Erevan frowned down at the damp ground as he climbed over a particularly large rock in their path. They had left Yolkshire yesterday after Nalion had used the staff to grow some crops, instantly solving the town's food problem. There was even much left over, and they had taken the opportunity to fill their rations. Afterwards, Claire had volunteered on leaving with some caravans in order to distribute some of the left-overs to the capitol. They had left the staff there, as well as an encouragement to contact the chapel in Kingshold if things were to deteriorate.
Zion had come to greet them in town the next day, as promised. Nalion had let Zion in on the whole saving the world thing, even if the elf's wording was vague. The dragon had instantly offered to fly them where they needed to go, telling them it was the least he could do to repair the debt he now owed them. Erevan could respect that.
Before that, Nalion had told him the last ingredient. It had been something about the first poison or something, the details of it already escaping Erevan's mind. He trusted Nalion to remember. The elf had also shared what he’d learned about the teen.
Erevan still didn’t really know what he should feel about the revelation. A part of him was filled with elation. And another one with righteous anger. He had been right, he’d known Ilias was lying about something. Ugh. Why did feelings always have to be so complicated?
He presumed there was still a chance that Nalion was jumping into hasty conclusions. The elf had said so himself, yet Erevan doubted it. As experience had taught him, Nalion was usually right. Though the ranger had insisted they’d keep what they suspected about the teen to themselves. After all, if the younger mage was lying for a reason, it was best not to let him know that they knew. Luckily Nalion was easy to convince as the older mage agreed that they should have some more evidence to back it up than visions about a mirror.
What bugged the ranger the most, however, was the fact that his gut seemed oddly satisfied with the new information. It was harder to work up the animosity he once had towards the kid. It was also getting increasingly difficult not to notice that he was, in fact, still a kid. Erevan huffed in frustration. It didn’t make any sense. On the contrary! One would think he’d hate Ilias even more now, or get paranoid considering all the other things he could be lying about.
And yet his gut had settled, content, no longer emitting signals of offness when it came to the human. Well, at least not on the scale it used to. He still thought Ilias smiled far too much to fit within any normal span. No one was that happy that often.
Erevan let out a sound that was somewhere between a sigh and a snarl. He was getting nowhere, arguing with himself. Feelings. Sometimes he hoped someone could come and replace his heart, for the one he had was far too soft. Losing Bony had hurt. In fact, it still did. Just like it had when Hama had gotten hurt. Or when the bard had betrayed him. Or when the Order had been wiped out by the yellow eyed demon. Or when his parents had died. Erevan huffed.
He had let people come too close and his stupid heart had latched on without his permission. One would think it’d know better by now.
The frown decorating his face intensified. Usually being his prickly and stand-offish self deterred people from trying to get to know him, so the matter of his heart hadn’t been a problem since the bard. The most baffling thing was that these people in his life now didn’t seem to care about his less than stellar personality. At least Nalion didn’t. It was weird, but also kind of nice.
Erevan scoffed at himself. He really was getting soft.
He blamed Spiro.
They had been flying nearly all day yesterday. It had been both intoxicating and frightening to sit on the back of a great silver dragon. There had been no harnesses, no saddles, nothing except the scales themselves in the way of plummeting into his untimely death. At the same time, they had been moving at a speed Erevan had never experienced in his life. Be that as it may, there was also something hauntingly beautiful in seeing the landscape from so far above. If he would have been in possession of the gift of gab, he would have been waxing poetry in his diary.
As it was, he summed it up with one word: Cool.
Not to mention how cute Spiro had been, gliding contently next to Zion and the clouds as the dragon eased his pace to accommodate the smaller creature.
While flying Nalion - who did not seem to be the least bit deterred on having the conversation thousands of feet up in the air - had convinced him to go revisit the ruins now that they could open the doors. This was the reason they had landed on a clearing relatively close to the ruins, as it would be difficult for a dragon of Zion's size to land in a heavily wooded area.
To be fair, Erevan hadn’t needed that much convincing. He was very curious himself as to what could be lurking behind the imposing double doors. Probably something to do with the whole blood thing, which could be helpful to both of them. He just had to make sure neither Nalion nor Ilias breathed a word of it to anyone else. Strangely his gut had nothing to offer again, as if it somehow trusted the other two. It was traitorous, to be betrayed by your own instincts like that. His jaw clenched in frustration, which did well in covering up the confusion within.
On a positive note, they were advancing at a relatively good pace. Well, after Erevan had factored in the time missed due to Nalion wandering away from the path, lost in thought, or the clumsy kid. Erevan glanced behind him and true to form, Nalion was clearly deep in thought whereas Ilias stumbled his way forward, eyes firmly fixed on the ground.
