[Amara]
The pummeling intensified with each racing heartbeat. For a time I thought my arms would snap off at the speed I threw them, pulled back, and launched them again.
I didn't waver.
Now a shattered mess, the amalgamation spewed puffs of purple haze from the tapestry of cracks along its cloudy surface.
The battle was over. One final strike would end it.
I stomped hard on the thick vegetation, hurling a blow with all my might at the core's center.
Echoes followed as if all the glass in a greenhouse burst simultaneously. The purple core was flung back, through the ribcage, body, tail - everything. Every bone disassembled violently and fragmented and turned to dust before they ever touched the ground.
As for the amalgamation's true body - the core - it floated in the air, shaking erratically. A gaping hole in its center poured out the dark cloud inside, which quickly faded upon contact with the air. For a moment, a relieved face seemed to appear in the smoke. Then it vanished.
The core dropped from above, empty and hollow. Against the soft ground it broke apart instantly. Brittle as a wine glass.
A resounding victory. Yet the usual elation didn't take its place.
Adrenaline's rush dwindled; my gauntlets loosened and my breathing slowed. Lucidity only grew when I heard Warden Slania step on and over the broken remains of our adversary.
Reality came crashing onto my shoulders.
"Warden Slania," I knelt before her, wiping the blood that leaked onto my lips, "I was reckless. For ignoring your orders and endangering the assignment, there is no excuse."
She stood silently. From my view, I could only see as high as her dust-covered greaves.
"I accept any punishment you deem suitable," I added.
"Any punishment? All right then. I demand you pick up your chin and pull yourself together."
My gaze jerked to hers', puzzled.
"You made a stupid mistake. Who doesn't? Way I see it, the people are safe, the undead are the opposite, and we've still got our heads. So why bother handing you a dunce cap and rapping you over the knuckles? We won."
Ah. It's been too long. I forgot how… different she is from the others.
"Besides," she pointed to my wound. "That seems punishment enough. C'mere, I'll heal it."
"N-no!" I rose to my feet. "I… would rather you don't."
Her expression blanked. "…First gray hairs, now my hearing." She raised a hand and banged it against her ear a few times. "Must be getting old. Could've sworn you said to leave that nasty cut alone."
"I did."
"What?" her scoff was joyless. "Become a sucker for pain since we last met?"
She examined my face. Understanding passed over hers', and it softened. "Amara, you're one tough lady. But the strength to crush stone isn't much help against an infection."
"That's true. I shall clean the wound, stave off the bleeding."
"Right," she looked away. "Well, make it snappy. That was probably the last undead, but I don't like interruptions. We'll play smart and give the area a sweep."
"Agreed," I said. "And after that - the banishment."
—————————————————————————————————
"Sun above," Warden Slania glared at the time-worn stone corridors. "Seen crusty latrines in better shape than this place."
We passed a gaping hole in the keep's interior, dusty and cobwebbed. Outside rose a tower that loomed above the overgrown bailey. The Warden stopped, spit through the hole, then kept moving.
I followed at - thankfully - her other side. "Keep insulting it and perhaps it'll fall apart entirely out of spite."
"Heh. Think the walls'll get offended?"
"Its builders might."
"The builders are deader than my grandma."
"Precisely," I joked. "And when they come to haunt our next assignment? I'll let them take you. You did make fun of their hard work, after all."
"Come off it!" her laugh echoed through the halls. It was a raspy, nostalgic sound. One I found myself joining.
Our sweep began an hour ago. We could've made more progress in less time. But it had been too long - long enough to forget how it felt to stand beside my closest comrade in the Order.
Still, our eyes kept vigilant; safety was never assured on an assignment. Anything aside from work and good company however, fell to the wayside: the battle against the amalgamation, the desolate keep around us… to an extent, even my rank.
Idle talk continued as we scanned every inch of the dusty keep's main structure: a ruined, multi-story monolith that - for fleeting moments - seemed to shift under our weight. One floor featured the armory, assuming that broken workbenches and rusted-over equipment counted as "features". Above that rested the barracks, lined with empty beds wearing ancient linens and long-looted chests.
