[Skell]
A bloodless stabbing. If you told me I'd take part in one, well, of course I'd assume I was the victim. But if you added that I'd be the one doing the stabbing… I'd have questions. Questions like:
How in the Abyss did I stab Cynthine without leaving a mark!?
The glamour mage watched me pull away the knife, examining the relaxed ridges of her hand. "About what I expected. Word is skeletons are quite feeble."
"W-wow…" Oliver refused to blink. "And you said you're going to teach us that? How to make weapons never hurt us?"
Cynthine shook her head. "More than that. Shrouds aren't simply suits of armor. They are raw energy surging through the body - empowering it. Tapping into said power, one can quicken movements, bolster strength, and as I've demonstrated," she flexed her hand, "reinforce their bodies."
"So it won't just make us tough," Oliver asked, "but super strong, too?"
"There gotta be a catch," I said. "Else everyone would be walking around as unkillable juggernauts."
Cynthine walked past us, resting on the loft's railing. "Magic always has a catch. Shrouds grant power, but far from that of an 'unkillable juggernaut'. No Shroud will give you the might to say, lift mountains, or the resilience to go skinny-dipping in molten lava. Its gifts improve with mastery and mana, but it'll never make you invincible."
"Our mana affects it too?" asked Oliver.
The glamour mage smiled. "Dear, Shrouds are mana."
One glance at our faces, and Cynthine resigned to a deeper explanation. "For fear of overcomplicating things, let me step back. In essence, mana is an energy that can be molded into any number of elemental magics - or mind arts - by casting. Fireballs, thunderbolts, the works."
I crossed my arms. "We already know this. When's the 'complicated' part?"
"Right after you shut your jawbone," jabbed the "young" woman.
These jaws can still bite, you know…
Cynthine waved a hand across her hair. "As I was saying, mana changes when cast. But before it becomes fire, or electricity, or any element, it is raw energy. Energy normally locked in the cage that is our mind. Only when we cast our chosen arts is it released, just to return to its cell the next moment. But say there was a way to unlock this cell? And keep the door open?"
"Then our minds' power would roam free," I asked, "all throughout our bodies?"
"Exactly," nodded Cynthine. "Once harnessed, Shrouds are that energy coursing through our every drop of blood. Every muscle. Every pore. And… every bone."
So that confirms it. This power she's talking about, it can even make me stronger. Strong enough to defend myself. Even from Templars, should it come to that.
"That still sounds amazing. With it…" Oliver looked to his injured shoulder. "Can we start learning now?"
"Absolutely," said Cynthine. "Though I do hope you boys have an active imagination."
—————————————————————————————–
A tranquil pond sat at my feet, circular and small. Below it, a system of tiny streamlets weaved through the rocky ground. Dry streamlets. Pebbles blocked their waterflow. A simple fix. I'd just remove them.
Moments later, a tidy pile of pebbles sat beside me. Water flowed freely, and my body felt immediately different - movements sharper, bones stronger. Heavy doors would open with half the effort, and stubborn lids would turn easily.
…Not the mythical power I'd imagined. But baby steps, and all. Besides, I'd take anything over my usual weakness.
Though not long after that power came, it faded. Pebbles reappeared in the streamlets every time I blinked, gradually stalling the waterflow. I plucked one. Three materialized around it. Eventually, there were so many. Too many. I refocused on the world around me.
My Shroud was gone.
Of course, the pond, the pebbles, it was all in my head. Just a way to more easily digest Cynthine's vague directions. "Pull the mana from your minds, and let it flow through you like water," she instructed, before spending the next few hours fawning over her cats while we practiced.
I took her directions literally - maybe too literally - but surprisingly enough, it worked. Given a couple hours, I'd accomplished it, if only for a few seconds. In this last hour, I'd managed to make it last much longer.
"That was just under three minutes," Cynthine sat crisscrossed on the loft's wooden floor with us, petting Misha. Or was it Pepper? "Impressive. Usually beginners can't hold it half as long with a full day's practice."
Something seemed to strike her expression. "In fact, I suspect it has to do with your unique… attributes. You do lack muscle and organs."
