[Amara]
Two distant worlds dwelled in my mind's eye. The old world and the new.
Home was the old. Sienna Village, tucked in that oft-forgotten corner of Lumerit. My youth was there. My family. Velora.
But the new world was… also home. Selem. The Citadel. The assignments to distant provinces. Battle and sweat and light and victory.
I loved them both dearly.
Not in a thousand years however, did I consider they may collide.
"Why couldn't we go inside?" Oliver followed me down the gleaming street. "I wanted to see what's behind those walls."
"Certain restrictions," I said, "prevent non-Templars from entering the Citadel. For security purposes, you see. But nevermind that! You're here in the capital, Oliver! And I can see your ears for once! Be frank: did you get a haircut to surprise me?"
He revealed the same gap-toothed smile he'd had since we were children. "Well, sort of!"
As silly as ever. Some things truly do never change.
"But gosh, you look different too," he noted. "Have you always had that scar?"
I laughed. "No, this is recent. I earned this from a… particularly aggressive monster. It happens on occasion."
For as much as I spoke to him, a side of me refused to believe this wasn't a dream. Oliver lived halfway across the country and never once left the woods. Traveling here, even along patrolled roads, would be nothing akin to a mere hunting jaunt. Grit and direction would be needed to accomplish the trip alone.
Then again, he wasn't alone.
My attention moved to the mysterious stranger, walking just close enough to be considered part of our group. Our eyes met and his fled elsewhere. Yet a look of satisfaction remained on his face.
If for any reason Oliver were to visit, would he not be accompanied by grandfather? Rather than…
I dropped the thought. A veritable list of questions perched on my lips, but such a reunion could hardly be spent on the city streets. Before losing ourselves in conversation, I thought it best to first be surrounded by drink, privacy, and comfort.
"Ah, here we are," I stopped at the mouth of the windowless pub. "The Foam and Fire."
The place was nothing noteworthy. Standard fare. Everyday clientele. Which was why - rare as it was for me to empty a tankard - the pub was dear to me. I would always be a Templar. But on occasion, it was welcome to simply be ordinary.
Laughter and a malty aroma welcomed us as I opened the door. Cards and dice were strewn about crowded tables, below slurred jokes and tall tales and raised flagons.
The dimly-lit atmosphere caught Oliver off guard. And the stranger. They looked around with interest, following me to the barkeep's table.
"One room for the night." I laid a handful of silver rounds between us, before considering the stranger. "I may return for a second."
The barkeep offered a courteous smile. "Why of course, madam. A moment, please." He dropped the glass he enthusiastically wiped and reached under the table, fishing out a small key.
"You'll be in room eight," he placed it in my palm. "Once up the stairs, take a left - it'll be at the end of the hall!"
I nodded. "Thank-"
"What bozo brought ah' whelp in here!?" someone strained to speak clearly. "And why won't he quit starin'?"
Behind me rose a bull of a man, bald and red-faced. "Well? Got sumthin' in your eye?"
Oliver looked around a time, before realizing he was the subject of the man's ire. "No sir, I just like your ring, is all. I've never seen one like it before. Oh, does it make it hard to breathe?"
The man's nose flared, extending a wide piercing that hung from his septum. "Think yerself a wise guy, huh?" he punted his chair aside and hustled up to my brother. "That mouth of yours' is gonna leave you bawlin' for mommy."
Scattered conversations silenced as attention drew toward us. Sensing tension in the air, I moved to intervene.
But the stranger got there first.
"Back off," he forced himself between my brother and the man, though sense seemed to reach his fiery eyes. "Abyss, he didn't mean what you think, anyway, so just-"
A strong shove sent the stranger stumbling into a nearby chair.
"Skell!" Oliver cried out.
The rack caught his back, preventing an ungraceful fall, but the man didn't look cowed. He lifted himself, hurling a rash scowl at his aggressor.
Yet the fury was not one-sided. Two others at the large man's table surged from their chairs - tankards in hand - looking just inebriated enough to crave confrontation. Concern sobered the other patrons. And Oliver of all people seemed poised to jump to the stranger's side.
Any fight brewing under my purview, I was obligated to end.
Especially when they became personal.
"Everyone," I spoke evenly, "I believe this all to be a simple misunderstanding. Let's take a breath and-"
"Who're you supposed to be, girlie?" questioned a scrawny man that stood below my shoulder, pungent alcohol on his sharp breath. "You look like you just drug yourself outta bed and you wanna lecture us? Lecture this boy, why don't you?"