We peeked under the main hall's tables. Inside the storeroom's musty barrels. Beyond the roof's battlements. But ultimately, we found hide nor hair - rather - bone nor tooth of any further undead.
Or, more critically, what spawned them.
Descending back down via a spiral staircase, the sound of metal striking flesh caused me alarm. At least, before I realized it was my superior beside me - who suddenly palmed her forehead. "I'm such an idiot; how'd I forget!?"
"Warden Slania?" I asked, concerned.
She burst into laughter. "I heard the wildest thing on the grapevine the other day. Knew I had to tell you!"
I deflated. "Your time at the border must have been quite the bore if it's made you come back a gossip."
"I'm no bleeding gossip! This is real info, not rumors. And it concerns us. Get this: down in Belza Hill, some guy - don't know who - got into this big row with a Knight right before we set out on our assignment. Wrecked a whole store in the aftermath."
"Did he have a death wish?" I squinted. "I cannot say I know much of that region, or the Templars who operate there, but no ordinary man walks away after challenging one of our Knights."
…Sun above, I pray that Knight at least minimized the chaos. A prolonged fight could easily involve innocents.
She found my reaction amusing. "Word is the Templar started it. All because he believed the man was a skeleton in human skin."
I stared at her. "…So is that the punchline? Or is there more?"
"I'm serious!" she held a fist to her heart. "The Knight swore he was undead. Threw him in jail, and at the end of the day, said screw it and decided to kill him."
"T-that's absurd!" I stopped cold on the stairs. "No skeleton could hide among people - for too many reasons too list! He must have been under some sort of influence. Drunk out of his wits, or so exhausted he hallucinated an enemy. But… that does nothing to excuse his actions. We fight for the common man. Not against him. Not to kill him."
"My thoughts exactly," she seemed oddly relaxed, given the news. "Though you misunderstand. The guy didn't die - no one did, luckily. Abyss, apparently he left without a scratch, while the Knight was on death's door."
"Then he not only survived a battle with a Knight, but completely overpowered them!?"
Then this man… he is far from ordinary.
"Well, I don't know the particulars. Or much else really. Only Commandants and above were given authorization to read the report; I had to fight to hear a summary. If I had to guess," a scarred smile cut across her face, "our betters are fumbling as we speak, trying to douse the flames."
"What do you mean?"
"People are talking, Amara. From beggars to nobles. Having a Knight snap on an innocent is a bad look for the Order."
"Don't get me wrong," she continued, "faith in us won't be lost over one fiasco - we've bled too much to earn it. But I know our superiors. They won't be happy if doubt spreads among the people. Especially in the capital."
"Dousing these flames…" I considered, "but is that not the smartest choice?"
An odd look entered the Warden's eyes.
My gaze dropped to the insignia on my chest. "We are the people's bastion. Their first and final line of defense. If their belief in us fades, then what can they believe in? If hushing town criers and limiting information helps in that endeavor… then it's for the best. Let me be clear," I added after a pause, "this incident is awful. Even without casualties, I've no doubt many are affected. But ultimately, the Order is blameless. This Knight is the one at fault."
Warden Slania didn't react to my words. She quietly turned to the dropping stairs before us and continued walking, face unreadable. All I could say for sure was…
She's not happy. But why? It's true - and she's held a similar opinion in the past. What changed?
Despite my curiosity however, I didn't press for an answer.
The woman, I came to learn, was not fond of voicing her feelings. Perhaps she saw me as too young to understand them. Or perhaps sharing sensitivities was the one thing that embarrassed an aged warrior like her. I liked to believe the latter. Still, while silence normally didn't bother me, it was different with her. The Order was as much family as my brother and grandfather. But only a few among our ranks would I name a friend.
"Warden Slania," I searched for a topic interesting enough to leave the last one forgotten, "would you like to make a bet?"
Her face remained distant. But the edge of her lip curled. "A bet? I've never taken you for some big shot gambler."
