Damien had gone long into the night with his research regarding the Cult of Apocalyptic Dungeons. Corbyn had not been wrong about them. Not in the least. They were… vile. It was the best word that he could think of t describe them. Just… vile. Mass sacrifice, bloodletting, ritualistic suicide, and so much else and so much worse.
But what made it even more macabre was the fact that failure was not a wake-up call for them. They just kept calling for more and more blood again and again and again, never stopping, never bothering to acknowledge the fact that their kill count was now somewhere in the millions. The fact that the Cult hadn’t been wiped out was fucking amazing to him.
“I guess there’s a reason they’ve been designated an international terrorist organization,” Damien said, wiping at his eyes as he stretched. It was the next morning, and he had gotten… well, a few hours of sleep, at the very least. He wouldn’t be able to even lift his head right now if he hadn’t. Out of sheer habit, Damien pulled up his Status like he did every morning, though only the top half this time. He could still remember his other lists from yesterday, and they had already been pretty damn full, to say the least.
[Status]
Name: Damien Sinclair
Race: Traveler of Umbra (Male)
Age: 19
Class: Shade Hunter
Level: 7
XP: 2,100/7,000
Profession: Runesmith
Affinity: Umbra
Stats:
Strength: 30
Dexterity: 74
Intelligence: 74
Constitution: 40
Endurance: 40
Wisdom: 50
Vitality: 50
Vigor: 40
Willpower: 50
Reaction: 100
Stat Points: 0
He had grown a lot, and had even boosted his Reaction Stat to a hundred, his first Stat to break that silent barrier of progress! It also increased the range of his Primeval Awareness to about ten meters, and he had more than gotten used to the feeling of it by now. He still kept it off most of the time when he wasn’t hunting monsters, but he could switch it on with barely a thought now, practically turning it into a reflex. A still developing reflex, but still a reflex.
That was when his gaze flicked back up to the top of his Status, and he took in the new information. A different number. A single, advanced digit, from eight to nine. That was all it was, in truth. And yet the weight of it sank into him like a sack of bricks.
Nineteen. Damien Sinclair was nineteen. Nineteen and… not on Earth. Not anymore.
He thought he had come to terms with that fact. That he would never see what was left of his family again. That even if it was possible to go back to Earth, he would have no way of knowing how much time had passed, or whether his aunt and uncle even still lived. But he wasn’t. Not entirely. And now, with the visible reminder of the passage of time… it hurt. It really did.
All of Damien’s usual enthusiasm had been wholly drained from him. He knew that Corbyn would want to start practicing soon, but the Traveler just didn’t have it in himself to try that day. It just seemed suddenly… hollow.
“Kid?” Corbyn was at the door to his room, the Canis having entered through where their rooms shared an entrance with one another. He noticed Damien’s suddenly distraught face, and his tone softened. “Hey, you alright? You look like hell.”
“… I turned nineteen today.”
The tone of his voice was blank and lifeless that it would give anyone pause. Corbyn just stood in the doorway for a few moments, unsure of how to handle the situation. He sighed. Not in resignation, but with recognition. “Okay. There’s food on the table, when you’re ready for it. Just… be sure to eat something, alright? And I’m right next door if you need anything.”
And with that, Corbyn left Damien to his own devices. The Traveler would’ve been grateful, if he was capable of feeling anything but sheer numbness at that very moment. He stared up at the ceiling, smoothed out and flawless in every way. He had stared up at this ceiling for the past few months, never bothering to notice anything about it other than its perfection. And now, all that he could see was its perfection, as though it were mocking him and his apathy.
Damien wanted to blast the damned thing, but he knew that it would be pointless. It would do nothing but put a drain on Corbyn’s money. Sure, the man was incredibly rich, but the Traveler didn’t want his benefactor to have to care for him any more than he already did. He owed him a lot more than that already.
Damien tried not to think too much about his aunt and uncle. There were regrets enough there already. The fact that he would never be able to go back and try to fix what had never been hurt him all the more. And still, his thoughts drifted to them all the same. It was hard to avoid your own thoughts, especially when you were alone. But that was what Damien had asked for, so he’d live with that choice.
Or he would if he didn’t want to avoid it so much. Instead, he shot up from the bed with a start, rubbing at his face to get the remaining sleep out of his eyes. It didn’t help with the numbness, but it at least got him out of bed. He walked out to the room where he and Corbyn ate at the end of most days. Breakfast was there, as his mentor had promised. A simple breakfast, of scrambled eggs and a pair of sausage patties. Probably because he had planned on making Damien an hour later.
