“Damn reptiles…” the Rook Sentinel bellowed loudly, icy smoke exhaled from his gaping mouth. The tall yet lanky Sentinel limped through the stony road of Sentry, drenching his boots from stepping on puddles of melted snow. Flags and drapes embroidered with a black enneagram – the sigil of the Centum Order – littered throughout the street of Sentry, yet no winds blessed these banners, nor did they bless the men fighting for this emblem. “Curse the man who created those damn abominations! Ark damns him!” his curse towards the creator rung through Sentry.
Though it was no man, a fleeting thought uttered.
The gangly Sentinel’s once silvered armour had blackened, and sword had charred to a crisp. The proud hexagram sigil embedded onto his chestplate has all but melted. The veil of ashes painted him indistinguishable from the common splendour of a Sentinel. He was covered in bandages and burns, and his hair was frizzier than a bush.
“I want to go home…” another Rook Sentinel repeated the same plea under his breath, as his peepers stared soullessly down at the crooked pavement. “I want to go home…” His vest was smoked and torn, revealing his plump smouldered stomach. His fellow Sentinels ogled at him, and groaned and drooled, as if they were gawking at a roasted hog.
The bellows of the two miserable Sentinels united amongst hundreds of others, whose moans reverberated throughout the bustling streets and abandoned alleyways of the capital, startling and amusing the common folks, and grating the tired ears of Six.
Six marched forward the walking corpses. As the Prime Sentinel, his position belonged afront of his men, and his poise shall not ever falter unto the dismay of his authority.
As he led the walking dead army across the city and nearing the Arkeep, Six turned around from atop a slope and faced down at his exhausted men. “Your dismays have been heard, my soldiers.” Six worded sternly. Porting a smile was never Six’s strong suit, scowls suited him further. “But to all the agonies you wish to exact, the noble city of Sentry isn’t the place for your bellows and whinges.” His towering and unwavering stature toppled over the limping soldiers, though he bore the same wounds and more. His long golden bun and goatee masked him as a lion in front of his pride. The stainless six-pointed golden star pinned to his chest shone at the withering flock, though all Sentinels bore one, only Six’s gleamed with pride. “Whatever pains you hold. Hold it within.” A passing reticence descended on the carping Sentinels, as they gazed at Six with eyes pertaining to admiration, fear, and disdain. Those eyes were all too common to Six. Those gazes have tormented Six his entire life. Six briefly sighed beneath his breath before returning to the detesting gawks. “Yet if you must reveal, do so not with weeps, but with solemn.” Six implored his Sentinel troops. His golden eyes traced every single piteous Sentinels present, while caressing the hilt of his sword, sheathed at his waist and embraced by the coattail of his navy coat. “Until you’ve learned this lesson, Sentinel is merely a fancy title to you.” He could tell from their enduring glares that not many of them heeded his guidance heartily, though none voiced their displeasure.
“I believe they’ve learned their lesson, Lord Prime.” Six’s Wing, his righthand, assured to him with a gentle tone, as he softly bowed his head and held his chest. He alone was kempt and spirited, odd for a Sentinel post-duty. His armour was spotless and sword undented. His black mane was wavy and spotless from mud and ashes, while his lilac eyes were freed from stressing squints and shadowy bags. “Now that we’ve returned to Sentry, I suggest we make way to the Arkeep at once. Your brothers and sister would be jubilant to learn of your safe return.” He suggested to Six kindly.
“A fearsome thought to utter.” Six scoffed lightly, though not for long, as he noticed his soldiers staring at his faint grin and retorted with their own. Six coughed awkwardly and turned to his Wing. “Sentinel Astra, issue a messenger to the main Sentinel body to retrieve the present Sentinels. Treat the injured and reward the standing. That ought to quell their snivels ever so slightly.” Six issued the order to his Wing.
“At once, Boss,” Astra responded, dropping his gentle tone and returning to his usual brattish tongue. The slender man, unbefitting for a field Sentinel, carelessly scurried away as he hummed to the melody of All Centum Road, the olden anthem of the land.