Spiro was nowhere to be seen, most likely napping in Nalion’s bag, and Zion kept up the rear. Erevan rolled his eyes, fondness rudely stirring in his chest without his permission, and continued leading them towards the ruins. They should be getting there soon.
After a few more moments of sulking… ahem, confidently strutting, they finally reached the ruins. It would be a good place to camp while they talked about the next step. Zion, now in human form again, declared that he would stay outside and take a nap as he already knew what was hidden behind the locked doors. Then he winked, yawned, and laid down on the damp grass before Nalion could start his rapid-fire questioning.
“Let’s go,” the ranger grunted, impatient to get going. He halted by the stairs, gesturing for Nalion and Ilias to go down first. Which they did, without complaint.
The further they walked in the corridor downstairs, the dimmer the light got. Only after Ilias began to truly slow them down, taking very small and unsure steps with his hands ejected in front of him, did Erevan remember that he couldn’t see in the dark. Not the same way Erevan and Nalion could. He slapped himself on the forehead, feeling guilty, inconsiderate and foolish. He kept forgetting humans had such inferior senses. Hama would have surely ripped him a new one, if he had been here.
Erevan stomped over with a huff and covered his insecurity by roughly grabbing Ilias’ arm. The kid let out a small, startled yelp before following his tugging the best he could.
There were a few times Ilias appeared to trip on his own feet, but Erevan steadied him to keep him from falling. Nalion sent him a knowing look and a small yet smug smile when he saw this, souring Erevan's mood. It’s not that he cared, he didn’t, he just wanted to get to the damn doors already. Just being practical. Erevan directed a particularly scathing glare towards Nalion which unfortunately went unnoticed by the elf. Erevan shook his head morosely.
Waste of a perfectly good glare.
He pointedly ignored the slab where the elven member of the Order had been tortured, choosing instead to walk with determination straight to the altar room. As they reached the doors he stopped, let go of Ilias’ arm and gazed upwards.
This was it. This was his heritage, his way to pay homage to the generations before him. A deep sense of meaning filled his soul as he gazed upon the decorations on the door. He knew that his parents, and the members of the Order, would be proud that he chose to follow in their footsteps.
A loud “OH!” broke him out of his reverie. He glared at Nalion, who was currently eyeing the same doors and practically vibrating with excitement.
“The red crystals!” The elf exclaimed, enthusiasm dancing in his eyes. He was clearly expecting for Erevan to instantly understand what he meant without any further explanation. Well that wasn’t happening. Erevan crossed his arms and leveled a flat stare at Nalion.
Nalion paid the stare no heed and Erevan deeply regretted spending so much time in the elf's company. Clearly his intimidation tactics were losing their edge.
“What if,” Nalion said conspiratorially, “they aren’t red crystals?”
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Mages. Erevan continued to stare at him, unmoving and unimpressed.
“What if the red crystals are vials? Vials of blood! And that’s what they are protecting there, along with the golden machine they’ve drawn here!” Nalion pointed at the machine in question.
Erevan squinted his eyes at the drawings. That… could be it actually. It would certainly make sense that the Order would wish for them to remain protected, secret and safe.
“You think the machine is the way to test the blood?” Erevan rasped, thinking of the possibilities.
“Maybe, hopefully. Guess we have to open the doors and see.”
Erevan nodded solemnly as he fished out the rings. Suddenly, he was nervous. He frowned at the rings. He was Erevan Stormwind. No puny feelings would stop him from completing what was important to him.
He pressed the two rings in the small dents on each side of the doors as he tried to calm his nerves. There was a faint clicking sound. The mechanism keeping the doors shut was released. This was it. Erevan put his hands on the door handles, one on each side, and pulled.
The doors were heavy, much heavier than he’d expected. Erevan gritted his teeth as he felt his muscles ache. Inch by inch, the doors opened, as if reluctant to spill the secrets hidden within. Good thing Erevan was nigh impossible to outstubborn once he’d set his mind on something.
The room within the doors was crafted to form a circle. There were chandeliers with lit candles showering the entire area in their soft yellow glow. On the walls around them there was a gold and silver mosaic depicting ancient warriors. There also seemed to be some kind of instructions for a golden machine, the very same one decorating the doors. Even words, written in Elvish, were swirling in between the pictures.
The machine in question was situated in the middle of the room. It had several metal wheels and tubes, though every single one of them appeared to have a purpose. He walked closer, inspecting it further. In the forefront of the machine there was a sharp needle. The needle was connected to a tube, and at the very end of the contraption there was an open ended tube above a small table made of granite.
Otherwise the room was filled with bookshelves situated around the walls. Bookshelves filled with glass vials. Some of them were empty, and some were filled with a red liquid. Nalion's hypothesis was feeling more and more probable.
“Should we test it?” asked Nalion, not taking his gaze away from the machine. For a fleeting moment Erevan thought he saw something blue flicker in the elf’s eyes. He frowned. Before the ranger could open his mouth, Nalion answered his own question with a firm, “We should test it.”
