The winter night is dry and featherly light, and especially so tonight. Perhaps it was the bonfire, but the night before was not as cold. With each breath now accompanied by a puff of mist, the knight steps through the gate and looks up to the sky, attempting to recall the directions. Torch in hand, he starts down a road leading to a fountain, then probably a left at that would be the right way.
“It stings a fair bit that you did not care to inform me.” The goddess walks up to his side, flashing a smirk. She has changed out of the gold dress, now wearing simple rags underneath her cloak. “No, I’m not tired. I would appreciate it if you tell me next time; it is inconvenient to be unnecessarily separated. Oh, the nostalgia of such texture!” she performs a twirl, “This fabric! It hasn’t really changed at all.” Her breaths are forming clouds as well.
Iacy resumes pacing. “I assume you are heading for the well. Yes, I did think to investigate it when there are less people. It’s this way.” She takes a right turn at the fountain. “There is something I want to confirm again. Hm? Oh, ‘Aiva’?” she giggles, “It’s a name you…”
“Can I-…I was thinking if it might be insensitive, because perhaps you see yourself as a different person compared to the…the friend I knew. I apologise for only just noticing-Ah, truly? Is that so?” She blushes. Adjusting her hair flowing down her back, she puts up the baggy hood and pull the sides down over her face. “Aiva was the name you gave me when we needed to introduce ourselves to people. It just instantly came to mind when I was asking for that boy’s name.”
The walk continues in silence with Iacy leading the way. The knight gazes at her back, relief flooding him due to the fact that she came with, because otherwise he would be hopelessly lost; there is hardly anyone on the streets. They passed by a pair of elderly Varyaeyi, probably husband and wife, both hunchbacked and slow in their steps; they were talking about the ingredients for a late supper. Besides them, there was no one else.
“We’re here.” She relaxes, now with something more solemn in her attention. The small clearing feels more isolated than the already-lonely citystreets. Pushing away the knight’s cautious arm that is keeping her from getting any closer, she shuts her eyes in concentration. “There is no danger here. Not to us.” Then she lowers her hood, her eyes opening, a glow in her pupils fading. “I was right, but I wanted to make sure. Knight Diastre, there appears to be a Bonfire Of Dreams here, one that I can link with my sister. And look, behind the well.”
The clouds that were hiding the moons part, bringing the sphere of ash into sight in shades of green and blue. “Sheathe your sword. The presence is no longer malignant. Do you wish to use the torch?” She eyes the flame. “Such luck that you brought fire, is it not? Go on, and fret not, I am right behind you. You need not be too protective; I can hold my own.”
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Sighing but assured, the knight goes around the well and, after a slight hesitation, jabs the torch into the sphere.
The flame spreads, wrapping the night in fiery light, and maybe they are not at the well anymore. But there is a well, one shaped by fire and lit ash, and approaching that well is a figure carrying a wooden bucket, hair tied to the back and a long skirt flowing. A young woman, Mankind, the knight deduces, even though there is no way to identify if she is not Yosetian or Varyaeyi, not from the blurred and vague silhouette the flames are displaying. The knight simply knows. He looks behind him, spotting Iacy whose full attention is on the burning vision.
As the woman ties her bucket to the hook, another figure appears behind her, creeping up ominously. A pole with a bladed end suddenly appears in his hand, too quick a materialisation for the knight to register, and then the unknown figure suddenly lunges at the unsuspecting woman just as quickly. The flames depict that the woman only had time to turn before the scythe plunged through her chest, lifting her off the ground for a short moment before the weapon slid out, her blood gushing out in embers. ‘Evil’, someone says from within the flames, a low murmur. In another quick swing, the figure then slits the woman’s throat, pushing her stumbling backwards. The knight keeps his eyes transfixed on the scene, not daring to even chance a confirmation with Iacy lest he misses anything. The woman, holding her neck with both hands in painful futile resort and losing control of her legs, flips over the well and falls. The flames roar and bellow before trickling out; the vision ends.
The knight picks up the torch that he unknowingly dropped. Though not a stranger to such grisly events, he finds his breath caught in his throat and his heartbeat rapid. Iacy, he realises, is keeping her gaze on the well.
“Weeping.” The goddess tells him. “A Bonfire Of Dreams is the remaining essence of the soul that did not depart from this reality, usually related to unaccepted despair. That and from the story I got from that old dwarf before we left the inn, I was expecting something resembling this.” She turns to him with a sullen look in her eyes. “Her body was never found. The guards were alerted by screaming witnesses, but they found nothing, just puddles of blood on the snow. It snowed the night before, and their water at home was frozen. She was getting water for her younger sister. Now, the little girl is all alone in a carehouse, is what I was told.” She grows silent. “I can hear weeping,” she reveals.
“I knew the both of you aren’t simple travellers.” A man steps into the moonlight, the shadow of a large axe on his back prompting the knight to move in front of Iacy, sword drawn and ready. “Inn? No, I did not tail you, but you did pique my interest when you came into the city. I was a few caravans behind.” He gestures to the well. “I heard about the incident and came to investigate, to Evaeba, which is clearly what you’re also doing. This…is no simple task, so you’re a godsend. I wish for us to work together.”