Lilianne Relinton was not relaxed. Not one bit. Rather, she was agitated and nervous. What she knew, and held was something that needed to be told to Shivylie with utmost haste. In her haste, she had completely forgotten about Deryke and Alsces, but even if she did, she would have simply told them to do their own things. Either way, her mind was filled with her own thoughts that she wouldn’t be able to give out proper intructions.
For Lilianne, with her mind filled with her own thoughts, her legs continued to walk automatically down the hallways of the castle. Ignoring the other Dragonnaire she passed, Lilianne did not stop in pace, until she reached where she wanted to be. A lone corridor that could only be assessed by going up a spiral stairwell that was tucked away in the middle of the section of the White Flight. Walking down the corridor at the far end, Lilianne came to a stop and looked up.
A pair of unassuming wooden doors, looking no different from the other doors in the castle. But what was around the door was not as unassuming. Two Dragoons in white ceremonial armour stood by the doors. Above the door were drapped two large banners of the Dragonnaire Order, with the Dragon’s head insignia being white upon the grey fabric of the banner. The two Dragoons crossed their spears across the door, barring her from entering.
“What have you come here for, White Dragonnaire Relinton.”
One of the Dragoons demanded, his lizard eyes narrowing at her.
“I have come to speak to the White Wing.”
She replied, her voice tense and not hiding its urgency. The Dragoon turned to his partner, who shook his head.
“The White Wing shall not be disturbed at this hour. You may not enter.”
The second Dragoon said. Lilianne was not happy with that answer, knitting her brow, before she reached into her satchel and pulled out the rolled up parchment she received from Bouxen in Leoux city. She produced the parchment roll to the Dragoons, who saw the wax seal on the parchment and immediately stood at attention, bringing up their weapons.
“Enter, White Dragonnaire Relinton.”
Lilianne did not wait for another second as she pushed the doors open and entered. Stepping beyond the door, Lilianne now stood in a large room that was made small by the large number of books that crowded the room. The shelves were already overflowing with books, with parchments and papers shoved into every nook and cranny it could find. More books lay around the room, piled up into small towers. Even the couches and tables were not spared from the onslaught of books. And at the end of the room was a single broad wooden table, with more books piled onto it, and seated behind that table, was the unmistakenable features of the White Wing. Shivylie Silvastern.
“I believed I had forbidden any from entering.”
Shivylie’s voice reached Lilianne while the White Wing still continued to look through parchments on her desk. Lilianne knew that Shivylie was an avid reader, but this amount was not normal. The White Wing was undertaking some important task, and this resulted in her room being overcrowded with whatever information the White Wing could gleam from the vast archives within the Order. She was sure the White Wing had also tasked her Fangs to go out into the Kingdoms to gather more information. But what exactly was the White Wing looking for?
“Speak, Dragonnaire Relinton, and answer for your transgressions into my chambers.”
The White Wing’s voice turned sharp, snapping Lilianne out of her thoughts, and she approached the desk of Shivylie, presenting the parchment in her hand.
“Lady White Wing… You must see this.”
Lilianne said, and the White Wing stopped midway through the parchment in her hand, her eyes glancing up and at the parchment that sat in Lilianne’s hand. In particular, the seal on it. The moment Shivylie saw the seal, her eyes widened, dropping the parchment in her hand as her attention was now solely on the parchment that sat in the hand of Lilianne.
“That… that is…”
Shivylie slumped back in her chair, her eyes going out of focus, yet still trained on the seal.
“… It is arriving… The darkness that once fogged our World… is approaching once more…”
Shivylie muttered. Lilianne was a little surprised to see Shivylie react this way.
“Lady White Wing, this report may not signal the rise of a great Dark war-”
“It is a seal that is used by our scouts to tell us of a great rise in the number of Dark ones… of which a great Dark war is but one possibility.”
A cheeky sounding voice spoke from behind Lilianne. Turning around, Lilianne saw the rather confident stride of the Yellow Wing, Riezol Strukaz. Running a hand through his combed back hair, Riezol stepped around the towers of books lightly, as though dancing around them, till he reached Lilianne and Shivylie.
“Yellow Wing… Is this what you sought?”
The White Wing growled at him, to which the Yellow Wing shrugged.
“I know not of what you think me be. I merely asked the same of all who sought requests of me, that they gather all information with our own scouts, to ascertain the movements of the Dark ones. To think that the seal would be used now, of all times, is certainly not of my own design.”
Riezol answered with a smile. Shivylie, however, did not share his sentiments.
“It has been over fifty cycles since the last war… It would be odd should no war be looming over us.”
“We have yet to see a second war, thus we do not know how frequent should it occur. Do not be so hasty to charge into a blood bath, White Wing.”
Shivylie narrowed her eyes at the Yellow Wing.
“It is not haste to seek battle, that I speak as such, Yellow Wing. It is the imminent shadow that threatens to cover the land that I urge the sense of caution and anticipation of the worst.”
Riezol smiled at Shivylie’s answer and nodded slightly.
“I agree on such thoughts, White Wing, and certainly reports such as this must be taken with the utmost of seriousness. I will have a look over it to verify its contents.”