Erevan rolled his eyes, just a hint of amusement creeping up his chest. Mages. He didn’t protest as he couldn’t see any apparent danger in the machine. Besides, why would the Order protect something so fiercely if it was detrimental to one’s health? OR, would that be exactly the reason they’d try to keep it secret and safe?
As he contemplated the potential dangers, Nalion eagerly stepped forward. Erevan could hear the scrawny elf muttering to himself: “Looks like one should put a finger… OUCH!”
The last part of Nalion's sentence was cut short as the machine sprung to life. The older mages hand had been pulled into the machine's little opening as if by magic, making Erevan instantly a little wary. He relaxed as Nalion pulled the hand back, seemingly unharmed. Then he saw the elf holding his hand up to the light as the latter inspected it curiously. The ranger's heart rate spiked again as he noticed a little stream of red sluggishly dripping down from Nalion’s index finger.
Meanwhile, the machine kept huffing and puffing. The tubes were moving. The wheels were turning. Soon, a little trinkle of red flowed out the end of the machine, landing on the stone with a nearly inaudible thud.
Nalion’s eyes were shining with excitement as he looked at Erevan. Erevan shook his head fondly, before stepping next to the elf. His larger frame was shadowing the other as Nalion healed the small wound on top of his own finger with ease.
“OH!” Nalion exclaimed. “OH, OH!”
With that the bookish elf scurried away, looking at the pictures on the wall again. Erevan sighed. Couldn’t Nalion just once explain instead of diving head first into doing something? Before the ranger managed to shoot a questioning frown at the older mage’s direction, Nalion clapped his hands and smiled.
“Erevan! Look, it’s instructions, I think this is the way they initiated people into the order! Look!” the elf rushed the words out as he gestured at the images on the wall. “These are clearly the chants for a spell, binding the blood with the specific member. And this one is a locating spell! If the blood turns black, then the person it belongs to has “forsaken the oaths of the Order” as it says there, and thus they could weed out those who’d betray them. It’s a little unclear if it even tests if the person carries the Blood of the Maker, but we can always conduct some experiments of our own to find out. Oh, the possibilities! Put your hands inside as well and we’ll have a baseline we can compare other results to, hurry!”
Erevan rolled his eyes before sticking his hand inside the slot. The feeling of having his hand get sucked inside was unsettling, making the ends of his mouth turn down subtly as he scowled down at the contraption. It stung as his finger was suddenly pricked, yet Erevan barely even noticed the pain. He had had much worse.
As he removed his hand he kept staring at the red droplet working its way through the tubes, fascinated. He was gripped by some form of morbid curiosity as he kept watching how the blood was sliding its way through the tubes before dropping on the table as well. He and Nalion then turned in tandem to look at Ilias. The kid was standing in the doorway, looking uncharacteristically nervous and made no move to come forward.
“Your turn!” Nalion exclaimed enthusiastically, his eyes twinkling in the candlelight.
Ilias sent a small, tight lipped smile his way and slowly approached the machine. Erevan could see the apprehension glinting in his brown eyes. For a moment he thought he saw the briefest flicker of blue, though it was gone as he blinked. First Nalion and now Ilias? Maybe he was imagining things. The ranger stepped aside with a frown, allowing Ilias access to the machine.
The young mage licked his lips as he took his time lifting his hand and pressing it on the plate where the other two had been stung. Erevan rolled his eyes impatiently as the machine sprung to life once more. This time, however, something was different. Instead of having the blood simply go through the tubes - as it had done with both Nalion and Erevan - the machine seemed to pass the blood through them multiple times.
With each time its rumbling increased. In the few tubes that were made out of glass, where before they had seen red, he could now distinguish a shimmering gold. Erevan's eyes widened. The glowing golden drop fell out of the open ended tube, the shine of it diminishing until it was the same red as his and Nalion's had been.
Damn. Could it be? Damn Nalion and his damned suspicions about the machine being able to separate the Blood of the Maker from just regular blood. It was probably correct since Nalion was usually correct. He hadn’t fully realized what it meant, Ilias potentially carrying the Blood of the Maker. Not until seeing it with his own eyes, not until now, not until it was too real.
He was going to be stuck on babysitting duty for the rest of his life.
Ilias seemed blissfully unaware of Erevan's inner struggle as the teenager quickly stepped back from the machine, clutching his hand close to his chest with an unreadable expression on his face.
Nalion, however, victoriously pointed his recently healed finger at Ilias while loudly exclaiming “AHA!”
Ilias didn’t have time to react, except with a slightly startled and confused expression, before Nalion rushed out his next words. The elf was beaming like the sun, the finger still pointed towards the young human.
