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The Drowsy Mare tavern and inn wasn't a particularly prestigious rest stop along the main road. It mostly housed merchants, pilgrims, and the like. Nobility were more likely to stay at local manors or more highclass inns. It was, however, a good spot to find the more renowned on the outskirts of society. These people were considered part of the "otherworld." Not of spirits and fairies, but those who attempted to hone their skills to the limit, pursuing glory in distinction with their techniques inherited or self-discovered.
Many of these persons, practitioners in various arts and styles, met at the tables of the tavern, with each one boasting of their abilities even more than the last.
"I defeated the second coming of Thrud in a duel, you know. He was no match for me, but I spared him—"
"You? Defeating him? Next you'll say the Goddess of Thunder carries a torch for you!"
"That's nothing: you hear about that barbarian king in the north? Well, I crossed paths with him, and his heritage is 'all' he has, if you know what I mean—"
Such conversations were plenty, in this tavern. The people who actually had to work there, like the maids and wait staff, had learned either to ignore it, or give the proper 'regards' when asked to ensure themselves and the property were left in one piece. There was no telling what a 'hero' would do when filled with too much alchohol and driven by its fumes.
One of the maids, a young woman who had just left her village for this job, was still trying to learn the ropes, and was among the captive audience of one of these customers.
"That's— very interesting, sir—"
"Isn't it? You're a good lass!" The grizzled man who had deep gashes that looked like claw marks across his face patted her shoulder with impressive force, and the girl held back a cough as the air vacated her lungs. "Listen, if you ever want to be my disciple, learn something beyond this flimsy trade, let me know!"
The maid nodded, knowing it was likely the ale speaking for him. She was so busy attempting to take orders and refill cups that she only noticed the musician by the flowing lengths of their hair. She turned, looking to see someone far more aligned with her imagining of an 'immortal' than the warriors and mercenaries she had been serving these last few weeks.
Their robes were of good quality, similar in form to the garments worn by people from the north, and their hair was long, with a face that was smooth and lovely, seemingly unclouded by the cares of the world, delicately cradling some form of lute in their arms. It took her a moment to discern whether he might be a man, or maybe 'once was,' leaving such ideas behind in ascension. The only thing that stood out from the elaborate attire was the band of simple white cloth wrapped around his forehead.
For mourning, or something else?
The stranger settled into a seat in a free spot near the wall and turned to the innkeeper, who nodded back. Once given consent, this strange figure began to play, the notes shifting what few conversations remained into hushed whispers as heads swiveled to watch.
The maid forgot her own work for a minute as the hairs on the back of her neck stood up at the gorgeous song.
…Maybe a fairy had somehow wandered into their inn.
But as she listened, spaces that seemed to be oddly dark seeped into the physical space, as if shadows had taken on bodies of their own.
The maid blinked her eyes, wondering if the lingering scents of alcohol and the music were playing tricks on her, until all these shadows shot forward, heading directly for the musician!
Before she could shout out a warning, the performer had pulled the lute behind him, and a bright silver sword emerged from one of his long sleeves.
In a few more blinks of the eyes, the shadows had been slashed to ribbons, seemingly fading into the floorboards with a lingering sizzle of power.
The whole tavern cheered at the display and tossed coins to the lute player, who caught them in the lifted hem of their outer robe with ease, sword seemingly having vanished once more without a trace.
Some people must have thought the shadows had been an act, but the maid shuddered at the dark stains left on the wood while the performer bowed politely, and then without another word slipped out of the tavern with only a faint breeze flying against the maid's face.
"Lucky I got to see that."
"Right? Too bad I've never gotten to listen to a full set…"
"Yeah! Always a riot getting to see the Lord of Light!"
The 'Lord of Light…?'
The maid hurried back to check in with her senior at work. "Hey, sis, what are all the customers talking about with this lord? Was that performer a noble?"
"Who can say," Her senior shrugged with a grin. "Not much is known about the Lord of Light. Mostly that he travels up and down the roads, playing music and doing good deeds for spare coin. By looks, he might even be royalty, but no one has ever gotten close enough to see if he bears any mark."
The marks of many nobles and immortals, said to have descended from dragons… perhaps that's why he wore that white cloth?
Seliph grimaced as Lewyn firmly pulled him into a side hug and gave him a noogie with the bottom of his jar of wine.
"Didn't I say to keep a low profile during performances?! Why did I even teach you to play that lute if it gets you into trouble!"
"I'm sorry, Lord Lew—"
"Teacher, teacher! Ughhh, I can't even get away with senior anymore..."
Seliph felt more and more of Lewyn's weight leaning into him, and he had a horrific premonition if this didn't stop, his 'teacher' might collapse onto him and make him carry him for the rest of the day. "T-teacher, my head hurts…"
"How do you think mine feels?" Lewyn muttered, but he did lift up the jar to take another deep drink, allowing Seliph to escape.