"That's because this isn't gambling. No rounds. No stakes. Only an innocent game to see who holds the superior intuition."
She loosened some. "Bragging rights, then? Well, I'm always willing to put a rookie in their place. What's the bet?"
"The undead we slew. Would you say they're natural or artificial?"
"Natural, easy. You?"
"I haven't quite decided, actually."
"Huh? Who makes a bet without knowing what side they're on?"
I blushed. "I-I'm only kidding. Artificial is my choice."
The Vicar looked at me knowingly, but a hint of levity rejoined her expression.
She surely knows my intentions. I can accept that. It's far better than spending my limited time with her in silence.
"Then tell me," she asked, "what makes you so sure a necromancer rubbed their dirty paws all over this place? Not like we've seen any ritual circles."
"The same could be said for an outbreak, couldn't it?" I retorted, noticing we neared the first floor. "We've swept the entire exterior and still noticed none of the usual signs."
"Outbreaks can be hard to spot, even for me. On windy nights like this, noticing the pressure in the air or the unnatural darkness is like searching for piss in a river."
"Hmph," I cracked a smile. "Seems we both make solid points. Whether the undead were born of necromancy and their ritual circle still hides somewhere within this keep, or if they've risen from an outbreak we haven't sensed yet, it's hard to say."
"Not for me. I'm as sure as stone."
"Of an outbreak? How?"
"Think about it. There's no shortage of the infestations popping up around Lumerit, raising the dead and causing us headaches. I mean really, when's the last time we came across a necromancer this far south?"
Strangely, her face - normal but moments ago - returned to its disgruntled state. "But we'll see when we get to the bottom of these stairs. Either a circle's down there waiting to be banished, or we find nothing and stick around until the outbreak runs its course."
My eyes wandered to one of the numerous holes in the staircases' wall. Moonlight peered through, our only light source in the dark keep. A few more steps and it blinked out of sight, replaced by dirt. By now we were underground, outside the moon's reach.
As we plunged into the darkness, I turned to my superior. "…Warden Slania?"
I caught her lifting two gauntlets, as if holding something gently. Into the encroaching shadow she uttered a single word. "Glow."
Shimmers of light peeked through her fingers, slicing through the dark like golden sabres. Her hands separated. From their cradle, a tiny wisp of light floated into the air. The dark descent lit up in an instant, brighter than if we'd kindled every old sconce marking the steps. My own Glow wouldn't have shined half as bright, had I been able to cast it.
Warden Slania studied me, her art flitting overhead. "Light the area. That's what you were going to ask, right?"
I looked back at her, my mind in a difficult place. Something is wrong; she's never behaved so strangely. But what is it? And why won't she speak it?
"Good thinking," she didn't wait for my reply, voice flat. "Let's keep moving. There's a bet to win, after all."
—————————————————————————————————
I despised old places. Not to be mistaken for places past their prime, or those that could be saved with some elbow grease and magic. I mean those originating from an era long before ours.
Simply put, they were creepy.
Not because they were commonly used as hideouts for brigands or, more relevantly, breeding grounds for undead. Those were weekly sights. Nothing to fear. Something more… existential. That was what bothered me.
"Find anything?" asked my superior.
I almost didn't hear her, my attentions lost on the doll. It rested atop a pile of items buried inside an unmarked wooden box. Combs, carved toys, shells, beads, and more crowded the inside, having long outlived their owners. Who knew why they sat in the bottom of a keep? Perhaps they were gifts intended for the soldier's families? Or loot pillaged from an innocent village? Possibly both? Time hid the truth, and the truth didn't quite matter anyway.
An entire civilization, reduced to dust and forgotten memories and fodder for necromancy. I suppressed my shivers.
"Personal effects, mainly," I dropped the doll with care.
"Same here," she slid the box's lid back on, the leftmost of a corner of ten. "Well, ready to head back up?"
"No. Not yet."
"Why? There's nothing down here but junk." A look entered her eyes. "Don't tell me this is your competitive streak talking?"
"This hasn't to do with our bet."
Though winning would be preferable.
