Hopps brought Mary back next to Camp Quarter-Blood with only minutes to spare before the meeting with Bromman. Veritas really took his time - first, he went through the accord and explained most of the nuances and precedences for why things really had to be so weird. But, well, she had to admit that she'd rather spend the extra few minutes studying the Lawyerish rather than accidentally kill them both by sneezing at the wrong time.
And then, she learned that apparently, each accord required not only the signatures but also a hand-painted picture of its signing. The artist was not happy with Mary trying to rush him on.
On the one hand, she got it - it was probably the most important moment in the man's life. On the other - she was almost late.
The place Bromman described seemed to be a kind of a valley in the sands, separated from the camp by a wall of particularly tall dunes. There were no plants, no animals, no anything of any interest within sight - other than the man in the tweed jacket kneeling before a blanket full of carefully laid out pieces of ornamented steel and leather armour.
Mary recognised her mentor, but something felt off - he was keeping too still, with his back towards her as she slowly approached. He was too paranoid to get himself surprised and too friendly to just ignore her.
She was barely ten feet away when he finally twitched.
“Hello, Mary. Good night, isn't it?” Came in a familiar voice.
“Bromman?”
“At least, it was I the last time I checked.” He made no move to invite her any closer, so she stayed where she stood. A few moments came and went like that, with everyone but Mossie unmoving in the silent night.
Then Bromman twitched again and started slowly strapping on the first steel protector over his left arm.
“Tell me,” he said, “do you remember the day we met?”
It was only a few months ago, but it felt like ages. Still, there were some things one does not simply forget.
“I do,” Mary said. If this sentence kept getting more and more loaded each time she encountered it, she'd have to find some alternative for her eventual wedding. Eh.
“Not an easy thing to forget, is it? I still remember the day I heard my own sentencing. Only I wasn't as lucky as you were. I got an O.” The steel plate seemed to almost click into place, and for a brief second, its twisting patterns flashed with a golden shine brighter than the moon above. “But in the end, the time wasn't kind to you either, was it?”
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“I mean... I literally died. But yeah, other than that, and all the friends I've lost, my life's been great, thanks for asking.”
Bromman chuckled dryly, and Mary reached out to the shadows around, searching for... she didn't even know what. Something, probably.
“Tell me, have you finally read our mentorship contract?”
Well...
“Yeah, I didn't think you did. I hadn't read my first one either. Nor the second.” The ornaments on his wrist protector glistened in shades of a scythe freshly reforged into a shabby sword. “Before the third one, I learned it by heart. But then, it was too late.”
He punched the sand in front of him, and the cloud of sand rose above his head.
“The Author can be cruel at times. Or he just doesn't care. I don't care which it is. That boy... his name was Theodore. He just wanted to live in peace, away from all this nonsense. But apparently, that was too dark.”
Mossie beeped anxiously. Mary was with it on that one.
“It took me a month until I finally got the blood washed off my hands, but fulfilling the contract was the only way to survive, and I had to survive. Since then, I went out of my way to find others like me. Supposedly doomed ones... or bringers of doom. I figured that the one I was waiting for would surely get branded. Or maybe that was just what I told myself then. Type Os usually get killed by their pets, so I could keep my hands just a speck cleaner.”
“That sounds terrible,” Marry whispered.
“You know, when Key saddled me with you, I was almost as annoyed as I was relieved. I thought of it as a forced vacation. Sure, you wouldn't be the one I was waiting for... but at least you had some chance of survival for a change. After so many dead... I was almost happy.” He chuckled again, and there was certainly no trace of mirth in his voice now. His second arm was fully armed too, and he was moving down with his preparation.
“You are a good mentor,” Mary said quietly. “I don't know what I'd have done without you.”
“You'd probably spend the rest of your days in prison, happily stuffing your stomach with overdecorated pastries, unaware of the taint consuming the world around you. But no, your fate was sealed long before we met. When I heard what you've done, I arrived at the Academy's hospital just to hold your hand when you pass to the other world. But what did I see instead?” He shook his head. “You were alive, keeping yourself alive with powers of almost pure shadow. I knew there had been a mistake. No one sane would declare anyone like that a C. Not in a million years.”
“So I've heard.”
“I'm glad I'm not the bearer of the bad news at least once. But type O or C, our contract still stands.” He tightened the final straps on his chest piece and put on a helmet with small, silvery wings. “I'm sorry, Mary, but I've been at it for decades, and I know I'll only get one chance. I'll give you the same deal I gave everyone before you - strike me down, and I will stand by your side till the end. If you fail... you'd have no chance against the entire Academy anyway, and I'll at least make it quick.”
He stood up and kicked a six-foot pole up straight into his open hand, all while twisting on the other foot and turning to face Mary for the first time - if you can call it that. His entire face was covered by a steel faceplate, except for a tiny slit for the eyes.
“Engarde!”