"I didn't plan for it to happen." Seliph replied as he ducked away. "I thought we'd had lost them once we crossed the desert this time."
"Well that was a mistake— honestly, there are times I regret you leaving Tirnanog monastery to come travel with me." Lewyn took another drink from the jar, and then, once the lacquered vessel was seemingly empty, he tossed it off the side of the road with a definite shattering. Seliph remembered when he commented on it once, Lewyn said he was 'returning it to the earth.' Seliph didn't mention it again.
It had only been a few hours since his performance, but the pair had quickly taken to the road once Seliph mentioned the fighting style of his attackers.
"One positive is the people have a good impression of you, even if they don't know your true identity." Lewyn muttered.
"We could always travel to Grannvale proper. They may not assume it—"
Lewyn's withering expression made Seliph bite his tongue. "Patience. I know Oifey and Shannan filled you with such nonsense of 'reclaiming your home,' but you are still unprepared."
He then gestered to the pack resting against Seliph's side. "Have you made any more progress?"
Seliph nodded. "A little."
"Good. It'll be a few nights before we reach another town. Take that time to read from that scroll and practice." Lewyn's face gained a somber quality as he instructed, nearly opposite from the tone he had taken just a minute ago. "Remember, if you want to reach the heights of Baldr, you need to take each step seriously, even with the Loptous Sect breathing down our necks."
Seliph nodded. He had known from a young age that he had to learn the techniques of this scroll, as an inheritor of draconic power. Oifey could only teach him so much, and Shannan had his own path. Still, he was glad for Lewyn's instruction.
However, Lewyn's 'mystic' quality was ruined when he jogged off the main road again to throw up in a grouping of poor, unsuspecting bushes.
After their evening meal and leaving Lewyn to his 'meditation' (nursing his hangover), Seliph decided to practice from Baldr's scroll by the riverside near their camp.
The moon was bright enough to watch his movements and check the scroll, always careful with how his gleaming silver sword rested in his hand while he did the proper movements.
He practiced them over and over, but he had still yet to master them in actual combat. Once he felt his body veering towards exhaustion, Seliph let his hair down and laid down in the soft grass as he stared up at the sky, then looked at the lightening of the ends of his hair, shifting in color until they seem catch the moonbeams from above.
Seliph wondered where he got this strange color. It might have been from his mother, but no one talked about her much to him. Edain and Oifey would always look sad, and Seliph would see the guilt on Shannan's face and the tightened grip on his own sword the rare times he asked about her.
If he mastered the techniques in Baldr's scroll, he wished there was a day he and the family he knew no longer had to hide in the far reaches of the continent— that he'd be able to finally cast the shadows that chased them into the light.
Seliph lifted his head and took a deep inhale and exhale, about to go back to camp to get some sleep, when he saw a flickering light across the river.
It was in the shape of a person, only this person seemed wreathed in flames.
Surprised, Seliph got to his feet and called out. Was there a fire?! How— "Are you injured?! Do you need help?"
They seem to hear him, but they are still too far away to see their face, but Seliph can now make out the figure of what was likely a man, confirmed when he finally heard a response.
"I beg of you: please save my daughter! It's too late for me, but please…"
Without another thought, Seliph stumbles into the river, in his rush unable to make the full leap. It's thankfully shallow enough for him to cross, but the figure seemed to be flickering in and out of focus, like the flames around them were not burning, but containing his form.
Despite the danger, Seliph can't ignore the desperation in that voice, and he reached out with his hand, fingers grasping. "Wait— how do I—?"
His fingertips connect with the form's own— warm, but transient, and the moonlight shined on both of them.
Seliph's vision was shocked by the shining sun of day, and he felt as if his body was now able to soar through the sky, traveling with incredible speed through the forest, until he came across a stony, ivy covered compound with a tall tower, where two people were— no, are— imprisoned.
Seliph now knew the path to them, as his sight returned, and the man— not truly a man made of flesh, but a projection of the man's soul, a technique known only by the most skilled of practioners— vanished.
Seliph's hand hovered in the air, cupping a stray spark that remained from the flames, before it too dispersed into nothing. He then successfully lept over the river, and ran back to camp.
Lewyn was immediately suspicious.
"Seliph, don't let the 'Lord of Light' moniker get to your head— there's no way to confirm whether or not this is a trap."
"You told me to cast your soul in a projection is a pwerful skill, but also one that comes at a large price: why would this man make such a large risk to lull someone into a trap?"
Lewyn shook his head. "Forget it, it's not our problem—"
But Seliph wouldn't budge. "You told me my father would never turn his back on someone who required aid. The only reason I'm still alive is due to that kindness. What kind of legacy would I be trying to perserve if I refused to follow that kindness?"
