She woke up to the light coming from upstairs, not to mention the one from the small window above the bathroom.
Gwenda felt a weight on her head, as if it were another pressing hers against something hard. But she realized it was Vannyer, his head slumped over hers.
The Shooter placed her hand on top, gripping his hair, and pushed it upwards, getting out from underneath and letting his head fall back. But when she moved away from his body, Ryxer started to slowly fall to her side.
Gwenda cursed as she pushed him back, looked around, and let him go again. He fell, and the Shooter quickly got out from under him, allowing him to lie on the mattress.
But before falling completely, Ryxer woke up with wide, tired eyes. Gwenda watched as he ran his hand over his face and through his unruly short hair while stretching and grimacing.
Gwenda just laughed and moved away to the food counters.
----------------------------------------
Darcy tossed the documents on the same table where they had laid the satyr's body. The armory room's table.
— There are reports from civilians claiming they saw him wearing a tunic, besides the bow and quiver of arrows. He wasn't in uniform, just regular clothes. — The boss leaned on the table, biting her lower lip, her brow furrowed.
— Was there any symbol on the tunic? — Gwenda asked. She never left out that question, knowing all the symbols that have existed for years.
— They said they saw a wave at the edge of the fabric, but they're not sure. One of them said the tunic's color was dark green, almost black. — She shook her head — Nothing else. Tell me the first thing that comes to your mind, the one who jumps from building to building easily.
Gwenda stared at the documents of the dead from the carriage and almost swallowed hard. Arth Cheack. But he doesn't wear tunics.
— The henchmen of Rubben. — She replied.
Darcy tilted her head to the side, reasoning while still biting her lip.
— There was a body in the carriage. — The Shooter commented — Did they find out who it was? Can I take a look? — She asked the two questions quickly.
Darcy nodded and stepped away from the table. Gwenda followed. They turned down corridors about five times before she got irritated by the delay.
The boss greeted everyone who approached her with a good morning and stopped for a moment to sign a clipboard for a criminal one of Gwenda's colleagues managed to capture. When they continued walking, the Shooter fist-bumped him and smiled weakly.
Gwenda had eaten an apple and gone straight to the bathroom this morning. After taking a relaxing shower and brushing her teeth, she took three deep breaths before heading out to look for Darcy.
They arrived at the laboratory where they were conducting experiments with the recently found poison. Only Darcy and the scientists could enter this area.
Raux removed the sheet from the face of a body on some sort of stretcher, and Gwenda approached before narrowing her eyes.
He was blond, and a scar ran lightly along his chin. The Shooter frowned and looked at Darcy.
— Where's the tag?
— It wasn't labeled — Darcy replied.
Gwenda froze and automatically brought her hand below her collarbone. She started to wear clothes that exposed her shoulders and the tag more frequently. She couldn't avoid wearing the uniform when necessary, but the king seemed to understand that.
— I want to see the eye color — Gwenda requested.
Darcy nodded to someone with her chin, and he quickly complied, opening one of the man's eyes with his gloved hand, using his thumb and index finger. Gwenda almost grimaced at how the woman cared little whether it was a dead man for who knows how long, and she opened his eye naturally.
The Shooter felt her heart shaking her body so fast that it began to beat. The color drained from her face.
— Gwen? — Darcy called.
She took a barely noticeable step back but bumped into another stretcher. Apologies escaped her lips unintentionally, and Raux just dismissed the scientist with a nod, and the woman covered the man's face again.
— It's the fugitive from the sector 6 explosion — Gwenda said.
The boss furrowed her brow.
— How do you know about that? — She asked.
— I have this man's document. My intention was to arrest him and get answers about the poison, how they obtained it.
— No, wait. Gwenda... — Darcy tried to hold the Shooter's shoulders, but she grabbed the boss’s wrists and lowered her arms. Maybe she was going to say that this case wasn't hers and blah blah blah. But Gwenda didn't care.
— Are you sure there isn't another fugitive out there? There must be more fugitives.
— No, they were all killed.
And with that sentence, the way Darcy said it, so convinced, made Gwenda lose hope as if the temperature in her body was dropping too fast.
— Great. — She muttered, unwillingly showing her irritation — Just wonderful.
Gwenda turned on her heel with an eye roll and headed for the door.