Riezol subsequently took the parchment from Lilianne’s hands, and the White Dragonnaire was unable to stop it, mainly due to Riezol being a Wing himself. She could not very well disobey a Wing, no matter how much the lack of choice frustrates her. Shivylie lightly slammed her hands on her desk, glaring hard at Riezol.
“I believe I am suitable to read its contents.”
Shivylie stated, and one end of Riezol smile raised itself even higher.
“That, I am sure of. However, this is what I had commisioned, and thus I would be the first to read its contents. As to why your White Dragonnaire had sought to give it to you before informing me… is something I would like to inquire.”
Riezol glanced over to Lilianne, and his expression changed for a brief moment to a slight scowl, before turning back to his smiling face.
“But that shall have to wait.”
Riezol turned around and started to walk off.
“You will hear from me once I have looked over its contents and verified them.”
The Yellow Wing said as he waved his hand in the air, leaving the room. Shivylie sighed, leaning back in her chair as she rubbed the sides of her head.
“… I have no illusions over the severity of what that report may hold. But until such a time, to make empty guesses will bring forth more doubts than answers. Relinton. I suppose that report is not the only thing you wished to speak of. Speak.”
Shivylie told Lilianne, and the White Dragonnaire swallowed hard, nodding as she began to tell Shivylie of everything that had happened. The Golden Knights, the upcoming civil war, the rise of the Goblin horde, the meeting of the daemos, and warning that the daemos gave. Every part of the recollection was told with as much detail as Lilianne could provide. And Shivylie listened without interrupting the Dragonnaire, her expression unchanging save for a slight twitch of the eyebrow upon hearing of the daemos.
“… A daemos… who shelters the one the Grave Keeper seeks… Leanith Sidhe.”
Shivylie muttered.
“The Greyvolfe warband’s leader did say her name as such.”
Lilianne stated, and Shivylie sighed, shaking her head.
“You have seen a ‘named’ daemos, and did not get sent to the World river. And not any ‘named’ daemos… but the ‘betrayer’. You have stared death in the face, be embraced by it, and yet the winds of fortune had brought you back, still breathing and unclaimed by the World River.”
Lilianne was unsure of that title, but she knew the problem with ‘named’ daemos. With the same being applied to wild ones, a creature outside of the Kingdoms being ‘named’ would signify its prowess and abilities being prominent enough for them to stand out from their peers, and for those within the Kingdoms to recognise that strength. ‘Named’ beings stand above even the leaders of their kind, like in the case of the goblins, ‘named’ goblins would be heralded to be greater than the goblin kings, though it is also noted that ‘named’ beings rarely stand above their leaders in political terms.
For daemos, a ‘named’ daemos was perhaps akin to a walking natural disaster. Lilianne knew the moment the Greyvolfe warband leader told her of the daemos’ name that she had just survived a possible death sentence, but to hear Shivylie speak of a ‘title’. While ‘names’ can be given to the one in question by their own kind, or by those within the Kingdom. ‘Titles’, on the other hand, were something that only those who hold power can give. By ‘power’, that meant Kings, Lords, Guardians, and Pillars.
Dradries have been known to give out titles as well, though those who do receive titles and names from Dradries were perhaps on some other level. Lilianne was somewhat concerned that a daemos holds a title, making her think that it must have been a Pillar who gave the daemos her title. Shivylie noticed the difficult expression on Lilianne’s face and sighed.
“Leanith Sidha, the ‘betrayer’. Name and title given unto her by a Dradrien Knight.”
“A Dradries?!”
Shivylie was not surprised by Lilianne’s outburst, rubbing her temples.
“We know little of how and why the Dradries do what they do. Even with Fortres being a Dragoon, we know no more about the Dradries than the Kingdoms.”
Shivylie raised her hand in defeat, crossing her arms as she looked to Lilianne.
“It matters little to this daemos, and the truth of how she is now interferring with the Grave Keeper.”
Shivylie tapped her finger on the table, watching as Lilianne seemed a little unnerved by the White Wing’s stares.
“… I suppose you do not know much of the ‘betrayer’… I suppose not many do.”
Lilianne shook her head. She had not heard of this particular daemos, but was it necessary for her to know? Unless it was something that Shivylie decided that Lilianne needed to know, for some reason unbeknownst to Lilianne.
“The tale would begin with a normal Lilin daemos, preying on men and draining their lives away whilst drowning them in pleasures of the body and night.”
Shivylie’s tone was uncaring and cold, her typical expression, and yet Lilianne could see that Shivylie’s eyes were betraying the White Wing with anger. The Order does not actively hunt daemos, but they certainly do pose a threat to the stability of the Kingdoms, thus the Order stand at odds with them.
“Without a care for life, nor care for shame, the Lilin simply lulled the slumber beast within men out of their shells and with that, the Lilin continued to feed and grow in strength. Perhaps the daemos would meet her end by some freemen adventurer, a mercernary, or perhaps at the hands of one from the Order. But the Lilin did not care. To her, feeding and living to see the next day was all she cared for. Until she met a certain man, who would change her life forever. An ironic tale, wouldn’t you say? That a beast shall face a turn in nature before that which she would normally feasts upon.”
