The following morning wasn’t as snowy as the previous ones, but the wind remained ice-cold and relentless - its howling gusts waking Julien several times throughout the night. As the young Enochian and Robert stepped out of their tent, swords in hand for safety, Julien couldn’t help but notice the almost paradoxically bright sun shining down on such a frigid day; the very welcomed contrast gave him a slight boost of energy to face the morning.

“The first to wake up, it seems,” Julien muttered to himself as he stretched, loosening the stiffness in his limbs, “maybe we should take this chance to investigate the place a bit more, right, Robert?” He glanced at the animated corpse, whose arm had been regrowing slowly but steadily day by day. Soon enough, Robert would be able to wield both a sword and shield again.

A quick survey of the landscape confirmed what Julien already knew: the meadow was almost entirely deserted during the day, with only the occasional rustle of leaves, the sound of animals wandering, and the faint swaying of ever-resistant flowers offering any signs of life. The protective dome encasing the settlement also obscured any view of the outside world - an eerie but interesting contrast to the Masak Julien awkwardly cast from time to time - which added to the sense of isolation that surrounded the camp.

Suddenly, from what Julien assumed was the southwestern part of the settlement, a man with that familiar glistening aura emerged from outside, carrying a set of tools. Intrigued, Julien began walking toward him.

“Excuse me!” Julien called out, raising his voice just enough to be heard without disturbing the still-sleeping settlement, “excuse me, sir!”

The man looked up, offering a friendly wave before walking over to meet him.

“Good morning,” Julien greeted once they were close, “my name is Julien Mazars - nice to meet you.”

The man, however, stared back with a blank expression, clearly not understanding. He began speaking in the same unfamiliar language Julien had grown used to hearing around the settlement, though still far from comprehending.

After a few more failed attempts at communication, Julien sighed, offering a polite nod before deciding to move on. Thank you anyway, he thought, knowing the man wouldn’t understand any words he could have said.

His search for someone else didn’t take long: Not far ahead, he spotted a young woman - likely no older than Urraca - carrying a bucket of water toward her shack. With cautious hope, Julien approached her, but this attempt, too, proved as unfruitful as the first. The language barrier stood as an impregnable wall.

As the strong winds gradually began to subside, Julien reconsidered his impromptu exploration. Tariq could speak to anyone here, he thought, then why am I wasting my time? Now that the breeze wasn’t as noisy, he could even manage a few more precious hours of sleep.

He turned back toward their camp, ready to retreat, when someone caught his eye: A man, a little older than himself, walking with purpose through the settlement; A sword hung from his belt, and his posture, along with his measured steps, suggested the demeanor of a guard. That makes sense, Julien mused. Just as we need a watch at night, they likely need one during the day as well.

What also piqued his interest was the man’s iric energy: Though not as tightly controlled as some of the others, it was far more homogenous than Urraca’s current state.

He approached the man as he had tried with the others, but to Julien’s surprise, the man responded: “Good morning,” he said in broken Latin.

Julien almost jumped back, caught off guard. He hadn’t expected anything from the encounter. “My name is Julien Mazars, and this is Robert,” he gestured to the figure beside him. “We’re here with a possible future sister of your settlement.”

“Oh, I know,” the man replied with a warm smile, glancing briefly at both Julien and Robert. “You two hail from beyond the Pirinioak, am I correct? From Francia?”

News certainly travels fast here, Julien thought. “Yes, that’s right, and in all honesty I’m glad I’ve finally found someone I can speak with.”

“There aren’t many here who speak anything other than Basque, it is very true” the man responded cordially, his Latin far from perfect but perfectly understandable. “My family comes from Gascony, so maybe that’s why I picked up a few words here and there.” He extended his hand, “I’m Zeru, by the way. A sorgin and brother - though fairly new to it, in the grander scheme of things. I’m also responsible for the day watch for the next week or so.”

Julien shook his hand, and after the introductions, began walking the rounds with him. “It’s a curious existence your brothers and sisters have here, isn’t it?”

