What a headache, he sighed, still cladded in a white coat that hadn’t been washed for weeks. The recent revelation that he learned of still plagued his mind.
The chamber he sat in was wide, silent, and colourless. Shelves packed with dishevelled tomes, and tables lifting dusty trophies littered throughout the room. He stretched his sore back and rested his arms on the soft armrests of his mighty seat while kicking his legs onto his vast desk. His personal table held splintered pens and broken quills, which sat atop battered sketchbooks spoiled with scribbles of untold constructs. At the edge of his desk, a wooden nameplate lay coated in dust, and on it was carved the name, “Six-Two-Six / Sitri Asai”, and below them was the title, “Head of Newspecs”.
Sitri has been in his office for days, to the dismay of his frail joints, yet to the elation of his spirited mind. What could it be? he sighed louder, pinching his aching forehead.
“Excuse me, My Lord? Did you call for me?” A silky and tempered voice whimpered from the end of the chamber. The steelborn has been stationed there since sunset and every other that rose before. Coated entirely in black vestment over her pale skin, and armed with a longsword at her waist, she was ever still and quiet as a statue, yet for the many days she has dwelt under his roof, he could neither remember her name nor her worth.
“What? No, no, no. Ignore what I said.” The shrunken man mumbled. His golden fringe floated over his silver eyes, concealing his grimace though itching his forehead in return.
“Very well, My Lord.” She answered dutifully. She resumed her stance and her rosy eyes stared off at the wall, where mounted the head of a dragon with scarlet scales, its skull sized to that of a wine barrel yet Sitri felt as if its aura merely rivalled that of a house gecko. Though it was his private quarter, the memory of who gifted him that trophy no longer lingered.
How about you just leave? Why are you even here? he knew she was there to ensure his safety and diligence, yet the courage to proclaim it was not housed in his husk.
The lone thought occupying his gifted dome was the fable hearsay from a madman. The company, Newspecs, for many decades, has brought forth many creations that defied the decrees mandated by nature and Ark. Colossal serpents housed beneath the earth and sand. Beasts in fleeces of steel that roamed every inch of the land. Scaly enchantresses of the sea who allured men into the depths with their embrace. Yet despite all of his novel makings, the idea of a rod that spits embers has never flickered past his mind and onto his design manuscript. I bet he would be so proud if I could… In fact maybe not, Sitri yawned and scratched his head, tearing away strands of his golden fleece and smiting down the dwelling lice.
The dull morning that Sitri so cherished ended abruptly with an unwanted knock on the door that he had been dreading for many sleepless nights. The thump on the wooden shell was particularly grating to his ears.
“Please enter,” Sitri shouted courteously, though reluctantly, and hastily descended his boots from the comfort of his cushioning desk. Could you? he gestured at the rusty steelborn, whose feet have been firmly planted at the same spot for hours.
Her pale face lit up and her pinkish orbs dilated. Sitri could tell she would have hopped up in joy if it weren’t for her station and his imposing presence. If you wanted to stretch, just say so, Sitri derided wordlessly, refusing to meet her elated gaze.
The guard in black reached for the door hastily and opened it.
Squinting his white eyes, Sitri tried to discern the silhouette before it entered his quarters, yet he soon wished he hadn't. It wasn’t the object who haunted his recent evenings, for it was less worrisome and rather more bothersome. To think that he had bothered withdrawing his legs from his table for such a pesky visitor. Sitri winced, perhaps picking up one of the many pens resting on his desk and stabbing his own eyes would have been kinder than treating them with the approaching sight.
“Lord Sitri,” the guest bowed, though dastardly, at least Sitri deemed so. “My apologies for disturbing your morn.” The man’s veneer of benevolence coated over his usual grin. He was buried in an impeding and thick coat of brown, with a blue scarf strangling his neck. If Sitri hadn’t known better, he would have thought that a muddy jester had come to offer their service.
“Bao,” Sitri grunted. His dastard grin was the second to last image he wanted to be recorded in his dazed morning mind.
“And who’s your lovely lady in waiting?” he turned his attention towards the attendant. “I believe I haven’t had the pleasure. Lovely to meet you. My name is Bao Lanlong, though perhaps I wouldn’t mind gifting my serial-name to a polished gem such as yourself.” He stroked his fingers through her dark strands. She was quite tall yet he still glanced down at her from above as if she was a dwarf.
Damn creep, Sitri cursed. His flirtatious habit has not waned in the slightest, no matter how awkward it is for prying eyes.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, My Lord. My name is Wendy.” The girl murmured, and then Sitri was finally reminded of her name. For a silent and stoic guard, she was wholly enamoured by his crimson eyes and brunet head.
