The week of Ventis, the 15th day
Saying their goodbyes to their Locksmith companions, they left the following day.
Lyra had not slept much the night before because she had been thinking about their last battle with the Magycte and how it could control the Fiends. She hoped that reporting to HQ about their findings would be enough.
She and Eamon had managed to keep the Kesync stable without breaking the connection, but Lyra wondered if it was only because Rylia was in danger.
She mentally sighed, "I hope Rylia will be okay." The physicians said the bone in her arm had split in two. She shook her head. Of course, she was fine. Despite the sling, she still managed to grab my cheeks.
She was going to miss them. Then, something Elessa said came to her head about Eamon when they talked late at night at the inn: ‘It may not be something he will not tell you but can’t, maybe he's unable to for many reasons, just give him time. He wants to tell you, you know how I know? Because he likes you.’
Lyra’s face flushed. She shook her head, freeing her thoughts. Thinking that Eamon had feelings for her was silly, but Elessa was right about one thing. Maybe she had been too hard on him. Just because he came back from the military, he was still Master’s student, and he came back. I'm sure there’s more to it, but I guess for now… I’ll let him tell me on his own.
“Hmm?” Sly hummed, turning to her. “You look a bit red. Are you thinking dirty thoughts, Ashbourne?” She grinned with a raised brow.
Lyra shrieked. She smacked her cheeks to hide any evidence of her face. “Sly! Really? Why would you say that? That’s so perverse of you.”
Sly laughed at her reaction. “Only way to get a rise out of you, so I know you’re still with us. Right, Eamon?”
He grinned. “Right.”
Lyra snorted. “What are you laughing at?” Jabbing her finger into his side. Her voice had no aggression, which surprised Eamon with wide eyes. Eamon was unnerved at the thought of them talking and her getting close to him.
They continued their trek for several more miles when Eamon spotted something in the distance.
“Eh, what’s that there? A carriage?”
Sly nodded, getting a better look. “Yup, looks broken from here. Let’s see if they need our help.”
Once they were closer, a man with copper-red hair stood by his broken wheel, scratching his head and mumbling, ‘What should I do now?’
“Perhaps we can help with that.”
The man turned to them when Sly announced their presence, and relief washed over his face. He saw the Locksmiths, returning the bronze complexion to his cheeks.
“Oh, thank goodness, Locksmiths. Wait… you’re the Rosevera Whip, right?”
She smirked. “Sly, in the flesh.”
“I’m Lyra Ashbourne.”
“Eamon Ashbourne. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”
The man gasped. “And kin to the Sentinel Riftbreaker? This is amazing.”
“Is there anything we can do for you?” Lyra questioned the man.
Snapping out of his awed state, the man returned to his horse-drawn carriage.
“Y-Yes, sorry, it would seem the roads busted my wheel, and that was my last spare.”
Sly crossed her arms. She gestured her chin to the carriage, addressing Lyra and Eamon to take over. “I’ll let you two handle this.”
Lyra nodded. “I’ll fix the wheel with elemental Gaia.” She bent down to the cracked wheel with an outstretched hand.
“I’ll assist you.”
Eamon bent down as well and together, palms outward, called upon the Wellsprings earth to fill the cracks of the cracked wheel.
The man marveled at their work, having not seen Essentia up close. “Wow, that’s amazing. I wish you both didn’t have to waste your time fixing a wheel. If the Chancellor was feeling generous, he should have fixed these roads if he wanted to make peace.”
Eamon settled the wheel back into place.
“It’s no problem for us.” Lyra waved off the man’s worry. “That’s what Locksmiths do; help those in need big and small.”
The man’s eyes grew watery and bowed. “Thank you!” Making her jump at the man’s forwardness. “Please let me offer you a ride into the city as a sign of my thanks!”
The three of them looked at each other and nodded. Making the man’s day as he gave them a broad smile and ushered them into the carriage.
“My name is Stephen, by the way. Stephen Bran. I'm from Gearford and own a General Store and Inn in Troér – I could loan you a room, free of charge, for your assistance.”
The carriage clopped away as they rode down the path. Sly sat in the front. Lyra and Eamon are in the back with some of the wagon’s crates.
“Oh, Troér is nice this time of year. The Mechanical fight capital of Aurum. They still do those tournaments, right?” Sly asked. Curiosity sparked her as she was remembering her last time in Troér.
“Every Ventis! You picked a good day to travel, but that is why Ventis is a special week for travelers. Lumos must have a guiding hand with you.”
“Hey…Eamon?” Lyra whispered. She sat across from him on the carriage floor.