My nose crinkled. "I simply can't help but feel as if something here smells funny."
"Fine, prophet," she made a deferential gesture. "We'll give the basement another look-over. But you know we can't dawdle."
I nodded.
She's the one who always prefers to take her time… I bit back a sigh. Displeasure like this cannot be over a small disagreement. There must be something more. Not that she will enlighten me, whether I ask or not. No. I'll… I'll be better off focusing on the assignment.
Spiraling over Warden Slania, the wisp radiated a globe of light that illuminated the basement's darkness. With it we traced the room's stone perimeter again. Unfortunately the art didn't reveal much.
A dusty wall at our left. On our right, a line of four-sided columns. Boxes and ungrouped belongings sprawled between, necessitating we step over them.
"Bunch'a nothin'," the Warden's gaze leapt between the objects.
She was right. However, I hardly paid attention to my sight.
That odd smell… It's exceedingly faint, but somewhere between the sweat and earthy mildew, I know it's there.
As we walked, the odor passed from barely noticeable to nonexistent and back again. Yet over time, I narrowed it down.
"Where are you going?" Warden Slania watched me turn back moments before we reached the far corner.
"A moment, please." I sniffed the air, my nose leading me to a blank section of the wall with a small box at its base.
Her shoulders drooped. "We… just looked in there, Amara."
I crouched before the box. "Indeed. We did look inside."
Carefully, I grabbed each side. I took a breath.
Then moved the box aside.
Behind it… I met the face of the stone wall, the many pieces of cobbled rock staring back like an audience of disappointed eyes.
"Huh," said my superior, "had me going there for a second. But we should've known clues pointing to a necromancer wouldn't be cowering behind a bo-"
The half-spoken syllable died on her lips. She didn't need to finish. Her stunned silence spoke volumes.
Admittedly, even I wasn't completely certain there was something to find.
Not until I saw it.
"Millenia of dust covers every surface of this keep. So why then," I pointed, "does this particular stone bear the faint mark of a hand?"
"F-fingerprints, too…" she stared, jaw frozen. "The skeletons we slew above couldn't have done this. But how'd you know to look for this one stone? There's thousands!"
"I told you," I flicked my nose. "Something smelled funny."
She leaned in. "I didn't think you were being literal! I don't even smell anything!"
Fond memories made me smile. "Grow up in a forest, and you learn quickly to rely on more than sight alone."
Especially so with a hunt-crazed grandfather like mine.
"But in any case," I continued, "we must discern why prints lie here, hidden, when there are none elsewhere."
My gauntlet, almost unconsciously, drifted to the marked stone. I'd hardly brushed fingers against it when the stone sank slightly into the wall.
I tensed.
"A button?" said Vicar Slania.
We looked to each other, quiet, before she clasped a heavy hand on my shoulder. "Amara - my little genius! Brains and brawn! Never doubted you for a second!"
…Of course you didn't.
"Now," she said eagerly, "let's see what this baby does! Can't begin to imagine what a button down here might do."
"I only pray it isn't a trap…"
Though it appears this reveal has taken attention away from whatever plagued her before. If that's the trade, I suppose I could stand a trap or two.
I pushed aside my thoughts whilst pressing forward on the button - this time fully. Despite expecting any and everything, I was still taken aback when the wall itself trembled.
Dust kicked up, and within it, a door-sized section of the wall sank slowly into the earth. Dropping into view behind it yawned a half-obscured room.
But my sight was overtaken. A wretched stench struck me like a bolt of lightning. So bad in fact, I could hardly breathe. Now uncovered, I quickly registered the smell. Those in my line of work knew it well.
"Death," spat the Warden, enthusiasm replaced with grim seriousness. "Ripe bodies. Still rotting."
I fought to endure the odor. That means the corpses inside aren't millennia old, but days!
The dust cleared as the wall fully dug into the ground.
Concern brewed in the Warden's eyes, contrasting her attempts to appear unshakable. "A necromancer was here, and real recently at that. Guess you were right, little lady."
