It was warm – a warmth that he had not felt in a long time. The gentle breeze flowed into the blurry garden, carrying scents of honey and blossomed flowers alongside it – though unlike her, Six was never one to remember the exact names of the flowers he smelled.
Though he could feel certain senses, there were no sounds nor colours that graced the City of Gold, yet they still felt pleasant all the same – for she was there with him.
The then-damsel walked barefoot jovially through the spotless street of the great city dedicated to her, something that she surely would not have been able to do if it were the dirty roads of Sentry instead. Six could do nought but slowly followed her from behind – close to her heels but never reaching her side. Her long, silky hair flew with the wind as she frolicked, though its once golden sheen seemed to have lost its splendour and turned silver. Her choice of attire was meagre as ever, even though she could receive the finest garments in all the land if she so wished. Ecliants, humans, and steelborns alike could not help but be smitten by her dazzling presence as she ambled past them, though Six could hardly blame them.
The ashen yet golden maiden stopped in her tracks. Her head gently twisted back to meet Six’s awed gaze – it was as Six expected. Her face blackened – Six could not even behold the sheen from her eyes of gold and bright smile from her thin lips. She waved her slender hand towards Six while her mouth was opening and closing, yet no words could be heard.
Six walked forward.
Even though he knew not what her mouth was speaking of. Even though he knew not where her hand was waving to. Even though he knew not whether she was real or not. Even though he knew it was nothing but an elusive dream.
Six reached her side at last.
He was but a hair away from her, yet her whole being still felt blurry before his eyes. He had forgotten how short she was, or perhaps it was merely because he was too tall – or maybe it was because she never had any further chance to grow. No matter how hard Six squinted his eyes, her face remained shadowed with none of her lovely features. No matter how frantically he tried to grab hold of her with his arms, her small body remained untouchable, as if she were a ghost. She was pallid and muted no matter how desperately he shouted to her, but his words, too, were silent.
A cold yet tender touch grazed Six’s cheek. Her palm felt like ice, and her skin was like ashes. Though she could barely reach his face without standing on her tiptoes, her hand stood with him for long.
As Six gazed down at the girl, their distance was so close yet so far apart. For a brief moment, as his eyes became itchy and blurry, her fair face seemed to regain its colours – though they were ones that Six had long since forgotten.
“Peace in your eyes – I’m glad. Those belong to you more than anyone else.” Her voice uttered for once and last – the voice of which Six had all but forgotten. It was pleasing yet aching to his ears. He no longer even remembered if that was how she sounded like – nor would he ever have the chance to prove it anymore.
The colourless sky collapsed. The smooth ground quaked. The gentle wind raged. The dwelling puppets scattered – and so she, too, had to follow.
The blessed time was ending, and the fleeting realm could no longer hold – and Six’s body would not move, for time and age had silvered it. As the sight before him slowly became subsumed in dusky mists and his eyes turned to darkness – her soothing light was the last to flicker in his memory. Perhaps another time… Six’s promise lay carved as his muse vanished and her icy touch melted – warm and tender in its last moment – like a beacon.
*
“Rise and shine, Boss!”
Six’s body and lids were heavy, as if boulders were weighing them down – it had been a long while since he had dozed off that deeply. What time is it? Six scratched his dishevelled golden head as he sluggishly opened his rusty eyes. He woke up to a pot of scented flowers and a plate holding a slice of honey-glazed bread by his bedside. His gloomy tent was also exposed, allowing for the evening light and fair breeze to flow in. Was that all a dream? Six’s nose prickled by the nostalgic smell, and his eyes tensed by the invading light. He reached for his battered glaive placed on the dirt – but he dropped it back down once he saw who was greeting him afront his tent.
“It is rare for you to doze off like that.” Astra hung the tent flap up to a hook. “You really oughta’ stop taking late-night watches. That’s no job for the Prime Sentinel himself.” His Wing Sentinel sighed.
Six and his squadrons of Heart Sentinels have been on the roads for many days – detaining any rebel suspects from whichever settlements they passed by. Hundreds they’ve arrested, yet none had outright admitted to being a rebel. This cat-and-mouse chase has lasted for longer than expected – forcing the Heart Sentinels to set up camp repeatedly and exhausting their resources and morale.
“Then could you take it in my place then?” yawned Six, his throat was still parched after the slumber.