“A beautiful name for an even fairer lady. Your beauty is wasted here standing guard for this man–”
“Do you plan on stating your needs? Or did you only come to seduce my staff and insult my seat?” Sitri emptied his gorge, startling the entranced lady and her charmer.
“Of course not. My apologies.” He leered coolly, seemingly twisted into a changed person altogether. “Wendy dear, could you please give us two some time to ourselves?” he asked kindly, reverting to his prince charming farce.
“Of course, My Lord.” Wendy stuttered and blushed, trying poorly to avert her gaze away from Bao’s. “May I, Lord Sitri?” She requested Sitri to withdraw, though it appeared she had already received the order from elsewhere.
Get out of my sight, Sitri prisoned the thought inside his mind and instead nodded nonchalantly.
“I’ll excuse myself then, Lord Sitri, Lord Bao.” She bowed dutifully and reached for the entrance. Bao winked at her before the door shut wholly, parting her with one last blush.
“A beautiful attendant you got yourself there. I have always thought you were more a man of steel than flesh.” Bao laughed, still staring at the sealed gate as if he could stare through the wall and reach Wendy if he willed it hard enough.
“I thought the same of you.” Sitri mocked the ecliant in heat. He was never one to pay heeds to any less than an ecliant.
Bao didn’t refute his remark. “How have you been, old friend?” He smiled widely, yet it felt hollow.
“How have I been? We met less than a week ago.” Sitri didn’t return the false favour.
“Accept and return the pleasantries, Lord Sitri.” Bao held his smile. It was becoming faintly unsettling for how long his beam was enduring.
“Your pleasantries are worth as much as a dented bronze ark. Perhaps even less.” If he could, Sitri would have spat at his eery grin.
“A single ark could go a long way.” The guest laughed, albeit by himself.
“Not when it comes out of your purse.” Sitri clicked his tongue.
His laughter ceased, and his smile folded. “Ark, save me,” Bao sighed and cursed. “I could tell that cooping in this office all day has really done wonders for your speech.” His sly scowl reminded Sitri of days gone by.
“And I could tell that all of your charitable works have done wonders for your ego as well.”
“You’re the only man who could twist acts of philanthropy to such trivial fatuity.” Bao’s sigh ever grew, as he took a seat opposed to Sitri, without awaiting approval. “Well, perhaps these deeds would indeed be beneath you. Cleansing the realm, and feeding the poor and orphaned, they must all be foreign words to such a brilliant mind,” Bao chuckled in contempt.
“You think your forged goodwill and tributes give you the right to preach from that loathsome mouth? Yet to be cleansed of heinous profanities?”
“My donations save the lives of ecliants throughout Xearth, while your creations only sowed havoc,” his mockery hurled at Sitri from across the table. “I have the right to judge you and your ilk.”
The mettle to stain the host’s pride while lodging in his walls and under his roof, the uncouth fool had not changed at all. “If it is so terrible, then why come back to Newspecs? Finally out of money from running your charity and now wish to reap the profit from the company’s destructions?” Sitri laughed, albeit by himself.
“Never,” Bao muttered gravely, even Sitri was taken aback. “I’d never return to this forsaken hole even if Ark himself willed it.” Bao avowed as he had once long ago.
Sitri could not find the right words to rebut. Affronted or disheartened, he could not tell nor see, as his breath palpitated and vision reddened. He was the golden boy armed with a sharp tongue and blessed with a bright mind, yet this frivolous philanderer sat before him as if it was still his office, unbothered and unbowed. He cracked his knuckles and squeezed his stomach, as it took all Sitri had to not shout or perhaps laugh at this outlandish affair.
“I didn’t come here as a patron of Newspecs. I came here as a friend of yours.” Bao claimed, yet lying for his need was hardly ever beneath him.
“State your business then,” Sitri said while still recouping his breath.
The unwelcomed guest sat up straight and with his bloodred orbs, stared resolutely into Sitri’s silvers. “You probably already know what I am going to say.”
“More or less,” Sitri yawned.
“About the recent meeting,” Bao took in a deep breath as if the air was in shortage. Though Sitri wouldn’t have inhaled that intensely if he were him, after all, his chamber had hardly been dusted and aerated for days now, yet he also did not want to warn the fool. “The whole ordeal about the watcher and his tale about a wand. What do you make of it?” He glowered at the framed dragon’s head with puzzled eyes and twitching nostrils, perhaps he believed the foul stench to seep from the mounted skull.
“You fancy wielding weapons of destruction now?” Sitri goaded the scoundrel.
