“When you said you needed my help, this isn't what I'd pictured.” Lina frowned, staring at the ice sculpture that was Tyr. “Why ice? I can use ice and frost magic, naturally, but I am not master Rafael. My talents lie with water in its purest form.”
She'd thought Tyr had needed her help hunting down someone else, and she'd ultimately agreed. As it turned out, he wanted her to 'tutor' him in proper battle magic. She was certainly qualified as a paladin, but surely there were better tutors within reach of a person of his influence? Tyr wasn't just a violent, crude man. He was also a reinstated prince of Haran. Even bereft of succession as the rumors went, he was a man of means and clout. And very wealthy, rumors were unnecessary to tell her that. The saber she carried was crafted by his own hand, superior to anything she'd held in her life. And then there were all the business in Leygein that he suddenly owned...
The ice around Tyr hissed and cracked, popping as he emerged unscathed from the winter coffin she had bound him in.
“Because...” He grunted, lost for words. “I trust you. Paladin or not, you have great conviction and a pure soul. So if I share with you secrets, I know that you'll keep them for me. Was I wrong?”
“You are not, but I'd like to hear of your problem with paladins. You've had run ins with the house of fire, yes? Why mistreat we of water. We aren't exactly enemies, but we are not necessarily friendly either.” Lina said, before asking a question that had been bothering her for some time. “Do you think paladins are weak, Tyr? That we took the wrong path?”
“Do you?” Tyr asked, and Lina nodded in complete sincerity, she had doubts, and 'weakness' was largely irrelevant, but it still drew a fair comparison between right and wrong. “You want to be strong, and faced by absolute might you're questioning your place in this world?” And she nodded again. “Why?”
“Because of you. Because of all of these faithless men who possess power greater than my own, no gods necessary. I did not swear for power, I give you my oath, but I do not understand why I am so impotent and clouded of mind even after all these years of service. Why they mistreat me so, and they do. I was booted from the Blue Rose for my failures, and now I must undertake a crusade to avoid the same occurrence with the church. This is good, because I have seen more, but I am shaken by my experiences.”
“In a way, you could say that I am a paladin too. I am full of faith, just not for gods.” Tyr said, and Lina furrowed her brow in response. “Not to a water of fire goddess, or anything holy. All primus' are given power by the celestials, those beings you'd call 'gods'. Except it's from the many rather than the one. An unlocking of gates, that's how I've heard it referenced. In my case, the only god that lays proper claim on me is the goddess of death.”
“God.” Lina corrected. “Thanatos is male as far as I know, and he is the only god of death.”
Tyr shrugged. “Thanatos is the shepherd of the dead. He who judges and ferries, but he is not the god of death. Death is a universal concept. All prime concepts of life have a keeper to them, significance that humans cannot relate to – so they cannot commune or bond with that god. But I have died so many times that death itself has noticed me. Even before I was born, or so I've been told. I don't really know what the hell they are talking about half the time.”
“And who are you to possess this knowledge?” Lina remained skeptical, but Tyr was at least the son of a primus. They kept secrets, everyone knew that, and even the churches weren't privy to them all.
“I only know what Thanatos himself has told me, among others. I've spoken to gods, and you don't seem surprised, which is good.” Tyr stretched, preparing for their next round. “Please move on to instruction, there is much I would tell you but more that I can't. Trade secrets, things you wouldn't want to know even if I could share them, unless you want to get married and soulbond with me.”
“Would you marry me, truthfully, or is this all just some banter to hide behind and disguise your petty masculine ego?”
Tyr shrugged. “You know... You're not so bad, I'll give you a shot.”
“There are times when I forget your station and want to physically assault you.”
“How about helping me improve my technique?” Tyr asked. “I've gone pretty far with a sword but I'm stuck now. I need to be better, I need you to make me better, Lina.”
Lina frowned, she remained doubtful, but there was a task at hand and she was very good at staying oriented. “You fight like an adept. Your other elements are weak but you excel at fire, why not use it more?”
