Seedling

[Mizagium]

Chapter One

Nathaniel stood in the center of a great conflagration, and felt no fear.

That was the strangest part to him, not that he was surrounded by the burning skeletons of buildings and people, nor that dark shapes swirled around him stalking the survivors of the fires, nor even that he had no recollection of how he came to be there at that moment. No, what struck him as odd was that he felt no fear of the situation.

To his left he glimpsed a man torn to shreds by three quadrupedal shadows, while to his right a woman tore her own flesh to shreds as she attempted in vain to remove some parasite that had chosen to make her its host. And all around him, people screamed. They screamed in fear and panic and pain. Many watched their loved ones die before them; others were murdered by those they were once their friends. Fire leapt from house to house like a living thing, hungry and soulless.

And there he stood at the center, calm, with a blade of night in one hand, and cold, black fire in the other.

He watched an old woman flee a dark beast, trip and fall at his feet. A single glance form Nathaniel halted the beast.

“Who did this?” he asked the woman. “Who brought this hell to you town? Who unleashed these nightmares upon your people? Who caused all of this chaos?”

The old woman struggled to her hands and knees, cackling like witch. He depraved laughter drowned out the sounds of the dead and dying around them, of the inhuman howls and screams of the nightmare beasts hunting survivors of the fire.

“Tell me, hag,” he shouted. “Who did this?”

Without looking up, she pointed a gnarled, bony finger at Nathaniel. “You. You did this,” she said between her witch laughter. “It was you who brought this nightmare upon us.” She continued to laugh, falling back onto her face and rolling over and holding her side as she wheezed for air.

“You brought the world into darkness! And you don’t even remember!”

But he did remember. Without hesitation, Nathaniel raised his black-as-night sword over his head and brought it down in a smooth arc, severing the hag’s head cleanly. She died with a sick smile on her face, eyes open, staring at her killer. Nathaniel kicked her head away and signaled for the nightmare beast; it eagerly pounced upon the bloody corpse and began tearing into it. Blood stained its black snout red and flecked the fur of its body.

Nathaniel watched with a bored passiveness as the old woman’s corpse was desecrated at his feet. He raised his sword to eye level and watched the blood drip off the tip. Beyond the sword, something caught his eye: a fox. It was sitting several yards away with the burning town as a backdrop and staring right at Nathaniel.
Fascinated, he stared back at the fox and knew that it was much more than a simple fox.

“Why have you come here?” he asked.

“Because it is not too late,” it answered.

“Look around you. I am lost.”

“It is not too late,” the fox repeated.

Whiteness consumed his vision and silence filled his ears. He felt the breath being sucked right out of his lungs. He was falling or flying; his body seemed to have been stripped away from his mind. Even as he drifted away and darkness replaced the brightness, he heard the fox whisper again: “It is not too late.”

~~~~~

Nathaniel awoke with fear in his heart. He gasped for breath for several seconds before he became fully awake and began mentally calming himself. It was only a dream, it wasn’t real. This is real, right here.

I am lying in a field of wet grass overlooking the Sea of Storms. It is sometime past midnight. How did I get here?

Thunder rumbled somewhere off the coast which echoed like someone pounding with a blacksmith’s anvil. He reached up to cover his ears to shield himself from the unpleasant side effects of a night of drinking with Arrick and Charlotte. Well, mostly Arrick. Warren was there, he remembered. A wager, there had been a wager of some kind between them, one Charlotte had vehemently tried to discourage; Arrick had just as fiercely encouraged it. Arrick won out. But that would have to wait until morning.

His thoughts drifted back to the dream. Lately, Nathaniel had been having vivid dreams of late, often of death and destruction. They made him afraid to go to sleep; he dreaded seeing what horrors his mind could create for him each night. For that reason, he began taking walks through the park late at night, in the futile hope that when he finally did sleep, his mind would be too tired to create such dreams.

No such luck thus far.

Charlotte and Arrick had no idea that his dreams were so troubled, nor that he was out walking late at night. If they had known, they would not have allowed him to be out in the city at night, especially Charlotte. Rather than unnecessarily worry his friends, he chose to keep his misery to himself and suffer alone.

The dream…

This had been different than the others in that he had actually participated in the dream. In all of the others, he was simply a spectator on the sides – or sometimes flying above – an observer, nothing more. But now…this last dream had truly frightened him. In the dream, he had felt as though he had no control over his actions. When he spoke to the woman, when he killed her, it was as if someone else had been controlling his body, even as he remained trapped inside. A spectator in his own body.

A single rain drop on his forehead brought him out of his reverie. He stared at the sky for a long while, watching the rainclouds move in and shield Arveith and Fafnir from view. Midnight in Kr’addon was not as dark as most other places because of the Lampposts or so he was told. In any case, he was able to see at this late hour by the glow of the city behind him.

More drops began to fall and Nathaniel reached out and caught one in his hand, closing his fist around it as if to protect it from all the filth and unhappiness in the world. There, in his hand the raindrop would remain safe and pure. But even there, he knew, it would become tainted by his own dirt, and so he tipped his hand and let the drop run out and fall to the ground.

A bolt of lightning split the sky, followed by a terrible clap of thunder that made Nathaniel shout and clutch at his ears again in pain. Time to head back, he decided. He assumed a sitting position as froze, staring straight ahead. There, in full view, was a fox. Not just any fox, this was the same fox from his dream. There was no question of it; the fox was staring at him with the same almost-human intent. Intelligence exuded from the beast. Lightning and thunder made him shut his eyes and cover his ears a third time. When he opened them again, the fox was gone, and he found himself doubting that he had even seen it at all.

The rain rapidly increased to a downpour, which made Nathaniel scramble quickly to his feet and dash away.

~~~~~

Home for him was a burned-out cathedral in the Clesian district, slightly off the main roads through the city, where the towers of Castle Citoro barely stood out above the rest of the city, but still a good distance away from the walls. The Steit River marked the boundary for the Clesian and other western districts as it made its way through the city to the sea.

Urban legend told that the cathedral caught fire when a priest delivered a controversial sermon to the congregation. For some time, this priest had been delivering sermons that painted the Cerkan royal family in an unpleasant (though most likely accurate) light. To rectify the situation, the residing king sent soldiers to observe the sermon. Not to be bullied, the priest continued on with his sermon. The soldiers had orders for this scenario, and set fire to the cathedral. Some managed to escape the flames, but most perished, along with the priest.

Strangely, after hearing of this story, Nathaniel felt comforted, not frightened. It was reassuring to know that defiant souls had died here for what they believed in. Arrick, on the other hand, was as superstitious as his sailor father, and always muttered a prayer for the dead with each coming and going. Still, he admitted it was a better place to spend the night than on the streets.

Nathaniel reached the large doors as a bolt of lightning arced overhead and illuminated the world below. For an instant, he glimpsed the fox again, but it vanished when he blinked rainwater out of his eyes. Unsettled, he shuffled inside the narthex and pulled the door shut, muffling the sounds of the now raging storm.

A wave of cold washed over him and he shivered in his sopping clothes. His breath formed a mist in front of his face. But that couldn’t happen at this time of year; it was Late Spring. Paranoia overtook him momentarily and he whirled around, searching of the eyes he felt watching him, but of course there weren’t any. As quickly as the cold had come, it went, taking with it his sudden paranoia.

Unsettled, Nathaniel quickly continued through the next set of doors into the nave of the cathedral. Years ago, Arrick and he had gathered a multitude of old blankets and hung them along the arches and columns separating the aisles from the nave, creating a series of side rooms for themselves, Charlotte, and Warren. They were decently sized, since only four of them were sharing the open space of a cathedral; Arrick took the left-hand aisles, and Warren the right. Past the crossing, Nathaniel had set up shop in the left-hand choir aisles, and Charlotte the right. They had unanimously agreed not to sleep in the sanctuary, except Warren who had chosen to be absent that day. On days when he found little to do, Nathaniel would dust and straighten the various religious items arranged within the sanctuary, making it the most well-kept part of their home.

Tonight he decided to ask Zarath if he had any answer to curing his nightmares. On his way up the choir, he stopped beside the drawn curtain of Charlotte’s sleeping area and waited. If he held his own breath, he could hear her breathing, sleeping. She sounded peaceful and he hoped she was having good dreams.

Nathaniel settled to his knees before the altar and raised his head to the marvelous marble sculptures of Zarath, Arveith, and Fafnir. Zarath was depicted as draped in a loose toga with both his arms reaching out to both sides, reaching out to enlighten the world. For whatever reason, the sculptor had given the Sun God a bushy beard, something Nathaniel doubted a sun god would have. A crown of sunbeams extended from his head.

Above the statue’s shoulders hovered Arveith and Fafnir, the Moon Brothers, Masters of the Winds and Tides. Arveith hovered above his father’s right, Fafnir the left. Each of the Brothers was clean-shaven, with only a cloth covering their lower half. Each appeared to be flying away from Zarath and brandishing orbs of light above their heads.

Before the presence of the three gods, Nathaniel prayed.

Great Zarath, giver of light and life, who banished darkness from the world, and placed his favor with my people, the Verest, hear me. For many nights now I have been troubled by horrific dreams. In each I was a witness to a terrible slaughter of my people. The dreams made me afraid to sleep. But they were nothing compared to tonight’s. This time, I was a participant in the carnage. I – I don’t know what this means. I know that dreams can sometimes tell of things to come, but I do not want this.