"Well, yeah," I knocked on my shoulder, triggering a quiet rattle, "I'm not exactly a bodybuilder."
"Far from it," said Cynthine. "Nevertheless, that may be to your benefit. Your Shroud has no need to flow through those things. It can focus solely on strengthening your bones, which could explain your progress."
Some good news for once. I'd smile, if I had the muscles for it.
Before attempting to break my previous Shroud 'record', I turned to Oliver. His eyes were shut. Shrouds weren't visible, but by the look on his face, he obviously hadn't made headway. Not since we started.
"Everything all right, Oliver?" I asked.
"Yeah," his eyes were crammed shut. "I almost got it. I know it."
The first time he said that, I believed him. By the eighth, my faith was dying.
"Ever thought of giving him less vague directions?" I whispered to Cynthine.
"A genius idea," she wore the face of a dunce. "Except that my instructions are vague because we work with an unseen, shapeless force. This isn't surgery I'm teaching."
You're barely 'teaching' anything.
"However," she continued, "I believe I've discerned the problem."
"What's that?" I asked.
Cynthine frowned. "Distractions. In small amounts, they're fine - beneficial, even. The tick of a clock, or the random passing thought? Harmless. But if something heavy weighs on your mind, demands all your focus? To mana, it's poison."
Something's plaguing his mind?
I froze. All this teaching made me forget the dark cloud overhead that only I could see. The secret they didn't know.
Since we got here, he's acted ordinary. But if this whole time, he's just been concerned about Ansel…
"Could you guys be a little quieter?" Oliver asked. "Sorry to interrupt, but I think I got a handle on it."
An abrupt request, yet his tone was polite as ever. But when I glanced at Cynthine, it was clear she noticed something was off, too.
"Dear," she addressed softly, "a mental block is the only way to explain your difficulties. In my experience, those are best expressed. Verbally, if you'd prefer?"
He put on an empty smile. "I'll be just fine, Miss Cynthine. Actually," he rose to his feet, "I reckon I'll get some air. The outdoors always clears my head."
"Y-you sure?" I spun as he walked to the staircase. "We can just talk, if it'll help?"
"No thanks," he dropped a step with every word. "By the time I get back, everything should make sense."
Oliver reappeared underneath the loft, passing through the living room and absently opening the front door. He didn't look back once.
How a door could close so quietly, yet feel like it'd slammed shut forever, I didn't know, but Cynthine wasted no time with questions. "What haven't I been told?"
Shade, shade, shade, shade.
"What do you mean?" I played dumb. "Oliver just needs time to clear his head. He has been at it for awhil-"
"Your shaky voice betrays you." Cynthine stood up, hands propped on her hips. "And let's be honest; it's been apparent this whole time that Oliver's mind has been elsewhere. Before, I thought it not my place to intrude. No more. You heard his words, saw his unusual behavior." She stared down at me, unblinking. "So this is the final time I ask: what do I not know?"
Since the glamour mage explained her and Ansel's history, the secret's weight doubled. This wasn't just about keeping it from Oliver anymore. And if she knew, he'd find out next.
I stood up, as if to talk. But nothing came out.
Her eyes turned the loft shivering cold. "Abyss, Skell! Speak!"
But I had no other option. Cynthine wouldn't let this go. And more importantly, Ansel meant the world to those two. I had to tell her. I had to tell them.
…Sorry, Ansel.
"…It has to do with his grandfather," I said weakly. The answer was indistinct, near-useless. But when forced into a situation like this, directness felt impossible.
"What does Ansel have to do with…" The glamour mage's gaze suddenly left me, taking on the vacant stare of someone whose mind moved a mile a minute. "You speak as if something has happened…"
Cynthine walked aimlessly to the railing, features hidden to me. "That detestable, scum-of-the-earth girl: Velora. She wounded Ansel, then returned just to throw another violent tantrum. Ansel's a man of miracles, but all that? At his age?"
She took an unsteady breath. "…There's an old saying. That everyone's luck runs dry someday. What… what do you think?"
A heavy silence preceded my response. "…It's true."
