary before the Azorius would endorse the Boros to track down criminals and fugitives of the law. It was dreadfully boring, and Argave could scarcely understand what drew people to the Azorius Senate, but he understood the importance of it all. The Azorius Senate and the Boros Legion both had their hands in different pots, and skills in different niches, and although the Boros Legion was undoubtedly more efficient in every way, occasionally they would partner with Azorius members for aid in tracking down certain scum, and vice versa. The particular stack in front of him was a pile of names and figures, each one a different criminal that apparently required military force to apprehend. Each dossier carried a list of specific requests, down to the very number of fire bombs each embermage should prepare in case of combat. Still procrastinating, Argave flipped through several of the descriptions, reading the ones that caught his eye.
“Lazzik Phelderand. Goblin Male. Age 43. 3’10”. Wanted for wielding combustion engines without a license, accidental arson, unsupervised pyromancy, and public indecency. Member of the Izzet League, last seen at Drake’s Tooth Tavern in Precinct Two. Requisition for three Boros soldiers of proper repute, one firefist, and one fire suppression squad.”
“Krrik Grynell. Kraul Male. Age 25. 6’2”. Wanted for resisting arrest, possession of illegal substances. Member of the Golgari Swarm, last seen at Grynell Rot Farm near the Sanzda underriver. Requisition for Two Boros soldiers of proper repute, and one scorchbringer squad member.”
“Vallia Colima. Human Female. Age 5. 2’9”. Wanted under special advisory issued by precognition mage department office number 219. Last seen at Latllila Orphanage in Precinct Three. Requisition for twenty-four Boros soldiers of proper repute, four Boros reckoners under large species designation, and two Skyjec officers with commanding experience.”
Argave had to pause and look at that last one. He reread it. Either the Selesnya were defying approved coffee standards again or this was a warrant request for a child. And given the breakout of fungalfoot after last year’s ‘natural living’ festival, Argave had to guess it was the latter. Still, even a goblin could see the discrepancy so clearly printed on the paper. A borderline garrison for the apprehension of a single child in an orphanage of all places? Argave ran his fingers through his beard. The papers were clearly Azorius, and they didn’t appear to be tampered with. Argave had spent enough time in the field to identify a Dimir insignia hidden in the scorch markings of an Izzet welding explosion, and nothing seemed to say this was anything more than another piece of standard procedure. But still. Argave set the form to the side, shaking off the gut feeling with promises of coming back to it later. The pile of paperwork hadn't yet disappeared even after all his dilly-dallying, and someone had to provide work for the layabouts hogging the second story lounge. He sighed again, swung back the last of his coffee, and picked up a quill.
Argave was always the last to leave the compound, locking the large wooden doors with a key nearly as thick around as his thumb. The rain hadn’t stopped during his time at work, and Argave had dutifully cloaked himself in a simple robe, hoping the warmth enchantments woven into the cloth would keep him dry enough on his way home. The evenings of District Four were nearly drowned in the sounds of falling rain, and even the Gruul had stopped their attacks against precinct seven early in response to the weather. The only people out at such a time were those with nothing better to do, or as Argave referred to them, the Dimir. He held a deep hatred for the Dimir, something he kept on his shoulder since the reveal of his academy buddy’s true colors. It was part of the reason Argave refused to step outside without first donning an impressive set of metal plate, but it was certainly true he was only alive today as a result.
Argave’s apartment was located in Verllidian Heights, a complex overlooking the extensive lake of Zonot sixty-four. Associates asked him if he ever felt nervous living that close to a pool full of crab-beasts and squid-people, but it kept rent low and he enjoyed the scenery.
And besides, it was in walking distance of both the garrison and Hozlada Wholefoods, the best food stall and grocer this side of Ravnica. His usual stop for a nice, hot dinner, and today had no reason to be different. The minotaur who ran the place could see Argave coming from two blocks away, and he could already smell the baked cod and cabbage he loved being prepared for his arrival.
“Evening, Hozla.” Argave sidled up to the counter of the open-faced shop, trying to close in on the heat from within. “How’s business been treating you today?”