As usual, Astra steered his eyes away and dodged the topic of work. “Sweet dream you had there? Or a nightmare, perhaps?” Astra tossed Six a towel.
Six hadn’t even realised how much he sweated in his sleep. “In truth, I can’t even remember much.” He wiped his face roughly with the towel.
“Dreams are dreadful like that. Whatever sweetness it seeps beneath shut eyes would all vanish with the come of wake.” Astra chuckled as he, too, stretched his joints as if he had also just woken up.
“If only you could remain this eloquent for good.” Six jested as he picked up a goblet of water by his bedside and gulped it down entirely.
“For the love of Ark… Enough with lecturing about manners – please, dear god. I have enough of them from my ma already.” Astra groaned as if he had just been ousted for his darkest secrets.
“Perhaps your poor mother wouldn’t have to keep teaching you if you would just learn to be proper.”
“She could care less whether I’m proper or not.” Astra scoffed and slicked back his wavy dark hair. “The hag just thinks that by me being prim, it would somehow impress my father to take us back. Blinded crone, I tell ya’.” The young lad shook his head from side to side.
Catching himself in another’s familial predicament was not something Six wanted to do upon waking up. The giant sat up from his makeshift bed made from stacking crates and a simple drape. “That’s enough chattering for now. If you’re here in my tent, then I assume there must be a good reason for it?” Six bit on the slice of bread left for him – it was rather too sweet for his taste, and it was cold and hard as a rock. How long has it been left here? Six pondered, though it did not stop him from devouring it.
“Certainly. Otherwise, I wouldn’t be caught dead in this bland box instead of the cook’s tent.” The brat jeered as if he were at a tavern bar instead of his superior’s tent.
Six merely glared at the Wing, his golden orbs were still glossy from his sleep – but those should be enough for the cheeky punk.
“I mean, there are some matters that I need to relay to you. Both good and bad. Which would you prefer first?” asked Astra tautly.
“The good.” Six cleared his throat and dried his eyes.
It did not take long for the boy’s nerve to relax once more. “A proper counting of casualties regarding the ambush on Squadrons Nine and Eleven have been made.” Astra unveiled a piece of parchment; it was marked with a red stamp. As he looked at the paper, the usually aloof Sentinel found it hard to muster his words. “Sixty-two casualties, ninety-seven injured, thirty-five captured, and forty-eight missing. Additionally, twelve out of the seventeen shipments to the Ironmount have gone missing.” He attentively traced his purple eyes over each line on the paper.
“And the enemies?” inquired Six while scratching his goatee.
“Forty-seven deaths, and sixteen currently in the Heart Corp’s custody. The captives will be joining the other suspects we’ve captured along our way and be transferred to the watchdroids so they may then be sent to the Ironmount.” Astra relayed the content of the letter before crumpling it into a ball and tossing it into the firepit inside Six’s tent. “A cruel joke this is, ain’t it?” jested the Wing Sentinel.
“Indeed.” Six mumbled as he swallowed the last morsel of the frozen bread, trying to understand how this would count as good news. They were told by their informants that the Firstkind were to be found in Screwpile, yet they never said anything about them hiding out in the outskirts of the town instead, deep inside the meterases-infested Junkwoods.
“I can already imagine the upcoming Daily Centum headline – A Tragic Defeat to The Heart Corp by The Vile Firstkind! Have the Darkest Days Return Upon Us?” Astra chirped his mouth, though Six had to admit that he did make a rather fine parroting impression of Lord Bellamy.
“That would make it the first time in a long while since they’ve spoken the truth then.” Six chuckled while tying up his long hair to a tail.
“I swear, they better make sure to pin the blame on that blundering swine instead of us.” Astra sneered at a man who was not there to defend himself.
“Has he returned to Sentry?” asked Six.
“Apparently. That lackey of his somehow fended off any pursuing attempts made for his life – all the way until they reached the capital’s doorstep.” Astra shrugged his shoulders. “No doubt he is writing up a spurious tale of his valiant foray as we speak. The Centum Order would be awed to hear his version of events.”
“Have a letter sent to Sentry. I will allow him to lick his wounds – though only for a time. Tell him to spend that time wisely in remembering the truth of what transpired that night – for that’s all I would be willing to hear from him.” Six’s words gravened as he clasped his palms together.