Shivylie gave a short laugh, but as before, Lilianne noted that Shivylie’s expression did not change. Lilianne felt unnerved by it. But why? This was the usual Shivylie. Cold, collected, calculative. The White Wing was often described as such. And yet Lilianne had seen Shivylie react with such fiery emotion when dealing with select people. Riezol Strukaz, the Yellow Wing. Bryale Fiera, the Red Wing. Deryke Verias, a young Red Dragonnaire.
While the Wings could be considered Shivylie’s equal, and thus their actions and attitudes often frustrates her, the same could not be applied to Deryke Verias. Lilianne had seen how the White Wing acts towards the young Red, and for a few moments in the brief time she spent with the young red, Lilianne could understand that. And yet now, when facing the usual Shivylie, Lilianne felt a huge sense of unease. But the worries of Lilianne did not seem to bother Shivylie, as the White Wing continued her story.
“A young man who had no feats of valour, nor honour on the fields of battle. He was, but a simple scholar. No one but Leanith knows what she saw in him, but smitten she was, and deeply so. However, a Lilin, will be a Lilin, even if they do not raise their hand to seek and taketh life so. And the scholar’s life littled away just by being next to her. But Leanith did not know, nor could she have known, for she knew little of her own self, and had only sought to satisfy her lust and cravings before him. And so the scholar left for the World River, and Leanith would lament his loss.
Lament and curse her own being. It is said that it was then that a Dradries chanced upon her, and gave her a name, and a new purpose. Her cravings a thing of a long forgotten past, she seeks atonement, if one can call it as such. For that, I would suppose she was no longer a Lilin. But something else. Leanith Sidhe is strong, Relinton, for she can easily best great daemos. Her choice to take what the Grave Keeper seeks must mean it to be too dangerous for a Pillar to keep… If it is the Grave Keeper, then it must be that he must have succeeded in creating a day-walker…”
Shivylie’s tone trailed off slightly.
“… Lady White Wing, I know of how dangerous this daemos be… should we seek to seal her?”
Lilianne asked, to which Shivylie shook her head.
“A dangerous beast would bite its hardest upon the cage that dares to hold it. No, as it is, Leanith Sidhe’s goals are aligned with ours, for now. We cannot openly assist her, nor can we brazenly seek her assistance, for she is still one of the daemos, and the Kingdoms do not look kindly upon those who dare share a meal with foulings.”
Shivylie stood up from her seat, turning around and grabbing her coat.
“You have done well for this task, and have returned safe. You may rest now, Relinton. I must go to see what I presume to be true… is true. As for the civil war, we shall dispatch our Dragoons to begin the march. That is all.”
“Wait, Lady-…”
Lilianne watched Shivylie leave, rasing her hand in wanting to stop the White Wing but stopped short, her hand grasping air as her voice could not leave. Lilianne watched as Shivylie opened the door to her room and leave. Lilianne felt unsure, and alone. She did not know if asking Shivylie was the right course of action, but now that the time had slipped by her, she could not do anything about it. Lilianne looked down at her empty palm. She felt alone. Her heart would not stop this creeping emotion. It would not stop.
“… I… I do not know what I am to do…I am lost… Lady White Wing… I am… afraid… Verias…”
Deryke Verias did not rest well, though on most days, his body wouldn’t be considered ‘well-rested’ due to the number of cramps his body would suffer from training. It has only been a mere three days since they returned from Hexarash, though it did not feel as long to Deryke. He had no idea just where Lilianne Relinton had gone off to after they returned, and he had yet to see her since. Alsces Kyros, on the other hand, was suffering from what could called ‘mental breakdown’.
Apparently, the Red Wing had found out about him leaving the castle and had decided on ensuring Alsces would suffer a few rounds of harsh training sessions, though not administered by the Wing himself. In addition, Alsces’ trial would be postponed until a later date, and that piece of news really set the Red off. Looking haggard and rather beaten up, Alsces would appear during their joint training sessions with less energy and noise than before. If Deryke had to compare, he looked more like a half-starved mule staring at a cart load of hay that it needed to haul half a Reach.
Even half-way through sparing, which wouldn’t really be called that if Alsces’ movements were sluggish and pointless, the other Red Dragonnaire would stop and just curl up into a ball on the ground and groan like a spoilt kid. At times, Deryke had wondered if Alsces was similar to his old friend, Tyriousel. Looking at this scene before him now, Deryke firmly rejected that idea. Tyriousel may be a joker, same with Alsces, but Tyriousel had a more serious attitude when compared to this walking physical mass of jokes and silliness.
“You were thinking something rude about me, weren’t you?”
Alsces glared at Deryke whilst still curled up into a ball on the floor. Deryke verhemently shook his head.
“That must be all in your head.”
Alsces did not believe Deryke’s answer, and simply rolled the otherway. Deryke sighed, sheathing his sword as he wondered about just what he had to do with this rolling Dragonnaire. This is the sort of action one would only expect from children.
“… Deryke.”
Alsces suddenly called out, making Deryke glance over to the rolled up Dragonnaire.
“Word from Hexarash has come…”
Alsces’ tone was straight, and not holding a hint of his previous childish self. Deryke knew not to expect any good news from the civil war. It was a war that would be nothing but death and destruction. He knew not to expect anything good. That was how war was.