She didn't seem upset to have lost. Of course she wouldn't.
This was much bigger.
———————————————————————————–——————
Death, I often heard, was something you get accustomed to. The sight, the smell, even the infliction of it.
Undead were one thing. Terrifying as some could be, survival demanded priority over fear - and combat's thrills dulled such feelings for me. By my third year in the Order, battle with them was but a part of the job you roll up your sleeves and get done, like dishes to a chef, or the road to a messenger.
It was the "ordinary" dead, however, that convinced me I'd always disagree with the sentiment. Unlike the former, they were no threat. That meant you could stand before them completely lucid.
"Trust me, I know it's rough," Warden Slania beckoned me further inside, gaze carefully hanging over ground level, "but you can't lag behind. Any one person might miss something in a scene like this."
"Yes… just building myself up, is all." I swallowed, then took heavy steps ahead. Yet my own eyes couldn't rise above the floor.
Dried blood seeped into the cracks along the ground - stemming from corpses in both one piece and many. The dark crimson nearly became one with the raven-black clothes and cloaks left as tattered as their wearers. Wearers that, from the intact faces - wrinkles taut and skin bruised - appeared middle-aged and older. Their sunken eyes were vacant. Trapped in the terror of the moment of death. Below that… well, few had anything lower.
I stepped over a lost leg, staving off the odor of rotting fat and flesh left to dry in a room with no circulation.
A massacre. Could it have been one of us? No, this assignment came the day our Order was informed of undead in the area. We departed immediately. Another Templar couldn't have arrived first, couldn't have murdered them.
Yet these clothes. I know them.
"You've noticed. Necromancers, the lot of 'em," The Vicar growled. "Don't pity them. They'd waste no time stringing your corpse around like a puppet."
"…Right."
Harden yourself. Don't allow emotions to cloud the investigation.
I stepped outside myself. Thus began my examination.
Inside the chamber, my eyes were drawn in several directions. They stopped cold at the ring of standing candelabras - their wax long burned to soot. Because within their bounds was a ritual circle. Writ along the magical markings was an impossibly complex design of dark circles, triangles, and shapes indescribable, rotating idly. Every few seconds it pulsated blood-red like a beating heart.
"Never seen a ritual circle in that color before," Vicar Slania crouched at the circle's rim, eyes parsing through decades of experience. "Ah well. Haven't met a circle that couldn't be banished either."
She looked up at me. "I'm going to prepare. Keep an eye out."
I nodded, and the Vicar closed her eyes.
That will keep her busy. In the meantime, what else has been secreted away here?
There were no further doors, stairs, or ladders - and I doubted there was a second hidden chamber inside the first. Said chamber's center was spared no expense in terms of space; necromancers clearly took these particular rituals quite seriously.
Outside that, wooden shelves rested beside both walls, empty goblets and powdery substances in every color lying between notebooks and journals. Nothing remotely academic, at a glance, but a valuable find nonetheless. Upon discovery, necromancers preferred to burn their belongings so our Order couldn't recover them. Upon capture? Well, they treated themselves as equally expendable.
In the room's far side, cloaked bodies were few. They were replaced with dust piles and broken skeletons wearing ancient armor - same as the undead outside.
Botched experiments. I suppose necromancy isn't easy, and thank the sun for that.
Other curiosities passed into my sight: discarded scrolls, luminescent potions hissing atop tables, and perhaps most hauntingly, a human-sized cage in the corner - bloodstains much older than the others painting its steel floor. But my outrage calmed when I came upon an unassuming book stand pointing toward the ritual circle. Atop the wooden rest laid a strange tome.
Bound in what more resembled skin than leather, the tome was in perfect condition. Yet I felt it was anything but new. Something about it drew me closer.
Etched into the brown cover were baffling symbols. They brought to mind letters. Unfamiliar letters. Like that of an alien tongue.
Based on the placement, these letters are a title of sorts. Four words. But what could they possibly mean?
My gauntlet, guided by curiosity, reached for the cover.