It didn’t take long for Six’s order to circulate around the army. Whims and cries turned to cheers and laughter. The Sentinels’ cheerful chant for their Prime Sentinel engulfed the streets of Sentry, infecting even local passers-by. Even Six couldn’t resist cracking a slight beam. Yet his short bliss didn’t last. The more he stared at the decrepit stalls and frozen buildings littered throughout the city, Six relentlessly sighed further. The more he bumped against the shoulders of the few humans allowed to reside within Sentry, Six’s fists further clenched. The more he breathed in the soiled and bloody cold air permeating Sentry, Six’s mind further dwelled spirally.
This city still never fails to bring back bad memories.
*
The Prime Sentinel and his Wing marched through the drawbridge and passed the wicket to the castle gate of the Arkeep. Long it has been since Six stepped foot within the prideful fortress of the Centum Order. Though his eyes fixated forward, Six could sense the glares and whispers from the primmed Centum Lords and cakey Ladies who frolicked the castle courtyard. Yet with each approaching step, Six’s silence silenced the whisperers. Though unwillingly, as Six knew all too well why they were disturbed by his presence. The mazing craftsmanship of the keep, occupied by haughty gossiping nobles and their imperious perfume, all further reminded Six of Sentry’s unpleasantry. Still, as Six and his Wing reached the gate of the Pillar of the Aces, the nattering flock of Centum Lords and Ladies briskly dispersed.
Six tried to resist it, but a small grin revealed. As he masked his hand over his mouth, a glimpse of Astra’s stare passed his view. The sight of his subordinate prompted Six back to his regular stance and demeanour, though it was a moment too late, as Astra was then masking away his chortle instead.
As Astra dimly tittered, a loud cough outshone his cackle and burst him out of his jest. The Prime Sentinel and his Wing turned towards the cough to find a Rook Sentinel stationed at the gate, who had been present before them the entire time. The guard’s peepers were twitching as he tried to muster an awkward smile.
Astra swiftly resumed his stance and calmed his tone to the astonishment of Six. “A blessed day to you, my fellow Sentinel. We wish to speak with His Heavenlier, the Prophet.” Astra tactfully requested the guarding Sentinel.
Outwardly influenced by Astra’s poise, the Sentinel dropped his fiddly grin and swiftly bowed his head. “Lord Prime. Lord Wing. We are gladdened by your safe return.” The guard graciously greeted, with his fist pressed to his chestplate. “Unfortunately, I cannot grant your request. His Heavenlier has given the order to have you await here, and he would make his way to you instead.” The Sentinel relayed Nine’s order. “He does not wish for the Prime Sentinel to trail the many stories of the Pillar of the Aces after such a tiring expedition.” He diligently informed the returners.
Ever the good king bravado, Six chuckled lightly. The Pillar of the Aces was the mightiest structure of the Arkeep, erected at the centre of the fortress to shield the pompous aristocrats from outer peril. The tower’s crown pierced through the high clouds and mists, while its stairsteps numbered as many as its layered bricks of white. Though he bore the title and duty of an Ace, Six dreaded ever navigating and trailing the labyrinthic tower.
“That is vastly considerate of His Heavenlier. The Prophet’s compassion for his fair denizens seemingly knows no bounds and has never ceased to awe me. If my rank had permitted, I would be kneeling on the snow, weeping in gratitude by now.” With his unscathed hand as his handkerchief, Astra wept hammily. “Wouldn’t you concur, Lord Prime?”
“Doubtlessly.” Six answered. His tenor was ever still as his posture. Upon revealing his thought honestly, Six glanced down from his mighty height to find Astra and the guard staring at him, silently yet boorishly.
“Boss, can you please at least pretend to be grateful? Even a Prime Sentinel has their limits you know?” Astra whispered to Six’s ears while glancing back and forth at the Sentinel.
“I am grateful. This is me being grateful.” Six whispered back. His gaze was ever dull and stagnant.
Astra palmed his face and sighed. “Unbelievable. Whatever you say, Boss.” He murmured underneath his breath.
“Perhaps you should heed your own advice. Even being my Wing has its limits after all.” Six retorted the frustrated Wing.
It didn’t take long for Six’s words to be heeded, as Astra hastily removed his palm from his dome and prayed with both. “I get it. My bad, Boss.” Astra apologized quietly, though his gesture bawled loudly. “Just don’t demote me back to the front line. I don’t really bode well with dragon fire.” Astra begged calmly, an ever-rare sight for Six.
And others are? Six pondered while glaring at his pleading Wing.