“Will do, Boss.” Astra lightly bobbed his head. “Though I’m not expecting the lout to follow through with your order. You speak a strong game, but you’re still far too soft on ‘em, Boss.”
“It was my blunder yet again. I had hoped that my lesson to him back then would have taught him something,” Six looked down at his fist, it stung slightly – reminiscing of when it pounded against the Heart Commander’s face. “Evidently not.”
“You don’t need to be too hard on yourself, Boss. The Heart Commander may have run some of our plans off course,” Astra lifted his face and smirked, “but if one plan is foiled – then just look to the next one, right?”
“Of course. I’m glad that you have at least been learning something from me.” Six responded coolly.
“Did you anticipate Idavi’s convoy to be ensnared?”
“Perhaps not ensnared– but hampered along the way did cross my mind. The lack of rebel signs despite copious sighting reports and the unusual gatherings of meterases did not sit right with me.”
“Was that why you allowed for the Heart Commander to take charge of the ride through the Iron Trail? A suckling pig out in the open for hungry fiends to feast upon?” queried Astra, though a crafty lad such as him should no doubt already know the answer. “I can’t seem to put my finger on whether you’re soft or cruel, Boss.”
“It was at the behest of Lord Senu himself.” Six explained. “Craven he may be, he is still the Heart Commander – I won’t deny him of his right to lead his troops, at least for now.”
“I wonder how much of the decisions were actually his and not just you prodding him,” Astra pondered faintly. “Well, whatever. That’s one way to handle that stuck-up prick, I suppose.” Astra grinned, but it soon dropped. “But was it all necessary? Many of ours perished due to his orders – and I supposed yours as well.”
“As you said – if one plan is foiled, then just look to the next one.” Six repeated his teaching. “I did not wish for that unfortunate incident to come to pass – it was something beyond my orders and rule.” Six stood up from his bed and reached for his navy coat – adorning its fabric over his body, accoladed with numerous badges and emblems of honour. “But I assure you, their deaths had not gone to vain.” With a resolute stare, Six offered his promise to Astra.
“I know, I know.” His Wing sighed relievedly. “A loss doesn’t mean defeat – and a battle doesn’t end on the field, right? Bring the battle to them if you must.” chuckled Astra.
Six smiled briefly, somewhat proudly. “Only time will tell if our ploy will bear fruits – but for now, there’s no use to ponder over a budding seed.” Six walked a step towards Astra – now that he was standing up high, his stature was towering over Astra’s, with his dome nearly piercing over the tent’s ceiling. “How far away are we from our next destination?”
“If the fools don’t dawdle and whine, then we should arrive at Dreamcity by the next week – though I wouldn’t put too much hope on this bunch if I were you.” Astra jested as if he wasn’t one of them sloven punks himself.
“It’s been a long while since I’ve been back there. I wonder how much it has changed,” Six glanced at Astra with judging eyes.
“What are you looking at me for? Ya’ think I’m some kind of expert on that den of escorts and liquor?” the flustered Wing tried to defend himself.
Six’s glance endured, albeit rather disappointed at Astra’s shoddy attempt to save face.
“Well,” he coughed awkwardly into his fist, “I suppose if there were to be a place where underground scoundrels could unite and scheme – the City of Colours would be as good of a hub for them as any.” Astra scratched his chin while explaining himself.
Scoundrels, huh? Six sighed aloud, for he shared blood with one of those very same scoundrels. “Any else to report? Or should we move on to less savoury matters?” inquired Six.
“As a matter of fact – yes. I’m sure you’d be thrilled to hear this.” Astra said eagerly.
Six waved his hand and nodded approvingly at his Wing.
“Little Arwyle will be joining our ranks soon. His graduation is still upcoming, but his application has been approved – by the courtesy of yours truly.” Astra tipped his head as if he had just concluded a grand speech.
“That’s good to hear.” Six’s voice was hollow. “And who approved of you to do that?” asked Six irately. He did remember Sitri telling him of Arwyle’s intention to enlist in the Sentinels upon graduating from Harford – yet he had not wished for it to come so soon.
“I just supposed that a father-and-son duo would be a sight to behold for the troops. Improve their morale and all, ya’ know?” Astra laughed uneasily. “Aren’t you happy to be reunited with your son, Boss?”