Please, I know that dreams are not your domain, you have smiled your favor on my people, and I know of no other god to appeal to. Take these nightmares away and let me sleep in peace once again. Please…

When he ran out of different ways to appeal to Zarath, Nathaniel bowed his head, praying for an answer, but not really expecting him. Finally, sleep washed over him. Reluctantly, he got to his feet, suddenly sluggish and shuffled to his sleeping area. He lazily brushed aside the hanging curtain and flopped down on the blanket laid down for him – a bit too hard, he thought massaging his arm, knowing he would be feeling that in the morning. For a long time he lay there in attempt to escape the inevitable nightmare that would haunt his dreams.

Secretly he hoped he would be spared this once. When he finally drifted off, he realized how misplaced that hope was; he experienced a repeat of the same dream from earlier.

Outside the cathedral, the fox paced the perimeter sorrowfully.
________________________________

Feedback?

[Mizagium]

Chapter Two

Morning came quickly for Nathaniel, but not quickly enough to escape the terrible dreams. He lay on the floor for nearly a quarter of an hour, staring at the wall. The slightest noise sent waves of pain through his head. Several times he wished for sleep and the return of his nightmares simply to escape this very real pain, but quickly rescinded that wish. Finally, when he could stand it no longer, he got to his feet – very slowly. Clutching his head with one hand, he brushed aside the curtain with the other, and found himself staring directly into the face of a smiling Ehk.

Nathaniel groaned.

Arrick adopted a hurt expression. “What? The sight of my smiling face isn’t the first thing you wanted to see when you woke up?” Arrick stood a few inches taller than Nathaniel; tall for a Verest, but about average for an Ehk. A tangles mess of blond hair covered his head, hiding his pointed ears. Intelligent blue eyes belied his carefree, whimsical nature. He was naturally stronger built than Nathaniel, as all Ehk were, but it was unrefined when compared to sailing Ehk; a childhood on the streets was no comparison to one at sea. He and Nathaniel had been friends as long as either of them could remember. Together, they had survived the harsh, storm-whipped streets of Kr’addon; together they had found the burned out cathedral; together, they could do anything.

“No, not exactly; you’re face isn’t as pretty as you would like to think.” Which was a lie. Arrick possessed a face many women (and some men – to Arrick’s chagrin) would describe as pretty. “And no so loud.” With one eye, Nathaniel gave the choir and nave a sweeping glance. “Are we the last to get up?”

Physically, Arrick was the antithesis to Nathaniel, naturally strong built and handsome, whereas Nathaniel was scrawny and “cute” at best. But the opposites didn’t stop there: Arrick was loud, boisterous, obnoxious at times, and was generally outgoing; Nathaniel tended towards quiet and contemplative.

“You are the last to get up,” Arrick corrected. He massaged his head, as if in pain from the sound of his own voice. Fitting, Nathaniel thought with a secret grin; it’s about time he understood how the rest of us felt. Running his fingers through his blond hair – briefly exposing his pointed ears – Arrick continued. “Warren was up at dawn and left, according to Charlotte. She must have been up even earlier. She kicked me awake about twenty minutes ago and told me to make sure you got up.”

“She woke you up?” Nathaniel asked, prepared to apologize.

“Not exactly. See, I had been awake for a bit, just laying there in my own pain – like you were, I assume – but she forced me up and went ahead.”

Nathaniel couldn’t help his grin. That was just like Charlotte. “So how hung over are you?”

Arrick grimaced. “The sound of my own breathing hurts. You?”

“Thoughts.” That made them laugh, even though it hurt.

The Ehk slung an arm around Nathaniel’s shoulders and began leading him away, down the center aisle of the cathedral. “Well, we can’t have that, now can we? Especially not with your big excursion today.”

“Ugh, don’t remind me,” Nathaniel moaned. “I still can’t believe I let Warren talk me into that. I shouldn’t drink so much.” It was empty vow, one he had made many times before.

“Shame on you, Nathaniel, you know better than that. Booze won’t make you do anything you don’t already want to so; it just makes it easier to say ‘yes’. Doesn’t matter now, though, there’s no talking you out of it, is there?”

“Nope.” Nathaniel stuck to his word, whether or not he liked.

“Then I won’t waste the energy trying. Charlotte might, but then she usually disagrees with the stuff we do. And that’s saying something considering…” Arrick cast a sideways glance at his Verstian friend. “Ah, never mind.” He lapsed into silence as they passed through the narthex and then out into the sunshine. Both males teared up in the light of morning, covering their eyes with both hands reflexively. When they had sufficiently adjusted to the light – a process which took several minutes – Arrick raised a fist in mock rage at the sun. At Zarath. Nathaniel hared his feelings, but restrained his gesture. No use antagonizing a god; things could get a lot worse if they did.

“Nothing like a retina-searing blast of sunlight to start the day off, eh?” Arrick joked. Nathaniel grimaced. “Now that you’re awake, we’ll get to working on – err, off – our hangovers.”

“How do you propose we do that?”

“Coffee usually helps,” Arrick shrugged.

“Let me rephrase that: How do you propose we pay for that?”

Arrick flashed a mischievous grin and retrieved a coin purse out of his pocket. “I found it,” he said quickly, seeing Nathaniel’s disapproving scowl. “Honest.”

Thievery was another area where they disagreed. Nathaniel was only willing to steal what food he needed to get by during the day. Arrick was more than willing to pick pockets and store food. Nathaniel usually let the food slide, but not money. Today though…today he decided it wasn’t worth it to scold.

