CHAPTER TWO
For any normal human, being thrust through the surface of even a simple, wooden table would invite such an amount of pain that a response would be beleaguered and without tact; Yet, in the case of Xorin, he moved towards the source of the injury, bringing himself upwards and to a standing position. He dusted the fragments of cherry wood away, flakes of paint sticking to his skin and blood pooling to the surface. Disregarding the stabbing pain in his face and throat from such shards, he was only bruised: not a sprain nor fracture of bone was endured.
“I take it you're from the Enlisted Conscripts.” Xorin retrieved Metatron from the cratered ground with immediacy, before continuing his speech. “What is it that you desire from me? I was not informed of your presence. I was not given any special request for my arrival either. Only that I needed to be in Grand City by the New Year.”
“You misunderstand, Xorin.” The woman approached, placing herself in front of the man. Her head hardly reached his chest, but the glaring of her eyes caused Xorin to reflexively dart his own away, finding her presence to be too intense for himself. “Your father informed us you left six months ago. You should've arrived many weeks prior to today. Where have you been? Off galavanting as some hero, I assume?”
“Miss…” Xorin took a step backward, giving a wave to a dismayed attendant, of whom was frantic and concerned for the damages of their property. He pulled from his pocket another cigarette. “I simply trained in preparation for the Guildsmen Trials, I also don't believe there's anything in law that dictates whether or not I can help people along the way.”
Tsk. “You're an arrogant bastard, you know that?” The woman placed her fist against Xorin’s stomach, pressing down against it with a modicum of force. “Either that, or you're suicidal. Which is it? Because, from what I can tell, you're too casual for someone who just crossed the Zero Sea, entered Grand City and was slammed through a damn table.”
Xorin blinked twice, a fair bit dumbfounded.
“Do you want me to be terrified? Because I am. Really, I am. I just don't have it in me to make a scene about it.” He explained, smoking from the same smoggy stick of cancer. “I don't even want to be a Guildsmen. But, I’m here now. Can I get your name, Miss?”
“Alyza Rosalind. From the Egoist Branch of the Lochlin Family. Refer to me as Commander Rosalind, or I'll break your neck.” She crossed her arms, continuing to glare in the direction of Xorin. It was unclear to him what he had done to earn her ire, though he understood that much needed to be explained to himself.
“My father—You’ve spoken to him, Commander?”
“Yeah, I have. The man is rotten, from what I can tell.” She took a few steps away from Xorin, waving the smoke of the cigarette away from her face. “The Trials were planned for your arrival. We began them six weeks ago. Hence, you're late.”
“That seems like poor planning on the part of the Guild Association. But, I understand. Do I need to return home, then?” Xorin questioned the woman, his eyes glancing at her form. She was an incredibly powerful Caster, that much he had ascertained, as the energy that exuded from her form was of such potency that it hurt to directly look in her direction. It was as if she were a profane existence, as the longer he neared her, the greater the pain became. He dropped back once more.
“No need. There's a supplementary trial that can be taken. It requires the approval of a member of each branch. It's… a bit much, but we need you in our organization. Your abilities are way too dangerous to let roam free. That is why Nero and Viktoriya spoke to you, right?”
“Hm. I believe that's a way to put it… What’s this supplementary trial supposed to be?”
“It doesn’t matter if you can’t get approval. You’ll have to perform a number of preliminary exams, as well as being determined fit for practice by a Magick Enforcer. It’s pretty simple.” Alyza explained the circumstances with exceedingly little care for the weight of her words. The appearance of a Magick Enforcer was something that not many can state has been pleasant, Xorin himself having only seen one such as a child. He shuddered at the thought, to which Alyza smirked.
“It seems you are capable of fear.”
“Uhm…” The attendant mumbled with a downcast expression, a tray of tea and foodstuffs displayed in front her hands. She was shaken greatly and afraid of the violence that had occurred briefly, even if such had been squashed in the very same moment it occurred. It was strange to Xorin, finding that—even in this city of unabashed grandiosity—there were still people who could not handle the nature of this world. “Your meal is ready…”
Xorin smiled. She was quite brave, it seemed.
“Appreciated, Miss Tenor,” He took note of her nametag, eliciting a small smile from the woman. “May I enjoy my meal, Commander? It’s been many weeks since my last proper meal and even longer since I’ve enjoyed a cup of tea. You’re welcome to join me; I’m paying.”
Tch. “Go on ahead,” Alyza waved him off, “You have five minutes, then we’ll be leaving.”
Xorin laughed. It was precisely as he expected her to react.
