[Skell]
Beside my table stood a certified hero.
At least, ostensibly.
"Oliver!?" I jumped from my seat. "What in the Abyss happened to you?"
That old orange shirt he wore? Long gone. His brown trousers? A memory. They'd been replaced by clothes I'd call worlds less… rustic.
True armor, this time, light and form-fitting like mine. Difference was in the material: gray scales flowed from collar to boots like a cascade of slate. Underneath ran a green, padded undershirt, bundling at elbows, knees - anywhere the scales would limit agility.
Practicality wasn't too involved, though, when it came to what hung past his waist.
"Ain't it neat!?" Oliver beamed, leaf-green cape wagging side to side. "These are real wyvern scales, said to last decades on the chest of the tireless adventurer - I'd know, the shopkeep guaranteed it!"
In all, the outfit looked grand, freakishly expensive, and a little big on his shoulders. "Y-yeah," I said, "it's incredib-"
"And have you noticed something else about me?" he asked.
Of course I did; what friend wouldn't? For the first time in what must've been years, the ginger shrub perched on his head had seen a pair of shears. Sides were cut low, and the rest was trimmed by a professional hand. Tidy as he was, Oliver could almost be mistaken for something other than a country bumpkin.
He whistled through the gap in his teeth. "Reckon I must sound bonkers - 'course you noticed something so darn obvious!"
Almost.
"Oliver," I gave him a smile, "you look great. Really. But-"
"Oh, almost forgot," the hunter reached for a scabbard at his side. "When we fought that dryad, I realized something. Up close, it's really tough to fight well with a bow. So I bought a sword! On sale!"
He gripped the handle and slid it out into the busy street. I got real nervous, real fast. 'Till he started waving it around.
The thing had the wind resistance of a wet noodle, and after excitedly swinging it at an imagined monster, the entire "blade" popped off the handle and hurtled into the ground.
I watched it fall, flat and pitiful. "…That's a toy, Oliver. They wouldn't sell you a real sword anyhow, without a license."
Oliver's mouth hung. "Oh."
He looked to the ornate golden handle and became cheerful again, pocketing it. "Well, toy or no, this is still awfully neat. It could be a great keepsake from Selem! Anyway, that's everything I wanted you to see."
Whew. Glad he's had his fun, but we've got places to-
"Though tonight," Oliver's conversation somehow found new life, "I'm going to dye my hair - did you know this city has hundreds of colors to choose from? And this one shop even brands you with an iron! It sounds scary, and painful, and hot, but don't you reckon the mark of an arrow or something would be-"
"Oliver!" I exploded.
Nearby people turned, and I grimaced under their stares. "Listen: Niles and I have been looking everywhere for you. Rooftops, sewers - poor Niles almost got thrown in prison after a thief made it rain cabbage."
"…What?"
"Tell you later - point is, it's almost sundown. All this goofing around, all these random plans? What about your sister?"
The hunter shrank, eyes closing softly.
He inched closer, and whispered in my ear. "I… I'm scared, Skell."
My eyes darted to his. "Why? Of what?"
"Telling Amara. I don't… I don't want to hurt her."
Ansel.
For a moment it slipped my mind. That the ripples of his death hadn't yet touched every member of his family. And Oliver had the grim task of delivering the news.
I should've known. All this time, he wasn't running around… he was running away.
"I… sorry. I didn't-" I shook my head. "I can tell her."
"No. It should be me."
I put a hand on Oliver's shoulder. "Will you be able to? It won't be easy."
"I have to. I just, I thought it would be simpler back in Belza Hill. Now that we're so close, it's easy to look away and focus on the beautiful colors… But no more." He took a breath, and his eyes finally reopened. "I really hope she'll be okay."
"Amara's strong. You always tell me that, don't you? And if all else fails, she'll have you."
"You're right." A small smile lifted his lips. "You're darn right. Thank you, Skell. For putting me back on track."
—————————————————————————————————
On any map of sufficient accuracy - say, the one in my pocket that I referred to constantly - you'd see Selem was a city so perfectly round I'd feel embarrassed trying to replicate its shape with a quill. Within this circle was the Argent District; according to word on the street, the one place in Selem so dull the color seemed almost normal.
But inside that, the very bullseye of this dartboard of a capital, was our destination: the Templar Citadel.
Home of the Order.
While circles are the simplest shape there is, the districts themselves were anything but. All varied in size, and filled in sections of the city like an over-complicated block puzzle. Outlining them were massive walled gates like the one that loomed over us on the rooftops - stone veins that weaved throughout the capital.
