Morning light melted away the shadows of deep slumber. Slowly the azure sky revealed itself. Hardly any clouds dotted the view, distant islands danced in the sky, beyond those even the North Continent made a rare, mountainous appearance. However, they all revolved around the daystar–Arathyll. Cloaked in perpetual aurora borealis, its purple brilliance illuminated all.
The ground felt cold, but surprisingly not freezing for a winter morning. Soft cushions and not hard stone? A gentle breeze carried the smell of crisping bacon…I'm definitely dead. Radiating pain throughout his body quickly perished that thought. Wracked with soreness, Tyralt tenderly turned his head towards the crackling of fire.
Four modest tents encircled the encampment, at its center sat two women cozied around a fire. From the left, sky blue hair bounced over the woman’s fin-like ears as she cooked, humming a cheerful tune.She wore a white sundress with light ruffles. Across the fire, hair blacker than night draped over the palexian’s porcelain complexion as she leafed through a ragged grimoire. She donned a black travel dress, embroidered with golden runes and wore a sizable, pointy hat. Tyralt breathed a sigh of relief when he saw his scabbard laying next to her.
Without batting an eye from her pages, she remarked,
“So the dead stirs yet again?”
Brushing her black bangs from her forehead, she tilted her head. Her frigid, blue-eyed gaze felt like it could freeze flame.
“Astrid! Be nice to our guest or I'll burn your eggs~”
While the cook’s smile radiated cheerfulness, her overbearing aura meant every word. Astrid quickly mustered a fake smile in an attempt to appease her. She put her book down and properly addressed Tyralt.
“My apologies, welcome to the living. Honestly, I've only encountered a handful of souls as resilient as yours.”
Satisfied with her response, the jubilant cook handed Astrid her plate. His drowsiness began to dissipate. Astrid? Wasn't that one of them? Before Tyralt could fully comprehend the situation, the cook cut in.
“I’m Qu’Resta and don’t mind her, she's always grumpy before breakfast. She'll cheer up.” Her kind emerald eyes gently reassured.
Between mouthfuls, Astrid sneaked a cold glare at Tyralt. Doubtful.
Getting a closer look, Qu’Resta’s complexion sparkled with little blue diamonds. The Dya’mani epitomize the beautiful marriage of flesh and stone. Native to clear waters and masters of entertainment and jewelry, many sought their services. So much so, many enslaved them.
“How are you feeling? You were in rough shape, but our grumpy bookworm managed to patch you up.” She gestured to a rapt Astrid, mid swallow, causing her to choke.
“N-N-No, that's your specialty, not mine. I merely assisted. Stop downplaying yourself Qu’Resta.”
Qu’Resta blushed and tried to hide her embarrassment. Like a played out routine, Astrid rolled her eyes and sighed. Suddenly, a mischievous smile arose from her.
“Actually thanks to her adroit mastery of restoration majik, you not only live, she even corrected that sloppy patch job for that eye of yours. She's the most talented healer to grace this world. Praise her.”
Qu’Resta’s cheeks glowed a deep red, each word of praise seemed to push her closer to the edge. Eventually, she folded into a fetal position of sheer embarrassment. For the first time since waking, he blinked. He could indeed see clearly, although he felt a faint burning sensation from his brow to cheek. Tuning back into melodrama before him, Tyralt found his voice.
“T-thanks.”
WHAM!!!
That dealt the finishing blow, Qu’Resta melted into a puddle. Astrid deviously chuckled. From the outer perimeter of the camp, a deep voice boomed.
“Oi oi, quit teasing her Astrid.”
A hulk of a man emerged from the dense woods, carrying several bundles of firewood. As he set down the haul, he surveyed the camp until his red eyes landed on Tyralt. A bulwark of muscle towered over him, cladded in red brigandine armour. The man brushed the sweat off his bushy brows, combing his crimson hair back between his ebony horns. First time meeting a Draeheart too…the books don't do them justice. They’re even more imposing. His complexion bore an earthy tone and a chiseled countenance of stone. Despite all of this, he wore a welcoming expression.