“… The Chivalric Order of the Golden Spear… has been destroyed… No survivors have been found.”
Alsces’ sentence did hit Deryke hard. His chest felt contracted. His breathing was hard. He knew that such a news was possible. His fist tightly curled, digging into his palms. Such a pain was possible. He knew that. It was just like the time when he heard of the demise of his dear friend Tyriousel. To hear the demise of the Golden Order was painful to bear. When he had only spoken to them not even a season ago.
“… I… see.”
Was all Deryke could say for now. He looked up to the sky sporadically filled with light clouds. Could such a day, a day that seemed so beautiful and yet insignificant, be filled with any more darkness?
“.. By who? How… did they fall?”
Deryke asked, and Alsces stayed silent for a moment. A rather long moment to Deryke.
“… By the ones who killed the favoured consort of the King… They stormed the keep and took the Order by surprise. Apparently, they were angered that the Order refused to lend them aid. The Order’s keep was also under siege from the King, for they refused to allow his army passed their walls into the lands of those villages… I guess the villagers took this opportunity to stab them in the back. The King’s army took the keep only a day before, and so the news came to us.”
Deryke did not like to hear such things, but he supposed it was meant to be. Lilianne had warned Deryke of this. But to think that it would come true. Vexer=iriloux of Vouxelz. Zexastek the scale shimmer. Ales Ve Okavarex. The three knights from the Order that Deryke had spent time travelling with. To think that such meetings would be fleeting, and that he would not see them again.
“… Deryke.”
Alsces called out.
“… What is it?”
“… Life… is certainly short… isn’t it?”
Deryke closed his eyes and nodded slightly.
“… It is… it certainly is.”
Deryke walked down the corridor of the Red flight’s part of Dracoravine, heading back to his room after the rather disappointing practice he had with Alsces, though that practice in itself was filled with grave news that Deryke somewhat wished he did not know about. And yet he knew that the truth had to come. To constantly run away from it would help no one, and what sort of Dragonnaire would Deryke be if he did such a thing? As a Dragonnaire, Deryke had to face his nightmares and face the truth, no matter how much it would hurt. Or so he thought.
Was this the path that he had to tread upon? The one that Vexer=iriloux told him he would eventually find? Or was this only a mere pause, a stop in what he had to face to become what he believed to be on the right path? Deryke was beginning to question if he would ever find his path. Vexer=iriloux did say that many do not find their own paths. Was he perhaps meant to be one of them? It frightened him, and yet he questioned himself as to why it would frighten him so. He had joined the Dragonnaires, an Order he had sought out from the beginning due to hearing tales of their prowess and greatness.
To join an Order in which all Kingdoms across the land respect and, at times, fear. But was that what he wished to be? Respected? Feared? Deryke did not know. He still did not know. He had believed that he needed to be patient, to let time guide his path. But with the news of the Golden Order’s destruction, time suddenly felt so short. To lose someone who gave him guidance so suddenly, Deryke had his own convictions and confidence in himself shatter.
He was somewhat aware of it, that he to pick himself up, that he could not let this news change him. But he felt as though he could not help it.
“And where do you suppose walking around without looking forward would bring you?”
A rather sharp, and familiar voice called out to him. He looked up and saw the slim figure of the White Wing, Shivylie Silvastern. With her long flowing pure white hair and silverish white eyes, the White Wing stood by the wall, her arms crossed and watching his movement closely.
“Lady… White Wing.”
Shivylie narrowed her eyes a little at his reply, pushing herself off the wall and walking over towards him.
“It would appear you have heard word of the civil war in Hexarash.”
Shivylie stated, making Deryke rather surprised that she knew. But she is the White Wing, thus it wouldn’t be unnatural for her to know. Shivylie stopped right before him, her hand reaching out, touching his cheek lightly. Caressing it like a mother would to a lost child, though her expression did not change.
“… Does such a passing pain you so?”
She asked. He only hung his head low, as hard as he tried to hide his grief, when someone is able to point it out, it grows in strength. And soon he would not be able to contain it any further.
“… Come, let us speak in another place.”
Shivylie said, grabbing Deryke’s hand and pulling him away. Deryke was confused, but could not stop to question Shivylie as her constant pull forced him to focus solely on walking and keeping up with her pace. Deryke had no idea where Shivylie was taking him, and though her pace seemed uniformed, Deryke had troubled keeping his, quickening and slowing at various instances as the two climbed stairs, went down stairs, went through corridors and doors. It felt like he was going on a tour around the castle. But soon he came to realise that they were walking in some rather familiar scenery.
Shivylie stopped before a pair of doors, one that he knew quite well by now. The Teresian flower room, or so he had come to call it. Shivylie let Deryke’s hand go as she opened the door and stepped in. Deryke, seeing now other alternative, stepped into the room as well. The room was the same as how it had always been, a room filled with shelves where the pots of the soft glowing Teresian flower were. Deryke did not recall seeing anyone actually planting or growing them, thus he had to wonder if such plants simply existed as such, or perhaps they did not wilt?