“Huh? Sorry, I spaced out. I didn’t… didn’t think you’d be talking to me.”
She flinched. Her lips pressed together at his comment. “Fair point, but…” she pressed her hands together, staring at them.
“Lyra? Are you ok–?”
“I’m sorry!” she exclaimed, shutting her eyes and bowing her head to her knees.
“Huh?” he blinked, taken aback by her outburst. He continued staring at her, waiting for her to speak up again.
“You know…,” she mumbled. She peeked up from behind her knee but didn’t look at him yet. Her face was starting to burn, and she knew she was blushing. “For getting mad about you keeping stuff about your time in the military.”
She sighed.
“I’m not saying it’s my fault, but… Syncing is a two-way street that requires trust on both ends….” she was looking at him now from the corner of her eye.
“Lyra…”
“You haven’t seen me since we were kids. I’m practically a stranger to you; you wouldn’t trust me yet, and forcing you to spill your guts isn’t help, so I’ve decided…” She bit her lip and swallowed the lump in her throat.
“You’ve decided what?” he urged.
“...I can’t be mad that you can’t tell me something you aren't ready to talk about. It’s your past to tell if you want to tell me down the line.” She slowly lifted her head and pulled her legs to her chest. A strand of her curl fell into her face. She pushed it back behind her ear. “Then, it’ll be up to you to do so.”
Lyra did not say anything. His soft hand grazed her cheek. She turned slightly to see Eamon tucking her hair behind her ear less than a foot away. Her face was redder than before.
“Thank you, Lyra, that… means a lot you said that.”
“Um, yeah, well… It’s no big deal.” She shrugged, but internally, her heart thudded in its chest at their proximity. He smells good. “Y-Your business, and we don’t have to Sync. We work well anyway, but we’ll work on that.” Shaking free her nervous rambling.
He smiled. “Yeah, I would like that.” She looks cute, flustered like that. His body heated up at their shared proximity. His own heart skipped several beats.
They stared at one another for a moment, wondering who would pull away or come closer first. Meanwhile, Sly had been watching the whole time and had a big grin on her face.
“Well, I’m glad you two love birds made up. That constant cold shoulder was starting to age me.”
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Lyra and Eamon blushed for the umpteenth time, but Lyra covered her face. “Seriously, Sly?” mumbling into her hands.
All the while, Sly laughed as the three enjoyed the ride.
•†•
The carriage rode for several more miles, and as the hours passed, they entered Gearford's region and finally came upon the mechanical city of Troér. The mechanized mining city presented a captivating sight from afar. The outer layer resembled a coliseum, its steel walls towering high and adorned with intricate, slightly weathered engravings displaying gears, cogs, and other mechanical motifs.
“Welcome to the city of Troér!” Stephen announced in a grand voice when they drew closer to the entrance. Lyra and Eamon leaned closer to awe at the structure now that they were up close.
The massive bronze gates adorned with intricate iron-wrought designs and guards in silver armor stood astutely at the city's entrance.
“What’s happening up there?” Lyra pointed to the other carriages that had stopped before entering the gates.
“Security check,” Stephen told her. “They make sure there isn’t anything dangerous you have that would endanger the city.”
Lyra pursed her lips. “Our weapons are fine, right?”
“Don’t worry about that, Lyra,” Sly said. “Locksmiths aren’t included in that rule. As long as we have our licenses, we’re good.”
Lyra sighed with relief. She touched Riftblade where it sat in its sheath. She could not imagine someone forcibly taking it away from her.
Once they reached the checkpoint and handed in their necessary identification, the gates opened to them. A bustling city concealed within buzzed with a frantic energy that mirrored the ceaseless activity of its inhabitants. The clang of metal on metal and the rhythmic whirring of gears resonated through the air, creating a symphony of industry.
At the heart resided an expansive area, the central hub of Troér. Tall, steel chimneys rose from the industrial district. The rhythmic pulse of machinery echoed through the colossal coliseum walls. Everyday citizens walked along the cobblestone streets donned in practical yet expressive attire: men, engaged in the ceaseless toil of factories, wore dark trousers and leather boots under loose-fitting shirts, while women embraced modesty in sturdy skirts and blouses, often adorned with aprons for hands-on work. Children mirror their parents in miniature ensembles. The vibrant marketplace unfolded as a kaleidoscope of colors, merchants clad in eclectic patterns.
The entertainment district was a haven for flamboyant styles, with flowing skirts and tailored suits. In the upper-class enclave overlooking the coliseum, the elite draped themselves in elegant gowns and refined suits, exiting from drawn carriages down the bustling streets.