It must've been minutes, that Cynthine leaned over the railing, staring into space. Or possibly, time. I waited.
Eventually, she slumped. "Oliver must know."
"…I think he does. Suspects it, at least."
"No. Oliver must know. You must tell him."
I slowly approached her, steeling myself. "I will." I first said faintly, before repeating myself with force behind the promise.
"But why?" she asked. "Why play this game to begin with? If it was to toy with the boy's emotions, I should end you where you stand… but, I know that isn't the case."
I stopped close behind her. "It was a plan - Ansel's. He knew death was coming. Wanted Oliver to be free, see the world. The goal was to bring him to Amara in the capital and tell them both the truth."
"And then, Oliver would've set out to live a life of his own?" Cynthine laughed bitterly. "Then you played his pawn?"
"Well, he did sweeten the deal."
"I'm sure he did," her voice cracked. "To the very end, a trickster - whose dying ploy was to elevate his family. All these decades, only to be the same man he'd always been…"
I raised my hand, then thought better of it and tucked it away.
But her breaths quivered, and her shoulders trembled. I fought my reluctance and placed a hand on them. Steadying them.
"I'm sorry," I said.
She'd been rude, condescending, but to see her like this? I felt small. Like nothing I could do would ease her pain. Except for the obvious.
"Want to be alone?"
"No-" her confident act got caught her throat. She swallowed, then took a sharp breath. "Yes. The bedroom behind you… enter in an hour. You'll get your glamour then."
"I need time to think," her words came slow. "Then, I need time to distract myself from those thoughts. Your glamour will be that distraction."
Cynthine turned around. Her blue eyes were stained red, fresh tears streaking down glamour-sculpted cheeks. But she didn't look away. Tearful or not, her gaze held strength. One completely removed from magic. "Okay?" she sniffed.
"…Okay." I settled.
—————————————————————————————-
Undeath was what, if not a jumble of fun "perks"?
When a friend sits beside you, wolfing down juicy berries or campfire-cooked rabbit, there's no sharing. You can only sit there and imagine the flavor, and the satisfaction of stuffing an empty stomach.
Neither can you go outside without expecting a pitchfork through the ribs. Windy days or a bad angle could easily reveal you. No interaction. Not even small-talk. Anything more than what's necessary risks a final death. A trade of security for the price of loneliness.
Worst of all, to me, was the ever-present cold. Blood didn't warm your veins. No lungs meant no hot breath to heat your freezing hands. Death was numbing. And neverending.
But somehow, the cold could get worse, when a dreading chill squeezed your bones with frigid fingers.
I waited silently on the couch. Alone. Oliver hadn't returned yet, although he promised to be back an hour ago. The truth sat at my mouth, ready to greet him when he walked through the door. But as minutes came and went, that chill grew colder and colder.
I needed to get this over with.
Go outside, repeated my thoughts. This time I started to listen.
It was dusk, and most were in their homes or somewhere livelier - meaning a conversation outside wouldn't be particularly risky. The only thing stopping me was the fact that opening that door meant telling Oliver the hardest truth of his life… and that I buried it under a lie.
I checked a nearby grandfather clock. The minute hand hovered close to eleven; not much time 'till I had to see Cynthine.
You can't keep stalling, Skell. Quit being a coward and tell him!
Willpower forced wobbly legs to rise. One step. Another. My body dragged itself to the door, hand creeping to the knob. Hidden in my hood, I imagined myself taking a deep breath.
Then I threw open the door.
I was met by a pitch, quiet street, darkened further by the fabric before my eyes. Though, there was an island in the shadows: a street lamp, illuminating the stairs.
No silhouettes stood under its light. Or on the stairs. Or at the door.
It was just me.
What? My head swiveled. Where in the Abyss is he?
I ran down the stairs, peering down both sides of the serpentine street. One side curved past another house and stretched into the shadows. The other branched into two paths, neither with an end in sight. Street lamps were few and far between, and dark, looming houses made the paths confined. Foreboding.