“If you say so.”

~~~~~

Arrick steered Nathaniel into the center of the city. From the Clesian district, they followed Adden’s Road until it merged with Market Street. From there on, they had to stick to the sides of the road to avoid being run over by horse-drawn wagons. The more they walked on, the more that prospect appealed to Nathaniel.

“Are you sure we couldn’t have taken a less busy road?” he moaned as the cacophony of the city pounded his brains to mash.

Equally in pain, Arrick responded with: “We probably could have. Too late now though.” He received a punch in the arm. “Ow! You know, you could have taken the lead; you know this city as well as I do.”

“I thought you knew what you were doing!”

“You ought to know better than that.”

After an eternity and a half of endless noise, they finally arrived at the Gilded Rat, an inn situated on a side street with no name that turned off Market three blocks before it joined the Castle Loop. From the entrance, the towers of Citoro were clearly visible. The first floor of the Rat was a tavern, the basic layout of which was only slightly different from the Sea-Bird, Nathaniel and Arrick’s usually watering hole. The lighting was better, and it served coffee, but neither of those facts swayed Nathaniel’s choice. The Sea-Bird was right on the wharf, was the first stop for incoming sailors and trader, and so had a much wider selection of drink. Not that he ever had money to try any of those exotic drinks. It was the crowd that kept him there and the tales they told.

And boy would he have one, he thought as he sipped his coffee, if he survived this. The bitterness bit his tongue. He wasn’t particularly fond of coffee when it was hot, and found it repulsive cold, but, Arrick had insisted, cold was the only way it would work. So he suffered through it, feeling the pain in his head lessen.
With his head now clear, a problem emerged. Sneaking into the castle sounded grand and exciting through the haze of beer, but now that he was able to process it properly, all that excitement fell away when faced with a single, crucial detail: getting past the guards. When he voiced his concerns to Arrick, the Ehk waved him off. “I’ve got it covered.”

Not to be brushed off, Nathaniel persisted. “How have you ‘got it covered’?”

“I’ll distract the guards.” Seeing the panicked look, he elaborated. “I’ll cause a commotion and get the guards to chase me, leaving the way free and clear for you.”

“But that – “

“Hush. You know I can outrun every one of those guards. I’ve had years of practice eluding the soldiers of this city and haven’t slipped up yet. And I’m not going to with your neck on like the line.”
It was true, Nathaniel knew, but that didn’t mean he liked it. With his friend’s life at risk, he began seriously considering backing out, no matter how he appeared to Warren. As if reading his mind, Arrick turned to him and said, seriously, “And don’t even think about backing out. Doing so will only give that smug ass Warren something to gloat over. So will getting caught.”

“So, I can’t back out, and I can’t get caught?” Nathaniel exhaled sharply. “I think I can do that. Speaking of which, how are you going to keep the guards busy enough to leave the gate long enough for me to get out? I could end up spending a long time in there.”

Arrick snapped his finger. “That’s right! I almost forgot: You aren’t using the main gate.”

“I’m not?”

“No. On the northwest section of the wall is a gap that was created during the Shattering by a Rylian catapult. There aren’t usually guards there, so when you make your daring escape, use the northwest wall to get out.”

“Why don’t I just use the gap to get in as well?” It seemed pretty obvious to Nathaniel; he assumed Arrick had simply missed that fact.
“One,” he held up a finger, “it’s quite a distance away from here, almost halfway around the wall. I’m not for expending more energy than necessary. Two” another finger “the changing of the guard occurs at noon, which is in less than thirty minutes. The main gate is only around the corner. A commotion while they’re in the middle of that ceremony will disrupt them more than usual. Three” one last finger “you want your story to be suspenseful. When you’re telling it later at the Sea-Bird, throw in some bull about how the guards were waiting for you and the gap was the only way out, and that you were chased out, only barely escaping with your life – and whatever you nick from inside.”

Nathaniel stared at him in slack-jawed amazement. “How do you do that?”

“What?”

“Break up your foolishness with burst of genius?”

“Oh, go on.”

“Seriously. When did you come up with that? It only happened last night, and we were drunk, so it wasn’t then. This morning it hurt to think and now…Is that it? Did you just make that plan up on the spot?”

Arrick smiled through his cold coffee; it quickly turned back into a grimace. “Nasty stuff. Cures a hangover quick, though.” He apparently wasn’t going to talk anymore about the plan, which was just as well for Nathaniel. It was beginning to make him nervous. As he stared into his empty coffee mug, he reflected on how it was becoming painfully clear just how impossible this stunt was going to be. Getting past the walls required Arrick to risk his life in distracting the guards – if they caught him, they will hang him without question. Past that he had to find a way into the castle; he assumed the main door wouldn’t just open for him. Even if they did, soldiers were almost certainly stationed inside and would kill him without question. Once inside, he had to steal something to prove he had actually been inside. Assuming he could accomplish all of that, he then had to get back out and make his way to the northwestern gap in the wall and escape. He knew that was a gross understatement, but even so, it set his heart racing and adrenaline pumping.

It wasn’t until Arrick shook him roughly that he realized he had his mug in a death grip. “Trouble,” Arrick said into his ear. “Warren just slithered in.”

Rather than turn and face him, Nathaniel remained facing the bar, slowly willing his body to relax, even as it fought to tense now that Warren had arrived.

“Getting scared yet, Nathaniel?” Warren challenged.

“The hell he is!” Arrick defended. “As a matter of fact, he and I were just going the plan, weren’t we?”

“I don’t believe I asked you, pointy-ears. Not the best way to start, Nathaniel, having Arrick here answer your own questions. If you can’t even do that, how can you possibly go through with it?”
Nathaniel whirled on the stool and faced Warren. Verestian, like him, he carried himself with an arrogance that dwarfed Arrick – size didn’t matter to him, and he’d fight bigger guys to prove it. His face bore a perpetual sneer, complimented by eyes that were so dark brown, they were almost black. Of the three of them, he was the only one to wear weapons; four daggers were strapped to the belt around his trousers. Seeing him standing there with his arms crossed, Nathaniel had a nearly uncontrollable desire to knock his lights out, but he knew Warren could take him, even without his knives.

“Don’t you worry, Warren,” Nathaniel said levelly, “you won’t be disappointed today. Then again, maybe you will: I don’t plan on making a detour to the gallows this evening, so you’ll have to find some other way to get off before bed.” Nathaniel allowed himself a victorious grin as Warren’s scowled turned into a frown. Arrick clapped him on the back, nearly falling off his seat with laughter.

Warren opened his mouth to say something, shut it, and tried again. Finally he spun on his heels and stormed out, nearly running into Charlotte on the way out. They stood and glared at each other for a brief moment before he turned away and vanished into the city.

Nathaniel straightened his posture self-consciously as she entered. Charlotte was beautiful, standing five or six inches shorter than Nathaniel and possessing the hourglass figure most men found attractive. Her hair, long and voluminous, was a lighter shade of brown than most Verest, hinting at a secret ancestry that she knew nothing of. She assumed Warren’s position before the two of them, arms crossed and frowning.

“Judging by the way Warren left, I’m guessing you haven’t backed out?” She was trying to sound angry, Nathaniel knew, but the worry still slipped through the cracks in her armor.

“That’s right. I’m going ahead with it.” He met her eyes and held his until her expression softened.

“Be careful, alright? Don’t do anything especially stupid just to show up Warren; he’s not worth it.”

“I know. I won’t.” He gave her a confident smile. “I’ll be fine.”
She managed one, too. “Look, I’ve got to go.”

“I thought you didn’t have to…work today?”

Her sad frown returned. “That just means I serve food today. I’m already late as it is, so I won’t be able to see you off.” She bit her lip and twisted in place. “Bye. Be safe.”

“Oh sure,” Arrick called after her sarcastically, “don’t worry about me; I’m just the one causing the distraction, you know actually risking his life.” The bar door shut against his words. “No, no, worry about the kid with the easy job.” He sighed and clapped a hand on Nathaniel’s shoulder. “She’s way into you.”

Nathaniel shrugged him off, thinking about how much he wanted to save Charlotte from the cathouse where she worked. Indentured was the proper term, but Nathaniel thought of it as enslaved. But where could he take her? All he had ever known was the city, and the guards prevented anyone without a permit from leaving the city – that is, traders and soldiers.

We are all enslaved in this city, he thought.

“Hey kid,” the bartender hissed into his ear. “Is it true? Are you really breaking into the castle?” Nathaniel spun around with fear in his eyes. “Take it easy. No one here’s going to turn you in.”

Nathaniel swallowed and said, “Yes. A little later today…”

“Noon,” Arrick corrected. “During the changing of the guard.”

“Hell, I have half a mind to follow you down there and cheer you on – but I won’t. I do want to ask something of you, though. Once you get out, assuming they don’t stretch your neck out, come by here and tell the story to my customers. I’ll give you a couple of coins for it.” He glanced around them at the door, checking that no soldiers chose that moment to enter. “Please? We’d all love to hear it.”

“Sure,” he agreed. “It might not be today, but I’ll come by.”

“Great. Thanks.” The bartender gave him a polite nod and slid down to the other end of the bar.

Arrick gave him a pointed stare. “Aren’t you glad I arranged it now?”
Nathaniel shoved him playfully and said, “You arranged nothing. You made it up on the spot.”

“Maybe, but now you have a plan and a story.”

“Speaking of that, won’t it be noon soon?”

Arrick ducked his head down to look out at the streets. “Just about. Let’s go or you’ll be late.” He slapped a few silver coins down on the counter for the coffee and the two of them dashed out into the crowd.
________________
Feedback?

[Myrdraxxis]

This is pretty good. The characters are unique and interesting, and it seems to be a good setting. But it's lacking a bit of setting. The world isn't really established here, just that they're in a city; Other than that it's pretty ambiguous.

[Mizagium]

Like with the Mage Wars, the world will be revealed in pieces. The map I intent to include will help a bit.

[Mizagium]

[Myrdraxxis]

....holy shit.....map......

[Mizagium]

yeah son

[Mizagium]

Chapter Three

The palace walls were much more imposing up close. Nathaniel found himself unable to keep from staring at them as they walked alongside them. Standing almost twenty feet high and composed of a smooth stone Nathaniel had never seen before, the wall was only passable in two places: one was the portcullis up ahead; the other was the crack along the northwest side. That there was even a crack in the wall surprised him; the stone was from before the Shattering, and thus assumed to be imbued with magic. It must have taken something truly catastrophic to break through.

“Quit staring,” Arrick hissed. “You look suspicious. Act like you’re supposed to be here and no one will question you. That’s the good thing about living in a city: no one cares about one another.”

Nathaniel found it hard to see how that was a good thing. Anonymity only benefited criminals by allowing them to hide in plain sight. Which is what I am now, or will be soon. Curiously, the prospect of becoming a criminal didn’t affect him in any large. Technically, he was one already – had been for years; all of the food he had ever eaten had been stolen from somewhere. But he never considered such acts criminal. He needed that food to live, so did that make it a crime to survive at any costs? They always made sure never to take too much at once, or from any one location; they didn’t want others to starve on account of them.

Now, though, now he considered himself a criminal. Breaking into the palace served no purpose other than to fulfill a drunken bet, he understood that. He simply didn’t care. Stealing, though, was something he was grappling with internally. No matter how hard he tried to convince himself that there was enough wealth in the palace to be considered obscene, the fact that it belonged to someone else weighed heavily on his mind. Voicing his opinion was out of the question; Arrick wouldn’t understand his reasons – not entirely – and if Warren was lurking somewhere close (which Nathaniel suspected he was), any admission of uncertainty was as good as backing out. No, he would have to go through with it and set aside any moral qualms.

At least he didn’t have to kill anyone.

Suddenly, Arrick jerked him away from the wall and led him into the throng of pedestrians clogging Thoms’ Street. He first made to protest – they were only a block from the portcullis, but quickly realized what his friend was doing and followed without being dragged. Arrick led him through a nameless side street that connected Thoms’ with Main Street, the large road that ran from the palace gates down to the harbor. When they emerged onto Main Street, Nathaniel saw more side streets down the length of the road, linking them every few blocks. Realization hit him then: the city was a series of roads radiating out from the Palace Loop like the spokes of a wheel. Concentric side streets linked them all together. The wall that surrounded the city was, then, as circular as possible, ending at the coast on either side.

Who, then, made the Lampposts? he found himself wondering as they passed one lighting a corner of the intersection of Main Street and the side street. The Lamppost was a ten foot-tall iron pole, with little flourish, and a melon-sized glass orb resting on top. It was universally agreed that the Lampposts were magic artifacts, which was enough for most. Nathaniel was one of the curious few who asked Who? Why? How? Every night, without fail, once the sun vanished completely below the horizon, the Lampposts blinked into life, bathing the city in a warm yellow light. And every morning, once the sun was over the horizon, they dimmed into darkness. Despite the mystery surrounding it, nobody paid it any notice as they went about their business; no one even glanced at it. A mystery that people saw every day was no more interesting than the sun in the sky or the storms that came almost daily.

One such storm had passed through during the night, leaving puddles scattered all over the city. Everything seemed to glisten with rainwater, a fact which Nathaniel found pleasant. Kr’addon seemed cleaner after a storm, as though the wind and rain had the power to cleanse the city with each passing. If that were true, he supposed that the storms came so often because so much filth accumulated every day, that the city required a near daily washing.
He wished it would rain every day.