This tome… it almost has an aura of its own. If I can but open the pages, perhaps I could make sense of it…
My fingers recoiled. No. We're taught to leave necromantic knowledge alone for a reason. Remember: more than evil, it's corrupting. A taint upon the mind and soul. Mere Knights are not meant to run such a heavy risk.
I lowered my arm, a soft breath expelling the urge. At utter contrast to the following shout.
"Greater Banishment!"
Immediately I peered over the tome to find Warden Slania - eyes shining the same brilliant blue as the vapors enveloping her body. A harmless energy electrified the room, one that flowed through us as softly as a thought, kicking up our hair like strong wind. In that moment the Warden's coarse nature seemed to vanish. Replaced by the visage of an angel.
Her aura sharpened as she stepped onto the ritual circle - its beat slowing. She carefully lowered herself. With a supernatural delicacy, she laid fingers on the floor, inside the swirling circle. It's movement stopped instantly like a prisoner clasped in a thousand chains.
Then the Vicar uttered a single word. "Begone."
A wave of cleansing blue flame washed throughout the room. The brightness forced a gauntlet to cover my eyes. Once I sensed it was safe, I looked to the circle.
It was gone. Completely. Only the stone floor that once hid beneath it remained. Similarly, the celestial light stemming from my superior vanished too, leaving behind a middle-aged woman groaning and cursing up a storm.
Wiping away hordes of undead, banishing anchors of necromantic magic… I ignored the envy. I should check on her.
"Don't worry about me," she threw up a hand as I came closer, even as the other massaged her eyes. "Just a bit of a headache. Been tossing around mind arts all day - starting to wear on me."
…I suppose that's one problem I get to avoid.
"At least that was likely the day's last cast. Every undead has been eliminated, and with the ritual circle banished, this keep is safe. And with it, so are the people."
The Warden moved fingers to the bridge of her nose. "Yup. Job's over. Time to eat some grub, get some shut-eye, and hike back to Selem City at dawnbreak." She started for the door. "Wonder if we could get one more use out of those old beds in the barracks… nah, they'd probably break in two if I laid on 'em. Great. Another night in the dirty stinkin' wilderness…"
"Wait," I halted her stride. "Are we truly done here? What happened, who killed these necromancers, and why so many of them gathered here of all places - it all remains a mystery."
She shrugged. "Far as I'm concerned, whoever put these these slimes down did their good deed for the day. Saved the Order an Abyss worth of trouble at least."
"But we still don't know what occurred here. If we tracked the culprit down, perhaps they could fill in the blanks."
"Track them how? We've scoured every inch of this keep and the only sign they left behind was this bloody mess and the handprint back there. If anything, it's almost like our little helper vanished into the wind after they finished the job."
Her eyes changed subtly - she caught herself speculating. "Look, whoever was here is long gone. But we've done our assignment, kept the people safe."
I didn't form a rebuttal. She made good points.
And yet… I could never truly forget.
—————————————————————————————————
"Sometimes I regret going all-in on light magic," Warden Slania aggressively struck her pocket knife with a sharp piece of flint. Her armor, alongside mine and the rest of our things, sat at the edge of our camp.
She put on a mocking, girly voice. "'Oh, what can fire do that light can't do better?' I thought. Thirty-five years later and still can't start a campfire for dung."
I quietly laid out my bedroll in the long shadow of the fang-like hill curling above. At its apex was the keep, now truly empty. That wasn't where my eyes pointed.
"What's bugging you?" her tone turned frank.
"Hm? What do you mean?"
"You've been staring at nothing since we got down here, quiet as a mouse. What, still concerned about our little friend?"
"How could I not be? They could be anyone from a vigilante to a rogue necromancer to a survivor to an experiment gone wrong and all would warrant different responses. But… finding them with what we know will be impossible. I know that. I can only hope the Order can learn something from what we salvaged."
Finally, the Warden succeeded at kindling the sticks at her feet. But her gaze remained on me.
"However," I lowered myself onto the bedroll, "that isn't what leads my eyes afar."
I laid on my stomach, gazing down the valley's uneven grassland. It reached into the distant horizon. "Home is near."
