A new sun; another day. It was empty around here at Yazzalo’s stones. Not in the sense of a barren world with nothing more than stone and water – which it certainly was – but of spirit… at least not the type of spirit Yazzalo would speak of. Pyrei was sitting on the edge of the pillar, gazing aimlessly at the sea. She wore Yazzalo’s shirt, the thing much too big for her stature. It draped well over much of her thighs, devouring her brown denim shorts. She sought for thought, but as she peeked even a small way into her mind, she found nothing left behind. The dawn was still young. Her heart was quite cold. All there was to ever so briefly guide her attention elsewhere was the minor ambience of seagull and sleepy water. While she paid almost no mind to it, the weak sounds of agitated textile-like material crawled from the hay-yellow hut, and out came Yazzalo. His hulking stature had reduced back to his bonier self. His tanner pigment had returned, too. He watched her in an empathetic silence, walking lightly. “He’ll be back soon,” he lowered himself to Pyrei’s side. “Please, do not stress yourself.”
“It has been almost a week, Yazzalo. Almost a week since he’s left to that place we call a land of monsters, and he is not back.”
“Do you like downplaying Zolton’s strength?” he said.
“No – but it’s just the reality. He isn’t even as powerful as I, how will he get himself out of trouble?”
“Pyrei — he is not a helpless child. His strength may not be found in his magic entirely, but do not underestimate his brute strength. Remember, he has experience from sparring with us both on top of being a descendant of the giants. Most importantly, his stubbornness. He’ll give them a fight they’ll regret, no doubt.”
The ocean still held her empty eyes. “You intentionally did not say he would return.”
His silence screamed admission. “Yes – for there never is guarantee in our actions. We could live in thoughts of doom and dismay exclusively; assume the worst at all times, and find ourselves too frightened to move. Where would that get us?”
She weakly nodded. “Nowhere, at best. Behind in life — at worst… I just — why did he leave again so soon? Does he not know that I — that we need him? That we need to know he’s safe.”
Yazzalo put his arm around Pyrei, and pulled her in. “Great people in human history have taken risks, Pyrei. They don’t do so by sitting around, waiting for the pieces to fall together. You would know, wouldn’t you?”
She nodded.
“This calling is especially powerful in men. It makes us drunk, and often leads us to do things that are unquestionably foolish. The need to endure the path of purpose; revelation. Consideration of risk comes second, and will be dealt as it is met.”
“That is especially callous and stupid.”
Yazzalo grinned, nodding. “Indeed it is. Unfortunately, that is the way of the world sometimes. Luckily, Zolton is one to find ways to mitigate conflict. His tendency to find the easy way out of difficult work can and will help him. However, only he can do that work for himself at this time, and we can only focus on ours.”
He stood and straightened himself. “I’m going to Venator again to continue lecturing him. He has been making… okay progress. You should go on and feast on fruit from the crate inside. I noticed that you did not eat yesterday.”
“Surely,” she muttered with the roll of her eyes and a lengthy pause. “I want to see him.”
Yes, young New Greek, a wet, horrid voice radiated in her head. I, too, believe you should go and poke that beast. I hope he tears all of your organs out this time.
“Whenever he comes back from his endeavor, you will,” said Yazzalo. “It is not our place to intrude on his—”
“I mean Venator.”
Yazzalo became a statue before the sea. Slowly, his hands brought themselves together at his rear to a dignified clasp. He breathed slowly, quietly, yet such weak actions still managed to viscerally scream his utter disagreement with such an idea. Without turning to her – not even a twitch of the finger – he said, “Why.”
“Because I want to hear his reasoning. I want to know why he moves the way he does,” she replied.
“He has no reasoning. The young man is mad; crazed. His mind is thoroughly destroyed, and he is dangerous because of it. You’d just put yourself at risk for no gain.”
She stood up, almost reaching his height right beside him. As if mimicking him, she remained fixated on the sea before her, gazing at the island in the distance and placing her hands at her back. “He is human. He has a mind with reasoning in it – even if it is buried beneath mounds of debris. I want to find it, which is when I’d have reached my goal. There is the chance of an undesirable outcome, of course. However, ‘consideration of risk comes second,’ no? I won’t achieve anything by ‘sitting around,’ correct?”