“Curious, yes, but also very necessary,” Zeru replied, “uncontrolled arima is a dangerous thing. It can turn us into monstrosities - and I wish I meant that figuratively.”

“Aren’t you uncomfortable carrying such a dangerous power within you?” Julien asked.

“No more than I am with carrying a sword,” Zeru half-jokingly said, “I could pierce anyone in their sleep right now if I wanted to, but I’m in full control of my mind and would never do such a heinous act. Controlling my arima is similar in many ways, just much more tiresome - and it requires more training.”

“Tiresome?” Julien asked, intrigued.

“Yes,” Zeru responded quickly, “I’d say we sorginak must sleep at least twice as much as regular people to fully recover and go on with our lives. Keeping our arima in check is exhausting.”

“And what do you mean by training?” Julien pressed further.

This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

“Keeping your arima under control is a constant effort,” Zeru paused, as though searching for the right words, “I’m sorry if it sounds so strange, but it’s true - you have to believe me.”

“Oh, I do,” Julien reassured him. “Please, go on. Tell me about the training.”

Zeru nodded. “It usually involves meditation - picturing our arima and subduing it, along with exercises to resist certain physical urges… Sorry, it’s odd to explain!” He sighed, a little frustrated, “it works, I swear, but the training changes now and then. I don’t know everything about it.”

Julien’s interest deepened. “So who leads the training? Who decides what you do?”

“A couple of older sisters know the ropes,” Zeru said, thinking. “But I believe the only one who truly knows it all is Agerkunde.”

I’m finally getting somewhere, Julien thought, hiding his excitement. “She’s clearly an important figure here, I see,” he commented nonchalantly, “Do you all see her as a matriarch or some kind of elder?”

“She’s a sister, and in most ways, she’s equal to all of us,” Zeru spoke thoughtfully, “but she’s the only one who leads the rites, so maybe she’s a bit more important than the rest.”

“Rites?” Julien echoed, enthralled.

"Julien! Robert!" A raspy feminine voice called out from afar. Julien turned his head to see Agerkunde, dressed in another heavy pelted gown - made from an animal he couldn’t quite identify - standing near the table where they had dined the night before. She waved him over with a beckoning gesture.

"We can talk later," Julien said to Zeru with a smile, "it was nice to meet you, Zeru."

"Likewise!" Zeru replied enthusiastically, "I’ll be around as long as the sun’s up. See you later!"

As Julien approached Agerkunde, she began speaking: "I see you’ve met Zeru," she remarked. "A good lad - also from the other side of the Pyrenees, like yourself."

"Yes, he mentioned that," he replied, "I’m just glad he could speak a bit of Latin. It was nice to have someone to talk to."

"Latin?" Agerkunde interjected, her voice amused, "I believe he speaks Gascon, doesn’t he? Isn’t it somewhat similar to Francian?"

Julien laughed lightly. "To my untrained ears, Gascon sounds as foreign as Basque."

Agerkunde joined in his laughter. "I may not be as cultured as your envoy Tariq, but in my experience, no language is as foreign as Basque." She composed herself again after a brief moment of shared humor. "Would you and Robert care to break your fast with me? I still have some cider left from yesterday, and a brother brought fresh bread just a few hours ago."

The Enochian considered her offer for a moment before nodding. "Sure, why not? Would you like me to help carry the food over?"

"Don’t be ridiculous, Julien!" Agerkunde’s bright blue eyes gleamed in the sunlight, "you sit at the table, and I’ll bring everything - just like yesterday. I’ll even bring more food in case any of your companions wish to join us. How does that sound?"

Julien nodded in agreement, and the woman promptly made her way to one of the larger buildings.

As she walked away, Julien found his thoughts wandering once again. “Why does no aura exude from her?” He whispered to himself, “is she free from corruption?” A shadow of doubt crossed his mind. “More likely, she controls it too well.”

…

When Agerkunde returned, she gracefully served the fresh bread and cider to both Julien, Robert and herself before sitting across from them at the table. Her bright eyes, as always, seemed to watch his every move.