Tyr was aware of the path of the adept. Mages didn't necessarily reign supreme as a generalized entity. There were those who excelled predominately in one very specific thing or another. In his case, it was fire, his prime element. There were those who could do one thing so well it would sway others from considering them equals even if their skillset was more advanced or diverse. Lucian, for example, was an adept, and Tyr had experienced that firsthand. Their abilities were limited, not so wide a range, but some had incredible power. “So... You're saying I'm too closed minded?”
“That's exactly what I'm saying. You wield silent magic to an acceptable level, maybe even an impressive one. But considering your body of knowledge and education, why do you use no techniques or personal spells?” She asked.
“Because there's not a chance I'm going to run around screaming things aloud like an idiot.” Tyr replied, he didn't consider himself necessarily vain at this point of his growth, but mages did that and it irked him. Even when they didn't have to. It made him cringe, hearing them shout out their abilities just for the sake of branding.
“Then you'll lose.” Lina said. “Do you want to fail at everything you do? It's all about visualization, that's how silent magic works. Spend a few years doing repetitions of infiro, for example, and any mage could start setting stuff on fire without a word. Even me. Your magic is bizarre and I can feel that, it's an accumulative power. Perhaps you have some elven or monster blood in you somewhere along the line. But unless you develop techniques as the rest of us do, blending forms, you'll get nowhere.”
“Alright.” Tyr conceded easier than expected. “We'll start there. I'll give it a shot, because I trust you.”
“But first... I want your help with something in exchange.” Lina paused, raising her hand to stop his approach. For all his faults, he was excessively interested in getting beat down. It shocked her how easy it was for her to eliminate him from the playing field. Resistant to magic or accompanying effects, sure, but not at all immune to it. He was astonishingly vulnerable to this sort of thing. “How and why can you kill people so easily?”
“I always wanted to be a hero when I was young.” Tyr nodded, stopping and staring at his hand, alternating it between clenched and the open. “Before I started to think that maybe the villains had it right this whole time, that is. I used to ask myself why I was the bad guy. But there is no evil to fight in this world, no bad men. Only men with choices. I've made mine, and I'll continue making them. But if you're asking asking me why I feel nothing when I kill – you are mistaken. I feel everything they do, and I love every second of it. Fully aware, conscious, and responsible for my actions, like anyone else. I am not an empty, cold machine, I am well aware of what is happening and I enjoy the taste of it, sometimes I let them linger a bit to get a little more. There is no mental illness, no excuse for my behavior, I am what I am – whether that be human, monster, or otherwise. Some people deserve to die, I wish people could understand that.”
“Eh...” Lina gave him look between a wince and a glare. He thought she might be cringing at him, but the good part about Lina was... He didn't care much how she felt, as long as she was safe and he'd fulfilled his obligations to her. “You make it sound like what you do is normal. What do you mean when you say that you love every second of it? As an empath, doesn't it hurt to ride down their emotions like that? Some people with that ability sit through a single bad harvest season and either go insane or throw themselves from a cliff.”
Lina was correct on a level that she might not have understood. Generalized emotion was little more than a muffled breeze in the deepest corridor of his mind now. He'd used his time wisely and practiced, not ignoring it, just accepting it for the ambient noise it was.
But when the emotion was thick it scratched at him in a very familiar way, a way he'd felt since he was a child. Tyr had been told by some old woman that had quickly surrendered the idea of educating him that he was simply 'introverted'. That's why he didn't want to be around people, but he didn't think so. He'd felt overwhelmed, but not real anxiety from facing so many people all speaking at him, it was just their emotions. A double edged sword of sorts that grated at his nerves but was an incredibly powerful weapon. A fuel that went beyond mana and spira, and that's why he feared it and kept his own in check as best he could.
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“It varies.” Tyr shrugged. “I only like it when they deserve it. I'm not some bull in a porcelain palace, running amok and killing anyone who looks my way. At worst, it's a whispering in my ear now, nothing more. Daito says I am very talented at this sort of thing.” He beamed, impressed with himself by Lina's reckoning. Though she didn't know why. Empaths gave her the creeps, as they did to most people. It wasn't a very well regarded 'talent', near all of them eventually went insane and took their own lives.