One of these gates met us at the edge of the Gilded Marketplace. Basically a checkpoint, though not so thorough as to look past our clothes or rummage through our pockets. In fact, we got through with a record-low three sideways glares from the stationed guards.
From there, we'd left the district of commerce and honeyed words - its many shops growing steadily more luxurious - and entered a new one. But not the one we wanted.
The Amethyst Residencies. It was instant, the feeling of not belonging.
You could see it in the wide streets; lined with high brick walls and patrolled by groups barely a minute apart. It was in the acres of land each mansion was given, their size approaching that of Antonia's manor. And it was clear in the stares and sneers of those we passed. Fancy armor didn't change the fact that we just didn't carry ourselves like the rich merchants and minor nobility that called this area home.
Normally, I would've been bothered.
If not for Oliver's and my penchant for distracting each other.
"Wow," he replied as we walked the street, "and I thought I saw all kinds of stuff. I never thought about taking the rooftops. Or the sewers."
Believe me, you don't want to. Well… actually, you might.
Oliver's brows scrunched. "But… I had no idea so much was going on while you searched for me, Skell. I shouldn't have ran off."
"Don't fret about it. Some quick thinking, plus my new art, and getting out was a cinch." I rocked my hand. "More or less. Gotta say, though: I'm liking Shadow Form more than Hand of Decay already."
"Reckon its a lot safer, too - even if not having a body sounds a little scary. You should show me sometime."
Dusk stood on the horizon's precipice. "Might get the chance pretty soon. Long as no one's around."
Exclusive neighborhoods and multi-story bathhouses and even a couple sapphire-blue ponds passed us. With the Residencies being one of the smallest districts, another gate loomed in the distance before we knew it.
But a quick detour never hurt.
———————————————————————————–—————–
"We clear?" I asked.
"Mhmm," Oliver nodded, peering down both sides of the street. He stood beside me, eager as he could be, given the circumstances. But I figured one more check wouldn't hurt.
My gaze curved around both corners. The square ahead was emptier than my skull, outlined in closed workshops and guildhouses, save for one of the many lofty white beacons sprouting in the center of it all. A rare moment of solitude was here. I wouldn't waste it. After all, risky or not, Oliver deserved one last moment of excitement, before his freshly-healing wounds reopened.
I slipped back into our little hidey-hole, sandwiched between two stone buildings. "All right, I'm gonna fly up and down the wall, really fast," I turned back, "And don't blink!"
"I won't!" he stepped back with wide eyes.
Full mana, and by now it should be dark enough - this'll be a cakewalk!
Focus pulsed inside my mind, empowered by negative emotion, and my eyes opened. "Shadow-"
The darkness dissolved without a trace. All of it. Like someone lit a giant candle over the entire area.
No, not "like". In essence, that's exactly what happened.
"Wha- what's going on?" my eyes joined Oliver's in darting around the illuminated crevice.
"I think it's coming from over there!" he jabbed a finger.
My attention was guided outside the opening. High above the square stood the white beacon from before. Similar to the others across Selem, it gave the impression of a headless lighthouse - a structure without an apparent purpose.
It was different now. What I can only describe as a miniature sun floated above the beacon's apex, large enough to fill a modest room yet brighter than a hundred torches.
One shining tower stabbing a hole in the night was staggering enough. But the realization that this beacon was just one of dozens and dozens dotting the whole of the district - of the capital - was what left me in frozen awe. In brilliant unison, every beacon's light coalesced over Selem, pulling the city from the depths of night before the two could ever get familiar.
"This is…" Oliver stepped out into the square, slowly spinning in place. "Wow. It's so bright. Like it's morning again already."
I'd almost think it was. If not for this sky.
Astonished, I pointed to the black ocean overhead. "Look. The stars are gone. Must be all this light. Too much can blot even them out."
"It can? Even way up there?" Oliver's mouth hung. "I never knew that…"
Novelty, as always, wore off slowly with the hunter. That same novelty wore awfully thin for me, when I figured what it meant to have nearly every corner and angle of the city bathed in faux sunlight.
"I can't show you that art. Not without shadow." I tried not to sound disheartened.
"That's okay," his eyes were locked on the beaconr. "This is just as cool. And," he turned to me, "there's always next time."
"Yeah… I'll just show you then," I smiled.
He smiled too, even if the path to achieving that smile wasn't exactly to plan. A win is a win. Better to focus on that than if this "next time" would ever come.
