“Say, I've been wondering something, myself.” Royd finally joins in. “Do they smith weapons the same way they do in Threcia as they do here?” He asks, pointing to Atticus's sword, which is nestled in its scabbard and leaning against the table.
“That's a good question.” The knight responds, grabbing and unsheathing his weapon and letting its blade glisten in the fire light. “For the most part, yes, they do. However, in special cases, such as swords for royal guardsmen – like myself, weapons aren't simply forged using furnaces. They're made partly from extremely rare Threcium, which is commonly combined with iron for blades, including my own. Rather than melting Threcium in a furnace, they're melted using powerful pyromancy spells. It's common for master blacksmiths to also be master mages, too.” He proudly looks at his weapon, admiring it from its tapered point, down its unblemished blade, and to its polished handguard and ebony wood grip.
“Have you named it?” Zyra asks, her eyes lighting up with interest. “I've heard it's common for people to name their swords if they're made from rare material, and especially if they're heirlooms.”
“It's a little embarrassing, but yes, I named it.” Atticus shyly admits while gazing at the reflective surface of the flat side of his sword. “I call it 'Howler', after its first kill: a wild wolf while I was guarding a member of the royal family outside of Threcia's walls.”
“It seems like you've led a fascinating life, Atticus.” Veros remarks with a smile.
“Well, let's just say I feel like I've learned a lot in my time on this earth.” The knight reciprocates with a smile of his own, though it seems a tad more forced than his teammates.
For the first time in a long time, Atticus has finally allowed himself to really reminisce on his home in a positive light – to treat it like the bastion he loved instead of the site of personal loss. Not only that, but he even discussed it in a way with his companions that made them desire to see it for themselves. The more he talked about Threcia, the more he realized he truly does miss the green sea of grass in the flat plains to the south, the vast blue ocean to the north, the unblemished marble architecture at the center of the city, and the white limestone streets under his feet.
Above all else, however, he missed experiencing those things with Isabelle. He begins to wonder if his self-exile from his home was also an abandonment of his memories of her. A pang of regret strikes him as he ultimately notices the selfish nature of his running away. Now that he's come to terms with his restrained attachment to his home, as well as with the fact that the loss of his love was truly something out of his control, he finally feels the need to return. However, he can't do that before he accomplishes the mission he set out to do with his team.
Atticus turns his head to look at Zyra, who is listlessly playing with the untied lace of her dark crimson hood. He wants to return to Threcia, and he also wishes to fulfill his promise and return with her. The knight recalls being drawn to the young mage before formally meeting her, and not knowing why. He still isn't sure what made him so curious at first, but he's glad he had the opportunity to be around her.
Zyra suddenly turns her head in time to see Atticus gazing back at her, and she smiles. Without any hesitation, she slips her hand underneath the surface of the table, and grasps his, as if it were the most natural thing to do at the moment.
Later that night, the Mistwalkers have decided to finally get their rest. Veros, Kellar, Royd, and Erik are sleeping on their bedrolls out in the hall. As expected, they allowed Atticus and Zyra to share the bed in the manor's only bedroom. They lie on the feather mattress and blankets that have remained untouched for months, waiting to fall into slumber.
“Atticus?” Zyra speaks up in a near-whisper.
“Yes?” The knight responds.
“About Lias...” She prefaces her upcoming question. “Why did you decide to execute him?”
“Did you not want me to?” Atticus asks, puzzled.
She shakes her head. “No, no. It's not that. I was just wondering if you had any specific reason.”
“Well...” He pauses to let out a sigh, thinking of how to word his response. “His eyes. They had this look – one that I was familiar with. It was a look of deep, unshakable guilt, and burning hatred for himself and his actions. I'll admit, I couldn't help but sympathize for a moment, despite his horrific crimes. Did you think it was a bad decision?”
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She shakes her head. “No, I think you were right to allow it. Letting him live wouldn't have helped us in any way, and it could've turned him dangerous again later. I think you made the right choice.” Atticus nods, quietly accepting her praise, and a momentary silence washes over them before she changes the subject. “You talked a lot about Threcia tonight. You made it sound so alluring.”
“Yeah, I've been avoiding the conversation about it for a while, but I've finally realized that I miss it. A lot. And I knew you all were probably curious about it, anyway.”
“So...” Zyra turns her head to face him with an eager smile. “What kind of baked desserts are your favorite?”
“Are you really so surprised that I like sweets?” Atticus turns to look back at her, bewildered.