— Gwenda Matchstone Oxwinder. — She stopped halfway upon hearing the boss — We need to talk.
She turned to Raux, the boss still standing among the bodies. She hadn't followed Gwenda; she would never stoop so low. People followed her around, not the other way around.
The Shooter opened her arms as if inviting her to a confrontation.
— I'm all ears. — and let her arms drop and hit her body.
Raux approached slowly with her hands behind her back.
— I assume Ryxer Vannyer is just there for show.
Gwenda's mouth twitched slightly, wanting to smile at the comment. But she said:
— He hasn't given me any feedback. I don't know what he's still expecting.
— Vannyer is better in the field, I admit. — Darcy crossed her arms — What I'm trying to say is, they offered me an agent to help with the case...
— They offered you? Really? — Gwenda asked rhetorically.
— Focus, Matchstone. Sector 6 is giving you a bigger opportunity, more help. He's the best detective in the sector.
— I heard the lead agent was dead.
On the day of the explosion. That friend of Jurian's.
— The one who worked only in the field. — Darcy replied — The man who carries a gun on each thigh is the one with fewer neurons.
— And the woman who carries a gun on each thigh is the one who is more astute.
Darcy gave a smirk.
— Good to see you've evolved.
Gwenda gritted her teeth, annoyed.
— So what now? — Gwenda asked sarcastically — Are they going to send an agent to help me with the case and then...
— To help us.
Gwenda shifted her weight from one leg to the other, ran her tongue along the inside of her cheek, and looked Darcy up and down.
Darcy could refer to the case as a whole, as herself, but Gwenda couldn't? Another type of Raux's annoyance.
— Then what happens once we find out who gets the credit? — She continued — Boss, we're halfway there already. Don't you find it strange that they're sending their best detective to help solve a high-risk case? If he's that good, this search will be quicker, and then we know he'll steal the case from us at the end of this whole game.
— Game? — the boss seemed offended, so much so that she raised her eyebrows and blinked several times. Gwenda just licked her lips and clicked her tongue, slightly regretful. — You want the credit, then take it. Make it count, Matchstone. Earn it.
Darcy walked past Gwenda and out the door. The Shooter muttered under her breath and followed her.
— That's not what I was talking about...
— I don't want an argument, I have work to do. — Gwenda realized, she was almost running back to where they came from — And so do you. — she added — The sector 6 agent arrives tomorrow.
Gwenda huffed and stopped running at Darcy's slow pace.
— Whatever. — She said, running her hands through her hair before starting to walk slowly, — Good job. — She muttered finally.
On New Year's Day. The first day of the year and a new face would appear. Cool.
----------------------------------------
It was her birthday, and she was alone at the back of the stable with a bottle, gazing at the rain that had appeared again. Paulo had left, as the boss had allowed, and Gwenda wondered how she could do that when everything was going wrong. She had come here initially to spend time with the stableman, but she was mistaken to think that Darcy would make him work on the last day of the year, especially when he had a daughter waiting to see her father after a month.
Paulo was young, almost the same age as Gwenda, and he already had his life sorted out. Everything going according to plan. Unlike the Shooter, who still lamented losses and blamed herself for almost everything, besides getting tangled in the past and cruel events even for mystics.
But she liked to think that now she was physically fine, somewhat healthy. She had always admired the talent she had for moving around the city and engaging in deadly activities without any injury. But she knew there was a limit, and she couldn't abuse it. The consequences of exceeding what she was truly capable of could jeopardize not only her life but also her experience working as a Carvlinea.
And she used this ease everywhere. Including in the competition among all the sectors. If everyone is good at competing cases, why couldn't they schedule a competition to test their skills? This only got everyone more excited, considering that the other three Carvlineas from Marímbea participate in all competitions, and even the Lord enjoys it and accompanies them on a trip to Besendall, the capital.
Gwenda had received many boos that she loved. She always smiled to herself because she knew it was the only way opponents would come to terms with the fact that Gwenda was great at what she did.
But now, in this state and in complete disarray, the Shooter was wondering if she could win another competition. Last year, sector 3 couldn't participate. And that was Gwenda's fault, as she was trapped in Arth Cheack's hideout. So the competition didn't happen.