Arrick stopped him with a hand on his chest. “There it is.” It the worst understatement Nathaniel had ever heard. Citoro wasn’t simply there, just sitting in the center of the city. No. Citoro loomed over the rest of Kr’addon with its dark façade and heaven-scraping towers. Stories told that the entire structure was constructed of onyx, but Nathaniel dismissed those claims; onyx was too precious to be used in construction. Even so, the structure was so dark, it seemed to absorb light. No material he had ever heard of could do that, so he gave the credit to magic of some form.

“There it is,” Nathaniel agreed. Each refrained from labeling it as a castle or a palace. No one was quite sure which it was; Arrick claimed it was a castle because it was built as a defensive structure and possessed a wall and a bailey; Nathaniel disagreed, calling it a palace because it was all one structure. Although he never said it, he always thought of castles as having moats. Whatever it was, it was obviously designed to be the center of the city, out of vanity rather than practicality.

Had Nathaniel designed the structure, he would have placed it several miles north along the coast, where the land fell away in a series of steep cliffs. Such a location would be easier to defend, since an invasion from the sea was impossible, and from the highest tower, the entire city could be seen. Citoro, being the center of Kr’addon, had to worry about viewing three hundred and sixty degrees of city. Perhaps that added to the authoritative air surrounding it, he guessed.

“Are you ready for this?”

Nathaniel lowered his gaze to the guards stationed beside the gate. “Yes,” he lied. His heart was threatening to burst out of his chest, but he knew it was now or never.

“Good. And we’re in luck: the guard is a little late in changing today. We have time to get in position.”

“And what are our positions, exactly?”

Arrick clapped him on the shoulder and pointed. “Yours is by the Lamppost at the corner, where the street merges with the Loop.”

“And yours?” Arrick only smiled. “You have no idea.”

“I’ll improvise. Trust me.”

“Alright,” he said with a sigh. “Be careful.”

“You as well,” he said, suddenly serious. “Remember, no matter what that prick Warren says, it’s not worth a hanging. If you can’t go through with it, for any reason, get out.” He flashed a sly grin. “Charlotte would kill me if you didn’t come back.”

Hearing Arrick talk seriously only increased his apprehension. Unable to speak, he simply nodded.

“Right then. Off you go.” He gave Nathaniel a shove before disappearing into the crowd. He tried to follow Arrick’s earlier advice: act like you’re supposed to be here and no one will question you. He tried to do just that – and reached the Lamppost without anyone casting at glance his way. Arrick’s other words floated through his mind. That’s the good thing about living in the city: no one cares about one another. Gripping the iron post with both hands for support, he nervously awaited the distraction he had been promised.
Seconds crawled by and lumped into minutes. A company of armored soldiers marched out from the portcullis: the replacement guard. Nathaniel cast desperate glances around, searching for Arrick, but to no avail. As the ceremonial changing of the guard commenced, he thought for sure it was over, that Arrick had been caught. And it was all his fault.

Halfway through the precisely choreographed routine, some started shouting. Nathaniel was swept up in the surge of people rushing to gather around the source of the noise. The guard, interrupted during their ceremony tried to reach the center of the crowd, but was having difficulty pushing through. Since they formed a living barrier behind him, Nathaniel decided to worm his way through and see what sort of trouble Arrick was causing. When he saw, he very nearly slapped his face with his palm.

He was fighting someone.

Over the roar of the crowd, it was difficult to make out just what was being said, but it was clear that Arrick was shouting as many insults as he could at his opponent. His opponent rushed him in a fury, nearly tackling him to the ground. The crowd erupted in a roar. Something green rolled past Nathaniel’s feet. He watched the cabbage for a moment before it clicked in him mind. Sticking his head out through the spectators, he spied an overturned cabbage cart that must have been the catalyst for this exchange.

Back with the combatants, Arrick and his opponent were locked in a grip, rolling on the ground, and wrestling for control. Just as Nathaniel glanced back to see if the soldiers had moved on, the crowd split and the entire guard rushed through. The red-haired captain, known only as Edrich, shoved strugglers aside, shouting, “Make way! Make way!”

Instantly, Arrick’s head went up. For the briefest instant, his eyes locked on Nathaniel, conveying the unmistakable message: GO! Then he faced the guards and sneered. Nathaniel turned and began pushing through the crowd. With the spectators already rattled by the appearance of the City Guard, it was much easier than it had been to push forward. Behind him he heard someone shout, “Get up! Both of you!”

Someone else – the cabbage seller, Nathaniel assumed – shouted, “My cabbages!”

A voice that was unmistakably Arrick’s shoted, “Run, run, run, as fast as you can! You can’t catch me, I’m the Cabbage Man!”

"Bring back my cabbages!"

“After him!” shouted Captain Edrich, which was followed by the sound of clinking armor plates and boots as they gave chase.
Nathaniel emerged from the crowd, gave the surrounding area a cursory sweep, and bolted for the gate. Everyone was focused on Arrick’s escape, so no one saw him dash past the gatehouse, underneath the portcullis, and into the bailey beyond. He didn’t stop running until he was safely – maybe not the best word – in the shadow of Citoro, which seemed to be an extension of the building itself; the two darknesses seemed to flow into one another.

His heart was pounding against his ribs and his lungs were threatening to hyperventilate, but he managed to calm his body and allow thoughts to form completely in his mind. He was in; there was no going back. So far, Arrick’s plan had gone according to itself. The next step was finding an open window to climb in through. But just how likely was that in a city where it rained almost constantly? Not very, he answered himself. He fell back against the façade and began to digest just how screwed he was, but something drew his attention to the far end of the bailey.

A fox.

“Impossible,” he muttered. Impossible or not, there was indeed a fox sitting in the middle of the enclosed field around Citoro. No, not sitting, waiting. Waiting for him, he realized. As if reading his mind, the fox chose that moment to rise to all fours. Silently, it padded up to him and sat, studying him. He felt no fear at seeing a wild animal this close, knowing that it was the same fox from the previous night. From his dream.

Seemingly satisfied, the fox got up again and walked a few paces before stopping and sitting again. The intent was clear: it wanted him to follow. Throwing caution to the wind, Nathaniel went to where the fox sat. When he approached, the fox got up again and continued on without stopping.

For several minutes, Nathaniel followed the gray fox around Citoro. It didn’t seem concerned about being caught, so neither was he, though he recognized the ridiculousness of ascribing human behaviors to an animal. He frowned. This fox had to be more than just a fox, how else could it have appeared in his dream, and then twice in the waking world. Yes, it was most certainly something else besides a fox, but what else it could be, he had not the slightest idea.

The fox stopped. Nathaniel stopped with it, but watched it carefully for a moment before noticing that it was looking at something. Following its line of sight, Nathaniel found himself staring at the side of Citoro. At an open window.

“That can’t be,” he said, as if saying it made it so. “It cannot be!” But it was. There, waiting for him, was an open window, despite the sheer numbers stacked against this occurrence. He looked back to the fox, but it was gone, just as silently and mysteriously as it had appeared. Quickly, he turned back to the window, half expecting it to be gone as well. But there it remained.

Waiting. For him.

Running a hand through his hair, he checked behind him to make sure no guards were coming, which was foolish. Why would the fox lead him all the way here just to have him caught?

Why would a fox lead him here at all?

Thinking about it caused his head to ache, so he walked to the window, set one leg over the threshold and stepped inside.

___________
I'm spent. Leaving this here and going to bed.

[Mizagium]

Chapter Four

Somehow, Nathaniel had expected more from the interior of Citoro. He wasn’t quite sure what he expected, but he knew that it didn’t match up with what he encountered. He stood at the end of a rather long corridor. An ornate rug that seemed ancient lined the floor; large tapestries covered the wall to his right, broken up by statues or vases on stands, while the left wall was a series of doors with large iron handles going down the whole way. Torches occupied the spaces between them, but remained unlit at this early hour. Everything matched up with what should occupy a castle or palace, but not with his perception.

Shoving those thoughts aside, he tried to determine where he was within the structure. The east wing, he deduced after a quick mental plotting of his location in relation to the sea. Down this long hallway should be the throne room and audience chamber. So before I get there, I should find something and start heading back. Slowly, he amended his calculations. In truth, he had no idea how the castle was laid out, so there was no point in speculating. The best thing to do was to go forward with caution and remember the way back.

Easier said than done.

To start off, he checked the door immediately to his right and found it locked. As he reached for the handle of the second door, he pulled it back quickly. Maybe blindly opening doors in the hopes of finding something of value wasn’t the best way to go about this. What if he stumbled into a group of servants, or, worse, soldiers? Servants he could probably outrun, he decided. Soldiers – at this time of day, soldiers were either out patrolling the city or cooped up in the barracks.

Not quite heartened by this likely faulty reasoning, Nathaniel resumed his blind attempts at opening doors. A total of eight doors lined the corridor before it connected with another. After the first, the next five were locked. The sixth was empty expect for a broom, but a thick coat of cobwebs suggested it hadn’t been used in ages. The seventh and eighth were equally dearth.

Sticking his head around the corner, he found it went about the same length before turning off to the right, in towards the center of the fortress. He dreaded going in farther, but closer to the center was the most likely place for valuables to be kept. Judging by the way it was going so far, it was the only place likely to find anything, valuable or not.

The second corridor was just as disappointing as the first. Although most of the doors were unlocked, none of them contained anything useful. One contained an old butter churn, and another a wheel that was missing most of its spokes. Each was coated in a layer of dust several inches thick; Nathaniel had to stuff his face in his sleep to keep from coughing his lungs out and giving himself away.

By the time he reached the next corridor he was becoming disheartened. Falling back against the cool stone wall and sliding to the floor, he stared at the expensive-looking vase on a platform across the hall. He could just take that. There would be no doubt of its origin, and it would save him further trouble by ending his excursion right there. Someone would notice, he thought. A patrol would notice its absence. A guard or even the king himself. Someone… He frowned, struck by a peculiar notion. So far, he had seen no evidence that anyone had visited these two corridors in years. Many of the doors were locked, and those that weren’t were covered in an unfathomable amount of dust. No one had come down here in a very long time; no one would notice if he took something.
Getting to his feet, he made to take the vase, when something on the wall caught his eye, something red. He leaned in closer and squinted. There was no mistaking it: blood. And not just one spot, but several that formed a loose trail leading away. His curiosity got the better of him and he followed the blood trail down the passage to where it turned into the next. A bloody left- handprint gripped the corner of the wall.

After three deserted corridors and more than a dozen dusty rooms, the sight of the fourth made him catch his breath a chill crept up his spine. Signs of a struggle were everywhere. Large splotches of blood decorated the stone walls, as opposed to the tiny drops just around the corner. The tapestries and rug were torn and stained – with blood, he assumed, but could only image what else. Deep scratches were etched into the walls. Most appeared to be caused by swords, but some were arranged in short patterns of four or five. Like fingernails. A single torch flickered on the other end of the corridor in a phantom breeze.

Right then, Nathaniel should have turned and fled, and days later, he would wish he had. But he didn’t. His curiosity and his honor wouldn’t allow him; he wanted to explore, and he had to keep his word. There was no other option than to keep going.

Tentatively, he took a step over the threshold – and heard voices from the other end. He quickly flung himself against the wall – against the dried blood and scratches – and began inching his way forward. He passed over a couple of doors and tested the handles of each; none would give. The voices were still too faint to hear clearly, but there were definitely two speakers. About halfway down, he determined that the voices were coming from the next corridor, perhaps from a room. Thinking himself safe from detection, Nathaniel peeled himself thankfully away from the wall and continued on at a normal pace. His original mission was now superseded by a desire to find out who was speaking. He could almost understand what was being said.

“…Reasonable, sire,” one voice pleaded.

“Reasonable? Be reasonable! All of our plans depend on this – on them! – and you ask me to be reasonable!” It sounded like something was thrown against the wall. “I will not be reasonable, Edrich. I want to know this instant why there are no slave ships in my harbor!”

Nathaniel caught his breath. Edrich could only be the captain of the guard, which would make the other, angry, speaker, king Karyein. He inched closed. Slave ships? So the rumors were true. For years, the city had been abuzz with stories of Atazi slave ships in Kr’addon’s harbor. Minor details aside, they were all basically the same tale: in the dead of night, a lone soldier – usually identified as Captain Edrich – would meet the slaver at a secluded dock. When he left, he would lead a company of slave back up to Citoro. The number of slaves varied from as low as six to as many as thirty. They passed through the gates and vanished.

Edrich was speaking again. “My lord, you have not delivered a single payment to the Atazi Bloodpriests. They grow displeased with each missed deadline. They – “ Something Karyein did made Edrich cut off abruptly.

“I have no money with which to pay them,” Karyein said slowly, seething beneath the surface. “They knew this at the beginning. I told them payment would be long in coming, and they still agreed.”

“Yes, my lord, I know. I was present at the agreement. But you must understand how the Bloodpriests think.”

“I will do no such thing.”