Before Six could foist a deserving punishment on his Wing, a familiar cough hampered his fleeting joy. “Please avoid whispering out in the open yard of the Arkeep. Else onlookers may construe it adversely.” Six shifted away from Astra to find the Sentinel coughing once more. “I would avert my gaze this time out of respect for your station, Lord Prime. In the future, however, myself and others wouldn’t be so lenient.” Though the Sentinel’s station was many ranks below Six’s, his tongue and stance were ever-firm as he imparted the warning.
I wouldn’t expect any less, Six murmured beneath his breath, before coughing aloud and steering his head over. “Has the Prophet arrived yet? Else I’d be arrested the longer I idled.” Six inquired boisterously.
Though he wasn’t expecting any retorts, the creaking tower gate hounded his ears as it sluggishly unsealed behind the guard.
“The Prophet has indeed arrived!” a familiarly crass voice proclaimed from beyond the flaring crevice. “It’s been quite some time.” As the tower gate was wholly unbolted by two Sentinels from within, a dashing figure left the confines of the white pillar. His eyes were ever fiercely golden as Six’s, yet his mane as fair and frail as snow. Though, his meagre adorn choice of a ragged and crumpled blouse was ever as unsightly as Six remembered.
“Nine.” Six spoke out, with his knees unbent and head unbowed.
“You idio–” As if Six’s declaration was an act of profanity to him, the guard uttered wildly, and immediately knelt down afront Nine, bruising his knee and whiplashing his neck as he descended. “I apologize on his behalf, Your Heavenlier. The recent expedition has most definitely taken quite a toll on his body and mind, else he would never dare to address you in such an insolent manne–”
“Six,” Nine slurred out and stridden raucously towards Six, unbefitting of the revered Prophet and further akin to common Dreamcity drunkards, or human savages from the Wasteland out East.
“What?” the kneeling Sentinel blurted dumbfoundingly. His agape jar further dropped when Nine firmly bumped his fist with Six.
Amidst their reunion, from the corner of his eyes, Six sighted Astra extending gently his arm to the fallen Sentinel, a strange act of kindness that seemed to never be offered to Six.
“Stand up. You’re embarrassing yourself.” Astra strugglingly pulled the Sentinel up to his feet with both arms. “You must be new to the job. Start getting used to them being like this. After all, they were brothers before their granted titles.” He advised the rookie while roughly patting dust and grime off the Sentinel’s armour. “Well I say that, but if only that was true for all of them,” Astra murmured, though it didn’t appear to be meant for the guard, as Six caught it within earshot.
“Months has it been? You look strong and well. I’m glad.” Nine laughed jovially, as he weightily tapped Six’s shoulder, though his feeble hands that merely stroked quill and flattened parchments all day, could never move or sore Six’s.
“You on the other hand seemed like you’ve seen better days.” Six chuckled, effortlessly pushing aside Nine’s feeble barrage. “Council works don’t go too well nowadays I presume?” Six jested, though the joke didn’t come easy for him.
“When have they ever gone well? All I get are headaches from them.” Nine scoffed faintly.
“Perhaps it’s nigh time that you go through a Cycle. Reoil that ancient, battered gear of yours.” Six heedfully suggested Nine to undertake the Cycle of Reconstruct, a common surgical practice for ecliants to bolster their vitality.
“I’m highly doubtful any amount of Reconstruct would cease the constant migraine from entertaining the Aces.”
Not that you would know, Six commented nippily beneath his breath.
“At this point, I’d rather dance with the beasts in the Dragon’s Ranges than spend another day in the Arkeep.” Nine snickered crudely. Months have passed since their reunion, and Nine’s dreary japes have yet to cease, to the disrepute of his title and the headache of his secretary, as Six recalled.
“I’m always open to changing places.” Six offered half-jokingly.
“I’ll hold you to it.” Nine retorted quickly, perchance half-jokingly as well.
The two shared a brief yet hearty laugh, afront the decorous tower and dignified onlookers.
Ephemeral was his merriment, and Nine brushed tears from his lids and adorned his Prophet’s poise. “Well, I know you’re still tired from your journey, so it’s best we keep this brief, before the remaining Aces catch wind of this,” he sighed. “How fare was the expedition?” Nine asked. His rare trice of gracious demeanour dazed Six whenever it surfaced.
