In a place seldom spoken of within the city of Nefir, a man took a seat. He was a leader, a duke, a lord. Yet here, he felt small. Like little more than a child. For, truly, before the woman who stood contemplatively before the fireplace… he was.
“I took the newcomer’s measure. As you requested,” he said quietly.
The woman did not move. She did not speak, she made no sign of acknowledging his presence whatsoever. Not for a tense handful of moments that frayed the nerves of a man who had all but forgotten what that felt like.
“And…?”
Her voice was hollow. A distant thing. It rasped like the wind dragging across a sheer cliff face. She turned her head to regard the man, and he shrivelled beneath her gaze. Her eyes were inhuman, and unnerving. Black sclera and bright amber irises. The eyes of a circling bird of prey, and he was the lonely, exposed rabbit.
“She was…”
He wet his lips, struggling to find the words.
“Intriguing.”
…
Delahaye held the Water essence in her hand contemplatively, the Ship essence resting once more in the padded box. Despite her resolution to pursue the adventuring life, trepidation stayed her hand, and she continued to stare at the cube resting snugly in her palm. It was warm, pleasantly so, like shallow beachfront surf warmed by the sun. Her eye was drawn towards the horizon within it, the waves rolling gently. It was a pleasant reminder of that which she loved most; the sea.
“Alright… Here goes.”
She closed her fist around the essence, and it dissolved. Water trickled down her hand, soaking into her skin, until the essence had completely evaporated. Delahaye took a deep breath, unsure of what to expect. She suddenly tensed, as the panicking sensation of drowning suddenly overcame her. Delahaye went rigid, eyes bugging out of her skull, as she struggled for air despite the fact she had plenty. She fell back as the sensation passed, gasping for breath, her limbs quivering and face slick with sweat.
She remained on her back for a time, disoriented. Delahaye had nearly drowned before, and it had been something she’d never wanted to experience again. When she sat upright once again, wiping her brow with her hand, she looked to Primrose. The healer was watching her contemplatively, her gloved fingers fingering a medallion that hung around her neck. It was the same symbol as the one upon the altar in Primrose’s chambers; a hand with a weeping eye set in its palm.
“Are you okay?” Primrose asked, fingers dropping from the medallion as she knit her fingers together neatly. Delahaye nodded, closing her eyes. There was a new itch at the back of her mind. New knowledge, a part of her that felt like it had always been there, only to be forgotten. Delahaye opened her eyes, and Primrose cocked her head to the side, her fiery eyes boring a hole through her.
“Your aura has sharpened. You awakened an aura ability.”
Delahaye reached into her pocket, withdrawing her inventory log. It had not been there before, of course. But she felt odd, just conjuring it out of thin air. Delahaye flipped through, until she found the entry on herself, newly updated.
Inventory Log
“Captain Delahaye.”
* Race: Outworlder
* Current rank: Normal
* Progress to Iron rank: 50% (2/4 essences)
Attributes
* [Power] (Vast): Iron 0
* [Speed] (no essence): Normal
* [Spirit] (Water): Iron 0
* [Recovery] (no essence): Normal
“Bonded to my, er… ‘Spirit’ attribute, accordin’ to my log,” she said, holding the log out to Primrose. The healer scowled, eyes scanning the text.
“I can’t read that.”
Delahaye blinked, then nodded.
“Right… I guess I never stopped to think that you don’t speak English here, eh? And… I guess I ain’t speakin’ it either.”
Primrose shrugged, adjusting the fit of one of her gloves.
“Outworlders adapt. It isn’t surprising that you gained a translation power. It would explain why your manner of speech is so… flat.”
Delahaye scratched her cheek thoughtfully, then returned her eyes to the log.
Racial Abilities (Outworlder)
* Message in a Bottle.
* Captain’s Compass.
* Inventory Log.
* Astral Affinity.
* Dominion of the Captaincy.
* Kip Up.
