Selerim straightened in his chair, setting the sketchbook to the side. He’d spent much of the past week with it, and while he’d not drawn in some time, his new instrument proved a bigger issue. It drew in one shade only, and if he kept it against the paper for too long, it would bleed against the other lines. Still, though, the familiar task soothed his mind— and provided a welcome distraction.

He had his own room, now, at the doctor’s insistence. It was smaller than Gwyn’s, with just barely enough room for a mattress and a desk. Though Selerim still spent much of his time Gwyn and his mother, a small part of him valued the small bit of privacy that it lent him.

That part of him was quiet, now, given his upcoming departure. He hesitated. Departure? Was that right? He’d asked Varus for help returning to Umbra, but had yet to receive any details— and he knew precious little about how the human kingdom worked. I hope this isn’t a mistake.

Burying his misgivings, Selerim reached for his pack. Despite being the only baggage he owned, it held little in the way of belongings. It was even emptier than when he was still a hunter; but what he had, he valued greatly.

He reached into the bag, pushing aside the ration bars to retrieve a bundle of cloth. It was a pitch-black cloak, given to him by Veile. He preferred it over the crude one he’d sewn on his journey to the human kingdom, but it stood out far too much.

Selerim carefully unwrapped the cloth, cradling the mass held within in one hand. Finally, as he pulled the cloak free, a small cube fell into his hand. Though it felt like metal, it had a crystalline appearance.

He hesitated, laying the cloak in his lap before placing the cube on the desk in front of him. It was the remnants of his Feast; meant to be turned into a weapon for him.

Varen’s death, of course, had buried any chance of that.

“Haah.” With a sigh, Selerim turned it in his hands, running his fingers over its smooth surface. Unlike every other Heart he’d seen— and harvested— it was red. Its center was a dark crimson, and its surface a calm, pale red. Liquid fire burned at its core, creating new patterns every time he turned it.

He’d shown it to his mother and Gwyn, of course, but no one else. That was due to was an off-handed comment that Viria made about Verad’s sword, forged from the same material. Selerim had never thought of it before, but such weapons were only carried by his people.

And buried with them.

Just like Verad’s sword.

Saya’s daggers.

And Senri’s spear.

Selerim closed his eyes slammed the small cube back down on the table, interrupting his own thoughts. He heard the wood crack and splinter. Don’t go down there, he chided himself. Opening them again, he considered the cube again. In truth, he was hesitant to bring it with him, but he found its presence comforting. A small part of Cress that he could still carry with him.

Besides his sketchbook, of course.

Selerim reached for it. Not the one he’d closed moments ago, but another one. Its pages were thicker, and its cover was wooden, rather than leather. He flipped it open to the first page— and found his father’s face staring back up at him.

It wasn’t a drawing so much as it was a carving. The pages were thick, and each image was scratched directly into the surface. Whatever method its creator used was beyond him; he couldn’t imagine carving something so precise. He still struggled with how to refer to it. It was a copy of the one he’d lost when Cress burned, given new life.

Selerim ran his fingers over his father’s likeness, noting each small ridge that they passed. Is this what his face felt like? He wondered, then shook his head.

It was a stupid thought.

He snapped it shut, then set it to the side. He’d considered bringing it with him, but he’d already lost it once. It would stay behind, at least until he’d had time to copy each drawing. Veile claimed it would repair itself— and he’d seen proof of that with his own eyes.

Still.

The less he had of her, the better— although that was hard, considering the other gifts she’d given him. With a sigh, Selerim reached for them. One was a simple mask; with two slits for the eyes. Its hood was sewn from the same pitch-black cloth as the cloak, but the front was wooden, and deep violet in color.

The second item, a sword, shared that color. It was longer than Verad’s, but thinner and lighter. Selerim turned it in his hands, careful not to brush up against its edge. Though made of wood, it was still deadly sharp— and would repair itself if damaged.

Selerim grimaced. He still had yet to become truly accustomed to using the weapon. It was almost too light— on more than one occasion, he’d mistakenly thought he dropped it. But aside from his dwindling supply of bone knives, it was the only weapon he had.

Standing, Selerim reached back with both hands, easing the blade into place along his spine. There was hardly any space between blade and flesh, but the weapon was too long to hide from the hip. Retrieving the cloak, he wrapped both mask and cube in the tenebrous fabric before stowing it.

He was dressed simply; a black long-sleeve shirt, leather trousers, and a thick leather vest. A crude cloak, sewn from a Reaver’s hide, completed the outfit. Selerim had chosen it after some consideration, well aware that he stood out— and that that posed more than one problem.

Hiding the fact that he was a hollow meant maintaining two separate appearances. It was easy enough to imagine the first: a masked swordsman with a pitch-black cloak. It was also easier to maintain.