“I’m hardly at the liberty to deny abled men to join our order in these times of war. If the boy wants to join, then let him join.” Six sighed jadedly. “But don’t you go instilling any ideas in his head that I will treat him differently just because he’s my son.”
“Alright, Boss.” Astra bowed his head courteously for the first time since their meeting – though he didn’t appear to believe Six’s claim. “Just thought that it’d cheer ya’ up amidst all of these uproars. Forget I ever brought it up.” He mumbled with his hands behind his head.
“Enough. Tell me of the bad now.” Six requested, desiring to change the topic post-haste.
“It’s best if we step outside for this,” Astra suggested as he stepped out of the tent’s entranceway.
That bad? Six pondered – he may already have an idea of the news to come. Six marched towards the light that shone into the tent. The evening had begun to seep, yet the dazzling light had not shown any sign of retreat. It’s been a long time since his joints have felt this rusty yet rejuvenated – perhaps he should consider taking longer slumbers like these more often.
Six gazed his eyes over the hundreds of tents pitched throughout the grassland – some were colourful and excessive, while others were crumbling and pitiful. His ears received the bustling sounds of Sentinels chattering away and singing All Centum Road by campfires and steels clashing against each other during sparring sessions – they dowsed away any drowsiness that Six may have had left. The campsite spanned across the entire meadow, with not a single meteras or non-Sentinel in sight. The bordering Stream of Steel was pooled with sloven men who hadn’t bathed in days and smaller meteras critters – a terrible shame for its magnificent body of water that stretched from one end of Xearth to the other to be sullied as such.
You could be reading stolen content. Head to the original site for the genuine story.
Astra sprang in front of Six and tipped his head. “Please follow me, Boss,” he then ambled forward.
“Lead the way then.” Six granted his permission, and the two began to amble across the campsite – attracting gazes of admiration from each tent that they passed by.
“Good day, Lord Prime!”
“May Ark bless your evening, My Lord!”
“You oughta’ come check out the fight ring one of these days, Lord Prime!”
Yet for each word of praise he received, he too sighted an abundance of ire lurking around him – silent yet potent, as if a haze of poison was permeating the encampment.
Astra’s purple eyes avoided the piercing glares of spiteful men as he casually strolled along. “Sharp like swords, aren’t they?” whispered Astra, all while masking it between his whistling.
“Daggers, more so. Wield by assassins, not warriors.” Six retorted, though he felt not the need to lower his grave tone nor retreat his golden eyes away from the glares of others.
“An apt way to put it,” Astra smirked. “I don’t think I need to spell it out to you, but safe to say that there is some discontent amongst the corp.”
Six nudged his head – he needed not to waste his breath and verbally command his Wing to make the report.
“Few are falling the fault on you,” mumbled Astra. “Whether ‘cause they’re new recruits who don’t know any better, Idavi’s lackeys who receive arks straight from his pocket, or men who are still bitter by the meteras hunt that you forced upon them – I’m unsure.” He listed out the reasons as if he was a bookkeeper.
“All – would be likely.”
“That, too, would be my humble assumption.” Astra sighed. “Some are even saying that it was as humiliating as Lady Eight’s venture in the last Iron Rebellion. Sunken tattlers – what do they know about anything at all.” He clicked his tongue.
“You speak as if you do.” Six sneered at Astra. After all, the Third Iron Rebellion began and ended before Six was even a Sentinel and when Astra was no doubt still a snot-nosed brat.
“That’s beside the point,” caught red-handed in his lies, his Wing Sentinel blabbered on to try and change the subject at hand. “So what say you? Good ol’ fashion public execution to teach ‘em a lesson?” jested Astra.
“One moment you were mourning the deaths of your brethren – and now you wish for even more to share their fate?” pondered Six.
“You were the one whom taught me to not pay any heed nor pity to traitorous scums. Just following orders, Boss.” Astra retorted jokingly, or perhaps not, Six could never really tell.
“There will be a time for reprimand, but it’d do us no good to dwindle down what meagre force we have left.” Six lectured his brash Wing. “There are better ways to discipline than merely partaking in callous slaughters. Leave that savagery to the humans.” Six cracked his knuckles, and the crackling sound of each of his fingers snapping scared away the looming glares.
“How about near-death then?”
“Are you alright, Astra? Whatever manner of sadism have you been addicted to lately?” inquired Six concernedly.
Astra merely grinned from ear to ear, with no riposte to give.