“Not quite. Merely intrigue of the story it bears.” Bao averted his gaze back.
Bao shrugged his shoulders flippantly. “Even if you ask me, there isn’t much information to go after. The man was most likely delirious from the traumatic event. Never trust the words of a man who escaped death by sheer luck.”
“I know you don’t believe that.”
“What I believe does not matter. The facts squandered my beliefs.”
“You talk as if you’ve experienced death before.” The crook’s smirk returned.
“You don’t exactly need to be impaled by a spear to know that it hurts like hell,” Sitri explained exasperatedly, for stabs and gashes were strangers to a man of the white coat and inked pen as him. “But I’ll entertain your fantasy. If what the man saw was true, then it would mean that a group of ragtag rebels have acquired weapons that even the greatest minds of the Centum Order haven’t conjured yet. A frightful thought to utter, don’t you think?”
“Indeed,” Bao muttered.
“However, weapons are still tools and wielded by fragile humans at that. As long as the Centum Order bears superior men and beasts in our force, no amount of magical trinkets with burning tips would save them.” Bao was the last person that Sitri needed to give a sermon on the fragility of humans, yet he’d take any chance to lecture over Bao.
“Flesh could only go so far. You need to fight steel with steel.”
“Was that why you meld and hewn the meterases? How did steel on steel turn out for you?” Sitri asked mordantly. If it weren’t for Bao’s debauched mind, Xearth wouldn’t have been swarmed with those metal pests and be led into a long sorrowful period of economic collapse, The Hoary Woe, and Sitri wouldn’t have to put in more time in devising preventive measures.
“We all make mistakes,” Bao smirked, his proof of an Ace shielding him from blame for negligence. “Mine at the very least was still less egregious than the abominations you’ve let roamed the seas and sands.”
“Not my greatest inventions, I must admit.” Sitri chuckled with his arms raised straight as if he was held under arrest by the Sentinels. For the countless golden discoveries that Newspecs have made in the name of the Centum Order, there were countless blunders as well.
“The powers we’ve conjured, they are never ours. Many strengths we’ve created, yet they were bestowed on others. Engraved into others’ flesh, and not our own.” Bao poured his heart and thoughts out.
“Your point being?”
“I believe the swords, bows, and shields far surpass any pesky metal dogs, man-eating fishmen, and fire-breathing reptiles we’ve made. We need less of those and more of steels.” Bao said, his poise collected yet his voice faintly cracked.
Rarely could Sitri witness a man who spends his days as a heated mutt be this serious. If any other ecliant had worded that verse, perhaps Sitri would have been awestruck, yet he’d give no clemency nor praise to the fool sitting afront him.
“I thought you said you don’t want nor need one?” Sitri asked.
“I don’t.” The visitor claimed.
Yeah sure, Sitri rolled his eyes. “Listen, Bao. This whole ordeal is not possible.”
“And why have you given up already?” The meddling ecliant would not quit his pointless interrogation. “I saw you at the hearing. That wasn’t the face of a man who yields at the impossible.” Bao commended Sitri.
If he thought that backhanded praise would be enough to sway Sitri’s verdict, he was sorely mistaken.
“If you’re so curious then make one yourself.” Sitri huffed tiringly, this pointless dialog has gone on for far too long, for far too little worth.
Bao laughed at his remark and swayed his eyes around Sitri’s chamber of tomes. “Be serious, Sitri. Even back in Harford, you were the thinking one, and I the talking. All of my finest works were team efforts.”
A husk whose dome was their only redeeming worth, that inference irked Sitri though it shouldn’t. “Well, with your endless pocket, you should have no problem assembling the finest minds in Xearth for your little group projec–”
A piercing thump on the desk left its surface dented, and the once-seated guest now stood tall, staring down at the host with a preying glare as if he were his foe. “I need you to help me, Sitri.” Bao roared. His shout reverberated throughout the chamber.
Sitri even caught a faint shriek from beyond the door, akin to a lily-livered maiden instead of a silent guardian.
“Such tools that could raze the land are unneeded to me. Yet its origin is an enigma that plagues my mind.” Bao declared, his breath paced erratically while his pupils trembled wildly. Even a dishonest man could make such a face at times. “I need to know it, and you’re among the few whom I trust could find the answer.” His tenor calmed ever so slightly and lapsed back to that of a Lord, instead of a wild beast. “You owe me that much.”
“You can’t just keep playing that same card,” Sitri mumbled while staring down at the ashen floor of stone.
“I’m still a man of trade after all. I require my recompense in full.” Bao chuckled softly.
