15 - All Over Again

16th Year, 2nd Month, Spring

Not once did arrogance stand as a mere mortal failing, for it was by the god of lightning that it was inspired. From birth already his distinction was clear. His mother remained unsoiled by mere mortals, and untouched by the truly divine, for with the system’s advent had vanished their corporeal fecundity. Nay, she was bred by a being betwixt the realms, an unholy creation but construed to bear false belief.

It was unto him that the divinity passed, and unto him that the pagans conferred. He was their prince, their master taken form, the living testament by which their sin was proven. And so too was he its ultimate undoing. For by the conquest of his detractors, by seeking his final ascension, he crafted in their blasphemy a shard of distant truth.

Scriptures of the Savage Gods, Verse 8-3

___

The next phantom manifested at the base of the throne before I so much as gathered my wits. His body was formed from a core of pure energy. I could tell, even without the goddess’ words, that he was more formidable than any of the others. Like the deity upon the throne, he radiated a godly aura—an aura barely any weaker than hers.

Vella introduced him as a fallen celestial—a fallen demigod of something or other—but I paid her no mind. It really didn’t matter. My blade was through his chest by the time she finished speaking.

The goddess was baffled, but ignoring her, I closed my eyes and basked in the accompanying memory.

I was back on the northern front when I opened them again, though I was nowhere near the field of battle. I stood smack in the middle of a large, ancient city—the former capital of the Postumus domain. It still held its crown at the time, and despite standing two hours out from the front lines, it was a bustling hub of activity from which one could see the perilous Langgbjern mountains. Though easily within eyeshot, the massive monsters that inhabited the range never descended upon our settlements. Hell, they never even touched the thoraen lands, even though they lay at the mountains’ feet.

No one knew exactly how many people lived in the city back then—we didn’t start keeping track of our precise demographics until just recently—but if I had to guess, I would have put my finger on a figure of roughly a hundred thousand. People and merchants alike were going to and fro, crowding the tiny streets with legions of bodies. Lord Postumus himself was centaurian, and the horse people were certainly present among the local population, but their numbers were completely overshadowed by the bipedal rabbits who had originally settled the land.

It was by and for the cottontails that the downtown area was first constructed; some of the alleyways were so narrow that even the lithest of centaurs would have struggled to squeeze through. And as a much larger cervitaur, I found the city no different from a labyrinth.

It was fortunate then that I had no particular destination. I wandered from place to place, my eyes jumping primarily between the street foods on open display. On any other day, I likely would have picked a stall and gorged myself on cheap eats, but I had finally been promoted enough to be able to splurge. Our defence of the northern fort had earned all its participants a series of ranks, and though the brass clearly hated me, courtesy of my brother’s influence, I was not excluded. If I had to guess, I would say that my ascension had done its fair share. Taking my first step to godhood had drastically changed the shape of my body. There had been a few rather outlandish evolutions, but I stuck to a largely cervitaurian frame. The only things I had that stood out were the retractable, meter-long blades that grew from my shins and the matching edges hidden in my forearms. The biggest changes were internal; I had gained an affinity for blood magic, and the structure of my musculature had been completely redone. Though I didn’t look any tougher, I could easily lift thrice what I could before.

A spring in my step, I headed into a restaurant not sized exclusively for cottontail use. The Briar, as it was marked on the sign, wasn’t the fanciest place—most of the decorations were carved of the same wood and stone used everywhere else—but it stood out on account of its bizarre construction. There were two massive pillars beside the front entrance, the walls had grooves carved into their sides to facilitate climbing, and the ceilings were ten meters high. The ornaments hanging therefrom were largely cylindrical even though Krebb, the god associated with the shape, went unworshipped in Cadria.

The interior was just as foreign. While most local establishments had large, open tables for people to sit around and spar atop, the Sthenian restaurant was lined with booths. They were almost fully sectioned off, with thick wooden walls to dull the sounds between them and sliding screens for extra privacy. Its layout was so curious that it caught as many eyes as the non-Cadrian staff; all the servers slithering around sported serpentine lower halves. It wasn’t the most uncommon sight. Sthenia, their homeland, shared our southeastern border, but they rarely trod so far north. Their bodies were easily influenced by the temperatures of their surroundings, and they needed a constant supply of fuel to keep warm in winter.

“Welcome,” said the waitress by the door. “Is it just you, or are you waiting for someone?” She was a tiny little thing, standing so short that the top of her head barely reached the bottom of my belly. If her facial features could be trusted—I wasn’t really sure how indicative they were for her species—she was likely somewhere in her mid-teens. Like all the others walking around the shop, she wore a large apron. It seemed that she was likely responsible for some of the work out back as well, as it was covered in a set of faded, red stains, perhaps from the spices whose bright fragrances filled the foreign shop.

“Just me,” I said.

“Right this way then.”

Following her through the restaurant and looking past the stained glass windows that decorated each booth, I found it surprisingly crowded. Nearly half of the private rooms were filled even though we were roughly halfway between lunch and dinner. And though I had heard that the custom was common out west, we Cadrians cared little for afternoon tea.