Alyza was painfully obvious with the expressiveness of her personality. He could tell she was an extraordinarily kind woman beyond her experience as a Commander and likely was surprised by his willingness to pay for her own meal. If she were genuinely hostile, the offering would’ve been taken as disrespect, but in this moment—He found that she had only attacked him on the basis that she had been annoyed, meaning all as such had been momentary.
“I’ll put out my cigarette, Commander.”
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“...Where are we going?”
Xorin mumbled softly, lagging half a dozen steps behind his superior. While he wasn't speaking quietly enough to rouse suspicion, it was nonetheless the case that Alyza had overheard him. He continued to babble regardless, which confused the woman, as it was clear that he was conversing with someone other than herself. Stranger, in spite of her ability to hear him rather well, the person he spoke to could not be heard—nor seen, for that matter.
She turned to face him, stopping in the center of a jewel-laden street. He was looking down, staring at what appeared to be a shoddy and ancient device; It was a compass, withered and aged into a state of complete disrepair. She assumed it may have had the capacity for communication… until it became obvious Xorin was deeply entranced by the object, not a sound emanating from it.
“Who are you speaking to?”
“It's unclear, to some degree,” He answered, his eyes still affixed to the object, “But I believe it to be the Compass itself. As odd as that sounds, my ability makes that possible.”
“...That's not possible, I'm afraid,” She narrowed her eyes towards his immediate confusion, “It’s an object, not a person. It doesn’t have a Core. It doesn’t have the ability to think, let alone speak.”
“Of course, of course. I expected such a response. I actually have many theories—a plentiful amount, in fact. If I may explain,” Xorin breathed heavily inwards, before beginning a detailed explanation, “In essence, I believe the object to be a self-sufficient, perpetuating energetic beast. It isn’t a person, but it doesn’t need to be. It’s an extension of my will, given its own shape and form through the accumulation of environmental energy. Also…”
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Xorin continued his spiel, in spite of the woman’s astonished expression. It wasn’t as though she believed him to any real degree, no—Alyza felt that Xorin was deeply troubled, her opinion on him becoming suddenly sympathetic towards his clear insanity. An energy-beast wasn’t possible for someone of such a low-caliber of Aura; It required many years of developing the capacity for Cycling, the ability of flowing energy in and out of an object, alongside the capacity of separating intentions from the individual’s own mind. Not to mention, self-sufficiency isn’t possible for projected energy, or at the very least, wasn’t in this scenario—Not a single droplet of Aura could be sensed from his Compass and Xorin equally had shown no signs of casting a Spell.
She could only smile, hoping that he wouldn’t notice her inner discomfort.
“You should smoke now.”
“Pardon?”
“There’s not much time before we reach the training grounds. You can’t smoke there.”
“...Much appreciated.” Xorin paused, relinquishing himself to another cigarette. It was a nasty habit he’d picked up, having been offered one by a compatriot his father at a young age. Knowing that he was to go for sometime without it left him uneasy, though much more pertinent information was necessary to cover, rather than dwelling on the loss of a vice. “Can you tell me more about this trial, Commander? The preliminary, I mean. I believe my capabilities to be sufficient, but I’d like to know what precisely I’ll be engaging in.”
Hmm. “I can explain that much, I’d say.” She began continuing her trek. They’d been heading North-East for several hours, little having been made in the realm of progress. Xorin hadn’t even known they were aimed for a training ground prior to her statement, though he supposed such things made sense. There’d be facilities of all kinds, especially those meant for testing combat skill and magical aptitude—not to mention, there’d be medical supplies in the event of injuries. “Do you enjoy wargames, Xorin?”
“...Pardon?”
“Wargames, Xorin. Do you enjoy them?”
“I can’t say I’ve ever played one. I’m not much for games, beyond simple puzzles.”
“Puzzles are good,” She laughed, “You seem like the type of person who would struggle with strategic thinking, I believe. Not that you’re unintelligent, merely…”
“I seem the type to become overwhelmed?”
“Nothing of the sorts,” She raised a brow, “I was simply going to say you seem too confident in your abilities and intelligence. What makes you feel I’d believe you’re easily overburdened?”
Xorin paused again, before giving a small chuckle.
“I wasn’t lying when I said I was afraid earlier. I’m honestly terrified all the time. I can barely tell when I’m awake anymore.”
“I heard of your time in Neverest. You failed to sleep for six weeks, correct? Is that when your unease started?”
“You know,” Xorin contemplated, before giving a melancholic smile, “I don’t think it was.”
“Well…” Alyza decided not to ruminate on such matters, continuing the previous conversation to avoid any awkwardness. Her expression, however, briefly faltered, sympathetic towards his plight. “The preliminary trial is a simple wargame. It’s a form of chess that’s been given the ability to connect to the soul. Makes the person act on instinct. The longer you play, the more damage you take spiritually. Of course, the soul being eternal makes that completely safe, so you needn’t worry.”