My feet wanted to take off to find him. Not just because he was the only one I could count on, but… he was my friend - my only friend. Belza Hill was sprawling and it was after dark and he was just a sheltered boy. Who knew where he was?
I sure didn't. And wouldn't. Peering through my hood was hard enough in sunlight. At night, with silhouettes appearing near as dark as the world around them, I'd never find Oliver.
Fingers strangled the stairs' railing, tying themselves to my one refuge in a world of danger and hatred. Had my fingers loosened even a bit, I would've ran into the night, resolved to a blind search in every sense of the word.
If I go… I'll never find my way back here…
Time passed. The flames that spurred my legs cooled into cold reason. I let go of the railing, shoulders low, and shamefully decided it best to go back inside.
But as I rose the steps, my mind entertained the worst case scenario:
What if he left? Skipped town?
It wasn't impossible, I felt. He was much better at navigation then me, and if he realized I'd kept Ansel's death from him… why stick with me? Maybe he thought I wasn't worth accompanying. Or… that I was same inside as out: a monster.
Then it hit me. Oliver couldn't have left; Ansel's backpack is still inside! He'd never leave that behind.
My posture straightened. Yeah, yeah! That must mean he's still in town. All the wonders earlier did interest him - maybe he's just seeing the sights. Maybe, he doesn't even suspect a thing.
Spirited steps led me up the stairs.
Won't be long 'till daytime. Even better, my glamour's so, so close. When it's done, I can go outside and look for him without any worries - and that's if he hasn't already returned by then. Yeah, he'll be back. Then I'll have my glamour and my friend.
This, I told myself, reaching for the door.
—————————————————————————————–
My knuckles rapped on the wood. "Ready for me?"
No answer. Guess she needs more time, I turned around. My first step to the loft's stairs however, was cut short.
"It's been long enough," Cynthine voice muffled through her bedroom door. "Come in."
I doubled back. I'd be lying if I said I wasn't shaking with excitement, one so strong it kept me optimistic when it came to Oliver. But I couldn't forget about Cynthine. I calmed myself, then entered the room of mirrors and wardrobes with the appropriate seriousness.
"How are you holding up?" I asked, more a sympathetic question than one I needed answering.
Ahead, tangled sheets hung halfway off the bed, draping Cynthine's lower body. Surrounded by three new cats, were uneasy hands, shuddering lips, and her eyes - colored a bitter red. She gave a hollow smile to her pets, then me.
"As you'd expect," the glamour mage waved a palm across her face. As it passed each feature, puffiness vanished from her eyes and her mouth stiffened… like she never cried at all. "Fortunately, I have Dorian, Milo, and Amber here to keep me company."
"Was that…"
"Glamour magic? Yes. I'll be doing the same for you, on a much larger scale." She moved her cats aside, slowly climbing out of bed. "But more importantly, how fares Oliver? You did speak to him?"
This time, I steadied my voice. "He told me he'd take a walk - clear his head. Then we'd talk about Ansel."
Of course, there was no saying Oliver disappeared. She just lost Ansel. Hearing her last connection to him just up and disappeared would… I didn't even wanna know. Oliver was probably watching a street performer or something at that very moment, anyway. Safe, relatively nearby, and slack-jawed. Not that Cynthine was in the mood to be so positive.
"…I'd prefer he know sooner rather than later. But I suppose it's his choice."
Luckily my words were a solid shield. If Oliver returned before my glamour was finished, I'd bring up Ansel in Cynthine's room. After? Presumably I'd find him in the town streets and break the news there. Either way, she'd be spared from fretting over him.
"Later," she lit an incense at her bedside table, wafting a purple haze throughout the room, "I'll speak with him. Perhaps finish teaching him Shrouds, if he's up for it. But for now, we should attend to your glamour."
"That reminds me. You said Shrouds were an integral first step to wearing a glamour. But I don't see a relation between the two."
"Look harder and you will. Both affect your body, inside and out. Only difference is, Shrouds must be maintained. Glamours don't. Learn to wear one, and wearing the other is as easy as changing clothes."
"But if they're like clothes, wouldn't that mean I can't 'wear' both at the same time? Either I'll look like a human and be weak, or look like a skeleton and be strong?"