The gruff man exclaimed, “You're a tough little one.”
“So are you.”, Tyralt blinked at the rogue words that escaped his mouth.
“...”
“...”
“...”
The man roared with laughter.
“Oh he’s a funny one too!”, the great horned brute bellowed.
He managed a greeting between his laughs.
“The name’s Wryle Revoleo, we enjoy a good laugh here.”
Those laughs shook the very ground, the trees wobbled. Suddenly, a low growl reverberated from the tree above. The dense foliage ruffled as a shadow dropped low to the ground. The agile shade sprung forth into a shrewd squat.
“Iggy! So that’s where you went and roosted off to.”
“Quit calling me that you thundering folly, the dead wake when you start.”, his long silver hair and vulpine ears bounced as he barked. He wore dark purple robes, similar to a majis, but the loose ends were bandaged in black, likely for increased dexterity. About to let loose another salvo, the Vwybeast, picked up a curious scent and met Tyralt’s eyes. His amethyst gaze stalked and studied him.
“See. They do wake.”, he grinned as his nine fluffy tails danced and jeered.
That seals it. It’s them, the walking death at breakfast. Oh how lovely…
Trying again to command his body out of stasis, he tensed then relaxed, realizing the futility of any physical action. Tyralt’s eyes sharpened and raked back at Ignero. Death’s passing embrace certainly emboldened his response.
“Very well alive too, I see…”, Ignero’s playful expression withered into bloodlust.
“Igly! Quit the leers and mean looks, it’s not very effective…not to mention unsightly.”, Astrid set Ignero in her sights. She clearly was devoid of concern for Tyralt, but her words were inexplicably spirited.
“I-G-N-E-R-O!”
This seemed to be quite the touchy topic.
“It’s been over ten years and you still don’t get it right! And here I thought the spoiled, academy wonder needed no more lessons. But I can certainly slow it down just for you.”
In a brave effort to soothe tensions, Wryle approached the fray.
“Hey now let's not..”
Not even a sentence left his mouth, the two spared no quarter towards him.
“Windbag!
“Towering dolt!”
His eyes darkened under his furling bushy brows, they resembled red, thunderous clouds darkening under a waning sun…a storm has arrived. In perfect harmony, they all lunged at each other. Claws, fists, and gravity majik enhanced slaps clashed and echoed, causing quite the scene.
Finally recovering from the initial volley of compliments, Qu’Resta tettered.
“E-everyone…please you’re g-going to ruin breakfast. Stop…”
She puddled before the beldam. They were really going at it too. Hard to believe this rowdy sort were the same monsters from that nightmare before. This chaos somehow relaxed Tyralt, his cold lips quietly surrendered to a smile.
Like a sonic boom, an uprooted tree shot out the woods, landing squarely before the scuffling trio. They froze with pulled hair in-hand and fists glued-to-cheek. From the brush, a familiar green woman emerged, dusting bits of tree bark from her hands.
Slowly she marched towards them. The sword sheathed between her shoulders danced with the daggers on her hip and lower back as she approached. Her long ponytail fought the wind as it swayed, berating the breeze. She wore a revealing braided crop top with lace webbing spanning across her very toned midriff. Notably, she looked completely unperturbed by the cold temperature. At least she’s wearing pants and gloves..nevermind they’re fingerless…Her fierce amber eyes surveyed the chaotic scene, ceasing causality. Eventually her eyes found Tyralt’s frozen smile.
“Getting rather comfortable, eh kid?”, her raspy yet feminine voice poked at him.
“Winners tend to be and it’s not ‘kid’. Or did you already forget…”, he brandished a sardonic smile, “...Bel?~”.
WHOOSH!
THUD!!
Hardly a second elapsed and there sat Belehra, stradling Tyralt, imprisoning him within his thick blanket, pinning him down. Not like he was going anywhere anyway. She grabbed his collar and yanked him towards her.
“No one alive may call me that!”
Before he could reply, he coughed a fair amount of blood–luckily not as much as the last time. Seemingly out of nowhere, the fierce gobos also began coughing, but much more violently.