While that thought was impossible to Deryke, he did recall that the Dragonnaire Order did not age once they have gone through and succeeded at their trials. Dragoons, by some extension that is not known to Deryke, can do the same. But would that extend to plants residing with the Order? Probably not, due to how Deryke had seen the limited number of crops and livestock rear in the castle go through changes and death, such an assumption was quickly put out of his mind. But why bring him here again? Some place to talk?
Certainly, he had spent most of his time in this room whenever Shivylie had sought him out. But those were also during times in which she sought to give him lessons. Was this what this was going to be? Another lesson? Upon entering the room, Deryke noticed that Shivylie was now sitting on a chair at the far end of the room, and she gestured to a second chair was was placed facing hers.
“Take a seat, Verias.”
Deryke was a little hesitant about the offer, but this is Shivylie Silvastern. The White Wing. Even if he did not receive her hospitality and favour many times before, the very strength of hers as a Wing was enough to make him follow her word. Walking over, Deryke sat down on the chair and look up to Shivylie. The White Wing was certainly beautiful, her beauty far beyond words Deryke could muster to describe her. As Shivylie simply sat there in silence, she made the entire surroundings seem insignificant. Her soft, smooth snow white hair glistening like the stars.
Her skin, slightly pale, accentuating her sharp silver eyes and soft pink lips. Shivylie brushed her hair behind her ear as she leaned closer to Deryke, the young red’s heart pounding hard as the soft, soothing scent of morning dew and lilac skies filled him. A scent that painted an image so strongly in his mind that it was described as such. Shivylie placed a hand on his forehead, and rested her own forehead on the top of that hand, her face so close his. Her silver eyes, deep, calm, and yet cold and a void, staring straight into his own dark red eyes.
“… The death of someone that you have known, is not new to you. Yet you question why it seems to different. Why is this feeling of loss felt so much harsher than before. It is because you are starting to realise the weight of life.”
“The weight…?”
Deryke was confused by what Shivylie meant by that.
“Men often do not see the value in life… until it is lost. I too, was once the same. And thus, I know of what you feel.”
“Lady White Wing as well?”
Shivylie nodded, her expression unchanging, but for some reason Deryke felt it be softer than before.
“Death can easily be made trivial, by the constant reminder of it. Certainly, your friend was dear to you, but it is not unnatural for death to occur. Bandits, disease, wild animals, monsters, war. Such are the word that spreads around the Kingdoms as often as the breeze shall change. You hear them, be it whether you understand them, or whether you have simply cared for them at all. But you have, without a doubt, heard of such death that lingers constantly over the heads of those who live within the grace of the Kingdoms.
Thus, though you mourn for your friend, the death of the ones whom who had spent time with only recently, seem to wound you deeper. Though such a time has been short to many, you have been cut off from the World of the Kingdoms for some time. Surrounded by the unending time of the Order, no word of death, of destruction that can reach you behind these walls. Death has become… unnatural to you.”
Shivylie explained, intertwining her fingers on her lap as she explained, her gaze unflinchingly aimed at him.
“But… such a lesson at this time may yet prove beneficial for you.”
Shivylie muttered calmly, leaning back away from his face. Deryke was confused by her words, and Shivylie could clearly see that confusion written all over his face.
“… To attempt to learn loss whilst you have yet to taste it, is to solve a problem that has yet to occur. To place a bridge before a river cuts through… Verias, there will be times when lessons we learn from, can only be made from the events that has transpired. And at times, the lessons we learn differ from those who may learn beside us. Shed a tear, if you wish, and mourn for the passing of the brave ones. Take pause, cherish the memories you hold. Do what you will, what you want, what you must. Yet do not wallow in despair. Do what it takes to right your heart, and to continue forth.”
Shivylie crossed her legs as she continued, resting her head on her arm, her movements smooth and continuous, tranquil and appearing like a scene from a painting.
“I have heard much from Relinton. I cannot say what you seek in search of your answers shall lead you to what you hope to discover, but one must remember this… the journey shall only end when you will it so.”
“… What does that mean?”
Deryke asked.
“People seek answers, or they may seek a path. But to each, they will find a different step, a different point. Some may not find the answers they seek, some may pass by their answers, and others simply choose to find another answer. I do believe the Knight from the chivalric Order said as such? But such an answer would only come to those who seek it. There are some who tire of finding their answers, and thus will stop along their path. And that shall be their answer… and their end.”
“… Can I truly find my own answers? Or would I simply stop… like so many?”
Deryke wondered, clutching his chest as his worries start to pile. Shivylie stayed silent, her eyes still watching Deryke quietly, as if judging him, before she spoke.
“That is for you to decide. None can tell you what you must do, what you shall do. As I said before, your journey, your search for your own answers will only end when you will it so… Your journey is made from the lessons you have learned, the people whom you shall cross paths with, and challenges you face. There will be times when the wall before you may appear tall, there will be times when your path seems to end. At such a time, would you need to decide. Face the path, find a new path, or simply stop there.”
Shivylie stated, raising her free hand in the air to illustrate her words.