This year, things unfolded slowly, and Gwenda didn't really know why it hadn't happened. She just knew she didn't want to participate; she was still recovering. But she kept telling Darcy they shouldn't miss the competition because of her, but the boss always said: we need you anyway, why take the risk? Or else: everything is happening too fast, and we're working too hard, we need to be alert for new cases.
And so Gwenda gave up trying to convince her they should participate in the competition. Without sector 3, it wasn't the same, so two years passed without tasting victory or defeat. But this defeat haunted the Shooter since the day she fled from Arth Cheack. Always feeling like she was about to self-destruct, and when she shook and trembled from the violence caused by the floating thoughts, Gwenda screamed until she lost her voice.
Before this nightmare, Gwenda was taught to lose that excess bravery, and so it happened.
She called it bravery.
Her master called it self-destruction.
When Yago Matchstone died, Gwenda ran and left everything behind, infiltrated the forest, and prayed there were no guards behind her. With her father's warning to flee, something meant something, and a light turned on in the midst of the darkness that began to take shape.
Átila Killian was with her, by her side always. But Gwenda was so scared and apprehensive that she didn't even speak to him, and trembled when accepting his help when they made physical contact. Not because of who he was and what he belonged to. No, that wasn't important to her, she couldn't care less.
Pirate or not, Átila Killian was her father's murderer, and Gwenda was willing to step back and be caught by guards or soldiers, whatever her father was ordering her to flee.
But Átila wouldn't let her. He held her hand all the way, so tight she thought she would lose her fingers. When Gwenda just wanted to turn back and flee from Killian, the pirate held her shoulders and made her face him with all the hatred coagulated in her gaze.
He yelled at her. Each word was different from a curse. Each word was an encouragement to keep running and leave everything behind, to continue life with him and be part of a new story.
When they crossed the wall with the help of Kilorn Vannyer, they ran until their legs started to fail, until Gwenda's knee bent by instinct and exhaustion.
After catching their breath, she had already cried and screamed at Killian about what he once said he was. A lie.
Átila Killian said it was a lie when they met, and Gwenda just laughed and got closer to feel the warmth of his body, thinking it was all a joke and a kind of weird flirtation.
She was warned, and yet she fell into Átila Killian's favor.
And now she blamed herself.
----------------------------------------
She grunted so forcefully that she felt her vocal cords fail and threw the glass bottle, which flew and shattered at the entrance of the stable. Gwenda always won in the throwing competitions among the Carvlineas.
Some horses stirred, as did she.
— Fuck that the world isn't the same anymore — She commented loudly — Fuck that deaths happen. — She felt a bit groggy and continued softly — Fuck it, fuck it, fuck it.
She didn't want to know anything else; she was ready to fall to the side and revel in the hard, dirty ground for the rest of the day and night. It was her birthday; she could do what she wanted.
Gwenda raised her arm, hand clenched.
— A toast to 26 years and all the rest. May this year be full of positive energies and irrational daydreams. — She said, observing the glass shards ahead; a lightning bolt exploded in the sky, and two seconds later, thunder reverberated through her body.
But her eyes didn't leave the scattered glass. The bottle was there, not in her hand.
She let her arm fall back, hitting her thigh.
A knot in her stomach began to take shape, and Gwenda prepared for the avalanche of liquid that would come out of her in moments.
— I saw you focused on papers almost an hour ago. — A voice said at the stable entrance. Gwenda narrowed her eyes, trying to guess who it was, or at least to remember when someone had appeared there. — And now you're sprawled out like a weakling.
She opened her arms, or at least tried to, and gave the best smile she could manage.
— I'm here. — She said, her voice muffled.
The person walked over, getting closer and closer. And then the shape of the face began to take form, but it still wasn't enough.
Gwenda smiled again.
If it weren't for his leather jacket, she wouldn't know for sure who the owner of that masculine voice was, not before he touched her and did whatever he wanted with her, since she was drunk. But the truth was, she wouldn't mind if he touched her now.
— Vannyer. — She murmured with a tone of welcome to the alcohol camp. — What brings my friend here?
He sat beside her with a sigh and adjusted himself before holding Gwenda and straightening her against the wall, which was so crooked it could easily be mistaken for a thrown corpse.
Ryxer didn't reply. He just kept looking out of the stable, into the rain, with Gwenda's arm over one of his stretched-out legs.