Essences
* Vast [Power]: (1/5)
* No Essence [No Attribute]: (0/5)
* Water [Spirit]: (1/5)
* No Essence [No Attribute]: (0/5)
Just as it had when she had absorbed her first essence, a small note was tucked between the pages. She unfolded it, humming thoughtfully as she read.
* You have absorbed the [Water Essence]. You have absorbed 2 of 4 essences.
* Progress to Iron rank: 50% (2/4 essences).
* [Water Essence] has bonded to your [Spirit] attribute, changing your [Spirit] from normal to [Iron 0]. Master all water essence abilities to increase your [Spirit] attribute.
* You have awakened the water essence ability [Wavebreaker]. You have awakened 1 of 5 water essence abilities.
Delahaye nodded, folding the paper once more and tucking it back into the log. She had noticed that after doing the same with the first, the paper had melted away, instead becoming a part of the page, held in place by small wax seals that refused to budge. She turned the page, first to the one dedicated to her Vast essence, past a blank page, and onto the new page now occupied by freshly inked text.
Inventory Log
“Water Essence.”
Ability: [Wavebreaker] (Water)
* Aura (Boon, Movement).
* Base cost: None.
* Current rank: Iron 0 (00%)
* Cooldown: None.
* Effect (Iron): The movement of yourself and your allies is unimpeded in water. Additionally, you and your allies gain increased resistance to fire damage while within or nearby a body of water.
For Primrose’s convenience, Delahaye read that particular passage aloud. The heiress drew a circle in the air with her finger, a fiery hole opening before her. She reached inside, pulling out a tablet of marble. She dragged her finger over its surface, skimming her eyes over it as Delahaye read.
“Oh, yes. That is a fairly common aura ability awakened with the Water essence. Very useful, too. At higher ranks it makes you faster in water, and even allows you to mask the presence of your aura. Enhanced effectiveness in underwater combat zones, reduced damage… This is very good.”
Delahaye whistled, stretching languidly from her place on the floor. The chamber the two of them sat within was a twelve-metre by twelve-metre cube, the walls, floor, and ceiling padded with cushy yet durable leather. As Primrose had explained as they had entered, it was one of multiple training arenas within the Primadola Estate, wherein they trained members of their house as well as the household guards from the Delile family.
House Delile did not possess a monopoly within the ranks of House Primadola’s guard, but they made up the majority, and held veterency within the ranks. Anyone, highborn or lowborn, could serve within the ranks of the household guard, though the selection process was harsh, and the training that followed even more gruelling.
The two of them sat in the centre of the arena. Delahaye had been more than fine with the floor, but Primrose had dragged a stool from her chambers.
“Alright, and now this Ship essence…”
Delahaye reached for it, hesitating for a moment before finally picking it up. She turned it over in her hand, holding it up to the light. It was like a novelty ship in a bottle, almost too pretty to see it destroyed. She sighed, closing her fist around it. The essence melted into her palm, and Delahaye was rocked with seasickness until anything she had experienced before. She had earned her sea legs when she was a young girl, and the gut-churning nausea of seasickness felt alien to the experienced sailor. She swayed back and forth, before the disorientation passed.
Before she could even take a breath, a warmth blossomed deep in her chest. Before her eyes, three cubes emerged from within her body. Wispy, insubstantial reflections of her Vast, Water, and Ship essences. They swirled, interposing and interlocking until they formed a single cube. What remained was an entirely new object; a cube of deep, dark water, waves crashing high, the surf churning.
“Go on,” Primrose prompted, smiling encouragingly.
“Your Confluence. The combination of your three other essences. The Ocean essence. It’s fitting.”
Delahaye reached out to grasp the essence, and it melted between her fingers. She was filled with warmth. The relaxation of the ocean’s buoyancy, lifting her up, lightening her burdens. She looked down at her hands, laughing joyously as grey light swept out from within her body. She had never felt so energised, throwing her head back and cackling like mad. Delahaye leapt to her feet, continuing to laugh.