The trouble was with his “normal” appearance. There were just too many things about him that stood out. Some were easy enough to hide, like his eyes and hair. But even putting those aside, there were simply too many identifying factors. Some were impossible to avoid— like his build and height— but others, like his scars and belongings, would have to remain hidden.

I should get metal knives.

Not only were there very few bone ones remaining, since arriving, Selerim had realized those were something unique to his kind. Of all the blades he’d seen since arriving, not a single one had been bone. There were plenty of wooden ones, though, which was fortunate. He’d have needed a new weapon otherwise.

Cinching the pack closed, he opted to carry it by hand, rather than risk disturbing the blade. He would need another pack as well, but that was a worry for later.

The door clicked shut behind Selerim as he exited the room. It was still early; his mother and sister wouldn’t be awake yet, but there was no need to wake them. Varus said this would be just the first step.

He made his way up the the building, knocking on the doctor’s door as he approached it.

“Come in,” his muffled voice responded.

Selerim pushed it open. Though it was still dark out, the room was illuminated by a soft orange glow. It took him a moment to find the source; a small stone on the desk. Varus sat behind it. His eyes and hair were both a golden orange color in the light.

“Ah. Selerim,” he said, as the hollow entered. He placed a sheaf of paper on the desk. “I know it’s early, but I thought you’d want to avoid as many eyes as possible.” He paused. “And it appears you’ve dressed with anonymity in mind.”

Selerim nodded.

“I’ll return this to you, as well.” The doctor pulled something out from behind his desk, tossing it to Selerim.

He caught it. It was his bracelet. “You already found a buyer?” Selerim asked, surprised. “It’s hardly been a week.”

“Hearts are always in high demand. Pelts, as well, although to a lesser extent. It will take some time for the merchant to provide the full payment,” Varus added, “seeing as there was quite a bit.”

Selerim nodded and slipped the bracelet into his bag. He would leave the money to his mother; she would know how to handle it.

“Before we move on to our other matter, however, I would like to offer you an alternative.”

“An alternative?”

The doctor nodded. “Your thought process is foreign to me, but if work is all you desire, then you could work as a city guard. You’d have to disclose your status as a hollow, but it would be safer— and closer to your family.”

“No,” Selerim said firmly. “I want to be in Umbra.” Gwyn would be mad otherwise.

Varus regarded him silently for a moment before nodding. “Very well.” He shifted in his seat. “But I would like to offer you my advice, as well.”

“Advice?”

“Advice. You need to be careful who you threaten.”

Selerim’s blood ran cold, but Varus continued before he could interject.

“Your threat is a non-factor to me. I had— and still have— no intention of bringing any harm to your family.” He paused, giving Selerim time to process his words. “But the man we’re about to meet is of greater influence than myself. Threatening him means threatening this nation as a whole. You may be able to survive a mortal would, but I highly doubt that extends to your mother and sister.”

“Perhaps not,” Selerim said softly, “but I’ll burn your kingdom down brick by brick, if I have to.”

Varus’ golden eyes met his own. “And by the time the that happens, they will have been long dead.” His voice was matter-of-fact.

Selerim fought to keep from snapping back. Logically speaking, the doctor was correct. There was nothing he could do if his family encountered a mage. “I understand,” he finally said. “It’s not as if I intend to threaten everyone I meet.”

Varus nodded. “Just as well.” He stood, one hand outstretched, and a pale green cloak shimmered into being. He threw it around his shoulders, pulling the hood up to hide his face and hair. “Our destination is some ways from here. I trust you have no issues walking?”

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

They walked in silence most of the way. Just like Varus said, the streets were mostly empty, save for the occasional individual or small group. They paid the pair no mind, aside from a passing glance.

This tale has been unlawfully lifted from Royal Road; report any instances of this story if found elsewhere.

It didn’t take Selerim long to realize where they were going.

“Are we headed to… the wall?” He asked, looking up at the doctor uncertainly.

“In a way. Ultimately, everyone leaves through the walls. Placing the necessary infrastructure around— or even within it— is simply more efficient.”

He fell silent as they approached one of the gated areas. Though different from the one Selerim first arrived at, it was nearly identical; a large, square-shaped segment cut into the city wall. He pulled his hood down further as Varus led them to the guard watching the entrance.

The doctor pulled his hood down with one hand, retrieving something from the folds of his cloak with the other. He handed it to the guards.

“You know where to find him?”

Varus nodded.

“Go on, then.”

He pulled his hood back up. Selerim followed close behind. For the first time, he realized that the wall was hollow. A number of shops were set up on either side of the narrow path way. One sold an assortment of bladed weapons, while another sold what he assumed was magical equipment; a variety of objects, each set with a number of glowing stones.

Not only that, there seemed to be entire workshops set up within the stone structure. Blacksmiths carried husks of glowing metal to their anvils. Some took the shape of weapons, while others took the shape of armor.