“Then stand around.”
“Yazzalo!”
“Fine! Fine…” he submitted, “You… you may follow. Just stay near me at all times.”
Her lips stretched into a conquering smile, and nodded. “If you insist. I want to get there by my own means, Yazzalo. I should bring my strength back up with any exercises I can, no matter how minor.”
Yazzalo disappeared behind the tent and revealed a small wooden row boat by drag. “I’m not letting you swim there. Rowing the boat should be an adequate workout.”
He moved to the edge of his pillar and jumped into the distant sea with the rowboat of sand-colored wood. “I’ll come up for y–”
As the breath of a letter left his lips, Pyrei had long descended into the boat with the aid of her light. She sat at the center and gripped the right oar. From her left, she utilized light magic to bring about a tangible beam that grabbed the left oar. She found it significantly more difficult to maintain without her hand. Nevertheless, she fought against her weakness, and gripped it with the ghastly-purple rope of light. She paddled the water for only mere seconds before the stream of light vanished, and found herself panting a dog. “You are physically unable to get there, Pyrei,” he said.
“I’ll find my way. Go, please. I’ll meet you,” she urged with tired breaths.
“Pyrei…”
“I will get there… please. I’ll do it myself.”
He said nothing more during his empty pause to her. Eventually, he left the boat and plunged into the sea. Soon, he began taking powerful strokes across the water, soon vanishing too far to be seen. Again, she faced her amputation towards the oar and brought about another beam. She gripped them both and put every last drop of her strength into each row. Her face was drenched with sweat, red with undeterred drive, and her hair stuck to it as the salty droplets combined with the blowing winds of the sea created the perfect environment to impair her. Still, she sailed across the water strongly, even surprising herself with how quickly she was able to move. In time much quicker than expected, her boat ran up the sand of Yazzalo’s remote island, though the man himself was nowhere to be seen. She opened her mouth to call out for him, but quickly stopped herself. “I don’t want to trigger him,” she said beneath her breath, “Where’s Yazzalo?”
The noise of water agitating more than simply the small crashing waves running against shore caught her ears. She turned to it, finding the master just making his way on land. She stared at him, and he stared back. “Good job,” Yazzalo said.
“It was you.”
“You made it further than I assumed you would on your own.”
While she was quite disappointed, Pyrei knew it would be hopeless to try manning a rowboat in her state. “Thank you…” she muttered with sheepish begrudge.
Yazzalo nodded in response. “Stay close – he knows we’ve arrived.”
His steps were that of a tortoise, slow and cautious, though he was more than capable of restraining this threat. No doubt he also knew Venator’s general whereabouts. Pyrei, while mildly disgruntled by his drowning guardianship, allowed him to pose as an overbearing father. At least she had someone willing to fulfill that role for once. The woman realized she more than seldom spoke of her past, and perhaps not at all to Zolton. Of course, she liked it that way. Something she was not fond of speaking about, and luck has it no one has brought it up. That, or Zolton has no interest in such things. His demeanor often seems as if he has no interest in most things, to be fair. Either way, she was pleased to not have to speak of it more often. Yazzalo on the contrary has heard her tale – or at least, an intentionally shortened sum of it.
She had just deserted her home among the atmosphere. A society of the sky; people of a Blood worth more than gold. Mere remnants of a distant, almighty past. Remnants of Their kingdom. Her mother and father’s significant roles in keeping the function of her old home running consumed most of their time. They had only two children, yet it was as if they were parenting the entirety of their race, an effect their little boy and girl felt heavily. By no means did Pyrei and her twin brother endure lives of struggles – the very opposite would accurately describe their upbringing. With two parents working in the government of such a place, the children lived lavishly.
Whatever the kids sought which their hands could touch, they quickly received. Toys, clothing, riches, animals – the only things off limits were sea curses or extremely rare magic scrolls (though their reasoning may be for the safety of their children.) Humbly, though much to their parents' confusion, Pyrei and her brother did not wish for much. It was often one request they had, and it always proved to be far too expensive. With enough wealth to obtain floating fields of cattle, servants, countless riches, and a massive, shining estate, only one thing continued to prove far too expensive for her mother and father: mere quality time.
