The city of Djamícte blurred past in a rush of buildings and their occupants, gardens flourishing, public spaces occupied by those individuals who weren’t attending Auron’s speech. Life went on, even as the remnants of Deity of Light scattered to the wind.
Everything here was painted with the broad strokes of Auron’s influence, in the architecture, in how the city itself was laid out. It was orderly, well-structured, and easy to navigate.
For the occupants of this world, Auron had been their direct connection to the divine for generations. History books recorded him as the god of the People, the literal embodiment of Light, which in turn encompassed knowledge, communication, emotions, and order.
Auron was considered Life itself, and so life thrived in his presence.
In contrast, the Deity of Darkness had darted off down an alleyway the moment no one could perceive them, their hooded cloak dissipating at their command.
Despite the rapid thumping in their chest and the pressing anxiety that made it hard to breathe, the entity forced their gait to a leisurely stroll and turned onto a main street. Their hand jumped to their face, adjusting dark-tinted glasses that hadn’t been there seconds before.
They always forgot the eyes.
They were the Deity of Darkness, deity of physical things, things that had shape and matter. Forming and dissolving objects was relatively simple, such as summoning the glasses and dissolving the cloak. But it became complicated when the Dark touched on shapeshifting.
They were bound to a form they chose each time they resurrected, but they could shift the parts of that form, like faking an accent or silly voice. They always returned to their baseline appearance. It took work and energy to shapeshift, but the Dark Deity was well-practiced at their art.
It was just… they always forgot to hide their eyes; they couldn’t change how those appeared.
The Dark Deity was blind, had always been blind since time immemorial, would be blind until the death of the universe itself. It was a fact of reality that the Dark could not see as humans did.
They had an alternative way of perceiving the world, dictated by their own magical aura and the auras of the objects around them. It had limited focus, but it worked well for the dexterous entity who could maneuver quickly when something came into their periphery.
They only needed to perceive the street in front of them for a few feet to avoid immanent collisions. And as luck would have it, the city of Djamícte was built by and around the ancient Guild, which meant there was magic everywhere.
To the Dark’s perception, the world was a void of nothingness until magic touched it. As the entity strolled past Djamícte’s magic-lit streetlamps, the glowing fire outlined anything its aura touched.
Streetlamps implied edges of the streets; the Dark knew where the walkways were now. They nodded at civilians as they passed by with enchanted possessions marking them as existing in the Dark’s perception. Earrings with a glamour for attention lit up the woman’s head and neck; shoes enchanted to be durable and last longer indicated where her companion next stepped. A floating head, an isolated pair of feet, and touches of further recognition when they passed through the streetlamp’s aura.
It would be a headache for any human to understand, but this was how the Deity of Darkness had been perceiving the world since it was made.
They spread their own magic, their own aura, out around them like a fishing net to catch any sudden hazards. It was in a small circle, just enough to maintain without draining their energy, but it was a perfect size to navigate their way across the city.
The world was so different than the Dark Deity remembered. Five-hundred and forty-three years of being absent, and life had truly changed.
Auron had done a great job taking care of Djamícte and the Guild. The Dark was proud of what this place had grown into, how vibrant it seemed even to their limited perception and sparse knowledge of modern society.
The Dark found comfort in noting these details about the city, the world. It was infinitely easier than processing what had just happened, what was happening.
They had been dropped into the deep end of awful situations – their partner, best friend, and lover dead, forced to confront this reality as the Seats stared, while the whole damn world watched – and instead of choosing the mature, responsible option of taking to the lectern and introducing themselves, the Deity of Darkness ran.
They were ashamed of their choice, but thinking about the situation forced their chest to tighten in a knot of emotions. Those little moments lingered in their thoughts and were sure to haunt them long into the night.
The fading aura around Auron, his form slowly disappearing from the Dark’s perception. The way the magic in Auron’s blood lingered on the arrowhead with a morbid glow. The horrified sounds of the crowd, of the Seats themselves. The logical conclusion that the hooded figure who magically appeared at the Light’s death was an enemy, was someone to be feared and hated.