He was grateful as he dug into the meal, but not with gusto or zeal. Truth be told, he could hardly taste what was coming into his mouth at that moment. He knew it was good, but he only registered it as a fact, not as a sensation.
Ash spooled out of his shadow then, sitting back on his haunches as he looked at his summoner with what seemed to be genuine concern. “Uh… hey, are you alright dude? You look… dead.”
“… I guess I kinda feel it,” Damien said.
“… I won’t pry,” Ash said. “This isn’t something I have full context for. Just… be sure to talk to someone, alright? Doesn’t have to be me or Corbyn, but talking can help a lot.”
“You say that, but aren’t you constantly in my shadow?”
“Hey, I can let you have some privacy. It’s not like I can read your mind any deeper than your surface thoughts. If you decide to trust someone with everything I can’t see or hear, I’ll respect those boundaries.”
“… thanks.”
“You’re welcome. I hope you feel better soon.”
Ash went back into Damien’s shadow without another word, going silent as he left the Traveler to his thoughts. He sighed. He knew that they were just trying to help, and that they were being good friends, but it felt… well, it didn’t feel like anything. His melancholic apathy was drowning out everything else.
Damien finished up what was left of his breakfast, trying not to think too hard about anything as he left Fortune’s Rest. From there, he walked down the streets of Lamora with a slow gait, without even a blade at his side for company. The day was overcast and gloomy. It reflected his numbness well. But even if it didn’t, it wouldn’t have mattered. He still would’ve felt as hollow as he did right now.
People walked and talked and traveled all around him as he continued to walk deeper into Lamora. Hearthborn and humans and vampires abounded, with even some vampires and several Seraphites dotted throughout. Damien only noted this as he passed them all by, the noise of a hundred different conversations muting his own thoughts more thoroughly than anything else he could think of. It was the best way he had to drown it all out, even though he hated crowds.
He wasn’t sure how much time had passed. Perhaps minutes. Perhaps hours. He had passed beggars and barefoot children, their faces stained with something like soot or something else. He passed by people in fancy clothes who were clearly giving him dirty looks, judging him for daring to step into their paths. He paid them no mind. But, in the end, he simply walked. Walked until…
Damien was snapped out of his stupor as he smacked headfirst into a wooden post. Not particularly hard, and not enough to hurt him, but enough to cause him to pause in his mindless wandering. He glanced up at the place, his mind blank of everything but the din of noise.
Regina’s Emporium of Books and Spells.
… huh. Wonder why I ended up here? Surprisingly enough, genuine curiosity accompanied that thought, and it was enough for Damien to put aside any apprehension he had and actually enter the space. it was as grand as it ever was, with a whole lot of extra space that didn’t show on the outside and books flying out left and right, organizing themselves according to Regina’s meticulous internal system. Or just her whims; he’d never really been sure which one.
“Hey there, kid,” the woman in question said, putting down one of her books as she looked at him with a fond smile. “Next lesson’s not ‘til tomorrow. What’s up?”
“… I… I don’t really know why I’m here.”
The blankness in his tone caused Regina immediate concern. She knew that this wasn’t like him, and that clearly disturbed her. Still, she calmly walked over to him, placing a hand on his shoulder. “Do you need anything?”
“… could I sit down?”
With a nod, Regina guided him to one of the tables she set aside for people to read at, pulling out one of her comfiest chairs and letting Damien collapse into it. It felt nice, to just go… limp. To let nothing hold him up but the structure of this plush chair. It was nice to let himself not think.
“You let me know if you need anything else, okay?”
The Traveler nodded dumbly, and Regina left his side soon after. He started up at the ceiling of the store, getting lost in the grain and divets and the bronze color that it all seemed to shine in with the warm light of the shop. It was a much better ceiling than the one at Fortune’s Rest. Maybe they should consider renovating it to this style? It would certainly spruce up the place.
Damien wasn’t sure how much time had passed since he had arrived in the shop. Honestly, it was getting so bad that if he didn’t know better, he’d say he was back in the Aether all over again. But, eventually, someone sat across from him. He wasn’t sure who, and he wouldn’t know until he glanced down and looked at them. It took him a lot longer than he hoped it would.
