Eldric stood atop a large, eloquent shrine. Its colors were calm and somber, devoid of any gaudiness, which only heightened the sophistication of the structure itself.
The architecture was truly astounding, the shrine's walls curved ever so slightly, while the catacombs of rooms beneath twisted and turned forming a labyrinth of serene furnishing. Small statues perched on each corner of the roof, keeping the young boy company. Every inch of the place radiated a sacred, tranquil holiness.
Each statue depicted the same man: his face blank, save for the eyes, both sockets carried polished lapis gemstones. Beyond that, and the curly hair crowning his head, the statue was bare, unabashedly and completely naked, unsightly genitals and all.
Eldric had never heard of this deity before, but given the number of idols, he supposed the figure must have held some significance once.
He wasn't there to worship anyone, of course. In fact, no one had come to this shrine for worship in a long time. The magnificent temple stood abandoned. A strange thing, considering that it sat right in the heart of the common district. And if anyone needed divine favor, it was the working class.
Eldric, however, wasn't thinking about that. His attention was fixed southward, where the silhouette of a magnificent, pearly-white mansion rose against the cityscape. It was still some forty kilometers away, but even from here, he could make out its elegant shape.
Today marked the final day of scouting. Tomorrow, he would infiltrate that accursed place. Just the thought sent a cold sweat rolling down his back. He exhaled slowly. 'No room for second guessing…'
The sun was sinking low, forcing a somber lilac hue over Sickle. His time was almost up. With a quiet grunt, Eldric stepped away from his perch and leapt from the tastefully adorned roof.
He slipped through the shrine's interior, careful to avoid the few remaining keepers. Though the temple was mostly forsaken, a handful of faithful souls still took it upon themselves to tend to it.
Fortunately, stealth came easy when one could quite literally sink into the ground. The sensation of suddenly entering freefall was always disorienting, but better that than being spotted when you'd rather not be.
He passed the final keeper by the gate, the old man was too drowsy to guard even himself, much less a temple. Eldric walked right past him, deciding to not waste his Ether.
As he made his way home, he replayed the day's events in his mind.
Instead of returning to his earlier stakeout near the Garrison, Eldric had spent the day making preparations in earnest. His first stop had been Rykard's residence, rather than the usual athenaeum.
The mustached scholar had answered the door looking haggard and half-awake, his once immaculate facial hair a disheveled mess. The sight caught Eldric off guard, it was so different from the refined gentleman he knew.
"Eldric? What are you doing here so early in the morning?"
The boy smiled. "I need a favor, if you don't mind, Uncle."
His next stop was the marketplace. Though his family was considered well-off compared to most in the slums, they were still undeniably poor, and couldn't shop in the commerce districts of the working class neighborhoods.
Even so, the poorer quarter had its share of vendors. People who took pride in bringing small luxuries to those with little.
Eldric was weaving between the stalls when a man with a crooked nose called out. "Little Eldric! What a nice surprise!"
"Mister Fallhew," Eldric replied politely. "Good morning."
The man's grin faltered into mild concern. "I told little Elaine about my new wares, but she hasn't stopped by yet."
Eldric gave an awkward laugh. "I'll… be sure to remind her."
The vendor smiled and went back to arranging his ceramic dolls, humming quietly to himself.
'I'd be caught dead before I let her anywhere near you,' Eldric thought bitterly as he turned away.
After buying what he needed—spending a painful chunk of his savings—he left the market and resumed his scouting.
He examined several vantage points ahead of the Garrison before settling on the abandoned shrine of the nameless idol. Judging by the height of its roof, he estimated, "It should be at least twenty meters…"
From there, he could see the distant mansion clearly. There were no guards on the roof, none on the balconies either.
He quickly realized that deciding to scout closer, as he did yesterday, would've been impossible. The Garrison's perimeter stretched nearly two kilometers around the troops, and true to their word, several fools had already been injured trying to breach it. From his vantage, he occasionally saw a body flung into the air, colliding with the nearby buildings.
Each time it happened, Eldric winced. "They're going to kill someone at this rate…" he muttered under his breath, secretly scared for his own wellbeing.
He remained on the rooftop until sunset, estimating from their current pace that the Garrison would reach the shrine by tomorrow evening.