She leaned forward and looked at his face with a grimace that anyone could identify as how drunk and out of it she was. Vannyer didn't even pay attention and remained motionless.
Gwenda leaned back. She hit her head against the wall so hard that Vannyer flared his nostrils, trying to avoid turning around and cursing her to be more careful. A grunt of discomfort escaped her, just.
Then Gwenda raised her arm and tapped his other cheek twice. A little laugh escaped her, and she let her arm fall on Vannyer's leg again.
In his head, he could still go back in there and tidy up Gwenda's appearance. Maybe a bath or two, plus brushing her teeth at least five times before leaving the bathroom.
But Ryxer wasn't in a position to do that; he should just sit there and wait for Matchstone to feel better enough to at least walk.
Gwenda started humming beside him, moving her foot from side to side slowly and looking around as if searching for something to distract herself. Apart from the endless dramatic sighs she was making and grumbles about not wanting to stand still.
But if she could get up, she would have done it already.
She seemed to gather the air to confess, softly:
— Did you know I once wanted to fly? — She admitted.
Vannyer didn't want to, but he gave a little smile.
The story has been stolen; if detected on Amazon, report the violation.
— I was on the roof of a church. — Gwenda opened her arms like wings up to Ryxer's chin; the agent held them gently and lowered them enough in case she hit harder and broke his nose. — But for some reason, I didn't do it.
Ryxer became serious. He had understood the message.
He turned to her, his eyes betraying a glimmer of pity. But he refused to feel anything about it; Gwenda wouldn't want that. So Vannyer smiled when she turned to him with an expression of someone less worried and happy.
Her light brown eyes sparkled with the stable lamps and the outside brightness, even though there wasn't much with all the still heavy clouds ready to burst.
— It seemed so simple at that moment, easy to execute — She whispered, as if afraid someone else might hear — Just flap the wings I didn't have, but that I would get on my own at some point. Just try to fly without them and see how far I'd get.
She just wouldn't go through the floor. Vannyer thought.
This Gwenda was so different from the one he usually saw as soon as he woke up and kept the same face throughout the day. But here and now, Gwenda was showing her other personality. Not because of alcohol, but just being carefree, saying things that seemed nonsensical.
She was drunk, but Ryxer could see who the Shooter once was. Long before Arth Cheack, long before he met her. Vannyer saw how Gwenda was before losing her father.
Many people showed their true forms through drink. And Gwenda was a child.
Shy and playful. Opens her mouth without realizing she's talking. Eyes wide open since he arrived here, unlike what he saw in Gwenda in the sector corridors when they were low and frightening.
As clueless about true life as a child. Alcohol awakened what Gwenda had once been, only deeper into her personality.
If she were the same as before her father died, she would still say she was responsible and mature. But if she drank, that would dissipate, like now. That was how Gwenda got when she was drunk, if she wasn't just another normal young woman with a pleasant personality.
He wondered if her humor was as dubious as it is now. Maybe in the past, Gwenda wasn't so sarcastic to the point of involving death. In the end, Ryxer didn't know if there was still any salvation for what Gwenda was, her old personality.
He admits he should have known her even when she was dating Johan Iak, her old friend named Átila Killian, but Vannyer never cared enough to pay attention, although he thought Gwenda would be a good match at that time. He remembered this because it was the only thought he had about her, besides noticing when she raised one corner of her lip at a time, and the dimples appeared. Ryxer laughed once at that when he found it amusing, but now there was no reason to laugh anymore.
Gwenda had been away for years to complete her studies, as she said. When she entered sector 3, Vannyer didn't recognize her. But the look she had directed at him was cutting and suffocating, and to this day, he had never understood the reason. After that, she didn't even make eye contact with him. At first, he thought it was because she was more interested in work, barely looking at any of her colleagues while talking to them, but later he believed it was some petty grudge.
From then on, he started avoiding her too and glaring at her until she noticed he was staring. When Gwenda glanced in his direction afterward, perhaps sensing that someone was always watching her, Ryxer Vannyer would shrink like a lost puppy in the street. This visual scrutiny of hers gradually diminished, or maybe he was just getting used to it. He didn't find out.
And now he was here, beside the same agent who had been implicating him for a long time. Her head had already fallen on his shoulder, and her breathing was steady.
