[Skell]
The world had one twisted sense of humor.
Giving an amnesiac the barest flashes of memory, before revealing what seemed to be my mother - clouded as she was. Or taking away my only friend in a land of undead slayers, just to hide him in what was practically plain sight.
Now, with Oliver literally at my back and everything behind us, I found myself anxious. What direction would the dial point next? Good? Bad?
Sometimes, I forgot "weird" was an option.
Inside the "Feline Fellowship of Lumerit," my eyes were assaulted. Pink carpet splashed across the main room, lines of colorful yarn sprawling from end to end like repeating rainbows. Along the walls, wicker towers and carpeted shelves loomed overhead - beside "humorous" cat paintings and "inspirational" quotes with forced cat puns as the basis.
These towers and shelves however, acted as perch points for the curious cats scrutinizing me. And they were legion, for there were many. Resting in puffy beds, kneading blankets, lurking inside the gaping maws of dead-eyed fish toys and, I suspected, in other corners beyond my perception.
"You shut the door, didn't you?" asked a muffled voice on my shoulders. "It's safe to leave?"
I tried ignoring the sensation of being outnumbered. "J-just a sec, Oliver. Crawl out now and you'll crush me."
Dropping the backpack on the carpet, I knelt down to unzip the main pouch. But as my fingers touched metal, claws sunk into my glamour.
"Agh!" I leapt, stumbling around frantically. "Shade!"
Reaching for my head, my fingers felt a furry mane - but as hard as I pulled, the beast wouldn't retract its claws, remaining attached to my scalp.
"S-Skell!?" Oliver asked. "Are you under attack?"
"Yes! This monster's trying to kill m-"
In my blind floundering, a small hanging hammock lied behind me. With a troll's elegance, I tripped over it and landed spine-first on a terribly-placed marble.
Urk! This place is a death trap!
When my eyes opened, they saw the blackest cat standing atop my face - and Oliver behind it, hurriedly climbing out of the backpack.
"No!" he extended a hand. "Wait!"
Too late. Several scratches tore across my face, and by the time I could do anything about it, the cat had zipped to the room's other side.
Oliver's shadow stood over me. "A-are you okay?"
My eyes narrowed at the ceiling. I quietly rose, then fired up my fists. "Look, cat! If you wanna fight, bring it! I beat a Templar - I can take you!"
The cat hissed in response, the hair on its tail spiking tall.
"Hold on!" Oliver squeezed between us. "You can't go fighting cats!"
"Agreed," said a calm voice. "After all, I don't quite like Skell's odds."
The cat's eyes softened, as did Oliver's. I turned to find an ostensibly young woman, arms crossed at the mouth of an unlit hallway.
"Miss Cynthine!"
She flipped her hair, smiling. "It's delightful to see you too, dear. And I suppose you as well, Skell. All that flailing tells me you two aren't too worse for wear."
"Cynthine?" I dropped my knuckles.
Several thoughts came forward then. Gratitude. Shock. Regret. Those, and-
"Were you standing there the whole time?" I interrogated. "Why didn't you help? I was getting mauled!"
"And miss out on free entertainment? Heavens, no. As well, it's not as if you're suffering; your body begins and ends at your bones. Shredded skin should hardly get noticed."
"W-well, pain or not," I replied, "no one likes to see themselves get maimed!"
She waved a dismissing hand. "Oh, toughen up. Undead shouldn't fear one territorial cat. If anything, you should count that as compensation for your trickery yesterday. You haven't forgotten, have you?"
Shade. It all flooded back. I said I told Oliver about Ansel's death way before this Templar business, but that was a big fat lie. She must know by now. And… crap, Oliver probably does too.
She saw the realization on my face, frowning. "But your verbal flaying can wait. More importantly, you two took far longer than expected to arrive. Were there complications?"
Oliver stood at my side. "Actually… a lotta things happened. Like, a lot."
"Such as?" Cynthine arched a violet brow.
—————————————————————————————————-
Quickly seeing our escape wasn't as neat as she'd hoped, Cynthine beckoned us down the hall to somewhere more fitting than the kitten wonderland.
Though as we shuffled around passing cats, she tapped Oliver - still wearing Hyland's intense face - and in a flash, the black hair, solid features, and silver plate vanished into pink smoke. It faded fast. And under it was the face of my ginger-haired, gap-toothed, autumn-clothed friend.
"How'd you get rid of his glamour so fast!?" I examined Oliver. "Doesn't it take hours to craft one?"
"Which is quicker?" replied Cynthine. "Painting a masterpiece, or tearing one apart?"
I raised a finger and opened my mouth. Then my finger drooped. "…Fair enough."
