As he exhaled, gently and steady, his eyes opened to the dark cave ahead.

There, his seventh sense carefully watched how the world’s Essence receded, then disappeared completely from view, finally calming down after being summoned for so long, a span of time Avaln could only measure through the sudden grumbling of his stomach. It felt almost like a protest, loud, as if it had been ignored until now.

Avaln sighed.

His body’s needs would need to wait, he told himself as he closed his eyes again, and reached inside his soul. He had repeated that action so many times already, it was becoming easier, and soon found himself inside his Tower of Babylon, the tree-like structure spanning horizontally to both sides, spiralling in the distance. A part of him wished he could examine it closely, yet he had to turn his gaze away at the first sign of a headache, staring at a white box instead. The shadow was inside, he knew, a fact that reminded him further of the purpose behind his recent actions, his eyes now skimming through his surroundings in order to find that which he had created.

Connla’s Well.

It was a ring, floating vertically, its inner circle about an arm wide, while the ring itself was about a hand thick, full of runes much like the kind Avaln used for his own spell-like abilities, albeit arranged in a way he couldn’t quite decipher, not yet at least. Avaln did not know the meaning behind its name, and although he had a general sense of how it worked, that pitch-black inside it puzzled him greatly. Unlike when he had first created it from the knowledge he got from the bluebook, it was now releasing a stream of dark ink, gathering in a pond that seemed to never overflow, made of something resembling marble.

Creating anything inside his soul was easy, much like the spear he could conjure up when training, or the white box he trapped the shadow in, but Connla’s Well was something else. That, he knew, instinctively, as if it were a recreation of something greater. For the first time, to shape something inside his soul, had proven difficult; Every detail, every rune, had been a struggle, a focus-hungry task, and even once done the resulting work had been but an empty vessel.

In order for the dark ink to flow, Connla’s Well required a great amount of elementless Essence. That dark ink was also much like the one running through the Tower of Babylon; it was called soul ink, and acted as a sort of conduct for the knowledge stored inside the tree-like structure, albeit the liquid flowing from the well was a blank slate in comparison… but if the blue book’s information was right, it was also the perfect nourishment for the sentient being, and the only way to save their life now.

How should he proceed, however?

With caution? He wondered, as the effects the soul ink may have on the shadow were unknown, hence starting with a small portion should be the best choice… in most cases, he ended up assessing. Right now, the shadow was already on the verge of dying, time being their worst enemy. Throwing them inside the well would be far too reckless, however, so he brought forth a bowl of marble, much like the pond’s, filled it fully before walking up to the white box the shadow was in.

He didn’t even need to open it to know the being’s state, still as they were, their shapeless form barely waving, giving no signs of any desire to move.

Convinced that, even if the shadow were to remain hostile, they had little to no strength to lash out at him, Avaln formed a room around them both with a wave of his hand, isolating it from the Tower of Babylon’s influence, which was based on perception rather than presence, before opening the box the being was in. They didn’t move, as he expected, nor reacted to his approach, as he further removed their once prison and let it fade into nothingness.

It worried him, to not see even one hint of an attempt at reaching for the bowl once he placed it near, for the shadow should instinctively know its contents were beneficial for them, the same way they knew Avaln was. That could mean two things, he gleaned; either, the soul ink wasn’t something the shadow could just consume, or they were so weak they couldn’t even perceive it.

Avaln hoped it was the latter.

I guess… There is only one way to find out. He thought, then sat right by the shadow and their formless shape, not much bigger than his hand, and after some consideration, he dipped a finger in the bowl, before extending it to them.

The being didn’t move.

Avaln sighed, then plunged his finger into its form.

A wave, in its shapeless form, then two.

A breath passed, then two.

And finally, it came in a whisper, like a sudden idea.

Why?

Such was the question from the shadow; more of a concept than a word, a primal language made of feelings such as disconcertment, wariness and… hope. They were just two souls, a part of Avaln comprehended then, and were now sharing a delicate connection, one that went both ways.

Don’t worry. Just focus on healing. He thought, hoping to be right and that such a wish could be somehow felt by the being. To his mind came a distant memory then, from when he was but a child still, on the eve of his fourteen birthday. He had found a young black cat in an alley, too weak to move, showing clear signs of having been beaten. Beaten, for his injuries hadn’t been caused by another animal, but rather a human, or so Arthur had told him later, after bringing the cat to the orphanage, unsure of what to do.

The image of the black cat on his lap, healing, appeared vividly in his mind; his finger, dipped in milk and being licked by their rough tongue, filled him with what he felt back then: a pure wish for that little one’s safety.

It was then when, out of his reverie, he noted the shadow’s wariness receding, giving further room to their hope.

Avaln smiled, and nodded.

The tale has been illicitly lifted; should you spot it on Amazon, report the violation.

It wanted more, so he understood, and repeated the action of dipping his finger then plunging it into the shadow, soon discovering the avid hurry with which they were consuming the soul ink, their formless shape now waving with energy, like a sail swollen by a fresh breeze.

Once, twice, then he directly handed the bowl as soon as they proved strong enough to move, their formless shape soon plunging itself inside its content. It was working, Avaln thought, relieved to see his efforts hadn’t been in vain, and not surprised at the need of refilling the bowl soon after he thought as much.

Once, twice, thrice…

The shadow’s appetite seemed to know no end, as Avaln brought more and more bowls filled with the dark ink, pondering to what extent he could keep feeding them, or if they had a limit to their hunger at all. A part of him became worried too about the implications their returning strength could have.

Would they see Avaln as a prey again?

It was right after such a thought that the shadow finished its last bowl of soul ink, and stood still, by one side. They had grown in size, Avaln gleaned. Their form now was as wide as his arm, and as tall as him while sitting cross-legged, a thought that brought him to realize his precarious position if the shadow were to indeed decide to attack him right there.