---
Men and women alike filled the inn. Regardless of time or occasion, the place never seemed to rest. Laughter, chatter, and the dull clinking of mugs blended into a constant hum that defined the establishment's life. Most of the faces there were familiar, regulars who had long since become part of the furniture. They all knew Draven by name.
He approached a round wooden table, setting down a fresh round of beers alongside a few steaming plates. The group seated there had been drinking for hours now, their laughter louder and their eyes hazier with each passing minute. They were close to the point where Miss Hargette would start tossing them out by the collar.
"Thank you… good sir!" one of the red-nosed customers jeered, his slurred tone earning a round of raucous laughter from the rest.
Draven chuckled awkwardly, offering a polite nod before turning to leave.
At that moment, Miss Hargette swept out of the kitchen, balancing a tray stacked with more drinks than Draven had carried all evening. Her blonde hair was tied back, her face flushed from heat and effort. She gave him a quick, knowing smile before hurrying off to deliver her cargo.
Draven slipped into the now-empty kitchen, setting his tray aside. The faint orange glow of sunset filtered through the window above the counter, painting the room in warm, weary light. He untied his apron, folding it neatly before hanging it by the door. His shift was over.
He stepped out into the main hall and climbed the inn's creaking wooden stairs, each step giving a tired groan beneath his weight. The noise of the tavern below faded behind him, replaced by the quieter stillness of the upper floor, reserved for the lodgings.
The air up here always felt different, heavier somehow, carrying the scent of dust, old wood, and faint traces of perfume from passing guests. Draven walked down the narrow corridor until he reached his family's quarters.
Their chambers were larger than most. Two rooms connected by a narrow hall, with a modest private washroom at the end. Draven paused before one of the doors, his hand hovering over the knob. He took a slow breath, eyes trembling for a moment, then steeled himself and entered.
The room was dim. Only thin slivers of fading daylight crept past the curtains, tracing pale lines across the wooden floor. Not much could be seen beyond the vague shapes of furniture. By the window, two swords leaned against the wall, their polished hilts catching what little light there was.
Draven crossed the room on careful steps, the boards silent beneath his light tread. He reached the window, resting his fingers briefly on the familiar weapons before taking them both up. Just as he turned to leave, he heard it—a faint, broken sound behind him.
Small, stifled sobs.
He froze, eyes tightening. The sound came from the bed.
He didn't look back. Quietly, he closed the door behind him and stepped into the hall.
She always cried after coming home from work. She'd weep for a while, then pretend nothing had happened, forcing a smile like it never hurt. Draven knew what she did—or at least what she called herself. "Whore," she had said once, voice trembling, eyes somewhere far away. But he never really understood what that meant, only that it made her cry.
He descended the stairs and slipped out the back door, stepping into the cool evening air.
Outside, the world was quiet save for the muffled noise from inside the inn. He leaned both blades against the wooden wall, then picked up the smaller one.
He took his usual stance. The grip felt familiar, the weight comforting. With a sharp exhale, he swung. Dust scattered before the blade. Then again. And again. And again. His movements grew faster, rougher, his arms burning with the strain.
He swung until his body ached, until his trembling stopped.
Breathing hard, he muttered under his breath, "Faster…"
Another swing. "I need to do it faster…"
He hadn't realized someone was standing before him until the blade paused mid-swing.
Eldric was there, watching silently. His younger brother's dull green eyes regarded him coolly, unreadable as ever.
Draven blinked, lowering his sword slightly. "Oh… hey, Eldric. Welcome back."
Eldric was in ho hurry to reply. He simply stared for a moment longer, expression unreadable. Draven felt himself shrink under that gaze, not out of fear, but something deeper. His brother had always carried that quiet, unyielding air that made others step aside.
Then, finally, Eldric's eyes softened. "Thanks," he said quietly. "Feels good to be back."
A faint smile crossed his lips as he walked toward the inn's entrance.
Draven watched him go, tightening his grip on the blade. His heart pounded, not from training this time, but from something else.
"Hey, Eldric," he called.
Eldric stopped and turned. "Yeah?"
Draven hesitated for a moment, then met his gaze with trembling resolve. "Let's spar."