As the dreadful matter arose, Six sighed deeply. “A disaster to sum.” Six answered resolutely. “Rookie recruits by the hundreds, died in duty or deserted to the mountains. Provisions were gone halfway through the expedition. A measly three grown dragons, a handful of hatchlings, and five nests were eliminated. Clashes by the dozens with Wastelanders who crossed the Sparkling Sea and to our shore. Regrettably, less than half of the set objectives were achieved.” Amidst his testimony, Six averted Nine towards Astra with a swift wave. “Astra, my Wing Sentinel, will relay a fully detailed report to you as soon as possible.” Confronted with the regard of the Prophet, Astra bowed and pledged profusely.
“A shame. Though I couldn’t exactly put all of the blame on you. We’ve left these issues unattended for far too long. Now they have caught back up to us. Perhaps Ark is punishing us for our hubris…” Nine jeered faintly.
“No. As the assigned leader for the expedition and above all, the Prime Sentinel, the failure falls on me.” Six disagreed, improper as it was for his station compared to Nine’s, and to the further shudder of the Sentinel guard. “I’ve failed my station and I deserve a suitable punishment for this.”
The habitually aloof Astra sprung out from his post. “Lord Prime, you don’t need to shoulder the blam–”
“You just returned from duty, and you already twisted your mind back to such ghastly thoughts.” Nine remarked before hushing, and as he went silent, the Arkeep followed.
The quietude cleared Six’s mind and clouded it with Nine’s puzzling words. Prime Sentinel was his station, and unsavoury actions were his mandated duties.
As if he was awaiting a riposte that never came, Nine then unsealed his lips slowly and the stillness broke. “You were always the most serious one out of all of us. Not even Three or Eight could outmatch your solemnity, nor could Five or Seven make you crack a smile.” Nine chuckled, yet sombrely. “Though there was…” He murmured yet ended midway. “That hardheadedness of yours would lead you down to many hardships and mistakes no doubt.” Nine forewarned Six, his timbre solemn.
“Hardships come to me regardless, and I’ve made many mistakes before.” Six replied.
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“That you have, and so have all of us.” Further solemnity shadowed, as Nine whispered. “Aren’t you tired of it all?” the Prophet asked. His eyes stared blankly, not at Six nor at any else.
The subject of lethargy or alacrity has never played a factor in Six’s function as a Prime Sentinel. Though pale in duration, his conviction has remained steadfast for the past eleven years, ever since Eight bequeathed him the title. “No.” As a decade Prime Sentinel and a lasting Archetype, Six passed his verdict resolutely.
The riposte brought Nine’s hollow gaze back to the foray and faced Six’s. “Fearsome resolve, regrettably. Though I’m hardly one to lecture.” Nine patted Six’s shoulder firmly. For a moment, Six felt as if Nine’s feeble arm had regained the same vigour that it once had back in the Iron War – the great war waged by the ecliants and led by the Archetypes against the humans, and the aftermath ushered in the rule of ecliants and the establishment of the Centum Order. “Well then, is this what you truly wish for, Six?” Nine whispered as he released his palm.
“Yes.” Six nodded dimly, yet all the while standing firm and tall with the dignity of a Prime Sentinel.
A deep sigh from Nine restored verve to the stagnant fortress, yet haunted Six. “Very well. As the Prophet of Xearth, I hereby exercise my power and ordain Six, Prime Sentinel and member of the Aces, to quell the uprising rebels, the Firstkind, to recompense for his failure at duty.” The Prophet ordained.
What? Six was awaiting to be stripped of his titles or be convicted to the Ironmount Institution, yet this irregular sentence was unforeseen by the veteran Sentinel. “Firstkind? Does this mean?”
“Indeed. It would seem our dear sister has made her reappearance after years in hiding.” Nine informed Six, a hint of lament clouded his speech. “She is believed to have been spotted in Screwpile close to a month ago, and she hasn’t resurfaced since. That’s where you should start.” Nine relayed. “You are dismissed as Acting Hunt Commander. Anaeis would return soon to resume her post.”
The news surprised Six slightly. He did not think Anaeis would be able to return so soon, let alone be willing to saddle a steed and swing iron. Perhaps motherhood did not bode too well for the Commander of the Hunt.
“You should then pay a visit to the Heart Corp. Idavi and his men should be gathering more information as we speak. They would also fill you in about a peculiar story we’ve recently heard from a stray watcher.” Nine further instructed Six about the Heart Commander.