"You can wear a shirt and a jacket at the same time, can't you?" she gave a sly grin, "Or pants and panties?"
I had to think for a second. "I don't wear panties."
"I assumed," she waved a disregarding hand. "Simply keeping myself in high spirits. Point is, you can do both simultaneously - I do it all the time."
"That's… great actually. Won't be restricted at all, then."
"I wouldn't go that far. Recall that I said a glamour asks for a sliver of mana. It lasts permanently, but only if fed."
"The glamour can take every drop for all I care," I shrugged. "If I can just look human - and maybe use my Shroud here and there - I'm golden."
"Hm. Enthusiasm is good," Cynthine stepped back, sitting on the edge of her bed. "That same attitude will be necessary for my instructions."
"I've gotta follow more directions?"
"No," she crossed her legs. "I do. You say you want to appear human, but that's like asking a butcher for 'meat'. I can alter anything: skin color, hair color, musculature, body type - but you can only have one body. So choose that body well."
"You need a description?" I said, more to myself than her. My gaze swung sideways, to a wall-mounted mirror. Within it stood a skeleton.
When I first awoke in Sienna Woods, it took some time before I realized I was dead. My clothes hid that harsh truth from me, but in a puddle's reflection I found a ghastly skull where a human head should be. Horror doubled when I learned everything was skeletal; that of an inhuman, despised creature. But in that moment, my body could've been anything else.
A devilishly handsome charmer. A rugged, burly warrior. A hawk-eyed scholar. I could become any of them, and in a way, take on the lives they were expected to live.
"What?" asked Cynthine. "Don't tell me you haven't a clue of what you want?"
"Cynthine. Since I heard about you, I've formed an image of how I'd like to look. I'd be stupid to come here undecided."
"Is that so? Do tell of this image."
I stared at a reflection of purple, decisive eyes. "…Make me look as average as possible."
The second I heard her rise from the bed, her reflection appeared beside mine. "What!? I could make you perfect, and you choose average?"
I didn't turn. "I don't wanna look like someone else. I want to look like myself."
Cynthine crept into my field of view, face rumpled in confusion. "I don't understand. If you wish to look like yourself, why ask to be glamoured? Nothing needs to be changed."
"Because this isn't me either. It's a corpse."
"Your corpse. Or did you forget that?"
I finally broke away from the mirror, regarding the glamour mage. "I won't be this way forever. I'm going to live again. And whatever glamour I wear, it'll be a temporary skin that'll let me blend in until I come back to life. So an average one is best. That way, I won't get attached to-"
"Go back, go back," her thin eyebrow jumped. "What is this 'live again' nonsense?"
…Shade.
"…I said Ansel sweetened the deal." I replied. "Telling his grandchildren about his passing, that wasn't where his plan ended. The capital, he said, is where I'll find information on undeath. Somewhere in the city, there gotta be a way to reverse it, or cure it. Ansel thought so. And… I think so, too."
Cynthine gave a confused laugh, throwing her hands in the air. "I-I don't even know where to begin! Skell, it pains me to say, but the man was on the verge of death. He likely didn't know what he saying."
Her tone and body language unsettled me, but I was dead serious about this. "You weren't there. Ansel was lucid."
She released a heavy breath, one equally sad and irritated. "It matters little; anyone can be wrong. Even him. Listen, Ansel and I, we share a storied past. Unbelievable occurrences were our normal, back then. Yet over all those decades, even as we brushed against long-buried secrets and ancient magics, we heard nothing of cheating death. Never a whisper."
"Then what's your suggestion?" My temper rose. "Resign myself to wearing a living man's mask? Because underneath it, I still won't be. Know what was on the way here in the Lower Layer? Mouth-watering pastries I couldn't taste. Couples sharing a warmth I could only envy. And when I lay down, there's no dreams to help me forget. None of that'll change whether I'm glamoured or not. Because that's all this is: a convincing mask."
"This 'convincing mask' is all you possibly have! No fear of being discovered, no more lurking in hoods. Understand this: existing glamoured is far better than what you know now."