I was shown to a relatively spacious booth a little over three-quarters of the way down the hall. The door’s towering height did little to prevent her from sliding it open and handing me a pair of wooden blocks.

“Drinks are on the front, food is on the back. The special today is deer shanks rubbed in fresh herbs,” she said. “Do you want any water to start?”

“Yes please.”

“Alright. I’ll be back to check on you in a few.”

She flashed her jagged teeth before slithering back out of the room and sliding the door shut. Finally left to my own devices, I took a few moments to further examine the interior decorations. They were a little strange. I almost couldn’t get over the cylindrical chandelier that doubled as a windchime, and even then, all I did was shift my gaze to the mural painted on the wall. It was a fairly pretty drawing, featuring a lamian priestess standing atop a cliff and a whole array of worshippers forming a circle with their tails around her. Not even in the present did I truly understand its meaning, but it made for a fascinating sight regardless.

I stared for the better part of a minute before finally looking down at the menu. I didn’t even bother examining the drinks. I was certainly looking to splurge, but I was still hoping to fill my stomachs for cheap. There was no telling when the higher-ups would find an excuse to dock my pay.

Unsurprisingly, most of the menu was made up of meat. Hay and grain were difficult to come by so early in the year, but the forests were always ripe with prey. At least half the species this far up north were unreasonably aggressive and their numbers needed to be kept under control. The sheer abundance dramatically pushed down the price of wild protein.

That wasn’t to say that it was unpalatable. Half the species that roamed the forest were either avian or reptilian, and their white meat was known for sucking up seasonings and taking on their flavours. It sounded like the dishes on the menu were made with that strength in mind. There was wild turkey with red sauce, garlicked poultry melange, the day’s catch with black pepper, and east Sthenian stew. There was a note on the bottom of the menu that stated they would take special requests, but such an election was sure to cost extra.

To my dismay, there weren’t any descriptions to go along with the dishes and they were all priced in the same range. In a restaurant with a more Cadrian layout, I would have been able to look at some of the other patrons’ orders, but being stuck in a booth by my lonesome, I wasn’t really sure what I was supposed to pick.

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The turkey dish was the only one with its meat explicitly named, which led me to suspect that the others were made from even cheaper cuts. But while its main ingredient was certainly declared, I didn’t have the slightest clue as to a red sauce’s flavour. In the first place, the term was extremely broad and could have referred to anything from a spicy mix to a red wine reduction. The garlicked melange and the peppered meats at least specified their flavours, while the stew was simply an enigma.

A clacking rang through the room again as the door slid open. It didn’t seem like much time had passed, but the waitress had already returned with a cup of fresh water in hand.

“Have you decided on what you’d like?”

“Er, yeah.” It was a reflexive response, and I was left re-examining the menu as quickly as I could. I wasn’t really sure why I hadn’t told her the truth, but it was too late to back down. “Can I get some of the Sthenian stew?”

I regretted speaking almost as soon as the words came out of my mouth. The Sthenian stew was the only dish completely devoid of detail, and it only happened to be on my mind precisely because I wanted anything else.

“One bowl of Sthenian stew it is, then. Do you want a drink with that, or will that be all?”

“That’ll be all.”

“Okay. It’ll just be a few minutes.”

“Thanks.”

I forced a bit of a smile, only to bury my face in my hands as soon as she left me alone. I couldn’t believe how nervous I was. I was almost certain it wasn’t my own fault. I was never the nervous type; there was simply something about her glowing, slit eyes that had pressured me into answering immediately.

Perhaps, I wondered if it was the way she looked at me. My clothes were clearly second-hand, and the shop’s prices were above average. Anyone in her shoes was sure to judge. Hell, even I was looking down on myself.

I fished my payment out of my coin purse as I sipped on my drink and awaited her return. I had already looked at all of the decorations, so I decided to make a game out of listening for the waitress instead. It was difficult to hear the serpentine employees thanks to the way they moved, but there was certainly a faint rubbing as they went from place to place.

The exercise lasted until I heard a loud crack, followed shortly by the shattering of glass. Nearly jumping out of my seat, I jammed my cup into my teeth and spilled my drink all over my shirt. The unexpected pain led me to jerk my leg and slam it into the bottom of the table. But even as I lay groaning in pain, I kept my focus on the source of my misfortune.

“What the fuck!? I told you, I wanted the best drink you’ve got. What the hell is this shit!?”

The screaming came from one of the booths on the other side of the hall. It was close enough to be clear, and much to my dismay, I recognized the voice’s owner. It belonged to one of the fort’s notorious idiots—one of the elites who had returned in spring and ordered me through all sorts of nonsense. His name was Malt, and he was a twice-ascended, deer-based cervitaur known for spiralling out of control.

“That’s the best we have,” said the waitress.

“The fuck you lying to me for!? This is the kind of same shit you get at the goddamn corner store!”

“Yes, it is, and it’s the best we have. This is a restaurant. If you want better drinks, go to a bar.” She sighed. I gulped. She wasn’t even trying to appease him.

“What kind of goddamn restaurant doesn’t stock up on drinks!?”