“Bele! Stop, you'll reopen his wounds, he could die!”
Qu’Resta rushed over to them, immediately healing the two.
“...”
“Good thing I’m already dead then. Thanks for keeping your word…”
She studied his face, pushing his hair back, peering deep into his golden eyes. She softened and oddly enough began to laugh, “It’s been a while since someone got me good like that, years actually. Man, I miss those days.”
The camp let out a collective sigh of relief, soothing the tension. Qu’Resta laid a gentle hand over Belehra’s vice grip, which still had her patient partially suspended off the ground and they were very close. With the slightest of blushes, she immediately released him.
BONG!
His head missed the soft bed roll and smacked the hard ground, greeting both of them with instant pain.
“HEY!!!”
“Grrrrgh!”
Belehra growled as she rubbed the back of her head.
“I hate soul pacts, they lock you into some shitty deal with some shitty conditions. Oooh~ but break them and you suffer threefold the consequences. Terribly boring, killing any real fun.”
As the pain subsided, she tilted her head and interrogated.
“At your match, you could barely cast, let alone wield ethria. How the hell can you forge a soul pact?”
“I’m just as surprised as you. I’ve read about them, but that’s it.”
“Wait, you just winged it?”
He half nodded, but her doubting gaze wouldn’t allow it.
“With your shitty ethria resonance? You’re lying or hiding something, out with it.”
There was no escaping her perceptive pressure. He sighed then looked towards his scabbard. Next to it, Ignero stuffed his face with bacon and eggs–completely entranced. “Hey P–Iggy, throw a scrap at that scabbard next to you.” Surprisingly unbothered by the blatant faux pas, he complied.
Astrid perked up,“Wow~ Not even five minutes and you found our mangy mascot’s greatest weakness. And abused it. Good boy.” She fired off a few more insults at Ignero for good measure. I had no clue…they only get weirder.
Without warning, the scabbard voraciously sucked up the bacon without a trace. Questioning eyes fell on Tyralt.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
“Flugel, it’s safe…more or less. Come out.”
A familiar emerald green slime, rippling shades of turquoise began to ooze out of the sheath. Finally, the slime coagulated into a fistsize glob and bounced towards Tyralt. The jubilant blob abruptly stopped and stared, perhaps even glared at Belehra, before happily plopping onto his chest.
“The fuck is that thing?”
“The thing that helped me beat you.” Flugel bounced proudly, at least as much as a simple slime could convey. Something about this creature visibly rubbed Belehra the wrong way as Flugel continued to fearlessly taunt her.
“My father would conduct countless experiments and discard the failures, I would know best…Anyway I would abscond with any leftovers for crafting. One day at my workshop, I accidentally spawned Flugel when I knocked my dinner plate onto some primordial ooze …and well you could figure out the rest from there.” Flugel’s focus drifted to the pile of uncooked bacon. “Turns out, she’s quite the goo. Not only does her ooze heal, but she can store ethria in her ooze for later use. When you attacked, I still had some applied.”
Belehra and the others, scratch one fox-eared glutton, studied the Flugel as she made her way towards the bacon.
“Flugel, don’t jus–” Too late. She unleashed an incredible amount of elastic energy, sending out shockwaves, swiping two slabs of pork before quickly disappearing into the scabbard. “...And she does that.”
Belehra eyes glazed over and began to wallow at the absurdity of it all.
“I lost to some brat and his snot pet…THAT’S IT I DON’T CARE ANYMORE!”
Belehra’s rage reached its boiling point and she went for her dagger. Qu’Resta and Wryle fought hard to restrain the crazed gobos from commiting a murder-suicide.
“Bele nooooooo. pleaseeee!!!”
“Boss we need you!”
Astrid stood idly by as she resumed her reading, despite the chaos. Sensing things weren’t improving, Tyralt shot off a question of his own.
“I’ve never seen anyone fight like you or even read about it. Also to move at such speeds without majik or enchanted equipment…Actually who the hell are you guys?”
