The next morning, their routine starts anew. Wake up, get dressed, eat, walk outside and meet Albain for their session. Mika is concussed from their encounter the day prior, she finds her vision blurry on occasion, and her reaction speed skewed as a result. Though this is nothing compared to Serah's wound.
The muscles in her right leg are tight and swollen, resulting in a heavy limp after only minutes of inaction. After a whole night, she was hardly able to get out of bed without help, and spent most of breakfast stretching and massaging her leg. Rubbing her calf inbetween bites, avoiding the three deep scratches as best she could. So swollen, it's as if she was polishing a chunk of rock.
By the end of breakfast, she's able to move at a much more reasonable pace. Though the muscles in her leg still sit like a frayed rope, threatening to snap. Stepping barefoot on the stone steps, the frost sends a sharp pain up Serah's leg, and she collapses to one knee. Gritting her teeth, she gasps as her face turns flush red.
Mika rushes to her side, but Sera shoos away any help Mika offered. With tears in her eyes and shaking breath, she reaches into her boot and retrieves a small vial.
It was a weak healing potion, very weak. Just enough to take the edge off of any serious wound. The cork sealing the vial is removed with a snapping pop and she downs the liquid.
Her laboured breath begins to soften, and she stretches her leg slowly.
Whispering, as to not draw attention, Serah turns to Mika.
"That. Fucking. Hurt."
Mika laughs. Her expression softens
"Could've fooled me!"
They laugh together as Mika walks down the steps ahead of her sister.
"Hey Miki, care to help? I don't want to move too fast, yet."
"Oh, right. Sorry."
She hurridly rushes back up the steps. Grabbing Serah's hands and letting her pull herself up at her own pace. She stands on one foot, before slowly letting her injured leg down. The ice pricks her foot, she winces with each step until the her foot goes numb.
At a slower pace, they make their way to Albain, who is patiently waiting.
"That Lizardman did a number on you, huh?"
Serah nods, avoiding eye contact.
"Getting your ass kicked by a Dracoling. Do either of you know just how close you came to being a free meal for them?"
Mika shakes her head, as Serah wallows in her shame.
"Sit. Put your boots on. This is an education day."
He lays down a large blanket for them to sit on. They sit apart from one another in a triangle. As Albain preps his notes, he notices Mika sitting with her limbs retracted in on herself, shivering. Drawing his attention to Serah, she's perfectly still, save for the occasional massaging of her leg. Her legs are outstretched, and supports herself in a reclined position with her hands, waiting patiently.
"Can we hurry, please?" Mika whispers, redrawing Albain's attention.
He sighs, and undoes his top layer, revealing a thin chainmail underneath. A heavy black gambeson, designed for protection as well as mobility. As he removes his armor and tosses it over to Mika, steam bellows off of his body.
"Wear it."
Mika hurriedly places the armor over her. It's very warm, and her shivers stop before long.
"Thanks."
Albain clears his throat.
"Alright, story time. Dracolings, specifically the Lizardmen subsect of Dracolings. Are.."
He stares at them, making sure they're listening.
"..Extremely dangerous. As they produce a venomous bile that they use to weaken or subdue their prey. Prolonged exposure to this bile can result in paralysis of the exposed area, necrosis, and death."
Serah raises her hand.
Albain nods.
"If the one we fought was poisonous, why didn't it use it on us?"
He reads on.
"... Behavioral analysis determines that they reserve this bile to be used as a defensive means, as it takes some time to gather enoug bile to use it prolifically. If the Lizardman feels it is in danger, it will use its bile to weaken its foe. "
The twins look at each other. Sucking on one corner of their mouth, and sucking on their teeth. Mika breaks the silence.
"So we weren't a threat?"
"Luckily, I'd wager you weren't around long enough to be a threat. Now, should I carry on?"
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Serah raises her hand again.
Albain creases his forehead, then nods.
"How bad is this stuff, anyway? Could we have ran back to Elysia if it did spit on us?"
He snaps his book closed.
"I know what you two are doing. You're poking and proding to see what you could've done. Let's do some math. You're each around 180cm, and weigh about.."
Serah snarls at him
"Hey! Stop being cheeky."
"...130lbs."
She scoffs.
Albain leans back in a shrug.
These two need to know exactly what could've happened. What they could've faced. How one wrong step...
"If it landed on your leg, you'd lose it within minutes, faster since you'd be running. Your face? Dead, within minutes. Chest or back? You wouldn't have made it down the road. Your lungs would dissolve from the inside out, and you'd be too busy coughing them out to breath."
Mika contemplates with a white face.
Albain stands up, directing everything else towards Serah.
"It doesn't matter how strong you are, how fast, how smart. You're not fighting your sister, you're not fighting me. Not Cana, nor Kain. Nobody here will fight you like a monster will."
Serah draws her legs in towards herself, she looks elsewhere as Albain continues. Her face creasing and hardening under his scolding.
He flips open his book again.
"Dracolings hunt in packs. Where one lay, several more are nearby. When a Dracoling feels in danger, it will roar to alert its pack. Pack numbers vary but are rarely fewer than 10 in number."
Her eyes widen, mouth agape.
"This.. applies to Lizardmen, too."
Serah turns Mika, tears in her eyes. The full weight of her actions dawns on her.