“This one.”

“Bitch! I’ve had it with you and your goddamn attitude!” There was another crash. From the sheer volume of the clattering and accompanying thunk, I was fairly certain that he had flipped the table. “I know you’re just fucking with me. You bring me some good drink right the fuck now, or I strangle you sideways.”

“Try it.”

“Try it!? You know who the hell I am?” I could hear—feel—his feet as they pounded against the floor, as he stomped his way right up in her face.

“You’re one of the idiot soldiers they have stationed up by the border.”

“Well, you got part of that right at least. Listen here, you little snake. The military up here in Cadria is serious fucking business. If you think I’m going to piss off and back down without knifing your ass, like the shitstains you’ve got back home, then you’re in for a wild fucking ride.”

I reluctantly got to my feet and made my way to the door. I wasn’t exactly fond of the idea of putting myself in Malt’s sights, but it was better me than some poor girl.

“Now bring me your best shit or I’ll fucking gut you.”

The sound of a strike rang through the hall.

I bit my lower lip as I threw open the door whilst lamenting my hesitation. I was too slow to prevent him from physically assaulting her.

“Knock it off, Malt. You’ve gone too fa—”

But venturing into the hallway, I found my assumptions proven false. It was not the soldier that had struck the girl, but the girl’s fist that sank into the soldier’s leg. She withdrew it with a huff and placed it on her hips while holding a bowl of stew—likely mine—in her free hand.

“Fucking bitch!” Malt groaned as he pushed himself back to his feet and swung his fists in a flurry. I thought for sure that he would hit her, but she evaded all the blows with practiced grace whilst keeping my poor lunch perfectly balanced. I almost couldn’t believe that it had yet to spill with all of the lamia’s movement.

She continued to guard it as he leapt back into action. Lowering the vessel, she curled her tail up like a spring, only to release all the pent-up momentum with a skyward uppercut. Using just her bowlless hand, she landed a well-aimed strike that rang straight through to his brain. Blood poured from his lips and splattered all over her apron. His feet were unsteady and he soon collapsed into a sad, bleeding pile on the polished wooden floor.

I breathed a sigh of relief. It looked like my meal had somehow been preserved throughout the encounter—or at least that was what I had thought until she bashed him over the head with the bowl and poured its burning contents all over his back.

Only then did she finally turn to face me, an almost eerily natural smile sitting upon her lips. “I’ll be with you in just a sec.”

“R-right. Thanks.”

I quietly retreated back into my room and returned to my seat at the table. Surely enough, she was back before long with a fresh bowl in hand.

“Sorry you had to see that,” she said.

“It uh… it’s fine,” I said.

I accepted the stew and the accompanying spoon, but hungry as I was, I didn’t immediately get to eating. For some odd reason, the waitress had seated herself on the opposite side of the table, and was looking at me with her face resting in her hands.

“W-what?”

“I’m waiting for you to try it. I know it wasn’t what you wanted, but it’s good, I promise.” The waitress flashed a bit of a teasing grin.

“Oh.” I felt a little awkward with how intently she was staring, but I eventually shovelled my spoon through the soup—it was filled to the brim with meats, tubers, and all sorts of easily preserved vegetables—and raised it to my lips.

I started with a bit of a lick, but she sighed, grabbed ahold of it, and shoved it into my mouth before I could finish processing the taste.

The flavour was surprisingly rich. I could still remember it to this very day. Just as how I remembered the way her lips curled up in the moment.

“See, good, isn’t it?”

I nodded.

“You almost wouldn’t think we make it out of unruly stallions.”

I froze. After taking a few seconds to look between the soup and its snake, I immediately sprinted out of the hall to find a pair of servers in the midst of dragging Malt away. I was about to shout something awfully stupid when I was interrupted by a chuckle.

“I was joking,” said the waitress, between fits of laughter. “I didn’t think you’d take me seriously.” Another set of giggles, a set that ended in a familiar, teasing smile. “Has anyone ever told you that you’re a bit of a dunce?”

It was that smile, that same damned, irritating, lovable, obnoxious, unforgettable smile, that had me returning to the shop on the regular. I only ever went to see her, though I was never without the excuse that I simply liked the Sthenian stew. At the time, I simply didn’t understand my own feelings. Just as how I had never imagined that she was an undercover princess, I had never once thought that I could have fallen so easily.

But looking back, as I returned to the present, I saw how obvious it was. Even in my infinite immaturity, I should have understood.

Her smile had stolen my heart.

“It is absurd how easily you slew him.” Vella’s voice pulled me from my reverie as a metal shell formed atop my wings. “Though fallen, he was but a single step to godhood. He was one of the few to have stepped beyond the bounds of mortality and transcended into the realm of the undying. But you felled him, and in a single blow no less.” She breathed a sigh and pressed a hand against her brow. “This is meant to be a trial, Virillius. There is no purpose if you defeat each foe with ease.”

“Then present me with someone stronger,” I said.

“I suppose I have no choice but to do just that.”

Still massaging her temples, she raised her other hand and beckoned me forward again.