“”Ame as always, Argave. Bit less, I ‘ppose. What wit’ the rain an’ all.” Holza was an imposing minotaur a good foot taller than Argave, and the wife of Ladza, the ferryman. She had started the store as a way to offset surplus from her personal garden, but when Azorius lawmages came knocking for her unofficial grocer, she decided to double down, resulting in the birth of Hozlada Wholefoods, to everyone’s benefit. Argave had only seen her husband a sparse number of times, but the couple remained a bit of a beacon for everybody in the precinct, standing strong even during Orzhov realtor squeezes and Golgari moss-plagues. “‘Ere’s your regular, then. That’ll be ‘ifty zibs.”
“There you are. Thanks, Hozla. Couldn’t do it without you.” Argave counted out the small coins before passing them to Hozla’s palm, where they immediately seemed to shrink in size. The bag of foil-wrapped fish and veggies was hot in Argave’s hand, and the excitement of a pleasant meal held him like a prepubescent teenager running off to join the Rakdos. “See you tomorrow, then. I just hope this rain lets up.”
“”S all the same to me. You take care now, though. Don’t need my best ‘ustomer getting sha’ked sometime now do I?”
Argave nodded appreciatively at the warning, heading back into the rain, doing his best to keep the bag from getting wet. The mud of the street stuck to his boots, threatening to pull them off as he made his way north. This late in the evening, Argave looked to be the only soul out in such conditions, and he silently cursed whatever force controlled the weather. Eventually the large towers of Verllidian Heights came before him, offering him refuge from the unforgiving elements of the outside.
Argave’s apartment was a beacon to minimalism and order. A small lounge contained a leather couch, a hardwood coffee table, and a large glass case holding a lifetime of medals and newspaper clippings. A small bedroom and a smaller kitchen, the whole ordeal screaming of someone who clearly wasn’t intending to get married anytime soon. But that worked just fine for Argave, whose closest romantic encounter was with an undercity medusa six years ago. He set the food on the table before stopping by the bedroom, swapping his plate for a svelte smoking jacket and a brass pipe. Argave had gone on record saying there was nothing in the world nicer than baked cod with a relaxing side of smokeweed, and they were words he lived by. No longer confined by the stuffy office, Argave relished the small, peaceful moments such as these. Hozla’s cod was always delectable, and tonight’s smokeweed was particularly satisfying. He reclined in the couch, looking over at his case of achievements as smoke emanated from the corners of his mouth. An old suit of chainmail from his initiate days, headlines of famous arrests, a faded Izzet pictofoil of him meeting Tajic face-to-face. It was a case near bursting with the lifetime of a proud Boros legionnaire, and it filled Argave with both pride and anxiety.
It might be true, what the infantrymen said about his age, and it was certainly true many were coming to expect his retirement. Since the boilerworks incident, he had even been invited to be keynote speaker at the Precinct Three Veteran’s dinner. The smokeweed smoldered in his pipe, wisps of smoke gathering on the ceiling like the final breaths of a dying campfire. Fine, he thought to himself, Next month I’ll make the announcement. But before he was willing to come to terms with the unwilling end of his career, there were still some things he wanted to see through on his way out. Firstly, this strange Azorius warrant.
Agrave fished the paper from his knapsack, setting it on the table before him. Technically taking legal documents outside the garrison was a huge offense, but Agrave held the most authority there to begin with, and as a Wojek, he carried the right to launch independent investigations. He looked over the warrant a second time, chewing on the end of his pipe in unease.
“Vallia Colima. Human Female. Age 5. 2’9”. Wanted under special advisory issued by precognition mage department office number 219. Last seen at Latllila Orphanage in Precinct Three. Requisition for twenty-four Boros soldiers of proper repute, four Boros reckoners under large species designation, and two Skyjec officers with commanding experience.
Pragaz Offices precognition department office number 219 overseen by proceeding lawmage Marshal Crosse requests the support of the Boros Legion Third Precinct Wojek Branch in the apprehension of one Vallia Colima in fulfillment of the attached warrant and securing safety under District Four disaster avoidance guidelines signed in triplicate on the twenty-fourth of Cizarm. Requisitioned officers are to proceed in regulation with Azorius-Boros partnership standard 21-b in the aforementioned apprehension of the culprit. Upon confinement, the Boros Legion will deliver the culprit to Pragaz containment facility 1-A after a time no later than twelve hours after apprehension of the culprit. Culprit is subject to A5 restraining methods and warranted use of up to level B4 specialized armaments.