"…Oh, your cozy village in the woods," the Warden realized. "Forgot we were so close to the Kingdom's corner."
"As did I - purposefully. Picturing how a day's walk would lead me to my grandfather's doorstep could've scrambled my focus, jeopardized the assignment. But now that it's over… I wonder how my family fares."
"Don't be a worrywart; I'm sure they're fine. Tough old man watching over the place, nary an undead that far out - your family's probably snoring it up right now. Or on one of those midnight hunts you say you hate."
The thought drew a wistful smile on my face. "You're right. I merely miss them."
Our conversation drifted into silence. Reminiscing on the past, I found warm comfort by the fire. Little did I know, I wasn't the only one deep in thought.
"Your annual leave's in a few months, right?" The Warden sat at the campfire's other side, her scarred face flickering in the flame. "How's about I chat with Commandant Karthwyn and Bi'Yuhl, see if we can tack on a few extra days for you to spend with the family."
I shot towards her. "Y-you would do that? Truly?"
Perhaps it was a trick of the light, but I could've sworn I caught the gruff woman blushing. "H-hey, it's just a couple words, really. They know you work as hard as the best of us, and…" she cleared her throat. "Point is, I'll put in a good word. Doubt they'll decline."
"Warden Slania, thank you! Those days would mean the world to me."
"Yeah, yeah - I owe you, anyway."
"What for?" I asked. "Winning the bet?"
"Nah; to the Abyss with that stupid bet. I just wasn't at my best back inside the keep. You probably noticed. I've… had a lot on my mind recently."
I sat up. "I suppose something seemed off. But you don't owe me a thing. I will say, though, I'm not used to knowing something's eating at you. Typically you're the one doing the eating."
"Yeah? Says the glutton. Besides, it's nothing important. Nothing to worry your head over, anyway."
Good to know. As long as it's minor, I know she can handle it.
I nodded. "Ah. Before we sleep, there's something I would like to ask. A favor of sorts. I often hear Templars, other Wardens even, attest to your aptitude for light magic. When it comes to exorcism in particular, they say you're superior to some Commandants."
"Thanks for the compliment, but this isn't my birthday party. You can tell me what you want."
Just say it.
"If… if you're back in the Citadel - long-term - I would like for you to train me in light magic. One on one. The instructors are busy concluding the Squire's curriculum, and the few superiors that may be willing to teach me come and go like the wind. As well-"
"You'd prefer not to have the whole Order know your weakness."
I tugged a lock of hair around my finger. "The failure to cast light magic… it's unbecoming of a Templar."
"So it's still just me, our superiors, and the test examiner that knows?"
She waited for my nod, then turned away from the fire to the night sky. Her face carried a gloomy darkness.
"You cannot… can you?" I asked.
"Was told a couple days back," she said joylessly. "They're shifting people around at the Deadlands again, need me back up there to work my magic."
"But you just left the border."
She scoffed. "Guess they miss me already. A cursed shame; I won't be able to stick around. Not to enjoy some peace for once," she turned to me, "or to help a friend."
My eyes dropped to the kindling.
She was my last hope. My only solution. How else am I to climb this impossible wall?
"Hey, little lady - stop looking so sad." I heard her voice move.
I looked up to find the Warden plopping into a spot beside me in the grass.
"Listen," she put a hand on my shoulder. "You're crazy."
"…What?"
"There's no shame in it; I'm crazy too. Every Templar is. Anyone willing to risk their bodies and lives day in, day out - anyone ready to spend years training and fighting instead of living the easy life - they're a complete loon. Just a fact of life."
Am I actually crazy? I only train ten hours a day…
She continued. "But the funny thing about us crazies is that everyone's crazy is a bit different. And what's going on in our heads, it affects our mind magic."
"Which includes light magic," I added. "Still, this 'crazy' you speak of, what should I, er… do with it?"
"Little lady, that's the kind of answer you find yourself. All I can say is, quit looking to your betters. They've already decided on their crazy - they'll just pull you onto their path, make you think like them. That includes me. Nope, you'd best make your own. Find your own way of thinking. Find your own crazy."