“For Ark’s sake. This is why I hate talking with you.” Bao groaned, followed by a faint chuckle as well.
“That’s odd? I’ve been told that I’m an absolute joy to converse with,” Bao bragged, yet it felt less to uplift himself but to belittle Sitri. “Unlike a certain loner I know who couldn’t even hold a conversation with a girl to save his life back in university,” he leered jeeringly at
You just have to bring this up… Sitri’s face reddened slightly, whether out of shame or rage, he could not tell. It has been over a decade since the two graduated from Harford University, the most prestigious institute for scholars in all the realm. Yet though it bore gifted scholars commanded by brilliant Arbiters, thousands of ancient scrolls and tomes, and a colossal archive that trumped over all else in Xearth, they could only teach Sitri to think but not to talk. It pained Sitri to admit, but he perhaps learned the most in that regard from the garrulous clown afront him.
“Unlike a certain slacker who enrolled in an easy department, the Stairs of Construct took every single morsel of energy I had.” Sitri retorted. The Stairs of Construct was a department of study in Harford that he attended for years in his youth, and if it hadn’t been for its teachings on the arts of craft and smith, Sitri could never have hoped to rebuild Newspecs. Yet he often reminisced on whether it was truly worth it. Sitri traded all in the pursuit to attain knowledge, and now his sacrifices had bear fruit, yet he could still not reclaim what was lost.
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“Don’t you dare slander the Stairs of Antiquity and Geology like that. There’s nothing more crucial than understanding our history and land. It separates us from the divided mass amongst us, and illiterate barbarians out East.” Bao rebutted.
Though his gift for the crafts nigh-rivalled that of Sitri, Bao throughout his entire tenure at Harford found more interest in the subject of history and refused to further hone his gift. Yet, even so, he was still able to raise Newspecs from the ashes alongside Sitri. Some people are just born lucky, and that injustice still vexed Sitri to this day. If Bao had become an even more skilled craftsman than Sitri, perhaps he would not even bother being alive today.
Bao sprung up from his seat, and faced the proclaimed historian, though his face merely reached Bao’s chin. “You only get to say that since you’re the only graduate from that department that came out not adorning the cloak of a common foot soldier or lifeless watcher.” Sitri jeered.
“Perhaps,” Bao grinned, his gaze softened for a brief instant. “The girls in our department were far prettier than yours though.”
“Well, at least our facilities were finer.”
“Our dorm was spryer.”
“Our quarters were bigger.”
“We had more eyes and able men.”
“We received more funding.”
“Our Arbiter was nicer.”
“The Headmaster favoured our Stairs over yours.”
“Our lives were freer.”
“Our minds were more polished.”
Their childish back-and-forth chatter went on for a while, longer than it ever should have. Neither would give an inch until the two were sweating and panting relentlessly. Their incessant gasps soon turned to chortles, and those grew to laughter. Neither could seem to find what was particularly humorous about the engagement, yet Sitri could not quell his arching lips. This same throb that ached his abdomen and creased his cheeks reminded Sitri of his days in Harford as its student and not its Arbiter of Construct, when merriment came easier to him, and the guest before him was not merely an acquaintance. As time corrodes even the tallest of towers and mightiest of mountains, their bond fell to ruin when Bao left Newspecs to pursue his ideal of steel. Yet for this fleeting moment, perhaps relishing in it would not be too bad.
“So are you in?” Bao asked, wiping away the tears from his eyelids.
“What if I say no?” Sitri responded, holding on to his stomach as the throbbing subsided.
“Nothing. What could a humble Lord such as myself even do to the Head of Newspecs?” Bao shrugged flippantly, it was startling for him to give up that simply.
“You’re not making this any easier,” Sitri sighed, accompanied by a tired chuckle. “I’d consider looking into it. No promises. I’m a busy man after all.” Aside from his post at the helm of Newspecs and his seat at the round of the Aces, Sitri was also the Arbiter of Construct at Harford University. His work and time are valued greatly by the Centum Order, and he could not simply disregard them all in favour of one man’s delusion.
“You’re fooling nobody. I know you’d do it,” Bao smirked, the knave dared to deny Sitri’s claim. Yet if there were one man to understand and share Sitri’s duties and worries, it would be the grinning jester before him.
“You evidently do not remember how petty I could be. So you better cease any further yammering before I make you remember,” Sitri warned Bao cheerily, a rather pitiful warning.