Culprit was last seen in registered home address, Latllilia Orphanage, Precinct Three, District Four, Fulmage St. 401.“
The document ended in a sea of different signatures, looking as though someone was trying to get this warrant passed as soon as possible. Argave reread the paper a third time, making sure it wasn’t just his vision failing him. Unfortunately, it was printed as clear as day; the Azorius were calling for the militarized arrest of a five year old orphaned child.
Argave sucked the last few embers of his pipe to their final conclusion. The Azorius had to be fucking mad, finally broken by the long years of bureaucracy and short coffee breaks. Argave wanted nothing more than to stride down to this ‘ department office 219’ and give them a piece of his mind, but it probably wasn’t a good idea to get court martialed this close to the end of his career. He let out a low groan, pinching the bridge of his nose as he tried to wrap his head around the whole endeavor. There was no way this could be a real emergency, but crazier things had happened, it was true. Who knows, he thought, maybe it’s a young pyromancer or something. Approximately fifteen percent of household injuries were results of magic manifesting in young children, after all.
Argave sighed again, rather unhappy to remove his comfortable robe and redress in Boros plate, but he would be damned if he was going to waste any office hours on such a request. He took a moment to make sure his warmweave cloak wouldn’t leave him drenched in the rain before taking off into the stormy night, grumbling as he disappeared into the dark.
Argave stood outside the tall, thin building, gripping the warrant in one hand and keeping the rain out his eyes with the other. Rain poured from the heavens above, drenching poor Argrave as he struggled to make sure he had the right address. A weathered signboard sat nailed to the door, barely visible in the wet evening sky. A part in the clouds let Argave get a momentary look as the moon shone down on the precinct. Fulmage St. 401, Latlilia Orphanage. It was certainly the place. Argave took a long breath before forming a fist, rapping his knuckles against the hard wood of the door. Hopefully someone was around to answer, or he was going to come down with mild hypothermia and severe frustration.
Argave perked up as sounds of unlocking came from the other side, the door opening ajar as someone peeked out from within. He couldn’t quite get a good look, but it seemed like the owner, or at least they were tall enough to be.
“Can I help you?” The voice was rask and tainted with the withers of age. And it didn’t sound pleased to see him.
“Good evening, ma’am.” Argave flashed a smile rusty with disuse. It had been, what, at least seven years since he had made a house call? He raised his free hand in a half-greeting that made it painfully clear how uncomfortable he was. “I’m Argave Havenport with the Precinct Three Boros Garrison Wojek Div-” Argave was interrupted as the door began to close, “WAITWAItwaitwaitwait Ma’am!” His sentence was punctuated by a cry of pain as his fingers jammed in the doorframe. He shoved the warrant towards the open crack, desperate as his fingers threatened to disjoin from the rest of his hand.
“IHAVEAWARRANT!”
The door slacked, sending him falling as his fingers suddenly slipped free. They throbbed in a color that was much too purple to be anything but extremely painful. The door was open, at least, and Argave looked up at the figure standing in front of him.
A woman, old and weathered, unbrushed gray hair and a smoldering cigarette in the corner of her mouth. Tattered skirt, crossed arms, and a glare to match as she stared down the unfortunate Boros officer. A long finger pointed at him in defiance while he was still too stunned to respond.
“Listen here, you white-haired sumbitch. I don’t know, nor do I care , what you’re doing here, but I fucking swear to Mat’ Selesnya that you’ll be missing those goddamn fingers if you dare to hold open my door again, do I make myself clear?!”
Argave honestly wasn’t sure to do, barely able to close his mouth in shock. Now that he had a clear look at the woman, it was true that she wore a faded Selesnya insignia woven into he dress. The Argave Havenport of the Wojek days would probably return the verbal assault tit for tat, slapping a pair of cuffs on this clear offender of civility. But the current Argave Havenport had a precarious hip he needed to consider, and his hand already hurt quite a bit.