"…For the life of me, I cannot tell if you're speaking rabid nonsense or unbridled genius."
She dropped another of her scarred smiles. "That's the best kind o' advice, isn't it?"
———————————————————————————–——————
With a thud, my things hit the floor near the door of my personal quarters. I'd just then returned from my assignment. But that didn't mean my work was over.
Rejuvenate. One of the most basic light arts. If I cannot cast that, then…
No. It can be done. It will be done.
I walked my quarters, past three steel training dummies - each dented with fist prints - and my bed, the luxurious scarlet sheets calling out to me.
I ignored its siren song, stretching the fatigue from my skin and continuing to a golden arched window. Behind the sunlit glass overlooked much of the Templar district: pearlescent pathways, sapphire lakes, cloud-white trees - all watched over by the distant Crystal Château and infused with the capital city's signature vibrancy.
Eyes often bulged out of sockets at first sight of the district. Some even named it a paradise.
I simply shut my curtains and turned away.
Training takes precedent. Not distractions, idyllic or otherwise.
My feet stopped at the room's center. Focus entered my entire being, and I put my entire being into magic. Light magic.
This wound on my face; it will be my test. Heal it, or forever live with the scar.
A whole day stood before me. Before the next, I vowed to myself:
I will harness this power!
—————————————————————————————————
Creeping beneath the curtains, evening lit my quarters a dismal orange.
Sun above! All day practicing and not a single successful cast - not one drop of mana touched! I forced a hand against my wound, the pain feeling deserved. Just once! Just one cursed art! Merely enough to heal my face!
One last time, I walked through the steps I'd performed countless times. Thoughts were dispersed. Emotions purged. I held a hand to my chest and poured what felt like pure vitality into it.
"Rejuvenate!" I let raw desire overtake my voice.
My palm sparked into a golden light, startling me.
I-it worked!? It worked!
A part of me rejoiced, but I quickly buried it. No - no emotion. Logic and Order. Keep the art active.
I carefully raised the hand toward my narrow scar. Logic and Order. Logic and Order.
Fingers touched my face. Skin on skin.
With nothing in-between.
I pulled back my palm. It was bare, no magic to be seen.
It… I failed. Mere inches away, and it dissipates…?
My fingers slowly curled.
A roar erupted from deep inside me, one that grew barbed as my lungs ran empty. I spun around and struck the closest thing I could find: a steel training dummy. The sculpted chest gave little resistance. No, what I felt more was the draft blowing on the other side.
I punched clean through its metal body. Ragged breaths calmed. Rage cooled.
And I felt shame.
I exhaled. Get ahold of yourself. Templars do not throw tantrums. No matter how good they feel…
The bed called to me for the tenth time today. And sun above, I finally listened, falling pathetically into the sheets. I would rather give a lung than ever give up, before but Regeneration, Golden Ray, Glow - none of my light arts worked, and I couldn't continue all night. Any more and I could do something I would instantly regret.
Another dummy ruined… Perhaps I am crazy.
Yet as I grappled with my failure, I recalled the full conversation I had but a couple days ago.
"'Find my own way of crazy? Find my own way of thinking?'" I flipped over on the bed. "What was she going on about? What would that even mean in practice?"
I tried to make sense of it, but I had to eventually accept it was a well-meaning but ultimately worthless piece of advice. Instead, I dug myself deeper into the mattress. Frustration and loathing boiled me alive. And I didn't have the energy to climb out of the pot.
It was a half-hour later when an apple-sized bubble flew into my room from the duct in the distant corner.
A bubble message, at this hour? It could only be another assignment, but so soon after the last?
I forced myself off the bed and trudged across the room, the magical bubble slowly floating down to eye level.
Small, too. Must be brief. I regarded it. With a quick poke, the bubble popped.
"Amara Maud," it released Valérie's gruff, disciplined voice, "you are needed in the Citadel main lobby. Two civilians wish to see you."