“Is that all you were able to get?”

Alnon nodded in response to the Rector’s words.

He wondered why the Rector even cared. He’d seen the child and scanned his spirit. He agreed the boy was almost as odd as the circumstances surrounding him but had confirmed the boy was unsouled, taking the effort of checking even when he knew him to be too young to be souled. How he’d survived in the misty forest without being devoured by the phantasm was quite astonishing, though. Or being devoured by any beast at all, actually. And then there was the mist. It ignored everything. Stagnant as the dead, its condensed reia invaded the lands, ignorant even in a clash between Heralds. But it had made a clearing for the boy.

Then there was the boy himself, frowning and tsking at himself, growing annoyed then placated without cause. Something wasn’t right with the boy’s head. He was broken, somehow. Alnon just couldn’t figure out how.

“What did he say when you told him Dante Faust was dead?” the Rector asked.

Alnon shrugged. “It didn’t seem to matter to him. He just repeated himself.”

“And you’re certain he is unsouled?”

“As certain as John is that he has no idea what happened.”

Beside him John frowned. Alnon almost chuckled at the rune master’s frustration. A situation you can’t decipher with your little rune show, huh, he thought. How does it feel?

“And his eye color?” the Rector asked.

Alnon perked up at that, adjusting to lean forward on his seat. “That’s what had me stumped,” he said. “They were grey.”

“Grey?” John asked, speaking for the first time since the conversation had begun.

Alnon turned to him and nodded. “Like polished steel.”

“Odd eyes for an unsouled,” the Rector mused. “Are you certain he’s unsouled?”

“I scanned him myself, Rector. I’d bet my Path on it.”

Beside him John waved his hand in a dismissive gesture. “Your Path isn’t really worth anything, Al. It’s still new and, quite honestly, pointless.”

“Shut it, Little Johnny,” Alnon snapped. “Wasn’t talking to you.”

When John’s gaze narrowed at him and he felt the man’s reia seep from his skin, Alnon cycled his reia core in opposition. He allowed his reia come free as he released his core. They wouldn’t accomplish much in the Rector’s presence but he was not going to let John get a free blow in. A rune master was a tricky opponent to face, and Alnon hadn’t fought John since they were seminarians. He’d lost every match back then, but there was always a first time for everything.

The Rector’s chuckle ended things quickly. It sounded like something akin to amusement. The sound was deep as a well, with a touch of the weakness of the old. It was the sound of a man who fought against his age.

It sufficed in crushing the tension between Alnon and his fellow reverend.

There was no Baron alive who did not know the power of the Rector of the seminary. John ceased his cycling almost immediately, his reia dissipating into the air.

Alnon followed after.

The Rector turned old eyes wrinkled at the edges on Alnon. “He does have a point, though,” he said with another chuckle. “I don’t think anyone really cares about the Path of the fresh ink.”

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John muffled a snicker poorly and the Rector continued, his own chuckle barely withheld. It was an innocent one but Alnon felt mocked, regardless. “Couldn’t you have at least named it something cooler, like maybe the hidden ink or the flowing ink. You know, the unending ink would probably even suffice.”

“I don’t think anything with ink in it would’ve worked,” John laughed.

The Rector paused in thought, then nodded. “True.” He turned his attention to John. “But still, we all know he wanted it to have ink in it.”

John’s shrug was uncaring. “He should’ve just followed in Anthony’s footsteps. The man’s path isn’t even solidified but its name is already amazing.”

The Rector frowned the way old men do when they fail to remember something. “Who’s Anthony, again?”

“The one with the Path of the dying light.”

“Oh,” the Rector chuckled. “That child. I do admit the name is cool, but it has nothing to do with his abilities, though. Isn’t it dark based?”

John nodded.

“Night based, actually,” Alnon offered, glad the topic was veering from his own Path.

“Kids these days,” the Rector sighed. “You all should learn to know that compatibility is better than just being cool.”

“And he complains about mine,” Alnon mumbled.

“I heard that, boy. And it’s because the Path of the fresh ink is just a stupid name. I swear I’ve been saddled with children for aids.”

With a sigh, Alnon leaned back against his chair. “Can we return to what’s important now?”

“The boy in the mist?” John asked.

Alnon frowned at him but said nothing. The rune master liked to think of himself as something of a name giver. Couldn't he have simply said 'the boy'? It's not like they'd been talking about anyone else before.

“Ah, yes.” The Rector scratched a leathery cheek with a bony finger. “Why don’t you go this time, Johnny. Go be Dante Faust.”

John’s eyes narrowed. “But he already told the boy that he’s dead.”

“And yet, the boy clearly does not believe him.” The Rector shrugged. “So go be Dante for a day or two. It shouldn’t be too difficult.”

“And what if he’s met Dante Faust before?”

The Rector shook his head. “He hasn’t. Believe me when I say I remember every single person that’s met Dante Faust since the first world crack.”

“And…” Alnon interrupted, dragging the word slowly, “is there a reason we keep saying the name in this conversation? I swear it tastes awful saying it… no offense.”

The Rector chuckled fondly. “I don’t think Dante Faust would be offended by that. And I’m sure it’s because you rarely ever get to say it. And, finally, the reason we continue to use his name is because, considering the circumstances surrounding the boy, we need to be cautious when speaking of what he wants. I’m certain someone else has insisted he ask for Dante Faust. There’s no need telling them how to find him. At least, not until we know their intentions.”

“Alright then.” John smacked the arm rests of his chair jovially and got to his feet. “Let’s go put on our best Dante Faust impression.”

Then he left them.

Alnon put his face in his hands and sighed. “I swear he’s a child.”

“Yes, yes,” the Rector agreed with disinterest. “This coming from a Baron with the Path of the fresh ink.”

“I’d change it if I could.”

“But you can’t,” the Rector teased.

Alnon’s displeasure grew. He could’ve sworn the Rector was the oldest child in the seminary.

…………………………………..

Standing at the door in silence, John ignored the guards that flanked it on both sides. They were of gold authority and stood guard with poleaxe in hand. He remembered hearing their names once or twice upon a time but couldn’t bring himself to try to remember them.

He took the door by the handle after a while, turned it, then pushed. It groaned with a savage rage, a herald of his entrance. In his mind John grimaced. This keep was older than it had any right to be. The doors were louder than a town crier, and heavier than any door should be.

John stopped with the door halfway open at the sound of mumbling inside. It had been a simple statement, illogical in the current situation.

“Be quiet, someone’s here,” a child’s voice whispered.

The child’s voice was weak and parched, like someone who’d gone without water for a long time, not that it surprised John. After all, the child was quite skinny and had a perpetual look of hunger to him.

John gave it another beat before he opened the door completely and stepped inside.

The room was one of the old ones hidden beneath the keep. It was covered in black granite he’d never seen before joining the seminary and it carried a touch of silvery sparkles that twinkled only when looked at from certain angles.

As he stepped in, he cast a quiet gaze around, eyes moving where his head remained stationary. If there was someone else here, he would know immediately. The collage of runes hidden in his cassock would come alive with the barest touch of his reia and all that would be left would be to activate them. First strike would be his, unequivocally.

Save the boy, he found no one else. As he walked in, a single thought crossed his mind.

Who the hell was he talking to?