Ryxer had already begun his search in the case that Darcy had assigned him, hidden from Gwenda. He already had a strong hunch of where to start looking for information. All the men from the cart had died, along with the body in the truck bed with them. According to Darcy, it was the same person who fled in the explosion of sector 6.
The boss showed the corpse to the agent. No marks on the body, no blood; the lungs were swollen according to the nurses. He had been drowned to avoid leaving marks on the body and making it seem like a natural death. He just didn't know yet what Trytan and the other men had to do with it.
Ryxer went after the documents of the deceased and read their files several times. They both worked in casinos. And there was only one in the city that housed all the men and women who wanted to gamble and bet. One that Raux hated to mention, and Gwenda couldn't stand to hear about, always avoiding and walking away whenever someone mentioned it.
Vannyer would go straight to Rubben's grave as soon as he summoned the courage to leave Gwenda alone.
----------------------------------------
She woke up to whispers, not exactly whispers, from Kimer and Louise in the hallway. Her head was spinning, and her skull felt like it was stretching with every torturous thought that wouldn't leave her. Her eyes were burning, and her throat was so dry and bitter that Gwenda grimaced when she tried to swallow.
She couldn't remember how she had ended up on her mattress, or why she felt so wrecked. It started with a few sips, until the world became just imagination, as if she were reading a book so good she couldn't put it down, knowing she wouldn't pick it up again for a while. It was her way of escaping reality, and then came the hangover.
The truth was she hardly ever got hungover. But after everything, her own appearance probably led her down that path.
When Gwenda rubbed her eyes and tried to sit up with trembling arms, Kimer and Louise walked through the door still in their loud whispers. But when one of them, Gwenda didn't know who, laid eyes on the Shooter, she practically yelled:
— Look what we have here!
Gwenda just grimaced and guessed it was Kimer.
— Don't tell me you started this party without your brightest friends. — Louise commented with amusement and a hint of anxiety.
The Shooter grunted and looked at them with a weak smile and her eyes almost closing.
— I was sleeping. — She said, which, apparently, wasn't a complete lie.
One of them laughed, Gwenda couldn't tell which one. The agent rubbed her eyes again.
She wouldn't admit she had been drinking at the stable to enjoy the little time she had given herself. That had always been the problem. If she stopped working, hunting for answers, alcohol would be the first thing Gwenda would venture into.
She wasn't proud, but as she always liked to think, it was like fantasy books. Addictive and covered in hallucinations that she created in her own head.
— Should I ask if you brought gifts? — Gwenda opened a mischievous smile, looking from one to the other.
Kimer narrowed her eyes and took a present from her back, making Gwenda's smile disappear in a second. Her head spun in response.
— Oh, come on. — Kimer approached and sat next to her on the mattress, her back against the wall, — You love champagne.
Gwenda held back from rolling her eyes and closed them.
— I thought we only drank champagne on New Year's Eve. — She said — After all, you only let me drink that on New Year's Eve. — Gwenda said the last sentence with a tone as if blaming them, but the truth is she smiled as if it were all a big joke.
— It's New Year's Eve — Said Louise, sitting in front of the Shooter — We're hoping from now on things will fall into place.
— You've been promising me that for a long time. — Gwenda replied. — How about making another wish?
— Not until it's done. — Kimer commented by her side.
— Sometimes we just need to have faith. — Louise added with a little smile.
— Sometimes — Gwenda spoke up — that faith they talk about only serves to deceive us.
— Not when things are already set for you. — one of them said, and Gwenda didn't understand which one; the sound came from everywhere.
— You're talking about destiny. And it may well be different from what you believed. What's the point of having faith in something when destiny is completely the opposite? — Gwenda leaned against the wall with Kimer and then continued. — Faith deceives us sometimes.
Both remained silent for a while until Kimer raised the bottle in Gwenda's direction.
— Brought champagne.
The Shooter just stared at the glass, trying to remember how it got there. She remembered the shattered bottle at the stable entrance, remembered talking to herself, and that was a bit unusual when she was drunk, because she remembered everything. She didn't know if they had touched her or dragged her by the hair and then raped her. It was an endless train of thought. But if that were the case, she wouldn't have woken up here.
— Thank you. — She said and held the bottle up to eye level, observing.
But then she looked away to Vannyer's things. He wasn't there.
