Chapter 2 - The Intercessor
Realistically speaking, it is impossible for one to get lost down a straight line. All possible dimensions are constrained to their most basic level, and the only motor functions required of any sentient creature are the momentum keepers known as ‘forward’ and ‘backward’. Preferably not into the way of a wayward obstacle.
‘Realistically’ is the keyword here. A core concept of common sense that Gwendolyn, somehow, was struggling with. As could be seen when she nearly bodied a barrel for the second time that day.
‘Barrel!’ Her dodging instincts screamed. ‘Why are there so many barrels in the middle of the street?’
If Gwendolyn were a more aware person, she would have realized that the barrels were not substitute roadblocks, and were instead tradesmen's goods that were neatly tucked away in the sides of the street. If she were also a slightly more introspective person, she would have come to understand that it was her constantly looking up at the sky and not on the road that was causing these problems.
Unfortunately, she was none of these things. And as soon as she sidestepped the problem again, her eyes flew over the heads of the people, obtuse to her mistakes.
Mercifully though, not everyone else was.
Gwendolyn was in the middle of taking her next step when a hand, rough and calloused, brushed against her shoulder. The motion was hesitant and cautious, so it could barely be felt. Nonetheless, it caught her attention enough to make her turn to the side, finally tearing her eyes away from the Tower.
And the origin of that gentle tap? Well, it was a boy.
He was around her height, his hair a tousled brown mess and his eyes a limpid copper. He was lightly tanned and was dressed in hardy-looking clothes, such as a pair of slightly puffy pants and a short leather jacket with a fur-lined hood. He also wore a pair of black fingerless gloves, designed for gripping. An action he was performing nervously as he clutched the handle of his sheathed sword.
“Um– Miss?” His free and outstretched hand retracted as her gaze settled on him. “A-Are you okay?”
Gwendolyn tilted her head questioningly, trying to assess where this was coming from.
The boy bit his lips and rubbed his hand against his face, shuffling pensively. “I mean, I saw you walk three barrels and you weren’t stopping, but– Do you feel dizzy? Is it a headache? Are you still affected by something?” His entire face was screaming with concern. “Actually, should you even be out here on your own?”
The white-haired contemplated his inquiries. She had no idea who this was, but many people stated that she was a rather unusual sight. Was her condition allayed through enough news to reach this youth’s ears? “...” Silence stretched between them as she then turned her mind to his actual questions. Namely on her lack of a guardian. The healers said that she would need supervision, but Primrose was assured that Gwendolyn could take care of herself.
Seconds passed, and the boy was getting more and more nervous. Did she shut down? Was it actually a headache? Or was she just annoyed with him and ignoring the questions out of spite?
As the momentary anxiety made his internal thoughts spiral, he almost didn’t hear the long-awaited answer.
“I don’t know.”
“...Repeat that, please.”
Gwendolyn cleared her throat, speaking softly but clearly. “I don’t know.”
She really didn’t. Gwendolyn had no clue what sort of procedures were happening around her (the instructions were passed to Primrose), but if her guardian believed her healthy, then she probably was? It didn’t truly matter, in the long run. All Gwendolyn wanted to do was get to the White Tower.
She was reluctant to leave, however, when the boy before her seemed on the verge of a conniption.
“What the fuck.” He said, tone high with horror. He squared his shoulders to take a deep breath, closing his eyes for a moment. “Okay, I think I see where the problem started. Who’s your guardian?”
Gwendolyn narrowed her eyes. “Why do you want to know?” Then another question popped into her head. “Who are you to be concerned with me anyways?”
The breath he took was released in a sigh. “Fair questions. To answer in sequence: I want to berate them for the negligence of a charge, and I’m the person who found you at the East Gate.”
The girl’s eyes widened at the claim, looking at the boy with new eyes as he put his hands on his hips. “My name is Ignis Reddington, by the way.” He smiled sadly. “Sorry, we had to meet like this.”