As Prime Sentinel, Six lorded over the Sentinels and their three Commanders, yet with all that martial might, Six’s post yet paled compared to the seat of the Prophet.
Four… When will you abandon it? Six mumbled. Eleven years have passed since Four disappeared from public sights, ever since her defeat at the hand of Eight and the Sentinel force at her command. Four had always been a timid and quiet girl. Apart from Two and Seven, she did not relish in the company of parties, yet to Six, that held true as well. Four was the last Archetype that Six had expected to rise in rebellion, yet after the tragedy that transpired, he could hardly guilt her.
“Nine. Though I seek my due penance, I trust there must be someone else more suitable than me for this mission.” Six suggested. His head bowed and sweated, ashamed to recant after his lengthy vow.
“No. As a matter of fact, I couldn’t think of anyone more suitable than you to bring down our sister.” Nine retorted.
Hearing Nine’s words, Six struggled to mask his glare and kept his poise, unbecoming of him. Nine’s jeer reminded Six of a memory he wished to stray from.
“Well, what do you say, Six?” Nine asked once more.
“Boss?” Astra whispered, seemingly Six’s taciturn has perturbed even the mellow Astra.
Six knew he couldn’t remain still for too long, his standing wouldn’t permit him. Yet Nine’s words kept enduring in his mind, springing forth buried memories.
Memories of her were not chiefly tender to Six. She haunted his dreams every night. Memories of her basking in the lustrous outskirts of Old Eden shone bright, yet faded as the years passed, with the Iron Capital and its bearings lone reminding him of the unwanted. He wished to remember the fair times they spent together, yet Nine’s words solely retold him of her parting.
“If you’re so adamant against it then–”
“I’ll do it.” His declaration descended upon the still keep, to the gasp of all. Six swiftly knelt to one knee and rested his sword at the feet of the Prophet. “On my duty as the Prime Sentinel. On my honour as an Ace. On my blood as an Archetype. I vow to you, Your Heavenlier, to put an end to the rebellion.” The oath echoed through the courtyard, slivered past crevices of the sundry towers, and be recorded to the ears of all who bore witness.
“Rise, Lord Prime.” The Prophet commanded gently and offered his hand to Six. “This is your chance to atone. Do not forsake it.” Nine muttered, his tone and gaze no longer matched his common antics.
Whether it was chords of guidance or an avowal of warning, it mattered slightly to Six as he stood back on his feet, resuming silence as a sentry.
“Boss.” Astra purred, though it couldn’t escape Six’s keen ears.
“You must be tired after such a long journey. I’d bother you no longer,” suggested Nine, his tender tongue returned. “Get some well-deserved rest before beginning your new mission. And do not worry about opposition, I’d inform the remaining Aces about your situation myself.”
Nine’s compassion struck the courtyard into awe, yet Six’s eyes cared little for his dainty simper, while his lips remained ever sealed.
“Astra was it?” Nine averted his golden orbs to Astra, the ensuing silence appeared to not bode well with a blitheful man such as Nine.
“Yes, Your Heavenlier.” Astra bowed down fretfully, casting aside his jackal fleece and adorned a pup coat.
“As the Prophet, I command you to keep excelling at your duty as Lord Prime’s Wing.” The Prophet decreed. “But as Six’s sworn brother, I ask of you to look after him on our behalf.” Nine beseeched.
Do you truly believe Five and Eight would care? Six scoffed wordlessly.
“Of course, Your Heavenlier. Your wish is my command.” With his head further lowered, Astra swore nervously.
“My sincerest gratitude.” Nine shook Astra’s hand.
Nine released his palm softly, though Astra’s bewildered gape told Six that he wished to relish in the honour longer. With his hand freed, though strugglingly, Nine paced back to Six. Dastardly was his grin as if he was contented with Six’s Wing fawning over him.
“I expect great news this time, brother. Take care.” Nine lightly tapped Six’s shoulder, before turning his back. He strolled back into the Pillar of the Aces, scratching his hind and whistling to the twitters of perched blue jays with each bootsteps.
The sealed tower gate startled away the sapphire jays, and Nine’s frolicking shadow faded along with his pious preach. With the Prophet departed, the guard resumed his station, though his bold sneer from afore has been traded for a panting head, drenched in his own making.