She nods. “Definitely. You look like the kind of person who doesn't consider eating anything that isn't a meat or a vegetable. So? What do you like the most?”
“Well,” he begins his hesitant answer, “I like cookies a lot. The more sugar, the better.”
“No kidding.” She remarks with a wide smile crossing her face. “You should try my mother's cinnamon and sugar cookies, then. It's practically a holiday in our home when she decides to bake them.”
“I do like cinnamon.” The knight responds, clearly fantasizing about the dessert already. “Does she... add butter to them? To make them soft?”
Zyra suddenly bursts into a giggle fit. “You like soft cookies, at that?”
He heaves a drawn-out sigh. “You're really amused by this, aren't you?”
“I'm sorry.” She forces an apology between laughs. “You just keep dodging my expectations of you in ways I didn't consider. But yes, sometimes she does add extra butter to them. I think you'd love them.”
“I look forward to trying them some time.”
“Since you've become more comfortable talking about Threcia, would you tell me what you were like as a child?”
“Well, to be honest,” a tinge of embarrassment hits Atticus all of a sudden, “I was actually somewhat of a troublemaker when I was younger.”
“Seriously?” Once again, Zyra is shocked at a new detail about her partner's life. “How so? Did you get into fights?”
He shakes his head. “No, nothing violent. I would sometimes steal things from street vendors.”
The mage furrows her brow in curiosity. “Like what?”
“Like...” He lets out another sigh. “...cookies.”
“Oh, my Gods.” She kicks up another giggle fit. “Are you serious?”
Atticus nods with a mischievous half-smile. “I am. Sometimes I snatched cookies from street vendors.” He reiterates.
“I guess joining the royal guard really straightened you out then, huh?”
“I, uh...” The knight's smile fades away as quickly as it came. “About that... Joining the royal guard actually wasn't a choice.”
“What do you mean?” Zyra asks, her expression straightening to one more attentive.
“Joining the royal guard was... actually a punishment.” He admits with a hint of shame in his voice. “You recall I said that I gave up pyromancy to learn swordsmanship, yes?”
“I remember.”
“Well, while I was learning pyromancy, I became obsessed with spells that were beyond my level. Eventually, I... I stole my teacher's bracelet with the intent of using it to practice them.”
“Oh, Atticus...” She utters, shocked that his younger self decided to go to such lengths.
“As punishment, I was banned from continuing any study on any school of magic. I was threatened with prison time and maybe even exile, but my teacher was kind enough to defend me despite my actions. He knew that I wasn't intending to hurt anyone; I simply allowed my curiosity to overtake me. And Isabelle, she... She also interfered. Her family had some influence, and she was the one who suggested my punishment be mandatory enlistment with the royal guard, which is notorious for its... extremely rigorous training procedures.”
“I figured it was odd for a Threcian royal guardsman to not have a bracelet.”
“Well, it is odd for a royal guardsman to not have one. I was one of the very, very few who didn't. I was mocked for being a 'dud,' which is the name they give soldiers and guardsmen in Threcia for not being able to cast magic, even though I knew how, I just wasn't allowed to.”
“Goodness...” Zyra utters, shaking her head in sympathy but also partial amusement. “Why were you so desperate to learn stronger spells? Surely you would've known you couldn't handle the strain?”
“I was just too impatient to wait for my own good.” He gives his honest, but poorly-reasoned motives. “It was really stupid of me. Thankfully, my relationship with my teacher and Isabelle saved me from a harsher punishment. But I was able to make the best of it.” He says with a shrug. “I can't deny that their incredibly difficult guardsman training taught me discipline. I did miss pyromancy at first, but as I became better with the sword, I also became comfortable with the switch. But after Lena gave me this bracelet, I felt the rush of casting powerful magic again for the first time in years, and it renewed my interest a bit.”
“You seemed very pleased when you casted Air Cutter for the first time.”
“That one was actually my favorite spell back while I was studying.” Atticus makes the Air Cutter gesture with his left hand, pointing at the ceiling. “I would spend hours in the school's training grounds, just launching one after another.”
“After this is over, and we go visit Threcia, maybe you can make a case to be allowed to practice again?” Zyra suggests with a hopeful smile, as if their visit is a guarantee.
“That'd be nice.” The knight responds with a soft nod, hopeful of a second chance, as well.
With the overpowering feeling of exhaustion finally starting to kick in, Zyra turns to her side and curls herself up into a ball against Atticus's side. The two drift to sleep and a new day soon begins.