Alas, in the midst of their teenage years, Pyrei and her brother found the world a place far too cold. Sixteen years since their birth; sixteen years of empty affection. Then in the midst of a bright day, the twins of status scratching that of royalty, deserted their home. Their only obstacle being a few guards at the front gates of their estate. An obstacle requiring only a mere ramble of, “We’re going on a walk.” In mere minutes, their old home, Chryso Ereipio, was just that; an old home. They took themselves among the common folk. Not merely ‘seafaring folk’ but those of normal blood. With one plan in mind: to bring the world’s struggles to a minimum, so that as many families as possible are spared from the hardships of life. Of course, it would be impossible to fully abolish such a thing. They knew this and accepted it, but any successful diminishing of such evil would be enough to give them the drive to remain undeterred in their war on struggle.
She and her brother proved a formidable duo when it came to combating evil directly. The Grand Navy took a liking to them with how they filled their prisons, though mostly of ‘lower to mid tier’ bounties seeing such is what they could muster. While their synergy moved like liquid, a schism of solution squeezed itself between them. Alas, before profound sadness could bring tears to her eyes, she bumped into an arm held out before her, tearing her out of her world of reminiscence. They were at a familiar sight. Sitting before a cave with a weak waterfall before it, a pooled circle of water sat. A flowing stream ran down from it, running towards the distant shore. “Venator!” Yazzalo called, “I am here.”
Only silence returned, much to the master’s surprise. Again he bellowed, “Venator!”
Emptiness in the air. He took one step, and suddenly stopped to glance at Pyrei. She stared into his eyes as he did hers, though he was the one to sigh annoyingly in the end. “Stay close,” he warned her with a cautiously low tone. Pyrei followed him behind the curtain of water, just before the opening in the stone. An unsettling, distant noise crawled from the cave, like dying slaves weakly pulling themselves to the nearest sign of liberation. Despite this cave wielding a depth which could be filled with a few strides, it was dark given its positioning behind the waterfall. Assuring her voice was even weaker than a whisper, “I can make a small light,” Pyrei said.
If you encounter this story on Amazon, note that it's taken without permission from the author. Report it.
Yazzalo pondered, his demeanor unmistakably apprehensive. He knew he would be fast enough to catch the beast should he rush Pyrei, but worry filled his heart like sod. “Be sure it’s the moonlight variant. If he’s in here, the brightness of the white or yellow ones may startle him.”
She nodded and flicked a tiny spark of violet light off of her thumb. It floated to the roof of the cave and its vibrancy carefully grew. The light became just bright enough to reveal Venator’s bony body curled up in a corner, though they almost missed him. Only now did Pyrei fully realize just how small and feeble Venator’s structure truly was. If she didn’t know better, she would believe him to be a child. He lied on his side, his scarred back facing them. His massive hair was like a pile of a black sheep’s wool, improvised to be a pillow. He was noticeably sniffling and sobbing, though he fought against allowing them to be too great. His body would jolt suddenly when a particularly powerful strike of sniveling hit him due to his adamant, internal war against his sniveling. His arms seemed to be positioned his front, each hand grasping the opposing upper arm as if he was cold or even holding something. “You will wait here,” Yazzalo commanded.
She knew he would be unswayed judging by the tone of his voice, and the dense fog of the situation. She stayed put at the entrance of the hole as Yazzalo moved closer. He kneeled to the uncharacteristically quiet one, assuring he made no mistakes that could ignite a frenzy. His mouth motioned to speak, though he wasn’t quite sure of what to say. Then a broken voice, one which has dragged through miles of shattered fury and sprayed with eons of dismay and loss, spoke. “Mast–er Ya—za–low?”
Venator rolled so that his back now faced the wall behind him, and his discolored eyes were towards Yazzalo. His arms were still wrapped around himself, and trails of dried liquid befallen from his eyes left streaks resembling that of an evaporated river. Held tightly against him by both his hands was a skeletal hand. Pyrei quickly remembered finding the limb here on her initial arrival to meditate… before she knew another somewhat sentient entity inhabited the island. She knew a shadow would be casted should she lean too far in and block the light of the outside world, so she summoned a sphere of shining light carefully positioned so that the previous brightness was indistinguishable from prior. The Light user then leaned in carefully for a clearer look through the glare with movement ever so slight. Almost immediately, Venator’s eyes, glowing a sickly yellowish orange in the dark spots of the cave, locked onto her. The most frigid form of lightning cracked down her spine, and she strategically froze to avoid drawing more attention onto herself… or true fear.