I worked to take my own advice. "My intent was not to lecture. I merely-"
"This one's stiffer than a board, ain't she?" asked a woman in their group. "Why don't you help her loosen up some?" she shot a look at the short man's tankard.
The large man sneered. "Wisest idea you've had all night!"
"Um, Amara?" Oliver shifted uneasily nearby.
To be candid, I was losing myself to agitation. On a different day I'd have turned the other cheek - worse insults had been flung at me by duller folk. But now was not the time. Not the time to make a scene. Not the time to stand in my way. Not the time to affront my brother.
"I'd suggest against that," nails dug into my skin: pain to distract from anger. "Despite my clothes, I am a Templar. But I can subdue more than the dead."
The three paused a moment, then burst into laughter. "Might be she is drunk," joked the woman. "Drunker 'an us. Come on, dare you to give her a drink - could be she'll talk more tales."
"Wait, she's telling the tru-"
Oliver's words fell on deaf ears. Instead of listening to him, the short man listened to the dare and emptied his tankard onto my face.
Chills prickled down my skin as the strong drink drenched my shirt. The three howled in amusement as I wiped my eyes and swallowed what swill made its way into my mouth. The stranger approached us. But I lifted a hand to halt him.
"Let's get upstairs," I broke through the group as if they weren't there. "Now."
Or rather, I tried.
A thick hand grabbed my shoulder. "Yer friends look thirsty, too," said the large man. "How's about we give 'em a drink for the road?"
The woman snickered, and handed her tankard to the short man. "The boy has on a real nice getup," he reeled back the drink, pointing toward my startled brother, "but I think it's missing somet- aagh!"
His tankard fell and spilt into the floorboards. Broken arms, after all, can hardly be expected to hold much of anything.
Gasps spread about the pub as the scrawny man sank to his knees and shrieked. After but an ounce of pressure on the wrong places, that skinny elbow snapped like a twig. He got off easy. Calm was off the table now; I was fair game, but certain lines are never to be crossed.
Behind me loomed a vast shadow and the furious eyes of the large man met mine as I turned. Blinking out one of the few lights was a ceramic plate he'd snatched from a nearby table, raising it high and hammering it onto my head. Shards fell around me; dull throbs echoed between my eyes.
Dodging it wouldn't have been an issue - escaping his grasp was simple enough. No, I wanted him to strike me. It made my next move much more palatable.
In a flash I slid two fingers into his nose ring and tore down with all my strength. He couldn't even squeal before the ornate thing came loose, taking bloodied flesh with it.
I reversed the momentum and launched into an uppercut while the man reeled. My fist crashed into his chin and his feet left the floor.
Catching his body was the empty table behind him, legs creaking under the new weight.
Footsteps pounded at my rear. Instincts pulled me into a duck. The woman's punch whizzed overhead and I rose to meet a wild flurry of blows and clumsy swipes. Each one I weaved around only further angered her, ending in a lunge that reached for where my throat once was.
When she realized I'd rushed out of sight, it was too late. My arms wrapped around her waist from behind.
"Let go of me!" she thrashed about, trying in vain to scratch and dig at my arms. "Let go!"
I hefted her off the ground. "Suit yourself."
The world turned upside-down as I bent backwards and released my grip - driving the woman's back into the floor. Loud. She coiled like a human spring and crashed onto her side.
Unconscious.
Of course she was. Improper technique could paralyze, but that wasn't the intent. She was merely made a threat no longer - akin to her scrawny friend. The only one with mind enough to speak was the big man, who'd rolled himself off the table, hand clasped to his dripping nose.
I approached him. Fear made him forget how to blink.
"W-wait," the crouching man extended his free hand. "Abyss, I said wait!"
I stood over him and slapped aside his arm. My fingers slipped under his collar and lifted him under my red-hot glare. "Apologize to my brother! To both of them!"
If his head hadn't been cleared previously, he was outright sober now. Pride kept a hold on his eyes. Until he felt blood trickle through his fingers. "Okay, okay!" he winced. "I'm sorry, whel- uh, young man! You too, sir!"
"…Good enough." I let go.
He fell, a new wave of pain coursing over his face.
"Attempted assault of a Templar is a grave offense," I let him finish an afflicted groan before continuing. "But seeing as I'm off duty, I believe the hospital fees will prove punishment enough. May the sun light your way."
I turned, walking past Oliver back to the barkeep. Murmuring followed my wake. Not least of all from the stranger.
"Oliver," he sidled, "you've got one scary sister. Er, in a good way."
My brother elbowed him. "Told you she was strong."
I disregarded the noise and reached into my pocket, emptying its contents on the countertop. "For the damages."