“Was it really you who found me?” Something inside her nearly bowled over from gratitude. “Thank you. You must have saved my life.”
“It’s nothing. I’m just glad you’re alright now.” A tinge of red crept onto his cheeks. “And, uh– I’m sorry on behalf of my dad? I heard he got upset at you for some reason.”
Gwendolyn was now confused. Was there anyone in the hospice that got overly upset with her? “I don’t remember,” She said honestly.
“Well, you had a stressful week. Amnesia and all that.” Ignis glanced her up and down, his eyes lingering a bit on her horns and tail. “You seem pretty healthy, but that’s no excuse for leaving a charge on her own. What are you even doing here?”
Gwendolyn looked toward the White Tower, the echoes’ call intensifying the moment she clapped her eyes on it. “I’m going down the Main Road.”
“To the Artisan District or to the Middle-Class District?”
“To the Gate.”
Ignis was baffled. “The East Gate?”
“If that is where this road goes, yes.” Gwendolyn casually confirmed.
“What.” Ignis deadpanned before his features became alight in panic. “Whyyyyy?”
Gwendolyn merely raised an arm, pointing at the gargantuan structure in the distance. “I want to go to the White Tower,” She said, with all the conviction and confidence of a captain on her thousandth voyage.
This did not soothe Ignis’ nerves. The image of a ship crashing into an iceberg appeared in his head, an omen of her hubris. “Maybe no one has told you yet, but the White Tower and everything in the vicinity of it is overrun with y’know, monsters.” He tried to emphasize the monsters. “Not to mention the Rift Valleys between here and the Tower! It’s hell to navigate on a good day, meaning it’s especially bad for recovering patients.”
The girl visibly mulled on his words, none of the factors having occurred to her. They were certainly valid and born from a place of concern.
“But I really want to go to the White Tower.”
Meek yet insistent, that the stance of a girl that had only regained her ability to talk two days ago. Ignis looked like he wanted to cry.
“No.” He shut her down immediately. “I won’t let you go to the East Gate where you were found unconscious just to walk into the Rift Valleys, which is probably where your memories got messed up in the first place. You can’t even enter the Tower from our side anymore. The entrance is at Fort Damocles in Ascalon City.”
Gwendolyn furrowed her brow, almost frowning for the first time. “That doesn’t seem right…” She muttered slowly. “I don’t want to enter the Tower though. I want to go to the Tower from this direction.”
“Again. Why?” Ignis was trying very hard to understand. He didn’t see any reason for this incredibly illogical leap in action to be something to persist on.
He just didn’t–
“My memories.” Her quiet voice cut through his myriad thoughts like a knife. “I was there last, in the Rift Valleys. I want to find them.”
Without either of them noticing, Gwendolyn hovered closer to Ignis. Her shoulders were hunched, letting her hair fall over her face and her exposed skin. For all of her alien features and otherworldly disposition, this moment of her leaning forward, almost bowing, was so vulnerably small.
Ignis bit his lips again, glancing around them to gauge the crowd. When he was sure there weren’t any eyes on them, he shuffled closer, trying to hide her with his build.
“I can’t imagine how much not having anything to remember must hurt,” he murmured. “But that’s no reason to risk your life. I can’t knowingly let you go out into danger.”
But Gwendolyn shook her head.
“It’s not that,” She whispered back. “I do want my memories back. I want to follow this instinct, this call, that brings me closer to the Tower. But I- I’m not stupid. I only–”
Her words sputtered, falling out of her mouth uselessly as pronunciations escaped her. The hungry pull of desire was beginning to leave her, and without the sweet song of promise, realizations revealed themselves one after another. She wanted her memories. To fix the void of her mind. To explain the body she was born with.
And to… To…
“Everyone keeps being disappointed that I don’t have my memories,” she confessed to this boy, to this savior of hers that even now refused to leave her alone. “That man, the healers, and Ms. Primrose… I want to fix this. I want to help them. But I can’t help them if I don’t have what they want from me.”