“I….have a warrant, ma’am.” Argave rose to his feet, trying to brush off some of the mud now caking his lower half. “I didn’t mean any disrespect, but there’s a rather serious case that requires I make contact with someone at this abode….”
The Selesnyian woman sneered, spitting her cigarette into the mud. “I don’t know what kind of case that might be, but I would suggest moving it to the bottom of your ‘To Do’ bin, bud.”
“I’m not Azorius...Look, it’s either me or a full squad of troops coming later this week, okay? Let’s be cordial.”
“Troops?” The woman frowned, hesitating a second before ripping the warrant from his grasp. She held it millimeters from her face, scanning the document in frightening haste. Argave watched as she finished her analysis with a low growl, maybe a little too brash for someone running an orphanage. The warrant was thrust back into Argave’s chest with the same force as before, sending him stumbling a few steps back. “Fine. Come in. But I swear, if you disturb any of the children, I WILL make you pay.”
Argave tried to find an answer as she turned back, heading inside and leaving the door open for him. It was progress, at least. Argave carefully folded the warrant and placed it back within his cloak, following inside.
The inside of the Latlillia Orphanage was one of a historical building, showing its age in a way of well used dependency. It didn’t show the signs of a place in disrepair or financial distress, so maybe it was normal for old Selesnyians to dress like spinsters.
“Wait here.” The woman barked as Argave stood stiffly next to a particularly large grandfather clock. “The children are sleeping, I can’t have you clanking around with that armor and waking everyone up. I’ll fetch the child.” She left without another word, disappearing up some stairs to the next floor. Argave was left to anxiously drip water on the carpet in the hollow darkness and silence of the orphanage.
The living room he was standing in was rather well-furbished, he had to admit. Children’s toys littered the carpeted floor between tall shelves of books and careful decorations. Ferns lined the walls under spacious windows. A piano holding scripts for practice sat in the far left corner, the bench covered in a number of pillows in lieu of a high-chair. Argave wondered how it all looked in the daytime, such a rather lovely looking place under watch of such a dreadful looking woman.
Something in the corner caught Argave’s eye. A large bookshelf stood before him, its untouched books barred behind a collection of knicks and knacks. A small framed portrait of several people was placed in the middle, obscured by the dark of the room. Argave took a few steps closed, trying to get a clear look. A wooden frame engraved with winding tree branches encased the portrait, several people standing beside some child. Argave squinted, not quite able to make out the individual faces as he inched closer.
“Mr. Havenport.” A voice that could peel paint sounded from behind him, sending a shiver through his spine and a jump to his feet. Argave spun around, seeing the purse-mouthed Selesynian standing a foot behind him. She looked at him with the disapproving glare you would give someone when they didn’t stay standing next to the grandfather clock like they were told. Something moved next to her, and Argave looked down. A small dark child was clinging to the woman’s dress, staring back up at him with the wide eyes of a scared infant. “Introduce yourself to Vallia Colima, Mr. Havenport. I had to wake her up for this, after all. I was told you interrupted a dream of potion-sellers and pegasi, so you had better be good. ”
“Uhm.” Argave coughed, glancing between the woman and the child. Not wanting to make the matron any more cross, Argave put his new hip to good use crouching down to Vallia’s level. “Okay. Hey there, little girl. My name is Argave Havenport. You must be Vallia.”
“Mama says you’re here to take me away…” The girl shifted further behind the matron’s dress, trying to hide herself as she stared at him with those big blue eyes.
“Well, just for a little while. There’s some people at the senate that would really like to met you.”
“Mama says that means you’re my new daddy.”
“Is that so? Well…” Argave looked up at the Selesynian with a mix of disbelief and shock. The woman met him with the most notorious grin stretched across her wrinkled lips, setting her hand on Vallia’s head.
“That’s right, Vallia. Mr. Havenport her said he was serious and would do whatever it takes to bring you home with him.”
“Really?” Argave watched as the girl’s eyes grew to the size of dinner plates, a mix of awe and wonder as she slowly lowered the shield of a dress.