Even on a surface level, without presumptions and blame involved, the Dark’s appearance being tangentially connected to a deity’s death was dangerous.
And the Dark laid their hands on the Light and made it rot.
In their mind, it was a gesture of farewell and goodwill. To send off Auron’s corpse to the beyond, to ensure that there would be no body for Auron’s loved ones to clean up.
But these were the thoughts of an entity made of darkness, who embodied death and chaos.
The Dark didn’t have to ask. They already knew that in their long absence, not even Auron’s patient teachings could have prevented fear from tainting assumptions of dark magic. It was the same way hundreds of years ago.
They saw fire and cried in the wake of destruction. They forgot to note the renewal it brought, the warmth it provided, the communities and technologies that were built around hearth and home. Warmth was good, but fire magic was too wild, they said.
Lightning was a little different. They knew of its dangers, of the unpredictable death it could bring with flickering, painful arcs. But the very same lightning was harnessed into lights and machines. Even now, the Guild had organizational systems built off of lightning magic. Lightning was fire that could be contained.
Metal, if you didn’t speak of it as such, was the perfect element. It was used for the building blocks of society, used in machines, decorations, for protection and for creation. But the magic of metal always invoked weaponry, always invoked war and conflict. Metal meant blood.
The world thought first of destruction, chaos, war, and death when the Dark was invoked. In their absence, humanity had become numb to the good things that dark magic could provide. Those were wounds it would take time to heal. Could the deity even begin to try, though? Was it worth the effort?
If only Auron were here. He would know what to do.
With trepidation about what judgement was to come, the Dark navigated their way towards the Guild.
Fuck, they needed a name.
The few they used in the past were practically declarations of age, they all felt like dry stone and old murals on the Dark’s tongue. They might as well call themselves Archaic and wear the truth on their sleeve.
Yet they were still nameless as they arrived at the entrance of the Guild, still nameless as they hauled the heavy wooden doors open and stepped inside.
In the ephemeral space of the doorway, before the occupants of the Guild could see their features, the Dark made some quick adjustments to their appearance.
Nothing bodily changed, no. They still had the form they’d been resurrected with – masc-of-center, built for manual labor with some healthy body fat, auburn-haired with thin scars striping across their face, a short trim beard – but as they passed the threshold, they added on a few extraneous details.
You might be reading a stolen copy. Visit Royal Road for the authentic version.
Fun things, to fit the person they wanted to become. Dark-inked tattoos peeked out from under the rolled-up sleeves of their collared shirt, a little brass pocket watch tucked into their plain waistcoat, metal studs in their ears and a gold ring at their nose.
This persona was not quite fictional. Whenever the Dark changed forms, they liked to pick up a theme of one of their specialties.
Their last form from hundreds of years prior specialized in defense, using a shield and metal magic. This time, the Dark felt they could be better served by an identity that could find use in the Guild, even without Auron present to help ingratiate them.
An Engineer, someone who could deal with the crossover of metal and lightning magic, to tweak the systems of the Guild that likely needed some adjustment. It was perfect.
(The Dark could dream, too, of being needed, of being necessary to the Guild in some tangible way. It wasn’t enough to be a divine, but they wanted to know that after all these years, that they were still necessary to the Guild, that they hadn’t been written out of its functions.)
They stepped into the Guild for the first time in centuries and put on a wide grin, the features behind their glasses expressing awe and delight.
The entry to the Guild opened into a long hall with high arched ceilings, a grand sight for those new to the establishment. The left and right sides of the hall were lined with columns, entering further into wings where tables and chairs, fireplaces, and other comfortable accommodations could be found.
At the end of each wing was a large door.
To the right, the door was bordered with white marble carved into flowing shapes, with an intricate sun mounted above the entryway.
To the left, a much simpler door, painted black with some subtle wrought iron framing the entrance.
The two doors were the entrances to the shrines, the places of worship for the two divines, and they radiated so much magical energy that the Dark could see anything within twenty feet of the door frames alone.