At the hallway's end, we reached a quiet, dim room. A mazelike system of tubes laced across the right side, feline snoring coming from inside. On the left, a circular congregation of rocking chairs. The two seated themselves, but just as my skeletal butt hovered over a chair, Cynthine warned me.
"Don't make yourself too comfortable. Oliver told you what comes next, did he not?"
"Yeah, yeah: you wanna erase my glamour and forge a new one."
She crossed legs. "I'd assume you share that desire. Unless you'd rather keep the face of a fugitive?"
"But Skell isn't a criminal," Oliver interjected. "He-"
"Let's explain things in order," I grinned. "Wouldn't want to confuse her."
Cynthine eyed me curiously.
Knowing something the old witch didn't was a refreshing change of pace. Yet, even as we recounted everything from the armor shop to my imprisonment to Oliver's entrance, her face kept awfully still. That is, until Hyland reentered the conversation.
"Him!" she gripped the arm of her chair. "Your delay, of course he caused it!"
"You know Hyland?" I asked.
Cynthine rocked faster. "That runt Templar 'worked' in Belza Hill for years - I couldn't miss him on these streets if I wanted - and Abyss, I want to!"
"Did he… do something to you?" Oliver seemed concerned her chair would catch fire.
"Why he most certainly did! Once, he took a street vendor's last apples - the ones I intended to bake for an apple pie!"
"…That's it?" I asked.
"I suppose he also refused to pay. Ah, and another time he scared off a cat that blocked his path!"
"That's kinda mean," Oliver said.
"But not exactly personal," I added.
"Bah! You wouldn't understand! Those actions, among the terrible gossip following his wake, demanded reparations. That's why I used the brat's appearance. Once Oliver, wearing his glamour, set you free, Hyland would be the one to answer for it."
Oliver's head tilted. "I-I thought I had to look like him to get into the jail?"
"That too," she said off-handedly.
Talk about petty…
"Well, what about Gervais?" I asked. "His glamour would've got Oliver in just as easy."
"The Paladin?" she questioned. "Why, he's a gentleman. And quite the hunk, if I do say so myself. I'd never throw him to the wolves. A shame his allegiances lie with those law-worshipping Templars - he's just old enough to be my type."
All my organs were fake. Illusions. Yet I found myself gagging.
———————————————————————————–——————
"And that… that left you free to travel here?" asked Cynthine.
"Without a hitch," I spoke with pride. "Though, I'm surprised you know about Ansel's crazy backpack."
Then again, maybe I shouldn't be. Abyss, she might've been there when he got it.
The glamour mage didn't respond. She seemed too lost in thought.
"Miss Cynthine?" Oliver leaned forward. "Are you okay?"
"Yes, yes, good and well," her eyes returned to us. "I am simply… realizing something: you two are quite the pair."
Oliver and I paused, curious.
She continued. "Challenging a Templar and living to tell the tale? Escorted out of prison, by your own slayer - convinced of your innocence? Goodness…"
"When you put it like that," I said, "I forget how many times we almost died."
"Yet through guile and determination, you didn't," Cynthine declared. "I've engineered several jailbreaks in my day. But I must say, this particular escape is highly impressive, you two."
"Wow! Thanks, Miss Cynthine!"
S-several?
I cleared my throat. "Nice of you to say that. But now that we've given you all the facts, I've got a question of my own."
"Go on," she nodded. "Tit for tat."
"Well, glamours are your thing, right? Specifically, posing as someone else. I mean, you've pretended to be a beautiful young woman for years."
"Excuse me?" her eyes narrowed.
"W-what I'm getting at is, why didn't you come yourself, instead of Oliver? Don't get me wrong, he handled himself well down there, but you have experience with subterfuge."
She glared. "You're asking why didn't I dress as the runt Templar and drag you topside?"
Well, impressed-Cynthine was nice while it lasted.
"Because he insisted he rescue you," she went on.
I looked to a blushing Oliver, who was suddenly and conveniently very focused on petting a nearby cat.
"And denying him felt like denying…" Cynthine caught herself, sighing. "In any case, I'm sure you've already gleaned this, but that runt Templar was never supposed to return to the jail on some rogue mission."
"Yeah," added Oliver. "The original plan was to walk in, say a few words, then get you out. We didn't expect a fight."
The glamour mage nodded. "I've seen enough of the Paladin to know he wouldn't rush into revealing your identity. A careful man, he. But that runt Knight… To the Templars, orders are law. But I suppose it was a mistake to assume he'd listen like the rest."
"Right," I let the chair rock away my concerns. "Well, guess I can't complain; everything worked out - thanks to you guys."
"Don't drop to your hands and knees too quickly," Cynthine said. "Had I not rescued you, a glamour witch-hunt would've followed your discovery. That and Oliver's pleas were significant incentives to lend my assistance."