“Each missed payment is seen as an insult to them personally. The Bloodpriests control the Atazi through fear of their god’s wrath. If another nation – ally or not – fails to uphold their side of a bargain, and escapes divine retribution, how can they use such fear to control the people?”

“You know quite a lot about the fire-eating heathens, Edrich. Don’t tell me you sympathize with them?”

“Absolutely not sir, I simply understand the mindset of the Atazi.” This seemed not to be enough, so he continued. “I may have been born Atazi, but I was raised Verestian. I am not a pagan earth-dancer like the G’neschi, nor am I a superstitious sailor as the Ehk. And I am most certainly not a heathenistic blood-drinking savage. No, I am a through-and-through Verestian soldier, loyal to the Cerkan crown. Zarath is the one true god; it is simply important to understand the mindset of other cultures when dealing in political affairs with them.”

A moment of measuring silence passed between them before Karyein spoke again. “Indeed. What you have said is true, Edrich. My patience is short these days, especially when dealing with those…anyway.”

“My lord, the Atazi Bloodpriests have agreed to deliver the final slave ship that was agreed by you. The delay is merely their way of passing a warning that they will not forget to be paid.”

Karyein laughed a calculating chuckle that made Nathaniel shiver. “Crafty savages. Very well. I want you to send them a message extending my gratitude for their patience. The fates of both our nations are now entwined. Without each other, we cannot succeed. That I must entrust my fate to such lowly savages is a testament to the desperation of the situation.”

“Ah, my lord…”

“Don’t include that last bit, Edrich.”

“Obviously, sir.”

“Hmph. Before you go, Edrich, there is one more thing.”

“Sir?”

“How goes the Hunt?”

Nathaniel imagined the capital letter by the way Karyein put emphasis on the word, and wondered what it meant.

“Not very well, my lord. My have nothing to go on in locating this individual. They are becoming frustrated with the whole thing. What exactly are we looking for?”

Karyein exhaled a sharp breath. “It will be a person of unrivaled magical ability, so much so that even those with no conduit or aptitude would be able to sense them.”

“All this talk of magic…sir, it unsettles my men. We…don’t deal with that. Battle is our domain, not this mytic crap. My apologies, sire, but it is difficult to convince them to take this search seriously.”

“I understand,” Karyein sighed. “But you must make sure they keep at it; it is vital to our plans.”

“Yes, sire.”

Nathaniel heard some shuffling around and then the door opened. He threw himself up against the wall as the two exited and turned away. He waited until he could no longer hear their footsteps before he allowed himself to breathe again. So, Cerka was dealing in slaves from Átaz, but to what end? No one ever saw the slaves again once they reached the castle, and he hadn’t seen a single soul until now. And this search for a magical person…gah! He shook his head. He would discuss this with Arrick later; right now he had a mission to complete.

Directly across from him stood a door he hadn’t tried yet. He shrugged. What the hell? He gave a half-hearted tug and, amazingly, the door came loose. Beyond lay a set of stairs that descended to another door. After checking to make sure no one was following him, Nathaniel descended the stair, pulling the first door shut behind him. Like the first, the second door came open with barely a tug. Cautiously, he stepped over the threshold – and found himself in a dungeon.

That was the word that immediately jumped to Nathaniel’s mind; one he felt accurately described it after giving a cursory sweep. The room was about ten feet long, several hundred wide, and devoid of any windows. Two lanterns – one at either end – provided paltry lighting, but did reveal two rows of prison cells. He sighed.

Of course there’s a dungeon. Would there be anything worth stealing – how he hated using that word – in one of the cells? He would never know until he looked. Since I’m here…

Most of the cells were unlocked, not that it mattered since they were all completely empty. There wasn’t even any evidence that they had ever been inhabited. Perhaps this was one of many rooms in Citoro that had been forgotten by its inhabitants. Somehow, Nathaniel doubted that. Karyein was a very possessive king; no one was even allowed to leave the city without the proper permit. No, this dungeon had not been forgotten. It was empty for a reason, but what?

Three quarters of the way down the left-hand row of cells, Nathaniel found something interesting. Propped up against the far wall was a sheathed longsword. The cell door swung open and Nathaniel reached in, keeping one foot outside the cell, and snatched up the sword. He held in his hands carefully, as though it were a porcelain statue and would break at the slightest breath. A necklace of some kind was draped over the cross-guard: a cord with some kind of jewel tied to it. The jewel was orange, but Nathaniel had no idea what kind it was, so he stuffed it into his pocket and decided he would ask Arrick later.

He turned his attention back toward the sword. The scabbard was simple leather, with no ornamentation beyond the chape and locket, which were nothing more polished iron. While the scabbard itself was nothing special, the cross-guard was crafted in a design of black wings of fire. The pommel was also crafted as a black ember, but with an equally black jewel in the center. The sword seemed familiar in his hands, which sent a chill up his spine.

Suspicions aroused, Nathaniel took the grip in his left hand and the scabbard in the other, and drew the sword; it came out with a soft shing of metal on metal. The sword was a double-edged longsword and black as a starless night, so black it seemed to absorb all light around it. Engraved into the blade were intricate designs that were difficult to make out in the dim light of the dungeon. Down the center of the sword were a series of runes that Nathaniel assumed spelled the name of the sword.

If only I could read, he thought abysmally. But then something happened. Suddenly the runes made sense to Nathaniel. He still didn’t know what they were, but he understood them. They did indeed spell the name of the sword: Agnost. All of the warmth in the room seemed to vanish in that instant as realization set in. Nathaniel stared down in horror at the black sword in his hand and remembered the dream; this was the sword he had used to slay the hag woman.

This was his sword.

He quickly shoved Agnost into its misleadingly plain scabbard and made to leave when a noise from behind froze him in his tracks. Someone was there. Carefully, he did an about-face and craned his neck to see. A few cells down, something stirred. Just as carefully, he crept closer. Huddled in the corner of the cell – locked, Nathaniel determined after testing the door – the skeletal figure of the dungeon’s only inhabitant stirred to life. A layer of rags that may have once been a full set of clothes failed to provide adequate coverage for the man, as became painfully obvious. His hair was gray and thin, and his ribs were clearly visible.

“Wha?” he moaned. “Whooser? Whossat?”

Unsure of what to say, Nathaniel waited.

“Karyein,” the man muttered, “issatyou? Whydont you jessletme die! Lemme die already!” His words degraded into nonsense and he began thrashing about on the stone floor. Nathaniel back away quickly. “AH! LEAVE ME! GAAAH!” His shouts became pained screams, and Nathaniel turned and fled back through the doors and into the abandoned hallways, but the man’s screams followed him all the way to the window and out. Behind him, he could hear the metal armor of soldiers clinking as they rushed to the screaming man.

It was now an hour or more past noon, so he was no longer protected by the shadows of the castle as he had been when he first arrived. Luckily, there were no guards around, so he quickly, but cautiously, made his way around to the northwest section of the wall. The breach was a rough V-shaped wedge cut out of the wall, with the wide part up higher. He had to step up to get over the last part of the wall. Just as Arrick had said, there were no soldiers anywhere in sight of the breach, which Nathaniel thought was a lapse in judgment of Karyein’s part, but was thankful for it all the same.

He risked a glance back at the castle and saw the fox sitting in the middle of the bailey. Just sitting. It tilted its head and swished its tail once. The meaning was unmistakable.

“Thank you,” Nathaniel told the fox. He tightened his grip on Agnost’s scabbard and vanished into the crowd.

[Mizagium]

BLOODPRIESTS! How's that for setting!

[Mizagium]

Chapter Five

Arrick was on top of Nathaniel before he was even completely inside the cathedral, pulling him into a rib-cracking embrace and nearly lifting him off the ground.

“You’re alive!” he exclaimed. “I thought for sure the next time I saw you, you’d be swinging from the gallows.”

“Let me go, you great oaf, or I’ll be dead all the same.” Arrick quickly released Nathaniel, who bent low to collect his breath. “Wait a minute; you didn’t think I’d make it?”

“Did I say that?” Arrick quickly backtracked. “Nah, couldn’t have been me. I had the utmost confidence in you. Remember? I was the one who came up with the plan that kept you alive.”

“Yeah,” he had to admit. “You did, and it was a good plan.” He pointed a finger at his friend. “Next time, though, I’m going in through the breach in the wall. No more of this romantic skin-of-my-teeth escaping, alright?”

Arrick grinned. “You’re no fun.” As Nathaniel stood up straight once again, he noticed the dull scabbard clutched against his chest. “That for me,” he joked and reached for it playfully.

“The hell it is.” Nathaniel pulled away with a smile. “I risked my ass to get this from the castle; you think I’m going to hand to a ruffian like yourself? You’d break it – or lose it – before you could even draw it.”

“A ruffian am I?” He folded his arms and turned away in mock indignation. “Well then I have nothing more to say to likes of you. Good day sir.” He turned his nose up and marched off, exposing Warren, who was standing in the center of the nave with a dark look on his face.

“So,” he said simply. “You made it back.”

“That’s right, Warren,” Nathaniel said defiantly. “And I even got your precious proof. See?” He held up the sheathed sword.

Warren sneered. “That’s the plainest sword case I’ve ever seen. You could have filched that off of any – “ He stopped short when Nathaniel drew Agnost out enough to expose the deep blackness of the metal.

“Need any more proof?” Nathaniel challenged. Warren’s face scrunched like he had just caught a whiff of some awful stench. His fists clenched and his mouth opened and closed several times as he searched for words, which made him look like a fish out of water gasping for breath. Finally he snorted and stormed out past Nathaniel – shoving him almost hard enough to knock him over.

Arrick reappeared with a bewildered expression. “Wow, Nathaniel. That sword…did you find that in the castle?”

Nathaniel drew it out all the way now, and laid it across his palms carefully. “I did. I had to go in deeper than I thought I would. After I avoided being caught by Karyein and Edrich, I found a door that led down to this dungeon. And there, just sitting in one of the cells, was this sword. There was also – “
“Wait, wait, wait,” Arrick interrupted. “You almost got caught by the king?”

“Well, not exactly. I was – I mean – They were talking about stuff, and I happened upon their conversation. Obviously I couldn’t leave in the middle of it, so,” he shrugged.

“Well?” Arrick asked expectantly. “What did they say?”

Nathaniel returned Agnost to its scabbard but kept his hands on it and told Arrick all of what he had heard Edrich and the king discussing. Arrick listened intently; it was the most Nathaniel had ever seen him pay attention to anything. When he finished, Arrick sat down and pursed his lips in thought.

“That’s something.”

“What is?” Nathaniel asked, joining him on the floor.

“The Atazi slave ships. It’s been a rumor for years, but not you’ve just confirmed it by accident.” He narrowed his eyes at Nathaniel. “Did you see anybody in the castle, besides those two?”

Nathaniel shook his head. “And I didn’t even really see them. The place is completely empty. Every room I check – those that weren’t locked – looked as if they hadn’t been touch in years.”

“Then I wonder what he does with the slaves?”

“Whatever it is, it’s none of our business, Arrick.” He said it lightly, but meant it as a warning. “It’s not something we want to get involved in.”

“Yes, I suppose you have a point. It’s enough trouble as it is figuring out how to get out of this blasted city.” He leaned back on his hands and stared at the charred ceiling. Somewhere beneath the layer of ash was a wonderful mural. Scattered across the length of the center aisle were glimpses of a masterpiece, full of angels and the gods and the story of the birth of Dealia. It seemed a shame that something so magnificent should be hidden away like it was. Even Arrick agreed to that, and he wasn’t the sentimental type.

“So you give the sword a name?”

“What?” Nathaniel snapped his head up to attention.

“A name. All great swords have a name; what did you name that one?”

“Agnost.”

Something about the way Arrick twisted his face made Nathaniel squirm. “Odd name for a sword. What made you pick that one?”

“I didn’t pick it,” Nathaniel replied carefully. “That’s its name.”

Arrick frowned without looking at Nathaniel. “How do you know?” he asked after a moment.
“I just…know.”

An uncomfortable silence passed between them, something that had never happened in their twelve years of friendship. After a minute, Arrick got to his feet, nodding. “Right,” he said. “You just know.” He ran a hand through his hair and looked like he was going to say more, but instead turned walked around Nathaniel and left.

Confused, exhausted, Nathaniel flopped onto his back and straightened his legs and stared at the burned mural on the vaulted ceiling. He lifted Agnost so that it was in his field of vision and considered getting rid of it. Judging by the way Arrick had reacted, it couldn’t be anything good. But he couldn’t just toss away the sword. No words could explain exactly why he couldn’t, but something kept him from throwing the sword into the river or the sea, the same something that allowed him to read the runes that spelled “Agnost”.

“Magic,” he spat.

Resigned, he laid on his back until twilight became evening and the Lampposts flickered to life one by one. He heard the cathedral doors swing open and felt a soft breeze of cool spring air and craned his neck back to see who had come. Charlotte – upside down – stepped into view. He smiled at her, but when she returned a scowl, he scrambled to his feet.

“I made it,” he offered.

“I can see that.” She folded her arms across her chest and nodded toward the sword still in his hands. “Is that what you brought back?”

“That’s right. I’ve already shown Arrick and Warren.”

“I saw Warren earlier; he didn’t seem happy.” She managed a smile.

“You…saw Warren?” Nathaniel echoed, not returning her smile.

“Not – Not like that,” she said, shaking her head. “He comes in sometimes and…I don’t know. He sort of sulks there usually and leaves.”

“Usually,” Nathaniel muttered with a sigh.

Charlotte took a step forward, hesitated, then threw her arms around Nathaniel’s waist and buried her face in his chest. “Don’t do that again,” she whispered. “Don’t do that ever again. Don’t make me worry about you like that ever again.”

Startled, Nathaniel could only wrap his own arms around her; she squeezed tighter. “I’m sorry. I won’t do anything like that again.”

“Promise?”

“I promise.”