A faint knock tumbled on Six’s shoulder once more, though it felt weightless as opposed to afore. “His Heavenlier sure is something else…” Astra muttered with his elbow rested on Six, though he had to tiptoe to reach Six’s height. “Well, work is work, and today’s workday is over. Shall we head to the tavern, Boss?” Astra proposed carefreely, though he received no ripostes. “Boss?”
“Bastard.”
“Excuse me?” the puzzled Wing asked, his face leaning closer to Six.
A lone feeble swipe was needed to shove the nosy ecliant aside. “It was nothing. Let us go then.” Six agreed, marching slowly away from the pillar and the guard.
“You’re an odd man, Boss,” Astra mumbled as he trotted sluggishly behind Six, still oblivious to his Boss’s keen ears.
*
The scents of stale ales and spoiled hams permeated the decrepit tavern. Sundry ecliants and steelborns locked arms together and carolled the Centum anthem, while others tussled brutishly on the slippery floor, the odour of their clashing sweats and spilled mead further dampened the tavern. The hums of mellowed patrons, the curses of drunken brawlers, and the chords of songsters were all drowned by thumps and moans befell from above. It was a tavern yet upstairs bore a cathouse, a part of the Love Machines chain, though the brothel seemed to have a far better reputation than the tavern. A peculiar choice, Six pondered as he spotted Astra struggling to squeeze through the crowd, whilst balancing a tray with their drinks in each hand.
“I’ve always known you were a man of absent dignity, yet never did I think you would be so shameless as to invite your commander to such an establishment.” Six smirked.
“The whorehouse is news to me too. Never thought the Love Machines would plague this hut as well. Damn greedy bastards…” The Wing bellowed. “Here’s your drink, Boss.” Astra handed Six a silver goblet, strange to find one in such a battered tavern. The Wing tumbled down to his stool, soaked and huffing.
“Months we’ve trailed the humid woods and frozen mounts, and now that we’ve at last returned to civilization and could feel the simple joy in life of downing a goblet of ale, you instead fill yours with water.” Astra grabbed the flagon and filled his cup to the brim. “The Prophet was right. You’re far too serious for your own good.” In one gulp, Astra downed his mug of ale.
“I no longer drink. It dulls the mind. Mine more so.” Six sipped his chalice adroitly. “A rather fine advice for you, I’ll say.”
“For Ark's sake…” Astra cursed as he wiped off the ale dripping from his lip. “I left my home for Harford so that I would no longer hear the same rambles from my ma. But to my demise, the stuck-up professors o’er there grinded my ears more than she ever could have. Now, I guess it’s your turn to put on the tie and belt to lecture me. Just my luck with old crones and geezers.” The Wing whinged, though it didn’t hinder him from pouring more ale into his cup.
“It looks like my lesson to you about seniority didn’t stick. Perhaps I should appoint another Wing who would.” Six jested, perhaps.
“C’mon, Boss. Lighten up. You know I respect you more than anyone else.” Astra hiccupped as ale seeped from his lips.
“Somehow I doubt that.” Six masked his thrill with a sneer.
With his words slurring and eyes crumpling, Astra slammed the cup down, cracking the wooden table. “Don’t doubt it. Your tact may be lacking, you are harsher than a plague, and you brood far too much.”
This kid, Six thought, slightly annoyed yet embarrassed.
“But I’ve never met a man as great as you.” He proclaimed drunkenly. “That I guaranteed.”
That medal of reverence has scarcely ever been bestowed upon Six. Doubt and gratitude divvied his mind from hearing this foreign praise.
“In fact,” he held his mug and mounted the wrecked table, “allow me to make a toast in your honour.” The young man shouted. His drunken holler pierced through the tavern’s racket, shut the clamours, and lured the eyes of the ecliants and steelborns atop and beneath.
Six palmed his head, with his face dimly reddened. “Astra. Stand dow–”
“My fellow Centum brothers and sisters!” Astra’s call resounded through the tavern. “I, Astra, a Sentinel of the Hunt, would like to unveil to you all of earthshattering news!” he greeted the horde of drunkards charmingly, though the mug of ale in his hand stained his effort at elegance. “Though it took our Corp many moons, we’ve at last returned from a mighty yet treacherous journey to the Dragon’s Ranges.” Astra sang his high tale as if it was a ballad.
The crowd of ecliants gasped. The melody of his fable charmed even the tavern songsters. Few fell their prized wine bottles to the ground, few sneered with doubtful gazes, and few left their undressed courtesans to join the ruffled crowd downstairs.