That was it. That was why. Instinct and fate and destiny could only motivate one so far.
Gwendolyn knew what was beyond these walls. It had to be a world of pain and cruelty, for her to lose everything that made up her identity. The knowledge of something so intrinsically fundamental being lost made her want to hide away in these safe, warm walls forever.
But she couldn’t take how their eyes would light up with care and compassion just to flicker and wane and die into helpless, despondent pity.
She couldn’t take that this, and only this, was her one way of repaying their kindness.
And Ignis listened to it all, his hands clenched at his sides as he listened to her true feelings. Gwendolyn was almost scared to look up, to see him hovering over her, distraught and unable to decide what to do. She hated how that seemed to be the only mood that she was able to elicit, the only thing she could return to such wonderful people. However, she had to face the music if she wanted anything to change. She had to get past him to find her memories.
So she looked up.
And suddenly…
“Shut up.”
She was poked on the forehead.
“Wha?” Gwendolyn touched her temple, staring at Ignis with surprise.
“I think that the adults in your life are shit at comforting,” he said, like the familiar action never happened. “And maybe they can’t help the way they respond. I barely know how I feel about it. But I think that you, yes you, are being an idiot about it.”
“I am?” Gwendolyn thought she heard her voice crack.
Ignis nodded determinedly, his arms now crossed. “This invisible debt you have and the people asking you to pay it, it’s all bonkers! They don’t need to be reassured that their caring about you will yield some kind of rare prize! If they took you on, then they accepted the responsibility and accountability of their charity. And if they wanted anything out of it from you, screw ‘em! That is not, and should not be the point of helping you.”
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He was on a tirade now, looking incensed at everything.
“Likewise for you! When I saw you there during a wall walk, I didn’t scream at the top of my lungs because I was scared of losing your memories. I yelled for help because you were hurt. I didn’t keep thinking about you this whole past week because I was waiting for you to pay me back, I was worried that you were gonna get worse! This debt you think you should make even with what is essentially basic human kindness isn’t necessary and you. Shouldn’t. Feel. Bad. About it.”
He punctuated his remarks with extreme emphasis, his anger slamming into her like merciless hail. The way he carved out the unfairness of it all, with wrath and bluntness plenty, compounded the stark feeling of sheer idiocy that was building up in her heart.
When he laid it all out like that… It really was kind of stupid, huh?
“Are we clear about that?” He asked.
Just like when she first awoke in the hospice, Gwendolyn nodded slowly.
“I said, are we clear?”
“Yes!” She exclaimed, her voice going an octave higher than ‘soft’ for the very first time. “I understand!”
Ignis held her gaze, reading the sincerity of her declaration through the finest glare he could muster. Then, after finding what he was searching for, he let out a long-winded sigh. “Okay.” The boy stuffed his hands in his pockets. “Now that that’s done, let’s take a little detour to my house. It’s in High-Class, down the West Road.”
Gwendolyn blinked, befuddled at this change in tone. Did he… “Why are you inviting me to your house?”
“Because one.” He held up a finger. “I have something to give you. And two.” He was now making a peace sign. “You’re still going down to the Rift Valleys, aren’t you?”
“Are you a mind reader?!” Gwendolyn gasped. How? How did he know?!
“I had a weird hunch.” The boy seemed resigned. “Even though I said all those things, the situation hasn’t really changed. You’re still stuck with what you’ve got, and even if you accepted my words, you’d still want to make it easier on yourself. Finding even the smallest sliver of memory must be a big Win-Win for you.”
He gestured lackadaisically. “Ergo, you’re not giving up yet.”
“...You’re right,” Gwendolyn said despondently, not seeing the point of hiding it anymore. “I’m sorry. I can’t really… accept stopping just yet.” The echoes were faint now, but they were still there, singing their wishful melody.
“I figured. You ran into three barrels because you were so focused on it.” Though exasperated, he smiled at her. “I can’t come up with anything else to persuade you to stay, so I’ll go with the next best thing: Be your escort and keep you safe until you’re satisfied enough to head back home.”