“I’m guessing it’s incredibly painful, is what you’re getting at.”
“It’s a terrible experience.”
Xorin inhaled on the cigarette, having realized he’d been holding it for several minutes. He turned towards Alyza, who took several steps back in avoidance of the smoke. He sighed, before continuing to haphazardly puff on the filtered end.
“If I fail the supplementary trial, or even the preliminary, what happens?”
“You die.”
She didn’t look towards him when she spoke.
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It was unclear how much time had passed, but Xorin was certain he had not yet reached the training grounds.
He had found himself in an enclosed room, confused and dazed, unsure of whether or not he had entered willingly or been transported by force; The atmosphere was of pitch-black darkness, a series of cold drafts making their way through the cracks and crevices of the walls, of which there seemed to be no discernible exit. At the very least, there was no visible doorway, nor any particular lighting in the room.
“Compass, where am I?”
A brief, sharp noise emanated from the object, before it shined in the negative environment. It brightened quickly, blinding Xorin, and he believed Compass to be in certain peril; thinking quickly, he relinquished the energy that he had used to make the object, temporarily absorbing it back into his being. Such would keep it safe and protected, returning it to a state of homeostasis.
A laugh made its way through the darkness. It came from Beast, but the presence that Xorin had felt since awakening in the room did not appear to be him. In a fit of panic, Xorin attempted to use his Grimoire, before remembering that even having such on one’s person was a crime in Grand City.
“...Where am I, Beast?”
“Hell if I know. Time isn’t flowing properly. I’m not even sure if space is functioning, either. It’s not dark in this room. Light doesn’t exist.”
A chuckled raspiness echoed to Xorin’s left, to which he reacted by stepping back with imperativeness. It only served to encourage the figure, who appeared to be even darker than the room—It was as if they were an absurdist, blackened mass of negativity, their very being malignant to the world.
“Well, Xorin… How is Grand City treating you…? I believe much of my servants have been rather… obnoxious, no?” The voice was neutral, though to some extent Xorin believed them to be displaying signs of exhaustion, moments of pauses coming between their words. No emotion beyond such could be discerned, yet there was a feeling of kinship between himself and the entity. To Xorin, it felt as if they had known each other for ages, quite as if it were for all of forever.
Uh…, He couldn’t find words to speak and so Beast did for him.
“You’re the Nameless King, aren’t you? It’s unclear how we arrived at this location, but even I can tell as much. The stories Zephyros spoke of were rather explicit about your… intensity.”
“A rather apt deduction for a meager… spirit, such as yourself,” The Nameless King responded, the sound of metal scraping against stone, “Tell me, Xorin. What is it you desire?”
Xorin remained static for only a moment longer, before recognizing the conversation that was taking place. He turned to Beast, who had been heard for the first time in all of his life, and smiled widely with genuine glee. Then, he thought for a moment and answered the Nameless King with honesty.
“I don’t know.”
The Nameless King laughed and laughed.
It was the most entertaining thing he had ever heard.
“Everyone wants something. Don’t you know that, Xorin? There isn’t a human alive who couldn’t tell you precisely what it is that they want, at any given moment. It’s a reaction to the circumstances of their life. Some reactions are more urgent and immediate: Hurt a man, and they ask for the pain to stop; love a woman, and they ask for your hand. Other reactions are more long-lived: Draw a picture as a child, grow into an accomplished artist. To say that you don’t know what you want, is to deny your own life itself.”
The Nameless King paused for a moment, before continuing.
“You know, I overheard your conversation. With your Compass. You desire friendship, don’t you? Why didn’t you answer with that? Do you not consider that desire worthwhile? Do you believe your own life to be so valueless, that you can’t even accept that you’re lonely?”
“...Why are you asking me all these questions? I don’t know you. I understand that you’re the Guildmaster of the Association, but even you understand that it’s a bit much to whisk me from the streets and question my entire purpose for existence,” Xorin breathed in for a moment, before pausing. He realized the purpose suddenly and with great intensity, his heart sinking into his chest. “You’re the one I’m playing the wargame against, aren’t you?”
The Nameless King laughed again, harder than before.
“Of course, Xorin. Please, sit. The arbiter will arrive shortly.”
A light shone through the darkness, a pale orb of whiteness placed between the Nameless King, Xorin and Beast. It hummed with a great vibration, yet there were no discernible signs of a Caster having entered the room nor having cast a Spell.
“We may begin as soon as you are ready, Son of the Coffin-Bearer. Are there any last requests you would like to make?”
“Yeah.” Xorin pulled from his pocket his final cigarette. “Don’t kill me for this.”
The Nameless King laughed to the point of lunacy.