The sound of water dripping from the ceiling of a cave suddenly began echoing, which was off considering the cave was extremely dry, besides a indiscernible, incomprehensibly slightly more moist at section at the entrance where water would sometimes find itself splashing on after being evicted from the waterfall. Realization was not until she studied Venator closely, finding his jaw slack and drooling more saliva than a normal human should ever be able to. Yazzalo clapped his hands twice, hooking Venator’s attention quickly. “Hey! Eyes on me,” he commanded. The entity’s face aligned with Yazzalo’s, but his eyes were in other places; chained to Pyrei. “I said, on me,” Yazzalo growled.
Like rolling orbs coming to a slow stop, Venator finally took his optics to Yazzalo, but not without double checking the light wizard. “Good work… have you found anything interesting today, Venator?” Yazzalo spoke in a softer tone.
Venator stared at him emptily for a brief moment. His eyes slowly shifted to Pyrei again, and he raised a hand in an effort of pointing towards her, though strangely he did not extend a single finger and retract the rest. Instead, all five were generally in her direction. “The Witch,” he uttered in a ghastly growl.
“No, not a witch. A witch would describe malevolen— bad people. Pyrei is a good person, Venator.”
“Do good people steal?” he replied with a voice quite broken and empty.
“Steal?” Yazzalo mumbled in loose thought. “What was stolen?”
“My… it was mine. My–my Skull. He gave it to me. My Warden’s Skull. It was mine. From Him. I won it – me! I–I earned it – and she— she stole it!”
Yazzalo’s head turned a mere inch before he caught himself almost making the mistake of taking his eyes away for even a moment. “What is he speaking of, Pyrei?”
That’s a good question, she wondered. Is he not rambling again? It doesn’t seem so, but… what could it be?
Her thoughts turned red. It’s the armored helmet, you wench.
“What is this voice that still lingers…” she mumbled. Soon, her eyes widened in realization. “The skull. It was a horned helmet that sort of looked like some animal’s skull. He wore it when he initially attacked… During our scuffle it was knocked off and he fell unconscious after I struck him with an Ice hit. I forgot that I took it to show you because… I wanted to question you about it. I must have forgotten it somewhere on the island.”
“Was it left anywhere near where I had to… submit him?”
“...Likely…”
They fell silent, with Venator also dwelling in silence for he was unable to put the pieces together. Yazzalo sighed and placed his hands on each of Venator’s shoulders gently, and then ensured they shared undivided attention. “Venator… how did you get this helmet? Who gave it to you? What did you have to do to achieve it?”
He reached up to his stomach, and itched it with the nails of his foot. Saliva poured from his mouth as he was lost in a trance. “I earned it, along with my Title. Father ordered me to liberate Venator from this world, and only then could I advance.”
“Your father ordered you to ‘libera–”
“He is not my father!” Venator roared, his eyes ironically softening with such enrage. While they were still a sickly looking yellow, they appeared more human.
Yazzalo made his grip more sturdy. “Relax,” he said, “I apologize… correct, he is not your father. I’m sorry. May you explain what happened in more detail?”
Venator’s heart pounded loud enough to create a weak echo in the cave. His breathing was rapid and heavy, and his eyes leaked some fluid. It took some time for him to return to a somewhat sustainable state, and he continued. “Father told us to liberate – to free – Venator. He said if we freed Venator, we would advance.”
Yazzalo stopped to process this jarring explanation. “Remember what we practiced, Venator? When we say ‘us’ we are referring to more people than just ourselves. If you are referring to yourself, you do not say ‘us.’ You say ‘I’ and ‘me.’ You were doing good before, let’s get back on track.”