Bao chortled lightly at the caution, to the displeasure of Sitri even though it was expected. “I hate saying it to you of all people, but thank you.” The man embroidered with a crass tongue and stony mask mumbled gauchely with his eyes averted from Sitri’s. Swiftly followed by a brash cough, though he wasn’t fooling anyone for once with his paltry act. Sitri could tell it was an arduous effort for Bao to utter those two words, even Sitri wouldn’t return the goodwill if it were him.
“If only Wendy was here as my witness for this momentous occasion.” Sitri wept theatrically, befitting for the recipient.
“Don’t push it,” Bao said, his voice no longer wavered and tongue-tied, though his face did reddened to a tint that even Wendy couldn’t reach.
His sulking face, plumped and bright like a tomato, reminded Sitri of when Bao was still polishing his flirtatious craft through gruelling trials. His abundant failures brought great joy and amusement to Sitri during his laborious years in Harford. The bold flirt even dared to seduce the previous Headmaster, though perhaps that was one amongst many that he did not regret.
A gentle yet firm knock on his chamber’s door, accompanied by a call from beyond it robbed Sitri of his fleeting remembrance. “Lord Sitri, your guest has arrived,” the voice was Wendy’s, now Sitri was certain of.
Is he here? The mere thought of him aggrieved Sitri’s dome far more than any migraines could. Though his quarters were wide, and lone he and Bao housed it, Sitri felt as if the stony walls were suffocating him, that the pens and quills were skewering him, and that the dragon’s head would be reborn from a blaze and devour him. He gulped and wiped sweats off his head, while his pupils quivered frantically. Sitri struck his own chest, hoping that his forceful might would quell his rampaging breath and quaking heart, yet it couldn’t, for Sitri did not inherit the same might as him. The strike merely brought Sitri further pain onto his frail body and a puzzled stare from Bao.
“You were booked today?” Bao asked.
“Unfortunately,” Sitri mumbled dully. “You should leave.”
“Very well then. We’ll keep in touch.” The man who speaks to upon hundreds and thousands for a living bid his farewell. He has always known when to cease meddling in impertinent matters, that even Sitri could not deny him of. Bao carefully brushed his coat of brown and graciously placed his seat back in place for the impending guest, before sauntering back towards the entry.
As Bao grasped the doorknob, it burst open inward, almost slamming onto his face if he hadn’t stepped back swiftly. From the other side, a grand figure emerged, adorned in his old navy coat beset with badges and holes. Sitri had known him for decades, though that fleeting period pales compared to the coat that has warmed him for over a century. The great yet frightening Lord marched into Sitri’s office, his colossal stature could scarcely fit through the doorframe. Squeezing behind the giant was Wendy. She appeared to be even more rattled than Sitri. Though her mouth was agape, not one word would leave her lips, and though her arms were flapping ceaselessly, not one finger dared to stop the intruder. If this was any other occurrence, Wendy would have been fired and caged, though even Sitri could hardly fault her considering who her mark was.
“Lord Six?” Bao spoke composedly. None would be able to tell that he was almost struck unconscious by a wooden board. “What a delightful surprise meeting you here. How fare was your journey to the Dragon’s Ranges?” He greeted courteously, though only in words and not posture.
“It was quite an arduous expedition, Lord Bao. If not for the arks that you had contributed to our cause, I fear that the worst would have come.” The Prime Sentinel repaid accordingly. Though his dim smile greeted Bao’s, Sitri could feel an unnerving glower looming down on him.
“You have no need to undermine yourself, Lord Six. Winged reptiles and barbaric raiders could never hope to match our peerless Prime Sentinel.” The flatterer did what he did best.
“It is unneeded to hold me in such high regard. Yet, thank you. May the trust between the Sentinels and the Lanlong Foundation last evermore.” The Prime Sentinel held his dim smile, unsettling Sitri.
“As long as I have arks to spend, I’ll devote all to the greater good for all ecliants,” Bao stated. His strangely earnest face made it feel as if it was a declaration to the entirety of Nix. “Though don’t expect me to pour in as much arks as the Lady of Eden. I know my limit as well.” It didn’t take long or much for Bao’s face to recur cheerily.
The blank smile that has endured since he stepped foot within this quarters was the Prime Sentinel’s sole response to Bao’s attempt at joking. However, that was still a better reaction than Sitri would have received.
The magnetic Bao was stunted and mellowed when confronted with an immovable wall. Even his irrepressible mouth which knew no limits could no longer stall for him nor Sitri. “I wish that we could have more time to confer about our partnership, but it seems you two have other business to attend to. I’ll bother you no longer then.” Bao leered back at Sitri, discreetly yet dejectedly.
“My thanks.” The Prime Sentinel bid his gratitude, his smile unchanged.
“Whatever,” Sitri mumbled as quietly as he could.