“I didn’t know this was here,” Selerim said softly.

“That’s not terribly surprising,” Varus responded. “The general population isn’t allowed back here.”

“… And you are?”

A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Very few people turn a doctor away.”

Selerim felt his uneasiness return. It couldn’t be that simple. Varus was obviously a man of some influence— it was part of why the hollow had asked for his help— but the more he saw, the more he doubted this course of action.

“Here.”

His worries were cut short as Varus came to a sudden halt, reaching for the door of a nearby building. It was a simple thing; made of stone bricks, but the walls inside were cut from fine marble.

A wooden desk sat at the back of the room, and another door stood to its left. A number of chairs lined either side, but not a single one was occupied— including the one behind the desk.

Varus wordlessly strode to the second door, pulling it open and gesturing for Selerim to step through.

The hollow hesitated. Though wholly unaccustomed to this new place, he was certain this was out of the norm. Still— so far, the Varus had done nothing to cause doubt. Pushing aside his trepidation, he stepped through the door—

“Who the fuck are you?”

—And found himself greeted by a gruff, black-haired man. Though propped up by a chair behind his desk, sitting seemed to be the wrong word to describe his posture. His legs were nearly parallel to the desk’s edge, with both feet propped up on the far corner. Both hands propped his head up from behind.

“My acquaintance,” Varus said, joining Selerim in the room. He seemed older than Varus, but not by much. Though there were no windows, the room was illuminated by a small stone on the desk. “I told you there would be another with me today.”

“My bad,” the man said, shifting into a proper sitting position. “The details were blurry.” He leaned forward, trying to peer up Selerim’s hood. “This is your guest? The hollow?”

“I thought the details were blurry,” Selerim said, taking a step back. He was instantly wary of this man. Though his appearance seemed slovenly, it was impossible to hide his warrior’s build.

“Just so,” the man said, leaning back in his chair again. “I’ll need a rundown of your situation again. That’s your job, right, Varus?”

“Enough of your games, Worrick,” Varus said as he removed his cloak. “I’ll not have you trying to probe my charges for information.”

“You’re no fun,” the man— Worrick— said with a shake of the head. “I remember that bit clearly enough, though.” He pointed at Selerim. “If you want my help, you’ll have to show me your face.” A grin spread across his face. “That’s how all this works, you see.”

Varus placed a hand on Selerim’s shoulder. “I know he seems untrustworthy—”

“I can hear you, you know.”

“But information is his occupation. He’ll not share your personal information unless absolutely necessary.”

“Which means you’re dead, and free from that worry,” Worrick said with a wink. “Manpower is valuable. It doesn’t matter who you are— as long as you have an able body, there’s a job waiting for you.” He jabbed a finger at Varus. “Doc here says you want to something to take you into Umbra.”

Selerim nodded, taken aback by the flurry of words.

“That generally means long-distance trading missions.” Worrick paused. “I feel ridiculous saying this to you, but you’re aware of the dangers that poses, yes?”

He nodded again.

“Good.” Worrick leaned forward, tossing a small object onto the table. It was a small metal card, with a perfect circle engraved on its face. “Don’t lose that. That’s proof you’re a mercenary.”

“Mercenary?” Selerim asked, stepping forward to retrieve the card. Its ridged edges were painted red.

“Aye. That’s the easiest way. Everything else requires too much paperwork. Unless doc here is willing to pull some strings for you, of course.” Worrick leaned back and crossed his arms. “See the red border?”

Selerim nodded.

“That means yours is a mercenary card. You’ll have to show it when accepting and completing a request…” Worrick trailed off. “Varus didn’t tell you much, did he?”

“No.”

“Figures,” he snorted, then pointed to the card. “We started using those to avoid any foul play. It proves who you are— so don’t lose it. I take it you don’t have a team?”

“A team?”

Worrick nodded. “It’s a minimum of 5 to accept a request. Think about it— we can’t just send someone off alone into Umbra.” He paused. “You might be special, but I’m not going to bend the rules for you. Sorry. I’ll need to record your personal belongings here, as well. We don’t care if you hide your identity, or use an alias, but we need to know who you really are in case you kick the bucket.”

Selerim nodded. He’d expected as much. Even back home, hunters had operated exclusively in groups— with the exception of their Feast.

“Then…”

“You’ll randomly be assigned to a team.”

“I see.”

“This is why I suggested an alternative,” Varus said from behind.

Selerim shook his head. “I don’t expect to stay hidden forever,” he said. “Just… for now.”

Until I figure out what to do next.

“Just as well,” Worrick interjected. “Many mercenaries may be desperate, very few are truly stupid.” He paused. “I hope you’ve got another outfit in there.”

“I do.”

“Let’s see it, then.”