Belehra relented and then grinned at him, leaning over him her amber eyes burned fervently.
“Ferale Tenax, we do odd jobs that few enjoy doing. Robbery, interrogation, and assassination to name a few. You’ve tried the last one already.” Ferale Tenax, uttering the very name, seemed to chill the wintry air. Even outside of shaded society, that guild held quite the notoriety. They’re regarded as faceless shadows of death, sowers of chaos, and crusaders of destruction. They never receive any complaints because there’s no one left to complain.
Taking one hand off his chest she pointed at the stout draeheart, who was dusting dirt off his forehead.
“Wryle Revoleo, he’s our front man and iron wall. He’s the toughest bastard I know.
“Thanks B–”
Done with him she jumped right onto the next intro.
“Astrid Mesari, she’s our fire support and synergist. She has a thinking mind like no other.” Glowing red, she tried to hide her embarrassment. I guess even glaciers eventually melt.
“Ignero Vos’Rend, recon and neutralization specialist. If it wasn’t for his gut, he’d be unstoppable.”
“Huh?”
Where Ignero sat, now slept a small, fuzzy fox. It contently laid, furled within its nine tails.
“Oh? And he does that too.”
Turns out some vwybeasts can fully morph into alternate forms with a little metamorphosis majik. That fox would definitely make for a photogenic mascot.
“What do you mean by ‘his gut’?”
“Well it’s more his appetite gets the best of him. The hungrier he gets the more…unsettled he becomes.” The sleeping fox woke for a moment, languidly blinked a few times, then set right back off to sleep. “Most of the time he’s a big pushover.”
Belehra’s amber spotlights zeroed in on Qu’Resta, causing her a mild panic.
“Qu’Resta Lagala.”
She froze.
“Heals and cooks.”
Despite the deadpan delivery, Qu'Resta once again melted into a hopeless puddle. Belehra callously ignored the melodrama and trudged on. Unfortunately, her indifference did little to remedy the situation…
Turning her dauntless gaze towards Tyralt, she put her hand on her bosom and struck a pose, still pinning him down. “I lead this pack, Belehra Millis Wren.” If it wasn’t for the night prior, this would come off as a very cringey intro, yet her outlandish actions and menacing demeanor justify it.
“You still didn’t answer my other question? What was that power?”
“Ardor.”
“Ardor? I never came across that in my studies.”
“Hmm...My guess Fulcanus would view something like ardor inferior to the limitless availability of ethria. A lotta of his type forget true power comes from within and ignore its existence. That’s probably why you haven’t heard about it, not too usual for a shut-in brat.” Abrasive, but her words certainly held truth to them.
Tyralt wore a dissatisfied expression to her incomplete answer. She lightly growled and continued, “Basically ardor is the opposite of ethria, it’s purely sourced from within. It can’t be used for any majik and is a limited resource. Only food and rest restore it. And if you’re not calm, it messes with you both physically and mentally.”
“I can see why no one would bother…sounds useless.”, he said, baiting Belehra to elaborate.
Clicking her tongue, his provocation riled her up and she jumped into details, “Now once you grapple with those inconveniences and learn balance, that's when ardor shines.” She held her hand in front of Tyralt and counted up as she explained the fundamentals.
One. “Acuity. By silencing all thought, you exponentially heighten all physical senses, motor control, and reaction times–feels amazing.”
Two. “Obscurity. Ardor is nearly undetectable, one can shroud their presence and intent. Perfect for cloak and dagger tactics.”
Three. “Tenacity. Unleash raw emotion and break your body's limits, greatly multiplying strength, resistances, and yada-yada.”
“That’s Ardor.”
“That sounds useful, but then why don’t more people utilize it.”
“Because unlike majik where you’re born with a fixed ethria resonance, ardor requires training. And because people are shiftless spoiled bums, why would they change to a lifestyle of diminishing gains and hardship.” She spat, grazing his right cheek.
Tyralt, deep in thought, hardly noticed the ooze rolling off his cheek. For a long minute, he spaced out taking it all in…Unfortunately, while he rigorously parsed this new information, he failed to notice what he was staring at. Two great green “giants'' swayed over him, eclipsing his vision when he finished his internal delegations…
“Flattered, but stop staring at my tits, kid.”