Gwendolyn nearly reeled back from shock. He was coming with her?!
“No, you don’t have to–”
“I want to.” Those copper eyes were nothing but earnest as he flipped the script on her. “It may come as a surprise, but I am investing basic human decency in you. I want you to be happier here, and I don’t want you to suffer. If this makes it easier on you after the bullshit you let yourself believe, then I’ll help.”
The faces of all the people who hesitated to reach out to her flashed through her mind.
“Are you sure?” Her tone had become soft again. But it was less distant. More insecure. “I don’t want to burden you.”
“It’s not a burden. Nor are you.” Ignis placed a hand on his sword. “Just for that, I’m gonna beat the crap out of whoever let you believe that.”
And just like that, little no one of nowhere Gwendolyn laughed.
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“By the way, I never got your name.”
Ignis made that statement as they walked side-by-side, down the beautifully paved paths of the High-Class District. Here, the buildings were sparse and the scenic views were plenty. Large houses were situated on small hills that were covered in all manner of flora, each evenly spread out across the slightly uneven land. Compared to the rest of the city, the numbers living here were minuscule, but thanks to their respective fortunes, they were privileged with the right to own more private property than anyone in the city.
And Ignis’ family, the Reddingtons, were apparently amongst that number.
“Were you not informed of it?” Gwendolyn asked, taking in the sights. The clustered buildings of where she lived with Primrose had their charms, but the High-Class District held a more natural beauty amidst its extravagance. “I thought you were related to people involved with my custody.”
“Yeah, but…” He made a vague gesture. “Dad gets silent whenever I ask about you now and I didn’t think to head to the hospice after they told me you were released.”
“Ah, I see.” Gwendolyn was still at a loss as to who Ignis’ father was. She couldn’t recall ever upsetting someone that badly. “The name chosen for me is Gwendolyn.”
“Like ‘white ring’?”
She nodded demurely.
“A bit on the nose.” Ignis glanced at her primarily white coloration. “And kind of a mouthful besides. Are you opposed to a nickname?”
Gwendolyn blinked, surprised by both the offer and the suffused warmth that bloomed in her chest. “No.” She answered frankly.
“Then do you mind if I call you Gwen?”
“Gwen?” She tested the lilt of the name on her tongue. “Gwen. Gwen. …I like that.”
“Awesome.” Ignis smiled and gave her a thumbs up. “Come on. My house is over on the hill with the daffodils.”
The newly nicknamed ‘Gwen’ saw what he meant. “That… is indeed a lot of daffodils.”
In fact, the front lawn was almost covered in yellow flowers. They were haphazardly arranged, like the planter hadn’t taken into account neatness and decided to go wild with it. When contrasted against the orderly yet weathered-down manor, however, it didn’t seem too out of place. It made the house seem less rundown and more well-lived in.
“Yeah, most of those were planted by me when I was a kid,” Ignis revealed. “They grew just fine somehow, so Mom insists on keeping them there.”
“That’s sweet.” They were at the front of his lawn now, and Ignis opened the gate for her. She gladly stepped inside. “Are either of your parents home?”
At her question, the boy shrugged, looking unsure himself. “It varies sometimes. Dad keeps busy all day since he’s a government worker and Mom’s an Explorer, so she could be home right now.”
“An Explorer?” Gwen perked up at that. She had heard that term before! “Does that mean she’s been inside of the White Tower?”
A sense of foreboding suddenly shadowed Ignis, but he pressed on regardless. “Yeah, she comes and goes every other month. She doesn’t like talking about it when she’s home though. Claims she’s enjoying her ‘downtime’.” He made some air quotes at the last part.
When they reached the front door, Ignis dug into his pockets and fished out a key, twisting it into the lock until it made a loud click. “Do you mind waiting outside for a bit?” He asked, turning the knob. “I won’t be long. Just need to grab some stuff.”
Gwen shook her head. “No, please, take your time. It’s good for one of us to be prepared.”