“I knew it! You have the Blood of the Maker because you’re related to the crazy prince, that’s why you were so affected by the news. I also know you’re dying your hair, trying to conceal who you really are! Your name probably isn't even Ilias, is it?”
Erevan was carefully looking at Ilias, who kept getting paler and paler the longer Nalion spoke. Busted.
In the end his pallor was so white he would have easily passed off as a Luccan. In fact, the kid looked like he might pass out any moment. Erevan shifted from one foot to the other, feeling faintly guilty. He didn’t know why either, there was nothing to be guilty about. Stupid feelings. Erevan frowned at Ilias. Yes, it was all Ilias’ fault.
His sharp eyes took in the shallow breaths the kid was taking as well as how his fingers were starting to tremble. They were definitely right in their assumptions. Ilias’ slightly panicked gaze flitted towards the exit, as if the kid was pondering about making a run for it. Erevan lifted an eyebrow and shifted a little, effectively covering the open doors behind him. The slight tremble in Ilias’ fingers began growing into a shake.
Then the young mage casually slipped his shaky hands in his pockets and relaxed his stance, sending an incredulous smile in their way. Erevan kept frowning. He didn’t buy any of it. Ilias was still looking pale as he let out a light chuckle.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about Nalion, lay off the conspiracy theories maybe?” Ilias said evenly, an easy smile gracing his lips.
Erevan huffed in derision. So the teen tried to cover up his lies with more lies? Idiot. He shared an unimpressed look with Nalion before returning his disbelieving gaze on Ilias.
Ilias’ stance was relaxed and natural, making the frantic pointing of Nalion seem borderline deranged. Erevan's gut grumbled. The kid was a good liar, he had to begrudgingly give him that. If he hadn’t seen the hint of fear deep in his eyes, the way his breath got stuck in his throat and the way his hands had been shaking… A younger version of Erevan might have believed him as well.
“Well, whatever,” said Nalion, while finally lowering his no longer enthusiastically accusing finger. He then placed one hand behind his back as the other came to rest firmly on his chin. The older mage started pacing back and forth whilst stroking his non-existent beard.
“Regardless of your relationship with the crazy prince, your blood is clearly different from ours,” the elf continued as he walked. Then he mumbled quietly: “Yes… The book obviously indicated you, and your mirror. It wanted to help me, it wanted me to find you. Don’t you see? It means that you must be the ingredient! You must have the Blood of the Maker flowing in your veins!”
Towards the end Nalion's voice had been increasing in volume as the bookish elf got more and more excited. He spun around sharply and looked at Ilias, eyes widening in silent pleas. “Won’t you please help me fulfil the quest?”
The corners of Erevan's mouth twitched upwards. With that tone and expression, Nalion managed to strike a remarkable resemblance with Spiro. Well, minus the scales. Erevan's mind was briefly invaded by the absurdity of Nalion as the dancing lizard he had once witnessed.
A slight look of unease and hesitation flitted through Ilias’ face, almost too fast for Erevan to catch, until his features smoothed out into a pleasant expression.
“Yeah, sure, I’ll be your ingredient,” the teen said lightly with a small smile, hands still stuffed in his pockets.
Nalion enthusiastically expressed his thanks while Erevan turned his back to them and started setting up a camp. They could eat and rest here before returning to Zion. Not to mention plan their next move.
As they decided to call it a day, Nalion wiggled his fingers while talking gibberish which effectively took out the shimmering candles. The room was shrouded in a dim light. Well, at least for Erevan and Nalion. The ranger observed as Ilias laid down on his sleeping bag with his back turned towards them. He then motioned for Nalion to stop what he was doing while he waited for Ilias to fall asleep. After a few moments he thought he could see the muscles in the teens back relax ever so slightly. He then looked at Nalion with a frown.
“You know he’s still lying, right?” Erevan said in Elvish, his voice low.
“Yeah. He’ll tell us when he’s ready,” Nalion said with easy acceptance, his features open and warm.
Erevan hummed noncommittally as he gave Nalion A Look. Nalion merely shrugged before settling in a meditative stance with Spiro curling in his lap. Erevan sighed. He then rummaged through the chaos in his bag, lifting out his diary, some ink and a worn quill. He looked up once more, making sure the others were not going to disturb him. Or worse, notice how he was pouring out his heart out onto pieces of paper. Erevan didn’t think he’d survive the embarrassment. Not to even mention what it would do to his image.
Satisfied that Nalion and Ilias were otherwise preoccupied, Erevan flipped through the pages until he reached the next empty one. Some of the tension of the day was already bleeding out of his shoulders despite the lack of beer in his system. He carefully dipped the quill in the ink before resting it on the faintly yellow yet unblemished page. The quill was quietly rasping as the Elvish words slowly made their way into the paper.
“Dear Diary,
Today has been weird again…”