“Deserve it.” She repeating, clucking her tongue. “And who is to be the judge of that?”
“I am.” Tyr said simply, no elaboration or justification at all. Just fact.
“That's arrogant.” Was Lina's rebuttal. “Does doing the right thing not concern you?”
Tyr stooped down and removed his spellbreaker, burying his hand in the soil and scooping a bit of it up. Letting the clay rich red of it pour through his fingertips. “A landslide wipes out an entire village. A storm capsizes a ship and drowns a dozen men. The world moves on. Are these things doing the wrong thing? Are they evil? Can nature be of the fel?”
“What ever are you on about?” Lina's eyebrow twitched alongside her mouth. “Are you calling yourself a force of nature? A god?”
“I don't quite understand what I am, in truth.” Tyr said. “All I know is that sometimes... I just know. Far be it from me to argue with a paladin about judgment, though. Isn't that your entire purpose, to run around levying the wrath of your chosen divine on whomever you like?”
“I'm not a vindicator, nor an inquisitor. We of the house of water are predominately healers and protectors, just like our sister house of earth.” Lina replied. “Maybe you don't feel the way we feel, or your morals are skewed. Maybe you're just a psychopath with a predilection and rush for vigilantism. But you can fake it, and public perception is and always will be reality. I'm not asking you to be a hero, those are few – if any real ones exist at all. But you might find it more rewarding to walk the path of true justice and order. As you are now, people will offer you only fear, and that is a paltry reward for constant effort. For all of the quirks in your personality, I know how hard you work at things, and you can't hide the fact that you've been trying to do right.”
Tyr snorted in derision, shaking his head in obvious dismissal. “Let's just get back to work.”
“Let's.” Lina said, smiling at the rare opportunity to levy all of her frustrations and anxieties against one that could not be killed. Over and over again, with a partner that didn't seem to mind. Might even enjoy it.
–
“Wow.” Jura's eyebrows shot up. It made her remember the humble cabin of logs and thatch she'd spent her childhood in, her parents home, if only for the size. It had been warm and cozy, always so cheerful in her memories. Constantly reminded of late how the other half lived, and it never ceased to amaze her. To think even the dormitory room of an academy student would be near as large as her entire house was impressive in and of itself. Running water, plumbing, all sorts of modern conveniences. “I can see why Abe used to say that mankind was getting weaker by the year, living such rich and comfortable lives in the higher castes.”
“What was that?” Astrid called from the bathroom full of steam. She was doing something with her skin, rubbing a scented alchemical concoction into it. It smelled phenomenal, not just the lotion – but the room itself. A room that was also quite shocking in it's layout.
On one half, cut down the middle like a line drawn in sand, it was well decorated and brightly colored. A richly embroidered rug in the Assyrian style dominated that half of the floor, with a vanity and dimensional storage chest. A large mirror and a bowl full to the brim with an azure blue liquid glowing with a slight radiance, shedding soft motes of light. If Jura had to say what it was, it seemed to be some kind of aromatic, like a candle but with no burning wick.
Astrid seemed to like pretty things, the potted plants all around and full of various flowers and multicolored ferns said the same. Everything was pastel and immaculate in its placement. Absurdly clean and meticulous, almost compulsive. On the wall were countless racks containing various instruments. Lutes, flutes, come kind of hide strapped across a circle of lacquered wood with bells on the edges, and others. Things she didn't recognize made of metal and ivory. She seemed to love music quite a lot, many of them were well used – though great care had obviously been put into their maintenance.
Compared to Sigi's half of the room, Astrid's was a light show. The other side was gray, dull, and obsessively sanitary, but it was also cluttered. Most of it was bare, spartan in a way that seemed to match the woman's personality. Where there was a vanity on Astrid's side, Sigi's was fit with a long slab of a worktable covered in tools. There was a spanner wrench as long as Jura's arm atop it, covered in runes. Various parts of machines were pouring out of two crates on either side of it. There was a multi-tiered rack bolted to the wall holding all sorts of bits and bobs, potions and what must be spell reagents and other small implements.