Felicia was sitting across from him. He wasn’t sure when she’d gotten there, or if she’d taken some time to style her hair a certain way, or even what clothes she was wearing. The only thing that registered to his mind was that she was right there in front of him, and he was incredibly grateful to see her in that moment.
“… hey,” he said. Damien even managed to inject some actual warmth into the simple word. Not a lot, but some. The young Seraphite woman just gave him a sad smile, clearly seeing that he was dealing with something on the inside.
This tale has been pilfered from Royal Road. If found on Amazon, kindly file a report.
“Hey,” she said back. “I guess you’re going through something right now?”
“… something like that,” he admitted, leaning forward and resting his forehead on the table between them. The wood felt pleasant to lean against, and he didn’t want to leave it anytime soon.
“Do you want to talk about it?”
“… will you leave if I say no?”
Felicia shook her head at his question. He wasn’t sure how he knew that until he realized that Primeval Awareness had been activated. He hadn’t even noticed it. It seemed that it really was becoming a reflex. “Not unless you ask me to.”
She grasped his hand lightly with her own. It was warm and soft and kind in ways he couldn’t quite think of words for. He shifted his own grip and gave her hand a light squeeze, to let her know that he was still there. “I… don’t think I want to talk about it. Not yet.”
Felicia nodded to him, a few strands of her platinum white hair falling into her face. “That’s okay. I’ll be here, if you need me.”
As it turned out, he did. Not in the sense of someone to talk to, but someone to just.. sit with him. To be here with him in that moment and understand that he wasn’t fully there. Damien wasn’t sure how he could repay her for just understanding him. But he promised himself that he would. Whether it was by being a better friend or by talking to her about her problems or something else that he wasn’t thinking of, he was ready and willing to help her. It was the least he could do, after she had helped him.
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A few hours passed between them like that, the two friends making bits of idle conversation as the day passed. Damien wasn’t entirely sure what it was all about, but he knew that it had helped to bring some feeling back into him. He’d thanked her profusely once he felt ready to go outside again, to which Felicia had just smiled and sent him on his way.
He hoped she was doing okay. Though they had been friends for a few months, there were things about her that he wasn’t privy to, and vice versa. Damien wasn’t quite comfortable telling her that he was a Traveler quite yet, but he knew that he wanted to, at least eventually. He only hoped that she would accept him.
As he made his way back to Fortune’s Rest, he saw something that shouldn’t have surprised him, but did. A group of kids, young teenagers by their looks, grouped around one kid in particular for reasons that could only be malicious, given the glint in their eyes. Damien started to step closer, cursing himself for not remembering to take his sword with him. It didn’t matter, since he was more than capable of dispatching a few untrained teenagers, especially since it was highly unlikely that any of them were even Awoken yet, but he did decide to be a bit cautious.
Most of the aggressors looked like run-of-the-mill humans, with a Hearthborn and a vampire among them, all surrounding a single young woman with tan skin that was slowly turning pale, with jagged white streaks lining their way through her otherwise dark hair. It took Damien a moment to recognize what she was, mainly because he had rarely seen people like her around Lamora until this point. She was a Stormblood, and while they were a minority in Ulys at large, that was not the case in several other countries, including Errenyl to the far west.
What he heard out of the group’s mouths were… vile things. Things that, back on Earth, would have caused him to jump headlong into a fight, no questions asked, even if he would likely get the shit kicked out of him in the process. He didn’t stand for it in his old life, and he sure as hell wasn’t going to stand for it here.
With a few quick steps, Damien was right behind the main offender, the one who had started kicking at the young girl while she was down, lauding his supposed greatness over her as though it were some kind of dick-measuring contest. He was human, fairly tall, and seemingly well built, but his posture suggested that he had never been in an actual fight in his life. A typical bully. So, Damien decided to give him a reality check by spinning him around with a quick tug to one shoulder and giving him a quick jab to the face.
The young human stumbled back with his hand close to his face, blood dripping from his now broken nose. His muffled shouts were further interrupted when two of his companions stepped up to try and hit Damien with their fists. He didn’t even bother with them, stepping out of the way of their blows and letting the two idiots punch each other in the face.
The entire time, Damien stood between the group and the hurt Stormblood girl. This wasn’t the time for a fight. She needed medical attention, and she needed it now. So, with as much malice as Damien could muster, he started cycling his Mana through his body, giving his words as much weight as he could.
“I don’t have the time or the inclination to fight you idiots. There are more important things I have to do than trade blows with you for any reason. So kindly fuck off before I actually start breaking bones.”
