Moving to the third ring was fundamentally different feeling to the third, though we did manage it as we dashed through the door, weeks of planning resulting in this opportunity for us as we simply disappeared.
Ember was still shaking, the Idea of something growing so outside our control was not something we had thought of, at least not to the degree that human sacrifice became an option.
Rain and snow obscured us from the nearby guards, washing the stains on my robes even as the scent of their blood remained to haunt my nose.
Sure, some petty crimes and a literal plague of zealots would inhabit the fourth ring for a few weeks, maybe even a month, but it was just another mistake I made, and one I had made sure everyone understood the consequences of.
The guards didn’t question as we passed through in the most common clothes we had gathered, my feeding on the old man catapulting my physical development to that of a nine-year-old as it finally set in.
We walked through the night in silence, our throats dried up from what we had seen, my hatred for the gods growing deeper and spreading its roots through me.
Like a lost mother, I remembered the guidance my former mentor had given me, her goal to make me some sort of demon lord still felt ridiculous, obeying order simply too disgusting a concept for someone like me.
With every step, the snowflakes touched me and dissolved, like hundreds of lives had before them.
They mixed with tears as I remembered the place I once called home, even as Ember guided me towards a place where the light was still glowing, and shining marble exposed many small trinkets to the outside world.
Within stood a man of roughly two and a half meters, his pale complexion and slender body showing signs of elven and snowborn heritage, hundreds of enchanted toys flitting around the exposed workshop as we approached him.
“Hello there, we are young travelers looking for somewhere to employ our knowledge of sygil craft, alchemy and rituals. Do you happen to know one of those?” I ask, the hunger within nudging me to simply devour him and steal his secrets, possibly his Identity, but there had flown enough blood that night. Slowly the giant, a common name for this particularly rare type of mix breed, turned to look at us, icy blue hair fading to gray at the edges as his tired eyes were trained on us.
“Why should anyone employ you? I have a reputation to protect, and new students are rarely good for business.”
I nodded, simply waiting for him to continue even as his words indicated a direct rejection.
“I will not take a student who can’t even build a lighter, or some third son of a noble house I do not care for.”
He explained, his words spoken the way his chisel met the rock before him, each a precisely calculated strike.
“I built rituals much more powerful than a mere lighter.” I announced, simply showing my blackened tooth to him.
“I can work with crystallized necros, know the basic runes for any sacrificial ritual and have dabbled in alchemy sometime. How do you want me to prove myself?” At that, his gaze hardened, and his lower lip seemed to become much harder.
Stolen from its original source, this story is not meant to be on Amazon; report any sightings.
It was expected, my question a direct challenge to his honor, and one of the few sociology teachings I regularly remembered, the librarians life it belonged to quite helpful in the most obscure of situations, especially as analyze drew upon memories to enhance its own data set.
The Elves were the most prideful people known to man kind, while the snowborn only ever valued their word, the Giants that were raised between the world considering honor and pride the same thing, and to offer someone an opportunity to prove themselves was basically expected when asked for.
Begrudgingly he let us in, now picking up a wand, twenty-seven rituals working on it at the same time, most made to stabilize an enchantment, a necessary tool for any magi crafters that worked with a connection of shorter commands, and probably worth a fortune.
A profession more stable than working at the kings palace or the guards, given that they were the ones who kept the capital running.
“I need you to enchant this ring, do it before my eyes, show me what you can do.”
He handed me a wooden ring, one of the worst materials to enchant as it would inevitably ignite due to the enchantments power, so I decided to play the prank back on him.
I infused it with a few of the runes I used for my phylacteries back then, drawing stamina and vitality from the wearer and storing it in the material.
It was simple as I completed it, the entire ring inscribed with little runes the moment I set my knife down.
“Do you want to wear it?” I asked him, and he shook his head. “You should wear it yourself, more than one of my colleagues has accidentally attuned to a slave collar thanks to this.”
I held my breath, remembering what these Items did to some of my previous lives, and what I myself used them for.
“Understandable.” I answered and simply slipped it onto my finger, the wood returning to life and buzzing with power as branches began to weave around it, replacing any part of the enchantment that grew too hot with an identical texture.
It had become a bit of a gauntlet when I finally slipped it off and set it down, a part of me confirming that this action had just made my body age a little, probably not enough for him to notice.
Quickly, the enchantment retreated to the ring form.
“Impressive, you used the circle method, one of my favorites if I want a looping effect, quite annoying in any other case. I think I am willing to teach you, maybe your friend has some aptitude for that too.”
He looked between us, something in his eyes changing as the gaze settled on the door for a second, before he went and closed it.
“You are perfect. I have a small bed prepared for workers without a place to be. I assume you count among them?”
He asked, and after a quick nod, he brought us to a room with bunk beds, which we climbed into, Ember falling asleep within seconds while I searched the rune for any enchantments or rituals I might recognize, only seeing a few that were meant for heat regulation and wall integrity.
Rain splattered against the window among the snowflakes, sounding like blood being shot at a target. The warm air moved the chill out of our bones, and while I normally didn’t spend this much time asleep, I fell into the dreaming world without hesitation that day.
________________________________________________________________________________
Somewhere else in the city, a paladin awoke, his sacred wrath smothered by an elderly woman gathering potions and motioning for him to be quiet, steps on the outside slowly but steadily walking past, seemingly searching for an entrance, when it finally knocked on the door.
Slowly, the woman pressed the wooden handle, gently opening the door and looking around, only to see a man that looked to be dying.
“It is cold outside, and I feel sick.” He said, and motioned as if to enter.
“Come on in.” She said, the figure grinning as it jumped at her, only to melt as a vial of red goo clashed into its face, slowly melting away at its head.
“Mr. Paladin, I suggest you do something about this man before he manages to regenerate.”
He didn’t hesitate to push his sword into the twisted figure, only for the undead to collapse.
“Too many people are involved in this necromantic scheme, I think you have awoken at the perfect time to stop it. It would mean a lot to all of us.”
She said, stuffing a bag with curious bottles.
“You have slept for quite a while, you know? Ever since those two priest or mage looking guy found you in the sewers with a ghoul corpse.”
She mentioned, the man finally growing awake enough to look at her in shock.
“Why are there always so many twisted creatures around?” He wondered while suppressing the urge to laugh.
There was holy energy brimming inside him, even though he planned on making a demon contract during that faithful day.
As he put on his armor and drew both sword and shield, he thanked the woman, threw the bag above his shoulder and set out into the rain, ready to fight something.
Nobody knew what started that day, or the amount of mistakes that led to this moment.
A single angel witnessed this course of action, his million eyes observing as the events unfolded.
But as he had for millennia before, he remained silent. His job was to observe, not to share his knowledge.