“Oh! Oh! So this… This is magic! I’m on top of the bloody world!”
…
Samson Delile was the eldest son of the Delile family, and had thus been expected to carry on the family legacy. He had trained since the time he could walk, forged into a warrior worthy of the Delile name. Members of his family rarely became Adventurers, their positions within House Primadola’s household guard more than enough. It had not, however, been enough for Samson. He was keen on following the lead of his liege-lady, Primrose Primadola, and the two had undergone their assessments for membership within the Adventurer’s Society together. Given their training, and the resources at their fingertips, it had shocked no one that the pair had passed.
Many took Samson to be little more than an armoured brute. They could not see past his stature, or his armour. They could not see the man beneath the Adventurer. He had many passions, and few of them correlated to adventuring. Had he been given the chance, Samson would have become a chef rather than a warrior, and it was the culinary arts that truly captivated him.
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“Now, the recipe calls for three tablespoons of sea salt, but I feel like that is more inclined towards lower Spire palates… Not that the lower Spires have poor taste! It’s just, well, you know how they get up here, Rocky.”
Samson paced back and forth within the kitchen of his personal dormitory, holding a cookbook in one massive hand. He lowered his arm to look towards whom he spoke, smiling warmly at the large, spherical rock that rested on a cushion on the countertop. The crude smiley face carved into the stone stared back at him, and the stone rolled slightly to the right. Samson nodded thoughtfully.
“One and a half tablespoons is a good compromise. Thank you, Rocky.”
He turned back to the iron pan on the stove, feeding a fire quintessence gem into the receptacle. The flame intensified, and Samson scooped out the amount of salt he and the rock had settled on. He turned as the sound of stone scraping on stone met his ears, and he patted the rock as it rolled over, pushing a ladle with it.
“Oh, yes, thank you. I’d forgotten it. Whatever would I do without you, Rocky?”
…
Samson hummed as he made his way through the halls of the Primadola Estate. For once he was not clad in his armour. Instead, he wore a breathable sleeveless tunic made from white silk, embroidered with patterns of mountains and high fortress walls in expensive gold silk, as well as flowing black pants of black cloth, and simple wooden sandals.
With one hand he supported a platter, laden with a trio of bowls containing steaming poultry and dumplings alongside thin roasted root vegetables, glazed with melted sugar. Under his other arm, he carried Rocky, the rock’s smiley face pointed outwards, mirroring the bright smile that lit up Samson's visage.
He turned the corner to the arena that Primrose had relegated for use between her and the newcomer, Delahaye. He was, admittedly, perplexed by the woman. She was unlike anyone he had ever met before. Few people were as tall as Samson, yet she had come the closest out of anyone he had met. Her narrow features and that large, almost beak-like nose did not compliment a hairless head all that well. Whether she had purposefully chosen to shave her entire head, or somehow lost it, he was unsure.
Primrose seemed to trust her, however, or at the very least tolerate her presence. That was all he needed.
Samson entered the training arena, stopping dead as he witnessed what lay within. Primrose, perched on a stool like a frightened bird, holding her nose and turning a visible shade of green. On the floor, in a heap, was Delahaye. Glowing from within with a grey light, she was surrounded by a lake of foul-smelling muck, which continued to splatter out of her like the world’s most vile fountain.
He stood under the entryway, jaw slack at the sights within, still holding the platter and Rocky. Samson’s bright golden eyes flickered between Primrose and Delahaye, before he gestured at the ground. A hexagonal pillar of stone rose from the floor, and he set the platter down. With another gesture, he conjured a second, placing a cushion upon it for Rocky.
“I… will go fetch the crystal wash…”
…
Delahaye pulled on the fresh change of clothes that Primrose’s house staff had provided her after the incident in the training arena. She scarcely remembered it, nothing much save for the stench. She remembered Primrose hopping away onto the stool, before the floor had risen up to meet her. There were flashes of other things. Pain, mostly. The next thing she remembered was Samson, Primrose’s bodyguard, hauling her upright before tipping the contents of a crystalline decanter over her head.