That did the trick. Many of their faces quickly turned pale, and those who had already been bloodied quickly ran away from him. The other quickly followed suit. Once Damien was sure that they were all gone, he knelt down next to the young woman, giving her a once over with his basic senses.
“Can you stand?” He didn’t ask if she was okay, mainly because it was fairly clear that she wasn’t. He turned up his sense of sight, smell and hearing enough to make certain details about her condition clearer to him. It didn’t look like she was bleeding on the outside, but his hearing picked up the odd shifting of bone in her torso, and he could smell the stench of vomit coming from her mouth. Had she forced herself not to puke when she’d been kicked in the stomach?
The young woman took several deep breaths before she responded with a weak nod, trying her best to stand unassisted. Damien let her get to her feet on her own, though he stayed near just in case she fell down. After that, it was down to more immediate concerns.
“Do you know any healers or doctors nearby that would be able to help you?”
Again, she nodded.
“Do you think you can get there on your own?”
The Stormblood girl took a single step forward and almost collapsed with the pain of it, though Damien was able to catch her by the shoulders before she hit the ground. “Okay, guess that’s a no. Can you guide me there?”
“… yes,” she said, her voice sounding slightly hoarse from her shortness of breath. “Just… follow my lead.”
Gently, he took the girl up in his arms, careful not to irritate or worsen her likely broken ribs, and helped get her where she needed to go. Half an hour passed while she directed him to the place she spoke of, a small clinic in the southern part of Lamora. Damien was ashamed to admit that he didn’t visit this part of town very often, even though he hadn’t known about it until now.
The main doctor at the clinic was also Stormblood, though the streaks through his own hair were gold in coloration, and he seemed relieved to see the young woman in his arms. Damien wasn’t sure if this was a regular occurrence here, or if it was this young woman in particular, but he felt the need to do some more research that night. There was just so much he didn’t know about and not enough time in the world to begin making up for it at that moment. But he would, given time. He just wished he could do it faster.
“… why…?” the young woman asked, clearly confused. “Why… did you help me?”
Damien had turned his back to the clinic, about to leave and let the doctor get to work healing her injuries. He had left some Camori to pay for whatever fees she would incur, mainly from selling the stuff he got on his hunts with Leon. But this… there were several ways he could answer this question. Because he could. Because it was the right thing to do. Because he couldn’t stand there and let bullies get away with their smug shit while he could damn well do something about it. While they were all true, to one degree or another, they weren’t his true reasoning for doing it. So, for the first time in a while, he told someone the complete truth.
“Because I once wished that someone would save me. And even if I might not be there next time, I thought… maybe I could be that hero for someone. For just one day.”
And with that, he walked away. From here, that young woman’s path was out of his hands. He had done what he could for the day, and he would try to check up on her every now and then, but he would let her decisions be her own. From here on out, he would let himself be a bit player in the story that was her life. Because, in truth, that was all he was to most people. A bit player. But in this case? He was fine with that.
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It only took Damien another hour to get back to Fortune’s Rest, since his walk from the southern part of Lamora had taken him through streets that he had no context for. Eventually though, he got back. He breathed in and out, slowly preparing himself to meet with his mentor.
He felt bad for how he had left. not leaving the building itself; he did that basically every day, but he did feel bad about leaving without even talking to Corbyn. So, with a hesitation in his step that hadn’t been there before, Damien walked into the building, through the main lobby, and up the stairs to the floors which held their shared rooms. He unlocked his door, and walked inside.
Corbyn was waiting for him. Not in that brooding way that one would expect from a certain, bat-themed vigilante, but in a nervous, almost hesitant way that suggested he might be doubting himself. That look was wiped from his face when he saw Damien at the entrance to their shared rooms, greeting him with a smile that still managed to look mirthful through the scars on his face. “Hey. Uh… I wasn’t entirely sure how to do this, so… I got us cake. If you want it, I mean. It’s alright if you’re not in the mood for that, but it felt wrong to just leave it like this so-”
“I… I’d like some cake,” Damien said, interrupting his mentor’s awkward explanation. “What flavor?”
“Chocolate,” he admitted. “I wasn’t entirely sure if that would be okay or not, or if you’d even know what chocolate was, but it’s what most people default to when it comes to birthday cakes.”
Damien gave a soft chuckle at that. “I know what chocolate is. Not my favorite, but I like it well enough.”