"But even without that, you would've still helped me, right? Because deep down, you're a sweet lady?"
She frowned. "I wouldn't push it. Don't forget how many headaches you've given me the last couple days, Skell."
Hey, only most of that was my fault!
"Sorry to change the subject," Oliver looked around, "but what is this place?"
Her frown instantly flipped. "Oh, the Feline Fellowship? Well, you could say it's part club, part animal shelter. Usually, the girls and I meet up and chat."
I hid a snicker. Something told me Cynthine was both the "youngest" and oldest of these cat ladies.
"But on weeknights like this," she continued, "they've long gone off to bed - leaving this place absent."
"Barring us," I said. "Not a bad spot to do some glamour work. It's far from where you live, and barely a soul seems to visit this side of town at night."
She nodded. "And as the Fellowship's Grand Meowster, I'm the only one with a key."
I blinked. "I can't believe you said that with a straight face."
Cynthine gave me a confused, shameless look.
"A-anyway," I shook my head, "we've been talking for some time, but there's still one more thing."
I stood up. "What do you know about the Baroness?"
———————————————————————————–——————
"Did the Templars let you go?"
"You are human, aren't you?"
"What's the real reason you were arrested, huh!?"
I smiled inside the depths of my cloak. It felt strange, wearing the old thing after pining so long to never have to hide my face again. But I was glad I kept it. The hood worked as a convenient shield from inconvenient questions like those, as I walked Belza Hill's streets. After all, my arrest was still the gossip of the town, and my face wouldn't be forgotten in a day.
No, unlike in the past, I wore the cloak more for peace of mind than safety. Last night, after Cynthine learned I wasn't so much an escapee as a "victim" and "witness", we chose to finish my current glamour. No more running around with a flawed illusion - not even the most furious expression would crack it's mask. I'd need that level of security, anyway. Because I had somewhere to be:
The Baroness' manor.
And with no distractions, it wasn't long before I arrived.
As a man with no real nose, even I could smell the affluence. Impeccably trimmed hedges enclosed all sides of the plateau save for the front, making way for a brick path that almost seemed as much a sin to walk on as the neat grass around it. Grand doors stood at the path's end, flanked by rows of tall windows that seemed to peer into every room - even on the upper floors.
And in a window on the third floor, someone peered back.
I squinted. They walked off before I could make them out.
…Guess they know there's a visitor.
Of course, I'd dropped my hood a couple minutes back; showing up to the Baroness' manor all suspicious-like would be pretty stupid of me. Besides, for once, my identity was needed here.
I shook off the apprehension and moved down the path. A groundskeeper, tending to the hedges with a stream of water magic, sent me a friendly wave. I returned the favor. The next guy wasn't quite so friendly.
"Business?" asked a short, grim man standing guard at the front doors.
"…Sorry, what?"
"Do ye've business with the Baroness?" his raspy voice sharpened into impatience. "If not, move along."
"Well, er," I looked away from his stony eyes, "I was supposed to be here at noon. My name's Skell. I know I'm a little early, but-"
"Don't know ye. Don't believe ye. Now, the Baroness is a busy lady. May the sun light your whatsit," he motioned me to someplace very far away.
The guard looked past me, completely still. But when it became clear I wasn't intent on leaving, he and his too-tight gambeson shook in agitation. "Well? Go on, get!"
"I'm not gonna 'get'. Paladin Gervais himself told me to come here."
He stared blankly for a good five seconds, before bursting into laughter. "First ye mingle with the Baroness, then the Paladin?" He keeled over, gripping his face. "Likely story. And I have a pet gryphon! Ha ha h-"
Behind him, the door opened, revealing a bald, dark-skinned woman. As she descended onto the path, her scarlet coat drifted in the breeze - pushed along by the solid steps of tall brown boots - which swiftly made their way before mine.
"Violet hair. Eyes of the same hue. And leather armor as black as soot. Exactly as Gervais described."
The guard's laugh froze inside his throat.
I was taken aback too. This is who watched me from the third floor!
The woman extended a white-gloved hand, her hazel eyes amiable. "Enchanté. I am the Baroness of Belza Hill. Feel free to call me Antonia."
"Y-you're the Baroness?" I asked.
Antonia nodded. "As a matter of fact. Though contrary to the rumors, even a Baroness tires," she glanced at her hovering arm.
"Sorry," I moved to shake it. "Just didn't expect to meet you so suddenly. Thought I'd run into a steward or seneschal first."
"Or me!" the short guard turned to Antonia. "My lady, ye had a meetin' today? I 'ought yer schedule was clear?"
"It was. But urgent affairs often pair with short notice."
The man's eyes lit up, then he lowered into a whisper. "Wait just a wee moment. If Paladin Gervais is involved, then this squirt…? This is who battled Hyland?"