Having captured the tavern’s undivided awe, Astra slicked his brunet mane back, further raised his ale mug, and stomped the table as if he was afront a podium.
“Unimaginable perils we encountered and fearsome beasts we clashed, but in spite of it all, at the end of the journey, we all ascended to the ranks of dragon slayers.” As though Astra’s silver tongue wasn’t enough to hook the drowsy hearers, he reached within his jacket’s inner pocket and revealed a dragon fang. The curly tooth struggled to be held in his palm.
The matchless size and gleam, unfounded in other beasts, awed the audience in silence and stunned Six in likewise silence. Where did he get that?
“Dragon claws were no match for our longswords. Their scales pierced and wings punctured by our fury storms of arrows. Dragon fire could not char our pristine armour.” He waved the tooth back and forth, the spellbound patrons’ gaze followed where it swayed. “So tell your children, your mothers, your lovers, the ones who’re plagued in fear of dragons, meterases, humans, anything at all!” Astra peaked the dragon fang, grazing the dusty ceiling and sullying its sheen. “The Sentinels would triumph them all and protect the Centum people!”
The foul tavern simmered in the hollowest corner of Sentry erupted in jovial whistles and claps. The merry ecliants drummed down on the tables with their mugs as they cheered. The drunken brutes ceased their brawls and applauded alongside. The songsters accompanied a joyous ballad along the tavern chant, strumming their lyre and lute while the courtesans serenaded from their cathouse atop. It had been a long time since Six had heard the melody of Count Yer’ Blesses, though he was never particularly fond of its many lyrical embellishments.
Regrettably, the flooding song and carol did not drown out Asta’s lasting speech. “But of course, as mighty as the Sentinels are, all would be lost and crumbled without our peerless Prime Sentinel.” Astra sheathed the fang, and unruly pointed down at Six from atop the table. “Lord Six on his own, with no armour on his mane, wielding alone his mighty Deuslayer, slew a dragon the size of the Arkeep.” The awestruck crowd faced Six and further hailed. “Its scales darker than the darkest nights. Its claws mightier than mountain peaks. It breathed golden flames that scorched the heaven abode–”
What is this fool saying? With countless eyes and Astra’s antics pinned at him, Six sighed tiredly as his head ached.
“Struggled he did. Their furious battle raged on for days, through heaven and earth. And as the sun rose on the sixth, Lord Six pierced the beast’s eyes and shredded its scaly wings. The two plundered down from the heavens, and lone stood Lord Six on the massive body of the slayed dragon.” Swiftly knelt on the table, Astra gripped Six’s wrist and raised it ahigh. “He who slew the King of All Dragons,” Six unsealed his hand effortlessly, yet Astra instead raised his ale mug. “As long as he stands, Xearth and the Centum Order will never fall!”
The tavern that Six once thought was a mere crumbling shack for drunken husks and crude harlots had become the loudest tavern in Sentry. Six! Six! Six! The ecliants and steelborns chanted his name while drumming their fists and ale jugs down on the tables. The incessant claps and whistles ached his head, while the swarm of topers patting him ached his back. Damn you Astra, Six cursed this common yet uncommon quandary and cast the onslaught crowd aside with light swings from his hulking arm.
“How do you like my toast dedicated to you?” Astra smugly asked, still squatted down.
“Very imaginative. After all, lying and drinking are all you’re good for. I didn’t even bring my glaive to the expedition.” Six fixed his golden eyes on his goblet, sparing no heed to his Wing.
“You called that lying, I called that giving the people hope. We could all use some of that nowadays.” Astra murmured, the mug over his mouth muffling his sigh.
“Murderer!” a roar struck out from the chant, adjourning the merry crowd. “No one wants you as our hero, you murderer!” an elder tattered in a rag with a wine bottle in hand screeched across the tavern. His unkempt beard dyed cherry, while his wrinkled face reddened and his eyelids blackened.
Murderer, Six thought as he glanced towards the old man.