Corbyn gave a clear sign of relief. “That’s good. Well… here it is.”
It was a small cake, meant for two people. Corbyn split it in half with a small knife, and the two quickly got to talking about various things. Damien even opened up about some stories regarding his old life, which seemed to amuse his mentor greatly.
“So… let me get this straight,” he said between bouts of laughter. “This idiot is so high on his own confidence that he actually had the brass fucking balls to go up on the roof and do a handstand on the edge… and he’s surprised when he loses his balance and falls flat on his back two stories down?”
“Yup.”
He gave a chuckle at that. If this were any other world, and had he not gone through months of pain himself, Damien would’ve had a different response. But after everything that had happened to him on Xaunis, it honestly seemed… funny, in hindsight. And it was funny. At least a little bit. The guy had ended up in the hospital and tried to sue someone who Damien couldn’t remember, but he’d ended up there through his own incompetence. It was a pretty awful thing, but it was still his own fault that it happened at all.
“Anyway, that’s enough story time for now,” Corbyn said, going to the other side of the room and digging around behind a couch. “Wouldn’t make for a great birthday if you didn’t get any gifts, now would it?”
Damien just smiled. It was a small smile, a reminder of his early apathy to everything. But it had largely faded. Felicia had helped a lot with that, just by being there for him. He hoped he might be able to pay her back for that someday.
Corbyn emerged from behind the couch a few minutes later, holding up a small box in each hand. He set them both on the table. “The first one is more practical, and the other is… well, I just hope it helps a bit with… everything.”
Damien nodded, and picked up the first box, quickly opening it. He discovered what looked like a plain iron band, meant to go around his finger. He used Identify on the item, and was immediately floored by it.
[Inventory Ring]
Rarity: Rare
Accessory Type: Ring, Spacial Storage
Description: a relatively plain iron ring that also functions as its own storage space, able to carry a room’s worth of items, clothing, and weaponry. Please note that living things, such as plants, animals, and people, cannot be stored.
Primary Effect: Spacial Storage
Additional Abilities & Magic: Mana Imprint
“It’s a fairly standard ring, but I thought you could use it nonetheless,” Corbyn said. “It also has the Mana Imprint function, meaning that no one will be able to access it but you unless you die. So, uh… yeah. I think it’ll come in handy.”
Damien immediately slipped the ring onto his middle finger, feeling the metal slightly adjust to the contours of his digit as he let Mana flow into the metal. The object accepted the energy gladly, briefly pulsing purple as the Mana Imprint was successfully established. With only a thought, Damien sent his mind into the ring itself. It was the space of about an average-sized room, as the description suggested, and other than the suggestion of borders at its edges, was entirely featureless.
Damien quickly withdrew from the ring, smiling at Corbyn. “Thanks. I’ve been wondering about these things.”
“Huh. I thought you’d ask about the Mana Imprint, but it looks like you’ve already gotten the hang of it.”
“After all the Mana Control practice you put me through, I think I’d know what I’m doing by now.”
“Oh, you've learned the basics well, my young apprentice, but you have still more yet to learn,” Corbyn responded with a chuckle. “And now… for the other one.”
His mentor seemed much more nervous about this gift than he had about the last one. Damien gently took the box from the table and opened it, to find what was inside. It was a metal pendant with an accompanying chain. The image on the pendant was slightly archaic, but it had its own kind of beauty that shown through even in the dim light of their rooms. Damien held it up by the chain, reading the word that was engraved into the metal.
Reminisce.
“There’s a tradition in my homeland of Errenyl,” Corbyn said. “Not the whole of it, but my part held to it. We write words of love and hope and memory into pendants, and we carry them with us. To remember all those we lost, and those whom we still have.”
Corbyn gestured to his own neck, where a pendant of his own laid against his shirt. Damien had never seen it before, likely because Corbyn had always kept it hidden beneath a shirt. His read Persevere. Like a silent promise to everyone he had left behind that he would do just that.
Damien felt tears falling down his cheeks. Before Corbyn could apologize for some perceived slight, Damien wrapped his mentor in a full hug, and cried into his shoulder.
“Thank you,” he said, voice muffled through the Canis’ shirt and his own tears. But still, he said it. “Thank you so much.”
Corbyn, eventually, returned the embrace, letting Damien work out all of his emotions here, in a space where no one would judge him. Felicia had helped with his wave of apathy. But for now? Corbyn would help with his emotional burdens. And for the moment, that would be enough.