"I was thinking," she began, her voice light but purposeful, "of taking advantage of the fact that we have visitors and moving our harvest festival forward. Perhaps a bit of celebration might convince Urraca to change her mind about staying."

Julien took a moment to gather his thoughts before responding: "I don’t think her decision alone is enough to determine whether she stays or not," he said carefully, "there are other factors - Tariq’s life and mine, for instance."

Agerkunde’s blue eyes grew even more intense, a determined strength behind them. "I understand your concern, Julien," she replied, her voice firm, "but the choice is ultimately hers. If she wishes to stay, she will stay - do not think otherwise."

Wait... what was that? For a fleeting moment, Julien caught a glimpse of her iric energy flashing around her as she finished her sentence. It was dense, almost suffocating, and for that brief second, she seemed nearly obscured by the dark aura. Yet, it was still controlled, tamed in a way that both unnerved and fascinated him.

Julien fought to maintain his composure, pretending as if nothing had happened. Instead, he let Agerkunde interpret his silence as just another person losing a staring contest to her. He held her gaze for a moment longer, then shifted his focus to the food before him. "We don’t plan to stay long," he said, breaking the tension, "in fact, we intend to leave as early as tomorrow morning."

"I see..." Agerkunde replied, her voice thoughtful, "it would be impossible to organize a festival in such a short time. A shame, really." She took a bite of the bread, seemingly lost in thought.

From that point, the meal fell into an uneasy silence. Neither looked at the other for long between bites and sips. But Julien couldn’t help but notice that her iric energy continued to flicker on and off - sometimes so strongly that it almost felt like it was about to lash out at him. He steeled himself, determined not to flinch, though the tension hung quite heavily between them.

"Now, Julien," Agerkunde finally broke the silence again, "have you sensed any insincerity from my part during your short stay here?"

Julien was caught off guard. "Oh, not at all!" He exclaimed, his voice a touch too eager, "in fact, I think we’ve been treated quite well. Why do you ask?"

"Because," she said, her sharp blue eyes narrowing as they fixed on him, "I find it hard to believe you simply forgot to mention the rather peculiar fact that you can see arima as clearly as any of my brothers and sisters." Her gaze sharpened further, her voice growing cold, "care to explain what’s really going on, Julien?"

Not again… Julien inwardly groaned. He was starting to wonder how he had ever earned the title of 'shadow castellan,' deceiving the court of Omois for years. Since setting foot in Iberia, it felt like every attempt at bluffing had crumbled in an instant. Perhaps the Iberians were simply more perceptive, or maybe he was just not cut out for lying. Whatever the reason, he knew he had to fix this situation fast before it spiraled out of control.

"What makes you say that?" He managed, trying to regain composure.

"You blink uncontrollably with every flicker of my arima," she replied, a small, almost mocking smile curling on her lips, "it would be adorable if it didn’t come with such a foul lie."

Julien realized in that moment that feigning ignorance would only make matters worse. "So what do you think I am?" He asked more calmly, "since I clearly don’t carry this arima you speak of."

Her smile faded into sternness. "Oh, I don’t think," she said, leaning forward, her elbows pressing against the table, chin resting on her clasped hands, "I know exactly what you are. Your kind is the reason we had to resettle here."

Julien’s interest spiked, momentarily overriding his concern about having his identity exposed. "I gathered from the makeshift shacks and fresh buildings that your settlement was recent, but I could never have guessed it had anything to do with ‘my kind.’ Now I’m truly curious."

Agerkunde’s eyes gleamed, a mixture of amusement and malice in her gaze. "The question is," she continued, "why should I satisfy the curiosity of someone who has been hiding his true nature from me?"

Julien remained silent, knowing any misstep could cost him dearly.

"Fortunately for you," the sister spoke, reclining back in her chair, her tone softening just slightly, "it may be in my best interest to tell you. After all, you’re clearly different from the man we encountered not too long ago."