“I bid you well, Lord Six, Lord Sitri.” Bao bent pithily. If it weren’t for the nauseating air of the chamber suffocating him, Sitri would have scorned him for his feigned pleasantry.
“As do I, Lord Bao.” The Lord of All Sentinels said, in monotony, with his smile held high.
“Bye.” Sitri said, in monotony, with his eyes rolled down.
It was time for Lord Bao to depart, and Wendy escorted him out. Sitri would have wished if those two could stay and bear witness to the forthcoming quandary, but he had neither the strength nor humility to plead. The gate locked, the windows draped over, and no shadows but one of a giant, a craven, and a dragon lingered.
“Six-Two-Six,” with his smile vanishing wholly, the Sixth Archetype uttered Sitri’s serial-name. It is a customarily uncouth conduct to enact upon a Lord without their endorsement, yet Sitri could do naught but wallow in silence.
“Father,” Sitri replied meekly. Though they shared no root nor blood, Sitri, alongside his six stepsiblings, has been under the care of Lord Six ever since they were mere babes.
“How have you been?” Father asked. His face was as cold and grim as ever despite his gleaming eyes and mane of gold. It brought shivers down Sitri’s spine as if he were a child again.
“I am well, Father. Your kindness warms me.” Sitri stuttered nervously.
“That’s good to hear.”
As it commonly went with all of their discussion, few words were spoken and a long silence ensued.
Father hasn’t moved a step since Bao departed, nor has he taken a seat despite being cladded in thick garments and armed with iron. It is Sitri’s quarters, after all, perhaps Father’s principle would not permit him to rest before the host permitted first. Shivers and sweats returned at the mere thought of dispensing orders to his Father, yet he could hardly stomach this lasting and awkward stillness any longer.
“How can I be of help, Father?” Sitri stood up from his seat and asked, his muscles tensed up all the while. “It must be a matter of utmost paramount for you to reach out to me as soon as you return.” He smiled wryly.
“Nothing to that degree. Only a few matters I require reports on.” Father’s glare pierced and broke Sitri’s falsehood.
“Understood. How can I be of service then, Father?” Sitri offered, holding himself as calmly as his pounding heart and raging breath would allow. If not for the grand table separating the two, Sitri’s quivering legs would have been exposed to the one man who could not see him in this state.
“The recent expedition has further proven to me that we need to reinforce and invest in more defensive measures against wild threats.”
Shit, Sitri cursed, knowing what was to come.
“Provide me with an update. How much progress have you made in that regard?” Though Father stood still on the other side of the desk, Sitri felt as if he had been slowly encroaching toward him.
“About that,” Sitri mumbled while scratching his neck profusely and staring downwards at his boots. “There are a few prototypes that we’ve constructed, but we’re unsure of their effectiveness and efficiency on the field,” he murmured like a toddler.
Sitri didn’t expect much nor did he long for his Father’s acknowledgment any longer. Yet a solemn sigh lifted his head upwards, whereby the glimpse of a familiar grimace painted with frustration and disappointment brought Sitri to the point of repelling his churning stomach.
“But we are devising many upcoming plans, and I’m sure they would be exactly what you need–” Sitri’s unnerved ramble did not last long, as Father’s glare forced Sitri to cease promptly.
“My apologies, Father. I’ve been so preoccupied with work at Newspecs and Harford that I haven’t been able to,” Sitri mumbled. He has taken on far too many titles around Xearth, that he could scarcely fulfill all of his duties in time.
“Enough.” His Lord Father sighed. “You’re a Lord now. This is an act unbecoming of one.”
“I’m sorry.”
Father further sighed. “You alone is a Lord yet you could still learn a thing or two from your brothers and sisters.”
You think I don’t know that? Sitri could never seem to imitate his siblings’ efforts that Father so cherished. He was not as gifted in combat as Sarianna, nor could he be as benevolent and enchanting as Sygmond.
With the table as his guise, Sitri clenched his fists tightly though his small and frail palms could not endure for long. “My apologies.”
“I said enough.” Father worded firmly. “No one cares for your incessant apologies. Do so only when it matters.”
“Understood, Father.”
“Compile and send the prototypes and documented research to my Wing. Even inept gears would suffice more than none at all.” Father ordered.
“As you wish, Father.”
Sitri stared dully forward, he could hardly keep his eyes awake and dry. This short meeting felt as if it had lasted for hours, and Father’s few reprimands felt as if they were condemnations from Ark himself. Sitri hated every breath he took in his company, yet he wished not for this to end, as he knew not how long it would be until he next saw Father.