The fireplaces were lit with magical fires, warm but unable to burn out without interference. Above the front counter itself was a sign made of literal light – a book over a star or a compass rose – the insignia of the Light God radiating Auron’s brand of magic.
All in all, this was a very friendly place for the Dark to exist in; their perception could very easily establish the layout of the room, and it would only get easier when more magically inclined occupants were here to lend their auras.
“Quite the place ye have here,” the stranger announced to the room, which was almost entirely empty, save for one guild worker who watched with curiosity from the countertop that served as both front desk and bar.
The guild worker spoke up with a little chuckle. “Yeah, we’re proud of it.”
He gestured toward a few stools lining the left side of the countertop. “If you’re here to drink, take a seat, otherwise shop’s closed for the day. Boss-man is giving a speech at the Innsview Gardens.”
The Dark slid onto one of the stools, tapping their knuckle on the worn wood of the countertop. “I’ve business with Boss-man, as it were.”
Lying was easiest when it was based on the truth, but even the Dark Deity hesitated before delivering their next deception, a pain sinking into their chest.
“Do ye think it’ll be finished within the hour? Guessin the question really is if I should drink or wait.”
The answer was to drink, obviously, and the bartender nodded and gestured at a few shelves behind him, lined with bottles. “What’ll it be?”
The Dark grimaced and gave another half-truth in reply. “Cannae see very well, have problems with sight, but I’ll take any distilled spirits, if ye have it. Neat, please.”
“Of course, whiskey?” The worker asked, silently thinking to himself that if this stranger wanted vodka shots in mid-afternoon, it might be a good idea to distance them from the Seats and Auron.
The Dark nodded. Whiskey sounded fair. He would have accepted anything with a good enough flavor or strong enough bite, but there was nothing wrong with a time-honored favorite for brooding drinkers. He tried not to think too hard about the barkeep presuming he was from Àrd-Tìreach since technically the form the deity chose to take referenced a spirit from Thìr folklore. It was a correct assumption, really.
While the worker fulfilled the order, the Dark observed and took note of this new human.
There were a few things to be assumed here. This man was a front-of-house worker, so either he had a glowing personality… or he was very good at his job. Not that the Dark doubted the worker’s temperament, of course, it was just that – well, the worker radiated metal magic.
To those perceptive to auras and energies, metal was a magic that you felt on your tongue, like the taste of copper, and you could sense it weighing heavily in the air.
People with metal magic had their own tendencies, either towards combat or conflict, or towards sharp or blunt personalities. The Deity assumed it was the latter.
To the Dark, the worker’s practiced movements left trails of metal energy chasing after his hands in motion. Like most mages who chose to specialize their abilities, the traces of this man’s magic sat in specific parts of his body. His hands were the primary location; his spine was lined with the same metallic energy as well.
Ah, the Dark could interpret this. The bartender likely trained in finesse skills, perhaps using knives or short weapons. The spine was an intriguing location, unlikely to be an intentional gathering of energies.
The phrase ‘steeled oneself’ was quite literal when it came to those with metal magic. The Dark remembered seeing warriors whose boasts and war-cries would send flares of metal magic down their backs. It was a sign of confidence, but confidence earned by practice, skill, or necessity.
The man’s aura flashed by his face and past his shoulder, the Dark perceived long locs adorned with little rings, a waistcoat with a small, rectangular box tucked into the pocket, and sleeves held down by garters.
The Dark would put money into the idea that this bartender was a gambler.
Oh, shit. Money.
There were as many downsides to being a Deity as there were benefits, but the Dark had to hand it to, uh, themselves, for designing a universe in which they could access necessary information at a whim.
Sure, the Dark Deity wasn’t Auron, Deity of Knowledge who could easily conjure up facts about past, present, and occasionally future. But they could make this query work for them.
The Dark wasn’t allowed to summon information they shouldn’t know, but cultural and social information important to their survival? That was considered necessary.
Now, what was the currency of this time period? Instantly, the relevant information came to mind. They were grateful that it was determined to be necessary knowledge, or else they would have been screwed.