“Less ‘prepared’, more ‘inexplicably ready for impromptu scenarios’,” Ignis quipped good-naturedly, disappearing into the weather-worn house.
Now that she was alone, Gwen had a chance to wind down and really think about what happened in the last few minutes. It was strange, how she didn’t notice how harangued she truly was about everything until that moment. But now that it was out in the open, there was no denying the internal distress that fueled her actions. It was an itchy, crawling feeling that infected her lungs, making it hard to breathe.
Here though, in this plot of land filled with messily-arranged daffodils and the sound of harmony in her head, the build-up of shame softened. It was as if Ignis’ presence was suffused in the flowers he planted, telling her inner soul to ‘shut up’ in that patiently kind yet angry way.
She crouched down and touched the petals, keeping her tail close so as to not knock any over. She could barely understand his motive for accompanying her, but much like the yellow of these flowers, just the notion of it stoked something bright and sunny in her heart.
“I’m back!” The door clicked shut as Ignis rejoined her. “Here, this is yours.”
“Mine?” His statement befuddled her. “What is ‘mine’?”
Gwen stood up and turned, only for her breath to catch in her throat. In Ignis’ hands was a staff half as long as she was. It was black and craggily and thin, but it also had a sleek finish that reminded Gwen of a well-sharpened blade. All of those features were already ominous enough, but somehow, the head of the staff stole its body’s spotlight. In front of a rounded crown was a guard in the shape of a mask, a faceplate. Or perhaps a skull would be more accurate. It stared at her with elongated horns and glowing blue eyes, seemingly carved more from bone than from metal.
All in all, it was rather horrifying to look at. But much like how the White Tower beckoned her despite its dangers, the staff resonated deeply beyond her fears.
“What is this?” Gwen gasped, gingerly lifting the staff out of Ignis’ hands. Its texture was not unlike the hardened keratin of her nails.
“It’s the one thing that was found with you,” Ignis explained, causing Gwen to look up at him sharply. “When I called the guardians for help, they picked you up and immediately rushed you to the hospice. I… kind of panicked and brought your staff with me, but when I was turned away from accompanying you, I just… took it home. I was planning on returning it eventually, I swear!”
Gwen only nodded numbly, her attention now wholly taken with the object in her hands. Apart from the dress that she adorned, this staff was the only piece of her past that she had left. She poked and prodded it slowly, a chill creeping into the tips of her fingers as something quietly slid into place. Following the spasms of her muscles, Gwen wrapped her hand around the staff’s crown and smiled with wonder as it began to float on its own power.
A magical staff. What a thing to be returned. To be gifted.
“This is really mine?” She asked Ignis, guiding the now hovering staff’s movements with her hand. “What is it? What does it do?”
Ignis had a tender smile on his face when he proudly said, “I have no idea.” He started walking down the path, prompting Gwen to go after him, if distractedly. “But it was clearly magic from its… everything. Didn’t respond to anything I conducted through it though, so maybe it's one of those Attuned Instruments.”
“I know none of these words, Ignis.” Gwen pointed out astutely.
“And I don’t know how to explain it properly! Give me a second.” The boy hummed, arranging the sequence of words he wished to use as they backtracked to the East Gate. “Okay, bear with me here. The world is full of this essence called ‘mana’, which is produced like any regular element like air or water. However, it’s also unique in the fact that it has no ‘self-property’ and is susceptible to the conversion of other ‘properties’, so it’s malleable to even the smallest of changes exerted upon them. Are you still with me?”
Something about Ignis’ lecture had sparked a tiny little part of Gwen’s brain. She mulled on it for a moment, finding this awakening to new knowledge a bit… odd. But still, she said, “Yes, I’m with you.”
“Now, people being people somehow figured out how to actually manipulate mana through sheer will, I’m not joking. People can honestly think things into existence if they try hard enough. The ones that can do it on their own are real exceptions though. Most people have to get by using mana-conductive materials fashioned into Instruments. Kind of like using a pencil to draw because you can’t put lines on paper by glaring at it.”