She had felt something missing. But he should be in front of his ex-girlfriend's tombstone, leaving flowers while murmuring Happy New Year amidst tears.
But that would be too obvious. And Gwenda never thought Ryxer would shed a single tear in his entire existence.
In the end, it was New Year's Eve, and she could let Vannyer do as he pleased. And it was Gwenda's birthday; she could do as she pleased. Maybe twice over.
But an idea that haunted her wouldn't leave her mind.
Rubben's threat was starting to become more than just a bluff. But the idiot wouldn't be foolish enough to hire someone or send one of his henchmen to kill Trytan in the middle of the city, even if killing the others in the cart was a way to cover any clues that might lead directly to him. But Gwenda knew how Rubben thought, so what's the harm in invading his territory and politely asking for the answers she needed.
After all, the person under the dark green hood killed everyone before aiming an arrow at Trytan, as if they had planned to eliminate him last and make sure Gwenda was watching with all her attention. Trytan was the last to fall; it wouldn't be impossible.
Before she could hold her tongue, Gwenda found herself asking:
— How are things at the castle?
Louise shrugged.
— The same as always. But I received a compliment today before having the rest of the day off — her smile widened a bit. — I'm really good at what I do.
Gwenda let out a lifeless laugh.
— I bet he wants to sleep with you.
In any case, the king was young, perhaps only a few years older than Gwenda, but he already knew how to give orders and punish those who didn't obey, exactly like a man lacking character.
— It's not me being pressured to go to the castle and stay there.
Gwenda blinked, as if only now remembering the signature.
— Did he do something about it? — She asked — The signature — She clarified.
— He said he would figure out a way to make you sign, but he understood when I said you were too shocked, and I couldn't force you at that moment.
Gwenda raised an eyebrow. Surprising.
— Now I'm no longer shocked — She replied. — Just disgusted.
Louise opened her mouth to say something, but Kimer intervened:
— Can we just celebrate Gwenda's birthday and forget about this boring hierarchy for a while?
Gwenda's birthday.
Yeah, it was her birthday.
And you know what else? Who sang happy birthday on the same day? That's what Gwenda wanted to ask, but she kept quiet every time today came.
Reliving the memory was so painful that she would stay still for four hours, begging for sleep to come when her body started tingling, and her spine throbbed.
— If I ask for something stupid now. — Gwenda began — Would you be up for it?
Kimer and Louise exchanged glances.
— We've already done so many stupid things, kitty... — Kimer said with a tone of amusement.
Gwenda just lifted one corner of her mouth as she recalled her youthful rebellion. But the usual shadow soon covered the brightness on her face as she felt the alcohol bubbling inside her when she got up.
----------------------------------------
— Are you kidding me? — Louise asked with a tone of discomfort and sarcasm.
Gwenda smiled.
The elf looked from one friend to the other, completely dumbfounded.
— What's going on? — He asked exasperatedly. — Am I some sort of toy now?
He was irritated, which only made Gwenda feel more anxious.
— Don't talk like that, vegan creature. — She replied.
The elf flipped her off.
— I ask that you leave. — He said.
Nobody moved.
— Why do you have an elf? — Kimer asked with a hint of disgust, though Gwenda couldn't quite decipher whether it was directed at what or whom exactly, as her dark eyes shone while she stared at him with a certain... curiosity? Admiration? Dread?
But the dread wouldn't be for her or any of the three in the face of a threat. It would be for him. Disgust at how he was being treated.
The Shooter held back from asking questions.
— I saved his life, and now he owes me a few things. — She stated.
The elf scowled more than Gwenda thought possible.
— What are you up to? Using me? Using me for...
— We're going to a restaurant. — Gwenda interrupted. — We'll try typical Carsanian dishes and come back here without a scratch.
The mystic's eyes lit up, and he relaxed his expression.
— I'd prefer the arena. — Kimer grumbled from her right side. — It's much more fun, and we can earn some cash just by betting on you, Gwen. — Her friend nudged her arm encouragingly.
But Gwenda was set. She intended to take the North Elf to some good restaurant as soon as she could. And anyway, today was a great day. And when the moon reached its peak, they could be on some rooftop enjoying the view.