Squirt!? You wanna check a mirror, little guy?
Antonia adjusted her coat. "That's what I'm told."
The guard reached for the sword at his side. "Then I'll accompany ye, my lady. I must guarantee yer safety."
It wasn't even a threat, but I tensed, mentally grasping for my Shroud. The week's dangers couldn't have been good for my nerves.
She laid two fingers atop his weapon's hilt, preventing its withdrawal. "That won't be necessary. I've been assured of this man's character. And it is poor form to hold a blade to a guest's neck."
My body relaxed a little. Gervais… I really owe you one.
"I… yes, my lady, ye have the right of it," he released the handle.
"Your vigilance is appreciated," she assured. "And as for you, Skell, there is much to discuss. Let's take our conversation inside, shall we?"
Antonia beckoned me through the doors, doubling back. I followed, taking the chance to shoot the fuming guard a smug grin on my way inside.
And inside? A foyer oozing 'fancy' from every orifice. Floors? Marble. Walls? Boasting fine tapestries. Tables? Well, I didn't know much about wood, but they sure weren't built from some common log. Did anyone play piano or sing opera from down the hall? No. But in those surroundings, I could almost hear it.
"Apologies for the cold reception," Antonia gave a genuine look back as she walked. "My men do good work, but can be by-the-book at times."
I watched her curiously. "So you're not… er, by-the-book?"
She laughed. "I'm sure you've noticed my lack of middle-men. Customary things in Lumerit. Myself? I find they get in the way of reaching the heart of a matter."
The Baroness led me up wooden stairs. "And on that note: Hyland's accusation. Let's talk about it."
Antonia turned a sharp corner on the stairs, a moment too late to notice me stiffen. "To throw my hat in the ring, you look nothing like a skeleton. Too much skin. Not enough mindless destruction."
"Well, Hyland seemed to think I wore some sort of disguise."
"A glamour. The outlawed magic. Yes, Gervais told me of Hyland's fanciful theories of undead conspiracy. Along with mentions of the battle-starved frenzy he entered. I'm also aware of his terrible treatment of my people."
A shadow of resentment touched her voice. "I can't help but find a link between the three."
We reached the second floor, heading straight for another staircase. During our walk, I noticed a grand window presenting Belza Hill's southern side.
Rooftops slowly descended down the Layers, the people below going from shrunken, to diminutive, to invisibly small. At the very bottom, verdant plains and hills of much lower ambition rolled on. I wanted to stop and stare. But my attention was better spent on the Baroness.
"Sounds like you don't subscribe to his way of thinking," I said. "Or him in general."
"I wouldn't be so sure of the former," she started up the next flight. "Your name is very peculiar. Suspect, even. 'Skell' is awfully close to 'skeleton', don't you think?"
I stopped mid-step, regarding her with puzzled caution.
She tilted back, revealing a wry smile. "Just a joke. Names are simply names, of course. But it is notably convenient. Makes me wonder if that was the catalyst for Hyland's suspicions."
I wore a smile, secretly cursing my choice of name.
"Convenient's a good way to put it," I sighed, "convenient in the worst possible way. Don't know if that's what caused everything, though. Hyland was unpredictable. Anything could've let him loose."
She hit the stairs' peak and continued to a hallway lit with many-armed chandeliers and lined with white doors. "Gervais said something to that effect. But as he surely told you, I prefer to hear from those present. Right ahead is my office," she motioned. "Inside, we can delve into the full story."
We stopped at a door on the left. Antonia half-turned before touching the knob. "Ah, and do try to get comfortable. You're a guest of the manor. I'd be a terrible host, you see, were my guests not to feel at home."
I could tell she meant what she said. Before I knew it, I found myself letting go of a fistful of tension. Keeping secrets was hard. Keeping stories straight was harder. Doing so with someone holding the power to send hundreds of officers after you? Couldn't even compare.
I'd still have to be careful, not to leave a contradiction in my testimony.
But maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all.
———————————————————————————–——————
"You're certain you don't want coffee?" Antonia took a quick swig of her own. "I know the struggles of long conversation without refreshments."
"Thanks, but I'll pass."
I cut off a longing stare at her fancy cup. I'd kill for that burst of energy right now. Retelling this story for the millionth time might just teach me how to fall asleep again.
But I kept going, giving every detail she asked for. After supplying a… revised version of my scuffle with the Knight, Antonia leaned back, clearly troubled by Hyland's actions.
Which left me a few moments to myself. In time, my eyes drifted.
Past the reddish-brown desk between us, and the contemplative Baroness - seated in a chair identical to mine - was a large map of Lumerit, spread across the back wall. Among other places, I noticed a mountain range, an inland sea, and a city nestled between.