“If there’s no more report to be made, then I’d take my leave–”
Yet Father shared not the sentiment. He cared not for anything Sitri had to offer aside from the content within his dome.
“Wait, Father!” Sitri beseeched aloud, halting Father before he could take a single step. “There’s actually something,” despite his brash effort, Sitri then muttered quietly.
“What is it?” Father grumbled.
“Will you return home? It’s been so long since our family has seen you.” Sitri swallowed his fear and pleaded.
“No, I will not.” Father’s stated coldly.
“They wish to see you, Father.”
“I’m not as needed there as I am on the field.”
“Please, Father. Sister Sarianna would not cease praying for your safe return,” Sitri explained. Though Sarianna possessed prodigious martial might, her heart fluttered too easily. “Her work as an Arbiter is severely wounded by it. If this persists, she may even be stripped of her title.”
Sarianna was too a professor at Harford University. As the Arbiter of Might, she drilled the art of combat into her pupils, yet for all her valour, she still couldn’t seem to quell her emotion and be as merciless on the arena as Father.
“She’s no longer a cradled child. A mere inconvenience such as that should not be weighing on her mind and hindering her duty.” Father chided sternly, yet it felt different from usual, as if it was meant for ears not only his. “That goes to you as well.”
“If not for Sarianna, then for Arwyle. His days at Harford are coming to an end. He means to follow your footsteps and become a Sentinel.” Sitri’s voice broke as he further begged.
Arwyle was the youngest and purest of the seven. Hard-headed and earnest, he resembled Sitri in his youth, always vied for Father’s admiration yet none he did were enough.
“He can do as he pleases,” Father responded jadedly as if it was the dullest matter he could engage in.
“His graduation is coming soon. All seven of us would be there for him.” Though Father’s lack of interest vexed Sitri slightly, he could not forfeit yet. “I’m sure he’d love to see you there with us.”
“I have other matters to attend to. Send him my regards.”
“But–”
Once more, with a mere glare descended from the giant, Sitri’s words of defiance ceased to release. “Yes, Father,” Sitri answered, despondently.
Facing Sitri’s lamented visage, Father snorted feebly. “I suppose I owe you and your siblings a reason at the very least.” He cleared his throat before proceeding. “I’ve been tasked by the Prophet to pursue and capture the uprising rebels. This would take me far away from Harford.”
“So you’ve heard of it as well,” Sitri muttered. He wasn’t especially surprised at the news. Aside from the Lady of Novathens, he could hardly think of any else better to hunt down the dissident threat.
“And I’ve also heard about the supposed fire trinket that they brandished. No doubt that subject has piqued your interest.” Father added.
Sitri wasn’t especially surprised at this either. As a man whose dancefloor is the battlefield and his partner is coated in iron, subjects of weaponry are the lone instances when Father would confide in Sitri.
“I wouldn’t go that far–” Sitri stumbled on his words midway, he could not muster the courage to finish it. “Yes, it has, Father.” He mumbled, facing the floor once more.
“What do you make of it?”
Again? Sitri dreaded such interrogation, even more so coming from his Lord Father. “Right now I do not have sufficient data to confirm whether such a weapon could realistically be created.”
Father’s eminent scowl and sigh reappeared, prickling Sitri’s stomach when it had just soothed.
“But with enough time, I have no doubt that I’d be able to recreate one not only on par but even better than theirs,” Sitri defended himself hastily, all the while trembling slimly.
“That’s unneeded. Focus on the current task at hand.” Father interjected as he always does.
“Yes, Father.”
Even Sitri himself could no longer comprehend why he so desperately grasped and longed for such approval from his Father. Such thoughts should have vanished the moment he assumed the helm at Newspecs and became his own Lord. Father would not acknowledge him nor his siblings, yet he would neither abandon his house. Why, Father? Sitri’s muscles further strained and his fists clamped even tighter, harming himself alone.
“Once I return from apprehending the insurgents, I expect news of progress then.” Father had no more to say and marched back towards the entryway.
“Of course, Father.”
Father did not await Sitri’s parting grant. Though he bore a colossal frame, his stomps toward the doorway still remained prim and dignified. The gate unbolted, and from beyond it revealed a crouching and startled lass with her ear pressed against the wooden surface. Wendy’s widened eyes and agape jaw when glanced up at Father were no different to Sitri’s. Stupid girl, Sitri palmed his face.
“Good day, Lord Sitri.” Father fared his parting verses, outwardly unbothered by the guard’s wayward conduct.
“May Ark bless your travels, Lord Six.” Sitri fared his own. If it weren’t for Father’s presence, perhaps he would have punished the prying wretch.