The College of Mechanical Arts was the heart of Troér, a prestigious institution that produced many brilliant inventors and artisans famous for their groundbreaking devices in Aurum. Among its notable graduates are Dr. Isabella Marconi, a physicist from the Valerian Republic, and Professor Samuel Bannister, a mathematician from Crystalline City State, who together invented the Voxlink.
As Sly walked past Troér’s Arena, a large stadium with a circular dome, he exclaimed, “Looks like it’s time to break out the Denarius. I smell a win in my future!” The arena displayed mechanical automatons called ‘Iron Gladiators,’ which fought in mechanized duels, each operated by a skilled pilot.
The streets of Troér were a maze of brick and stone, filled with shops offering a blend of innovative gadgets and traditional goods. Pockets of greenery, hanging gardens, and ivy-covered walls added a rustic touch to the vibrant cityscape.
“Oh, wow, what is that?” Lyra gaped as she looked above her. “Are people…walking on that?”
Above the streets is a see-through suspended walkway connecting to different building portions. Scholars and engineers often walked through the see-through tunnels, but many would ride the trams that traversed the city's reaches, providing swift transportation for its inhabitants.
Stephen drove through the crowd while Lyra pointed and gawked around her. They finally ended up in front of the General Store and Inn. Everyone got out of the carriage.
“If you need some help carrying these in, we’ll be more than helpful too.” Sly offered, handing the man two silver Denari.
He shook his head, denying the payment. “Thank-you. Just take those three in the back. For the rest, I have to make deliveries in town. Just ask for Kathye, my daughter, and tell her I’m setting up lodge on the house for the Locksmiths that assisted me.”
Sly nodded. “Will do. We'll see you soon.”
The three unloaded the cargo and walked through the doors. The bell on the door dinged.
“And it looks like the military is here too.” Lyra sucked her teeth. “They just gather like flies now. Unbelievable, they’re everywhere so fast.”
Eamon stayed silent. Pressing his lips together and not making eye contact with them.
They headed to the front desk, where a woman with brown ringlet hair dressed in a simple smock and apron greeted them with a smile: “Welcome to the General Inn. How may I best serve you?”
“Kathye, right? Your father, Stephen, wanted us to deliver these packages.” Sly told her.
Her eyes grew big as she took notice of the boxes in each of their hands. “Oh, yes, yes! You can settle them toward the back, behind the counter.”
The three-headed behind the counter to the door that led to the backroom.
Kathye stood by the doorway. “My father is alright, yes? What happened?” Her face was wrought with worry as she clutched her clothing.
“No worries, he’s fine!” Lyra exclaimed. “His spare wheel had broken, and we fixed it.”
Kathye touched her chest and sighed with relief. “Oh, thank you, Lumos. It was not anything serious. Well, I’ll get your rooms prepared, as I’m sure my father would have already offered them to you.”
When they returned to the main dining area, the military was gone, and only locals and Locksmiths remained.
“Whelp, I’m off. You kids have fun and stay out of trouble.” Sly gestured with a flick of her hand to her forehead.
Lyra twisted her lip. “Wait, you aren’t staying with us? Where are you even going?”
She removed her coin purse and shook it as it dangled noisily. “Off to place my bets at the coliseum. I would invite you, but you have to be twenty-one to enter. Eamon, interested?”
“I’m good. Have fun, Sly, we'll get the key.”
“But not too much fun!” Lyra shouted as the bell’s door dinged when Sly opened it, and it closed behind her.
Lyra put her hands on her hips. Staring at the door with a shake of her head. “You don’t think she’ll spend all her Denarius?”
Eamon's tight lip formed a slight grin. “I have no idea. I’m just glad we have our own coin purses. So, do you have anywhere in mind to go?”
Lyra’s stomach grumbled at the same time. She clutched her arms around her waist. “I could eat something right about now.”
Eamon grinned. “I second that. Let’s see if there’s a tavern from which we can get some food.”
Lyra and Eamon headed for the tavern down the street. It was noisy and raucous, full of locals, travelers, some Locksmiths, and the military.
Lyra groaned, rolling her eyes. “I swear…”
“We can eat upstairs or take our food to go?” Eamon offered, hoping she would agree so, he would not have to risk anyone recognizing him.
He was disheartened when she denied the request with a shake of her head.
“I won’t let some military people chase me away. No matter what the Chancellor says. Locksmiths have importance in society's life.”
Having no choice but to agree with her, they headed toward the counter, where a brunette-haired server was behind it. “What can I get you two?”
As the two finished ordering, Eamon’s body tensed.