Horrified, he scrambled for words, “Hold on, I-I wasn’t, I mean I didn’t—”.
Belehra and the rest of the girls each wore a disappointed expression to varying degrees. Wryle turned his head sideways and pretended to stretch, clearly trying his best to avoid the awkwardness of the situation. Even the crafty fox, stealthily closed his one observing eye and feigned sleep. Perhaps death would’ve been better…
Before any more dark thoughts crept in, Tyralt recovered, “S-So why are you telling me all this? Shouldn’t you conceal your identities or something?”
“Nah no point. At least I don’t feel like tiptoeing with each others’ names and such for three or so months. For that long, I’ll probably forget to anyway.” The rest of the group nodded in agreement, causing Belehra’s temple to throb in annoyance.
Tyralt tilted his head, “Three months...why so long?”
“We're heading to Barrios.”
“The capital of guilds and commerce…That's only a couple weeks' journey, it doesn't take that long.”
“On the beaten path, sure kid, but we ain't going that way. Considering we’re traveling with a ‘dead’ highborn brat, the checkpoints along the way won't help much. So we're taking the scenic tour through the mountains.”
“And then what happens to me?”
“We know one or two artisan guilds that owe us a favor, they'll treat ya right.”
For a moment, he looked up to the sky. Leaves danced and wandered in the breeze. Defiant the last of autumn stood, red leaves refused to fall for winter’s cold embrace. Despite the harsh conditions, little tree buds held on. Spring was near.
“I refuse.”
“HAAA?”
Surprise surged throughout the camp, electrifying the atmosphere.
“Refuse?! You don't get to choose, you're lucky to be even breathing you shitty brat.” She yanked him forward by the collar, ignoring the burning pain. His eyes held steadfast and resolute.
“I'd rather join Ferale Tenax.”
“HAAAAAAAAA?!!!”, everyone exclaimed.
His expression remained unchanged before their surprise, something brazenly burned within now, refusing to back down. After shedding his husk of a hollow life, a fervent desire to preserve this new one took root. However, desire itself could only do so much in a world where the supreme reigned…power was necessary. Many live and die without purpose, merely existing until no more. Some devote their entire being to great entities, trading all their whims for others. All of this sort mindlessly shackle themselves to “destiny” and so-called “fate”, forsaking freedom. But there are few, a happy few, that transcend cruel reality and thrive as individuals–they stood before him. But why would anyone grant such a request, especially considering who they were and what they did? His lips carved a wry smile, casting any doubts aside.
Belehra narrowed her eyes at that dangerous smile, but then gave one herself.
“Oh~ And why the hell should I let you join our ranks?”
Feeling a semblance of strength returning, he freed his arm and balled his fist over heart. He recounted, “‘I swear to oversee your well-being within my pack…’ is what you swore, correct?”.
An ominous sense of uneasiness crept upon Belehra, but she shrugged it off, “Yeah, that's what I said. What of it?”
“Words carry power, but only if the meaning is understood. Language conveys an agreed upon subset of words paired with their respective meanings. All spoken majik, incantations and pacts alike, function within the boundaries of its spoken language. Hence, why some incantations must be said in a particular language to invoke. Now–”
“I don’t see why I should car–”
“‘Pack’ bears a very different meaning than it does in your native tongue, namely yours defines it as just a group of individuals. However in common, a pack refers to a group of individuals who work together under the same idea. Coincidentally, guilds comprised of nine or less members such as Ferale Tenax are defined as a pack. I’m already a member.”
Victory spanned cheek-to-cheek as he watched shock overtake the camp. The stoutest stood, his big mouth ajar. Next to him, the nimblest, sneezed so hard it knocked him out of fox form. From the fire, the quietest, dropped her grimoire with a heavy thud. The lithest, fumbled her skillet, nearly losing it to the campfire. Finally, the fiercest of the death squad, slapped her forehead. Her face flushed with a tempest of emotions, she locked eyes with Tyralt’s.