Even her sheets were stone gray, the bed pressed and made in a military fashion. The only spot of color on her side was a small western tree growing out of potted pebbles, of the bonsai variety, except this one had vivid golden leaves.
Otherwise it was so bare of anything as to be drab.
“Sorry.” Astrid smiled apologetically. She took a long time to get ready in the mornings, but Jura didn't really mind. Everyone in this city state was in such an insane rush over every little thing that it was a welcome change of pace.
“Why put in so much effort?” Jura asked. She had yet to re-braid her hair, and without the maintenance necessary to keep the matted braids glossy – it only took her ten or so minutes to prepare in the morning. She wore no makeup, but neither did the girls for the most part, just the slightest touch of it on Astrid and Alex. Sigi wore none at all, only a beeswax balm on her lips, something 'all Oresundians' did – apparently. Sailor's too, to stop the chapping common in windier, colder climes. “You barely look any different.”
Astrid hummed a pleasant tune to herself, twirling in the mirror to get a full view of her outfit. Which seemed redundant, considering they all wore the same uniform almost every day, and this was no exception. Jura had thought she might have been the preening, arrogant type. Alex could be, and Sigi was confident in a way that women who lacked actual confidence in their physical appearance acted. Whereas Astrid was somewhere in the middle, not exactly humble but certainly not vain – despite all of that effort, she really didn't seem to care.
“I was not an attractive child.” Astrid said, pointing at her face. “I was born with a big red birthmark, right here, marring my cheek and eye. My people are blunt, even mean at times, and we are expected to be strong and independent. Even as a princess, I was not above their insults. Viciously bullied from the moment I could understand what was happening. The stutter, lisp, and constantly runny nose didn't help either. I was so sickly as a child that the healers said my intellectual growth was stunted. My father says that I nearly died a score of times over the simplest illnesses.”
“I find that hard to believe.” Jura smiled, she could understand getting picked on, but... Viciously bullied? Not at all. There were limits to everything in orcish culture, and they were a people of near uniform moderation. Perhaps not well mannered, but they didn't throw rocks and snarl at innocent children. Although... The sickly and the dying were left as is. To let their gods sort them out, and if they returned, they would be stronger for it. Dignified culture and relative barbarity in one neat package. “Where did the birthmark go?”
“It just faded away.” Astrid said with a loose shrugging of her shoulders. Her hair was worn long today compared to her usual bun. Braided and resting on her chest, the striking pastel pink a neat companion to the charcoal grays, reds, and blacks of their uniforms. “Mmm... Perhaps at fifteen or sixteen? When I came to this continent full time after my marriage, I had filled out I suppose. The comments people made about my appearance weren't so scathing, and I was healthier at that age. Since then, I've found that I don't feel comfortable in public without this familiar ritual. Even if it's not necessary, a lot of people say that. - but it's not just my looks I care about.”
Jura nodded, taking one last look around the room before they left. Astrid ate clean, for the most part, and lived clean too. She rarely drank more than a glass of wine, and would perform unnecessary physical exercises daily alongside Sigi. But Sigi trained for power, whereas Astrid primarily focused on cardio and gymnastics, spending a lot of time swimming. Working so hard when most of the non-battlemages opted toward completely sedentary lifestyles. Thin, if not fit, because of their constant use of magic, but weak and lazy seemed to be the standard for human mages overall. “Where are we going, exactly?”
“Alex and Sigi's blitzball game.” Astrid chuckled. “I've only told you like a hundred times.”
“That's probably an accurate accounting. But... What is blitzball?”
“They don't have blitzball in the republic?” Astrid asked with a curious raising of an eyebrow, and Jura shook her head. As far as she knew – they didn't have it in the Krieg either, she'd only spent a short period in the republic, not long enough to engage in games and diversions. Always too busy for that, but both countries seemed to take their gladiatorial games very seriously and little else. “Well, I think you'll like it. It's very... Masculine.”
“What's that supposed to mean...?”