He shook his head. If such a thing were to happen, all he needed to do was to destroy the room surrounding them, and let the weight of his Tower of Babylon fall on the shadow again… yet at the same time, he felt reluctant to do such a thing, knowing it would mean he had saved them just to kill them himself.

He took a deep breath, seeking to calm his mind. The shadow was most probably staring at him, he thought. It was measuring him, trying to discern if he was a threat, trying to understand why he had helped them. It was a sort of tension Avaln could feel on his skin, or soul avatar’s skin, rather.

A sigh escaped his lips then, as he recalled a similar situation in the past, back when he first met Rei. Injured, all alone inside a cave, Avaln had come in, exhausted, and of the two, he had been the one who had to take the first step towards building trust.

Now, he would need to be the first as well.

He extended a hand, slowly, watching the shadow’s reactions, their formless shape leaning back as if afraid, yet soon returning to their previous position. Avaln smiled, then nodded, trying to convey the same feelings when he fed them the first time.

A breath passed, then a few more… until the shadow moved, but contrary to his expectations, they went in the opposite direction, to the furthest corner and stayed there. And to his surprise, pleasant if he had to describe it, he also witnessed the shadow changing form, their etheric black growing four limbs, a head, a tail… until it became unmistakable from a cat. A rather big one, at that.

So they saw that memory, uh? Avaln thought, watching them curl in on themselves, eyes closed, as if seeking sleep. He guessed they must be exhausted, and couldn’t help shrugging. He surmised taking on such a form was the way the shadow had of calling a truce.

He felt content with it, however. The first step had been taken, and now all he could do was to see where that path would lead them. As he left, however, he chose to leave the room intact, not willing to expose Connla’s Well to the shadow’s barely satiable appetite, much less when he didn’t know the possible consequences of them growing stronger.

Worse case scenario, they may actually be able to take over his body. The very thought made him clean his sweat off his forehead, an action that was pointless given that it wasn’t his real body, but his soul avatar.

Avaln nodded to himself. There was no point in worrying now, for his priorities had just changed, or to be precise, had returned to finding his way back to Greenleaf. And with such a thought, he began preparing to step outside his soul, his gaze not forgetting to take in a certain figure, sitting on a shadowy rock. The act was almost unconscious, a routine he didn’t even know he possessed.

If he had paid slightly more attention, however, he would have realized that, for the first time, Sgithe’s puppet had looked back.

Yeneda Eilraim sounded nothing like when they first met her, back in that not-too pleasant alley. Back then, her voice carried an invitation, so to speak, an elegant allure with just a hint of bite, enough to let the other party know she wasn’t all sweetness. Now, Darmia thought, it was full of authority, soldier-like even, and if she hadn’t seen her features before, she would have confused her with a different person altogether.

“Spread out! Secure the North and Northeast passages! Set guards at the entrance! We don’t want any stranded goblins to surprise us as we make our way!” Yeneda Eilraim commanded, pointing directions as a loose lock of hair brushed against her cheek.

From her behaviour to her vestments, she was now pure practicality, her long, dark hair tied into an updo, while no dress let her body exposed, but rather hidden by common linen clothes and leather armour. Cheap leather armour, Darmia noted, doubting a person like her would choose such quality by mistake.

That woman, if anything, did everything intentionally.

“Group leaders, to the main tent!” Were her words, carried by the cave’s echoes, before starting towards the meeting place. Darmia took in the sword hanging by her hips, and wondered if she knew how to use it. If her impressions were correct, Yeneda Eilraim (if such was her name) was a spellcaster, and a skilled one at that; she doubted someone who could lay a trap as powerful as the one she herself had been victim of, back in that alleyway room, would favour a sword over a more subtle, ranged weapon.

“Enigmatic, isn’t she?” A male voice addressed her, startling her somewhat. She didn’t hear him approach, yet his presence was the only surprise, for she recognized him immediately.

“Just like you, Pynam.” She replied, holding back her first instinct of turning around. Despite the lack of proof, she just couldn’t come to trust that man, and openly show him he had caught her off-guard, to show weakness.

She couldn’t see his features, but it didn’t take a genius to know he was smiling. “You are observant.” Were his words, in a low tone, said at too little a distance for Darmia’s taste. “You would do well to let her see that.”

She couldn’t help lifting an eyebrow, as her gaze watched how Yeneda Eilraim disappeared behind the tent’s curtain. “Why would I do that?”

Through the corner of her eyes, Eneas entered her view, now standing by her side, and so she was able to seek him shrugging. “There is little wisdom in seeking her bad side, much less when you fit the kind of people she likes.”

Darmia took the obvious bait, “what kind of people is that?”

Eneas' smile seemed to widen. “Smart, skilled people.”

She chuckled before the compliment. “If that’s an attempt to make me go easy on you, it won’t work.” She shook her head, and as her next step started towards the main tent, her advance was stopped by Eneas’ hand on her shoulder. It caught her off-guard, again. No, it would be more accurate to say it was so fast she couldn’t react to it. “What?” she snarled.

“Hear me out,” He whispered, after taking a step closer, gently. “Yeneda is going to ask for a scouting group. I want you to volunteer us.” Her lifted eyebrow was enough for him to elaborate, already aware of her temperament. “You said you wanted a cut, didn’t you?”

They locked eyes for a long breath, as Darmia tried to discern something in the golden hue of that man. After a while, she nodded, then resumed her way towards the main tent.

She didn’t like it.

Yeneda Eilraim seemed capable of interpreting any role that may be required of her, while being a strong spellcaster whose objectives were completely unknown. Darmia could be walking into a trap this very moment, sure of being unable to even throw a dagger before triggering it, and even then…

The one she was most wary of, was Eneas of Troy.