"True," I straightened. "The same way living is far better than not."
The glamour mage opened her mouth… only to voice a frustrated groan. She paced away, stopping at a smaller mirror near the door. "Don't you see? There is no coming back. No one gets a second chance. No one…"
Over her shoulder, I was reflected from across the room.
"I refuse to give naive children false hope," Exhaustion reappeared on Cynthine's face. "Nor am I fond of worthless causes. Hence, you have two choices."
She lifted an open palm to the mirror, holding my gaze inside it. "One: refuse to let ambition rule you. Accept the glamour. Make the best of your situation." She raised a balled fist. Or two: keep blabbering about doing the impossible. I don't gift you a glamour. And you try your hand at being an undead in Lumerit."
I balanced on a shaky tightrope, I knew that. Say the wrong thing, and Cynthine could withhold the glamour forever. But something inside me wouldn't let this go.
Sure, I could've lied. Raw as she was, it might've even worked. But that felt wrong. For her, and me. Ever since my "birth", I didn't want or desire to be human. I needed to be. It meant everything. I couldn't throw that hunger away. I couldn't pretend it wasn't real. Not in my actions. And not in my words.
Even if it killed me.
My own hands reached forward. A fist and an open hand, catching one another in resolute union. "To the Abyss with both your options; I've a better one: with or without your help, I live. Truly. Living again would be infinitely easier with a glamour. But without? I'll still find a way. I have to."
"You'll… find a way?" Cynthine's shot around, eyes completely dumbstruck. "I, b-but you won't…"
She dropped her hands. "…Simply say you'll forget this. Those far greater have died attempting lesser feats. Your memories can be counted on one hand, and you hardly have the traces a plan. Just… please. Say it."
I looked to my reflection. "…I can't turn my back on this."
Her posture dropped, and the room grew quiet. The downstairs clock was all there was, each tick a sudden crack in the silence. Finally the glamour mage shuffled up to me, eyes heavy. "Nothing I say will get through that thick skull of yours, will it?"
That thick skull shook in response.
She carried an airy, empty laugh for a long time. Until it became more and more like crying.
"C-Cynthine?" I asked. Then it hit me. In the heat of our debate, I forgot how fresh her wounds were. She was tough. But she was also human. My words couldn't have done her fragile state any favors.
The glamour mage sobbed quietly, searching through tears to find a seat at her bed.
"Cynthine," I turned, shamefully rubbing the back of my skull. "I, um… I'm sorry. I should've been more-"
"You apologize for no reason. You only sounded so similar, is all."
"What? Similar to who?" I asked.
"Must I really answer that?" she laughed weakly, wiping her eyes. "So stubborn and idealistic. So many platitudes and abstracts. Oh, do I envy the youth. But allow your elder to pass on this one nugget of knowledge."
I watched her, unsure of where she was going with this.
Cynthine's wry face turned coldly serious. "Mighty forces are at play in this land, both in plain sight and beyond it. Poke around the wrong places looking for answers, and you may become their newest target. Before I do this, I must know: are you willing to face great risk, sacrifice, and insurmountable odds in pursuit of this goal?"
Before she does this? Does that mean…
I hesitated. Her words held nuances I didn't fully understand. Even so, my answer was the same.
"I won't pretend like danger doesn't scare me," I laid a hand across my chest. "But this has, and always will be, a matter of life and death. Nothing is going to hold me back."
Cynthine nodded. "Time will tell if your words hold up to scrutiny. But for today, I suppose I'll push you along this road."
"So you'll do it!?" excitement stole my voice.
"My, do you ask obvious questions," she walked up to me.
Yes! I grinned as wide as my bones would let me. And maybe pumped my fists a little. Yes, yes yes!
At that, she smiled. This time, it seemed to be mending. Then her eyes drifted to a window in the bedroom's corner. The night sky slipped past the askew black curtain, cutting a line of soft moonlight between us.
Cynthine stretched her arms, popping like old bones tend to do. "It's late. Let me work my magic, however, and I'll give you a glimpse of your new self before dawn. Are you ready?"