The Wing Sentinel hastened his pace across the campground, and the prime Sentinel effortlessly matched his footsteps – until they, at last, stumbled to a crowd of Sentinels, where not a single tent was pitched, yet it was by far the rowdiest.
Merry, wretched, plastered, angry, beaten – all manners of ecliants stood in a large circle of their own making as they cheered for the subject they were encircling with all their might. They were more akin to tribal savages from the Wasteland rather than dignified soldiers of the Heart Corp.
“Out of the way, you sodden wretches,” Astra laughed aloud as he pushed his way into the swarm, shaking hands and bumping fists with a few while glaring down the rest. He parted out a narrow path between the horde of Sentinels, allowing for Six’s towering figure to march across the path and into the inner part of the ecliant-made cockpit. Their eyes were all too engrossed in what was before them to pay any attention to Six as he walked by.
Damn. They’re at it again? The sight was about what Six expected from such a foolhardy bunch. If a stranger were to gander at this enfolding scene, they would hardly be able to tell that these hot-headed lots were amidst a war, let alone recently suffered a humiliating defeat, albeit it was from a different squadron.
Drunken brawls, fists and all, no holds barred. Ecliants engaged in brawling bouts within the circle while the merry and restless spectators cheered on and betted their arks on the victors. The centre of the grassland ring was dowsed in dried blood and fallen teeth of unfortunate battlers as if new kinds of plants were being rooted over the meadow’s soil. There were more bodies nestling in pain within that circle than there were in the hundreds of tents. Six could hardly believe that there were such battle-hungry fiends within the lily-livered Heart Corp – he only wished that they’d exhibit such vigour on the battlefield instead of their trifle bouts and spars.
“A gruesome sight, ain’t it?” Astra groaned, though his tone carried a hint of thrill.
“If you think that’s gruesome, then clearly, I haven’t been making you work hard enough.” Six leered down at his Wing.
“Anyway,” Astra dodged Six’s leer and nervously coughed into his palm. “How ‘bout it?” asked Astra.
“How about what?”
“Why are you playing coy now of all times, Boss? You wanna’ embarrass me in front of everyone like this?” Astra tapped Six’s shoulder.
“What did you do this time? Wait, did you bet arks–”
“Of course not!” Astra raised his arms up as if he was being arrested. “I just thought that you oughta’ knock some senses into these green recruits and silvered seniors alike – make them think first before acting all brash and defying your authority. What other better way to do that than in their own game?” Astra suggested in good faith, though his greedy eyes were anything but good faith.
Do you think I’m some kind of tyrant? Six was sort of hurt to think that his Wing, of all people, would consider him like that – though perhaps, earning the perfidy of a moneygrubber like him wasn’t that upsetting. “If you could even find anyone willing to fight me–”
“You’ve heard it there, you miserable punks!” Astra leapt into the middle ring and shouted out at the top of his lungs – capturing the attention of the audience and fighters alike.
This little… Six cursed at his impetuous Wing, all while he stood at the sideline.
“Such paltry displays of might! You oughta’ be embarrassed to be vested in the colour of the Heart!” Astra’s words were met with gasps and hisses from listeners. “I’ve seen men in the Hunt Corp half your size with half of your arms still slaying down mets and dragons alike without uttering a single winge,” Astra provoked the bunch, and as if they were fish, the crowd was hooked to his baits. “Even after all we’ve done to prime you up, in ready for the battle against rebellion – it seems like you lot could serve no more than to hunt down woodland pests. Hell, even bouts amongst yourselves are pitiful to watch – I’d rather watch two mutts chase their own tails over this travesty,” Astra spun his body in circles as he spoke, ensuring to meet the gazes of all who were around him. “Perhaps the Scout Corp and the Hunt Corp were right – the Heart Corp serves no more than to just guard cushy castles and babysit gaudy lords and ladies!” Astra gasped for air as his speech ended, his face grinning with smugness.
Here they come… Six scratched his chin before muffling his ears with his palms – bracing for the bothersome muddle to come.
“What did you just say to me, you little shit!?”
“Ya’ think ya’ can run ya’ mouth just ‘cause ya’ the Prime’s Wing!?”
“Oh brother, this guy stinks!”
“Ya’ wanna’ say that to my face!?”
“The Scouts and Hunts ain’t shit! Bunch of mud-eaters!”