"Look. The reason why I was angry yesterday. Before you both left..."
He lowers himself to a sitting position, back on his side of the blanket. Placing one arm over a raised leg, he is fully relaxed.
"A young man was appointed to me, some time ago. He was like us. His name was August."
His face sullen, his gaze is focused on a loose thread on the blanket. Everything from the cold air to the birds fades away, as he tells his story.
"I never had a student before. August reminded me of myself when I was his age. Some stupid, arrogant kid looking to prove himself. Ordinary, plain, born in a fishing village from the old world. He lived most of his life believing he had no Magicka. One day, he was involved in a fight, and crushed some guy's throat without effort, nearly ripping it off his shoulders. Before this, he was just some weak scrap."
"His sentence was to serve in Euphos. It was either Euphos, or the gallows. So it was, Obsidian Regalia accepted him, and I took him under my wing. August was a great student. He took to everything as if it were a second nature. Within a year he graduated, and was placed in B Rank. The first Magic Deficient to graduate with such a level."
He repositions himself with a subtle smile on his face. For Albain, this is as high a praise as he will give.
"A few years later, his 19th birthday passed, and through blindingly hard work and perseverance he was promoted to A Rank, same as I. He wished to test his mettle, and insisted we both go out and take a job."
"That night, we engaged in a hunt for a lesser vampyre. Simple matter. Just remove their head, stab the heart, the body will fall to ash. We grabbed the order, and set out. Three days later we arrived, and we began to make basic preparations. We knew our prey, we know its location. There was nothing to study. In a rare occasion, we held the advantage."
"Only, there was no lesser vampyre. It was an Elder."
He chokes, his stoicism broken for just a moment. His face distressed, and pained.
"Elder vampyres. The originals, the pure. Short of complete obliteration, they're unkillable.."
His raised arm curls into a fist, and his face a slight sneer.
"As it turned out, this Elder had pretended to be a Lesser to lure some suitable prey. Something strong enough to sate its craving. We had barely stepped inside the lair before.."
He pauses to stand up and removes his chainmail, then his tunic, and turns around. His lean, rock-solid physique is coated in scars on all sides. Burns, cuts, tears. All matter of wounds tell the story of life-long service as an Adventurer. Albain was only 27.
"You see the scar that stretches from the top of my left shoulder, down to my waist?"
Among a sea of scars, one stands out among the rest. It's thicker than the others, and darker. As if the skin itself had been corrupted.
The girls nod.
He puts his garments back on, and sits down. His face turned to one of pain and hatred.
"If it weren't for August standing behind me, the Elder likely would've claimed me as well."
Mika whispers her condolences.
Serah raises her hand to speak.
"I don't mean to be an asshole, but what's the lesson here?"
Albain's face softens, before standing to leave.
"Discuss it among yourselves."
He ventures off in silence.
Mika hugs the gambeson.
"You really had to ask, didn't you,"
"What do you mean?"
"If I have to spell it out to you, you're hopeless Sare."
Mika stands, leaving Serah behind, and makes for the Guild; speechless at her sister's cluelessness.
Entering the Guild, she spots a familiar face sitting at the table she usually sits at. Her white hair kisses her tanned shoulders, shoulders that are covered in a white Norsern jacket, it's heavy and perfect for a frigid winter. Which has yet to come.
Her eyes are a bright red, burning as hot as her confidence. She is shorter than Mika, but makes up for it with a more womanly body.
She's studying. A tome detailing Advanced Fire Magic lays wide open.
Mika sits down, fuming. Her friend chimes in.
"Whoa. Where's trouble?"
"Outside. Somewhere. I don't care."
The white haired girl places a long wooden reed in her book, as she gently closes it.
"What did she do this time?" chiming in with a hyperactive glee, smiling from ear to ear.
Meanwhile, back outside. Serah fidgets with her boots. The stitching that holds the leather to the sole has cracked away, leaving a hole just large enough to fit a finger through. Her thoughts solely on her failures. Pulling on any thread that could help her, but she's at a loss.
"Having a picnic?"
A pale, yet handsome 19 year old man approaches from behind. The air is noticeably cooler as he approaches. Shaggy, short jet black hair, blue eyes, and a dark-blue vest covering his torso. His pants are a darker shade of blue than his vest, covering his black boots.
"What do you want, Kain?"
"This isn't about what I want, but what you need. What do you need? Not like you to sit in a field wallowing in self pity."
As he lays down beside her, she bites her tongue and relents.
"You and Cana..."
"Yeah?"
She turns her attention off of her boots, and turns to Kain.
"You were both certified at 16, right?"
He nods.
"And you both trained for two years, like Mika and I."
Kain grunts an affirmation.
"We're almost 17, and.. well.. I mean I'm clearly holding her back but-"
"Nah. Don't do that."
"D-do what?"
"Don't make excuses. You're better than that."
The two sit in silence for a moment. Before Kain speaks up.
"Look, I'm no badass, I barely made it into C Rank. But I went through the same training you did, maybe I can give advice? Maybe I could help?"
Serah would sit in contemplation, fidgeting with her boot once more. A moment of levity strikes her. Kain and Cana are certified, and good friends with her. With permission from Donnerfaust, she could tail along with them as a trainee. Combat experience without the combat.
She'd never avoid the chance, however.
"What do you know about killing Lizardmen?"