“Murderer?” Astra stuttered. “Well, engaging in unsavoury acts are unavoidable for us Sentinels at times,” Astra said calmly, sobered up ever so slightly from the gaffer’s curses, “but I assure you, sir, we are no ruthless murdere–”
“Some may have forgiven and forgotten, and these young folks may not know, but I would never forgive what you’ve done, you monster!” the old man hiccupped while madly swinging his bottle about as if it was a club. “Deuslayer? Have you no shame? Name it as it is! Deuceslayer!” he shouted and spat. “You fancy yourself a dragon slayer? Better brandish kinslayer as well!” his face further enflamed as he cursed. “Your steel slew no gods, but your own blood!”
With each passing swear, the once jollied ecliants and steelborns shrivelled down in silence and returned to their shadows, averting their culpable gazes away from the drunken gaffer and Six.
“Kinslayer?” Astra muttered. “Boss?” he guided a puzzled look at Six.
His Wing Sentinel stared at him with a despondent gape as if he was a child. The elder admonished him as a judge with a bottle for gravel. The cheerers forfended their adorating gazes and turned coats on him. Though he was a lone quarry cornered in the cramped cage of a tavern, Six sighed a brief breath and sipped on his goblet. In the capital of steel, these damning sights were haunting ghosts to him.
“Let us return. I must pay a visit elsewhere early morn of the morrow,” With his cup emptied, Six stood up and marched firmly towards the tavern door. The horde of silent patrons split in half amongst them, clearing a narrow path for Six.
Atop the table, Astra frantically flailed his arms and mug in hand like a jester. “Wait–”
“Stand down. You’re making a mockery of yourself.” Six lectured the youngling sternly, while his hand encroached on the wooden handle, nearly crushing it within his palm. “Let us leave.” He commanded.
As if Six’s words were chirps to his ears, Astra further stomped on the table disgruntledly. He hurled his mug towards the old man, though his slackened mind and trembling arms didn’t throw it far. “But Boss? As your Wing, I can’t just walk and let walk a man who would utter such falseho–”
“Stand down. Sentinel Astra.” His voice echoed thru the hovel, shuddering the wordless bearers. As though Six’s tongue was a wand and his words were spells, the Wing hastily descended from the table, quivering his feathers as he flew down. With his Wing landed on the dirt, Six faced down at him earnestly. “Leave him be.” Six commanded once more. “The man speaks truth.”
“What?” Astra stared dumbfoundedly.
Looking down at his subordinate crawling on grime and surrounded by preying glares, Six lengthily sighed. “For a longstanding and keen officer like yourself, I presumed you’d learn of it already.” He tilted the fractured knob. A light gate has never felt so heavy to Six.
The countless gates of Sentry had impeded Six at every chance. The door opened and graced the little tavern with the night breeze and illuminating moonshine, awakening a few dozing drunkards. The creaking clatter of a wooden door jolted against stone walls and the haunting winter gale prickling his face, ever cursed his mind to remember that detestable night.
Six leered back at Astra, fleetingly. “The one person that crass old man and everyone else so cherished... I brought about her death,” he said faintly. No name was uttered but it didn’t need to. “We’re leaving. Now.”
The young Sentinel sat still for an instant. Though Astra’s purple eyes were blanked and jaws agape, the other patrons merely avoided Six’s glare and coughed awkwardly into their cups.
A brief moment passed, and Astra slowly stood up and carefully dusted his garment. “My apologies, Lord Prime…” Astra bowed his head faultlessly and walked steadfastly towards Six.
His Wing Sentinel no longer ported the same cheery grin as always and in its place adorned a sombre guise, yet Six believed it would not last. Where have I seen this before? Six pondered.
Six and Astra stepped foot out onto the now snowy pavement. The shadow of the tavern no longer cast over him, yet the elder’s curses ever lingered. His boots sunk into the snow as he walked, and the sword at his waist buried halfway, yet they bore little concern to Six. The alley where the tavern resided was empty and frozen. It bore no souls, not even beggars, nor street torches, it was solely graced by the fair moonglow and glistering stars. Yet its solemn serenity was plagued by endless screeches. His words rang like clashing blades within Six’s head, nauseating him yet it wouldn’t cease no matter how far he fled. Be quiet, muttered Six as he glanced back lastly. His keen sight pierced passed the many crevices of the tavern’s door whereupon he saw the elder still flailing his wine bottle and bellowing, though trails of blood seeped from his lips as he gnawed his teeth, and cascades of tears streamed from his wrathful eyes as his curses turned to cries.
“Monster! Murderer! Kinslayer! Ark damns you! Stella curses you! May dragon flames burn you–”