“How ‘bout ya’ stop yapping, and let’s run it then!”
The once jolly and cloddish ecliants have succumbed to a lawless and heckling mob at the mere words of Astra, swinging their swords and spears to the sky in place of pitchforks and pikes.
Astra, you fool… Six sighed. Amidst the commotion, he glanced back at his imprudent Wing – only to find him porting a satisfied grin as if he had accomplished precisely what he sought after.
“If ya’ lot wish to whine – then take it to the big man himself!” Astra proclaimed aloud.
Don’t you dare… Six crossed his arms and tapped his foot repeatedly like a peeved teacher – perhaps Astra was right at least on one thing: there was someone that he ought to knock some senses into after all.
“Nothing I’ve said hasn’t been professed by the Prime Sentinel himself! He’s disappointed in you feeble lots! At this rate, ya’ runt will never be able to leave the shadow cast down from his mighty stature!” yelled Astra passionately. From a glance, his words seemed to move the onlooking mass – some to anger and others to awe.
There’s no way they’d fall for this blatant bait… Six mumbled as he rubbed his forehead.
“Then what you say we do then, ya’ bastard!?” Ecliants from the audience cursed out.
They fell for it… Six sighed as he palmed his own face.
With the widest grin on his face, Astra pointed his finger directly at Six – and as if they were mindless ghouls under his spell, the Sentinels too followed his finger and drove their gaze to Six. “Abandon your spite, your greed, and your complacency! If you’re a man – then pucker up your pride, pull up your britches, and challenge the spring of your woe head-on!” Astra proclaimed with so much fervour that it could put Nine’s own sermons to shame. “Winner takes all, and may the loser be humble in defeat.”
The once clustered mob dispersed a few steps away from Six – as if awoken from their stupor, they were no longer restful enough to rub shoulders with the Prime Sentinel.
“Of course he’d hide behind the Prime Sentinel.”
“I’d totally do it – but I’m sick right now…”
“I don’t know about this one, boys…”
“Did ya’ see what he did to that bear? Ain’t no way I’m facing that!”
“Fight us yourself, coward!”
“If I had that wand thing that the Firstkind have, then perhaps I’ll have a chance…”
So they’ve even heard about the wand matter as well? Six pondered – gossip has always seemed to spread fast throughout Xearth, no matter how secretive the matter was. Though Six couldn’t help but feel a slight tick on his dome at the thought of these snivelling runts thinking they could defeat him with mere trinkets fashioned by some backwater rebels.
Before long, the once rowdy audience turned silent, subdued of any fury they once had, as they then mumbled fretfully away amongst themselves. Even the fresh fighters who had just relished in the thrill of combats shied away from Astra’s stare and shrunk away to their own corners.
“What happened to all of your vigour? Surely you wouldn’t yield even before trying? You lot were sure content to brawl amongst yourselves, but when given a chance to engage against one who is capable of more than mere petty scuffles – you all tuck tail and scatter? So many fighters here, yet so few fights in any of you!” Astra goaded with no restraints, though his words now did not seem to rile the Sentinels up as they did before.
That’s enough… Six sighed – the day has been wasted enough. He marched forward to his insolent Wing, and with each passing step, he was no longer haunted by orbs of contempt – but distress. Even once he stood afront Astra, close enough to see the purple tint of his pupils clearly, Astra’s face and eyes had not changed one bit – they remained unruffled and pleased. “You’ve done enough, Astra. Now get back–”
“I’m willing to do it!” A loud proclamation from the audience suddenly sprung forth.
Both Six and Astra turned their heads to find an ecliant lass who had marched herself forward, away from his cowering fellows. For a girl so young, she had a rather toned and tall body that filled out the frame of her armour, yet it seemed to be stricken with burn marks all over – the top half of her face was wrinkled like a pinkish prune, it was a wonder that her red eyes could see anything at all beyond that terrible sear.
“Tior, was it?” Astra asked the burned Sentinel, who was walking towards them.
“Yes, Lord Wing.” Sentinel Tior bowed her head dutifully albeit shakily, pointing her shrivelled dome carrying a few strands of white hair straight at Six and Astra.
“Well, do you wish to challenge the Prime Sentinel? Rather bold for a mere Rook Sentinel, don’t ya’ think? Though, by no means am I against it.” Astra cheered the nervous girl.