I quickly looked elsewhere. Geography didn't spark my interest. Not that books generally did, but my attention ran along the bookcase behind the Baroness. 'Till I realized it was full to bursting with dry doorstoppers detailing a world of taxation, commerce, and border disputes that I wanted no part of.
Poor Antonia. These books have almost as many bookmarks as pages.
Sudden muttering interrupted my thoughts. "…Order's going to love this."
"What was that?" I asked.
"Hm?" her eyes shot up. "Oh, it's nothing - just thinking out loud. You can keep going, whenever you're ready."
The question was a formality; I'd heard her loud and clear. Not that I'd be poking my nose into stuff that flew way over my head. Like she asked, I just kept going. It wasn't long 'till I recounted everything.
"I… I see," she spoke over interlaced fingers. "What an dreadful series of events. You have my sympathies."
"Believe it or not, it doesn't weigh on me that much. Not anymore. In a way, I feel better now than before this run-in with Hyland."
"Is that so?" Antonia matched my relaxed expression. "Then I suppose now wouldn't be a bad time to address the dusty hole you left in my jail? Someone needs to foot the bill, after all."
"Th-the hole? Abyss, I forgot about that. "My eyes raced around my feet, before I remembered I'd left the backpack with Oliver. "Er, how much will it run me? I've got the rounds at home if you'll just let me…" I settled. "…You're kidding again."
The Baroness hid amused laughter behind a glove. "That hole is nothing a pinch of earth magic can't fix. Don't concern yourself with it. Moreover, it's creation was entirely understandable - not that I can condone jailbreaks, in my position," she seemed to remind herself as much as me.
I found myself laughing. "You're not at all what I expected, Antonia."
"You aren't the first to tell me that," she smiled.
She sat straighter. "Having said that, I'll dispense with the humor. For as much as you've informed me - and again, I thank you - there's a parcel of information you seem to lack as well."
"What? Did something happen?"
"More accurately, it's what didn't happen. In your description of events, you spoke as if under the impression that Hyland is gone. Killed by Gervais. I should dispel that idea. For your sake."
The chills were instant.
I leaned over the table. "H-he survived! How!? He fell all the way to the jail's bottom floor - not to mention his other injuries."
"Templars are hardy warriors; their training demands it… but that alone can't explain his pulling through. Even Gervais was shocked, if not to a greater degree conflicted."
Her gaze refocused on me. "I digress. Hyland rests in a hospital not far from my manor. If my healers had reached him a few minutes later, they say, he'd be gone. But he's stabilized, started receiving treatment."
I held a death-grip on the arms of my chair. My wound had long healed, but I could feel a ghost of a pulse where it once marked me. "…Then I'm still in danger?"
The Baroness' expression darkened. "Yes and no."
What?
"Hyland isn't awake," Antonia said. "Nor will he be for - his healers predict - a few days. Beyond that, they claim he'll need a month to fully recover from his wounds, and that's with magic and medicine. At the very least, whatever dogged persistence kept him alive won't hurry along his recovery."
"But what comes after that? This almost feels wrong to say, considering where I just left, but will he see a cell after all this?"
A wince passed over her face. "Not for a single day."
I would've been outraged. But in a way, I almost expected this. Still, I wanted answers. "Why? You're a Baroness, and he's an attempted killer, a thief, and a thug who abuses his title. There's plenty of crimes to stick him with."
"Crimes that'll slide right off. Trust me, knowing that an unrestrained maniac could hurt my people at any moment… it isn't pleasant, I assure you. But for all the power my position grants me, it only further illuminates what I can't do."
"What do you mean?"
"Templars…" Antonia thought carefully. "They're hard to touch, and we'll leave it at that. As for his Order, they've handled situations like this consistently in the past: the offending Templar will lose their position, guaranteed. But you can almost never expect anything further - not even in the highest courts."
How can anyone be above the very same laws they enforce? That's ridiculous. But, wait…
"Then Hyland will be… just a guy? No armor? No title?"
"He'll remain a skillful warrior, adept in light magic. But yes," her frown softened, "just a 'guy'."
"Right, his combat ability," I gritted teeth. "That can't be taken away."
"My point exactly. Which leads to a… personal request of mine. I humbly ask that you leave Belza Hill. Within forty-eight hours, ideally," her eyes closed. "I'm sorry, if this upsets you."
I thought a moment. "Why would it?"
And just like that, they flung open.
I sat up. "Once Hyland's clear to leave the hospital, we both know his next move: dealing with 'unfinished business'." I pressed a hand against my chest. "Another disaster just waiting to happen. And one I imagine would be a nightmare to prevent."