“It wasn’t just me. It was me and… was it… just me? No – three of us. Where are the three? I can only see… one. There can only be… one. Father chose one… but he’s fond of the other. But the last, is… our advanced stage. Not ours! My – mine! The advanced one is… an idiot! It has no mind! And you, you are weak! I am the pinnacle of… here? This? But Father didn’t choose Him. He chose Him, but made Him develop into me!”
Pyrei recited Venator’s words internally, Father chose one… but he’s fond of the other, but the last is our advanced stage. Father chose one, though is fond of the other, but the last is our advanced stage. Is he three different entities to himself?
‘Father chose one, is fond of another, and the last is the ‘advanced stage’ as he says,” Yazzalo mumbled lowly. “I hate to encourage this, but… Venator – which are you now? Is this the one ‘Father’ chose? Or is this who he is fond of? Is this the… ‘advanced?’”
Venator squeezed the bone hand beneath his arms. “Father says… Venator is my Title for advancing… but Venator is a babbling oaf! He’s only an– an animal! How could Father betray me in favor of a mindless creature?! It manifested from you, didn’t it? I should’ve killed you long ago! You being so weak, frail, soft — stupid! You caused it to be! You made it exist! It was built from you!”
“Venator, do not rile yourself up. You’ll cause yourself to be hurt.”
“I am not Venator! Do not call me that ever again! I am Viktor! I am all who will remain! I am all that does remain! I am the strength! I am the will! I cannot falter!”
This newly arrived entity faced Pyrei. “You… your blood, New Greek! You will suffer for your transgressions against Father! To steal and destroy my trophy; His sacred bestowings! Repent by flooding my mouth with your golden blood!”
Yazzalo’s hands emitted an icy blue light. He secured them on Venator’s shoulders for a brief moment, and the beastly deviant fell into a tumultuous shiver on the cave floor. His skin was blue and his teeth were chattering. “What’s happening to him?” Pyrei whispered without intent, though Yazzalo managed to pick up her words even with the commotion.
“I brought down his blood pressure a little bit below normal,” he breathed.
“Are you sure you only brought it down a ‘little bit’ below normal? He’s shaking like a leaf.”
“Yes. For some reason, he is very vulnerable to low temperatures, even slightly so. Did you not notice before?”
“Now that you say it…” she mused, “When I was hitting him with light, it seemed to not only be ineffective, but to his benefit. Yet when I awakened with Ice, one hit brought him down almost immediately…”
Yazzalo nodded. “It seems this ‘Father’ figure has altered his body in some way to make him extremely durable in many battles, but accidentally left him with one fatal flaw.”
She watched his body quivering, growing a profound sadness. Perhaps it was because his body was rather small for one belonging to a grown man. Skin tight enough that his bones appeared ready to break through at any point; height shorter than hers. He was malnourished, and seems to have been such for a very long time. Her heart felt for his tribulations, but her mind returned to the objective. “What did we learn here? He called himself Viktor just now, and how he was betrayed by ‘Father’ for Venator.”
“Yes… and now it’s even more confusing. He spoke as if there are three of him, and I suppose we now… ‘have two…’ Venator and Viktor.”
“Venator is his title for advancing," she said. “Before, he claimed that ‘Father’ was most fond of another. This ‘Father’ must have told him lies, but it’s also likely someone mentally ill as Venator misinterpreted this ‘Father’s’ message. With how violently he behaved in response to being betrayed as ‘Viktor’ it might mean that one is who was seen as most fond? It only leaves the last as the one the Father guy ‘chose’ according to him… which I’m not sure how to interpret.”
“We have not spoken to the true man yet,” Yazzalo said. “The Chosen is who he was initially; his true self. As of now, we’re only left with the aftermath of his trauma. He is still buried beneath.”
They returned their focus back to Venator as he began muttering something indecipherable. He had curled back into the dark corner of the cave, mumbling and weeping quietly. Finally, Yazzalo sat, and then clapped his hands a single time. “Venator, we need to practice dialogue and emotional suppression.”
“Pyrei-Pyrei-Pyrei…” Venator mumbled.
“Good work…” Yazzalo muttered through a mix of confusion and pride.
“Pyrei-Pyrei… Pyreizin!” his body cried, and his weeping ceased. Instead, his sorrow turned into internal giggling.
Pyrei stared coldly. “What— what did he just say?”