“I do wish to.” She lifted her head and gazed upon Six with strained eyes. “May you grant me this bout, Lord Prime?” A hint of woe wallowed in her words before succumbing to bitterness.
Strange girl… Six had no words to offer this foolish girl – yet despite him towering over her height, her glare seared by flame persisted onwards and would not hide away from his golden eyes, no matter how much she was quaking in her boots.
Perhaps awestruck by her declaration or the feeling of not wanting to be outshined by their peers, a few more Sentinels, too, crept forward from their shelter and joined the foray. Their limbs were quivering with each step, and their relentless and tense gulps could be heard from across the meadow – yet their scornful and prideful glares remained steadfast all the while. Amongst hundreds of Sentinels in the audience, eleven challengers took stances – a rather disappointing number, but still more than Six anticipated.
“There ya’ have it, Lord Prime! Surely ya’ would not step away now that so many challengers have arrived at your front door, right?” asked Astra, though he already knew Six’s answer.
As the noon’s breeze blew their lullabies throughout the grassland, and the Sentinels turned still as statues to await the Prime Sentinel’s decision – Six could scarcely do anything else but sigh aloud. “Very well. I accept your challenges.” Six glared at every single one of the eleven braves who dared to contest him.
“There ya’ have it, lads! Our generous Lord has decided to bless upon us a tourney to behold that could put even the Arklympics to shame!” Astra yelled forward, his voice cracked from the excitement – and the once silent and spiteful crowd reversed wholly and joined in his elation. “Let us dawdle no longer! Which one of you brave warriors would first dare to–”
“There would be no need for that.” Six stopped Astra in the middle of his delight.
“Excuse me, Boss?” asked Astra, quelling down his tone for once since his reckless speech.
“There would be no need for taking turns,” Six held his giant arm toward his green contenders and curled his palm in and out. “All of you may come at me at once.”
Six’s command left the horde of Sentinels in disbelief with their mouth agape, even the confident Astra was at a loss for words. Few faces were impressed, few were stunned, few were frightened – all except for the eleven challengers, who were insulted.
Astra lightly tapped Six on his shoulder. “Hey, Boss. It’s fine if you’re confident and all, but I think this is too much even for–”
“How longer do you mean to torment me!”
Six shifted his head to the desperate cry – only to find the once collected girl had revealed a fuming shell, gnarling her teeth wildly and breathing heavily. The other ten challengers seemed to share the same ire in their eyes.
Her frantic mask did not hold for long and soon crumbled. “My apologies, Lord Prime. I did not mean to–”
“Speak. Your lord grants it.”
The tense girl seemed surprised at Six’s answer, as she then took in another deep breath before stepping further forward. “You may not remember me. But perhaps, you’d remember the marks singed to my body.” Sentinel Tior lifted up her silver bangs to brandish her burned forehead clearer.
Burn wounds… Perhaps… Six mused silently – he had been labelled with all manners of monstrosities throughout his life, so it was not terribly easy for him to recall each and every one of them.
“By the looks of it – perhaps not.” The Rook Sentinel clicked her tongue. “I was once an orphan of the Ironchild House.” The words were hard for her to utter as she clenched her fists, and her eyes turned glossy.
“So you speak of that…” murmured Six. “Then may I ask why a survivor of the Ironchild would join the Sentinel instead of supporting the Firstkind’s cause?”
“I love my country, and I’d never stand against it. I’m just here for you, Lord Prime.” Tior declared, at last, with little determination and vigour.
Though the rash girl was dowsed in burn marks, her limbs were short and quaking, and her rank was leagues below Six’s – her yet posture stood firm and unyielding. The shadow casted down to the verdant plain from her meagre body carried a hint of nostalgic boldness – to proclaim such an outrageous statement before Six and his own army, only the stupidest yet bravest people could cast such a shadow.
A concerned Astra carefully approached the rebellious girl. “Perhaps you should calm down a little. I do not advise speaking to him like th–”
A laughter – brash and mighty – shook the meadow’s dwellers to their core and swept them off the ground. The birds hanging by trees flew away in flocks as if they had heard thunderstrike, and the meterases drinking by the Stream of Steel, too, tucked tails and fled. The laughter was not from the reckless Rook Sentinel nor the loudmouthed Wing Sentinel – it was of the stoic pillar who had shed his shell ever so slightly.