"You're as sharp as Gervais describes," she gave an endearing smile. "Yes, I simply can't dedicate a sizable portion of my garrison to keep tabs on one man. In doing so, others would suffer. And now that he's down a Knight, Gervais will have much more on his plate. As much as I'd like to assign everyone a Paladin as their personal bodyguard, we only have the one."
"So," she continued, "to sum up, you need not fear the Order, and you need not fear the law. Gervais and I have that covered. But I can't assure your safety if you remain within my town. Nor can I assure that others won't be caught in the crossfire. If you leave, however, Hyland will have no means to track you. To him, you could be anywhere in Lumerit. That would be your shield."
"I agree. That'd be the safest play for both of us."
I stood up. "Then, looks like it's time."
"Time?" Antonia asked. "For what?"
"To move on. Maybe that's why I don't feel so bad about your request. You've got a amazing town here, Antonia. I hope I get the chance to come back, someday. But I never meant to stay for long."
"You have a penchant for sparking my curiosity, Skell," she cupped her chin. "If I might be so bold, where will you be headed?"
I smiled, gazing up at the map behind Antonia.
———————————————————————————–——————
"Yup. We'll pack our bags for the trip there tonight." I laid across the couch, throwing my voice to the kitchen. "Or, I guess just 'bag'. Not like we'll ever need a second."
"That's… quite soon," Cynthine stood over an ingredient-covered countertop.
"Is it?"
"Like you explained, the runt Knight is confined to the hospital. Weeks will pass before he can even lift a sword again, let alone chase you with it. Would leaving town in such a hurry truly be warranted, then?"
"It's more than that. Sure, we've got time to spare. But even if Oliver and I are safe for the moment, there's still much for us to do in the capital."
I extended fingers. "One: we gotta find Amara and tell her the… the bad news. Two: get that shipment sent to Sienna Village so its people can defend themselves. And three: I gotta start my search."
The secret to living again won't find itself, after all.
"Yes. Yes, of course. I suppose those matters are quite urgent." Cynthine went to grab a hanging knife, then started quietly slicing garlic.
Is something up?
"Well, before you depart," she said, "Oliver must eat. A warm meal will ease that shoulder of his."
"Of course; we'll only leave when he's good and ready," I sat up. "Though that reminds me: he still counting sheep in your room?"
"Like a mouse. Unlike you, he can't go days without a wink of sleep. And that battle he fought would've only compounded his fatigue. I've only recently awoke, myself."
Right. It's too easy to forget that no one else has my same… traits.
"And on the note of your undeath," she said, "come, chop these onions."
I cocked my head. "Huh?"
"Chop these onions for me. If you wouldn't mind," Cynthine added after a long delay.
I snickered. "You can handle some onions, Cynthine. Just use your Shroud or something."
"And accidentally cleave the cutting board in two? I believe handing the task to one without tear ducts to be more wise."
"Come on," I groaned. "I'm already dead. Isn't that punishment enough?"
Sheesh, lady, I just wanna lie down for once.
"Skell," Cynthine took on an authoritative tone, "I've saved you, listened to your lies, and gave you the very same skin you sprawl across my couch - you can lift your bony wrists and chop some bloody onions."
"Urgh, twist my arm, why don't you?" I slowly rose. "What's on the menu, anyway?"
"Curry."
I gave her a puzzled look.
"You wouldn't know of it; Lumerit is allergic to spices and flavor. But this foreign dish is simple, healthy and filling. Furthermore, I'm adding a sprinkling of herbs. The type that promote natural healing."
"Oh, for Oliver," I entered the kitchen, "good idea-"
Healing?
"H-hey, hold on!"
Cynthine blanched. "What has you so troubled all of a sudden?"
"Back when Hyland and I fought - I told you I got hurt - but never went into detail. He… cut into me, over and over. But once I left the jail, everything was gone. Healed. But I don't know why. I know you said you're far from an undead expert, but-
"Regeneration."
"Re… what?"
"The innate ability of every undead," she noted casually. "Their involuntary mending of all damage is what distinguishes them from 'normal' monsters - along with their abhorrence for light magic."
"Woah… So all that was just my body fixing itself? For me?" I thought back to my many wounds. They were transient things, now. "I'm invincible, then," I laughed. "That's incredible!"
Cynthine made a sobering clearing of her throat. "Harder to kill, perhaps. But not invincible. I'd dare anything to regenerate from mincemeat or bonemeal. And individual species, I hear, have their own unique weaknesses. Not that I can tell you yours. Or what precisely is putting you back together."
"Oh. So just… semi-invincible, then?"
"I'd say that's still too much credit. You still feel pain as well, don't you? And light magic will forever be a vulnerability."
"W-well, I'll take what I can get!" I crossed my arms. "Healing in minutes will always beat a month's stay in the hospital. Plus it even extends to my glamour."