“Each shall differ, the order in which you meet people, the order in which you experience events shall change your journey. What sort of journey would you have gone through, should you have been brought to the Order earlier? What sort of answer would you have if you had undergone the trials before going to Hexarash? If you had trained with Relinton, before meeting Kyros, what questions would you be mulling over? How would you have acted, were you to have a conviction to call your own, that the words of the Knights of the Golden Order would not have troubled you so. And so I wonder… can you answer me this simple question. Who do you think you are?”
Deryke was unsure of what Shivylie meant, and perhaps Shivylie had meant to confuse Deryke, as she closed her eyes for a moment.
“… Perhaps I have said too much, and asked too soon. It would be best if you take time and think for yourself what you need. Time, after all… is something that we have.”
Shivylie said, as she stood up from her seat and headed towards the door.
“… And do not.”
Deryke heard Shivylie mutter something but he could not catch it before Shivylie left the room. Deryke, now left alone in the Teresian flower room, could finally think on his own. To find his own path. Vexer=iriloux had told him that, and Shivylie encouraged him to do the same. In the beginning, Shivylie seemed intent on forcing some knowledge unto him, and perhaps in doing so, tried to make him see her views. However as time passed, it would appear that the White Wing was now more open to the idea of him getting his own answers to call his own, though whether or not she truly understood his current delima or not was another issue altogether.
Deryke was tired. Mentally, physically, emotionally. He was lost, confused, and his mind was just numb. There wasn’t much there he could do in this state, and despite what people around him had told him, he just could not feel it go through to himself. He understood what they said, but a part of him did not accept it. Or rather, a part of him just refused to listen. That very part is the problem. It didn’t want to listen, and yet it did not want to do anything.
A complete numbing state, in which Deryke had no choice but to wait and see if anything would change. One has to wonder, if Deryke felt like this since the beginning? Or was it something that came into being in recent times. Perhaps both. Deryke felt as though his days before joining the Order was something akin to a dream. A fog filled dream where his actions were his own, but not of his own choosing. It was as if his mind was working on its own, and his will wasn’t even bothering to intervene.
An automatic lifestyle, if one could call it that. Then, upon entering the Order, choices were given to him. Not a whole lot of choices, but it felt as though his life was starting to derail itself from its automatic state, and his own will was starting to wake up. But, as it stands, Deryke was still somewhat in a blur. The events that unravelled in Hexarash simply pushed him along. He could do little but to go with the current flow. And it frustrates him so to no end. Deryke had half his mind to go find Yvaran to see if he was ill, or perhaps under a spell? The spell that the Lilin had cast felt similar, though to be honest, Deryke felt that the magic cast by the Lilin was far better than what he was now going through.
“… I should head back.”
Deryke decided. There was nothing to be gained by staying in this room and mulling over his thoughts. He was on his way back to his own room before Shivylie hijacked him and brought him here. Why does she like this room so much? And why did she have to drag him all the way here? Getting up from his chair, Deryke was prepared to leave, when suddenly his eyes caught sight of something in his peripherals. One of the Teresian flowers wasn’t glowing. Turning his focus to the plant on the corner of the shelf, Deryke noticed that the pot itself was oddly made. Unlike the other pots, which were typical round pot shaped, this one was a rectangular block. It wasn’t a rectangular shaped block for a pot. It was a rectangle block.
With a Teresian flower somehow managing to grow out of the top of the smooth surface of the block. Deryke was confused, and puzzled by this occurrence, though he had to admit to himself he knew just as much about the Teresian flowers as he did about squirrel wolves. Nothing, besides hearing its name. It should be noted that squirrel wolves are not native to most Kingdoms, for they are a normally normadic group of creatures. Deryke doesn’t know that, but it is also true that very few people know about them, for they do not have the time, nor patience, to follow these creatures long enough to study them.
But this isn’t the time to be thinking of squirrel wolves and their migratory behaviour, for Deryke now reached out to the block and took it down. It was an ordinary tall rectangular block, though what exactly is an ‘ordinary rectangular block’ remains to be known. Smooth, dull surfaces with only the Teresian flower growing out of what looked to be the only flaw, a crack. A crack that seemed rather insignificant, and yet proved more than enough for this Teresian flower to grow from. Well, as much as you would expect a glowing flower to grow from a crack in an unknown box. Deryke then noticed something odd.
A small portion of the box seemed to be a different type of surface. Rough and with a grainy surface, the small patch of oddness seemed to intrigue Deryke as he brushed his finger against it. Nothing happened, though what exactly was he expecting to happen, even he would not be able to tell. The odd surface was certainly rough, almost prickling, and Deryke felt as though it was scratching at his skin.
“… Hmm?”
Deryke felt something off with this surface, besides the fact that it was different from all the other surfaces. It could be pushed. A secret button? But if so, why couldn’t he feel the button being pressed when he touched it before? Pressing the button down, the box gave a click, and the surface on which the crack was found, suddenly came loose. Lifting up the lid, Deryke looked inside and found that it was half filled with dirt, and various small sproutings of the Teresian flower were within in, though most, if not all, were dead. However, it was something else within the soil that caught Deryke’s attention. Half buried in the soil, was a strange black object. Upon further inspection, Deryke came to realise that it was the spine of a black leather bound book. Picking out the book, Deryke placed the box back on the shelf, making sure to close the lid back though the flower that was growing from the crack fell off.