Whatever had been inside had not just cleaned her off, it had thoroughly cleansed Delahaye of every bit of grime, every stray piece of muck, anything and anything that had clung to her, it had all been cleared away. It’d even gotten rid of the pieces of food stuck between her teeth. It had stung something fierce as some had gotten into her eyes, but after blinking the burning sensation away it had left her eyes feeling oddly polished. There was a disconcerting feeling of cleanliness left in the wake of the decanter’s contents, and Delahaye was torn between discomfort with just how thorough it was, and surprise at how much she enjoyed the feeling.
The three of them had cleared out of the training arena after that, and had returned to Primrose’s quarters. The heiress sat on the edge of her bed, avoiding Delahaye’s gaze as she glared daggers at the young woman. Samson, for his part, was dishing out portions of the poultry and dumplings he had made. The animosity between Delahaye and Primrose melted into the background as they dug into what Samson had prepared.
“Holy hell, Samson,” Delahaye said through a mouthful of dumpling.
“Ain’t never had somethin’ this good!”
The burly man beamed, practically glowing from the praise. When Primrose mirrored the sentiment, Samson surely would have become incandescent with pride, had he been capable.
Delahaye’s eyes kept straying to the rock that sat on a cushion next to Samson. The smiley face carved into the stone was directed right at her, and with it came the distinct sensation of being watched. She pointed a greasy finger at the rock, before spearing a piece of poultry on a long nail, filed to a point.
“Whuzzat?” She asked through a mouthful of food.
Samson looked down, patting the rock affectionately. To Delahaye’s shock, it rotated to the side, as if leaning into his touch.
“This here is Rocky! My Familiar!”
Had the Delahaye from a week before been introduced to a rock in the same manner one would introduce a dear relative, she would have laughed. But, all things considered, it was one of the least strange things she’d been presented with since she had arrived in her strange new home.
“A Familiar… That’s like a pet?”
Samson tilted his head thoughtfully, putting his finger to his lower lip as he worked over an answer.
“Familiars are… a little more than that. Summoned Familiars, like Rocky, here, they are Astral Beings conjured from the Deep Astral, the realm of raw magic beyond our world, and given a physical form by their summoners. There are also Bonded Familiars, magical creatures that join with an Essence user. Primrose has one!”
Delahaye turned to look at the heiress, who nodded. She held out one gloved hand. Delahaye had been curious about why she always wore them, and why they seemed to be eternally smeared with soot. She got her answer, finally. Primrose let out a whistle, and the door that led to the balcony outside her room flew open. A fireball blazed through the open doors, and Delahaye flinched back from the sudden heat. Despite her proximity, Primrose was utterly unbothered by the intensity of the flames.
The fireball stopped in front of Primrose– and chirped. She held out a hand, and the flaming orb unfurled. What had once been an indistinct ball of flame transformed quite suddenly into a bird. It appeared to be a particularly large bird of prey, roughly the size of a hunting hound. Its feathers were bright orange, the plumage growing brighter the nearer to the tips they went, the very edges of the pinions glowing and smouldering with heat.
“Hello, Ignatius,” Primrose cooed, scritching the bird under the beak as it settled on her arm. Whereas its plumage was the colour of flame, shades of orange and yellow, the bird’s legs were the colour of ash, as were the feathers atop its head. Eerily intelligent eyes peered at Delahaye, and she waved awkwardly.
“Ignatius is a juvenile phoenix. His mother roosts above, in The House at the Top of the Rock. She allowed me to bond to him.”
Delahaye was intrigued by that name, though it took far less precedent over the fact that phoenixes were real, and she had somehow befriended someone who called one her pet. She reached out, but Primrose held up a hand, shaking her head.