"Yes, that is something of a bonus. Just ensure no one is there to witness your accelerated healing."
"True… If I grow back a finger or something, people might have questions. That's a whole new complication I never considered." I scratched at my temple, starting for the couch. "Hm. I should really sit down and think on this-"
"Skell!" Cynthine shouted. "You're not worming your way out of cutting onions!"
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"Looks kinda… watery, don't you think?" I peeked into the pot.
"Hmph," she smirked, closely watching the swirling red juices.
"Something funny?"
"Only you. I wasn't aware skeletons could be culinarians."
"Hey, I'm not playing expert. It just… feels like it could use more veggies, is all. We're not trying to drown him in soup, are we?"
"Hm."
I slumped. "You gonna keep grunting all day, or what?"
"I suppose I'll drain it, some. If it keeps you from buzzing in my ear."
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"Here's the spinach," I tilted the cutting board, using the dull side of my knife to scrape green shavings into the mouthwatering whirlpool.
"Thank you," Cynthine took a satisfied breath. "That was the last step. Lamb is done, so is the rice. A few minutes of simmering and dinner is served.
I smiled. "Can't wait to see the look on Oliver's face."
Cynthine seemed to think a moment, then regarded me. "You know, I simply wanted you to chop onions. There was no need to assist me with the rest. It's… not as if you'll be able to enjoy it."
"Yeah? Well, you already dragged me over here. I wasn't gonna be gotten rid of just as fast. Besides, this… it's for Oliver. He deserves something after all that happened. I'm his friend; I should pitch in too."
And forget about my own cravings…
The glamour mage settled on a blank expression. Her sudden steps toward the living room, then, caught me by surprise.
"Cynthine?"
"Don't you worry," she passed the stairs, "I've simply been struck by a memory."
I followed after her. "About what?"
From behind, a smile uplifted the corner of her lips. "I did not say it at the Fellowship, but I'm proud. Of you."
"Wh-what?" I stopped. "Why? All I did these last few days was blunder and involve others in my mistakes."
"You are partially correct. But I wouldn't describe your defense of that shopkeep as a mistake."
She turned around, eyes beaming a rare warmth. "Sticking your nose where it doesn't belong; that was his M.O. Of course, you aren't him. Far from it, really. But he would've done the same in your shoes - picking a fight with someone he could never hope to defeat - and win anyway. That foolish bravery, I never quite learned. A bravery that could've ruined all he ever worked for. Yet it was why I've always respected him."
Words were hard to grasp, in that moment.
She was just criticizing me, and now…
Cynthine looked aside. "Apologies. Seems I haven't recovered from his loss as much as I believed. I'm much too mature for all this sentimentality. Let's just sit down and wait for the simmering to be done with-"
"Actually," I muttered, "there's something I wanna give you."
She stopped.
I made for Ansel's backpack, resting against the nearby couch. Dropping to a knee, I rummaged through the contents. "At first, I thought to get something cat-related. After seeing that Fellowship place, though, I'm glad I didn't. What more could I get a crazy cat lady?"
"Do… you refer to a gift?"
Slipping it behind my back, I rose and walked to the glamour mage. "I planned on giving this to you when we left for the capital. I changed my mind."
Standing before the stunned woman, I revealed her reflection.
"A hand mirror?" she stared.
"Back when I searched for Oliver, I decided to hit two birds with one stone. There were a million shops in the Lower Layer, and I felt that… well, you've done a lot for me, and…" I thrust it into her hands. "Y-you get the idea."
"There are golden words on the other side," she took it softly. "'Glass reflects your outer beauty, but what's inside you shines ever brighter'."
I buried my eyes in the ground. "I know, I know, cheesier than the fondue vendors sell in the Lower Layer - but when I saw it, I couldn't get it out of my head."
And it sure isn't romantic, old witch, so don't get the wrong idea!
Her attention slowly climbed back to me. "I…" she cleared her throat. "I appreciate this. Greatly."
"You do? I-it's nothing, really. Plus, I bought it with Ansel's rounds. I… don't really have any money of my own."
"So it is as if you both bought it for me…"
Urgh, I'm not blushing, am I?
"Skell," she breathed, drifting a hand over her eyes just as I could've sworn I caught a sparkle, "I'm having difficulty finding what to say. I suppose I should start with-"
A creak came from the loft upstairs. "Hey," Oliver appeared at the railing, rubbing sleep from his eyes, "is something burning?"
Cynthine looked to me, and I to her.
"Bloody Abyss!"
"Shade!"
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"Sometimes," Oliver blew on the dark chunk of lamb, "food tastes better burnt.
He scooped up some rice alongside it, gulping it down with a grin.
"As long as it's to your taste…" said the horrified glamour mage, sitting across the table.