Deryke took the flower and thought of putting it back into the crack, but seeing as how the flower was not glowing anymore, Deryke decided to pocket it. It wasn’t as though he was doing something wrong, as he had seen Shivylie take Teresian flowers out of this room before. He wasn’t a Wing, granted, but there was no rule that said he couldn’t. Finally done rationalising with himself, Deryke lifted up the tome he found within the box and dusted the dirt off the book. It was untitled, and despite its thickness, did not seem to weigh much.
Flipping it open, Deryke found that the words within it were… odd. Deryke knew of how the closer he got to the connection within his soul, the more he could understand words previously not known to him. He had been brushing up on his Drane, but the words within this book were foreign. No, not specifically foreign. They were words of Drane, but something was preventing him from reading the words properly. The words themselves were not moving or scribbled or anything of that sort, but rather the moment Deryke looked at a word, his mind refused to read, or understand it. Several words were understandable, and thus Deryke could make out some parts of the writing within.
“… To… mend… Soul… transfer… share… bond… huh?”
From what Deryke could understand, which wasn’t much, it seemed to be some sort of log, or report. The writings were precise and short, though at times the paragraphs seemed longer than normal, perhaps to denote either a large discover, or some self reflecting thoughts. Was this a diary as well? Deryke was unsure, but he felt compelled to continue reading it.
“Well now, I certainly did not expect any visitors to this room this day, nor most days, for that matter.”
A soft chuckle came from the door, making Deryke turn around, keeping the book behind him instinctively, as though he was holding onto something he shouldn’t. Standing at the door, was the tall and frail figure of an old wizened man. With a long pale blue beard covering down his chest, the man wore long flowing robes that were covered with various symbols. A small round hat sat atop his head where his frizzled pale blue hair were sprouting outwards like some explosion had gone off. His face was slightly sullen and pale, aged with multiple wrinkles across his features, that only seemed to increase ten fold when the man furrowed his brows at him.
“Do I, perhaps, have something on my face, young Master Verias?”
The old man asked, to which Deryke immediately shook his head furiously.
“N-not at all, Lord Blue Wing.”
Deryke answered almost immediately. The Blue Wing, Sevarn Toluran, smiled upon hearing it, his blue eyes brightening up a little like little fireworks.
“Ah, splendid then. I would certainly most detest it should my face be slightly misaligned after that little experiment.”
Experiment? Deryke had no idea what Sevarn was talking about, but certainly a face being misaligned is not a normal result for any experiment.
“One cannot put too much trust in the potions brewed by pixies and gnomes these days, but they certainly do give one a bubbling euphoria of happiness with a little dash of sparkle. Mayhap a little burnt tips of the hair from the sparkles, but other than that, no harm done. Lovely.”
Sevarn spoke in near song as he walked over to the shelves. Deryke did not believe that the wise looking Blue Wing could behave in such a manner, staring in disbelief as the Blue Wing hummed a strange tune whilst he took one of the Teresian plants down from the shelf and placed it onto a nearby table.
“Erm… Lord… Blue Wing?”
Deryke called out, unsure if this man is truly the Blue Wing.
“Yes?”
Sevarn answered without pausing, as he took a small knife and carefully pricked one of the leaves of the Teresian flower. From the leaf came a small drop of sap, though why was sap coming from the leaves is a mystery. After doing this, Sevarn paused, craning his neck to turn to Deryke, awaiting for what Deryke wanted to ask. But Deryke was apprehensive on whether he should ask it or not. Would a normal person question another if they truly are who they said they were in any other ordinary circumstance such as this?
“… Ah, you must be wondering about what I am doing.”
Sevarn chuckled, turning back to his own business of collecting the sap from the leaves.
“The Teresian flower, native only to the Kingdom of Black, is a flower that glows with its own brilliance. A brilliance set about by its own magical properties.”
Sevarn took the vial he collected the sap in and showed it to Deryke. The sap within the vial glowed the same glow as the flower itself, though subdued.
“Not many of how it became so, and those who grow it keep its secret tight, though one has to wonder if any remain after that terrible war. But its magic is certainly of a nature that many know of, but no little about. It is everywhere, and yet people oft forget it exist, care to take a guess, young master Verias?”
Sevarn asked. Deryke shook his head. Sevarn chuckled once more and pointed to his own chest.
“It is life, young master Verias. The very essence of life itself. The World River.”
Sevarn answered with a smile.
“And thus, the sap, rich with such essence, is able to heal, soothe, and even mend things that other medicine and potions fail to do.”
Deryke did not really understand what to make of what Sevarn was talking about. What was the point of this? What does it have to do with his weird experiments, if at all?
“I see you are puzzled by this.”
Sevarn said with a slight upward tone of excitement.
“I am a certainly not a researcher well versed in the arcane, but as I am from the Kingdom of Blue, I do have some inclination towards it. And what I have found is that the Teresian flower has an interesting ability, to mend souls.”
Souls? As in… actual souls?
“Given as to how one goes about to damage their own soul without actual harm, I have turned to beseeching the aid of pixies and gnomes. Not exactly the brightest of ideas, but it nonetheless worked, somewhat.”