“You’ll burn. Bad. I am only able to hold him because I am all but immune to flames.”
Delahaye snatched her hand back, wincing as she flapped her hand. Just from reaching towards the phoenix her skin was reddened, the sting of extreme heat pricking at her fingertips. She winced, pouring herself a second glass of water and tenderly submerging her hand inside the glass.
The trio lapsed into relaxed conversation. It was one of the first truly peaceful moments Delahaye had experienced since she had arrived, and it was rejuvenating. She lounged back, laughing as she swapped stories with her two newfound friends. The frigidity of formality did not surround Primrose in her quarters, allowing Delahaye a glimpse at the woman beneath. She was intelligent, blessed with a quick wit and a silver tongue. When not burdened by the mantle of her title of heiress, Primrose proved herself to be an empathetic and insightful person. Delahaye much preferred this Primrose to the austere noblewoman she appeared as in public.
Samson was as quiet and polite as ever. For such a colossus of a man, he was as timid as a mouse. Delahaye found him charming, in a boyish sort of way. At first she had assumed him to be around her own age, in the middling thirties, but as it had turned out both he and Primrose were scarcely a month over twenty.
“Only twenty? I call bullshit on that! How’re you so young and got a scar like that, Prim?”
The laughter died on Primrose’s lips, and Samson winced. The heiress averted her gaze, the hand not being used as a perch by Ignatius reaching up to trade the handprint-shaped burn that dominated the right half of her face.
“I would rather not talk about that,” she said quietly.
The energy of the gathering died rather quickly after that. The three of them sat in awkward silence for another few minutes before Delahaye excused herself.
“Well, uh… I ought to find lodgin’...”
“Take the guest room across the hall. I insist,” Primrose said, her tone still hushed. Delahaye paused, then nodded slowly.
“Alright. Much obliged. I’ll, er… make myself scarce.”
She hurried out after that. Samson looked to Primrose, but she shook her head. The two of them shared a few looks. A quirk of her lips, a tilt of his brow, a nod of the head and a small shake. Samson nodded, and rose, collecting the empty plates and glasses on the platter as he went. He touched his boot to Rocky, and the familiar collapsed into dust, which flew upwards to cling to his skin before melting away.
Samson cleaned up, and made his exit as well. Primrose sat alone on the edge of her bed, Ignatius leaned in to tuck his head under her chin. She sighed, absentmindedly petting the phoenix.
“You’re right, Ignatius. I shouldn’t have become cross with her, she meant no harm… But you know better than anyone how I feel about the scar…”
The phoenix chirped, hopping onto her shoulder. Primrose sighed, before Ignatius lightly pecked her on the forehead. She playfully batted him away, laughing softly despite herself.
“Yes, yes…”
She reached into a pouch at her waist. Primrose palmed a palm-sized sulphur stone, holding it out for the phoenix, who quickly began to break off small chunks and eat them.
“You always know how to counter my temper, Ignatius. Thank you.”
…
Delahaye sat before the fireplace in the guest room, poking at the logs with an iron poker. She kept replaying the end of the conversation with Primrose. How wounded she had looked. Guilt gnawed at Delahaye’s gut. Even if she had meant nothing with her remark– which she hadn’t– her words had cut deep. Her head swam, the stress of the past week returning with a vengeance.
“Got these essences, done my damndest to make some friends… Fresh start could’ve gone worse…”
She sighed, sorely wishing she had hair to toy with. Baldness did not suit her in the slightest, but she’d been brought back to square one after her ascension to Iron rank, the stubble that had fuzzed her head removed once more. Delahaye continued to poke at the fire, until the poker struck something that wasn’t wood. She prodded some more, until a familiar bottle of weathered glass rattled free of the flames, rolling to a stop at Delahaye’s feet. Despite having been in the fireplace, the glass was cool to the touch, the cork and the paper within unburnt.
She reached down, popping it open and emptying the contents into her palm. She unrolled the letter, taking a bit of comfort in something familiar.