The barkeep was perhaps the only one unsurprised. "No no, there's no need," he lowered his voice to a whisper, "Knight Amara."
"Call it payment for the drink if you must." I licked what little alcohol remained on my lips. "Your mixing is as refined as ever."
His cheeked turned rosy. "You're too kind, madam. Please, enjoy your room. I'll ensure those ruffians are escorted off the premises."
I nodded graciously, then turned back to my brother and the stranger.
"Well? Let's get settled in, shall we?"
—————————————————————————————————
"Amara?" my brother asked delicately, fingers sliding along the lumber wall of the stairway. "Are you okay?"
"Better than okay," I assured him, leading the two up the steps. "You're here. Some belligerent drunkards would be hard-pressed to ruin a night like this. In truth, I worried for you. Combat to me is like flying to a bird, but seeing a bloody fight up close can overwhelm those unaccustomed."
Especially when you're targeted by the dastards.
He scratched at his hair. "Well, actually-"
The stranger fell into a sudden coughing fit. "Sorry," he sputtered, "Obviously it's not your fault, but the smell of that alcohol caught my throat."
"…Skell, was it?" I asked.
"Yes?" he stiffened.
"You have my sincere thanks," I stopped atop the stairs, waiting for him to stand at my side. "Despite being uninvolved, you stood in defense of my brother. I didn't expect that. You yourself are well, I hope?"
Skell eased. "Oh, well, of course. Oliver's my little buddy. I can't just sit and watch some idiots screw with him. They're lucky they got off with the type of wounds healing magic can fix."
Then these two are more than mere acquaintances, but good friends? I really must ask how they met.
"Besides…" he popped his neck. "I've been hit harder."
I popped mine. "Then we share something in common. If it helps, stand at my side instead of behind. The scent shouldn't bother you as much that way."
"Good idea," he smiled, before looking past my shoulder. "There's our room. Let's test how well these 'silence-enchanted' walls keep out all that racket downstairs."
"Hey, uh, before we do," Oliver rubbed at his neck, "I didn't get to say thanks for defending me from those jerks."
Has he always called people 'jerks'?
"To both of you," he clarified.
"You never had to," Skell and I both uttered simultaneously. A moment passed, and we shared an awkward look.
—————————————————————————————————
"Now, before we get too comfortable," Skell seated himself opposite our room's warm fire, "I've got a quick question I've been dying to ask."
"By all means," I sat at the other end of the square table.
Of course, I'd have rather delved into my own inquiries first, but after getting perhaps too carried away downstairs, I felt a small test of patience was in order. A test that breached an unexpected topic: undead.
A textbook aficionado, he was. Morbid passion for the creatures inspired him, and in a way, he spoke of them less like a dangerous species and more like an endangered species.
Could he be a necromancer? I couldn't help but consider.
I quickly tossed the idea. No necromancer would approach a Templar to discuss undead unless their mind had rotted further than their playthings. No, I'd seen his type before: scholars with an eccentric interest. Skell clearly wanted something, and well, he'd been kind enough. Assuming his request was reasonable, I was willing to put aside any judgement and assist. Finality in his voice implied this question of his came next. Yet a gnawing feeling of mine had become too much.
"Pardon me," I had to interrupt him. "But, Oliver?"
His eyes jumped from the quiver of arrows he'd taken from grandfather's backpack. "Um, yes?"
"I hope I don't assume too much, but… is something the matter?"
"What? Nuh-uh," he gave a frail smile, sitting between Skell and I. "It's just… neat to see both y'all at the same table."
Oliver likely spoke the truth. But not the whole truth. For as gently as I spoke, something was certainly wrong.
Since we sat down, he'd rolled his arrows against the table, oiling and inspecting them - typical maintenance. Diligence and deftness with weapon upkeep was always a talent of his.
Much unlike his skill with a poker face.
"This is the third time you've spilt your linseed oil," I noted. "And the second time an arrow has slipped through your fingers."
Skell shrugged. "We've been traveling awhile. He's probably just sleepy."
"I know him; this is no mere fatigue," I reached for my brother's hand. "Oliver, you can always speak to me. Remember?"
His lips sealed shut, and his gaze turned away.
"Oliver?" I asked. "Oliver, please. Whatever the problem may be, I promise to help. Anything, anything you need. But you must tell what troubles you."
A silence followed. Even Skell couldn't meet my eye.
"Is it you?" I asked pointedly. "Do you know anything about this? Or have you sworn my brother to some manner of secrecy?"
"H-huh? No!"