“I don’t remember discussing that .” Argave stood to his feet, hissing the words through bated breath at the smug woman.
Mrs. Selesnya took a step closer, never faltering with her smug grin and cocksure attitude. “You didn’t want to cause a scene, right? So adopt this child, take her out of this place, and no one will be the wiser. Unless you want to tell her you’re not her new father?”
“You bi...You are a wholly unpleasant woman, ma’am.” Argave grit his jaw as he stared into the woman’s unflinching eyes, burning with the internal anger of the depths of the Rakdos hell-pits. He let out a low sigh, crouching back down to the girl’s level. “That’s...that’s right, Vallia. I’m your new father. Why don’t we get you to your new home, alright?”
“You’ll need this.” The woman shoved a basket into Argave’s hands. Inside were blankets, clothes, toys, and what looked to be some food. “And here’s a cloak for the rain. Can’t have your daughter getting sick now, can we?”
“I..” Argave was quickly overcome as the matron continued piling stuff in his arms, muttering to herself. “Isn’t there some paperwork for this? This all seems highly irregular.”
“This will do fine.” The Selesynian held up the warrant that Argave had nearly forgotten about.
“Wait, I need that!”
“Not if you want to take your daughter home with you.” The old woman’s eyes flashed angrily as she deftly folded up the document. “This is mine now. You take your child and get out of here.”
“But..” Argave considered. He didn’t really need the warrant now that he had the child, but now if someone found he had removed the paperwork from the garrison…. He shook his head after a few seconds, “Fine, keep it. Come now, Vallia, put on your cloak and let’s go.”
“Mm.” Young Vallia struggled a bit, fitting on the waterproof black robe before looking back to Argave with a proud face. She held up a grasping hand, to Argave’s confusion. What did that mean?
“Hold her hand, Mr Havenport.”
“I knew that!.” Argave snapped back, reaching down. Vallia’s grip could barely make it around a single finger, and Argave felt something stir in his heart. But with nothing else, the matron held the door of the orphanage open, letting them out into the unforgiving rain outside.
“One last thing.” The matron snagged the back of Argave’s cloak, yanking him back. “You take care of that child, you hear me?”
“.....I hear you, ma’am. Have a good evening.”
“Yeah. Don’t let me down.”
Well, Argave didn’t know what that meant, and he really just wanted to get as far away from this unpleasant woman as he could. The woman disappeared behind the closing door, and as Argave led Villia into the night, leaving as wisps of smoke began emanating from the smokestack above. Streams of water ran through the muck and mud, flowing through gutters, collecting in the storm drains as everything seemed to swirl around and down into the forgotten wastes of Ravnica.
Argave shut the door behind him, relieved to finally be home. Rainwater pooled on the floor, dirty boots and drenched cloaks hanging near the door. A shivering hand still clung tightly to his finger, attached to the small wide-eyed girl Argave had inadvertently adopted. Argave had no experience with children, except for the times talking to subordinates’ kids during ‘bring-your-child-to-work’ days. Dutifully out of his element, Argave looked around for something that would tell him what to do.
“Mn.” A small sound from Vallia had him looking down, the young girl squeezing his finger as she sleepily rubbed her eyes. She looked up at him with a tired face, as it was the dead of night after all. Argave crouched down, scooping up the girl in a way that seemed like the correct thing to do. He carried her to his bedroom, suddenly painfully aware of the stench of smokeweed and dust. He took a mental note to scrub the place as he set her down on the bed, the massive frame dwarfing Vallia like a rowboat in the sea. She immediately curled up, fetal, eyes closed and overwhelmed by the late night.
Argave looked down at her, this small child, wondering what on earth the Azorius Senate had to do with her. A random child in a backalley orphanage, hidden and harmless from the world. Few things were truly hidden in Ravnica, and there had to be a reason. He would take her to the senate building in the morning, he figured, get everything settled with and go about finding the girl a new home. He laid the comforter over her, almost burying her, resting her head on a pillow that was too big. His bed taken, he would be sleeping on the couch this night, but strangely, for whatever reason, that seemed quite alright with him.