"The kind that'd actually live to pass it on!" Lewyn growled, but Seliph didn't cringe away. "… You're going whether or not I want you to, aren't you?"
Seliph nodded.
Despite his youth, Seliph wasn't a child anymore, and he could make his own decisions.
"…" Lewyn sighed. "We'll leave at first light. You better remember the way."
Lewyn would never let Seliph live down the choice to go once they realized the tower was a branch of the Loptous Sect, and continued to complain vehemently as Seliph cut down another onslaught of sect disciples.
Some of them had seemingly imbibed poison before their deaths, and Seliph had to strip out of his outer robe once it started to melt and ooze, only just saving his lute and storing it in a spare concealment pouch.
"I'm not buying you a new one of those."
"I know." Seliph answered, unable to hide the irritation from his voice. Sometimes, his teacher could learn a bit more about not rubbing salt into an open wound.
They had made it into the next room, where there seemed to be an empty stone path.
Which, in and of itself, was suspicious.
Seliph tossed a few pebbles across the ground, and watched as bolts of arrows whizzed past, before embedding into the opposite wall.
Lewyn crossed his arms. "We'll need to step on the right combination of stones to cross, unless we want to become meat skewers."
Seliph frowned. They had already dealt with all the disciples in the other room, so they couldn't get the combination by threatening them. Would they have to double-back and find another way?
"I can give you the combination."
Seliph tensed at the voice, drawing his blade close, before looking up. In an upper balcony, a girl, seemingly younger than Seliph and dressed in fine white robes, rested her head in her arms on the railing as she looked down at them, like a cat watching some strange looking birds from her perch.
"… I thank you for the offer, my lady." Seliph answered, with the girl seemingly pleased at the title. "But how can we trust you?"
"Hm, that's true, you aren't the one I dream about," the girl said, as if that made sense to anyone but her. "But, helping you will put a thorn in Grandfather's side, especially if Forseti of the Wind was here."
"How do you know of that name?" Lewyn, surprisingly, spoke up, voice firm.
"I know lots of things, like the right path out of this trap."
Lewyn's eyes narrowed as he gazed up at the girl, but he nodded. "Fair enough, I suppose we have nothing to lose, but I'll go first— and trust me little girl, I can still kill you if you're pulling any tricks."
"Teacher—"
"Hush, Seliph, let her give us the path."
"Thank you," the girl replied, before straightening up. "And the name is Sara, by the way. I'll expect a favor in return in the future. The path is…"
With skill and a little bit of unexpected aid, teacher and student reach the bottom of the staircase that lead up to the tower. More enemies, however, sweeped in like a crashing wave before they began their ascent.
"Go and find those prisoners." Lewyn instructed Seliph.
"But—"
"Just because I've let you handle things so far doesn't mean I defenceless." Lewyn replied, turning back to the brandished blades in front of them, waiting for one side or the other to make the first move.
"… Be careful, teacher." Seliph briefly bowed his head, then ran up the tower.
As soon as Lewyn could no longer hear his student's footsteps, he fixed a cruel smile at the disciples in front of him. The whole room filled with killing intent.
"I hate having to be sober for this, but the kid left me no choice." Lewyn raised his arms, and suddenly the winds began to howl…
Meanwhile, Seliph ran three steps at a time up the tower, taking out the few guards he came across with ease and the element of surprise: they obviously hadn't been informed of the intruders.
Seliph took a key off the last guard, and used it to open the single cell he had come across, near the top of the tower.
"D-don't come any closer!" A girl's voice rang out as it opened, and Seliph found the same two people from his vision. However, the girl was standing, seemingly trying to protect the prone man on the floor. The bindings holding her wrists together made her threat less effective.
"I came here to get you and your father out." Seliph rushed out in his attempt to explain.
The girl's eyes widened. "Father? Then— his spell worked?"
"He lead me here." Seliph answered. "Do you want me to get those bindings off?"
"…" She took another second, looking at Seliph, and Seliph felt the odd sensation of being stared down by a ferocious animal, despite the slightness of the girl in front of him. Satisfied that he didn't look like a member of the Loptous Sect, she held her wrists out, and Seliph carefuly removed the bindings with his blade.
"What's your name?"
"Julia." She answered, but then without another world she knelt down to undo the bindings from her father's own wrists, but that didn't seem to wake the man. Seliph frowned as he knelt down next to her, getting a closer look at the man's face— it looked unnaturally pale, and his long red hair lay limp around his head. When he reached a hand out to check his pulse, Julia grabbed his wrist, as if on instinct.
"He's alive." Julia rushed out. "I've checked his pulse, and the flow of his energies are stable. He's just— he's in deep meditation."
Which likely meant he was in a coma. "Has he reached a level of control where he doesn't need to eat?"
"Yes." Julia nodded. "He— I just need help moving him out of here."