~~~~~

Nathaniel dreamed of the night, twelve years ago, when his father died. He was a spectator of his own memory, which would have felt odd but his recent experiences observing himself within his dream world. Still, this time it was more unsettling than previously, probably because this time he was experiencing a memory, rather than just a dream.

Watching a young version of himself repeat his mistake was almost too much to bear and he wanted to call out to himself, to reach out and physically stop the events; he was locked in place – forced to watch his past play out before him.

His father lay pinned to the wet road by the burning timbers of the hag woman’s residence and place of business. A house of horrors to ten year-old Nathaniel. He enjoyed seeing it burn, the house that had caused him so much pain. He had even felt some twinge of happiness seeing the hag woman’s body consumed by the flames. But this – his father! – stopped him in his rampage. His father extended a hand pleadingly, begging for his son to save him. Nathaniel remained paralyzed by indecision.

Remember! This is the man who brought you here, who subjected you to the hag woman’s tortures. He deserves this fate more than she.

But he is my father! I cannot just leave him here to die…

“Nathaniel…please…” his father said weakly. The sound of pounding rain and roaring flames threatened to drown out his words.

Choose!

Slowly, young Nathaniel backed away from his dying father. Tears mixed with rain. There will be pain now, but you will be happier without him. All he did was hold you back, hurt you, try to kill you. Feel no guilt, Nathaniel; he would have killed you.

The scene came to a close with the young boy turning a fleeing into the night, leaving his father to die alone in the rain.

Nathaniel was finally able to move freely within his dream world. He gazed upon the sad face of his father and wondered, Why weren’t you angry in your last moments? I abandoned you to die, my own father, and even though you pleaded with me, I still turned away. So tell me, why couldn’t you show me the anger and fury I had come to know and hate? Why couldn’t you be cruel in the end? It would have been easier; I wouldn’t have this guilt. Why?

“Because he loved you.” The gray fox padded silently into his dream world. “Even though he was cruel to you, he always loved you, Nathaniel. As he faced his death, he couldn’t bring himself to keep up his façade. He wanted you to know that he forgave you.”