Father parted without looking back. His footsteps in the hallway and down the stairs could still be heard from Sitri’s chamber.
Lone when the sound of his roaring paces had waned, Sitri and Wendy locked the gate and sighed breaths of respite.
“My Lord?” Wendy gazed at Sitri, her rosy eyes and pale cheeks had regained their colour. “Are you unwell? Would you like–”
“It’s nothing.” Sitri fell his rears back down onto his throne. He panted harsher than ever, for his legs were sore and his coat drenched in streams of his own making.
“Yes, My Lord.” Wendy obediently resumed her position.
“Actually,” a request arose from his frantic dome. “Bring me a bottle of wine. And some peach pie. And a glass of orange juice. And an apple.” Sitri huffed madly, clutching to his soaked temple.
Wendy’s stiff face turned puzzled. She had just retook her station, yet now she had to break from it once more. “Would that be all, My Lord?”
Sitri could tell how confused she was by the demand from her stuttering and creased forehead. Don’t you dare give me that look, Sitri cursed in silence.
“Yes. And I want ones shipped from Arkis Port and there only.” Sitri listed his demands. Fruits and beverages from that port city near Harford have always tasted the finest. Sitri began to salivate at the mere thought. If it weren’t for them, his youth would have been bleaker indeed.
“As you wish, My Lord.” Wendy bowed and obeyed, though her masquerading gaze could yet mask her confusion and slight repulsion of the slobbering sight.
Wendy too parted from Sitri’s quarters. The dusty chamber alone housed Sitri, along with his mountains of shredded parchments, and ornamented carcasses.
Days has he been cramped in this musky room, and even he had his limit. Leaning his rear back to his torn seat and resting his feet on the scratched table, he felt the weight of his lids bolting his silver eyes shut.
In the darkness of his mind, he conjured shapes of inventions he had meant to fashion for Father.
But he could not ink the outlines, no matter how desperately he gripped onto his quill.
In the stillness of his thoughts, he shielded his ears from the endless drivels of men wearing smiling masks.
But no matter how tight he pressed his palms against his temple, the drivels of a certain irksome man would not vanish.
In the coldness of his dome, he braced a snowstorm that buried his steps. Afront him were glimmers of his family who faded in from winter haze, housed within a shed. Father. Sarianna. Stellon. Sygmond. Wylette. Tyra. Arwyle
But they greeted him not. Their skins were paler than snow and their eyes replaced with icicles, even though the shed shielded them from the raging blizzard.
Yet a grand shadow eclipsed the shed entirely. Its fangs were longer than his siblings’ bodies. Its wings were vast enough to flutter away the hail with each flap. Its magnificent body of scarlet could fit the whole shed within its stomach if it so wished. Though its marvel only spanned until its neck, for its skull lay bare, absent from sight, smell, and hearing. The hollowed creature stared at Sitri, or at least Sitri thought so. The dusky sockets where its eyes should have been, granted it a guise that displayed no feeling, no mercy, no malice. It lay its talons onto the roof of the shed, yet no one minded nor budged an inch.
The scaly giant then puffed its bony jaw wide enough to fit a carriage. From the crevices between its cheekbones and fangs, traces of light emanated that then birth trails of flickering embers.
Don’t… Please… Sitri knew. He was there after all.
The fiery beast unleashed a rain of fire down onto the shed. The light was so bright, that Sitri could barely keep his eyes open.
Sitri stood still as the shed burned under the snowstorm. Pillars and roofs were reduced to cinders, and glass was molten under the scorching storm. Though ashes rained upon and cloaked them whole, his family stood still underneath the burning roof. Sitri should shout out for them, yet he could not. The right words wouldn’t fall onto his tongue. The mind that he was so proud of had been seared by the heat, though it also melted away the snow that entrapped his feeble feet.
Perhaps I should join them…
Sitri’s eyes struck open. He gasped relentlessly with cold sweat trickling down his temple, with his blouse damper than before. The flames did not hound him from his nightmare, yet he could not cease to quiver.
Stop! Sitri fiercely jolted the table, yet it hurt him more than it did the wood. Leave me alone! He frustratingly pushed piles of manuscripts and scrolls off his table, yet he couldn’t do much before the coated dust blinded his eyes and stuffed his nose. How long must it take? He tensely grabbed his wooden nameplate, then shakily hurled it at the chamber’s end where mounted the dragon skull, yet his feeble toss did not nearly reach its mark, and the hollowed beast waited unharmed, grinning at him all the while.
It’s not my fault… It’s not my fault… It’s those wicked humans…