"Yeah," I sat between, eyes wide. "Just, er, don't look at it too hard. But enough about curry, how are you holding up?"
"My shoulder still hurts something fierce," he said. "Still, it feels a tiny bit better with every bite. At the very least, it won't stop me from traveling."
"That's great! Because I was thinking…" I looked to Cynthine, then back to him, "we should stay another day before we hit the road. See town. Without any secrets. Or Templars."
"R-really?" A split-second of joy was replaced by downcast reality. "But, we need to leave soon. Amara has to know about grandpa."
"From what you say about her," I replied, "she'd understand. You've been through a lot. One day to slow down and mourn wouldn't be a crime."
He put down his spoon. "I reckon… that might be a good idea. Amara would probably agree if she were here." However, his face didn't change. "Sienna Village, though. They need that weapon shipment soon. Velora won't come back, but monsters still creep around the outskirts from time to time, and old pitchforks won't always keep my folks safe."
I laughed. "There's an easy fix for that. We'll just, er… erm…"
"This shipment you two keep referring to," Cynthine interjected, "I could simply have it delivered myself."
"You can?" I asked.
"Why do you sound so surprised? It's not as if I can't afford a box of weapons. Take a look around - this is hardly cheap property."
She rolled fingers through her hair. "I realize it isn't exact to Ansel's final scheme, but regardless of who does it, we'll have the same result. Better, to be precise, since Ansel wanted you to have it sent from the capital. I could have the preparations complete - here, in Belza Hill - by tomorrow morning."
Right. Ansel used this shipment as an excuse for Oliver to go to the capital and find Amara. But now that Oliver knows about his passing, we can throw his complicated plan out the window.
"You would do that, Miss Cynthine?" Oliver asked.
"It would be no bother, dear," she smiled warmly.
I was giddy, expecting Oliver's face to light up like a lantern. But he still seemed indecisive. I considered how else I could possibly convince him… when I stopped myself. I was approaching this the wrong way.
"I don't mean to push you into it, Oliver," I said. "Stay or go, it's your choice. No one else's."
Oliver stared into his bowl. "That's not what I'm worried about. You still need to live again. I know how bad you want to. I mean, a whole day? Spent goofing off? It sounds great… but that's another day you're stuck inside a body you hate."
He had a better point than I wanted to admit. Every hour felt like another step in an endless marathon. Even the food across the table was like a taunt from the world - so close, but still impossibly far from being tasted. Smelled. Experienced.
I looked Oliver in the eye. I could've lied, or hid my emotions. Said it wouldn't bother me. But I wouldn't speak to him through a mask. Not this time.
"Yeah, it might sting, if I think too hard about it. I do want to live again. Bad. That's never gonna change. But what I actually wanna do after I take my first breath? That, I haven't given as much thought. There's so many possibilities, it'd almost be impossible to narrow it down to anything coherent." I shrugged. "Standing by your side, though? That might be the perfect solution."
"H-how?" Oliver asked.
"You left Sienna for the outside world. Saw places far beyond your forest. The other night, you walked town - copperless - and adored it. Now you've got the rounds Ansel left you. Something I imagine he'd want you to use to try new things. And while I can't take in the flavors and smells like you, I can be there while you experience them. And that? That'll give me inspiration."
"For a list, I'm thinking," I continued. "Of places I want to go. Things I want to do. Of memories to make."
Honestly, my words came fresh off the heels of my thoughts, but the more I spoke, the more I fell in love with the idea.
"It'll be like an… an anti-bucket list!" A goofy grin spread across my face. "And with your help making it, the wait'll be completely worth it. Because after, I'll know exactly what to look forward to once I'm alive!"
"That's…" Cynthine searched for the right words, "quite the aim."
Oliver's eyes went wide. "You really reckon staying here would be worth it?" He checked my face, finding the confident truth. "T-then… I'd love to help!"
He jumped from his seat like he was in perfect health. "That means everything is settled! I tried not to think too hard about it, but I really didn't want to leave Belza Hill so soon! But if we can squeeze in just one day then… I have to get ready!" he bolted to the stairs.
"Already?" I asked. "Don't you wanna wait until morning? You're still healing."
"And waste all that time? No way!" his voice grew distant, before a door slammed above.
"Oh boy," I smiled, before remembering Cynthine. "Oh, sorry. Might've gotten a bit carried away there-"
"Does your little 'expedition' have room for a third?" she rose, her face oddly pleased.
"A third?"
"I've lived in Belza Hill for decades. If anyone knows its points of interest, it's yours truly."
"You're… you're serious?" my chair suddenly felt unsteady.
Oliver burst through the door upstairs, beaming atop the loft. "Okay, folks! Where do you reckon we go first!?"
Masks Arc - End