———————————————————————————–—————–
Under the golden glow of the beacons, we reached the gate out of the Amethyst Residencies and walked through without a hitch.
On the other side, well, our surroundings were ironically overshadowed. Not that it was their fault. Enchanted towers and starless skies were just a hair more interesting than blocky banks and courier offices and libraries and hospitals and… yeah. The Argent District lacked the eye-catching opulence of the Residencies for pure function. Even the scattered groups walking the streets seemed underwhelmed.
"No one looks surprised with the beacons," noted Oliver.
"Like we thought," I said, "the light must be an everyday thing. Or every night, I guess."
"Gosh. All this color, and all this light outside? I wonder how folks sleep?"
"You'll have to find out, quick. It's getting late, and I can't have you pulling an all-nighter like in Belza Hill."
He sulked. "But there's so much to see! And, and you pull all-nighters every day!"
I let that one slide. "Everything will still be here when you wake up. Better yet," I noticed his jaw stretching, "you'll actually get to enjoy the sights without yawning every five seconds."
Oliver clamped his teeth shut, blushing. "True… Though, the color does make me wonder: ain't it weird how everything just pops, here? It sure wasn't like that before we reached the city."
"Oh, that?" I shrugged. "I just figured Selem's sitting on a Domain."
"A Domain?"
"Never heard of them? Oh, right, you did say Ansel was a little cagey about some stuff. I'll tell you about them, then."
Approaching us was another shining beacon, center of the broad street. A way to break down the concept struck me as we came upon it, and I leaned against the luster of its white walls.
I pressed my fingers together. "Think of death."
"…Do I have to?"
"Don't worry, it's just for example's sake."
He scratched at his newly-cut hair. "Okay."
"Now, in a way, death's everywhere. It can strike your favorite goldfish in your bedroom, or a ruthless tyrant the next nation over. It can follow a plague on the wind, or a blade in the night, or a bad slip down the stairs. Variety is the spice of life and death, you know?"
Oliver clearly wondered where I was going with this.
"But more crucial than all that," I told him, "is what's left behind. The homes, the people, the belongings and memories and promises - the effects, basically. Death can change everything. Domains aren't too far off from that large-scale effect on the world. Difference is, they don't deal with death. They deal with the elements."
"The magic elements?"
"Exactly. Same ones we use when casting arts. More than just our minds, they exist everywhere. And for some reason, they like to sorta… concentrate in specific places. They take all kinds of different forms, too. It's another hazy memory, but I remember hearing about a distant tundra - so far north the snot in your nose freezes before you can even sneeze."
"Ew," Oliver snickered.
"Point is, the land is heaped in snow and ice. Barring the oasis."
"What? Aren't those supposed to be in deserts?"
"You'd think so. But a natural desert wouldn't be for thousands of miles from there. And apparently that sandy oasis is sweltering, as if it isn't sitting in the middle of a snowy winterscape. Know why? Because that spot happens to be the home of a Fire Domain. Picture that, but for every element, all across the world."
"That's… I can't even imagine that," Oliver stared into the distance. "We've seen some funny places before. I wonder if they were Domains too? Or just weird?"
I couldn't say, myself. Sometimes Domains were complicated. Subtle.
"Oh," he continued, "but we were talking about the capital, weren't we? What makes you think this is a Domain too?"
Though sometimes, they were dead simple.
"Just look around. In your own words, 'everything pops'. Vivid colors, deep hues - even here, these gray buildings feel like they could form their own rainbow."
I stroked my chin. "I'm no genius for coming up with this, but I'm positive we're standing in a Light Domain. This one's effect probably alters how we see color - turns Selem into a flawless work of art."
When I looked up, I found Oliver's face sandwiched between his hands. "Er, you all right?" I asked.
He nodded, palms still glued to his cheeks. "…My world's been so small. I always thought Sienna Woods was this big, interesting place. I still think that. But for all the wonder and size of the capital, it's only one place. One of so many out there."
The hunter dropped his hands. "I wish I could see everything I've been missing."
I pushed off the beacon and stood beside him, though I couldn't quite think up a response. Not before another thought crossed his mind.
"You know, Skell," his mood softened, "I can never tell what you will or won't know."
"What does that mean?" I grinned, relieved to have been given something to be offended about. "I've told you before, I seem to know what the average person does, roughly speaking. Believe me, this Domain stuff isn't esoteric knowledge."
"But you didn't know what Templars were? Or the Sacred Ordeals."
"I… w-well, clearly, my past self was a moron. Probably had his head in the ground all his life."
Oliver laughed. "Sometimes, Skell, you're really funny too."