— I don't want to butt into your amazing decision, but I won't go to the arena. This Gwen and I are going to a restaurant, as she promised me a while back. Isn't that right, Gwen?
The elf watched her with a smile that stretched from ear to ear.
Gwenda felt shaken inside but didn't let the hatred she felt when he pronounced her name twice show. She should have dictated the rules to her friends before walking through the iron door.
The Shooter smiled with the same mockery.
— Of course, vegan creature.
The elf lost his smile but forced himself to stand up.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed her two friends raising their heads to follow his movements. Pride ran through her body, but she wasn't sure of the reason.
They handcuffed the elf's wrists and went in search of a costume to cover all the evidence that he was a mystic. Obviously, they took him to have an opinion on what he wanted to wear.
— This is awful! How can you have such a peculiar taste in clothes? — He complained, then launched into a series of quick and senseless prayers that Gwenda couldn't catch. But he was probably asking for patience and that the gods give them a bit of sense.
Gwenda didn't care; she was serious about deciding the outfit when Kimer and Louise got lost in his conversation about Banesy.
The elf waved his arms as he spoke cheerfully and with a hint of pride, which annoyed Gwenda and made her even more sulky.
— The best pancakes are in Banesy, for your information. But I admit that you guys have some gooey food that's devilishly good. Gwen calls it ramen noodles. — He said.
— I thought you were vegan. — Louise said with some doubt.
— I am. Well, I was, until that Gwen there gave me that delicious crap I couldn't resist. I guess I'm not vegan anymore.
His confident tone made Gwenda chuckle, but she said firmly.
— Don't mention my name.
The elf clicked his tongue. The friends grew tense and silent.
— You can't please everyone, can you? — He commented when Gwenda shoved a toga over his head. A garment that only had an opening for the head and covered the arms completely like a blanket. — That color is horrible. — He accused, raising his fists in front of him as he observed the bright pink with some green stripes on the toga.
— I didn't know you were a fashion expert. — Gwenda retorted, then went in search of something to cover his eyes and ears.
Some clothes were getting moldy, and Gwenda was taking care and resisting the urge to grab them and make the elf wear them.
— How not? You visit me every day, don't you, Gwen?
She didn't want to, but she felt a pang of pity. It had been a while since she visited him to ask questions or just chat about everyday life. She just left the food and walked away without saying a word.
— Oh, dear. — She pouted falsely. — Poor vegan creature who declared himself no longer vegan because he ate a delicious ramen.
— Speaking of food... — He pointed to the exit with both hands under the toga.
Gwenda found a black hood and forcefully placed it on the elf's head, completely different from the gentle caress she gave Trytan's blond hair when she met him.
The elf let out a childish grumble.
— Impolite. — He accused her again.
Gwenda just smirked.
In no time, the four of them were leaving the empty Sector 3 and entering the shadow of the city at night, a different silence from the daytime. The silence of the moon and the stars above them.
They could be a legion up there, in the skies. And massacring everyone wouldn't be difficult. Perhaps someday she would want to know what was up there in the clouds. Perhaps someday she would finally get the wings she had always wanted. And so she could travel a little closer to what she observed every night as a teenager before falling asleep.
The night was almost as expected. Apart from the fact that they had to run out of the restaurant because a man froze and wet himself at the sight of the elf, everything went well.
The laughter of Gwenda's companions still echoed through her body, as if they hadn't had fun together in ages. As if the North Elf had been their friend for so long.They had eaten and made the elf try everything. Of course, he devoured more of anything that had some salad, but sooner or later, they were asking for more and curious to see the mystic's reaction.
And obviously, they didn't leave the drinks out. Louise had the champagne bottle that Kimer brought and baptized it as hers for the rest of the night. Gwenda bought another drink for herself and forgot about her favorite as soon as the bitter and addictive taste touched her tongue, making her float without fear of falling. Kimer did the same thing as Gwenda, but something weaker and in a smaller bottle.
In other words, Gwenda and the elf, who were theoretically pushing drinks down each other's throats with his full approval, were the most groggy and spoke loudly as they walked along the Capital's road with their arms intertwined. Louise and Kimer just laughed or made no sound as they whispered in the same way they did when they were heading to Gwenda's meeting earlier in the night.
They had eaten well, and Gwenda had spent almost all of the last few times in the arena, but now she didn't care anymore; she was okay with her own hallucinations.