“You’ve got guts, Sentinel Tior,” Six laughed – it’s been a while since he has laughed that much. “For a woman who seeks revenge, it's rare to not have strayed away from the path of honour.”
“There’s no point in poisoning your wine or stabbing your cloak. I will fell you before all to bear witness of my justice.” She marched towards Six until she was directly below him, staring up from below – her ruby eyes squinted yet unshaken, reminding Six of the daring and scarry lad back in Screwpile.
“I’ve given praise to your guts,” Six’s laughter ceased. “But do not mistake guts for foolhardiness. As you are right now – not even all eleven of you would go far, let alone your lonely venture.” Six warned the narrow-minded lass before turning his back away from this whole farce. “Do ponder over it before you act hasty.”
“Even until now… Even in death, you’d not grant them solace…” An eery grunt could be heard creeping to the back of Six’s neck – yet he could not be bothered to pay any heed to it. “As if I’d need any more than myself for a silvered old man like you!” the bold Sentinel cried out in rage as her voice loomed nearer and nearer to Six’s backside, accompanied by the sound of sheathing iron.
Six needed not to turn his back to know what the reckless girl sought to do. He had been fighting his entire life. He has won more battles than he could remember – and lost even more so, yet he could never seem to forget as easily. He has seen all manner of eyes of cornered preys – and he has heard all manners of desperate cries begot by wrath. Foolish, as I was… Six sighed, with his boots planted still and his fists clenched tight.
Her breath blowing near his nape and her battle cry tearing by his ears told Six where she would be – and without even a lookback, he weaved his body faintly to the side. A torrent of wild gusts grazed past him yet never wholly touched him.
“Splendid valiance, but regrettably foolish. Do try again once you’ve made amends.” Six muttered to the girl’s ears as she tumbled past him, still struggling to regain her balance upon missing her poor attempt at a sneak attack.
With the rest of the Sentinels bearing witness to the unexpected bout sprung forth by Tior, this was the perfect chance for Six, afront both the ones in admiration and disdain – he would not sugar-coat it.
As Six lithely lifted his leg and chambered it, he expended a small portion of might to the sole of his foot – and protracted his leg forward, having his boot kissed the stomach of the unsuspecting Sentinel. The sound of his foot clashing against her armour plate reminded rung throughout the meadow and made it seem as if there were meterases pitting horns against each other.
The valiant Sentinel collapsed on her back and rolled a few paces across the grass. Her sword, which she had tried to stab Six’s back with, fell off her grip, and her white armour was left caved in with a mould of Six’s boot. She was left grunting on the dirt while holding tightly onto her bruised stomach – her once brisk war cry had dwindled to feeble squirms.
With their first champion crumbled after one jolt – the crowd of Sentinels encircling the battle ring was left stunned and silent, and the ten remaining challengers were left sapped of any confidence on their blued faces.
One down. Ten left… Six stretched his limbs and cracked his joints as he marched towards the ten challengers – while they were backing away instead. “Surely there could not be that many spineless brats in my army? Do prove me wrong.” Six goaded the hesitating contesters – granting little semblances of valour back to their nerve and stance, enough for them to stop retreating. “Here’s how you do it,” Six mumbled to Astra, though he merely replied with a clueless glance of his own.
The restless audience was stomping their foot up and down; their drumming matched their rampant heartbeat. The afternoon’s wind brought its own instrument to the field, playing a stringless ballad for the battle to come. The dusking sun set forth the stage for a grand showdown. Each of the ten challengers slowly yet firmly walked towards Six, their armour buckled tightly to their chest and their hands armed with all manners of tempered steel. Six had none of those, nor would he need any. His hands were emptied of weapons, and his muscles had worn and silvered in time – perhaps the Sentinel girl had a point.
As if. Wand or not. Silvered or young. None of those are needed for you brats. With a swipe of his arm, Six removed his upper garment entirely, revealing his scarry torso and an inked back. Hundreds of masterful ink strokes depicted a scarlet and gold serpentine dragon upon his burly back – its roots etched back to olden fairy tales no longer told today. The wingless dragon’s once garish colours have faded and silvered, yet its majestic figure has still held strong over the centuries – his back untainted by even a single scar, unlike his chest. “No need to hold back – step forward if you want to die!” Six roared mightily for the flock to bear witness to his pride and mettle – inked deep into his fiery body and blood – like a dragon.