“Man, we will be stuffed with how much we ordered!” Lyra exclaimed with an enormous chagrin on her face. She licked her lips. “Do you think we should have got Sly something? Nah, I’m sure there is something at the Coliseum. Hey, Eamon, are you okay?”
She looked at him. His face turned pale.
“I thought that was you.” A heavily accented man spoke to them. “Long time no see, Black Thorn, or do you now go by your name, Eamon?”
Over Eamon’s shoulder, to the right of him, a tall blonde-haired, chiseled-jaw man looked directly at them with piercing gray eyes. He was wearing military garb, a shade of navy blue, different from the usual uniform for the military brigade. He had a confident gait about him that was not to be tested.
Eamon's eyes twitched at the name. A sharp shock stabbed inside of his pain; hot flashes of pain had him shaking free of the pain that came suddenly.
He could not muster the courage to turn around and face the military personnel he worked so closely with.
The Imperial Military man got up and walked over to them. This man’s confidence not only filtered the air, but it was something sinister, too.
Lyra did not know who this person was, but from Eamon's cinched posture, she knew it was someone he did not want to speak to, let alone see. She stood in front of Eamon protectively, facing the man with a hardened glare.
Her action made several eyes from the military look her way, who were surprised she butt in. Even the man himself smirked, amused. Annoying, a scowl-lipped Lyra. Eamon was shocked and snapped out of it, staring at the back of her head.
“Hello, and who do I have the unwanted pleasure of meeting?” The man stood at six feet, a foot taller than Eamon. He had an athletic build beneath his uniform.
Lyra squared her shoulders, holding her head high to not let this man phase her. “Unpleasant indeed since you so rudely came up to us, and it’s clear no one wants you here.”
He raised a thick brow. “Oh? Is that so?” He turned to his military friends. “How about you all? Do you all want me here?”
They jeered at his response like yapping drunkards.
Lyra rolled her eyes, her arms crossed. She was not phased. “The drunken words of inebriated men mean nothing.”
He hummed and chuckled. His lidded eyes stared at Lyra, who tried her best to keep herself steady. It was proving difficult, as his aura was so overpowering it could knock her over.
“You’re a smart one, aren’t you?”
“Smart, funny, strong, strategically gifted, I could go on.” She listed confidently, hoping to show she would not be messed with either.
“Nikolai, stop this.”
Eamon managed to muster a few words with clenched teeth but with strained effort. Physically, Eamon was shivering from his mere presence alone.
“Why? Your… acquaintance and I were starting to get along. So this is the person you left me and the military for?”
His eyes trained on Eamon, and a dark look crossed his features, making Lyra flinch.
Nikolai smirked. Catching the movement. “Guess that steely resolve was a facade after all.”
“Oh, I got your facade right here—” She reached for her blade, but Eamon held her shoulder, stopping her. Lyra looked back at him, wondering why he would stop her, but he was not looking at her but at Nikolai.
“What are you doing here, Nikolai? The last time I saw you were in the Empire.”
His face glowed with pride. “That’ll be Captain Nikolai Volkov now. I have received a promotion. I still work with the military and now the Chancellor.”
Eamon gaped. “You made Captain?”
“You’re working with the Chancellor?” Lyra snidely quipped. Her brows furrowed.
A somber expression cast across his face. “Yes, you could have been in the same position. But if you cut this act now, I can put in a good word for you with the military and the Chancellor.”
Eamon gritted his teeth, backing away. “No. My place is with the Locksmith…. Where I never should have left.” Mumbling the last few lines.
Nikolai frowned. “A Locksmith, tch.” He spit at the word as if it was poison on his lips. “Quit the games, Eamon; you know you have no qualities as a Locksmith. Being in the military by my side was your purpose as my adversary and weapon.
He reached out a hand to Eamon, but Lyra smacked it aside. It was the first time Nikolai reacted with widened eyes at the quick movement he had not sensed.
“Hey, don’t you know no means no?” Lyra glared at him. “He’s not going back with you, and if you need help understanding, then…”
She removed Riftblade from its sheath, and the military gasped, recognizing the legendary blade. Patrons gasped, unsure of what was going on, and most importantly, Nikolai's eyes gleamed as he, too, recognized it.
“Is that…?”
“Yep. You’re looking at the one and only. Lyra Ashbourne, at your service.”
A callous look crossed his face. When someone burst through the door, he reached into his pockets, ready to draw his weapon and take her offer.
“FIENDS!”
Screaming was heard, pulling the military and Locksmith away to the outside. Everyone scrambled outside to see flying Fiends airborne through the sky and citizens running for cover.