Like a rasping dragon, she growled a single word, “Fine.”
“Belehra! You're not seriously entertaining this absurdity right? He's a invalid brat that can barely cast. Hell we even saw firsthand how terrible his ethria resonance is. I mean–”
“Astrid. He fooled all of us and bested me…twice. And his little scuffle with his brother only proves he can think quick in a fight.” Little scuffle. Sure, he tried to burn me alive…
Unable to riposte the facts, she relented.
“However…”, Belehra cracked a crooked smile as she turned back to Tyralt. Something frightening gleamed in her stare.
“Oh~ If I recall correctly, I swore to oversee your well-being within my pack. I'm the leader and that makes you my subordinate. Therefore, you must abide by our code. Any negligence or misconduct will lead to an immediate dismissal.”
She playfully walked her fingers across his chest, then pretended to adjust an imaginary pair of glasses.
“We could also hire some extra goons to boost the member count and alter our pack status.”
Shit. Here I thought she was just a brawny idiot.
She gave a slight scowl, “Hey you better quit whatever you're thinking.”
“I only sing praises for my astute pack leader.”
“Bullshit. Anyway, there's no room for freeloading fools who cannot pull their weight.”
Tyralt preemptively grimaced and steeled himself for her next words. Perhaps a bit too early though…
“You got a lotta balls kid, but you don’t know how to back it up. I'll give you until we get Barrios to prove me otherwise.”
His eyes fluttered wildly. Dumbfounded, he exclaimed, “Why?”
“Cause I said so.”
She looked to the rest, seeking their thoughts.
Wryle jumped in, “The little one can handle it. He has the right dogged attitude, plus he's funny.”
Ignero raised his eyebrow towards Wryle, “What the hell does being funny have to do with it? Regardless, I'm curious about how he snuck one over on Bele. Sure, let's find out.”
“He’s adorable. Okay~”, Qu’Resta doted in a motherly tone.
“Qu…I don't think that should be the sole reason to–”, she silenced Ignero with a thick strip of bacon. She's scary in her own way.
They all turned to Astrid, who tried her best to bury herself in a book.
Vexed at the prying eyes, “What?! I already said my bit…”
“...”
“...FINE. We have a few months to kill, I'll amuse myself torturi–teaching him.“
Glaring daggers at Tyralt, she muttered many questionable phrases taboo to polite society. Glad she has my side too…Painful flashbacks of his former training seared into his eyes.
“Good, seems like we all agree. Let's see what you got, k–Hold on, I almost forgot.”
She casually reached deeply into her bosom, procuring a thin, crystal slab and handed it to him. Warm to the touch, it began to glow a deep purple. After a moment, the translucent crystal shimmered and revealed a self-portrait of his current appearance. His once flared back hair, now loosely hung over his left eye, obscuring a vicious burn. Several rings of violet text slowly revolved around the portrait. Each line displayed astonishingly accurate data: height, weight, heartbeat, etc. Prominently at its center, an unfamiliar string of words seized his attention. He read them.
“Rayet Vallis Noctwell?”
“It's your name from here on, let your old name rot into obscurity.”
His eyes widen, forgetting the wincing pain from his left. He held his new life before him. A mixed sense of overwhelming joy and uncertainty swept over him. This feeling was something completely alien to him–a future. Before he could react, a pair of tears raced from his eyes to his pointy ears. He rested his free arm over his eyes.
“Don't lose it, you'll need it to travel. Forged personae are exceedingly difficult to obtain.” Despite her usual abrasiveness, the overall tone felt comforting.
“I'll cherish it, thank you…”, he said, still covering his eyes. He paused for a moment then twisted a roguish smile.
“...Bel~”
“RAYET!!! ENJOY THE LAST MOMENTS OF YOUR SHORT LIFE!”
Yet again, they fought hard to restrain her, even the rest joined in the dogpile this time. Rayet laughed the entire time, coughing up blood between bouts.
Not the worst start to a new life…I wonder what awaits beyond today.