Sevarn mused with a light chuckle. To Deryke, it sounded far more dangerous than it seemed to be. Pixies are mischevious in nature, and Gnomes were… not exactly known for their alchemy.
“… Was it wise to call upon them to make such a potion?”
He asked, and Sevarn smiled in return.
“You see, young master Verias, when one is in trouble, it matters not from who, or from where they receive help from, for even the smallest of pushes, can help a man move a long way forward. A small pat on the back, a simple loaf of bread given to eat. At times, the smallest of gestures may indeed turn the darkest of days into the brightest of life.”
The Blue Wing stated, putting the vial of sap aside and picking up the Teresian flower.
“I have heard whispers that Lady White Wing has given you lessons, not only in history, but in philosophy?”
Sevarn asked, to which Deryke merely nodded in reply.
“Oho, the Lady White Wing certainly has the knowledge to pass down many words of wisdom, a learned one, she is, and a seeker of knowledge long forgotten to time. To state that there is no better teacher than lady White Wing on such topics, is no exaggeration. Though one must remember that her wisdom is not born forth from experience.”
Sevarn pointed out, making Deryke confused by that.
“Not… born from experience?”
He repeated, unsure of what that meant. Sevarn nodded, stroking his long beard.
“Lady Silvastern is still young as a Wing. What she speaks may ring true, but one must remember that Lady Silvastern learns much from literature she reads, songs she hears, and the words of others. That is not to speak lightly of it, however. Delvas pass knowledge in one of the most inefficient manners, through word of mouth, through writings in tomes, and of all Delvas, humans tend to be most imaginative of them all, twisting what word is passed through the ages, giving them new meaning with each interpretation. What Lady Silvastern reads, may mean one, what she understood from it, may differ, and what she teaches to you changes once more. And for you, when you listen, you too shall change what you hear into one that shall suit yourself.”
Sevarn explained, and from that Deryke felt a sense of uneasement. Does that mean that everything others had told him would not be of any use to him?
“You certainly look distraught, master Verias, though I suspect for something you might have mistakenly thought wrongly.”
Sevarn interjected with a smile.
“Did I not say before? Every gesture, no matter how small, may have an impact far greater than its own reach. What you have learned may change slightly or change greatly, but it does not detract from the very simple fact that you had learned. Delvas require teaching from others to learn, and humans are no different. Nothing learned is wasted, for even those that challenge your beliefs may yet have something to teach you, or at the very least allow you to see another view of the same answer.”
Deryke did not know if he could accept such an answer, though whether it was to be an answer or not to his problems was another issue that he had yet to address.
“Viewing things from different angles is a splendid thing to do, master Verias, and I highly recommend more people to attempt this. An old colleague of mine recently came to me to seek help capture an escaped creation of his. I have no interest in slimes, nor do I understand why people seek to instill intelligence in such things. I was even questioning if slimes were creatures in the first place. But, while as adamant as he is mad, he did present to me a rather large tome in which he wrote his entire work and study on them. I have to admit, I still believe he is as mad as a Koredin sniffing sunflowers, but his work does make for an interesting read. Or a large stool, if you do not mind the hard cover.”
Sevarn winked at Deryke as he said that, placing the Teresian plant in his hand back onto its shelf. There was something about an old man winking at him that did not sit right with Deryke, but since this is the Blue Wing, Deryke decided not to question it.
“Well now, I suppose I should return to my chambers, after all, potions made by pixies do tend to turn into a bubbling mess if ignored for too long. Master Verias, the night is fast approaching, and you should be heading back, lest Master Fiera start to anger. Take care, master Verias, and I hope you take what you have been told, meditate upon it, and do not lose your way.”
Sevarn nodded to Deryke, before leaving the room, and Deryke, who felt just as confused as when he first came here, looked down at the tome he held in his hand, and wondered if this day was to become even more confusing.
Deryke closed the door behind him, with the tome still in hand, as he turned to head back towards his own room. But the moment he turned, he saw someone standing there. Lilianne Relinton. Deryke could only internally groan at his own luck of facing so many troublesome people in a row, and he tried to avert direct eye contact with the White Dragonnaire, in some vain hope that if perhaps one were to avoid eye contact, the person who not acknowledge his presence. But unfortunately for Deryke, that is not how life works.
“Verias.”
Lilianne called out his name, making him stop in his place. But then he noticed something, Lilianne was not moving. Rather, her entire body seemed to be shivering. He looked up and saw Lilianne’s somewhat distraught face. Her brows knitted, biting her own lower lip, her hand gripping her other arm tightly. Lilianne looked… meek.
“… Relinton?”
He called out to her, making her flinch a little. He had never seen her like this. Just what had happened?
“I…”
Lilianne wanted to say something, but hesitated, her words hanging off the tip of her tongue. Her eyes seemed to realise something, as she looked down, away from him.
“It… it is nothing.”
She quickly said, turning around and leaving Deryke alone in the hallway. Deryke was confused, and he had half a mind to chase after her to ask what she wanted to say. But something stopped him. Perhaps it was the feeling that he would get punched or scolded for doing so. Deryke decided it best to simply return to his room. Lilianne would tell him when she was ready. Or so he hoped.
Imagination's fart 