"Then why is h-"
"Velora came back!" Oliver exploded. "And Skell's undead! And Grandpa had us come here because… because…"
"O-Oliver!?" Skell jolted like he'd been struck by lightning. "Shade, why would you-"
"Velora? And Grandfather?" I interrogated. "How is- and an undead? Oliver, what are you saying?"
My brother's gaze was pulled between us both, landing squarely on the table. "I… don't know," his breathing was hard-fought. "I'm sorry."
One look at him and it was clear he couldn't take more questions, at least for the moment. As for the stranger?
Skell relented before my glare even reached him. "We had a set order for things," he sighed. "Some bits of information were supposed to go unsaid, too. But there's no going back now. You've heard it. And you know as well I do that he isn't lying."
"Sun above, what are you talking about!?" I felt I was going mad.
His white-knuckled hands clung to the table. "It's as Oliver says. I'm… I'm undead."
"…That's what this is, then?" I asked.
"What?" he stared.
"This," I stabbed the table with a finger. "This entire charade. Honestly… on today of all days, such a 'joke' is both horribly misplaced and horribly unfunny. At least when grandfather and Oliver prank me, the end result is somewhat amusi…"
No. Oliver would've cracked by now. Laughed and called me out on getting fooled. But he's on the brink of tears.
"…I don't want to hide anything," my brother said weakly. "Not from you. Not like gr…" he shook his head. "Skell's telling the truth. He really is a skeleton."
I massaged the ridge of my nose. "…I'll humor you two. Look. He resembles any regular person. Skeletons, as I'm sure you're both aware, bear no skin. No flesh. Nothing except bones. Abyss, his chest even rises and falls with each breath. Anyone can see he lives. So how could he be a skeleton?"
Oliver and Skell held each other's look, a counter-argument evidently beyond them.
The stranger looked stumped. "This is new. Convincing people I'm not dead is usually the hard part…"
"Please," I said. "I wished to catch up with Oliver, not waste time with whatever this is. More importantly, something still disturbs him and I don't know what."
My heart shuddered, seeing the look on Oliver's face. "I ask myself if it's you; if you've been putting foolish ideas in my brother's head…"
"No, no," Skell waved his hands, "I've done nothing to him! Just, let me think, all right? There gotta be some way to prove it…"
"Wait, Amara," Oliver said, "What if you use light magic on him? I reckon it might bite a bit, but if it's for just a second…"
"Abyss, no!" replied Skell.
"But Skell, I can't have her think you've done something wrong!"
Why does Oliver defend him so resolutely? Could they really be telling the… No. That's impossible. My eyes know what they see. And more than that…
"I-I'll not waste mana on something so ludicrous."
"Why?" Oliver worked himself up. "You're a Templar - one light art should be easy!"
Painful as it was to admit, he was correct. But he wasn't there for the past day of frustration and failed attempts. Neither did he know my scar was - in a way - self inflicted. A shameful mark of my lust to grasp light magic. And frankly, I didn't want him to. His big sister was strong. Accomplished. For her to lack a skill so basic…
I shook my head. "I'm sorry, Oliver, but I refuse to play along with thi-"
Blood leapt onto the table - paired with the sound of torn flesh. Fear strangled the words in my throat.
"This should be around where the heart is," Skell spoke with uncanny composure instead of anguished screams.
As if the arrow he plunged in his chest didn't bleed him profusely.
I stifled a sound of raw horror. He's… he's going to…
"-and since I haven't, that should prove-"
Noise was irrelevant. So was reason and uncertainty. In an explosive leap across the table I landed upon the dying man's chair and wrested free the arrow as we fell. Gentleness was a privilege time wouldn't grant.
The closest hospital was a lifetime away. My hands - my magic - had to stabilize his wound or he'd die in the very same chair I stood over.
Within precious moments I forced a palm to my chest and skipped all but the most basic steps in calling upon light magic. A part of me knew the odds of a successful cast were abysmal. Even moreso than usual - my heart pounded and my mind raced. But there was no other option; if the chances to save this man were even a fraction of a percent…
I will not forsake him!
"Rejuvenate!"
Golden light sparked in my palm, glowing brighter still once I saw the terror in Skell's illuminated face. He was fading. And I didn't stop for a moment to register my achievement. I simply did what had to be done.
He seized as my hand touched his chest. Pained gasps leaked from his mouth. Expected, as his body began to recognize it was dying.
Unexpected was the sound of crackling - that of a reaction between two opposing energies. That and his skin, emitting smoke as if something inside him boiled.
My art ceased.
Connections were made.
And my body moved on its own, in the way it was trained to do.