“Pah. He didn’t have any compassion in his body, not after mom died.” He scrutinized the fox. “No. He wanted to hurt me one last time, the spiteful old man. Even in his death, he wanted to do me harm.” He turned back to the dream father. “Damn you to hell, old man! You did it; you got me one last time!” He kicked at the dream image, but his foot passed right through it.

“Nathaniel.” The fox sat and waited. With a casual shake of its vulpine head, the imaginary rain disappeared. Apparently being wet in a dream was just as unpleasant as in real life.

“Why did you show me this?” Nathaniel asked the animal that was more than an animal. “It was you, wasn’t it?” The fox blinked. “How did you get into my dreams? How can you speak to me? What are you?”

“I shall answer your questions in time, Nathaniel,” the fox assured him, “but now I must speak of important matters. I have little time, so listen close.” Nathaniel made to protest, but the fox continued speaking. “You must return to the dungeon and speak with the prisoner there. Heed his words.”

“That raving lunatic? What could he possibly have to say to me?”

“I don’t know, only that you must speak with him. It is imperative that you do so.”

Nathaniel sat upon the fictional ground soaked with rain and crossed his arms. “Why should I do this, why should I believe you?”

“Have I given you any reason to distrust me so far? I got you into the palace in the first place.”

“Aha! So it was you!”

“Of course.”

Nathaniel noticed the dream world around him begin to fade. Whatever magic the fox had used to recreate his memories was beginning to waver. Soon it would fail altogether and he assumed he would wake up. But what would happen to the fox?

“Can you help me get in again? Clearing the bailey, opening the window?”

“No,” the fox said sadly. “I have interfered directly more than is allowed. I can only bend the rules so much before even one such as I must face the repercussions.”

One such as I.

“So, then I am on my own.”

Curiously, the fox smiled. “You are never alone, Nathaniel.”

As the dream world unraveled around him, another figure stepped into view. Robed and taller than he, the figure had a decidedly female face. With a knowing smile, the woman pulled open her robe to reveal darkness. Nathaniel stepped back warily, but the fox eagerly bounded into the darkness and disappeared. The woman closer her robes and reached behind her to pull up her hood. When she did so, her face transformed instantly from a beautiful woman’s to a hideous skull. Death stared out from beneath the hood. A pain in Nathaniel’s leg drew his attention as dream faded into darkness, and he was swallowed up along with it.

~~~~~

Nathaniel came awake with a cry of pain, immediately clutching at his leg. It took only a moment to reassure himself that it was both still attached and not bleeding. The source of the pain was the orange crystal necklace he had found along with Agnost, which he had shoved hastily into his pocket and subsequently forgotten about. Angrily, he dug it out.

“Damn thing,” he cursed. “Should’ve left you behind with that strange man.” Shaking his head, he relented. “No. I should have tried to get him out of there. He looked miserable, and I’m not inclined to think he deserved to be incarcerated – not on the king’s word alone, anyway.”

Only seconds later, Arrick shoved his head in through the folds of the blanket curtain, frantically casting his head from side to side. Seemingly dissatisfied, he vanished and stomped away, halting only a few feet away. Nathaniel heard him shove the blankets aside again before moving on.

Now that he was awake, he was sufficiently certain that he would not fall back to sleep, so he rolled over onto his stomach and pushed himself to his feet. Still with the necklace in hand, Nathaniel lazily brushed the curtain aside and scanned the choir for Arrick. The Ehk was engaged in conversation with Charlotte at the far end of the nave. For some reason, they were speaking in hushed tones, preventing their voices from echoing in the large, hollow shell of religion, but as he passed the crossing, he caught the tail end of their conversation.

“- anywhere. Where could he have gone off to?”

“Relax, Charlotte, he can’t have just disappeared. And even is he has, it’s not completely out of character for him. There’s been a lot of nights when I hear him go out for a walk.”

“Me, too, Arrick,” Charlotte replied impatiently. “I hear him, too. You forget, I’m a lighter sleeper than you – if you heard him, then the whole city hear him, too.”

“Easy, Char.”

“Sorry, I’m just worried. I know he goes out at night sometimes, but he usually comes back by now. After yesterday…I don’t know. I keep thinking he’ll go out and do something really – “

“What are you two talking about?” Nathaniel stopped beside them. “I’m right here.”

Charlotte and Arrick jumped – literally. “Who said that?” they shouted in unison.

“Me!” he answered incredulously. “What’s wrong with you both?”

“Where are you?” Arrick asked.

“Right in front of you!”

Nathaniel waved his hands in front of his face, but received no reaction. Arrick cast a fearful look to Charlotte’s, who shrugged and returned it. Confused, and slightly agitated, Nathaniel shoved Arrick gently, just a light push on his shoulder. The reaction was explosive. Arrick nearly fell over and stumbled to the wall, shaking.

“Something just touched me. I knew it, this place is haunted! Nathaniel wouldn’t’ listen you me, neither would you, but I knew it. I could feel the spirits in here, all around!”

“Arrick! It’s me. Charlotte…come on, are you playing some kind of game, because it’s not funny anymore.”

“Nathaniel, are you really here?”

“Yes!”

“I…we can’t see you. Where are you?” She sounded so sincere that Nathaniel’s anger vanished.
“Right in front of you.”

She took a few tentative steps forward, arms outstretched, like a blind woman. Her hand brushed against his chest, and she flinched, but instead of falling back as Arrick had, she reached again, pressing her palm to his left breast. She could feel his heart beating.

“How can…?” She searched for his eyes in the empty air. “How can I not see you?”

“I don’t know. I can see you, and I can see me.” Something occurred to him. No, that wasn’t quite accurate. He noticed something for the first time: the necklace in his hand was warm. And pulsing. Slowly, he brought it up to his eyes. Could it be this? He opened his hand and let the crystal drop while he held onto the chain links. Instantly, he became visible to Charlotte and Arrick. Charlotte gave an unintentional yelp of fright. Arrick however, was more blunt.

“How the hell did you do that?”

“I have no idea. Didn’t even know I was invisible until neither of you could see me. Strange. I think it has something to do with this.” He held up the necklace, careful not to touch the crystal.

“Where did you find that?” Charlotte asked. “It’s beautiful.”

“It was in the dungeon with the sword.” Which reminded him: the sword was still back in his sleeping area. “I picked it up, but I forgot about it until I woke up with it stabbing me in the leg. It must be magic.”

“Obviously,” Arrick deadpanned.

Nathaniel made a face. “Actually, I was going ask you, Arrick, what type of stone this was.” He tossed the necklace at him.

Arrick caught it lazily, and examined it. “Topaz,” he said, finally closing the distance between them. “Not a rare gem, but a gemstone, nonetheless. From what I can see, it’s pure; no trance of any purities to decrease the value.” With one finger, he touched the gem itself. “Yep. This is definitely a magicstone. I mean, of course it’s a magicstone. Topaz is inherently a magicstone. Like I said, it isn’t a rare stone itself, but they aren’t seen around Cerka anymore.”

“Why is that?” Charlotte asked.

“Magic is a dead art,” he replied dispassionately. Handing the necklace back he continued, “When the Ginxae vanished, they took their magic with them. Without the magic, the kingdom fell into disrepair. And here we are now.”

“Very mysterious,” Nathaniel remarked flatly. “Do you actually buy into that whole mystic crap?”
“You don’t?” Both Nathaniel and Charlotte shook their heads. “Well, I’m an Ehk. Magic is as much a part of our culture as sailing. I can feel it in my blood. So, yes, I do believe the departure of the Ginxae contributed to the state of the world now.”

Charlotte blinked.

“Where do you come up with all this?”

He threw his hands up. “It’s a mystery. A real one.”

In the silence that followed, Nathaniel turned the topaz stone over in his hands, doing his best not to active at the magic. He had found a bit of magic by accident, a piece of history that no one had ever thought would be recovered. So was the sword, he supposed, a piece of history, but that was a more specific, enigmatic piece. This gem, while it might not be specifically identifiable, was a tangible reminder of Dealia’s past, a time of magic. A time long gone, but not forgotten. A time who’s passing many still mourned, and who’s return many still prayed for. Agnost was traceable, this was not. The stories Agnost had to tell could be found in books; the stories the topaz had to tell were forever lost to the tides of time, faceless, and unappreciated.

[Mizagium]

((this is how fucking bored I am. I actually finished another chapter))

[Mizagium]

Chapter Six

When the armored figure appeared on the horizon, both guards snapped to attention. It was an uncommon sight to see a lone traveler these days, especially one coming east. The lands beyond the Steit were considered by many to be lost to the G’neschi that had laid claim to it for the past few centuries. King Karyein insisted the lands were still his, but so far had made no move to recover them. Quite a number of Kr’addon citizens though of any lands beyond the walls of the city as barbaric and wild and not worth their time. Corporal Derrin Leric was inclined to disagree.

He had been beyond the city, seen the countryside, been stationed at Tessat for some years, and found life beyond the immediate reach of the king to be refreshingly free. Of course, he could never voice his opinion, so he had to endure the constant complaints of his assigned partner, corporal Halen Ty. Neither outranked the other, so Derrin couldn’t order him to shut his mouth, nor would a polite request do anything more than irritate Halen. He knew. He’d tried.

Seeing this enigmatic man stride triumphantly out of the wilderness reignited the aging soldier’s youthful curiosity for exploring the west – the main reason that led him to his military career. A long list of questions formulated in Derrin’s head, one he knew Captain Edrich would skin him for if he were there.

On the other side of the gate, Halen rambled away. “And honestly, who would even want to the wilds? All that’s there is those ghastly beastmen, and they’d tear your arm off soon as greet ya. Damn savages. Why don’t the king send us out there to kill ‘em all? Can’t be no more difficult then huntin’ deer a wild boar, eh?”

“Oh, for Zarath’s mercy,” Derrin pleaded, “Please shut up.”

Halen gave an indignant huff. “Just sayin’”

“Yeah, and you’ve been ‘just sayin’’ for the last five years, but right now, we’ve got a job to do.”

“Checking papers?” Halen raised an eyebrow at his comrade.

“You want to get paid? Or do you want to raise a fuss with Captain Edrich?”

That seemed to work, as Halen turned away and stayed quiet for a good long while.

When the man reached the gate, Derrin stopped him. “Papers, sir?”

He must have been Derrin’s age, or more: on the back end of middle age, sliding towards seniority. His hair was feather gray, but still full, unlike Derrin, whose hairline had been steadily receding for years – as his wife kept pointing out. The man was dressed in simple traveling clothes, but underneath his tunic, Derrin caught a glimpse of chain mail. From his belt hung a buckler and a broadsword in its scabbard.

“Here you are, sir.”

Derrin took the papers from the man’s gloved hands and read the name: Aodh Ratc. He glanced from the paper to the man standing before him. A scarred, hardened face contrasted his soft blue eyes. Something…felt wrong. Derrin couldn’t put his finger on it, but he felt it.

“Is there a problem, officer?” Aodh asked innocently enough, but rested his right hand on his sword hilt in a manner that said “There had better not be a problem”. From the looks of the traveler, he was in much better shape than either Derrin or Halen and could probably hill them both without much effort.

“No, no problem.” Derrin returned the papers, which Aodh folded carefully and returned to his belt. “Welcome to Kr’addon.”
Aodh smiled, nodded, and drew his cloak around him, hiding his sword and shield, and brushed past the two. Derrin watched him go, intrigued. Something about that man was so…familiar.

“What a strange fellow,” Derrin remarked.

“Screwball is the term you were looking for,” Halen supplied, adjusting the armor near his crotch.

“I don’t think so; he didn’t seem insane or crazy.”

“He just tramped out of the wilderness, Derrin. Of course he’s crazy.” And just like that, the old ramblings picked up again. Derrin moaned and slumped against the wall.