Ugly looks from women and men directed at them passed by unnoticed.
Until they finally settled down and perched on a terrace, watching the sky as Gwenda imagined her New Year's Eve would be.
But she didn't know what made her stop and breathe in the night air with complete attention, only that when she turned the bottle again as she felt sad and about to collapse, nothing fell into her mouth.
She looked at her friends' hands on the other side of the terrace, both leaning on each other and chatting quietly with grimaces and nudges that would probably turn purple when they woke up. Their drink was also finished, so much so that they were at the terrace's railing.
Gwenda's vision was blurry, but she blinked and swallowed the saliva that had formed before trying to lean hers as well. She didn't let go until she was standing up straight and firm, furrowing her brow as she turned from side to side and almost rolled down.
It was her and the elf on one side, watching whatever they were watching. He seemed entertained by the beautiful view.
Gwenda turned to him quickly.
— Have you ever flown with griffins? — She blurted out. — I heard that Banesy has a legion of griffins. They all serve as mounts, roaming Banesy at night alongside soldiers in search of danger. Because your kingdom is on a cliff, and many see it as a challenge. I believe flying isn't so bad, you know. Have you ever flown? With griffins.
The elf was literally jaw-dropped, and his eyelids were equally droopy as he tried to think, Gwenda noticed.
He let his head tilt to the side and swallowed before speaking softly.
— You're shouting too much.
Gwenda felt anxiety growing in her.
— Sorry. — She replied softly and smiled at him, finding it amusing.
Her feet began to tingle with the urge to wander under the dark, starry sky. The light illuminating her path as she always thought it did.
— How old are you?
— Ah, maybe about 25; years are like storms. I let them pass.
— It doesn't seem like it. — The elf replied, lightly elbowing Gwenda, who staggered to the side.
— What doesn't seem like it? — She asked, curious and leaning in again. Unmoved.
— That you let them pass.
— Ah. — She shrugged. — At some point, it becomes easy and normal. Some things are like love, they just come and catch you by surprise. With the frequency they come and go, everything eventually becomes natural.
— You drive away storms with alcohol.
Gwenda murmured. She couldn't deny it.
The silence from the terrace's coastal view reached them, and Gwenda shivered but didn't fail to let out a little noise as if she were cold. If she wanted to express herself, she had to do it before she lost the courage.
— Don't worry, best friend. — The elf said heroically — I'll help you in moments like this, what do you think?
— What do I think? — She asked and rested her head on the elf's shoulder beside her. She laughed. — I think I don't need help.
— Cool, we can help each other now. — He said, completely ignoring what Gwenda said. But she also didn't pay attention when he started to hum, already shifting her focus elsewhere.
A star seemed to shine brighter than the others, and Gwenda looked up at the sky. The bright and beautiful moon hung above them.
Something in her head told her she knew why she was there, waiting for something she had no idea what it was. But nothing illuminated her memory, and Gwenda just shrugged once to herself, then shook up and down three more times, enjoying the shoulder movement.
— What are you doing? — The elf asked, feeling it.
She shrugged again.
— Nothing. — She replied. — Have you ever liked someone? I mean, been in love?
At the moment, the elf didn't reply. But a minute later, he opened up:
— Honestly. — His voice fluctuated in a deep tone. — As I was coming here, I had someone on my tail. But died on the way.
Gwenda became serious upon realizing the situation.
She tapped his shoulder gently.
— Love hurts, vegan friend. — She lamented. — Love hurts.
She remembered those she lost, the one Gwenda had to go visit buried because... because why.
She couldn't think of any other way this could work out. And she couldn't think without starting to break out in a cold sweat. She lost people she loved, and the feeling was once mutual; she lost sanity and kindness she had in her gaze.
Gwenda swallowed hard and looked again at her friends' drinks. Empty, both of them.
She tried to take a deep breath with the somewhat funny sight, the vein throbbing in her neck. She needed a drink, but there was nothing left that could take her wandering between the worlds of her own mind, to make her feel less bad, less crazy, and like she was about to scream.
So she continued to look at the coastline so far away that the night barely allowed them to see. Only lanterns on the walls of buildings and houses illuminated the city. As if the lights were just part of those she lost in the midst of her own evolution as a person.
She missed them.
All of them.