As the bartender returned with a drink, the Dark conjured up a small leather pouch of the appropriate coins for Djamícte’s economy from his pocket. They set the bag on the countertop with a little jingle, gesturing towards it and giving what they hoped was an apologetic look.
(Facial expressions were always a hit or miss for someone who couldn’t see.)
“Aye, thanks. Take what you’re owed. The little numbers are a bit much for me.”
The Dark tried not to laugh as they caught motion of the bartender nodding before good sense caught up with him and he verbalized that confirmation.
The deity could play it safe and sit here and wait quietly, unobtrusively until everyone showed back up, but the Dark liked this bartender already. In fairness, it was hard for them not to like someone who clearly had devoted his life to dark magic.
“Patrons must be at the ceremony with the rest ae yer lot, then?” The Guild was very empty, or at least this main hall was terribly vacant with only the bartender and the Dark Deity to converse.
“Mhmm,” The man answered, leaning on something behind him and folding his arms. “You didn’t wanna to go?”
It was a fair question. “No, crowds are– I’m nae one for crowds. Or being watched.” That was completely honest and today it had proven it more than true. The Dark Deity continued in their amicable tone.
“Least, for speeches and such. Cannae imagine being on stage with no else to occupy me.” With a grumble at the mere thought of giving a speech, the deity started in on their drink.
Music was part of the Dark’s domain and performing was a subset of that. But it wasn’t speech-giving, all rhetoric and logic. The Dark preferred the pure action of being a spectacle, not a vessel for some carefully crafted soliloquy.
They felt calmer now that they weren’t being watched by so many eyes. Perhaps the Dark couldn’t see the faces of the crowd, but they were unsettled by the knowledge that everyone had been observing them, watching them grieve and waiting for answers, explanations.
Ugh, it was a living nightmare. Here, in the Guild that the two divines had built together so long ago, talking to this delightful gentleman– Here the Dark could relax.
The bartender let out a huff in amusement at the Dark’s earnest answer. “Yeah, me neither. I like it here when it’s quiet. Get work done.”
There were any number of tasks to complete for the Guild. He didn’t solely manage the bar. His partner-in-crime ran the front desk and was the first face that people greeted when entering the Guild, cheerful and friendly. The bartender was more of a silent helper, half-bouncer, half-administrative assistant.
The Dark smiled at their companion whose words trailed off as if he was lost in thought. “What do I call ye?”
“Silver,” the man answered as he reached for a handshake. “Oh, uh, hand?”
The Dark was already moving to reciprocate and this time they did laugh. “I guessed that would be next, dinnae fret.” The bartender had a firm grip, rings on his fingers, and what felt like rough callouses too. These were more details to add to the Deity’s understanding of who Silver was.
After clasping hands, Silver leaned back and gave an untroubled wave as if clearing out the temporary awkwardness. “And you?”
The Deity of Darkness was still nameless which presented a problem. Regular people knew their names. Regular people didn’t hesitate. Humans had names, that could be changed sometimes, but not like this, not when asked by a bartender over drinks.
“Hrm,” they stalled for time and stalled out. It was now or never.
“I’ll go with… Razlok.”
They didn’t need to see Silver’s face to know eyebrows were being raised. The answer was a whim, a combination of syllables the Dark enjoyed pushing together whose sum had no linguistic meaning across the cultures of the world.
“You’ll go with it?”
“Aye,” the newly named Razlok affirmed, feeling more confident with their choice as time pressed onward. They sighed quietly, thinking about how much time had passed since they had a name, since anyone had spoken to them so directly.
“Sometimes ye need to start over.”
There was a long silence between the two figures, but it wasn’t as uncomfortable as Razlok expected.
Silver relented. “Yeah, I’ll drink to that.”
While Razlok processed with a fraction of amusement that this somehow worked, Silver drew himself up a drink of his own.
“To new names.” He raised his glass.
“And new mates?” Razlok added, a touch questioningly.
It was well received: “Of course. It’s the way of the Guild. Cheers.”
“Slàinte,” Razlok replied with a raised glass. This might just turn out okay.