~~~~~

“I can’t do this,” Nathaniel decided, looking out over the crowd.

“Sure you can,” Arrick replied at once. “You snuck into the castle, but you can’t handle a little public speaking?”

“That’s – This is different! Nobody was around when I snuck into the palace. Nobody was…looking at me.”

Arrick rolled his eyes and threw and arm around Nathaniel. Drawing him close, he said, “Charlotte believes in you.” Nathaniel flushed, remembering how Charlotte had parted company outside, leaving him with a quick kiss on the cheek for luck. Tenderly, he touched the spot with two fingers. “Do you need one from me?”

“What? No!”

“Well, that’ll be your motivation then; get up there and speak, or…” he let the end hang.

Nathaniel narrowed his eyes. “You wouldn’t.”

“Wouldn’t I?”

“Fine,” he said eventually, pulling away. “I’ll do it.”

“Excellent. Hey, Jack, he’s gonna do it!”

The owner and bartender of the Gilded Rat slapped the bar happily. “Excellent. Oi!” he shouted above the din. “Settle down ya blithering lot. I said shut up!”

“You shut up,” someone called from the crowd, which caused the whole establishment to erupt into laughter. Eventually, though, the laughter died down and expectant silence followed. Nathaniel froze, his words stuck in his throat. He began to sweat. He couldn’t do it.

And then there was Arrick to the rescue. “Listen well, my friends, for we bring you a harrowing tale of stealth, and bravery. Of staring into the face of Hyponax, laughing, and then shoving her aside. No, death herself will not stop this man. He goes where he wants, and takes what he pleases. Truly, he is a man without chains. Alas, I am a poor storyteller, and likely would leave details out and fail to do the tale justice. So I present, the man himself, Nathaniel!” The tavern erupted into applause.

“Arrick…I – “

“Do you remember the embellishments I told you about?”

“Yes.”

“Good. You’re up.”

Even Nathaniel had been stirred by Arrick’s introduction, and felt his fear melting away. He began slowly, with the initial bet that night at the Sea Bird. As per Arrick’s advice, he omits the fact that he was drunk along with Warren, which created a sense of fearlessness about him. The more he spoke, the more confident he became. He added in all of Arrick’s embellishments, a passing guard here, a close escape there, nearly being caught by the king and captain; it became quite the thrilling story. Nathaniel found he preferred Arrick’s version to the real one, and decided he would tell this one if it ever came up again.

When he was finished someone in the crowd asked to see the sword, which was followed by a resounding chorus of agreement. At once, Nathaniel drew Agnost and brandished it before the crowd. Everyone immediately fell silent. A hushed whisper circulated in moments, “Agnost”. Confused, Nathaniel lowered the sword and turned to Jack.

“I think you should go.” He set a handful of coins on the counter and indicated the door. Arrick scooped up the coins and pushed Nathaniel out. In the far back corner of the tavern, Aodh watched them go, slowly drinking his ale. He hadn’t been lied to, it seemed. The sword had indeed found a new master. Once the king discovered the sword was stolen, the hunt would be on for the Seedling, which meant he would have to act fast or all would be lost.

~~~~~

“What the hell was that about?” Nathaniel demanded, sheathing Agnost. “Everyone suddenly stopped when I brought the sword out. It was like I showed them a ghost.” Looking suspiciously at his friend, he asked, “What’s this about? Yesterday you clammed up when I told you the sword’s name. What do you know?”

“Surprisingly little, I’m afraid. I don’t know why they acted that way.”

“But yesterday you – “

“Swords don’t just tell you their names, Nathaniel! Even back when magic was commonplace, things like that were rare.” A long moment of silence lapsed between the two as they walked. “I would advise against carrying the sword in public from now on.”

“That…seems like a good idea.”

“At least we got paid,” Arrick offered, falling back into his cheery self. “What this…eleven…twelve…fourteen coins! Ha, I don’t think the bastard even knew how much he put down; he just wanted us out. Here,” he slapped some into Nathaniel’s hand. “Ten coins. You did do most of the work, after all.”

“What are you talking about? I did all of the work, Arrick.”

“All the physical work, sure, but without me, you wouldn’t even have those ten coins.” He flashed a grin and pocketed his thirty percent. “Finder’s fee.”

“Very well, I suppose you’ve earned it,” Nathaniel said with mock exasperation, putting away his own coins.

“You’re damn right I have! Now let’s go blow it at the Sea Bird.”

“I thought we were trying to get out of the city?”

“Well, we sure as hell aren’t going to buy our way out.”

Not the two of us, maybe.

~~~~~

A storm blew in that evening, ending the unusual period of calm weather. Afternoon became evening in minutes as thick storm clouds dominated the sky, dropping sheets of rain on the already storm-ravaged city. As if to make up for the last few days of absence, this storm brought strong winds, booming thunder, and bright streaks of lightning. Sitting by the windows in the Sea Bird overlooking the Sea of Storms was a wonderful way to enjoy nature’s fury – Osidon’s, if you asked Arrick.

By the time Charlotte, and consequently Warren, joined them, Arrick had almost spent all of his new money, while Nathaniel was still on his first ale, which he gave to Charlotte, deciding he wasn’t going to drink it.

“I trust it went well?” she asked as she wrung the water out of her hair.

“They loved it.”

“You actually spoke in front of them all?” She raised an eyebrow over her ale.

“He did great!” Arrick declared. “I couldn’t have done it better myself. Oh wait, I wrote all the interesting parts, so it’s like I did, anyway.”

“How much did they pay you?”

“Fourteen coins,” he said.

“Oh.” That was all she said before turning away. Nathaniel immediately regretted saying anything. Ten coins…that was more than Charlotte earned in a week, and all he had to do was tell a partly true story. He couldn’t think of anything better to say, so they sat in silence until the storm let up briefly. It took the two of them to haul Arrick back and toss him onto his blankets. His snores echoed throughout the cathedral.

“Charlotte, wait.” She was already walking away. “About earlier…I –“

“You don’t have to apologize, Nathaniel,” she said, anticipating his words. “You don’t have any need to.”

“No, that’s –“

“It’s just difficult sometimes, what I do. Like a bad dream, it never seems closer to ending, and I’ll be trapped there forever. I you don’t understand, and I can’t expect you to, but –“

“Charlotte!”

“What?” She turned. Nathaniel thrust his hand forward, ten coins tinkling gently.

“I want you to have it.”

“No,” she said at once. “I can’t take your money.”

“I never really wanted it anyway. It was all Arrick’s idea – making the money, that is – so I had to give him some of it, otherwise I’d have given all of it to you.”

All of it. Fourteen coins. That was very large sum to someone who main one or two a week. With it she was great way towards paying her debt, but she found it difficult to take the money from Nathaniel, standing there with that innocent smile on his face.
“I don’t know how to thank you.”

“You don’t have to, just take it.” He dumped them into her hand and she clutched them to her breast as if they were the most precious treasure in the world – which they were, in a sense. The coins were her freedom, her life. Nothing was more valuable.

“Thank you.”

“Don’t mention it.”

His smile made her smile.

[Mizagium]

Yeah.

[TEAM_DERRICK]

word

[Mizagium]

no help at all.

[TEAM_DERRICK]

cause help isn't needed.
I wanna see where this thing goes.

[Mizagium]

the plot is coming, I swear.

[TEAM_DERRICK]

k