"What? Why?"
He walked on. "Amara's close. I think those walls in the distance are where the Templars stay. She's written about them in her letters."
I shook my head and did the same. "Right. A quick break from the constant walking is nice and all. But let's get to her before midnight, yeah?"
"Yeah," Oliver affirmed.
His mind seemed to be in two places at once. Just like mine. But we'd spent enough time on distractions and diversions.
Now was the time for the undead to knock on the door of his slayers.
———————————————————————————–—————–
-above all, act natural. Don't need her suspecting I'm undead. Would make things… awkward.
Hovering over the buildings on our left was the approaching walls of the Templar Citadel, its curvature implying a small district's worth of space.
These Templars sure have it nice. Wish I had a whole district to myself. No, stay focused. Should be enough time to go over the plan one last time.
You're an avid undead enthusiast. Call it morbid curiosity - you can't get enough of the things, and after meeting a genuine Templar in the flesh, you'll beg her for the best spot to glean "academic" knowledge about them. Ansel guaranteed that Selem holds the leading info concerning undead. Once Amara points you to it, you'll pore over every scrap of relevant material. Something will illuminate undeath - and how to reverse it. No matter how long it takes, you'll find a way.
Because if there's anything in your corner to leverage, it's time.
I chewed on a nail, spat it out, then went back when it regenerated. Only problem might be Amara herself. Say she's not open with the information you want: you're screwed. Then again, she's related to Oliver and Ansel. Chances are, she's the most casual, carefree Templar in the Order.
Yeah, it'll go smoothly. Just dance around your undeath, play it natural, and listen.
Buildings huddled away from the Citadel's territory, granting room for a massive moat that rounded the whole of the mini-district. There was only one entrance: a silver gate amid humble hedges.
Surprised that we saw no one else, Oliver and I forged ahead. Gently sloping upwards past the gate was a wide lawn of grass akin to a scenic park, split in two by a direct pathway. Up and up we walked, until the Citadel's towering walls stood almost directly over us. Unlike the system lacing throughout the city, these walls were entirely disconnected - a district divorced from the rest of the city.
In a sense, not knowing what lay beyond was scarier. It could've literally been anything. All I knew for sure was that an untold number of expert undead slayers were on the other side. And against all reason, I wanted in.
"Um, where's the door?" Oliver asked.
A good question. So good, I leapt to it in an attempt to take my mind off the anxiety nipping at my neck. "Hm. Let's see…"
At a cursory glance, anyone could see the path strolling innocently ahead before crashing headfirst into the wall. No entrance. Just more stone.
Warily, I stepped forward, gliding my fingers across the hard surface. "Maybe there's some lever here, or we just knock? Or-"
A hexagonal shape in the wall suddenly faded as if it was never actually there to start with. Behind its vanishing grey stood the steadily sharpening forms of two women. Two Templars.
They watched me flinch like a startled rabbit, one with a stony countenance and the other with a barely-restrained giggle.
"The Order was not expecting visitors," declared the first, her chiseled jaw hardly budging. "State your business."
Tremors leapt from my feet to my spine. It took all I had to open my mouth and sputter something. "W-we, um… we wanted to visit. Er, one of your T-Templars, I mean."
"Name?" she asked.
This woman towered over me like an armored bear on its hind legs, and up to that point hadn't blinked. Once. Say I wasn't undead; she still would've been thoroughly intimidating, even from afar. And up close?
"Valérie, you're scaring him!" nudged the shorter Templar, who stood at the complete opposite end of the height spectrum. "Ugh. Sorry about miss gruff-and-tough, here. She's been known to make men wet themselves."
If this other woman noticed Valérie's irritated look, she sure didn't care. Instead she extended a small gauntlet and smiled like a sunny morning. "Heya. I'm Merriline, by the by~"
For a moment, I just stared at her hand. Last I met a Templar, they saved my life… from the other one trying to end it. Which is to say, my opinion on the Order was far from cut and dry. Shaking hands was a simple gesture, yet it felt strange to do with someone wearing that plate. That insignia.
Strange, but necessary. Burying any reluctance, I raised my glove and met her grip. "Er, my name's- YOWCH!"
My knuckles felt like they'd been condensed into a single bone. Merriline dropped my hand, and I cradled it with the other, teeth gritted.
"Whoops! Pardon me!" Merriline bounced, her pigtails doing the same. "I'm used to going all out with my hand shakes to impress our superiors. I think I forgot to ease up on the old grip, tee hee."