After a moment’s hesitation, Selerim set his pack down on the desk and opened it. He pulled the cloak out first; unwrapping the mask and cube before carefully slipping the sword from his back.

“And here I though you’d have one of those fancy glass weapons of yours,” Worrick said. “May I?”

Selerim nodded.

“Elven make, yes? But what’s with the color?”

He shrugged.

“Eh. Doesn’t matter. I take it you’ll be wearing this?” Worrick picked up the mask in one hand.

“Yes.”

“No problem there. Plenty of others doing the same. Have you thought of an alias, then?” He gestured to a sheet of paper on the desk. “I need a name to complete this form.”

Selerim had considered that ahead of time. “Ember.” It was fitting, considering everything that had happened.

One of Worrick’s thick eyebrows raised. “That sounds like a statement. Wanna share the story?”

The hollow bristled. “No,” he said flatly.

“Fair enough.”

Worrick reached for something hidden behind a stack of papers. Selerim stiffened, then relaxed as his hand reappeared, carrying a pen. It was similar to the one he had purchased, but thinner and of different color.

“Sword, cloak, mask, and…” he looked up for a moment. “Red cube.”

Worrick scribbled something onto the sheet of paper, then handed it to the hollow. “Get out of here. When you leave, go that way,” he jabbed a finger backwards,” and you’ll find a training area. It’s huge. You can’t miss it. Give them this, and they’ll evaluate you.”

“Evaluate?” Selerim asked as he rolled the paper up.

“Same idea as before,” Worrick said flatly. “If you’re not skilled enough, it’s a death sentence. We’d prefer to avoid sending people to their deaths.”

“… I see.” Selerim looked back at Varus uncertainly. The doctor nodded.

“I’ll stay here for a while. I have some things to discuss with Worrick— and it’s best to avoid being seen together.”

“Alright.” He changed cloaks, stowing the old one in his pack alongside his other belongings. The sword went to his waist, now, and though Selerim angled it, the tip was still visible underneath its hem. Last up— the mask.

He reached for it, then took a breath and pulled it over his head. The hood was just right; not too tight, not too loose, and with just enough flex to be comfortable. Despite only having two small gashes in front of the eyes, Selerim’s vision was unimpeded; and neither was his breathing.

“I’ll be off then,” he said after a moment’s hesitation.

“Off you go.” Worrick waved him away lazily.

image [https://i.imgur.com/T7fdvjj.png]

Varus watched as the door closed behind the hollow.

“So why?”

He turned back to face Worrick. “What do you mean?”

The black-haired man snorted, leaning back in his chair again. “You know damn well what I mean. Being easy doesn’t mean it’s legal. You owe me for this one. You owe me a lot for this one. So why do it?” He paused. “Does he owe you money? Do you owe him money?” He chuckled. “That would be interesting. Want me to kill him?”

Varus sighed. “Nothing of the sort. And,” he added, “I’m not so sure you could. I watched the boy slit his own throat.”

“And?”

“There was no healer nearby.”

“Eh?” The look of surprise on Worrick’s face was comical. “So how’s he still standing?”

“Something to do with his Feast, presumably.”

“Is that supposed to mean something to me?”

“I suppose not.”

“So?” Worrick asked. “Why?”

He considered the man’s words for a moment. “I need a wild card.”

One of Worrick’s brows raised. “That sounds ominous.”

“My brother’s machinations are difficult to grasp,” Varus said flatly. “But I know how he thinks. He will have a wild card of his own.”

“And yours is a little boy?”

He smiled thinly. “I’m sure that boy has seen much more than you or I.” Varus paused. “And there’s another reason— which is what I wanted to discuss with you today.”

“That also sounds ominous.”

He pulled a letter from the folds of his cloak and handed it to Worrick. It took the black-haired man a moment to read it. A look of incredulity spread over his face.

“That’s good, isn’t it?” He asked in disbelief. “Isn’t this your so-called big picture?”

“It is,” Varus said slowly. “But I had no hand to play in this. I was asked my opinion on this matter. No more.”

“And who else knows about this?”

“Exceedingly few.” He paused. “Don’t spread this.”

“I’m not stupid,” Worrick growled. “I’d rather hold onto my life, thank you very much.” He threw the paper down on the table. “So? My point still stands. Why are you worried about this?”

“Because it means someone else is exerting their influence. And I’ve no clue as to who that is.”

“Isn’t that your answer right there?”

Varus tilted his head. “What do you mean?”

Worrick snorted. “That’s the problem with you change-the-world types. You think you’re the only ones with that idea.” He paused. “Think about it. There’s two parties at play here.”

“Ah.” It took a moment for Varus to grasp his meaning. “I see. I suppose that is the most likely explanation.” He paused. “I suppose I’ll have to adjust for that possibility.”

“I hope you know what you’re doing, doc.”

“As do I.”