"Then I'll carry him on my back. Do you have experience in battle?"
"Yes— not much with swords, but I know how to fight… thank you, sir…"
"It's Seliph," Seliph answered, and then tried to give a reassuring smile. "Nice to meet you, Julia."
"… Likewise." Julia smiled back, before helping him move the still unconscious man to Seliph's back, while he tucked the silver sword into his belt (Seliph already missed the extra storage pouches sewn into his outer robe sleeves, but his lute was tucked away at least).
They slowly descend from the tower, with Julia taking point, even taking a tome from one of the corpses without hesitation. Seliph quickly filled Julia in with what happened so far, including who he was with, and who aided them.
"Lady Sara has likely already left. Despite what she said, she wouldn't stay behind to gloat to Manfroy's face." Julia replied, before turning to Seliph. "I plan to destroy this place, if given the chance in our escape."
"Fair enough." Seliph would not deny her that, as long as they still made it out.
Lewyn was waiting at the bottom, surrounded by bodies. He, however, didn't look good as he leaned against the wall. Seliph felt a chill cross him at his mentor's clear exhaustion
Still, he was well enought to comment. "Stairs took you that long? You should work on your endurance."
"Teacher!" Seliph exclaimed with obvious relief. "Can you walk?"
"Yeah, yeah, since it seems you already have a passenger…" Lewyn's gaze settled on the man's face, and he went silent for a moment. Before Seliph could fully gage what happened, Lewyn pulled himself away from the wall and began to walk. "Come on, let's find— or make— an exit."
Julia raised her newly acquired tome with determination. "I can arrange that."
A day later, a retinue came to the now smoking ruins of their fortess.
While one cloaked man hissed out orders to go search for the hostages, a young man with long red hair knelt down and picked up the remains of Seliph's outer robe.
"We had been trapped in that tower for several weeks." Julia began her story as they were around the campfire, far away from the main road. "… I had been living in a monastery with disciples of Bragi, and received a message to return home. Once there… the Loptous Sect had already infiltrated. My father is well-trained, but he hasn't… been the same since mother died. I didn't even get to see my brother before the two of use were whisked away. I think they might be using him as a puppet."
"For what purpose?" Lewyn asked.
"…" Julia bowed her head. "I can't tell you."
Which spoke enough. This girl and her father were likely part of one of the great clans, only and had been eaten from the inside to dismantle their position, possibly to gain insight into their techniques.
Julia bowed her head further. "I cannot begin to thank you, Sir Seliph and Master Lewyn, but I must admit that I have nothing to give you for your courageous efforts."
In translation: she had no coin, no treasures, and refused to divulge the secrets of her clan to strangers, even helpful strangers.
"We're currently on the peninsula. Is there anywhere you and your father can seek refuge?" Seliph asked.
"…" Julia bit her lip in thought. "My brother and I have friends close to Ulster, but I'm not sure if they have also been compromised."
"It sounds like you're in quite a bind." Lewyn said.
"… We have friends further north, across the desert." Seliph answered. "It's far, but faster by ship."
"Seliph—"
"What else can we do, Lewyn?"
"Leonster. It's closer."
Seliph couldn't do that to his cousin, leaving two unknown people in his care when he was already fighting back against Clan Friege. "They have their own problems… and Tirnanog is safer."
"Please… if I could only have a safe place for my father to heal, I swear we will cause you no more trouble. And once I gather forces, I will repay you as much as I can."
"Don't make such oaths lightly, Lady Julia." Lewyn said, before turning to Seliph. "We'll go to Tirnanog, but if that father of hers wakes up, we part ways then and there, and Seliph can't be carrying him all the time— we'll need a horse and cart."
Julia's shoulders relaxed, and she bowed again. "Thank you."
"I'll get the coin as soon as we reach the nearest town!" Seliph promised, before turning to Julia. "I play the lute, teacher taught me. Do you play any instruments?"
"Oh, well, I played a little…"
While the two young people talked, Lewyn's focus turned to the still unconscious man, an unfathomable emotion in his gaze.
When Seliph and Julia were both asleep, Lewyn stood up, and looked at the unconscious man that had taken his bedroll for the evening.
Quietly, he knelt down, and was about to slam his fingertip into a pressure point on the man's neck. That would cut off air, and then all he had to do was smother his face to stop any possible sounds, even if he was comatose—
Lewyn's finger was a hair's breath away before pausing, hearing Seliph mumble in his sleep, before shifting in his bed roll.
"…" Lewyn, quietly, went back to sit by the campfire, feeding it more dry sticks for kindling, while he glared with hatred at the red haired man. He would have to find another opportunity. The girl, Julia, was too sharp, and his pupil was still too soft.
As he tried to get comfortable for the evening, a thought haunted him
Was it the monster inside him, or was it the man that clung to consciousness, that stopped him from comitting this foul deed?