NOVUS
Novus never believed in the stars.
He never looked up at the night sky and wondered about the twinkling shapes, winking at him so cruelly. He never believed that his destiny was because of the gods. He has his hand prints all over his future, and the mistakes in his life are his, not the gods.
No one can blame the gods anymore, not since they fell.
He looks at Vanya now, and he feels like a shadow of what he was around her. His eyes still study her intently, he still is terrified of thinking about what he would do to her, but lying about how she doesn’t remember him?
Vanya drags her feet across the sands, and he feels her gaze as he looks at his compass, which seems to be pointing in all sorts of directions.
“Are you an elf?” She asks simply, as another cold gust of wind tries to set them back.
He glances at her, and wonders if she isn’t lying after all. The thought settles in him, and he is not able to discard it. It is as stubborn as a rock refusing to leave its place on the soil.
Truthfully, he wonders if this is how it feels like to die.
Her eyes burn into him, looking for an answer. He clears his throat, and then goes back to the compass.
“Maybe.”
There is a pause, and the simple, but disturbing, sounds of the sand swishing around their feet as the moon glints at them from above and she speaks again.
“What happened? If I died—what happened while I was gone?”
He swallows, and thinks for a moment. He shoves his compass into his pocket and lets his hands rest there. His mind wanders towards the dream he had last night.
He had woken up from his dream, shivering, beads of sweat collecting in his brow as he searched for a handkerchief to wipe it away. He had dreamed of it again.
The scene of the stars falling.
He remembers the screams of the people, the cries of the animals, the crackle of the fire. He remembers the smell of blood and smoke, the taste of ashes and tears. He remembers the sight of the sky, dark and torn, and the shapes that fell from it.
The shapes that were once gods.
He does not know why they fell, or who caused it. He only knows that he was there, among the crowd that witnessed the end of an era. He only knows that he felt something stir inside him, something ancient and powerful, something that spoke a language he did not understand but somehow knew.
“The gods fell,” he says bluntly. His hands look something to fidget with in his pocket and he rubs his thumb against the surface of the compass.
She stops, and he does as well. Vanya looks at him with pure shock, that he wonders if he should have disclosed it a bit more gently.
“When? Why?”
“A few weeks after you…were gone. I dunno why. No one does,” he shrugs and he accidentally lights his finger. He yelps and pats his pocket repeatedly. Vanya looks at him strangely.
“I’m sorry,” he apologises. “It’s just that—I accidentally lit a fire in my pocket and—“
She bursts out laughing, and the sound is so sweet, so melodious, that it could be a song, and Novus wouldn’t mind listening to it everyday. He cracks a small smile.
“Sorry—it’s just so funny—“ she wipes tears of laughter.
She wipes her eyes, and then smiles at him. He lets a smile escape from him, until he bottles it up again.
“You should do it more.”
You could be reading stolen content. Head to Royal Road for the genuine story.
“What? Light a fire in my pocket?”
( If she wanted that, Novus actually might. That scares him. )
“No. Smiling. Laughing. Looking like you actually enjoy life.”
His hand snatches the compass out of his pocket again, and he glares at it for the rest of the journey.
**
Vanya frowns at the fighters.
They had finally reached Sarkath, and had found an alley where triumphant cheers and roaring laughter from a crowd was heard. They edged inside and found a stage, draped by bright red curtains, people sitting on the ground as they exchanged coins.
“I have my money on Animo,” one whispers, as they watch a boy and a girl have a conversation of scathing words. The girl’s eyes are golden, while the boy’s eyes are a cold blue. She holds a gladius, while he holds a scythe.
“But Kane is pretty good,” another one argues.
“I wonder if anyone will volunteer,” someone muses.
“Shut up!” the fourth friend whispers. Novus feels dread as he sees Animo and Kane hold weapons and the bell rings. He forces himself to watch, even though he feels like he is drowning.
He glances at Vanya. She looks enraptured, and she stares at the fight. He nervously picks at his compass and then his gaze slides back to the battle. A surge of fear has him in a chokehold as Kane slashes at Animo’s neck.
It is almost like a dance, that both competitors have lots of knowledge of. A slash here, another slash there, and a mild whirl. The steps are so unpredictable, but there is a beauty in it.
( Novus feels sick at himself for saying that. )
Animo has thrown Kane to the ground now. She rests her gladius on her neck, and Novus turns away. He ought to show some more grit, but he felt like he was in that cellar again. The blood, the screams…he could never truly hide from the memory’s calls.
( Everywhere he looks, he expects to see an officer. Ready to arrest him for deserting. )
Novus glances around, and the feeling of being watched makes him shudder. He throws his shoulders back and looks at the ground. He waits for the roars of the crowd, the burst of blood, the thump of the body hitting the ground and the stillness of the body.
“I volunteer! I will fight!”
To his horror, Vanya says this loudly. The crowd parts to leave her in the middle, and he clenches his jaw and balls his fists.
“Vanya—no. Don’t. You don’t have to do this.” He says, and he catches hold of her wrist, even though feeling her cold skin on his warm palm seems odd.
“I have a plan,” she hisses back, and tries to pull away.
He can’t suppress the snort that escapes out of him. He glances at Animo’s gladius, shimmering with crimson blood. His brain puts forth horrifying images, and he imagines Vanya’s blood dripping from the gladius.
“Yeah? How’s that going?”
“Very well.” She shoots back, and succeeds in prying his strong grip off her.
“Vanya, don’t. I don’t give a shite if you don’t remember me, but you’re not dying. Not again.”
She continues moving towards the stage.
“VANYA!”
A desperate call, and he has to struggle as some people in the crowd try to hold him back.
“I don’t plan on dying!”
“No one does!”
“I do, though! Scheduled for next Tuesday!”
Her attempt at humour does not make him laugh. Rather, it makes him scowl even more.
“Vanya—“ he hollers again, but she just determinedly continues her way. He screams her name a couple more times, but he knows it is merely a faint ring in the crowd’s roars.
Someone clamps a hand over his mouth. He turns, and Kane glares back at him, blonde hair slicked back and blue eyes piercing his soul. He whirls around to look at the stage, and Vanya is muttering some words to Animo, clutching Kane’s scythe.
“What?” Novus demands angrily.
“I want to watch. Shut up.”
Novus glares at him, his own temper heating up. “Don’t you even care about someone dying?”
“No,” Kane shrugs.
A beat of silence as Novus stares at him in shock.
“Well, I do care about my scythe,” Kane muses thoughtfully. “But I can always retrieve it when she dies.”
Novus blinks, and he lets his rage control him. He throws himself at Kane, hoping to create a nasty scar, and just rattle him in general. For a mere second, Kane takes the first punch, and then he narrows his eyes as he catches Novus’s flying fist in a firm grip.
“Bad move,” he laughs. He swings at Novus, but Novus rolls out of the way. He kicks Kane, and then manages to slide the compass from his pocket and point the sharp edge at Kane’s throat.
Novus could see the fear in his eyes. He isn’t in his strongest field. Novus is.
Kane hisses, and then glares at him.
“I’ll tell you some information.”
“About what?” Novus asks suspiciously.
“Animo won’t kill your little girlfriend.”
Novus springs up, having forgotten all about Vanya and Animo’s combat. He doesn’t even contradict what Kane called Vanya. He looks up, and just in time to see Vanya throwing a bomb at the ground, a big boom follows. Glitter clouds their vision, and Novus hears Kane coughing.
Squinting, he tries to make out the figure of Vanya in the fog. He waves his hand in random motions, hoping to waft the fog away.
“Sir! Over there! The deserter!”
Novus’s blood runs cold and he runs.