Urgh… don't "tee hee" me - who forgets something like that!?
Valérie crossed her arms. "Merriline. Cease the buffoonery." She turned to Oliver and I. "Give us names. Yours, and that of whom you wish to see."
"Yes ma'am," Oliver cleared his throat." I'm Oliver, and that's Skell. We wanted to see Amara Maud. That's my sister."
Merriline gasped, covering her lips with both gauntlets. "You're Amara's little brother!? She told me about you, back on an old assignment we had."
The woman blazed toward Oliver, eyeing him up and down. "Though, you look different than I expected…"
"I do?" asked Oliver.
Merriline threw up her arms - disregarding her own observation - and started yammering about Amara. While Oliver was more than interested to talk about his sister - I tuned out every word. Not just because my hand's cries were louder, but because my attention focused more on Valérie.
Namely, her armor. At a glance, I noticed Merriline's plate resembled Gervais' in every respect but size. Crimson accents at the joints and collar, twin lion heads baring their fangs atop the shoulder plates - it was all there.
Not so much with Valérie. Instead of crimson, azure accents adorned her set in the exact same places. And in lieu of fierce lions jutted the profiles of wise eagles, their piercing eyes surveying her flank with unblinking vigilance.
Odd. She's got accents, meaning she's no lowly Knight. But she can't be a Paladin either. So what is she?
Valérie turned before I could think on it too long, leaving me the chilling gaze of an eagle before she marched out of sight.
Must be fetching Amara. Hopefully. Sheesh, she's intense. Nothing at all like-
"You're only fifteen?" Merriline sounded like she'd heard the world was ending. "But how are we going to feature the deadly Maud duo in our ranks if you're too young to apply?"
"Actually," Oliver replied, "I never much wanted to be a Templar. Um, no offense."
"Oh, none taken. Our job is a demanding one, to put it mildly. Fraught with danger and sweat and close calls. And between you and me, you don't get nearly enough time off."
Yeah. If she wasn't wearing that armor, I'd have no clue she was in the Order.
"Merriline," said a returning Valérie, "you have been repeatedly warned not to fraternize with unknown entities,"
"Unknown entities?" Merriline placed gauntlets on her hips. "These are Amara's friends."
"So they say. Truly," Valérie shook her head, "sometimes I wonder…"
"Really?" asked the Paladin. "Wonder what?"
The tall Templar ignored her partner. "At any rate, the bubble message has been sent."
"Bubble message?" Oliver muttered.
"So, she's coming?" I asked.
Valérie nodded. "Her quarters are a distance away. We will leave you to prepare for her arrival. But we shall be near," her gaze clung to ours.
"Have a good time with sis! Goodbye!" Merriline grinned at us as she returned to the entrance, scattering any sense of ominous deterrence Valérie intended to impart. Thinking back, it might've even been intentional.
The two passed through the opening, and after Valérie pulled out a glowing blue crystal, the section morphed back into solid stone in moments.
Normally, curiosity would've gotten the better of me and I'd have given the wall and that strange blue rock some thought. Or considered those two Templars, and how… peculiar they were.
But again, Oliver had a penchant for distracting me.
"She'll be here soon. Are you ready?" I asked.
"No," he said.
His chest rose and fell. Excitement was plain on his face. So was the effort in his smile.
I backed away, letting Oliver stand closest to the opening. While passing him, I considered resting a hand on his shoulder - offering an encouraging word or two.
Yet the hunter steadied his own breath. "But I'll be right as rain. It's family, after all."
I smiled, and stood off to the side.
Time didn't tick for much longer after that. Again, the section cleared before us. And the form of a young, dark-skinned woman was carved out of the light.
She lurched outside, panting heavily. "O… Oliver!? It's truly you! I-I don't… What has you here? In Selem of all places?"
Red eyes blinked in utter disbelief. She wore nightclothes - as if she'd been in bed and didn't even consider changing. Nightclothes that revealed athletic arms and sturdy legs, alongside a frame that could've been chiseled from marble and a fading scar. In another time, she'd have been as fearsome as Valérie - if not for the warmth in her quivering smile.
An expression matched by her brother's. "Amara!"
Oliver spared no more words. He just ran into his sister's arms. They pulled him into a close embrace, Amara's white locks swaying at the happy collision.
In truth, while I felt like someone bearing witness to a reunion only meant for two, it was okay. I was glad to just hang back and enjoy their smiles.
At least, until I was dragged into the limelight.
Amara's eyes opened, resting over her brother's shoulder, staring at me.
"Oliver? Who is this?"