Ahoy, Captain!
Been a little while! I see you’ve gotten yourself Essenced up, and even managed to make some friends! Which is good, because you’re gonna need ‘em for what's to come.
Yeah, I know. Vague. I can’t say much, either. What’s coming is a ways away. You’ve got two years, three at most. Then, things are gonna get nasty. You’ve got to get strong, Captain. Strong enough to stand on your own. Trust your friends, and find yourself some more. Build a team, get yourself a support network.
I’m allowed to give you a hint. So, here’s what I got.
The path to the answers you seek lie within The House at the Top of the Rock.
Until next time, Captain,
-T.M.
There it was again. The House at the Top of the Rock. The way Primrose had spoken of it, her tone had been nearly reverential. Given how the heiress had spoken of it, how she had said it was where her phoenix, Ignatius, was from, and how the message had stated it held the path to answers did not make her believe it to be an easy place to reach.
She sighed, leaning back.
“The House at the Top of the Rock…”
“...Is not a name oft spoken in this city.”
Delahaye shot upright, whirling around. She conjured her hand cannon as she did, aiming it towards the source of the voice.
The woman who loomed in the dim light of her room seemed utterly unbothered by the weapon pointed at her. She was thin as a rail, with a long, thin torso and even longer limbs. Her skin was fair, with a grey tint. She wore a raiment that reminded Delahaye of a bird. A flowing robe with billowing sleeves, a cloak of dull grey feathers draped over her shoulders. It was her eyes, however, that both enchanted and terrified Delahaye.
The sclera were the black of pitch, and her irises a bright amber. The eyes of a bird of prey.
Primrose had given her a brief crash-course on aura senses, after she had awakened her aura ability and subsequently ascended to Iron rank. She had been able to read Primrose and Samson’s auras plain as day, Iron rank like her own, and the dim auras of Normal rank house staff had also been an open book to her, either essence-less or possessing an incomplete set. In the hours since her transformation, she’d slowly gotten used to her new sixth sense.
Her fledgling aura senses were completely blind to the woman standing before her.
“Who’re you? The hell’re you doin’ in my room, eh?”
Delahaye shuffled back, her hand cannon still trained on the mysterious stranger. For her part, the woman continued to ignore the weapon, keeping her eyes locked to Delahaye’s. The two remained in a standoff, until someone knocked on the door to the guest room before opening it slowly.
Primrose inched inside, back to the pair as she spoke.
“Delahaye, I wanted to–”
She stopped dead as she turned around. Her words died in her throat, replaced with a wordless, strangled noise of panic as she beheld the woman in the centre of the room. Primrose’s eyes widened even further as she took in the fact that Delahaye was holding her at gunpoint.
Primrose hastily knelt, bowing her head.
“L-Lady Hagar! You’ve awakened! Please, forgive me, had I known–”
The mysterious woman– Lady Hagar, as Primrose had called her– raised a hand, silencing Primrose with little more than a gesture. Primrose shot Delahaye a panicked look, mouthing the words ‘kneel’ and ‘put the damn weapon away’ as quickly as she could. Delahaye did the latter, but instead of kneeling she slid her hands into her pockets, tilting her head back in greeting. A mortified Primrose buried her face into her hands.
“I have come,” Hagar said softly in her rasping, distant voice, “To take your measure, Outworlder. I do not know why, but you have been guided to The House at the Top of the Rock. People far older and more powerful than you have sought guidance to The House, and never achieved it.”
Lady Hagar folded her hands behind her back, peering closer at Delahaye. She canted her head to the side, then to the other.
“Ah… I see.”
Delahaye blinked, stepping forward. But her questions died on her lips, as Hagar had vanished in the time it had taken to blink. She looked to Primrose, who rose up on shaking legs, her face pale. Delahaye gave her an incredulous look, gesturing to where Hagar had been standing a moment before.
“The fuck is up with that?”