He remained in his fetal curl, facing the stone walls surrounding him. “I knew– I knew you… you tasted familiar,” he spoke with an occasional chuckle bursting through his words. “New Greek… the blood of a New Greek is unlike… any other. I’ve now had a drink of it… twice. Twice! Tw–twice… I’m so sorry, I’m so sorry…”
Her fist began to tremble. “Sorry– sorry for what? What are you sorry for? What do you mean you’re sorry?”
“Crystal… crystal… the crystal man, the crystal man! A man of crystals!”
She stepped into the hole, eyes welling. “Crystal… that’s Pyreizin’s… No, Start making sense… Start making sense!” she cried.
“Pyrei,” Yazzalo stood, “We mustn’t agitate the situation.”
She stopped, staring at Venator’s back for that is all which faced her. “What do you mean crystal?! Why are you sorry? What did you do? What did you do!”
He stopped mumbling, and paused into an empty silence. After a brief coldness; a stop of time — he began giggling again. Then she lunged – but the master’s skinny arm forbade her rage. “Pyrei! Calm yourself! You will gain nothing, and only end up hurting yourself!”
Ultimately, she succumbed to wailing and screaming in her agonized storm. Her face and eyes were red, resulting from spewing sweat, tears and unadulterated fury. She reeled back her right hand and hurled a blast of light at the giggling mess. He screamed in pain for a moment, dropped the skeletal limb, and hopped onto his hands and feet like a feral animal. Starting at the center of his back, around the area of impact from Pyrei, his veins glew a bright color. The light spanned through most veins of his torso, just over his shoulders, and partly down his thighs. In a blink, he too lunged at her, meeting the same breath-breaking arm of the Renegade which blocked their paths. Yazzalo shut his eyes and shaked his head in annoyance. He then roared as mightily as a titanic beast, “End your madness, now!”
His yell was so great, birds fled in terror. A few of the nearby foliage flailed away as if struck by a strong gust. Even the waterfall’s liquids blew in another direction for a brief moment. Both Pyrei and Venator found themselves frozen. The light wizard stepped back and the blood beast went back to his corner, picking up the bone hand before dropping himself back onto the dusty gray floor of the cave. His back still emitted the light of his attacker, but he paid it no mind. Yazzalo brought his hands to his sides, and released a relieving breath as he paced out of the cave. Pyrei sat outside against the much more moist wall. She was shedding tears into her arm, shaking. It was obvious she wanted to hold her emotions in, but the battle against them proved to be a difficult one. “You were right – you were right, I shouldn’t have come… I shouldn’t have come here…” she sobbed. “Everything would have been better if I stayed put…”
Yazzalo took his cupped hands from beneath the downpour of the waterfall and drank from it. “No — no, it was best you came. I know your concern for your brother has lingered with you for a long while… You have gained an answer to this dark mystery. Now, you must decide if you will use this revelation to grow, or let it destroy you. I’ll have to return here later. Let’s get back home—”
The noise of frantic scurrying left the cave. Jumping out of it was of course him. Yazzalo had taken a tackling stance, but something brought him surprise. Venator grabbed his shirt on his knees. He pled, “No, no! Master Yazzalo, don’t leave me here alone again, please!”
Yazzalo stared at him silently.
"Please don't leave me again. I don't like being left alone with him…"
“Elaborate,” Yazzalo said.
“When it’s my voice against his, I lose. When it’s his voice against Venator’s, he loses and I–I die more!”
A thought streaked through the master’s mind. “Who am I speaking to?”
The bedraggled man looked perplexed. Not because he believed the question to be absurd, but because he had no recollection on the spot for the answer. He endured a journey through his thoughts, a world of blood and death; metal demons; a dark hall; a silver rose; a tall, bald, lanky man. Then two people – a woman and child – sat against the wall, brown sacks fitted over their heads, masking their faces. Aboy ran to them, a massive blade from the darkness itself came down to the woman’s neck. Though due to the child’s shorter stature, who was sitting beside her, the blade did not strike his throat. Instead, it hit higher. Finally – he reemerged from his thoughts. He stared emptily into the Renegade Master’s clothes, though he himself was likely elsewhere. He responded, alas, “Lorenzo...”