Gwen lifted her staff with a wave of her hand, staring into the pinprick blue glow within the guard’s eyeholes. “So what I have is an Instrument?” She asked to clarify.
“An Attuned Instrument, if it only responds to you. Instruments tend to be universal until someone decides ‘Mine! All mine!’. My sword is an Instrument too, but it got passed on to me without much fuss.” Ignis shrugged, eyeing his new friend. “Regardless, that staff means you have an actual weapon with which to fight. Better than earlier, when you didn’t have even that.”
The tips of Gwen’s pointed ears heated up a bit in embarrassment. Was this… teasing?
“It’s not my fault…” She protested weakly.
“I think it was a very clear lapse in judgment, actually.” Ignis, however, was deceptively ruthless. “What were you going to do? Claw your enemies to death?”
“...”
Ignis’ rhetorical question changed into true concern when Gwen refused to answer. “Oh gods,” he said, completely aghast. “You were actually going to fight them in hand-to-hand combat?”
“I think,” Gwen remarked. “That the recent events from this morning have been quite telling of my character.”
“...I’m so glad I decided to go with you all of a sudden.”
“I’m pleased that someone less ignorant than I am is around too.”
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The fortified walls that made up the borders of Cassius were taller than even the tallest buildings, set specifically with space in mind. There was a large gap between the edge of the walls and the outer parts of town, though the main road still traveled forward in an unwavering straight line. Even from where she was, Gwen could tell it was an impressive structure, teeming with vigilant guardians ready to keep their hometown safe.
For a moment, Gwen thought that their absconding would be reprimanded, but Ignis pulled through on his part. After guiding her down a detour, they made it to a rather disused part of the wall, where a locked door awaited them. She watched as Ignis reached into a hidden pocket in his jacket and inserted the key, which opened the way with a satisfying click.
“This is an emergency escape door,” He explained as they crossed through the wall. “It was put here during the initial construction but was left alone when the town planning didn’t match up. The key to it still exists though.”
“And how do you have the key?” Gwen asked.
“Privilege~,” he sang cheekily. “But yeah, if we told the guardians where we were going, we’d be stopped in an instant. Dad has another temp ban on me being on this side of the wall after your rescue. I’m… generally not supposed to be here, ever.”
‘For a stand-up person, Ignis is kind of a rebel.’ So thought Gwen, another kind of rebel.
Any further questions were cut short after they emerged from their crack in the wall, through a worn-down metal door that Ignis relocked behind them. Gwen took the opportunity to get her first good look at the Valleys that she had been warned about, of the land that had taken everything from her.
It was a breathtaking view.
The landscape was riddled with broken plateaus and uneven plains, the very earth having been cracked open and split apart. Canyons of craggy rock rose from the ground while rivulets of water sank deeper into the chasms. There may have been a path somewhere around the East Gate, where human activity was higher, but from this place?
The Rift Valleys were an untamed, unbroken territory. And a sanctuary for all but man.
“I know a way through the valley,” Ignis stated, snapping Gwen out of her thoughts once again. “It won’t be the safest route, but it’s better than the chasms. When we cross that point though, there’s no going back.”
He patted the two satchels strapped to his arm and thigh. The thunk of wood clattering against glass rang out. “Are you sure you want to do this?”
Gwen gazed at him for a moment before turning her head to the White Tower, which covered the sight of the distant horizon. She focused on the heartbeat of that siren call, letting it resonate with the empty recesses of her mind. Something like a ligament of forgotten dreams curled around the echoes only she could hear, whispering about a treasure hidden far away.
What could it be? What was this exactly? For what reason did these scales and skin yearn to crawl back to a land of danger?
There was only one way to find out.
“Yes,” she told the boy, who stood protectively beside her. “Please guide me.”
Ignis smiled, brave and reckless and kinder than anything Gwen had ever known, “Take my hand then. It’s dangerous to go alone in these parts.”